Seeing Red

On my walk this morning, I thought about a note that one of my colleagues sent me yesterday.  He is an artist, and wrote that a few years ago, he was trying to paint the vibrancy of a particular color he was seeing in some flowers.  He found he was not successful until he "subdued everything else."   

Red is a primary color, but as I walked, I began to wonder how often I really do see true red.  Now, I am generally walking in a suburban landscape, so in many ways, my environment is not what one might describe as  natural.  Nonetheless, as I walked, I realized that I seldom experience a solitary color.  For example, I might see yellow flowers juxtaposed with blue ones. And then there are the green leaves.  In other words, I usually see color in relationship with other colors.  This morning, when I was putting my old fuchsia jacket over my grey shirt, I thought, "I really like these two colors together."  While I was seeing individual colors, I was also seeing them in relationship with each other. There is probably quite a bit going on in the brain when we see two or more colors together, and I don't think any of us experience color in the same way.  The same can be said of patterns.  If the colors are complimentary, I sometimes enjoy seeing combinations of stripes, dots, even plaids.  I have a dear friend who cannot stand the idea (I will say that she has what I consider excellent taste. I think I fall a bit off that lofty mark.)

So, as I walked this morning, I looked for a true red.  I found that many flowers that I might initially describe as red do have some pink or blue in their coloration, and these colors seem to be what the iPhone highlights.  Towards the end of the walk, I came across this red rose.  It seems to be about as close to true red as I will probably see in this neighborhood, and I think the light was conducive for photographing it.  

Unless we are taking part in something really experimental, most of us generally prefer harmony in music and art.  It seems to me that we can best hear music when notes and rhythms are in relationship with one another.  I think the same organizational relationship is true of color. Music has a circle of fifths; color can be mapped with the use of a color wheel. 

 

For the past few years, I have let color guide my walks.  When a color catches my eye, I will generally try to get closer to it.  I will walk across the street or down the block just because a color beckons.  Certainly, light plays a big part in how we experience color, but I am already out of my depth.  However, this morning I was reading a book that a friend recently gave me: The Universal Christ by Richard Rohr.  Father Rohr writes, "Remember, light is not so much what you directly see as that by which you see everything else (14)." He also comments that "what looks like darkness to the human eye is actually filled with tiny particles called 'neutrinos,' slivers of light that pass through the entire universe."  Amazing.  A universal sliver of light lasts long enough to allow one befuddled artist to gaze upon one red rose in wonder, and then journeys on.      

  

And God saw the light was good...

Genesis 1:4    

   

Of the Soul and Roses

I have found that red is one of the most difficult colors to capture with an iPhone.  When I saw this one, I almost did not take my camera that also makes phone calls out of my pocket because of the color and because well, it is a rose.   I have many pictures of roses.  Yet, the soul continues to urge us on because the soul craves union with God, with the world, with ourselves. Let us be wary of dismissing those stirrings.  I am not sure my soul recognizes a flower, but certainly recognizes what it finds beautiful in form and color. That is the lesson I continue to learn and relearn.  This red may not have photographed perfectly, but my soul finds inspiration here. 

Have a beautiful Sunday.  I am grateful that I will be with the beloved community today.  The flu subsides.  My voice?  Definitely showing signs of wear, but I am up and I believe as the old hymn goes, "It is well with my soul."  

Stay well all, and thank you for your prayers and wishes. 

 Let your soul speak.

      

    

Listening to the Thistles

Tyler and I both have had the flu, and neither of us has fully recovered. Yet, this morning, I finally felt alert enough to look at some of my recent photographs, and as usual, most I discarded.  Yet, this photograph I shall keep, not because it is a remarkable piece of art. It is not even a good picture of thistles. At best, it is a snapshot taken as I was returning to my car after one of my worship services. I paused here simply because I could stand in one spot and see a glimpse of open space.  

 

I certainly cannot call this land untamed. It is a fairly small patch that is indeed surrounded by buildings.  The inhospitable thistle  in the foreground seems to be saying, "Do not tread here." I bow to that request to simply let some land be.

 

The clamor for housing here in the Bay Area is loud, and I really do understand that people need to be able to both afford a place to live that is at least somewhat close to where they work, and to be able to find such a place.  Yet, the cost of the tech industry growth is  high as more of our open space is given over to high density housing and roadways.  At what point do we say that we simply have no more room for building?   When do we acknowledge that we really do not have enough water to sustain unlimited growth?    

I suppose I am showing my age.  Well, I know I am because that eventually is what we all do.  I spent time this morning with some of Wendell Berry's poetry, a wise old Kentucky farmer who once wrote that we cannot let our hope depend on our feeling good.  This morning I must agree, so I will accept the encouragement of some prickly thistles, including Mr. Berry.  I will try not to tread where hope should be allowed to reside.  

  

     

    

Sabbath Poem VII (1982)

The clearing rests in song and shade.

It is a creature made

By old light held in soil and leaf,

By human joy and grief,

By human work,

Fidelity of sight and stroke,

By rain, by water on

The parent stone.

We join our work to Heaven's gift,

Our hope to what is left,

That field and woods at last agree

In an economy

Of widest worth.

High Heaven's Kingdom come on earth.

Imagine Paradise.

O Dust, arise!-- 

Wendell Berry (born 1934)

photograph:  Redwood City, April 2019     

Giving It a Go

In the dream 

I am swaddled in white 

and I have a white cap 

on my head.  

I know this because I 

will shortly stand in front  

of a mirror. 

My arms and hands 

are not free 

but I am given 

instructions to 

draw with my 

"non-dominant hand." 

I do not feel trapped 

nor am I frightened,  

but I do wonder about 

drawing with my right hand 

for I think of myself as 

quite left handed.  

Then a series of geometric 

figures and even some simple houses 

stream across my mind 

much like an old 

black and white film clip.  

There are no other colors in this 

dream but black and white. 

I think, "Well, I will give it a go." 

It is then when I find myself 

standing  in front of the mirror. 

I am startled, even frightened;

I see a film over my right eye. 

For the first time in the dream 

I am frightened.  

Then the film, much like a 

wayward contact lens, 

pops into place over my eye. 

I can neither feel it, nor see it. 

My eyes are dark but wide open; 

 my vision is clear.     

   

I have found that writing about my dreams in this format is very freeing.   I will shortly try drawing with my right hand.   Drawing with the non-dominant hand is often suggested as a spiritual practice, and I suspect it is good for the brain.   

At no time in this dream did I see another person, but there is certainly another presence in this dream.  It is neutral - that is, neither frightening nor comforting.  

Today is Holy Saturday, and there is a Holy Week feel to this dream that is a little difficult to describe.   Holy Week is often a time of change and even challenge for me, and this week has been no different.  Tyler is sick, and a good friend who is out of state is quite ill.  I think the challenge is to stay open to the events as they occur because there is always more to be revealed.   Drawing with the non-dominant hand means that I will need to give up any idea that what I am drawing might be "good."  It may be a lesson in re-learning that it is the process that matters.       

   

Blessings as we journey to Easter.  It is indeed a journey to wholeness.      

    

I am afraid many of us have failed to honor God's always unfolding future and the process of getting there, which usually includes some form of dying to the old. In practical effect, we end up resisting and opposing the very thing we want.  The great irony is that we have often done this in the name of praying to God, as though God would protect us from the very process that refines us!    

Richard Rohr, The Universal Christ,  p. 93  

Holy Tuesday

"Tuesday is perhaps the most unremarkable day of the week. Today, however, is Holy Tuesday because it belongs to Holy Week. Perhaps we would do well to ponder on this truth: If God can make Tuesday holy, what might be done with us?"   

Rev. Dr. Michael Piazza     

 

As  I continue to ponder my post dated April 15, I am coming to understand that there is a difference between unraveling and dissolving.  When things unravel, they can be knitted back together.  When they dissolve, they are  returned completely into the essence of God, and are literally out of our hands.  We can weep and wail all we want, but we would be better served to bow in wonder and awe at this elemental change. 

      

    

         

photograph:  San Leandro, April 2019

Holy Week Begins

I dreamed last night of trying to find someone 

to help me re-learn how to knit.  

A friend was with me; 

she was trying to learn something else.  

The room was crowded with teachers 

of various sorts and trades.  

When I met someone I thought could teach me, 

the knitting that I had started 

dissolved in my hand. 

"I must set my face to the wind and scatter my handful of seeds. It is no big thing to scatter seeds, but I must have courage to keep facing the wind."  

 Arab proverb as quoted by Sister Joan Chittister 

 The Radical Christian Life, A Year with Saint Benedict     

  

photograph: San Leandro, April, 2019 

  

And the Band Prayed On

The pianist and I were on a memory care floor when a resident collapsed in her chair.  Two  staff members quietly and quickly attended to her, and called for assistance.  As help  was coming, the pianist and I simply continued with our last hymn. I then closed with a prayer and a blessing.  The pianist continued to play afterward, and I did as I always do: I collected song sheets and thanked each one for being with us.   

My prayer?  That all of us, as we continue our journeys,  know God's presence.   I have seen this beautiful resident quickly decline over the past year, so I  confess that I added another silent prayer: that she be gently released from this earthly time.  Yet, I know  I must leave that in God's hands.  I have needed to do just that, over and over again, for about eleven years now.  I often feel that God and I are not always on the same timeline, but then again, maybe we are.    

I have faced scenarios like this a few times as I have journeyed with SpiritCare.  I share this not because I think I am a pillar of strength and good decisions, and I want to be certain you all are aware of my fine qualities.  Those of you who know me know that I do fret, fuss, and get waylaid. I think I share this as a warning:  that if you are with me and some emergency arises, I will more than likely hand you a song sheet and suggest that we sing.  It is also a request that you do the same for me.  Unless, of course, one of us needs a tourniquet.   We may need to multi-task.   

My deep gratitude to the volunteer pianist today, and to all of our volunteers who have kept me steady and steadily singing over the years.  

The hymn we were singing?  "The Day of Resurrection."  'Tis the season.   Blessed be.   

 

   

Preparations

I have  often viewed my soul 

as a large illuminated pearl 

in the center of my being. 

Julian's vision is larger. 

She viewed the 

soul as a city - a kingdom 

where Jesus sits, 

magnificantly clothed.   

   

I hear the words: 

"In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. 

If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? 

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, 

so that where I am, there you may be also. 

And you know the way to the place where I am going."*   

  

We do know the way.

"And when our soul realizes this, 

it becomes like the one it beholds 

and grace quietly unites it 

to God in peace." *        

    

  

Biblical text :John 14:2-4.  

*All Will Be Well, compiled by Richard Chilson 

photograph: San Leandro, April 2019  

   

Through the Dunes

In the dream 

I am walking 

among white dunes. 

I  sense no ocean 

but still there 

 is a vastness.

These may be   

desert dunes. 

In the dream 

I return to a building.  

People are there, 

and they tell me 

"There isn't anything 

out there." 

   

 I am smiling. 

I show them my pass 

that allows me to travel 

as far as I want.  

I note there is an 

expiration date, but 

that does not worry me.      

I have no sense 

of limitation, 

 only freedom. 

 

As I turn and 

start down a path 

through the dunes

once more, 

I tell those 

who stay close to the building

that I am learning happiness.  

I decide to travel a little 

further this time. 

    

  

say 

April, 2019    

I am purposely not attaching an image.  These dreams seem to be calling for images other than flowers, so I want try to do some artwork and see what comes up.  This dream gives me a sense of freedom that I definitely want to explore.  I also want to explore the link between poetry and dreams.      

A Confession

An old voice surfaced.

The voice that whispers, 

"I wish you were more beautiful." 

This voice has grown kinder, 

a little less frequent

and maybe even quieter, 

but it still exists 

in the archives, 

seemingly intent 

 on embarrassing me.      

  

This week I decided 

"That's it.  No more flowers.

I have nothing more to say;

I have photographed flowers 

(although it really is not 

flowers I am seeing  

but more on that later) 

for years."  

  

Yet, the beloved dog and I 

started out today  

and made it not quite  

a block and then 

I remembered the wisteria.  

"Well, maybe one photograph."

The first steps of a beauty 

filled walk.     

 

I then remembered 

a dinner last week 

with friends; 

we discussed 

beauty but could not define it.

We laughed deeply at our  

non-conclusion conclusion. 

 I was reminded  

how much I love those gathered at the table. 

  

So perhaps this old voice 

that does grow gentler 

over time 

encourages me to remember 

that where beauty reveals 

her showy head,

 love is there, 

and that maybe, 

like God and Jesus and Mary, 

 I can claim her as my own.  

      

 

say 

April 2019   

  

Discussion in the Retirement Home on the Letter To the Romans

A small group that I meet with monthly told me last month they wanted us to study one whole book of the New Testament.  I suggested Paul's Letter to the Romans.  Chapter 1 is a bit rough going.   

St. Paul:  "For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and wickedness of those who by their wickedness suppress the truth (Romans 1:18) .  

SA:  Well, now, do you believe God is wrathful?

Resident 1 :  No, God is love. 

Resident 2:  Yes, He is wrathful.  But He is not wrathful to those He loves.   

SA:              hmmm... Can you give us an example of what you believe to be      God's wrath?   

Resident 2:  hmmm... Well, no, but I am sure there is one.  

Resident 3:  (who finally had his hearing aides repaired, blessed be) That Paul sure says some surprising things.  

   

I am still smiling. I think we are off to a pretty good start!  

    

   

This Is Not a Poem

Last night I woke from a dream with such certainty, that I had to get up and write at least a snippet of it:   

 

"Last night I saw heaven. 

Shiny dark dark birds 

with sparkling pink chests 

rising and falling, 

flying with one another, 

never running into one one another, 

against a blue sky."     

   

I then returned to bed, fell asleep, and actually dreamed the dream again.  I woke this morning, and felt I did not have a photograph to go with the dream.  I also had several emails to write, a dog to walk, plus other work to tend to.  I just did not know what to do with this dream.  However, later today, I came across this image from a post from the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts.  Unfortunately, I do not know who the artist is.  However, it is so much like what I saw in the both dreams that I decided to share.   If you know the artist, do let me know.   If you know anything more about heaven, would appreciate your letting me know that as well.   

 

For those of us in the Bay Area, the colors of land, sea, and sky are beautiful right now, aren't they?  Such contrasts of blue, grey, and green.  Truly a beautiful dance.

        

   

Home

In the dream 

I am standing in a small house 

whose walls, without a doubt 

need some paint.  

The drapes need cleaning; 

There is patching 

that needs to be done. 

But it has lovely arched 

doorways, 

some crosses here and there 

and windows that let in 

a gentle light. 

In the dream 

Tyler is there and 

I sense we could 

 paint those walls 

and tend to  

what needs 

tending.  

 

There is another man 

in the house who tells 

me whom to call so 

I can begin painting. 

As the phone is ringing 

I realize I do not know 

where I am.  That is, 

I do not know where the 

house is.

  

He seems unconcerned 

even when I hurredly 

give an  address

only to  realize that 

is where I lived 

years ago. 

I think that I 

cannot be there now.   

 He laughs 

and tells me it is okay. 

  

The certainty 

that you are home 

even when you 

do not know exactly 

where that is.  

 

This morning I smile. 

   

say, April 2019 

the pastel was done maybe a couple of years ago.