Value

Between the roofing project and a wave of Covid moving through my small congregation, including our own home, I don't think there was one appointment or plan that I made this week that did not need to be rescheduled or set aside. During the dismantling and reconstruction process our doorbell sounded many times. About the time that I felt I could pause for a few moments, the sound of the bell would beckon me to the front door. Even the Jehovah Witnesses stopped by, and the Witness standing on my porch looked so sad that I felt the tug to pause and converse. As we talked, mostly about his concerns that the world was failing apart, I watched four other Witnesses walk by. I found myself appreciating their modest dress and quiet slow pace. Those few moments were actually a gift that I underestimated at the time. Distractions are many these days, as are concerns. Yet, as I moved through the week, I kept repeating a statement that came to me one afternoon when I was a young woman writing at my table: "Value interruptions." I try to honor those words because I have learned that often in the interrupted moments, I can sense God's Spirit making room in my life for something other than my own small designs that are usually rooted in ego: "This is what I want to do." I recently heard the writer and Zen practitioner, Natalie Goldberg, say in a Zoom lecture that the ego wants to keep us small and safe. I would also add controllable. Yes, there is a difference between an interruption and a distraction. Interruptions can lead us to deeper connections and even growth. Distractions typically do not. Discernment lies in learning to tell them apart.

With life as short as a half taken breath,

don’t plant anything but love.

Rumi

image: San Leandro, July 2024

Presence

 This morning I was perusing the 2023 June issue of Thin Places, a newsletter from the Westminster Presbyterian Church in Minneapolis. I was boldly thinking I could just toss it in recycling, but as it happens so often, I decided to take one more look "just to be sure". I came across a quote by Father Thomas Keating that seemed to fit well with a photograph I took in the backyard on Monday after playing my flute for a few minutes there. The message from Father Keating was: 

"The contemplative vision perceives God fully present in our lives, even in the midst of disaster, turmoil, or personal failure.  It never loses hope because its hope is not based on human events but on the divine goodness, which is infinitely powerful and infinitely merciful..." 

  

The unopened flower seemed to contain some secret writing, and I think that is true of all life on earth. We carry the embedded messages of our ancestors (both positive and negative), of our current lives, and most importantly, the message of Sacred Presence that connects us all. To me this photograph speaks of connection. I needed the light to see it, but even in darkness, messages and connection are there. Guides show up in surprising ways.  I can, at least for a few moments at a time, turn from focusing solely only on human events, many of which I do not even experience directly. Let us all be cautious of what we take in. We do not want to crowd out the wisdom that already resides within.  

Alas, this newsletter is no longer being produced. I shall miss it. It has proven to be a good guide over the years. 

    

     

 

Basil and Rue

 This morning I walked out to the front porch to water a basil and a rue before the sun came up. I know a little about basil, but nothing about rue. Yet when I saw these two at our local nursery, I found them so beguiling that I brought them home. Rue is reported to have medicinal qualities which I will probably never test. As usual, I have been slow to repot these plants, and now the heat wave just seems too intense to subject them to such a dramatic change of venue. My gardening skills are lax which is probably why I like hanging out in other people's gardens. 

As I stepped out on the porch with water pitcher in hand, I noticed a small reddish spider spinning or perhaps re-spinning its web. The spider is so small I could not see the web. Her tiny legs, which seemed more like arms to me, moved patiently in a slowly increasing circle. It was as if she was playing a harp that I could neither see nor hear. I took comfort in those few moments of listening to that which could not be heard, and watching what could not be fully seen. 

​The sounds of the stream

   splash out
      the Buddha's sermon

Don't say
   that the deepest meaning
      comes only from one's mouth

Day and night
   eighty thousand poems
      arise one after the other

and in fact
   not a single word
      has ever been spoken

~ Musō Soseki, translated by W. S. Merwin

        

 

Discovering Light

 Yesterday I definitely hit a low ebb. The weather is getting hotter, and may stay hot for a while. The national news is worrisome and deeply disappointing. Yet, in the midst of languishing in my boggy   malaise, I thought of a note that a friend and colleague sent me a few weeks ago about a course being offered by the Center for Spirituality in Nature. I was interested at the time, but my computer was not working, and then I simply forgot. Yesterday, I signed up for the self-paced course.

The creators of the course recommended that I find some natural spot close to where I live, and visit it every day and simply sit. I will keep my eye out for such a spot. Yet, for now, while they may not be completely natural, it is my garden, and some of the gardens around me that give me a sense of the sacred. So yesterday, I took my flute and sat in the backyard and simply played my prayer of thanks. Today, I walked in the neighborhood. This, as most of you know, I have done for years.
I was making my way home when I spotted some flowers aglow in light. I had to look closer. While I knew the blossoms were actually reflecting light, the light appeared to be shining from within the plant. The air was alive with the sound of bees. I knew I was seeing and hearing creation, and yes, creation is still good, even "supremely good" (Genesis 1:31 Common English Bible).

As I sit and ponder this photograph, I feel a longing to be part of the song of light of this time. For that, I am grateful. I will try to continue on, with eyes wide open, reflecting as best I can.    


Something Big is Coming

Something big is coming.
It’s still a secret, but arriving everywhere.
The atmosphere is charged with longing and searching.
The pilgrims and the mystery-lovers know.
They are gathering now
The sound of prayer drifts across the dawn.
It’s Muslim, Jew, Christian
All mingled
All religions
All this singing
One Song.
The differences are just illusion and vanity.
The sunlight looks a little different on this wall
Than it does on that.
And a lot different on this other one.
But it’s still one light.
We have borrowed these clothes
These time and place personalities
From a Light.
And when we praise,
We’re pouring them back in.

Rumi

Monday Morning

 I am not always consistent with walking every day, but I definitely try to walk every Monday morning. Sundays are energetic days, and on Tuesdays I begin preparations for the next Sunday and other church matters. Therefore, Monday often feels to be my sabbath, as do my walks. On Monday mornings, I simply step out the front door and go.

This morning, as I often do, I first dropped by our community garden. Today, I found the garden being watered by the woman who created it. I know her because she also landscaped our property with CA native plants, and we continue to work together to bring sustainable life to our small patch of land. We had a short conversation full of laughter, and she expressed some concern that no one ever comes into the garden. I assured her that while I have never seen anyone else in the garden, I visit it at least a couple of times a week. I love seeing what the plants are doing and what they are bringing forth. She seemed so happy to hear that, and she then bequeathed a beautiful green zucchini to me. Yes, it is the season. As we watched a bee visit the blossoms that are still on the plant, we talked about the green beans growing on the fence behind them. I then wished her well as she prepares to travel south to visit her godchild. We hugged, and I walked on, taking in the sights and colors of what is growing in the neighborhood.

Towards the end of the walk I passed by the house where my mother-in-law once lived. The father of the family who now lives there was in the driveway refurbishing a door. I had never seen him before, but he said hello, and we began to talk about the house. I said that what I loved about the house was that you could open the front and back doors and almost always a lovely breeze would drift through. He enthusiastically agreed and mentioned that his father lived in the house for many years and he had always felt comfortable in it.

When his father died, the house was passed on to his sister and him. He was able to buy his sister's share, and he said he felt very blessed to have the house. I definitely felt that was true for him; he looked happy. He then smiled and admitted that with just one bathroom, the house was just a little too small for his wife, four daughters, one who is now 12, and him. He then added that he is a carpenter, and a new addition was in the plans. "This house has good bones," he added. I had to agree. It was a warm conversation that left me smiling. I believe Tyler's mom would have liked him, although the reminder that it has been some years since her passing surprised me. I appear to be at the stage when everything in the past seemed to have happened just a couple of years ago. We both then said our good-byes and called each other by name. I then walked the last block to my front door. Actually, the whole walk was kind of a front door walk. I do appreciate being able to simply step outside and go, and of course, to return.

Blessings on your week. If you can, get out and say hello to those humans, plants, and animals who live close to you. The more we connect with the life around us, the healthier we and our communities will be. May we remember how we tend to ourselves, one another, and the earth are often one in the same. That, to me, is harmony. God cannot be separated from this sacred song.

Regarding the photograph: I do not know the name of this plant that is growing in a neighbor's yard. It seems to do well here, and I have always loved the color of the blossoms. The buds are fascinating. In the sunlight, they have the appearance of metal. This neighbor lives just a few doors down, so I get to enjoy viewing the flowers that appear in her yard pretty much year round. There is always something colorful growing there. She says her mother taught her to garden, so how could she not plant? I knew her mother and must agree.

Meditations with Hildegard of Bingen, no. 1

 Matthew Fox writes that he was given Sister Dorothy Stang's copy of the book, Meditations with Hildegard of Bingen, written by Sister Gabriele Uhlein,OSF, and published in 1983 by Bear and Co. This book was found at Sister Dorothy's bedside after her assassination in Brazil in 2005 where she had been working with the indigenous people to help protect the Amazon from complete deforestation by large multinational interests.  

It seems that as Sister Dorothy read and pondered the meditations in the book, she added her own sketches. I can understand why Sister Dorothy would feel the pull to draw her sensations and musings as she read, and that is surely a practice that St. Hildegard would approve of. The book has lots of blank spaces and even whole pages for such reflections. I may attempt that practice myself, but for now, I will do what I have done for years, and that is to share some of these writings and attach a photograph. 

I believe Sister Dorothy, St. Hildegard, and it seems Sister Gabriele, are trustworthy guides in these times when the earth is being maimed by greed and ignorance. However, I cannot help but sense that we are being offered an abundance of help. The Holy One speaks in surprising ways, and the earth, as wounded as she is, can still heal and teach us. May we listen with humility, and respond with joyful gratitude.   

   

"A wheel was shone to me, 

wonderful to behold...   

  

Divinity is in its omniscience and omnipotence, 

like a wheel, a circle, a whole, 

that can neither be understood, nor divided, nor begun nor ended." 

         

  

image: San Leandro, June 2024

      

   

Summer Solstice

 We Westerners don't seem to pay much attention to solstices and equinoxes, and I think we lose something when we forget to note the changing of the seasons. Yes, there is much sorrow and wreckage in the world, and dreadful heat. Fire season holds our attention much more than the solstice. Yet, today, if possible, we can remember that seasons always change.   

I keep coming across books that I feel I need to read. Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire was just added to the list. I remember him as an essayist who did not mince words. Let us learn again to pay attention to our beloved earth, and to our own seasons. Even just looking out a window can reveal much.  Let us be brave and learn to see. 

  

"Walking takes longer than any other
known form of locomotion, except crawling.
Thus, it stretches time and prolongs life.
Life is already too short to waste on speed."

Edward Abbey

image: San Leandro, June 2024