Landmarks

We woke this morning to learn that the refrigerator that we bought a year ago year had stopped working.  It is under warranty, and the warranty company, who seems to take pride in their "24/7 service", has been responsive.  But today is Saturday and the repair company is off for the weekend.   Fortunately, we have a second refrigerator in the garage.  It is much older and probably not particularly energy efficient, but we have had to completely rely on it more than once.  I will say that to lose your refrigerator just as a pandemic takes hold can be disconcerting.  However, we got most of our food shifted with the exception of a nice homemade chicken stock that I just completed yesterday. There were also some pot stickers in the freezer that were still cold but almost thawed.  After boiling the stock for several minutes, as a "just in case"  measure, I  added soy sauce, fish sauce, some lemon grass, and some vinegar (Unfortunately, we had no ginger.) to the stock and then added the pot stickers.  Quite a tasty breakfast, especially when paired with the thawing "potato puffs" that also needed to be roasted immediately.    

   

In times of confusion, I find comfort, as I have since I was in seminary, in a small book entitled Always We Begin Again,The Benedictine Way of Living by John McQuiston II.  It is based on the author's understanding of The Rule of St. Benedict. I have always appreciated McQuiston's straight forwardness, and I find strength in the knowledge that St. Benedict created his monastic rule in a tumultuous time.  Rome fell in A.D. 410, just forty years before St. Benedict's birth. Esther de Waal describes the time as "a world without landmarks" (Seeking God, the Way of St. Benedict, 2001, page 15).  I share the following with you today in case you, too, need a dose of practical reinforcement in our own tumultuous times.  I would suggest keeping ginger root on hand.  You just never know, and it does make a wonderful tea.  

The First Rule   

Attend to these instructions, 

Listen with the heart and the mind; 

They are provided in a spirit of goodwill. 

These words are addressed to anyone 

who is willing to renounce the delusion 

that the meaning of life can be learned;

whoever is ready 

to take up the greater weapon of fidelity 

to a way of living that transcends understanding. 

  

The first rule is simply this:  

 live this life 

and do whatever is done, 

in a spirit of Thanksgiving. 

Abandon attempts to achieve security, 

they are futile.  

  

Give up the search for wealth, 

it is demeaning, 

quit the search for salvation, 

it is selfish, 

   

and come to comfortable rest  

in the certainty that those who 

participate in this life 

with an attitude of Thanksgiving 

will receive its full promise.

      

Photograph was taken in San Leandro today, March 28, as  I paused in front of a house that I have walked by for over two decades.  I have never once seen anyone go in or come out of it.  It appears to be moderately well kept, and this is the rare weed that has shown up in the yard that knows no fence. There are still mysteries.   

   

   

Refiner's Fire

In my dream early this morning, I am walking along a dirt road.  It is twilight. The land is flat.  On the right hand side of the road is a ditch and an old wire fence.  I do not think it was barbed wire, but I am not certain. A fast travelling car comes up from behind me. At first I think the driver wants to run me over, but instead the car stops alongside me.  The car is dark grey, as if it had been another color at one time, but has been spray painted over. The car has no lights and appears to be stripped of just about everything. A figure steps out.  For some reason I think it is a man, but he is a swirling mass of fire - every shade of red, gold, and orange.  It is not that he is on fire, but rather that he is fire itself.  In the dream I do not feel pain, but I think I am turning to ash.  I sense my mother's worry and I believe I sense her telling me to get away.  I run, not along the road, but across the land to my left. There is no fence on that side of the road.  It is still twilight; the light has not changed. There are structures in the distance. I see lights. The terrain is flat, and at least some of the land is green.  As I run, I do not feel the ground, nor do I  feel tired.  There is a wonderful sense of space. I feel I am travelling effortlessly and quickly, but I find myself back on the road with the one I now think of as Fire Man. 

 

The light still has not changed. The flames I saw earlier have just about died down.  The male figure now is about the same color as the car.  In the middle of the road, in the space between us, I see an object.  I pick it up. It is a beautiful small bowl, looking to be made of many fired, wispy feathers. They are thin, but the fire has strengthened them. The effect is like raku, and the colors: golds, reds, oranges, and even some blues, are burnished and stunning. The bowl glimmers in the twilight.  I do not remember it having any weight.  It is not hot to the touch.  This morning I think it is like a bird's nest.   

I look inside the bowl, and I see a small gold cross.  I look up at Fire Man, and he quietly says, "That is mine."  There is some subtle emotion when he says this that I simply cannot describe.  There is a sense of quiet revelation, but he does not try to take the bowl. I realize I have ash all over me, but I feel no pain, so I do not think I was ever burned.  I am now about the same color as Fire Man.  I have a sense that my mother's anxiety (which was very prevalent in her physical life, and therefore mine) is no longer present.     

    

My friend and colleague, Rev. Jonathan Leavy posted some of his new art work on Facebook yesterday.  I think his work inspired this dream.  Yet, it is my dream, and I have dreamed of fire in the past.  Years ago, I had a reoccurring dream where I am being burned at the stake.  In these dreams there is always a woman's voice telling me that if I am still, I will feel no pain.  In these dreams I am never afraid for I love her voice, and I still listen for her wisdom today.  

 I think this time we are in now is of great importance.  It is not a time to simply get through, but to allow ourselves to be transformed.  It is time to listen to our hopes and dreams.  I sense the beginnings of great change.  Let us pay attention to the synchronicity that surrounds and guide us. We do not travel alone.    

    

Love, Blessings, and Courage, 

Sue Ann   

   

     

Conversing with a Neighbor

Today I saw a neighbor walking his dog.  

I do not see him often; usually his wife 

is out with the beloved creature.  

She and I will wave and say hello.  

However, when I greet 

the husband, as I did today, 

he looks at me and keeps walking.  

Just like he did today.   

Next time I see him, probably not very soon,

I will simply pause and 

look at him.  Perhaps then when 

he walks away, he will think, 

"Ah, now that was a good conversation."   

   

photograph:  

San Leandro, Feb. 29, 2020   

  

A Lenten Primer

I love the phrase, "beautiful boundaries."  Too often, our boundaries frustrate us because we misunderstand the deep meaning of freedom.  The freedom that God offers us is the freedom to simply be.  Our quest to do everything is not freedom, but rather the opposite.  Ultimately, we find ourselves bound too tightly by our ego's hunger, with no room for love.  Lent allows us to practice releasing what is keeping us from a fuller life in God, and hopefully this is not just a once a year project.  God calls us to be who we are, where we are.  A potter cannot create something beautiful and meaningful when the clay keeps jumping around the room.  The vessel will never hold.     

"We can't do everything. In our fast-paced, technology-driven, hyper-connected times, it's increasingly apparent that we can't do everything that comes our way, even if it appeals to us. There is simply too much. We must become 'masters of determination' who skillfully wield the inner sword of discernment to cut away non-essentials in order to focus on essentials. As we live full lives, it's easy to say yes to too many opportunities and not make appropriate boundaries.  Pretty soon our lives are full, but not necessarily full of what truly matters to us. Truly fulfilled living requires us to continually and clearly discern our 'yes' and our 'no' - the beautiful boundaries that support focusing on what is ours to do and letting go of what is not."   

Ellen Grace O'Brian, The Jewel of Abundance, Finding Prosperity through the Ancient Wisdom of Yoga

  

"Let your yes mean yes, and your no mean no."    

Jesus, Matthew 5:37

  

photograph:  San Leandro, February 2020   

 

M.'s Miracle

I said good morning to M. and asked if he would like a song sheet.  He gently answered, "No thank you. I no longer read. My eyesight is too poor."  His appearance is of a quiet, composed man.  I asked him if he liked hymns, and he replied that yes, he did find some of them quite beautiful.  I told him that he would probably be familiar with what we would be singing and that I was glad he was with us.  

Afterwards, as I was collecting the sheets and talking with some of those gathered around us, I asked M. if he knew the hymns we sang.  He replied that yes, he knew most.  He looked at me and asked, "Do you believe in miracles?"  I love that question because it opens the gate to what is usually an intriguing conversation.  

"On, yes," I answered.  "Do you?"   

He quietly asked if he could tell me a story.  When he was a young man he spent three years stationed in the Arctic.  "This was back in the time of the Cold War and we were wary of what the Russians might be up to. One day I went out to check on some equipment.  I made the mistake of turning off the vehicle which we were not supposed to do.  When I returned to it, it would not start, so I needed to walk back to where we were staying.  As I walked, I looked behind me to my left. I saw a wolf.  I then looked behind me to the right, and saw two more.  Well, there was nothing to do but to keep walking.  Running seemed foolish and there was no place to hide.  I walked on, convinced that my life was over.  Yet, to my surprise, I arrived safely at my door.  I looked around again, and there was not a wolf in sight. I believe that was a miracle.  God was with me."      

If I could paint, I would paint an image of a man walking through snow and ice accompanied by curious wolves.  Our interpretations of miracles vary.  Yet, anytime we learn to calmly walk with our fears seems to me to be the biggest miracle of all.  When we completely accept where we are, then there is room for God.  Even in the vastness of the Arctic, we must make room.  

 

I look forward to hearing more of M.'s miracles. 

  

photograph:  San Leandro, February 2020

Here We Are

In her book, The Jewel of Abundance, Ellen Grace O'Brian tells this story of being delayed in an airport.  She was, of course, weary.  She said aloud to her teacher who was travelling with her,  "I hate waiting in airports."  Her teacher responded, "The way I see it, we always have to be somewhere."    

   

May we sense Christ with us today, wherever we may be. Let us open our hearts to that healing presence. 

    

    

photograph:  San Leandro, January 2020

--

A Good Long Walk with the Dog

Spring is announcing, "I am again sending my little ones to remind you that if they have the courage to live, so should you.  Bloom in this time."   

   

   

       

  

   

photographs: San Leandro, February 2020