Discoveries

 Today on my walk, I came across a small booklet entitled, "Juan Romero, Original Serigraphs and Lithographs in Limited Editions".  The back of the booklet reads, "Perspective Etablissement, Kirchstrasse 1, 9490 Vaduz, Liechtenstein".  I was not familiar with this artist, but the six serigraphs depicted are full of color,  movement, and wondrous creatures.  I am attaching a copy of "Inhabited Tree (1980)" to give you a taste. 

In exchange for this treasure found in one of our Little Free Libraries, I was thinking of replacing it with a book of poetry given to me years ago. Most of the poems in this volume have never really intrigued me.  However, as I peruse it this morning, I am wondering if some of the verses could be used in collages. That would probably mean cutting up the book, something I have never been able to bring myself to do.  As I ponder my next move in this relationship,  I leave you with the poem, "Eternal Father, We Were Locked up in You"  by Saint Catherine of Siena (1347-1380), translated by Willis Barnstone.  I think the three powers she refers to are love, intellect, and will, but I also think that may be  a profound oversimplification, if not completely wrong.  Regardless, I love the last two lines of this poem. 

     

Eternal Father, we were locked up in you, 

in the garden under your ribs. 

You drew us out of your holy mind 

like a flower petaled with our soul's three powers, 

and you planted the whole  plant 

in each power 

so the plant might bear fruit in your garden, 

might go to you with the fruit 

you generated in her. 

And you would come back to the soul

to fill her with bliss and holiness. 

There the soul makes her home 

like the fish in the sea 

and the sea in the fish.    

     

Blue Sweater (1)

 Earlier this week I attended a webinar hosted by Michael Verde of Memory Bridge. Michael's work focuses on the importance of being in a relationship with those who have dementia, not just tend to their physical needs. Dementia eventually took the life of his grandfather some years ago. At one point, his grandfather could no longer remember his wife's name. However, that did not mean he did know not who she was. The proof? When someone called their home and he would answer the phone, he would ask the caller to please wait while he handed the phone to the one he knew as "my beloved wife." His grandfather was blessed to know he was in relationship with someone he loved. 

This piece, entitled "Blue Sweater" was written some time in 2008, early in my ministry. I still remember the hesitancy of  asking him his name. I also remember the feel of his holding my hand, and my breathing a deep breath. When his breath joined mine, his anxiety calmed and then he remembered.  Sometimes we all need someone to breathe with and to hold on to. 

 

One of the earliest poems I can remember contemplating as a young adult was William Carlos Williams’ poem, “The Red Wheelbarrow.”  I never have felt that I really understood what he was talking about when he wrote “so much depends upon a red wheelbarrow glazed with rainwater besides the white chickens,” and I do not think I understand now.  But the words of the poem came to mind last week as I found myself thinking about a blue sweater.  

Last week, after a worship service, I went over to a man sitting alone.  He had taken communion a few minutes before, but he had looked so sad. I introduced myself, and he reached out and took my hand.  Because many of the people I serve struggle with dementia, I am extremely cautious about asking folks to tell me their name.  During my mother’s illness, people were always asking her what her name was. The question would often cause her much anxiety when she could not remember. Yet, despite my sense of trepidation, I decided to ask the question. Sure enough, he panicked and said he did not know.  He grasped my hand tighter, paused a moment, and we took a deep breath together.  He then exclaimed, “Vernon! My name is Vernon!”  We talked for a bit, and during our conversation I noticed his beautiful blue sweater with large buttons.  His sweater had been knitted in a shade of blue that matched his eyes.  I could not help but comment, “Vernon, I think someone who loves you gave you that sweater.” He smiled. He could not quite remember, but he smiled.   

        I recognized that sweater because even though I knew my father kept his house a balmy 87 degrees, I was always sending him a sweater, especially after my mother died. Just in case. Just in case he got cold – or lonely.  In my mind they were one in the same, and the distance between Texas and California led me to distrust the weather report. Too often, I simply could not be there just to make sure that all was okay, so I would send a sweater.  

       Therefore, while I might underestimate the importance of a red wheelbarrow and a white chicken, I think I understand a little bit about the hope that can be knitted into a blue sweater – the hope that love can identify us long after our names, our jobs, our successes, and our failures have faded away.  I believe we can trust that compass reading. In the unmapped and too often unclaimed realm of love, there God calmly sits and calls us by our real name: God’s Own.       

Universal Resonance

 I have returned to the book The Selfless Self by Laurence Freeman, OSB. Father Freeman studied and served with Father John Main to create the World  Community of Christian Meditation. He continues to serve as the director. I found the following passage to be insightful. It concerns a man who had been meditating for a few years "with the ordinary lack of 'experiences' that accompany the silent, ongoing change in our selves and lives." Then he was diagnosed with cancer at a time when he thought there was nothing seriously wrong with his health.  Father Freeman writes: 

"[The diagnosis]  shocked and stunned him. But then, at that very moment, he heard the mantra. The mantra began to sound and it rose in his heart with wonderful peace and certainty. From that moment until the time he was speaking, he understood more deeply  John Main's teaching that, through the mantra, we learn to hand over control to Christ. He felt every day, more deeply, the presence and the guiding spirit of Christ with him."   Father Freeman said it reminded him of a phrase that John Main wrote in one of his last letters in which he was describing his own illness and pain. He ended the letter with, "But it doesn't matter, it is all the Lord."     

The man would need to undergo several operations. After one procedure, he felt that his life and energy was so low that his death was a possibility.  Yet, in the recovery room, he again heard the mantra. However,  this time it did not seem to be arising from his own heart, but rather from the heart of all believers, "a universal resonance."

 Meditation is not about perfection. It is about the day to day return to the practice of opening our hearts to Christ.  Eventually, at some unknown and unexpected time, our very lives become imbued with this love.  There is no magic about mantras. A mantra helps pause our usual train of thought which can often be trite and repetitive, and can even be harmful to ourselves and those around us.  Once we become aware of these "tapes" running through our mind, we can begin to draw our attention away from them. They will fade, but yes, it takes time.  This is the "silent ongoing change" mentioned above. 

We are, and we are becoming. Christ be our light.    

 

The Selfless Self, Laurence Freeman, 1989, Darton, Longman and Todd, London, p. 128.    

   

Meditation via Zoom is held every Wednesday at 7:30 p.m., Pacific Time. Send me a note if you would like to participate. Yes, even on Zoom we feel the presence of one another welcoming Christ into our hearts.   Together, we sit in silence together for 25 minutes.  A short discussion often follows, but you are welcome to leave at any time.  

   

photograph:  Oakland, May 2021

Pentecost

 "But only here in this time, between the bursting open of the tomb and, fifty days later, the overflowing of the Holy Spirit, does the full awareness of what it is to live in Christ, with Christ, and through Christ finally dawn." 

Sister Joan Chittister, The Liturgical Year  

   

May you know the Spirit that is within you and holds you. Spirit is a trustworthy ally, a loving parent, and is your essence.  You are a holy spirit.    

   

image: Oakland, May 2021

The Neighborhood

 I think that at least for now, the construction work on the street is done. It was incredibly noisy, but I did find it  interesting to watch the workers. Despite the heavy machinery that was needed to rip  the street and bring new materials in, the men and women worked neatly.  At the end of the day, backhoes and other equipment were parked tidily, the no parking signs were placed on the strip between the street and the sidewalk, and the remaining pavement was swept. Quiet surfaced once more.  I do wonder how the workers endure such noise on a regular basis. 

Yet, as of yesterday,  I still was hearing no birds, and was worried they might not return. Even the mockingbird, who had recently worked so diligently from dawn to dusk to work on his repertoire that was  embellished with  flying leaps high  into the air that showed his fine wingspan, was not to be seen or heard.  Not even a crow's caw. Worrisome, and a bit lonely. Yet, I stepped out this morning, and heard a tree full of waxwings (I think) who had much to say.  I let their chattiness wash over me. 

We are all better off when we can hear the birds chatter and sing and simply go about being birds. 

 

This poem I read in our meditation group on Wednesday. Meditation is certainly a lesson in learning the luxurious spaciousness of the seemingly scanty enough.  

Every spring

I hear the thrush singing

in the glowing woods

he is only passing through.

His voice is deep,

then he lifts it until it seems

to fall from the sky.

I am thrilled.

I am grateful.

Then, by the end of morning,

he's gone, nothing but silence

out of the tree

where he rested for a night.

And this I find acceptable.

Not enough is a poor life.

But too much is, well, too much.

Imagine Verdi or Mahler

every day, all day.

It would exhaust anyone.   

 

Mary Oliver 

First Sip   

 

photograph:  San Leandro, May 2021. I am always grateful when I can hear the bees in flight. 

--

Every Which a Way

In my Qigong class, we have been concentrating not only on moving forward, but also stepping backwards and shifting side to side.  I am finding these movements fascinating. I think most of us have a tendency to look and move forward, and walk in straight lines. Efficient?  Yes, but too often, this efficiency can lead us to forget to look around at our surroundings, unless we are about to cross a street. Yet, life occurs around us in all directions. Furthermore, our structured pace is generally aimed at getting where we want to go, but may not be helping us to be where we really need to be, which is right where we are.  Eknath Easwaran writes: 

"The Compassionate Buddha had a rather mischievous saying: 'Not to have that which we want is sorrow; to have that which we do not want is sorrow.' We have conditioned our nervous system to one-way traffic only - away from what we dislike towards what we like. This is all right as long as everything is going our way, but unfortunately, all too often things are going someone else's way instead... Most of us respond to this by putting up bigger and better one-way signs: 'Stop! Do not enter! Go back! This means you...' For a long time in meditation this is what most of us are doing: reconditioning the nervous system to accept two way traffic."*   

  

*Like a Thousand Suns, The Bhagavad Gita for Daily Living, Volume 2, Eknath Easwaran, p.81-82.         

         

 

This piece is entitled "Every Which a Way". Both my parents used the phrase to describe a situation that was definitely not moving in an orderly fashion, at least as far as we could understand.  

  

photograph: San Leandro, May 2021. Yes, the beautiful tower of jewels are in bloom. 

 

There Is Only Light

I began my morning meditation with this thought from Eknath Easwaran: 

"So when we see someone seated in a corner with closed eyes, completely absorbed in meditation, it is wise to remember that he or she is not just a friend or relative, but someone through whom the Lord is beginning to do his work."*  

 About ten minutes into my meditation time, construction began on our streets.  Large trucks rolled in. The sound of brakes and shifting gears filled  the air as the drivers had to back up and go forward several times to get into position. Then the jack hammers arrived. It actually seemed rather humorous, because my own mind is so chatty. However this is a lot of external noise for 7:00 a.m.  As I continued to sit, I wondered where God might be in all of this construction and racket.  Almost immediately, the beautiful Psalm 139 came to mind: 

"Where could I go to get away from your spirit? 

Where could I go to escape your presence?

If I went up to heaven, 

you would be there. 

If I went down to the grave, 

you would be there too! 

If I could fly on the wings of dawn, 

stopping to rest only 

on the far side of the ocean -

even there your hand would guide me, 

even there your strong hand 

would hold me tight."

Psalm 139:7-10 (CEB)   

 

Meditation is not just about retreating to serene places, as much as many of us love to do that. We must learn to carry our serenity with us because the world will always be the world and we are of it. I am grateful for this morning's time of sitting in the Eternal Presence.  I was reminded that jack hammers and the human mind are no match for eternity. 

Today, I will visit two communities that SpiritCare serves. I would appreciate your prayers as we discern how to move forward. We cannot really go back to "the way things were". That is an illusion. Yet, God beckons. May we respond with hearts open and steadfast love. Your support and love are invaluable and I thank you.

 

*Like a Thousand Suns, The Bhagavad Gita for Daily Living, Volume 2, page 66

Eknath Easwaran has been a steadying influence for me during the pandemic. His biography of Gandhi helped me understand that Gandhi was able to do the work he did because he fell in love with the teachings of The Bhagavad Gita which Gandhi lovingly referred to as "Mother Gita" - truly the Living Word for him. Easwaran's translation of the Gita is beautiful. Easwaran passed in 1999, but I am certain I have dreamed of him and it is a rare day when I do not read some of his writings. 

   

photograph:  San Leandro, May 2021. I call this, "There Is Only Light." The shadows seem impossible, but there they are. Yes, this is our journey as well. 

 

photograph:  San Leandro, May 2021. I call this, "There Is Only Light." The shadows seem impossible, but there they are. Yes, this is our journey as well.