Day 3: Everything that lives...

I took a walk this evening, up to the park to pray and watch and listen - my camera at my side, of course. It is a warm evening with a lively breeze - fine walking weather for late summer. I had just finished taking a picture of some beautiful red roses, when I heard a man calling out. I looked up and he appeared to be waving at me and calling out to me in a friendly way. Since I didn't recognize him but no one else was around, I pointed at myself with a quizzical expression. "Yes", the large black man called out, hurrying up to me and shaking my hand. He reminded me that we had met, that he was the guitar player. Then it came back to me. I had passed him once, months ago, when he was sitting on the park bench with his guitar. He had stopped me to ask me if I knew that Jimi Hendrix was god. I hadn't heard this news before but we had parted under amiable circumstances. Now here he was before me again, greeting me as though we were old friends. He asked if I would like to take his picture. I agreed and he posed for me with a dignified smile. I showed him the picture in the camera viewer and he said, "Yep. That's me." He told me his name and we went our separate ways.

After my brief meditation, I headed on home. Just after leaving the park, I spotted an older white man with a cane, standing in the bus shelter. He had an interesting appearance and I mused that he might make a nice photographic subject - but I decided not to ask as I didn't want to risk disturbing him. I glanced at him with a vague smile as I walked by. "Are you all right?" he asked. Secretly wondering what about me had prompted the question, I replied, "Yes, I am. Thank you for asking.... Are you all right?" "Yes." "Have a good evening then," I said and continued walking.

I took the above photograph in late June, when the summer was still fresh and new. It was not hard to match nature's finery with William Blake's words, "Everything that lives is holy..." - each little leaf lined up in a neat row with its brothers and sisters, playing with the sun to make shadows on the large leaves, delicate pink blossoms in contrast. This holy bit of life had been springing forth in an abandoned community garden in the inner city, unstoppable and oblivious to funding cuts. Today, when I walked by, the large plot was quite overgrown and weedy looking - not so fresh and lovely, but still wildly alive and chirping with crickets.

"Everything that lives is holy, life delights in life." I delight in today's glimpse of the vast array of life - the guitar man, the older man who cared, the overgrown weeds with their crickets - they are all holy, as holy as the fresh young blossoms captured in my photo. Each is living out the unique lifespan bestowed upon it by the Creator.

I am holy. You are holy. Not holy like a sinless saint, fasting and praying in church - but holy with Life infused in each of our cells and organs and limbs (even the ones that aren't perfect). Go ahead - let yourself know your holiness, without judgment. Live it. Delight in it...

Day 2: Random Acts of Kindness

Many years ago, I was browsing at a craft bazaar when I was felt myself drawn to a table with t-shirts and sweatshirts that displayed different messages and designs. One sweatshirt caught my eye: it had a dark green background with white lettering that read, "Commit random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty." Although that phrase has now been around for awhile, at the time, it was new to me and I fell in love with it. I wanted to display it to the world. The only problem was that they only had one sweatshirt like this and it was a size extra-large (which I am not). I bought it. I wore it some but it was really, really too big for me - and bulky enough that it didn't fit well under my coat. I finally gave it away - not in a random act of kindness - but because I was admitting defeat. It didn't fit. I was far from ready at that time in my life to see the irony that my inner self wanted to keep the message rather than give it away.

I cannot honestly say that I have completely grown beyond that. However, I recently have been playing more with random acts of kindness. The thing that is so delightful about them is that they are so random. To give when it is expected, to someone I know or to someone who will reciprocate, can still be generous. But to give randomly has a recklessness about it that is simply liberating.

Allow me share my little story. I took the photo above while out on one of my morning walks to the park to meditate. As you may know, I have a special fondness for sparrows that I have written of before. That morning, once again, I found myself trying to capture the image of one of these flitty little creatures. Suddenly, one landed on the large cross in front of  a lovely old neighborhood church. Knowing I had only a few seconds, I focused and "click", there it was in my camera. The lovely little sparrow had seemed to pause to ponder the great Mystery ... before flying off in search of its breakfast.

There is a moment of joy that comes with a fine photograph. But then there is the need to share. So I used Google to find the name of the church's pastor - whom I had never met - and found his e-mail address on their website. I composed a small note to his congregation, thanking them for their presence in the neighborhood. I attached the photo and wished them continued blessings. It was such fun to send this bit of joy randomly, to someone I didn't know, for no particular reason but to share. (The pastor sent a lovely e-mail response; even if he hadn't though, my "random act" was still a great gift to me.)

Join me. Commit a random act of kindness. Let us fill the world with them. Blessings...

Day 1: On the path...


(I have been absent too long. My apologies. In an effort to make it up, I am planning to post five short posts, one each for the next five days. Each will involve a photo and brief text. Let's see if I meet my goal.)

A couple of weeks ago, while visiting my parents, I received an e-mail inviting me to join an online "poetry party". I used to write poetry fairly often, usually in times of suffering when I could find no other way to express what was inside of me. However, I had not written a poem in a quite a long time and I found the idea intriguing. I had a bit of extra time, in the motel late at night or when my parents were dozing, and the invitation included a theme. The theme (posted on the website abbeyofthearts.com) was to write of great journeys you have taken or dreamed of, the markers along the way, the risks you must take.

I found myself writing that first night in the motel. I say "I found myself..." because it just seemed to come out of me, without a specific plan or idea of what I was going to write. In fact, it did not even seem to be what I considered my usual style of writing. Yet I wouldn't want to give the impression that it was effortless. I wrote a number of lines and revised them, later revising after re-reading it, repeating this process many times until it seemed complete. I realized as I was writing that I am on a journey. Of course, we all are and I have been all along, but I hadn't thought very much about my life journey in recent years. I have been fairly settled in the routines of how I live my life, with the questionings of my youth no longer so urgent.

This poem, unlike the poems of the past, was not born out of suffering. I am still listening to it as I often "listen" to the things that come forth, wondering what it has to tell me. I would like to share my poem with you, so that you can listen too and perhaps write your own poem. (A word first about the image above: if you read my June posting, "You will show me the path..." this photo/quote may seem familiar. However, this image of the path is a bit different: narrower, winding and with rougher terrain. A new perspective on the journey?)

    poem

which way?

there are many paths…
or perhaps just one.

looking ahead,
i see my path.
the signs all point that way.
i plant my foot firmly on the road.

a moment later, i look up -
everything has changed!
all of my landmarks are gone.
in their place are
strange new signs i cannot read.

i want to pull my foot back -
perhaps this was a mistake.
yet my other foot pushes forward,
as if it knows something i do not.

i scan the horizon for some
sign or signal to assure me.
ahead of me, there is vast emptiness.
looking back, i find there is nothing.
there is no way back!

i panic.

knowing nothing else to do,
i look down to the earth beneath my feet.
i kneel.
… i see something there:
a tiny seed, planted long ago,
only now beginning to sprout.

my labor begins.
i cultivate the soil,
watering it with my tears.
the little seedling grows,
its tiny leaves opening one by one.

soon laughter and hope,
like sunshine breaking through the clouds,
warm the seedling’s roots
as they grow deeper and deeper
into the earth.

then come the blossoms,
too beautiful for my eyes;
then the fruit that nourishes me,
before dropping to the ground
and becoming new seed.

the path – it is within.
it always was.
and so my heart follows,
into His abounding joy.

               -mary

Morning Light

I woke early yesterday morning - or at least earlier than I intended, having stayed up a bit the night before. My body said that it wanted more sleep but I could see that my mind wasn't permitting it. I got up reluctantly. I could see that the sky was clear and the sun was pushing its way through the houses and trees that rim the sky of my urban environment. It occurred to me that I could take a walk. I have never been an early morning walker but I have always thought that it would be a lovely time to be out, with the day still new and fresh and cool.

Almost immediately, my mind was confronted with all of the reasons why I should not do this. After all, getting up early was a good opportunity to get more work done and I certainly had enough of that to do. Even more ridiculously, thoughts occurred that I should not disrupt my morning routine that includes drinking water and meditating. Besides, I was hungry. And if I took the time for this walk, would I be able to get everything done so as to be ready for an appointment that was still hours away?

I filled a water bottle from the kitchen tap, packed a bit of dried fruit and put both into a roomy canvas shoulder bag. I stuffed in an old towel as well. A long-sleeved cotton shirt over my t-shirt protected against the still cool air. And I grabbed my camera. The park was only a few blocks away and the sun was rising. I must go if I want to catch the morning light.

Artists often talk of the morning light. Ancient traditions have long directed people to pray facing east and many churches have sunrise services on special occasions. What is this morning light? I wondered. What have I been missing while making excuses for why I couldn't possibly go out walking in the early morning?

Just the night before, I had signed the "Monk's Manifesto", declaring (online) that "I am a monk, by the grace of God." This may seem a little surprising if you, like me, think of monks as men in robes, living solitary lives away from the rest of society. But I found a group online (by chance?) that tells of being a "monk in the world" who "does not live apart but immersed in the everyday with a single-hearted and undivided presence, always striving for greater wholeness and integrity". It did not hurt that this monastery without walls also is a wellspring uniting spirituality and expressive arts, even offering a class on "photography as contemplative practice". I had felt my spirit connect. Perhaps that is what gave me the extra push to move past my excuses and seek the Morning Light.

Come, walk with me. (The few photos the follow were taken as I went out into the morning light. Although I cropped and straightened a couple of them, I did not alter the lighting or color when editing, as I wanted to capture for you, as much as possible, what I actually saw...)

I stop by my neighbor's garden,
taking a picture of a rose
with its petals unfolding
in the early morning light...

In the lot next door
where the old gardening shed
hides in the shadows,
I see the sun breaking forth
upon random leaves and branches,
setting them ablaze
with its brilliant light...

As I approach the overpass,
with the smell and noise of
cars and trucks whizzing by,
I spot one weed among
the many that grow untamed,
a weed that in the sun
becomes a flower...

I cross the seldom-used alley
separating the convenience store
from the towering old church.
Even the bricks of this old path
seem aglow and living
in the light of new day...

I am at the park.
I roll out my old towel
upon the dewy grass.
I sit yoga-style, facing east.
Even with my eyes closed,
the light is too brilliant.
My extra cotton shirt
becomes my eye shade.


I am there, in the park, morning meditation upon me as usual, but not usual. The brilliant light. The air warming. Birds around me chirping and cheeping. Sudden loud barks of a dog being walked startle me for a moment until I settle back in, trusting that all is well... "Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now and will be forever. Amen. Alleluia." I open my eyes and stretch. I drink my water and eat my dried fruit, looking and listening to all around me.

I walk to the far end of the park.
The sun is higher in the sky now.
There is beauty,
more beauty,
as the morning light
brings creation into focus.

I take another picture.
I must show you
what I've seen.
I cannot keep something
like this to myself.
The light, the beauty
is for all of us...


I put my camera away and walk home. As I approach my house the words come to me:

My soul is awash with God.

The Morning Light has washed me, cleansed me, refreshed me. I am ready once again to be "immersed in the every day", my heart set apart yet still fully in the world.

* * * *

(If you are curious about the "Monk Manifesto" I signed, you may read it by clicking on the link below. Since I am a newcomer there, I am not recommending that you spend money at this site - that is your decision - but the free gift that came with newsletter membership was very nice.)

http://abbeyofthearts.com/about/monk-manifesto/

You will show me the path...

("You will show me the path to life, abounding joy in your presence..." Psalm 16:10)

I have not written in quite awhile. I have been busy, of course. But it has been a sort of curious experience for me, because I have wanted to write. The inspiration just didn't seem to be there. I could think of things I might write of, but the thoughts, the ideas, did not seem to coalesce and flow. I began to wonder why. Sometimes this happens because I am not taking enough time to be open to God. Sometimes I will have an idea to write of something but only realize later, when I have been set straight, that I was going in the wrong direction.

Another thought occurred to me this time though. I thought: what if it is over? What if writing this blog was something God called me to do for awhile and now it is done? Maybe there is something different I should be doing. First, let me say that I don't believe that to be the case. Nor do I necessarily see God as a micro-managing sort who has plans that dictate my every action. But the thought was an important one because I truly love writing this blog. It has brought me much growth and joy. If, for some reason, God did not want me to do it anymore, could I just let it go?

I remember that I was fairly well into my young adult years when it occurred to me that I had always assumed that what I wanted was what God wanted. It was almost as though, prior to that, I believed that if I liked, loved or enjoyed something, then certainly God wanted that too. Of course I see now that there are some major pitfalls in that perspective. As Thomas Merton (Trappist monk and writer) put it, "I was living as if God only existed to do me temporal favors..." Certainly a nice sort of God to have - one whose only goal is to make me feel good. What I want is never wrong and never has to be sacrificed. If dealt good fortunes in life, one can coast along this path for awhile, mistaking comfort and ease for harmony with God. However, when life suddenly isn't feeling good, it is almost impossible to make sense of it. How could God allow me to feel bad? Especially, to feel really, really bad.

A story is in order. I remember back when I was in elementary school, attending the neighborhood Catholic school, missionaries would sometimes visit our classrooms. They would tell us of foreign lands where they had served, living in great hardship with the native people. Although I don't remember many details, I recall mention of primitive living conditions, lots of bugs and diseases like malaria. My spiritual education blended into these accounts the stories of the martyrs, the great saints of old who risked and bravely gave everything, even their lives, for God. I was quite impressed by all of this as a young child. So impressed, in fact, that for some time, I imagined myself following that path, enduring the hardships without complaint, heroically suffering and maybe even dying... It never occurred to my childlike mind that following this path would feel anything other than good. I wasn't yet capable of conceiving of true suffering and was very far from realizing that I wasn't at all good at enduring it.

Fast-forwarding to a few years later, in my early teens, I remember a thought coming to me while sitting in church one day. I suddenly had the idea that my sufferings in life were going to more mental/emotional than physical. I don't know why that thought popped into my head but it had the feel of truth - and I certainly didn't like it. As I have grown through the 40+ years that followed that thought, I must admit that so far, this premonition has largely come true. And a major realization that has come with it is that I don't get to choose my suffering. In fact, it is the lack of choice that makes it true suffering. In my childhood fantasy, I was bravely embracing a self-serving scenario that would lead everyone to admire me and I would just slip painlessly into the glory of heaven... Real life, of course, is nothing like that.

The Buddhist perspective on suffering, as I understand it, is that most if not all of human suffering comes from our wanting reality to be something other than what it is. Whether we have suffered physical or mental ills, whether we have lost people or jobs or possessions, it is our fighting, our outrage, our rejection of what is, that makes that experience "suffering". When we learn to accept, the undesirable experience is noticed, felt and passes by, just as the more pleasant experiences also pass. Nothing, neither the wanted nor the unwanted, lasts forever. Avoiding suffering, in a sense, is accomplished by not desiring anything: I accept the pleasant and the unpleasant and it all passes, one moment unfolding into the next. (My apologies to those more knowledgeable than me; I'm sure my portrayal of Buddhist teaching in woefully inadequate.) I do believe that Buddhism has much to teach us about life and suffering. But it is not my path... for without desire, the path does not seem to lead anywhere. How can there be love, without desire?

("You will show me the path to life, abounding joy in your presence..." Psalm 16:10)

I have chosen His path. Or more correctly, He has chosen me and I am learning how to say, "Yes, I'll come. No matter what". If His path were to lead me away from this blog (that ponderous thought I started with tonight), I would still go. But there are many possible, even likely, twists and turns the Path may take that are far more terrible (and terrifying) than that. The Path may lead through wrenching pain - pain in my body, pain in my heart, pain in my mind. And I will not get to choose. I may choose to be on the Path, but what happens next is not in my hands. The wrenching pains will not be the glorious fantasies of my childhood. They may even push me to the very limits of my endurance. I may wonder why did I ever take this path... where is it leading? Is it leading anywhere?

I take this Path because it is the path to Life. Not more of this life, with all of its ups and downs and absurdities. The Path to Life - a Life infused with love and hope and beauty. The Path is not one I can walk alone. To try it alone would be to be forever lost, thinking that I have figured it out, that I know how to get there - and then, at the next twist or turn, find that I have no idea where I am going or why.

There is, however, One to lead me - to show me the path to Life. He does not show me by simply giving me a road map or a set of directions. He walks the Path with me. He is with me through all of the terrors, the twists and the turns, the sufferings that are not at all glorious but that appear to my eyes meaningless and absurd. He suffers with me, to help me get there. And it is the suffering-with-me that is Love.

No, I am not a Buddhist, because I do desire. I desire that Love - not just for me - but for you, for all of us.

Let us walk the Path together. Toward the abounding joy...

(To share some of my path, click on the image below. You will leave this blog and be able to visit my web album of photos from this spring. To view as a slideshow, click on the slideshow button in the upper left; to stop the slideshow, hit the escape button on your keyboard.) 

Abounding joy

(Something new: I have put a link to my all of my public albums in the left sidebar, under the "About me" section. This will make it easier to find previous photos that have been posted at other times in the blog's history. You are welcome to download any of my photos for your personal use.)

Dancing...

Easter continues... In my church, we formally celebrate Easter for the same number of days that we experienced Lent. So the joy goes on ... and on.

Therefore, I would like to share with you the entire "Butterfly collection", that is, the little paintings I have been making for the last few months, a few of which I shared in my Easter posting. I have created a short video with the paintings, the background music being "Butterfly Waltz" by Brian Crain (unfortunately played by me instead of him, but a gift from him nonetheless; if you like his copyrighted music, visit his website at http://www.briancrain.com/).

So let us dance our hope and joy along with the butterflies. (Even if you are not feeling hope and joy now, perhaps the butterflies will help you along...).