February 13, 2012

January 25, 2012

Mistakes are the usual bridge between inexperience and wisdom.

~ Phyllis Theroux

ON BUILDING BRIDGES

Knowledge is information. It is cerebral. It is about “knowing stuff”. We acquire knowledge from books and from listening to lectures and by observation.

Learning requires that we engage in some form of action that involves application of our knowledge. We must experience the knowledge. It is a process. We read a recipe and then we chop and mix and simmer and season. Now we have learned what it is to make soup. We read about healing a relationship and then we gather our courage and speak of that which is in our heart to our friend, our beloved, our colleague. We are learning to make human connection that heals.

Engaging in the learning process of applying our knowledge involves many lessons. A baby taking his first steps does not run around the block. In fact, he falls down every few steps! The first number of times I share honestly from my heart my words and tone may be mixed with fear, anger and defensiveness. It will be messy. But how else will I learn to run if I do not first learn to walk? How else will I learn to forgive and to love unconditionally if I do not first release that which prevents my forgiving and loving? How do I release my negative energy and cleanse old wounds or new without first acknowledging my pain? Like the baby letting go of the edges of furniture, like the six-year-old giving up his bicycle training wheels, will I find the courage to release my old defenses and mistrust? Initially, how could I not be awkward, like the baby stepping out on his own across the wide expanse of the living room?

Learning involves making missteps. It involves falling off the bicycle a few times before riding down the trail. Before I grow proficient and wise I will burn the dinner, cut my finger, drown a cactus, fold a few loads of pink stained laundry, starve a hamster, show up to meetings completely unprepared and yes, cause a sweet child to cry. And my friend. And my colleague. And the tired waitress who I criticized for the messed up order.

Active application of knowledge is to learning what experience is to wisdom. I like the image of mistakes being the bridge between inexperience and wisdom. Each time I mess up in a relationship, if I am willing to step back and observe what happened, I gain a piece of knowledge—a board in my hand. If I apply that knowledge the next time I am in a similar situation with someone, I am learning—how to trust, perhaps, or how to love, or growing the quality of patience. I hammer that board into place, building my bridge. Each time I am given the opportunity to practice this new learning, I gain experience. More boards, more nails; the bridge is growing, reaching for the other shore. In time, my experience produces proficiency and skill in my ability to communicate—including being able to forgo judgment and knowing when to hold my tongue. The sum of my knowledge, learning and experience makes it possible for me to trust and to love much more deeply and unconditionally than that first day when I looked inside my heart and saw the mess that was there. My bridge is complete. I’m on the other side.

My life is an interesting study in bridges. All manner of designs, materials and lengths, some are currently under construction. Many are beautiful and complete and provide me access to interesting lands. A few that once were lovely have fallen into disrepair. Have you ever defaulted into old behavior patterns and had to learn again an old lesson?

Today’s Practice

Rather than seeing my mistakes as endpoints or failures, today I regard them as necessary bridges to eventual understanding.

December 2, 2011

Yesterday I walked up the road to the tracks in an inch of fresh snow fallen during the night. A bright blue sky, sun diamonds at my feet and sparkling along the boughs of trees. A red-headed woodpecker inspected a tree I stood beside. Above me a family of little House Finches were playing musical chairs.

The morning was soft-spoken. A tree laden with brilliant orange berries hung over the road, backlit by the brilliant blue of the sky.

An apple tree came into view. A few dozen apples, grey and shriveled hung from the branches where they had lived the one life they had known. Each wore a little white cap of snow. Too afraid to give themselves to their greater purpose, they clung steadfastly to the first truth of life they had known. Though the time came to grow beyond the delight of summer sun and gentle rains and give themselves to nourish others—to experience falling into the hand of a child, or the pie-maker, or the embrace of Earth and the hungry Doe—they clung to their little branch until their time expired. There they remain, lifeless, swaying in the brilliant winter morning.

A wave of sadness washed gently over me. They would not share their life, but in their death they have inspired me to live without fear.

November 28, 2011

I like Brenda Ueland’s admonition to “keep a slovenly, headlong, impulsive, honest diary” as her solution to the need for writers to write everyday. I too often spend my energy beating myself up for all the days I haven’t done this, or the walk I didn’t take or the cleaning I didn’t do or the meditation I skipped—how silly is this? What is the appeal to this way of living that draws my Ego like a drug? My daily Shame fix. Would I know how to live without it?

Shrugging off the crave, I look around me and I keep my promise to myself. I will focus today on beauty, on what gives me joy, on feeling wonderful. I will smile through my day and radiate love to others. If that is all I achieve, it will be enough. At least for today.

I watched THRIVE last night, a comprehensive documentary on the state of the world and how we got to where we are. It matter-of-factly presents research that confirms all kinds of conspiracy theories that we haven’t wanted to believe. We are shown where we have, and continue to trustingly, gullibley participate in our own destruction. We are confronted with what our world is quickly becoming if nothing is done to stop it. This is one wake-up call that makes it difficult to hit the snooze button and go back to sleep. I am stunned and sobered. I realize that anger and rage will not change anything—unless it is the only way I am able to remain awake. Unless it is the only fuel that will propel me to action. But what action? What do we do when we are filled with raging anger? Try to fight a monster equipped with weapons of mass destruction with a paring knife?

Those who have been telling us that the answer lies in this: that we must do the internal work we need to do in order to live from our hearts, from love and kindness and forgiveness, are absolutely correct. We need to move into action led by the most powerful forces in the Universe—Light (knowledge and wisdom) and Love (kindness, forgiveness, compassion) and Joy (creative power). Darkness is displaced only when we cause light to shine, no matter how small the light. Love has always triumphed over fear and hate. Joy allows creative energy to flow.

I watched another film, 2012: A Message of Hope . And, despite the suffering and sorrow and horrors and all that is at stake on our planet, the message was: “Do not fear. Meditate. Be led by your heart. Do what you do from Love.” Love is the opposite of fear. And science has proven that the electro-magnetic field of our heart is much more powerful than that of our brain. The wisdom of the heart and decisions and actions taken based on the heart have more power and generate more creativity and life than those of the brain/mind. Interesting.

Love. Gratitude. Joy. These are my talismans—that which I can activate, focus upon and allow to guide me through each day. I trust that the more I do so, the fear and dread and shame that rule so much of my life will weaken and slowly lose their grip and I will be free like I have never been. I won’t be afraid then to show up where I am needed.

And when I show up, there is one more light dispelling the darkness.

As the host of the film tells us at the end, the power wielded by those who have controlled the world completely depends on us, the people. Without our cooperation, without our collusive behavior, their power will fail. Without the darkness of our ignorance they are exposed. Will we accept the time we were born to and do what must be done to reclaim our Earth Mother and the right of Her children to thrive? Or, like the traitor in the film The Matrix, will we choose to go back to sleep?

I like this quote by George Carlin; “The owners of this country know the truth: It’s called the American dream because you have to be asleep to believe it.”

November 3, 2011

Minnesota is going to war. It was declared by a small, noisy group of people who hold very tightly to the belief that their understanding of the Universe, of Life and of how it all came to be is absolutely, unshakably, undeniably, fundamentally the Way that It Is. Because they believe that their knowledge is the only knowledge that is accurate and true, and includes a direct connection with the Creator of All of It, they believe any other opinion or insight, idea or belief is wrong and therefore immaterial and invalid. They therefore have little to no respect for these other positions, perspectives and beliefs. It is not a very big step then to hold little respect for the people who embrace those other positions, perspectives and beliefs. They become The Enemy, even of God Himself.

I wonder what sort of world they think this would be if we all dutifully lined up and lived our lives according to their rules? If all people everywhere abandoned their heritage, culture, their stories and beliefs and embraced the heritage, culture, and rules of this one privileged group—what would it be like? Do they have any idea? Would we all get along then—the way they do among themselves? Would this make their God finally smile and allow only good things to occur upon the Earth? Would this One be willing then to bail us out of our foolish ways that have poisoned the very Earth this One entrusted to us to care for and enjoy? What is it they expect to happen when they take back their state and their country for their God and away from those who follow a different Way…?

Minnesota is going to war. A few of the representatives of this small, noisy group who hold positions of political power have introduced a proposal to amend the Minnesota Constitution to declare that a man absolutely may not enter into legal marriage with another man, nor a woman with another woman. (S.F. No. 1308) This is one legal contract that this group believes is sacred and by divine law may only be entered into by one man and one woman together. They are determined to see this amendment pass next November and are mobilizing their forces to see to it that it does. There will be thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of dollars spent on advertising in order to amplify their angry voices and fill the airwaves with their brand of righteousness. They will be asked why such an amendment must be passed and they will tell us that our state and our country must be protected from the iniquity of such people or the wrath of God will be visited upon us. These people, homosexual people, will be vilified, as will anyone who accepts or supports them. Dung on the soles of our righteous shoes.

Minnesota is going to war. There will be those who will stand firm against this small, noisy group. They will say, “NO…this is not the way of righteousness—which only means to live with honor and integrity.” They will say, “It is not men loving men, or women loving women who have brought Judgment down upon us—if by Judgment you mean sickness, floods, financial collapse, earthquakes, tsunamis and leaking nuclear reactors, polluted waters, hurricanes, foreclosures, droughts, unemployment, tornadoes, homeless and starving, wars and rumors of war.” It is humans not loving one another. It is humans not loving the Earth. It is humans worshipping their chosen Way of Life over loving their neighbors as themselves. It is humans abdicating their personal responsibility to a vague and sinister group of puppeteers.”

And the accusations will fly. Where there might have been a paradise, there will be left only a scorched earth, whether of the heart, or the soil. And the children will be listening; they will watch and they will learn how it must be.

If there Is a God, He will weep.

Once upon a time in my life I was a member of that elite group who believes that they hold the keys to the Kingdom of God—that they alone know and understand the Truth of the Universe. When I was growing up, I had never heard of a homosexual. They lived underground and in dark closets, and the larger society was barely aware of their presence. As a young woman and a new initiate into fundamentalist Christianity, I learned of this strange practice of homosexuality and was shocked and appalled. Sex was tainted by so much shame I could barely wrap my brain around the goodness and beauty of heterosexuality, none-the-less homosexuality. I read the proscribed passages in the Bible that denounced homosexuality and that was it. It was gross, it was wrong, it was an evil thing—and those who engaged in this practice were sick and perverted; lost souls. We had to either save them, or shut them down. They were gaining publicity and fighting for rights the like of which they’d never had and never should have had and if we, the guardians of the spiritual well being of our nation did not stand firm against this latest work of Satan, who would? And so we real Christians focused on the two spawn of Satan that would take our nation down if we didn’t defeat them—the Abortionists and the Homosexuals.

And then in his 19^th year, my beloved baby brother came to visit me. My beloved little brother who had always had a tender, loving soul; who was sweet and insightful; who loved God and loved people; who wanted to make the world a better place; who had a charming sense of humor. He told me he was gay. My little brother—one of those people.

I was devastated. I couldn’t believe how accepting my parents were. I railed and threatened and preached. I cried and mourned and feared for his soul. I felt like the brother I had loved had died, leaving this imposter in his place. I am sure I deeply wounded my brother with my judgment and my rejection. But he never retaliated.

It took me several years to find my way through that difficult lesson. The first breakthrough came when I went to buy him a birthday card. I was in a hurry and having shackled my affections for him, it had become difficult to find a suitable card. As I entered the card shop I threw out a silent plea, “Please help me find the right card fast!” I approached the birthday section and looked for Brother. Found it; reached out my hand and grabbed a card. I don’t remember what the outside said, only the message inside: I’m so glad you are my brother!

I stood rooted to the floor, immobilized. A quiet voice inside me asked, “So, are you glad he’s your brother?” And the tears came. I wasn’t glad. I was ashamed. And I was ashamed that I was ashamed. I was confused. My heart longed for him and yet withdrew. I stood crying in the middle of the card shop. I bought the card. And with it hope that somehow I would find my way through this and back again to Love.

Sometime later, I don’t recall now if it was months or a year, my family gathered for an afternoon. My little brother was there. He was sitting in a chair with a wide armrest and I was perched on the armrest facing him, chatting away about something. Some invisible One tapped me on the shoulder. “Notice what you are doing.” Suddenly I realized that I was enjoying this conversation with my brother. It wasn’t awkward. I wasn’t reserved and judging and anguishing. He was just—my brother.

Little by little, year by year, I learned. I grew. I found my way back to my brother. I read about the scientific studies of what causes homosexuality in those children born to it. I read about cultural attitudes and traditions in other places and in other times in history. I realized that this phenomena has always been part of our human experience—sometimes highly respected and valued, sometimes accepted as part of the whole of human experience, and less often, reviled and rejected such as we have done in our time and culture.

As I broadened my understanding and knowledge base about homosexuality, I also began to broaden my understanding and knowledge base about many other spiritual/religious truths and traditions. I think I grew up the day that I realized this One, this God, this Creator Being was just simply too unlike us, well, just too big to foolishly try to recreate in our own image and likeness and then fence into a tiny little sanctuary. I am the one who is too small to ever try to comprehend the vastness of the Universe and how it works.

My redemption came the day I figured out that no matter what else we may think about God and the Universe and who we may argue with about how it all works—what it all boils down to at the end of the day is this: did you love one another?

Love. Every religion, every culture however they may differ, seems to be grounded in and founded upon this one Truth—Love, is the most powerful Force in the Universe. Whatever we may feel we are here to do in this lifetime, all that really matters at the end of it is, did I love? This God of the Christian Right is first of all about Love—or at least that is what their Holy Scriptures say. So, how can it be love to declare war on a minority of people who are no different than themselves save for the fact that they are in love with someone of their own gender? How can it be love to tear apart our state with accusations and judgment, hostility and yes, even lies?

I suppose the Christian Right has the right to say and do what they believe is correct. Including declaring war on their own people. But, that means then that those they are declaring war upon will have to stand up and speak out for what they equally believe is true. And while everyone shouts about who is right and what is wrong—we all will lose.

I wonder what sort of world it would be if we all respected, appreciated, and learned from one another’s heritage and culture, our collective stories, experiences and beliefs? Would that make this God who created such an infinitely diverse Universe and the Earth a jewel amongst the habitable planets, smile? Would we finally then find our way to healing this beautiful Earth that our ignorance and our greed and our divisiveness has poisoned and corrupted? Could it be that taking back our country and our state for God means becoming a nation that loves first—that emulates the Good Samaritan, that is willing to become our brother’s Keeper rather than his Judge? Could it be that to be Pro-Life means not only to be anti-abortion, but pro the babies being bombed by bombs our taxes paid for—pro the homeless children (and men and women) in American cities that outnumber the homeless in all of the rest of the developed nations combined—pro the undereducated youth with no hope for their future—pro the sick who are sick because we’ve lost sight of a balanced and healthy way of being in the world—pro the depleted soil and polluted waterways and suffering creatures of the Earth?

There is certainly one thing that the Religious Right might be right about—and that is that it is all about Love.

But then, we need to see it in action.

Declaring war is never about love. It is never right.

October 18, 2011

“Sometimes I have to make a simple, straightforward effort to do [the small thing I can do] so I will feel less like a screen door banging in a hurricane.” Barbara Kingsolver—Small Wonder

Too often these days I feel like “a screen door banging in a hurricane”. Some days that storm is raging across the pages in my email as one news source after another reports in on the ways we are tearing apart the world. My eyes, blurry with tears, I look out at the peaceful neighborhood where my house stands and don’t know what I can do. What I am willing to do. What I can afford to do. A screen door banging in the hurricane.

Sucked open by the black and furious winds—slammed back against the wall—leaving the room inside unprotected from the ripping rain and wind. Slammed shut again, trying to stand between that seething rage and the still inside. Blown back again against the wall—slapped and slammed—shaken insensible, of no use to anyone.

How many of us have been shaken insensible by the onslaught of information alerting us to the consequences now upon us of our ignorance and apathy, our self-absorption and our greed. We feel like so many little sticks being carried downstream in a river running wild. Helpless, powerless. Only now is the truth dawning on us that when enough of those small sticks collect in the same place, they create a dam that can hold back even the river.

Others of us cannot take it in, this stark and terrible truth of the crimes of our own government and the destruction of our planet—not just a small corner of it, the whole damn thing—by the insatiable corporate machine. Our filmmakers and writers try desperately to wake us up—but some cannot wake up—it is too frightening a prospect. And so they view these prophecies as interesting entertainment and go like lambs to slaughter, accusing those who would try to wrench them from the wolf’s jaws of being in league with devils.

Others of us are wide awake indeed, but afraid and confused and uncertain how to help. Some of us don’t know how to help—or feel we cannot because our time and energy are consumed trying to just keep the roof over our children’s heads and food on the table. Some of us are so rooted in the lifestyle that contributes to all the destruction, we have no idea how to change things.

Today the storm rages through the life of my child, stripping her of everything she’s hoped and worked for. Relentless, the storm has caught up to her; she can no longer hide from or outrun all that she has feared. She is being called out—to step right into the center and stand firmly in the Truth that she knows. The furious storm will not be denied or it will devour her.

As a mother I can see the lesson playing out in her life. But standing by, just watching, nodding my encouragement—I feel like the screen door banging in the hurricane. Yet, I am comforted by knowing that sometimes the most important contribution we can make to save our child, and the world, is to do our own work first—to do whatever we need to do in order to allow ourselves to show up with hearts and minds filled with love and with joy and with hope and with light. And from this vantage point, we will know what next to do, and we will build the road while walking.

September 30, 2011

“I now affirm that only the feelings I consciously act on express who I am.”

Who I Really Am…

Emerges from the illusions I believed to be true; ceases to re-create experiences that render Life without power, without flavor, without color, unappealing, unappetizing.

If Joy is the natural state of Being in the Universe, and it takes tremendous energy to close oneself off from it—why do I?

Payoff. I have to give up the “payoff”. I developed the erroneous notion that I could get attention and admiration, acceptance and love by being a victim—if not the victim of others ill-treatment, than the victim of Difficulty. When my friend says she admires me because I work harder than most to succeed—against challenges of health and circumstance, I feel “heroic”. It cuts the shame and gives me something to be proud of. But really, I don’t work harder than most. She said once that I have more strength in my little finger than the “girlfriends” put together. That’s not true either. That I have had to contend with fatigue and migraines through out my adult life—and “fight against” the debilitating affects of Shame and Fear may look heroic and brave. The sad joke is that I chose it, I created it in the first place. I didn’t know I did. They didn’t know I did. But now I know I did. And do. Everything we experience we create.

I chose to experience the world this way. Perhaps in ignorance. Perhaps by contract with my Soul as part of this incarnation’s journey; taste the dark and learn to emerge from it. In that sense, I deserve some thumbs up for choosing to find my way out of that tangled wood, for not giving in, not giving up. I knew deep down there was a greater reason for my struggles than just that I’d been dealt those cards, as it were. I wanted to know why, and I wanted to move past it into a place of healing and joy, of productive creativity and love. So if I am to be commended, it is for wanting this, choosing this, for making the journey.

I found the way out. I found the answers and the reasons. I know the truth now. So now Who am I without the “struggle” against depression and fatigue and headaches and paralyzing fear? Without the endless fixation on “healing”…and “facing the fearful demons”? My friend also said to me one time, “Geez, you’ve done more inner work than anyone I know—you’d think you’d be healed by now!” Well spoken my good friend. Especially when I don’t have a tragic, broken past. What I have are a pack of false beliefs that I framed and protected. They were the gateway for fear and shame and negativity; for fatigue and headaches and stress induced irritability. For rage and judgment.

The curtain has been raised and the illusion exposed. I no longer have the excuse of ignorance or helplessness for my allowance of the old patterns. There is absolutely no reason for Joy to be shut out while Fear sits at table waited upon hand and foot. I am fully Master of my Life, Creator of my Experience. I know this now.

So why would I trade my freedom and all its beauty and joy and love and success and rewarding work for a tiny dank cell filled with tormentors. (J.K. Rowling had it spot-on when she invented the Dementors—hellish beings who feed on all the beauty and light in our soul.) Why indeed!

It is a lie that it takes a lot of work to burst the bubble of the illusion. It is a lie that it takes a lot of energy to pivot a negative attitude, or negative energy or negative emotions to the Light. It is simply a choice. The lie makes it seem that it has powerful energy and will require the same or more from me to overcome it. It’s just a lie. If I stretch out my hand and pull back the curtain, all that’s there is a little old curmudgeon with a stinky cigar clenched between her toothless gums pulling a lot of strings and flipping a bunch of switches to create the hologram she wants me to believe is the reality of my life.

I’m not buying it anymore.

2011-08-26

It was the frantic fluttering that caught my attention. I couldn’t hear the terrified cheeps because I was listening to Beethoven’s Ninth as I thinned out the wintergreen mint that had taken over the edge of the garden. Two tiny wrens were caught in my invisible fence. A third had escaped over the top.

I lifted the fine mesh fencing from the ground which allowed one of the little birds to escape. The other had tangled his claws and neck in his effort to break free.

“Shhhhhh…it’s okay Little One. Shhhhhhhh…” I said quietly.

Gently I slid my hand over his wings, holding him softly. He quieted. I slipped the mesh off his head and unwound it from his foot. In one flash he powerfully thrust himself out of my hand, backwinging to my left, only to fly into the mesh on that side of the garden. He began what could only be a birdie scream. From the tree on the boulevard loud cheeping erupted.

“You blundering idiot! You have got to fly over the thing! I showed you! I showed both of you! Come on now, pull back, then fly up!

“I’m trying, Papa! I’m trying! What is this thing? It is like a wall with teeth and claws!”

“Calm down, son. Calm down. It is called a net. Hush! The Big One is coming again. She will help you!”

“I don’t want her help! I don’t want her to touch me again!”

“She’s lifting the net. Wait for it. You can fly under it like I showed you.”

“Noooo!”

Wondering what was being said in the furious exchange of cheeps and trills and twitters, I followed the Little One to where he was beating against the mesh again. As I began to lift the mesh from the ground, he erupted into a loud rush of cheeping, and abruptly flew back from the fence, and then up, oops…up some more…oops…and over!

They were gone quickly. All was silent again except for the rustle of leaves in the tree, the buzz of bees in my mint patch and the whining of mosquitoes.

LET ME BE A FISH
June 18, 2011

Today I am a Fish swimming in the One Who sustains my life. I am surrounded by Him. I breathe Him. I am in Him and He is in me. If He were not, I would no more be alive than a Fish stranded on a sandy beach under the fiery gaze of the Sun.

But this morning I walked around, panting for a breath of God, as though I had indeed been cast mercilessly upon some alien shore. My heart begged for some sign of Love, some sign that I had not been abandoned.

How many signs must I be given? The lilacs are sending their sweet scent upon the wind. In the gardens up and down the block iris, purple and white, are unfurling their silken robes while the poppies and the lilies are preparing to burst forth in a Halleluia Chorus! Everywhere I rest my gaze beauty and life are exploding into being.

This afternoon I walk the railroad track that runs along the hillside above my house. Two streams are tumbling down from the folds of these hills that climb up from the Lake. As the track bends around the woods to the trestle, I catch a glimpse of the harbor below me. I stand and breathe the chilly wind and the lilacs for a space of time in which I am lost. I leave my fear and my wounded pride and my desperate pleas for Love there, in the pile of taconite next to the track. I turn for home, walking the six blocks on the rail, one foot carefully set before the other, and then the next, and then again…

I am absorbed in the moment, in this simple act of walking gracefully balanced on the narrow rail. I only fall off once. My heart is light again. I am awake and I am breathing God—as the Fish breathes Him in the water. I have been all the while—even when my head was bowed in such deep agony of imagined loss and abandonment.

I am well. I am whole. I am strong and beautiful and healthy and filled with vibrant energy and vitality. I carry light and knowledge. These are not silly affirmations to trick myself into believing happy lies. This is truth. The lies are the insidious beliefs that find footing in my mind and send roots running deep into my heart—the way the Snow on the Mountain sends it’s tangled roots running all over my garden. It is the Lie that croons a lullaby that pulls me into unconsciousness—into the nightmares where I forget who I am and from where I come. Truth casts away the anchor and I spread my wings and fly—I take the sky—I live, breathing the breath of God.

How is it that I so often exchange this Truth for the Lie, this freedom for the nightmares that wound and bruise, rip and tear until there is no beauty left? Indeed, what foolishness to exchange goodness and grace for suffering and hate.

Today, let me be a Fish swimming in the One Who sustains my life. And tomorrow, and tomorrow and again the tomorrow after that.