The Prayer of Saint Francis

Lord, make me a channel of thy peace;

that where there is hatred, I may bring love;

that where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;

that where there is discord, I may bring harmony;

that where there is error, I may bring truth;

that where there is doubt, I may bring faith;

that where there is despair, I may bring hope;

that where there are shadows, I may bring light;

that where there is sadness, I may bring joy.

Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted;

to understand, than to be understood;

to love, than to be loved.

For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.

It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.

It is by dying that one awakens to eternal life.

Amen.

Spiritual Anorexia

I gave myself a gift the other day and went to Kripalu Yoga Center for their Retreat and Renewal Program. One day, one luxurious stress-free day filled with healthy vegetarian food, yoga, meditation and writing. As I sat writing in the sun room overlooking the Berkshire Hills and Stockbridge Bowl, I realized that although I have regular contact with my Creator, taking time to pray everyday, I really only allow myself the bare minimum of what God can offer. A sort of spiritual anorexia, so to speak. I had been starving my soul of much needed quiet reflection, and had been starving my creative self of the tactile experience of writing on paper, notebook and pen meeting in the quiet, the room devoid of the click of computer keys and the jumble of icons and excess stuff.

My life has become crowded with stuff, an inbox filled with old emails, dog hair, empty soda bottles, books, and files, just stuff that lurks in the background, creating noise. Rarely have I time to meditate, to absorb the quiet and the emptiness which is really where I find my God. So I took my first Vinyasa yoga class in over two years and felt my muscles burn and my body sweat. I sat in the dining room alone and ate my food without conversation.  My body was starving and I inhaled the rhythmic pattern of my footsteps as I walked the labyrinth. On this flower - lined path I turned within, the way twisting and turning. Just when you think you are close to the center a twist in the path leads to to the outside, seemingly losing ground, but closer to the center with every step. Once you have arrived it is easier to find the way back to the beginning, one is no longer advancing to get someplace, one is just walking. Experience is a teacher in the labyrinth.

I finished the day with a gentle yoga class, feeling all aches and pains I had been ignoring for the last few years. I allowed myself to feel compassion for a body that wasn't as limber as a few years before, that held large amounts of stress and anxiety deep within the tissue, a body that really wanted to be pushing for the moderate class and elevated heart rate, a body that just really needed noise to hide what was. The present is always the hardest place to be. I think that is why I fill my life with noise, with clutter, chemicals and with technology. Being connected to Source brings peace. I need to feed my anorexic soul, not by binging, but by gently adding a few nurturing practices to my day. Unemployment is a perfect time to begin. I could pick up my old practice of morning journaling as I listen to the songbird symphony outside my window. I might allow myself the gift of a weekly yoga class. I could spend brief moments throughout the day finding silence and listening. I can feed myself and let it be ok. I'll let you know how it goes, my email is calling me!

Eclipsed by the Knight

The knight in shining armor, dream of many a small girl, and many a full grown girl. We yearn for the fairy tale, the glass slipper, the beast that turns handsome, or Richard Gere climbing a fire escape to whisk us from a life of poverty. A few nights ago I watched the latest Twilight movie, Eclipse. In this movie, for those of you who don't know, Edward and Jake are both fighting for the attentions of beautiful Bella. Both men, although one a vampire and one a werewolf, have only Bella's well being in mind (possibly some other things too!) They both want to protect her from other bloodthirsty vampires that are out to kill her. As preposterous as it may sound, being courted by a dog and the undead, all Twilight  fans have their own opinion, and join team Edward or team Jake. Is it culturally ingrained that we of the female persuasion (I do not speak for all, but if there is a market there must be a problem) must crave a man for protection and support? I will be the first to proclaim myself a feminist, but I also dream of the one kneed proposal, the man whisking me away, saving me from myself and my outlandish rent payments. The dichotomy is strong. I can support myself, I am a strong, independent woman, putting myself through a challenging college while raising a teenager without child support. But I grow giddy when Edward saves Bella from the dastardly vampire Victoria (sorry, team Edward here.) I root for wealthy Richard as he climbs the fire escape to ask Vivian, a prostitute to marry him. Disney and Hollywood perpetuate the myth, but it really started long ago in France. Chrétien de Troyes first introduced us to the character of Lancelot in the 12th century in "Erec and Enide." At this time in Medieval France knights were young unmarried men who would terrorize the countryside, raping and pillaging. The knight in Shining Armor was created as a marketing ploy. And a very good one at that. I have fallen for it.  I don't think I am the only one. Twilight grossed 392 million dollars worldwide.

Let the Mosquitoes Be Your Guide

I needed quiet time with God today. I also needed a long run, so I dropped my car off to get my snow tires removed (I think it's safe) and headed South on the Appalachian Trail. I wasn't sure what to expect as I entered a field that abuts Route 7. I turned off my music, sure that it would robe me of the total effect. Good choice. I arrived into a magical world, filled with lush grasses and maple trees, pine needle strewn floors and swamps. I traveled from the cool of a grove of trees to the mucky algal water of swampland. My feet were wet within minutes as I wondered just what the eel- like creature I had startled, was. I began to pray. The mosquitoes guided me across the terrain and I gave up on the practice of Ahimsa, wiping my sweaty arms, smearing the bodies as I went. I emerged from a grassy path onto a side road and continued through a field, the only sound was my breathing, sneakers hitting earth and songbirds. Traffic was a distant murmur. I was alone. Not really alone though. I know I was with God and probably a host of other creatures that watched me run by, the heavy footfall a contributor to hip problems and waking every field mouse in the vicinity. Each turn of the trail brought a new world, the only constant were my guides the mosquitoes, their unceasing loyalty to me made me feel important, needed, wanted, loved. The funny thing was, in the quiet, I wasn't scared. I entered the path with a clear mission, to spend time with my Creator. Field, swamp, forest, and on and on. I reached a point where I might have hit the road and continued to my final destination, my partner's house, where I would wait for my car to be ready for pick-up but I chose a different path, I continued along the Appie, unaware of what would meet me up the road, and unprepared, but armed with curiosity and naivete. The trail should lead in the direction of my destination right? More of the same terrain, right? I looked up at the rocky cliff in front of me, a mile from the turn off, my mouth parched and deer fly in tow. It was too late to turn back, or was it? If I had a map I would have known, so I forged ahead and proceeded to climb to the miraculous view shown in the above photographs. Turkey vultures flew overhead, close enough to jump up and reach, I was sure they were waiting for me to fall into the ravine, tired and dehydrated. I forged on, contacting my father for direction once I could text, amazed when he had, that day purchased a book on the trail, which he proceeded to share with me. Three miles until the turnoff that would lead me to my destination, three more mini peaks to go, Mountain Laurel waiting to bloom, Goosefoot Maple, relaying my altitude. Frustration, uncertainty and fear cropped up. Emotions I am familiar with, having indulged in fear cocktail daily for the last few weeks. But I was ok, I wasn't mauled by a bear or fed on by vultures. I reached the intersecting trail three hours and forty five minutes after I had left that morning. Maybe I traveled ten miles in all, many of those however were scaling cliff. But I was supported the entire time, almost four hours with only the sound of my breath and footstep, the rustle of trees and plop of a toad. I survived being the only human traveler, although my buzzing friends do get credit for their tenacity and devotion. I found what I was looking for, a sense of peace and space withing a fear-filled world. I was brought into the land, cradled, rocked and spit back out on the other side, reaching the faucet and plastic cup right in the nick of time.

Markings

My son let it slip the other day that my father did not approve of the tattoos I have gotten over the last decade, and said that I was poisoning myself. Typical comment from a concerned parent and I might feel the same way if my own child walked in the door decorated. What my dad doesn't know however, is that each of the marks I have permanently placed on my body have spiritual significance. The practice of marking the skin is not a recent phenomena. The oldest tattoo that has been identified carbon dates to 5,200 years ago. Tattoos have served many functions over the last 5,200 years, according to the Smithsonian, as amulets, status symbols, declarations of love, signs of religious beliefs, adornments and forms of punishment. My reasons vary from design to design, but it comes down to one word, "connection." Connection to the past and my heritage (Celtic knot work,) connection to significant life experiences (the water lily,) and connection to God. The latter, is represented well! A Triskell adorns my arm, representing the Celtic female trilogy, and Great Blue Heron fly up my leg, bringing me into physical contact with the bird that represents my spirituality. This bird lives within all of the elements, water, air, land and, represented by its brilliant orange beak, fire. Last autumn I realized just how much I was connected to these magnificent birds when I felt their migration as a physical loss and they are now with me wherever I go. Today I join 40% of Americans between the age of 26 and 40 who have chosen to get a tattoo, and with that decision comes a connection to history and the Divine.

What's in a Name?

Mother's Day 2011. Happy day to all who are mothers, all who have mothered, and all who wish to do so. Giving birth to a child, an idea, or yourself, these actions, they all seem to blend. I know that labor is painful, I do remember those 20 hours it took on a cold December day, 18 years ago. But I also know that the creation process, whether it be a work of art, thesis, business plan or any other project that uses blood, metaphorical blood, is birth. The expectation, the fear, the excitement leading up to the fact - the pain and  release during birth, and the emptiness one experiences after. I sit here on a beautiful May Mother's day, just having completed three years work of intense undergraduate work, my baby heading off to college in a few short months, and I feel the emptiness, the after birth. Cardinals are singing, the dogs are groaning in their sleep, and I am in the midst of a transition period. A very scary transition period. When you peel away the identities, the names, the labels, mother, student, employee etc, who do you become? When the job of raising a child is over, when the work is completed, when you are left in front of the computer screen, who are you? I think this, can you call it, existential crisis, has me befuddled.

I am about to become officially divorced, and for the last year have been going back and forth about my name. Am I my husband's name, I was married for 13 years, it is the name on my child's birth certificate. Or am I the woman I was before marriage? What does a name signify? Who do I become if I take on a different name completely? Who do I become if I earn that degree? Names and Labels. What is in a name? My last name and my graduation, in the same post. Are they connected in some way? I trust that they are, just as I trust that I will know the answers to all the above questions, when I am ready and open to receive those answers. Right now I am questioning, I am thinking my way through when it might just be ok to sit back and watch the birds. They, after all, don't seem to be upset with their names. Crows and Ravens never quabble, and Great Blue Herons seem to take it in stride. So maybe for today I will be grateful, grateful for my mother, grateful to be a mother (it really was the best Christmas present ever) and grateful to be sitting here, in front of the computer screen, listening to the birds and pondering my name.

Random Acts of Kindness

My weekend ritual includes a trip to my local Dunkin, for a very large super caffeinated coffee. This morning, the young woman manning the drive through told me that she is very happy to see me pull up because I am always so kind, and usually people aren't. This comment made my day, I felt amazing, pulling out and heading home (not because of the lack of kind people out there). The simple act of kindness, of connecting with strangers, is divinity in action. I cherish the "relationships" I have with local workers, the folks who greet me by name at the turnpike exit everyday, and the stories of their lives that I receive, bit by bit, add dimension to my day. I refuse to get an easy pass because it would mean that I wouldn't find out where someone went for their four day weekend, and no one would ask me when my next race was. I was disturbed recently to find that a large grocery store was handing out self scanners. You scan your own groceries before placing them into a bag. This conveniently eliminates the need to converse with anyone while shopping. I enjoy asking cashiers how their day is going, and then listening as they tell me that their grandson is sick or that they have a doctors appointment coming up. I feel as if I am part of a community, I am a thread within the divine web. Technology has both created more and cut many existing connections we have with our fellow man. We are available 24 hours a day to receive phone calls or emails, but we lose the face to face conversations that bring us in contact with other people. So for today I am saying no to easy pass, to hand held scanners and to self checkouts. I cherish the connections I have with people out in the community. I enjoy being someone who makes others smile, it is a gift that is returned to me tenfold. Try it, you might like it.