Walking a Tightrope: Tuesday's Reflection

Driving home along the River Road overlooking the Mississippi River, I noticed an unusual number of people gathered, many taking pictures with their phones. Several cars were parked in an area where that usually was not the case.

What was going on? I slowed down and saw a most unusual sight: A bare chested man was walking a tightrope across a deep gully between the road and the riverbank. I parked my car and joined the spectators (at a safe distance, of course). 

Slowly, precariously step by step, using his arms to keep himself balanced, he moved forward towards his destination, the other side of the gully. All of us who had gathered seemed to be holding our collective breath, not making a sound, not wanting to distract him from his endeavor.

At one point he lost his balance--something we all feared--but he was harnassed to the wire and did not drop to the ground beneath him. He was safe, except that he needed to swing himself back onto the wire and resume a standing position in order to walk to the other side. No small task. 

The crowd cheered when he made it to those waiting for him at the other side. 

I am not a risk-taker like that young man. Nothing drives me to do feats of physical daring, but in some way I identified with him. Maybe you do, too.

We are each walking a tightrope right now. We each pray we can get to the other side of this crisis without falling into the thickets of the woods below us. We each have moments of losing our balance and know how hard it can be to regain our equilibrium. We each know the challenge of being patient, taking one step at a time. We are each learning about our own limitations, but, perhaps, also our own strengths. We are learning about what supports us and what no longer matters. 

My family is on its own tightrope as we care for my father who is looking to the other side. He is peaceful and calm and grateful for the care he is receiving, but he is also ready, oh so ready, for this part of his life's journey to be over. He is ready to be received, welcomed by the God who loves him, the God who will say, "Well done, Richard, my good and faithful servant."

Some days the tightrope seems to stretch-out longer than the day before, and some days the other side seems close at hand. Some days are windier than others, making the journey even harder. Some days walking the tightrope feels lonely, but more often the support and love of others is within reach.

Perhaps you know these feelings, too. 

I rejoice in and take heart from the tightrope walker's skill, his ability to conquer fear and move forward. Perhaps you will, too. 

An Invitation
What does your tightrope look like, feel like right now? What causes you to lose your balance and how do you get yourself back up into standing position? I would love to know. 










                          
                        
                    

Walking a Labyrinth: Thursday's Reflection

A few days ago I walked over to the University of St Catherine's, which is only blocks away from us. My mission was to walk an outdoor labyrinth.

This time my experience of walking a labyrinth was different from any other time I've walked one in the past. 

While the question I pose when I stand on the threshold is never the same from one time of walking to the next, and it is also true that the insights I gain are unique to that specific walk, at least I am always able to follow the path. I know I will not get lost on my way to the center of the labyrinth, and I know, unlike when I enter a maze, that I will be able to find my way out of the labyrinth.

That was not the case this time.

I found the entrance and before taking my first steps, I closed my eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. I waited for my mind to clear and for whispers of what I most needed to ask to float through my heart. 

"What do I most need to know about this time?" 

The walk from the entrance to the center is considered a time of releasing. What do I need to let go of? What do I need to shed? What has outlived its usefulness? What is weighing you down? Walking to the center is a time to lighten the load in whatever form it currently takes in one's life. It is a time to empty, to clear the space. 

As I took the first few steps, I thought about the ways I hoped to use this time of social distancing and self-isolation. All the writing I could do. All the books waiting for me to read. All the other projects, and all the people I could connect with on the phone or by writing a letter, a real letter. (See an earlier post here.)

The message I carried with me as I stood on the threshold was "Be productive. Use this time well."

But what have I experienced in recent days? Well, a different need has replaced my optimistic plans. For the last few weeks my father has declined, becoming weaker and weaker, and needing more care. Needing my presence and the presence of my family. 

What I needed to understand was that now was the time to release, step by step, all my self-proclaimed expectations and thoughts about what I could accomplish. 

But that's not all.

The path on this labyrinth had not been tended and the path's stone borders had sunk into the ground and were overgrown with dried grass. The turns were not clear. "Is this the turn to another circuit or do I continue going forward?"  I wondered. I soon felt confused, even lost. I tried reversing my steps, hoping to see where the path was leading me.

Eventually, I moved directly into the center, hoping that would help me see the path. 


It didn't. 

The way forward was a mystery. Unknown. Unfamiliar. Unclear. 

Ah. 

And that apparently is what I most need to know right now. 

I stood in the center, even though I had not followed successfully the labyrinth's path, round and round each of the circuits, and I took another deep cleansing breath. The invitation of the sacred center is to receive. Because the walk to the center is a time to release, room is created to receive. There is space for something new or surprising. Clarity. Vision. A new idea or perspective or a solution to a problem. That doesn't always happen, of course, but just being there sets the stage for a new awareness and reminds me to stay awake.

I have no idea what the next hour or day or week or longer will bring. For my father. For all of us, you and me, all of us, as we face these uncertain days. All I can do is remember to breathe and to stay awake to what I need to release and to the gifts waiting to be received. 


An Invitation
Where are you on the labyrinth? Releasing? Receiving? Returning? I would love to know. 

Coping With Fear: Tuesday's Reflection

"Fear not."

"Be not afraid."

Easier said than done. you say. 

Especially since there is so much to fear.

What to do? How to cope? 

Ta'i Chi is one of my spiritual practices because it is a way to integrate the body with the mind and spirit. It is not enough to tell your mind to turn off the racing worries. And it may not be enough to invite spirit to whisper reassurances. Doing Ta'i Chi is one way to ground yourself, to steady yourself, even as you allow healing energy to restore and relax you.

One of the movements I teach specifically addresses the presence of fear. It is called Embrace Tiger. Tiger is anything you are currently facing in your life. Sometimes it is as big as a Bengal Tiger with blazing eyes and barred teeth charging at you out of the jungle.

Or it may be something smaller, but irritating and frustrating that prevents you from living with joy. I remember doing T'ai Chi by our pond when we lived at Sweetwater Farm in Ohio. The barn kitties, whom we called Edith Wharton and Henry James (no good reason) would scamper out of the barn and grab onto my pant legs as I did the Ta'i Chi choreography until I gently shook them away. 

In the Embrace Tiger movement, we look that tiger--that fear, that challenge--right in the eyes. We name it. We clarify it. And after doing that we send it back into the jungle, reducing some of its paralyzing power over us. Only when we know the fear can we begin to do something about it or at least not allow it to surround us. 

I invite you to Embrace Tiger. 

Begin by standing with your feet shoulder width apart and knees slightly bent. Keep your head level with your shoulders and your eyes looking straight ahead. Rest your arms at your sides. 

Allow yourself to feel grounded and stable. This posture is called Mountain Space because mountains may blow their tops or experience rock or snow slides, but it is rare a mountain falls over.  

Take a deep cleansing breath. 

Bring your hands together in front of you, palms up. Gently move them up the core of your body towards your heart chakra. Unbend your knees and stand straight, firm, and tall. Look at your hands, imagining them as the eyes of the tiger. 

Take another deep cleansing breath and then turn your palms down. 

Slowly, lower your hands down your body, sending that tiger back into the jungle. As you do that, return to mountain space, again slightly bending your knees.

Repeat this move as often as you wish, remembering to breathe. 

Even if you can't physically do this move, for whatever reason, imagine yourself doing it. Envision yourself embracing tiger and letting it go. 

Or when you feel shaky, stand or imagine yourself standing as a mountain. Feel the earth beneath your feet and allow earth's energy to enter the bottom of your feet and move throughout your whole body, nourishing you, reminding you that you are not alone. 

How good it would be, also, to write about what you experienced doing these moves. Did anything change for you? What did you learn? Was your tiger different from what you thought it was? 

As I do T'ai Chi in the coming days, I will open my heart to each of you, praying that you may be well. 

An Invitation

What most frightens you right now? What are your strategies for coping with that fear? I would love to know. 

Sidewalk Wisdom: Thursday's Post

Look what I found when I went on a walk. 

I don't need to add anything.

An Invitation
Where are you finding inspiration? I would love to know. 

Finding a New Normal: Tuesday's Post

Is anyone else finding it difficult to manage the new normal?

In my last two posts I wrote about strategies for staying at home and finding nourishment during this time of social distance and confinement, and yet, I, too, find this time challenging. I heard someone on the radio say, "I'm an introvert, but I am learning how much I need and want to be with people."

What are you learning about yourself right now?
What have you discovered to be especially challenging?

I know what I could be doing: 
        Writing more. What a perfect time to dig into the next chapter of my memoir. Have I don't that? Not yet.
         Reading more. I have had several false starts and have a pile of books to return to the library because they were not appealing. I think I have found a "go" finally, but I have not been reading my usual amount. 
         Walking more. I recently bought a Fitbit, but it is still in the box. Today is the day, I tell myself. The ice and snow are gone and even though it is still cold, I could bundle up and get out there.
         Praying and meditating more. I spend more time in my morning devotions, but I feel unfocused there, too. 

What am I doing? I am spending far too much time on my phone checking for the latest news about the coronavirus. The closings, the cancellations, the numbers, the pronouncements, the plans. It is time to divorce my phone--at least to set limits on my attachment to it.  I am sleeping more than I need to and watching more television than interests me. 

It is time to breathe and then breathe some more and relax into a new view of my days and a new gratitude for my own health and privilege to live these complicated days in comfort.

It is also time to accept the priority of this time. And that is my 96 year old father who has fallen several times recently. Fortunately, he has not broken anything, but he has become much weaker and needs more daily care and attention. That supersedes writing and reading time, for sure, but takes a different kind of energy. Lots of energy, actually. 

How many times have I said to a spiritual directee or someone in a group I have led or one of my own loved ones, "Be gentle with yourself." Well, I will try to honor my own advice. And I will forgive myself when I don't meet my own expectations--when I don't spend much time writing or when I choose to sit and watch something unmemorable on tv, instead of read. Or when my steps don't come close to 10,000, but how will I know if I don't take the Fitbit out of the box?

Instead, my drive to see my Dad can be a spiritual practice for me. The drive is a lovely one, along a parkway with a creek on one side and charming old homes on the other. I love seeing all the varieties of dogs being walked and the young children in strollers or scampering along the path. I cheer on the runners and walkers (all wearing Fitbits, I presume.) I have seen robins and hawks and turkeys and even an eagle, as I have been driving. Oh, and this large bunny, reminding us to smile. 



Each morning--and maybe at other times, too, I will sit in silence and know that is enough. I will know that I am being held and will breathe in and out as an offering to all who are feeling challenged during this time. 



An Invitation
What are your challenges right now? I would love to know. 

Spiritual Nourishment, Thursday's Reflection

The wild rice and cranberry bread from The Rustic Inn on Lake

Superior's North Shore nourishes me. I brought back home two hunky loaves from my recent writing retreat. The other night we had lentil soup, fresh raspberries, and grilled cheese sandwiches made with that delicious bread. Nourishing!

At a time when there is so much to worry us, so much that depletes us, it is good to think about what nourishes us. Good hearty bread and soup, yes, but what else? 

One of the books I am reading right now during morning devotion time is Joan Chittister's The Art of Life. Monastic Wisdom for Everyday. Each of the chapters is devotions for a specific month of the year and the theme for March is nourishment. 

              The daily schedule nourishes me; the sight of
               the familiar nourishes me; the silence nourishes
               me. The banter of friends and the rhythm of prayer;
               the best of music and the single shaft of promise 
               every new day brings, provide the kind of balm 
               no boughten balm can bring.  p. 26

What nourishes me? A list --in no specific order. 
*   Books, of course, and making time to read.
*   Sitting at my desk and digging into a current writing project.
*   Gathering around the dining room table with our two potluck groups--ah, the below the surface conversations, but the laughter, too. 
*    Sunday morning services--singing the hymns, sharing the peace (We use sign language now.), receiving communion, praying, listening to the always enriching sermons, greeting new friends, old friends, and those I don't yet know. 
*    Driving in the country, looking for eagles. 
*    Morning devotion time, sitting in silence. Breathing slowly and steadily as I hold in my heart all on my ever-growing prayer list. 
*    Enjoying a water view--big water, like Lake Superior.
*    Being with our kids and grandkids, feeling part of this ongoing circle.
*    Meeting with my writing groups, sharing our process, our frustrations and our hopes, and offering our insights and questions.
*    Hometending (Most of the time!), especially when I shift from one season to another.
*    Sitting with my spiritual directees--each of them a gift.

And so much more.

Creating this list nourishes me --open me to deep gratitude.

            Never take anything for granted--the people
            you associate with, the things you choose to do in 
            your free time, the television programs you watch.
            Everything touches us, shapes us, nourishes the
            thoughts we think. All of them are making us more
            or less what we are meant to be. p. 29

At first glance, it may seem that nourishing oneself is self-indulgent. I hope we understand by these later years of life that nourishing ourselves not only allows us to nourish others, but the very fact of paying attention to how we are spiritually filled radiates a kind of light in the world. And we all need more light. 

I depend on your light, and in turn I hope my light nourishes you. 

               Spiritual nourishment is anything that fills us with 
               a sense of the fundamental goodness of life, the
               clear and constant gifting of God. p. 30

An Invitation
What nourishes you? I would love to know. 


NOTE: You are invited to attend an interfaith book discussion at my congregation, Gloria Dei Lutheran Church St Paul, on Monday, March 23 from 7-9. I will be leading the discussion on a courageous and generous memoir by Jose Antonio Vargas, Dear America: Notes of an Undocumented Citizen. Vargas explores the psychological state of homelessness experienced by undocumented immigrants living in America. All are welcome.


Two other congregations in St Paul have also scheduled discussions of this book.
        Unity Church, Unitarian,Wednesday March 18, 5:45 pm dinner and conversation beginning at 7:15 pm.
        Mt Zion Temple Sunday, March 22, 1-3 pm.
If these offerings are cancelled, I will announce that. 

Staying at Home: Tuesday's Reflection

"Be prepared to stay home for two weeks."


Although the reason for this piece of advice is not pleasant and causes real concern and difficulties for many, as an introvert, I say, "Really, can I just stay home? That's not only ok, but wise?"

As an older person and a privileged one at that, I can choose to stay home, and I realize that is not possible for many. I am healthy and have good healthcare and have a strong support system in place, too. 

And shelves of books waiting to be read. 









My husband actually said to me, "If we have to confine ourselves to home, maybe you will finish your book." Wishful thinking on his part, I think, for completing my book will take much longer than two weeks, but, as long as I am healthy, I could make writing progress, I am sure. 

No doubt you've heard the recommendation to stock up on food and other necessary supplies to last two weeks, and I have just done that, but how else does one prepare for social confinement? 

For example, how many years have I had on my "this year" list, to organize all the family photographs. This could be the time. 

And what about those junk drawers and overflowing closets? People my age often talk about dealing with all their stuff? Sorting and simplifying. Go to it.

Do you have all the supplies for unfinished craft or sewing or art projects? What about the pile of DVDs you always say you are going to watch again? Like all the seasons of "The West Wing"? Are you someone who used to write letters, but no longer do so? Are there people you would like to stay in touch with beyond the annual Christmas letter? Call, write, email. 

If you still set an alarm clock, turn it off. 

Plan your garden. Knit a prayer shawl. Color. Do yoga or T'ai Chi. Dance to your favorite music. Sing. Play the piano. Look out the window--wash your windows. Set the table with your best dishes and eat soup or grilled cheese by candlelight.

Go for a walk. No, this doesn't break the rules, if you aren't walking with a big group of companions. You can't pass on the virus or get it by passing someone on the sidewalk. The snow and ice is melting, and walking without fear of falling is much more possible. Notice where daffodils are beginning to pop up and wave to all the children biking and shooting baskets. And while you are out and about, stock a Free Library with books you finish reading. 

For of course, you will have spacious time to read. Maybe even War and Peace or other books you've put off reading for lack of time. 

Write in your journal. Start a gratitude list. Create an ethical will.

Sit. Think. Pray. Take on the mantel of contemplation. Hold all who suffer in your heart. 

And then sit and pray some more. If you fall asleep while meditating, don't worry, you can begin your prayers again when you wake up again. 

Be present.
                 The practice of moment-by-moment presence,
                 breath-by-breath awareness, emancipates attention
                 from frivolity, from all that is meaningless, from
                 all the ways in which we squander this precious 
                 human life.   Kathleen Dowling Singh

Use this time as a retreat, a time to deepen your spiritual practice. 
This, too, can be a time of awakening, of acceptance. 

I certainly hope we won't need to confine ourselves in this way, but if it does become necessary, I intend to be ready. 

                         Let there be
                         an opening
                         into the quiet
                         that lies beneath


                         the chaos
                         where you find 
                         the peace
                         you did not think
                         possible
                         and see what shimmers
                         within the storm.
                                     Jan Richardson

May you be well. 

An Invitation
What do you think about being confined to home? I would love to know. 

Returning Home: Thursday's Reflection

Soon I will pack up my laptop and printer and books and papers and head home after these writing retreat days. Such a productive time this has been. I don't have a completed draft first of the current chapter yet, but I am almost there and have a sense of how to complete it. A good feeling!

However, there is shadow and light in everything. 

I look forward to reuniting with my husband, being in our home once again, and enjoying the planned activities of the next few days. We will entertain two small groups, one Thursday afternoon and another Sunday evening. We have tickets to a play Friday, and we will also attend the middle school play at our grandson's school. (He is the sound guy for the play.) I will visit my Dad one afternoon and, of course, there is church on Sunday. And I have a lengthy To Do list awaiting my return.

All good, but what happens to the retreat? Will I be able to carve out any time to write?

The good news is that I return newly inspired and, like Joe Biden, have momentum. I feel refreshed and restored and committed--once again--to this long process of writing a spiritual memoir, but I will no longer be on a retreat.

Life outside of retreat time requires more juggling, more choices, more this and that, more appointments and interactions, more opportunities and possibilities, more requirements and responsibilities. More. 

None of that is bad, I hasten to add, but life back home is not a writing retreat. My ongoing dilemma, as part of living a full life, is to set aside time, not just to write, but to return to stillness and listen for the voice of God. That seems easier when I am on a retreat. The challenge is to bring that stillness, that openness, that spaciousness into each day no matter where I am and what I am doing. 

My word for the year is "fullness, " as I have noted here. Fullness is not the same as busyness, but how easy it is to fall into that trap and to think that the more I do, the richer my life will be. Instead, I am trying to embrace the "fullness of the partial." (Yearnings, Embracing the Sacred Messiness of Life by Rabbi Irwin Kula, p 255) Fullness does not mean everything. Fullness does not mean always saying "yes," but it also doesn't mean always saying "no." Sometimes fullness means setting aside something, in order to make room for something else or to move in a different direction, at least for a few blocks. 

Fullness means being aware of how we live and move in the world and how we are living God's hope for us. 

I will have writing time once I am home. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but I will create that time. I will not lose what I have gained these past days, but, instead, these retreat days will continue to live in me in ways I don't yet know. 

                    It matters supremely to God that you
                    live the fullness of who you are. 
                                    At Sea With God
                                    Margaret Silf, p. 37

An Invitation
How are you living the fullness of who you are? I would love to know. 

Writing Retreat:Tuesday's Reflection

Settling into a new space never takes me long. Granted I have had lots of practice in my life. I like unpacking--much more than packing, and I like creating a feeling of home, even when it is temporary, as in a few days.

Here I am in Two Harbors, Minnesota with a view of Lake Superior. A dear friend who is a poet invited me to spend time with her at her family's time share. My husband and I have been here before with them, but for a few days it is just we two writers. 

When she picked me up Sunday morning, I warned her about all I was bringing with me. Not many clothes, but a couple bags of food, including lentil soup I made for us and Honeycrisp apples and a substantial loaf of brioche bread from Golden Fig, a gourmet food shop not far from our house. The owner assured me I would never want to eat another kind of bread--great for French Toast or grilled cheese or just slathered with butter. 

I look forward to that, but the main reason for being here, other than time with my friend, is to write. I filled a roller bag suitcase with my writing supplies, as if I were going to be here the rest of the winter. I explained to my husband when he wondered about how heavy my suitcase was that I am beginning the draft for a new chapter in my spiritual memoir. "I am not sure of the focus yet for this chapter, and I don't want to get stuck because I don't have what I might need." Thus, a suitcase of old journals and key books I read during the years that will be the subject of the new chapter. I brought a printer, too, because I like to print out even the roughest of rough drafts. Fortunately, my writing friend understands and didn't make fun of me as we loaded her car. 

And now here I am. Ready, set go.

Within minutes of being here I set up my desk area on one end of the dining room table. The printer is behind me on a tv table. 








I can see the lake from where I sit. The shore is dotted with old snow, but the water is open with quiet ripples. 

Quiet ripples. That's what I feel, too. 

Quiet ripples of ideas and thoughts and images to explore. Time and space to explore where those reflections take me and become words on a screen. Calm energy to honor the task I have set before myself. All with the lake in front of me, its depth, its vastness, its beauty, its receptive energy. Home to my soul and my creative spirit.

The last thing my husband said as I opened the car door was "Be productive." As I write this on Sunday evening, I hope that the coming days will, indeed, be productive. How nice it would be to return home with this new chapter's first rough draft, however rough, but whatever the word count, I know I will carry home with me the gentle flow of quiet ripples. 

May it be so.

An Invitation
What quiet ripples are you feeling in your life? I would love to know. 

NOTE: Last April I went on a writing retreat, also. You can read about that here.