Deep Pain in Minnesota

I live in St Paul, Minnesota. Our home is just across the river from Minneapolis. The murder of George Floyd occurred not far from where we live, and the destructive, painful responses are in our loop of life. 

One of the Targets looted was the Target where I shop.

I heard sirens all through the night, and wondered what I would see, what I would learn when I woke in the morning.

And now I wonder how do we move forward? How do we heal? How do we change? How do we become the people we were created to be and how do we create a society, a culture that reflects who we were created to be? 

I do not have words, but I have a need to find the words that will drive my actions. 

Here's a beginning--from Thomas Merton.

            You do not need to know precisely what is 
             happening or exactly where it is all going.
             What you need is to recognize the possibilities
             and challenges offered by the present moment,
             and to embrace them with courage, faith, and
             hope.

George Floyd was not allowed to breathe. It is our job now to breathe a new breath of life. 

An Invitation
Please pray for us. 

Morning Walking Meditation: Thursday's Reflection

Yes, another one of those just right mornings. Not too hot. Not too cold. Just right. I could hardly wait to hit the pavement this morning, in spite of the garret desk pulling me. Maybe because of all I felt I needed to accomplish today. 





I set off with words of Thomas Merton in my head.
           
         All we need is to experience what we already possess. 

This seems to me to be a statement about awakening and awareness. Such good words. Therefore, I set out easily, joyfully, to see what I could see, to bless what I saw, and to reflect on what entered my heart.

Here's my morning inventory.

Roses. I love the exuberance, the abundance of roses that have been allowed to grow with enthusiasm for many years. How can I live more exuberantly, more enthusiastically, sharing the abundance of my life?







Curbside Garden. In Cleveland this area between the street and the sidewalk was called "tree lawn," a most appropriate name, I think. In our neighborhood of small lawns I love seeing how people use the spaces available to them. How can I best use these years given to me?









Screen Porch. I admit it I still have porch envy. Not many of the homes in our neighborhood have an open or screened porch, and those that do, don't seem to be used. I rarely see people sitting on their porches, and I wonder why that is. Don't they know what they are missing? In each house we've owned that had a front porch we used it fully. What is it in my life I am not using fully?



Sidewalk Saying. I laughed out loud when I read this one, for it is such a good representation of male Scandinavian reticence. If you listen to Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion or just live in Minnesota you know what I mean. What feelings am I not expressing and why is that?




Neat yards. When does neat and well-tended become rigid and boring? Are there ways I need to loosen up? 










Messy yards. I wonder about the people who live in homes where the yards and gardens seemed to have taken over, where all control seems to have been lost. Have they lost interest or physical ability or do they just not notice anymore? What is their story and is there someone who knows and cares? What am I no longer noticing and what do I need to tend?




Two Wishing Wells in One Yard. Does the owner have wishes that are too big for one well? What are my wishes, spoken and unspoken, known and unknown?

Hammock. This house not only has this luxurious hammock and pillow just ready for an afternoon book and nap, but also a screen porch. I wonder if they would like a new friend. How do I nurture myself?









Grecian Lady. The house where this elegant lady stands is simple and unadorned and in no way resembles a Greek temple. She doesn't seem to fit the location. What areas of my life do I need to accept with more elegance and grace? 

Mixed Metaphor. First, I notice the tall iron fence and concrete planters, and then I see the tin goats and gnome on the lawn. I laugh outloud and wonder how and why someone created two such different looks in one small yard. How can I live with greater lightness and humor? 











Ah, the gifts of a morning walk. 

          The quality of life is in proportion, always, to the
          capacity for delight. The capacity for delight is the
          gift of paying attention. 
                           Julia Cameron, The Artist's Way

An Invitation
I invite you to go for a walk today. What do you notice around you and inside of yourself? I would love to know. 



          

Tuesday's Reflection: Reclaiming Silence

In recent months I have been in exile. My favorite warm weather location at our home is the front porch.  I read there, write there, nap there, eat there. But these past months sitting on the front porch has not provided the sanctuary and serenity I desire. 

The Absence of Silence
 My neighborhood is a construction zone with several very large homes being built on the ridge across from our home, and quiet has been in short supply. Instead, I feel battered by noise. Lots of noise. LOUD noise. Intermittent, but frequently repeated noise. Sustained noise. Pounding. Booming. Sawing. Think dentist drill at exaggerated decibels. Think oil rig or lumber mill. 

Unfortunately, yesterday I added to the noise level of the neighborhood when our front porch floor was sanded in preparation for repainting.  The sound penetrated the tightly shut windows, and the air conditioning's white noise. 

By the end of a typical day I feel exhausted, as if I were the one pounding, drilling, sawing. 

Desire for Silence
I yearn for silence or at least the kind of quiet when the only sound is bird song or the occasional car going down the street or two people chatting as they stroll past our house while walking their dog. Thomas Merton said, "Living requires silence," and I agree, for it is in silence that I can hear my inner voice. It is in silence I am able to listen to the whispers of Spirit. It is in silence I soothe and sort through the mixed messages vibrating in my mind and heart. 

I am aware, however, that my inability to ignore the outer noise is a signal of even louder inner noise. At those times it is imperative to create my own silence.

The Practice of Silence
 Anne D. LeClaire in her book Listening Below the Noise, A Meditation on the Practice of Silence moves into total silence on the first and third Mondays of every month. No speaking on those days since 1991. That may seem radical and totally impractical, but she shows us that making room for silence in our lives is not impossible. 

Here are some of her suggestions: 
* Turn off the radio in the car. (Hard to do, for those of us who are NPR junkies!)
* Wake an hour early and spend that hour in deliberate stillness or end the day that way.
* Take five minutes and close your eyes wherever you are. 
* Have a meal alone. Without distractions. Without a book or magazine. (Another tough one for me. I never want to lose a chance to read.)
* When you are part of a group, experiment with just listening to the conversation, staying silent yourself. Observe your own inner dialogue. 

Often I begin a spiritual direction session in silence as a way to settle into each other's presence and to erase the noise we carry with us. In silence we allow what needs to be recognized to rise into awareness and in silence we clarify what needs to be known. In silence we remember that we are not alone and that Spirit sits with us.

 Merton encourages us to hear the "sound of life inside your skin," but that can only happen it seems to me if we adopt a practice of being silent. I know I am restored when I empty myself, remove myself from noise. When I choose to sit and meditate. When I turn off the television, the radio, the phone. When I close my eyes and take deep breaths until I turn down the rush and reach a slower, more deliberate rhythm. When silence envelops me and offers me a nurturing hand. 

The "Wet Paint" sign means I can't sit on the porch today, but still, STILL, I can listen below both the outer and the inner noise and practice silence, for as LeClaire says, "The garden of silence is always there for us."  

An Invitation
How comfortable are you with silence? What is your experience of being silent? In what ways do you currently practice silence? What are the possibilities for practicing silence in your life? I welcome your comments.