For the first time since last fall, I sat in the garden at the side of our house, a garden we call "Paris." The sun was warm--no sweater was required--and even though all was still plain and brown, I relished my return to this quiet space.
After reading for twenty minutes or so, I closed my eyes and imagined myself opening French doors from a small, but oh so chic Parisian apartment and walking out into a private square of greenery and sunshine. Traffic may be buzzing beyond the hedge, but for the moment there is only this--luxurious quiet and the bare breath of a breeze.
I took deep cleansing breaths, in and out, and felt my shoulders relax, my scalp release its tightness, and my hands unclench. In my Paris garden there is no hurt, no pain or fear, no loss, no worries.
With my next breath I lifted my heart to all who need hope or support or reassurance.
Welcome to my Paris garden.
May you find solace here.
May you feel restored.
Here you can be gentle with yourself. Here is nourishment.
Here your spirit is fed.
Breathe, just breathe.
An Invitation
Where is your Paris garden? Your place of retreat? I would love to know.
I think of myself as a voracious reader, but lately, my reading has been scattered, and I have been yearning for a reading retreat. I fantasize about heading to the North Shore for several days to read. I would want a view of the water and a comfortable chair and ottoman because I like to read with my legs stretched out in front of me. A fireplace would be nice. Good simple food, hot chocolate, some wine, and a shawl wrapped around my shoulders.
And, of course, a big pile of books. I would bring more books with me than I know I could read in the allotted time, but a book lover is always concerned about finishing a book and not having another one right there. Read the last page of one book and immediately open to the first book of another. Or there is the anxiety of bringing a book you are sure you will love only to discover you don't like it at all. Be prepared, is my motto, and bring a stack of possibilities. (I know that issue could be solved by reading E books, but I cling to the feel of a book in my hand.)
Louise deSalvo, author of The Art of Slow Writing, Reflections on Time, Craft, and Creativity, refers to "in and out" reading. Reading a few pages in-between other activities. I think of that as "stolen reading." She recalls the luxury of falling into reading when she was a child, bringing home a stack of books from the library in the summer and sitting on her porch and reading as long as she wanted.
The summer before sixth grade I read so much my mother said I wore out the upholstery on a chair. How delicious were those days of total reading immersion.
So what is preventing me from doing that kind of reading right now? I don't have the water view, but I certainly have more than one comfortable chair and ottoman in quiet spaces. Hot chocolate and wine are available. Plus, I have more than enough books to stack at my side, awaiting their turn.
I have been making different choices about my time. I do read in the morning during my morning meditation and devotion time, and usually I read a bit before turning off my bedside light, but more and more I put my head on the pillow and close my eyes as soon as I crawl into bed. What has changed in recent months is how I spend my evenings. We have been eating our dinner on trays in front of the tv (I can't believe I am admitting this!) and have immersed ourselves in one series after another on Netflix or Acorn. We just finished watching season one of The Great British Bake Off, for example, but we also loved Restless and George Gently and Foyle's War and Partners in Crime and Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries. Being able to watch one right after the other and as many as we want is seductive. One of us will say, "Just one more," and there we are for another hour.
In conversations with others in our age category I have discovered we are not alone in this new attraction and I don't feel a need to justify it, but like everything else, when I choose to spend my time in this way, I am not choosing something else.
Elizabeth Gilbert in her book Big Magic says, "If you can't do what you long to do, go do something else." I may long for a reading retreat, but I also know I don't want to take more time away from my writing. That happens enough as it is. Going away for a chunk of time just isn't in the cards right now. That means it is time to make some different choices.
This week we are eating at the dining room table, and after dinner I gather my current pile of books and move into the room we call the Snuggery, our sun porch, and I read ALL evening and even read more when I crawl into bed. It is divine. I am immersed in a novel called The Tortoise and the Hare by an English writer in the 40's and 50's, Elizabeth Jenkins, previously unknown to me, but I am also reading Mary Karr's The Art of Memoir and a memoir by Sandra Gubar, Memoir of a Debulked Woman, Enduring Ovarian Cancer. I have another book in the stack, The Last Gift of Time, Life Beyond Sixty by Carolyn Heilbrun, but haven't started that. Yet.
I am not saying this is what I will do every evening, but I listened to my yearning and realized what I needed in that moment was to make a different choice. I did that, and I can do that in the future.
An Invitation
What different choice could you make right now that would touch a yearning within you? I would love to know.
I suspect by this stage of our lives we each know what we need to do, whether it is for the health of our body, our mind or our spirit, but how often do we actually do what we most need?
In recent posts I mentioned the retreat I co-facilitated recently. I truly love preparing for and offering retreats, but they require excessive amounts of time and energy, and at the end of a retreat I am tired mentally and physically. Spiritually, I feel almost too full. Absorbed by people's stories and challenges. Inspired by and eager to integrate the wisdom shared, but how?
My normal mode of operation when making a transition from one major activity or event to whatever is next is to clean, to sort and organize. When returning from a vacation, for example, I immediately unpack. Suitcases are returned to storage and laundry is started. Mail is sorted and if early enough in the day, I make a trip to the grocery store for the basics. Re-entry is not delayed.
When something has required time and attention and lots of preparation and when other projects and even ordinary tasks have needed to be set aside, I am usually eager to do whatever it takes to return my normal routine. I assumed I would follow that usual plan of action after the retreat, but I surprised myself.
I got as far as unloading all my retreat stuff from the car into the entry of the house, but then there they sat. I made no further efforts to reshelve the books, to file the papers or return the various props used throughout the day to their proper spots. I left it all in a pile right inside the door. I decided I could deal with it another day.
I knew what I needed was time to empty, to make room for what was most essential, to restore energy. I knew what would help me bridge the recent time of intense activity and interaction and would return me to equilibrium. I needed to see Big Water. I needed to hear Big Water.
Therefore, the day after the retreat Bruce and I drove north to Duluth and along the North Shore of Lake Superior toward Split Rock Lighthouse. I didn't have a list of sights to see or things to do. I did no research, except to see what the weather forecast would be. We had no real plan, but just headed north. Towards Big Water.
Each time we stopped to take in the view I could feel a shift inside my body. I started to empty and make room for some needed spaciousness. As the waves landed on the shore and then retreated back out beyond where I could see, I felt the wrinkles on my forehead, and even the ones I imagine on my heart, disappear. I experienced a smoothness, a lightening. I could feel the beginnings of a rhythmic flow again.
By the time we returned home, I was awake once again.
I had resisted what seemed most logical and instead responded to what my soul told me I most needed to do.
I realize it isn't always possible to do the one thing you feel would be most beneficial for your spirit, but more than likely there is something that would be a good stand-in. If I hadn't been able to take a full day for my soul or if I didn't have access to Big Water, which I have learned over the years is healing and inspiring for me, I hope I would have spent time meditating and writing in my journal, my two main spiritual practices. I hope I would have taken a longer than usual walk or spent time coloring and listening to music.
I know what I need at those kinds of overflowing time, and this time I allowed myself to actually respond to that need.
An Invitation
Do you know what restores you? How often do you actually do what you most need? I would love to know.
Many of us begin the new year with resolutions to lose weight or save more money or read more and watch less television, and there is certainly nothing wrong with any of those intentions, but I invite you to begin this new year with the gift of a retreat. A retreat to uncover your heart's desire and a direction for the new year, as well as time to understand the learnings, the losses, and the gifts of the past year.
Creating Your Own Retreat
The most important aspect of retreat time is carving out the time for retreat. Perhaps you will choose to go to an actual retreat center or a hotel room or someone's cabin in the woods, but your retreat can also be in your own home; a time when you can be alone or at least undisturbed in a room away from others. You may choose to retreat for a whole day or more or for a couple hours at a time over the course of the month. Look at your calendar now and decide on the time or times and fill in the square with red letters, "My Retreat."
Your retreat time is not to include any routine tasks like doing dishes or laundry or answering the phone (Turn off your phone!!!!!) or checking email or answering questions from your spouse. This is your time, and you need to guard it, even when it feels uncomfortable to do so.
"Packing" for Your Retreat
Here's a list of items you might want to have with you.
*Your journal and a pen.
* Basic drawing supplies and big paper.
* Music that inspires or relaxes you and a way to play that music.
* An inspirational book.
* Comfortable clothing (If you are home, you can stay in your pajamas all day, if you want, for you are NOT going to answer the door if anyone appears.) Consider clothing that feels nurturing or an item of clothing that represents your creative side--a colorful scarf, for example. Yes, you can wear the scarf with your pajamas.
* A touchstone or talisman other object--a stone, a cross or Buddha or shell--something that will help you focus on this time you have given yourself and remind you that you are not alone.
Beginning Your Retreat
I invite you to sit in a quiet place and close your eyes lightly, not tightly. Take a couple deep cleansing breaths and allow your body to relax into slow, even breathing.
Read the following poem slowly silently or aloud for your own ears.
The Map You Make Yourself
You have looked
at so many doors
with longing
wondering if your life
lay on the other side.
For today
choose the door
that opens
to the inside.
Travel the most ancient way
of all:
the path that leads you
to the center
of your life.
No map
but the one
you make yourself.
No provision
but what you already carry
and the grace that comes
to those who walk
the pilgrim's way.
Speak this blessing
as you set out
and watch how
your rhythm slows
the cadence of the road
drawing you into the pace
that is your own.
Eat when hungry.
Rest when tired.
Listen to your dreaming.
Welcome detours
as doors deepen in.
Pray for protection.
Ask for the guidance you need;
Offer gladness
for the gifts that come
and then
let them go.
Do not expect
to return
by the same road.
Home is always by another way
and you will know it
not by the light
that waits for you
but by the star
that blazes inside you
telling you
where you are
is holy
and you are welcome
here.
Jan L. Richardson http://www.janrichardson.com
Being With Yourself
Here are some topics, prompts, questions to consider. Feel free to adapt or ignore or use these in anyway. Perhaps find one or two that resonate with you and explore them. See where they take you. Turn off your inner censor.
What arose for you during the beginning meditation time?
What did you bring with you today?
What did you leave at the door?
What questions are you carrying across the threshold?
What is quietly resting or hiding in your heart that needs new life?
What have you lost and what needs to be refound?
Reread the poem, "The Map You Make for Yourself."
What words or phrases resonate with you?
What comfort is there for you in this blessing?
What challenges or opportunities are there for stretching?
What would a map of yourself look like?
What might a map of your coming year look like?
My hopes for this retreat are…
When I think about the new year, I…
As I let go of 2013, I feel…
As I move into 2014, I…
Continuing Your Retreat
Allow yourself some rest time or perhaps take a walk between dedicated reflection and meditation times. Doing this will create a space for clarity to arise.
Once again begin with meditation time, closing your eyes lightly, not tightly and taking a couple deep cleaning breath, allowing your body to relax into slow, even breathing.
Consider these prompts and questions:
Topics, questions, ideas, thoughts and dreams I need to explore further:
Because of this retreat time, I…
What have you learned about yourself today?
Is there an intention, plan, or goal or dream becoming clearer to you? If so, what?
Brainstorm or imagine how to move forward.
Envision for yourself your life in 2014. Allow yourself to play with this.
What words of wisdom have appeared for you?
Ending the Retreat.
Of course, the ending is only the beginning, and only you will know what you are called to do as a result of this time. Perhaps you have not experienced any great illumination, and I encourage you to not let that upset you. You may still be percolating. Let the retreat time rest within and unfold with time.
It is important, however, to bring closure to the retreat time. Perhaps you will reread the poem once again. Or meditate again. Or take a walk and then re-enter your home. Make some sort of offering of gratitude for your retreat time by counting your blessings or gifting the retreat center in some way. Create a symbol of this retreat time that will be a visual reminder of your retreat. Whatever you do can be simple, but as you entered retreat time with intention, be intentional about ending the retreat time.
A Blessing For This Time
That you will see
the pieces of your life
with clarity.
That they will meet
in ways you hardly
dared imagine.
That they will make
a way better still
then you ever dreamed
to go.
Jan L. Richardson
An Invitation
Obviously, this post is an invitation for you to create retreat time for yourself. I hope this has been helpful, and I look forward to hearing about your retreat time.
A Resource
The Woman's Retreat Book, A Guide to Restoring, Rediscovering, Reawakening Your True Self--in a Moment, an Hour, a Day, or a Weekend by Jennifer Louden http://jenniferlouden.com/products/books/
One never knows whom one will meet on a retreat. I met a Willow Tree. Recently, I attended a retreat at Holy Wisdom Monastery here in Middleton led by Anne Hillman who wrote the book Awakening the Energies of Love, Discovering Fire for the Second Time, a book that has become a touchstone in my life. What a privilege to have three days for intentional reflection. I loved meeting Anne and the other participants on the retreat, but who knew I would make a new friend and develop a new relationship? Who knew I would open to a new spiritual guide, a new teacher?
I met a Willow Tree.
At Sweetwater Farm a willow tree was the resident sage in the wetland on our land, and such a presence that tree was. The last tree to lose its leaves as the season moved from fall to winter. The most distinctive citrus yellow green in the springtime, standing out from all other greens. The welcome greetings of branches swaying in the breeze and sweeping the earth gently, lightly. And often, quite often, a resting place for a red-tail hawk. I can feel my heart lift as I recall the beauty of that sight.
Perhaps this willow tree is a distant relative of the one I loved at Sweetwater Farm. My intention is to get to know this tree better, but initially, I kept my distance, preferring to observe and to listen before introducing myself. The days of the retreat were the epitome of June days: warm, but not too; the sun hiding occasionally behind playful clouds, and a breeze dancing through prairie grasses and trees dressed for summer days. This willow tree (Do I dare call it "my" willow tree?) swayed, swirled, swooped, swept, sashayed--did everything but swagger down the trail closer to the pond. I sat on a deck nearby and spent time with my new acquaintance.
I was captivated by one branch that arched over open space, forming a portal, a passageway, a natural arbor, a threshold. Lately, I have realized that these years in Madison are transition years for me -- preparation years for the next stage of life. I am making myself ready. For exactly what, I am not sure, but it is time to prepare my body, mind, and spirit. I am on a threshold, but this is not yet the time to walk through, to cross over, to look back at where I have just been. Being on this retreat and spending time with the willow tree, I realize, however, now is the time to live with deeper attention, to move from thought to awareness, to listen to my deepest yearnings, to be present.
Later during the retreat Anne led us in T'ai Chi, and I became the willow tree: grounded and yet supple and flexible, lifting my arms to the sky and letting them softly drift back to my side. I danced as the willow tree dances. The willow tree has more to teach me, and I will return to its sacred space. Someday I will accept its invitation to cross the threshold and stroll underneath its supple branches, and to feel the touch of its feathery leaves.
Matthew Fox says, "Everything is a word of God."
Even willow trees.
Selected Resources from my Bookshelves
Sacred Trees, Spirituality, Wisdom and Well-Being by Nathaniel Altman
The Healing Energies of Trees by Patrice Bouchardon
For the first time since last fall, I sat in the garden at the side of our house, a garden we call "Paris." The sun was warm--no sweater was required--and even though all was still plain and brown, I relished my return to this quiet space.
