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.
I don't like to pack. Actually, what I don't like is making decisions about what to pack.
Overpacking
Because this has been an unpredictable summer, I am never sure I will have the right clothes for the current temperature. True, since I drive the Madison to St Paul route, I can fill the car with as much as I want, but the excellent laundry facility in the apartment building makes such overpacking unnecessary.
Plus, I tend to wear solid color pants, often black, along with white blouses--I have a closet full of white blouses--and that "uniform" should make the whole process easier, too. For some reason, however, it doesn't. I had an easier time packing for two weeks in Paris using only a carry-on bag than I do for a week in St Paul!
Then there is the books and writing materials problem. That's even harder. Some people are afraid of speaking in public or of snakes. My fear is I won't have the "right" book when I finish whatever I am currently reading. (Ok, I'm afraid of snakes, too.) Now this is truly a ridiculous fear, for the book shelf in the apartment holds several titles I have not yet read and know I will enjoy AND there are good bookstores close by, including Garrison Keillor's Common Good Books.
The writing materials issue makes a little more sense to me. What will I have time to work on? What will I need in order to work on it? If I write a blog post on a certain topic, what materials from my library at home would help me do that? On and on the indecisiveness stretches.
Ultimately, I fill a bag or two with far more than what I will need or have time to use.
Big vs Little Decisions
So what is this all about anyway? It isn't just about not having the right necklace or the book with the right quote for a blog post.
Is this decreasing ability to make a decision an age thing? Have you discovered yourself having a harder time making decisions?
What kinds of decisions?
I think I am still decisive about the bigger things. All of a sudden it was clear--take the house off the market now! I have not vacillated about my father's care, for example. This is what is needed--do it. I didn't spend hours wondering which painter to hire to redo the front porch, for example. Instead, I declared, "When can you get started?"
Nope, not the bigger things, but the little things. What to fix for dinner or choose at a restaurant. "What do you want to do today?" my husband says. "I don't know," I often reply, feeling genuine distress as I say it.
Decision-Making and Spiritual Practice
I suspect my current difficulty about making small decisions has to do with a general feeling of unsettledness. Not only "what next?", but "when?" and even "how?" Making the "right" little decision is a way to exercise some control, false as that may be. I wonder if it isn't also a way to slow down the swirl I feel around me, an unpredictable swoosh of future time, but at the same time a way to fill the emptiness of waiting. Of responding to what feels like slow-motion steps towards fulfillment of our plans. A paradox, the hallmark of later life.
What to do?
Well, I do the best I can. I pack more white blouses than I will wear. My bags full of books and notebooks become part of my weight lifting program, as I lug them from place to place.
And I stop.
I close my eyes and I breathe. I ask for self-awareness for when I most need to be gentle with myself. I ask for lightness of spirit to replace the self-designated heaviness of each little decision. Finally, and most importantly, I give thanks for all the gifts of my life, including the luxury of choices.
An Invitation
I welcome comments from you about the role of decision-making in your life. What decisions are easy for you to make? Which ones are not so easy, and has that changed since you have gotten older? What are your strategies for making decisions, big and small?
A friend sent these photos taken from a downtown Chicago condo on the 49th floor. The church is on Huron, a block off N. Michigan Ave. Just imagine being able to see this labyrinth from your window. You could walk it in your mind. Thanks, Annette, for these pictures.
I walked a labyrinth today.
A labyrinth is an ancient sacred design with a simple pathway leading to and from a center on a single path. Unlike a maze, in which you can get lost, there are no tricks and no short cuts in a labyrinth. The way in is the way out.
The Labyrinth as a Spiritual Tool
The spiritual practice of walking a labyrinth allows the mind to relax and become aware. By meditatively walking a labyrinth we can be led to ourselves and therefore, to a deeper relationship with God, the Sacred, the Divine. Walking a labyrinth can create balance and calm within or can mend your heart and help you find wholeness and healing. As you experience a labyrinth, you are invited to discover the sacred in everyday life.
Choosing to Walk a Labyrinth Today
As preparation for retirement, my husband and I have a plan: sell our home here in Madison and instead, rent an apartment here until he retires fully. At the same time we intend to buy a home in St Paul where the majority of our friends and family, including my 90 year old father, live. A clear plan, but apparently, not so easy to accomplish.
Our home has been on the market for well over a year. We have had more showings than I care to acknowledge. We have lowered the price more than once. We have had many people express interest, but the magic has not happened, and we are weary and discouraged. We need a break.
Along with this ongoing stress, my father has had two surgeries recently, and we are in the process of moving him from his home of 40 plus years to a senior living apartment. He is willing and eager to do that, but all of you who have had this experience know the challenges. I repeat, we are weary and discouraged and we need a break!
Today we took our house off the market.
Today seemed a good day to walk a labyrinth.
Today's Labyrinth Experience
Madison Christian Community, located not far from our home, has an outdoor labyrinth, and that's where I headed. I must admit I didn't expect to see a labyrinth that appeared so untended and bare, but I mused that the state of the labyrinth might match my inner spirit at the moment. I stood on a slight hill above the labyrinth and thought about how easy it is to lose one's way, and I prayed I could find my center once again.
Before walking the labyrinth, I sat on a nearby bench and thought about what I hoped to gain or learn as I walked. How marvelous it would be if the labyrinth were a fortune-teller gazing into a crystal ball. "My dear, I see a new house in your future. You will sell your home soon, very soon. Trust me." Instead, I prayed that this quiet time would help me restore some spiritual balance in my life. That I could find my own rhythm again. That this symbolic pilgrimage would help me build strength and energy for the months ahead. That I could be assured that our hopes and dreams, our plan, will be fulfilled. A lot to ask, and then I wrote in my journal one more request:
To be surprised.
More than One Surprise.
Usually, when I walk a labyrinth it takes time to find my own rhythm and not feel wobbly on the narrow path. Normally, one is advised to walk the labyrinth slowly and deliberately, and that can take some focus and concentration. This time, however, I was surprised at how fully at ease I felt on the path. My arms hung easily and naturally at my sides, and I just walked as if I were strolling along my familiar neighborhood sidewalks. That was surprise #1.
Surprise #2 was discovering the clarity of this path. From a distance I had wondered if I would be able to find my way, for it looked so overgrown. Would I be able to see where to turn, for example? I was relieved to see how clear and distinct the path really was in spite of the weeds. I noted, however, my desire to tend the path, remove the dandelions, neaten the way. No surprise there!
Surprise #3 was how quickly I arrived at the approach to the center of the labyrinth. In past experiences I have been astounded by how long it seems to take to reach the center. I usually wonder if I have lost my way and may even have repeated part of the path. Often, when it seems I am almost there, the path swings further away from the center, and I begin to feel as if the center will never be attained. That was not true this time. I was so surprised when I arrived at the center before I expected to be there.
Entering the inner circle, I heard words whispered within, "Be prepared to be surprised." Being prepared and being surprised seem like opposites, but at the same time being prepared can mean being open to whatever surprises occur on the path.
As I walked out of the labyrinth, retracing the way in, I gave myself credit for being more balanced than I had been feeling, and I felt more energized and stronger than when I had started. I reminded myself to experience fully the path beneath my feet right now and to remember that what is worthwhile is not necessarily neat and well-tended. I rejoiced in the surprise.
An Invitation
If you have walked a labyrinth, I would love to know your experience. I invite you to leave a comment.
If you have not walked a labyrinth and would like to do so, here is how you can locate a labyrinth near you. Labyrinth Locator
I have written about previous labyrinth experiences before on my blogs. You may want to read Walking the Labyrinth at Chartres and Take Your Soul for a Walk.
I feel a surge of creative energy. Ideas are flowing:
* Topics for this blog,
* Possibilities for additional blogs,
* Plans for groups I would like to start here in Madison and/or in St Paul--a circle of women exploring their retirement years, a reflective writing group combining spirituality and writing practice, and spiritual direction groups,
* Visions of writing projects, large and small,
* Ways to do life review or journal writing workshops in senior living facilities.
I am almost hesitant to go for a walk or to meditate, for those quiet times often result in even more ideas, but then so does sitting on the front porch doing classwork for the online class on blogging I am taking or transcribing journal entries for one of my writing projects.
Where is this surge of creativity coming from? And why right now?
Perhaps the robin knows. Often when I am on the front porch and I glance away from my laptop screen or book page, I notice a robin perched on my car's side mirror. I have started greeting this robin when I see it. "Good morning, Robin." "It's already afternoon, Robin." "I've had a busy day, Robin. What about you?" I enjoy its presence, and I wonder if the robin has a message for me.
Totems and Their Spiritual Messages
One of my most consulted books is Animal Speak, The Spiritual and Magical Powers of Creatures Great and Small by Ted Andrews. When I felt the frequent presence of a wolf in my dream life, I discovered that wolves are a symbol for "teacher," and I became more aware of how my essence is a teacher. When I realized how often I noticed hawks when I was walking or driving, I consulted the book yet again and learned that the hawk is a "messenger." The message has not always been clear, but I have been reminded to open to what was on the wing. At other times I have read the pages about herons, eagles, turkeys, and bear.
According to Native American spirituality, wolf and hawk and the others are my totems. Totems are sources of energy with which you may feel closely associated for a lifetime or for certain periods of your life. Totems can create awareness of yourself and your connection to Spirit.
I wondered if Mrs. Robin is a new totem in my life. Robin, says Andrews, is a symbol for the "spread of new growth." If a robin appears in your life, "expect new growth to occur in a variety of areas in your life." The book mentions the fact that robins can raise more than one brood a year, symbolizing the "activation of the creative life force."
I feel a resurgence of the creative force in my life.
I thought surely we would be moving from this house and downsizing into another by now. I thought my creative energies would be engaged fully into settling into a new home, but, alas, that has not happened. Instead, it seems I have an opening in the creative energy department. I have "found" time in which my creativity can thrive again. Perhaps I am coming out of the retirement cocoon I have experienced since moving to Madison five years ago.
My husband says Mrs. Robin has a nest in the neighbor's magnolia tree. I accept that, but I also think she has an encouraging message for me. "I am here to remind you that you are not done and creativity is alive and well within you." "Thank you," I say.
An Invitation
I invite you to pay attention to animals that often occur physically in your life or when you meditate or dream. Consider the message they may have for you. And if your creativity needs a boost, look to the nearest robin!
With winter comes cave time; time to surround myself with darkness; an invitation to reflect and go deep. The light is out there and known, but not necessarily seen. In the cave I feel sheltered and protected, as I do the work of reflection. I welcome cave time, and only rarely do I wonder how many more days of cold and dark will there be. Cave time with its qualities of hiddenness and hibernation is a time of restoration and regeneration, along with a time to rest, if that is what is needed. Burrow in and allow the heart to find its own rhythm.
I needed cave time, but somehow in these summer months, which most Wisconsinites yearn for all the rest of the year, that doesn't seem like the right image. I should be out in the sunshine, playing and bursting forth with relief we made it through another winter. What to do since I felt in my soul I need time to rest, restore, and release. And then I received a word. Don't you love when that happens? Cloister.
I am reading The Dancing Animal Woman, A Celebration of Life by Anne Hillman. Another example of the right book at the right time. I participated in a retreat she led over a year ago, and this book has been waiting for me on my shelf since then. Early in the book she finds herself in a quiet garden she describes as a "green cloister." What I needed was Cloister Time. I don't mean entering a monastery, hidden away from the world. Instead my personal cloister was slightly set apart from the world, where I could see the delicious greens and the ongoing growth as the days progressed from its first days of summer wonder to the expected days of summer's lushness and fullness. I could observe and enter in as I chose to and when I needed to. I could come and go as desired, knowing the cloister would remain in place.
In my cloister located on the front porch of our home, private unless I choose to greet passersby, I read and doze and write in my journal and pray and meditate and find my bearings. Another word from Anne Hillman. Hillman describes getting her bearings not in terms of getting back on top of things, not finding a direction or a destination, but experiencing the center. "Center was still. Empty. Yet filled with the present. Alive."
One of my favorite books about spirituality is The Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris in which she writes about her experiences as a resident in a Benedictine monastery. This morning I realized I, too, have a "cloister walk" right here at our home.
This past weekend my husband extended a side garden, adding more stepping stones and bordering it with lavender plants, my favorite herb. While the path is short and in view of the neighbors, it still feels like a place set apart. I walked this cloister walk several times this morning, pausing on each stone, offering a blessing. "This stone is for my father." This stone is for the loving gardener of this cloister walk." "This stone is for the as yet unknown buyer of this home who will inherit this cloister walk." I named family members and friends. I named myself. With each step on this cloister walk I felt more restored, more at ease and at rest, more centered. As I returned to the porch, I prayed that I may be able to carry this cloistered center or is it centered cloister with me wherever I am.
What does the word cloister mean to you? Where is your cloister and what does cloister time offer you?
I have a bag for every purpose: bags for grocery shopping and a heavy basket with leather handles for going to the farmers' market on Saturday morning; bags for each of my writing projects and an empty bag with "Paris" written on its side, perfect to toss a couple magazines, a book, maybe stationery for letter writing to have on a plane or the car or in a cafe. I have bags awaiting a specific purpose, big, small, fancy or simple. Some with memories of the gift-giver. Some pure luxury.
Years ago I participated on a variety of committees and boards and had a bag for each one. I would check my Franklin Planner (Remember that popular organizer?) each night and see what was on the schedule for the next day and set aside the appropriate bag. Social Ministry Committee. Church Council. Summit Hill House Tour. The system worked well for me.
Now I live in two places--Madison and St Paul. Bags are definitely required. Our house is on the market and when a showing occurs I turn on all the lights and grab a bag and leave. I play my own version of the childhood memory game we used to play at Brownie meetings. "I'm going to my grandmother's house and in my bag (suitcase) I packed..."
Recently, my car was broken into and my purse, which I had UNWISELY left in the back seat while a friend and I enjoyed a river view and deep conversation, was stolen. One of those pure luxury bags. Money, credit cards, drivers license--all gone in 10 seconds the police officer said. Since then I have been dealing with the aftermath of this theft. Most everyone I have contacted has been helpful and empathic, except the one credit card person who asked me if I was having a nice day after I told her I was calling to report a stolen card (!!!).
The aftermath, however, involves much more than the financial loss and complications. I have lost some confidence in my urban smarts and in my view of myself as someone who thinks ahead and considers carefully my current context. I am embarrassed and have even felt shame, especially when someone tells me what I should have done. I feel guilt for needing my husband's help during his busy day and also for marring the visit from an out of state friend. I feel more anger with myself, interestingly, than with the unknown person who did the deed. I feel flawed and inadequate. I messed up. What could I have been thinking? Well, clearly, I wasn't thinking.
The first couple nights after the incident I replayed what I should have done over and over again. I told a friend I wasn't going to beat myself up about what had happened, but I was doing exactly that. So often when I have sat with someone in spiritual direction I have softly encouraged, "Be gentle with yourself." I forgot that wisdom when it came to myself, but I also knew I needed to explore the lessons of the stolen bag.
Here's what Debbie Ford in her book The Right Questions, Ten Essential Questions to Guide You to an Extraordinary Life says in the chapter titled "Will I Use this Situation as a Catalyst to Grow and Evolve or Will I Use It to Beat Myself Up?"
We beat ourselves up by rehashing an event over and over in our mind, analyzing why we didn't do it better and how we could have done it differently We beat ourselves up by spending our precious energy trying to figure out how we could have avoided the situation altogether...we always have a choice to use each event to learn and grow or to use it against ourselves...
Everything in this life can be used to transform us, to bring us closer to our spiritual essence and our dreams. In other words, either we are using life in our favor or we are using it against ourselves. This is what is meant by the saying 'Life is a teacher to the wise man and an enemy to the fool.' By seeing life as a teacher, we transcend the pain and suffering we put on ourselves. And then we can spend our energy creating what we want rather than wasting it by rehashing the past.
The Right Question will immediately shift our perspective from one of self-doubt or recrimination to one of open minded learning.
So what am I learning? I am learning how often I beat myself up. I chastise myself when I spill something or forget something or don't use my time as well as I think I should or eat more than I should or am not present to another person or...... On and on it goes. I beat myself up when I mess up, and I mess up often. Writer Joyce Rupp reminds me to greet myself mercifully."
I imagine if I had been more mindful in the moment I locked the car door without taking my purse with me, I would not have found a broken window when we returned to the car and therefore, I hope I will be more mindful, more present, but the lesson right now is to remember that I am human, and humans mess up. My lesson is to do what needs to be done and move on.
I am going to my grandmother's house and in my bag I packed forgiveness, gentleness, humility, mercy, and mindfulness. What's in your bag?
