Every Luminous Movement

Here's the deal--a few weeks ago, I wrote my last post on A Path to My Woods and tossed it up on Facebook with this poem from Hafiz:

Every Moment

"I rarely let the word 'No' escape
from my mouth

Because it is so plain to my soul

That God has shouted 'Yes!, Yes!, Yes!'
To every luminous movement in Existence.

~Hafiz (trans. by Daniel Ladinsky, I Heard God Laughing)


I hit the submit button with a bit of hesitation because this is such a bold and outlandish statement. The word 'no' escapes my lips daily. I'm the mother of four young children. How in the world could Hafiz be so blind? There are a bijillion things to say 'no' to in the world; a bizillion gut-wrenching injustices to fight against every day. So what was up with Hafiz? Was he blind to the craziness? Did he, as my friend replied in jest, ever have a two year old?

This was my response (more for myself than for her): "I'm certain he did. This poem was most definitely written in a more ecstatic moment when even the exploits of two-year-olds are seen as an opportunity for the growth of humankind. Hmmn. Does that sound crazy? Kind of, but that is Hafiz. There is horrific evil in the world far outweighing 'terrible-twos', and yet, to see a the broader picture is to embrace the hunger and tragedy to be weighed with generosity and compassion. Have we reached a place of wholeness, no. But can I say "yes" to the beautiful process engulfed in Divine presence, Yes! :)"

I've had moments like these, moments when the whole of existence seemed to fill me up with awareness of the Ever-Present. Knock me off my feet if I haven't had that same experience standing by a gushing river, eyes lifted towards the trees, as I have standing at a sink of dirty dishes, hands soaked in sudsy water. God's Spirit is not something for us to 'usher in' with our praises, not something for us to invite. God's Spirit IS. This is what Hafiz recognized.

It's one thing to say "Yes, Yes, Yes" to a sink full of dishes or a pile of dirty laundry. It's an entirely different thing to "shout 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' to every luminous movement in existence." How can the All-Knowing shout 'Yes!' when we can see very clearly so much to say 'no' to? Does this mean we sit back blissfully accepting all that is with no response? Well, no.

I love this quote by former UN secretary-general--and mystic--Dag Hammarskjold: "For all that has been, thanks. For all that will be, yes". Hammarskjold was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize post-humanously. On a life-time scale, his response to 'yes and thank you' was a luminous movement towards peace. On an eternal scale--every ounce of light to every ounce of darkness--we say yes, thank you.

The human experience is plagued with hunger and horror and tears upon tears. And God shouts, 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' to the luminous imperfect longing and 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' to the luminous movement of grace and compassion offered in return. And the angels in heaven whisper, "grow, grow."And we do.

Just-Before-Spring Seasons

February. For the past few years of my life, February has been a month of impending dread. A dark, cold, long month; a month doomed by my psyche as lonely; an end of winter, how-will-I- ever-survive-until-Spring month. February. I could go into a myriad of reasons of how February has deserved this dismal relegation in my eyes, but we all have our seasons and I have grown to believe that even Februaries are sometimes needful and healing to the growing soul. So this quiet, painful Just Before Spring is my February--the one I've embraced.

Gunilla Norris puts it so beautifully in her book, Mystic Garden: "Everything is dormant in the cold. My spirit, too is spilled and scattered. I seem to be at a standstill...Benumbed, we may wonder if perhaps it is in quietude, in seeming deep freeze, that God enters our depth without interference? Below the ever-tracking mind, can we sense, trust, or feel the soul being led? Could we learn to simply accept this, to allow it?"

Now I'm searching for those redeemable moments:

I had an amazing opportunity during February to visit my family in Kansas--my family a thousand miles away. It was a once in a lifetime surprise visit that I will never forget. I came back from that trip haunted by a deliciously heart-rending word--submerged--and picturing a dear one's hands lifted, one slightly more elevated--two uneven plains of existence; to me a sudden sadness, a quick word of correction, of wall-raising. But then a realization that every instance in life has a bit of truth to offer--a lesson to level. And my soul said, 'yes'.

I layed in my bed that night picturing myself perched in the lower hand; my mind bucked at the thought and pushed it away, not wanting to accept this perception. But my soul said 'yes' to the moment; to the element of truth. And when I placed myself in the lifted hand, I realized that I was the one standing at the edge of a cliff, gazing sometimes at the water below, but mostly distracted by the whirlwind around me.

How do we submerge ourselves in Spirit? How do we live in that Divine awareness? I know the truth is simple. The practice can be elusive. This is why I come back to these four lines by Gunilla Norris in her book, Being Home:

First thought--as in 'first light'--

let me be aware that I waken in You

Before I even think that I am in my bed,

let me think that I am in You.

Presence and Awareness--knowing simply that the Divine is not barred from the cliffs we stand on, not confined to the water below, but permeates all. It is my awareness that becomes dull, distracted by life rather than submerged in Life. Recognizing Divine Presence in every moment, every simple daily act--this is the choice to be submerged in a presence we can never escape.

LIFE

Life is really an amazing, crazy, outrageously painful and contagiously thrilling adventure. I admit it, some days I don't see it like this. Some days all I see is the laundry and dishes and caked on yogurt I'm scrubbing off the dining room table. But today, I see it. The dreamer in me whispers in my ear, "dream big." The tired mother in me says, "Straighten the pile of little shoes by the front door and make sure you shower today!" The lover in me says, "notice." and "be." And they are all parts of my "me-ness" trying to burst out in to life and mesh in to one, trying to figure out how this all fits together and what it means.

Some days, I feel confused about it all, pulled in competing directions, but other days, when the lover wins out, my arms seem to stretch out broad enough to contain it all. And it all makes sense and fulfills and enriches and points me to the reason... Just to live, to feel, to be present, to be touched by the lives of others and hopefully in some way to offer something in return...

Absolutely Clear

Today I've been mourning my weakness, a bit sad that I don't aways live up to the awake-ness that I pursue in life. I know weakness in itself is an avenue of spiritual growth, but sometimes it's hard to rise above when we feel deflated.

Then I read this, among other of my favorites poems, and found myself back home, so filled up and reminded. This is just what I need.

Absolutely Clear

Don't surrender your loneliness
So quickly.
Let it cut more deep.

Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.

Something missing in my heart tonight
Has made my eyes so soft
My voice
So tender,

My need of God
Absolutely
Clear.

~Hafiz
(trans. by Daniel Landinsky)

Authenticity

Occasionally, I free write to "get it all out there." This may not be the most well-written post but it's genuine:

Authentic. The word reverberates, crashes into my shielded existence, this story that I portray as me. Authenticity sets you apart from the masked ones and yet transforms you into a reflection of what they all seem to know is their very self.

Authenticity is scary; it's sometimes painful. Open me up, make me a the still stream reflecting tree tops and sky. Break me apart, and let the pain and suffering, joy and passion pour out in puddles around our feet until someone whispers a knowing, 'yes.' Write what you know, brave soul.Explore your inner-world and draw it out into words. Coax it from hiding and fear into the glaring sun. Writers cannot be fearful creatures. We must learn to separate our true selves from the storyline so we can expose depths without trepidation.

The real truth is in the transformative possibilities of those experiences, how they change us and those around us, how they make us grow or fall. The story ebbs, only feeling endures...what surrounds us, overwhelms us, creates us. We are left standing, one outstretched arm in grasping, another withdrawn, door ajar, insides gapingly exposed. Finally, there is no difference in craving or aversion, only love remains, thrusting us forward into the arms of Other, into heart of Same.

Art
Creativity
Spirit
Love
Water
Compassion
Laughter
Trees
Silence
Pain
Thank you
Stillness
Breath
Joy
Path
Yes.

Winter and Waiting

The ground is frozen where I live, covered with a snowy blanket. It's a restful time, a peaceful season. My garden is sleeping. Trees, sprouting with new growth in the Spring, now stand dormant against the harshness of Winter. They somehow seem vulnerable in their bareness. Some types of trees have developed such a strong need for winter dormancy that if they are maintained in an artificial sunny season, perpetually growing, they will suffer from the lack of rest and almost certainly die after a a couple of years.

Could it be that we need these dormant times, too? A time to be still, rooted in the deep, frozen soil? This is the season of peace. The garden is still also, no blooms or color. In the ground, slumbering seeds await the sun's warmth to soften their beds and Spring rains to awaken them from their sleep. But first, the Winter, the Wait.

Are we willing to wait, to let our spirits be still?

Thankful Thursday: Remembering

Today I'm thankful for memory...the ability to look back over my shoulder and say "Ohhh...now I get it." True, some memories would seem to be better forgotten, but I can't ultimately feel anything stronger than thankfulness. Why? Because I've chosen the path of listening...learning from what life experiences have to teach me. So when tinges of remorse or humiliation attempt to dampen certain memories from my past, I lift my head again and listen, and remember the joy of growing in spirit.

Like a Hungry Begger

Refuse to fall down.
If you cannot refuse to fall down,
refuse to stay down.
If you cannot refuse to stay down
lift your heart toward heaven
and like a hungry beggar,
ask that it be filled
and it will be filled.
You may be pushed down.
You may be kept from rising,
But no one can keep you from lifting
your heart toward heaven--only you.
It is in the middle of misery that
so much becomes clear.
The one who says nothing good came of this,
is not yet listening.

~Clarissa Pinkola Estes~