who are you,little i

who are you,little i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window; at the gold

of november sunset

(and feeling:that if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

~e.e. cummings


Eight lines to capture quite possibly the most commonly shared and artfully expressed human experience throughout history---absolutely brilliant.    little i is certain of the night--coming regularly, making everything dark and quiet.  i've learned from experience. Well over 9,000 nights have come and gone in the course of my life. It happens everyday--the sun, doing its thing, making all the little i's stand still and feel that if night must come, what a comfort that we can see beauty in its coming.

 But often little i is just too little to peak over the windowpain, so i hide under the covers--afraid of the night, the darkness.  i don't always see the beauty in impending night. Instead of learning to rest, i wait, anxious for the promised joy of morning.  Here's the trick, though--and we don't even need a stepstool--Sunsets are for stillness, for feeling. sensing. Sunsets are for losing little i in Big I.  Sunsets are for that moment when little i becomes aware of a reality so much bigger--a reality that envelopes and pervades every moment, even the darkest moments. In the stillness, little i remembers what it is like for Big I and the night becomes welcome, even peaceful.  With this feelinging, I can say, "if day has to become night, this is a beautiful way."

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)

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~

A Lakota Prayer

Oh, Great Spirit,

whose voice I hear in the winds
and whose breath gives life to all the world, hear me.
I am small and weak
I need your strength and wisdom.

Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes
ever behold the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the things you have made
and my ears sharp to hear your voice.
Make me wise so that I may understand
the things you have taught my people.
Let me learn the lessons you have hidden
in every leaf and rock.

I seek strength, not to be superior to my brother,
but to fight my greatest enemy--myself.
Make me always ready to come to you
with clean hands and straight eyes,
so when life fades, as the fading sunset,
my spirit will come to you
without shame.

American Indian
Lakota
Chief Yellow Lark
1887

Sacred Sunday: finding stillwaters

Today I'm sitting with some self-doubt and a lot of inner-chatter. This is a common pattern that I'm learning to rest with and wait out. Instead of feeling disturbed, I'm actually interested in the process of what's going on and how to move through it.

Times like this are also part of spiritual growth...finding acceptance and peace, learning to trust and be still. Trying to digest too much at a time can be overwhelming. I read this, I write that, I think and think on everything...what I'm reading, what I'm experiencing, relationships, feelings and questions. System overload. It's better to run one program at time.

So, this week my goal is to slow down, focus in, sit with one idea a day. Instead of reading three chapters of two books, perhaps being still with one idea or question per day would settle my racing thoughts and bring me back to the moment.

This will be a good challenge.

love, love, love...

Everything

I've had a song by the band Lifehouse repeating on my i-pod for the last few days and now I get to share it with you. The song is called Everything. It's a bit like a crashing meteor to the gut that sends after shocks through your whole body and leaves you with a delicious achey feeling. It is beautiful and lucid and haunting. But one line in particular slams me inside out:

“How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?”

Those of you who love Smallville may have emotional baggage attached to this song. If you don't follow Smallville, let me create some for you:

I am walking along the path to a place I frequent on afternoons like this. I pass a young woman with two bright-faced little girls and greet them with a smile and friendly words. They are a radiant sight together at the water's edge.

"How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?”

Sitting beneath a foot bridge, I look up from my laptop and watch the glistening stream flow northward, northward. An autumnal leaf floats by, carried away by the rippling current.

"How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?”

I read a poem that that lays me flat, stand in a local antique and art market, eyes locked on a faded, earthy landscape. Thank you poet, thank you painter...

"How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?”

The door home opens to the smiles of five brilliant souls who fill my life with meaning. I get to journey with these beautiful growing people. My husband, my children....undefined, ever becoming...with me.

"How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?”

I sit, silent in numinous dark, candle glowing, heart open wide...

"How can I stand here with You and not be moved by You?”

What moves you?

How has art moved you?

Why do we ask, “What is the way?”
For there are as many ways
as there are stars in the firmament. ~Gunilla Norris

A few days ago I opened a new book by Gunilla Norris, Simple Ways Towards the Sacred. I was stilled by these first words and found myself repeating them in slow, hushed breaths. How can words, in an unsuspecting instant, reach in and grip your core? And why did these words hold such sway in me? I felt melted and poured into those firmamental stars, spread over a thousand light-years. How can it be? The depths of human sentiment... how art does move us, does stir us, connect us.

Art is the essence
of human soul
laid bare
in longing
for....

How would you finish this statement?

How has art moved you? Have you ever had a moment like this either creating art or experiencing someone else's artwork?

I would love to read your thoughts.

Little Yogis

I have to share these precious images of our little yogis. Here's the girls and their best pals next door caught in an impromptu yoga session. I am so proud :)

My Sacred Life: shadows and light

My Sacred Life

If you haven't checked out the My Sacred Life project, just click on the icon to the right. I plan to post a picture every Sunday that reflects my spiritual practice. Hope you enjoy!

More inspiration in the kitchen...

Something happened to me yesterday. It was a moment that struck softly but penetrated through and through. Standing in my kitchen, smearing peanut butter across a slice of bread, I was suddenly awoken to the thought that I have everything I need to be blissfully happy in life. Not that this is a really new thought to me. I can't recount how many times I, even in the midst of my own battles with sorrow or frustration, have reminded my children that they in fact have all the wisdom, strength and love that they need for every circumstance right inside of them. Learning to plumb those depths is different from the initial knowledge. Blake's “universe in a grain of sand” seems still too unfathomable to claim as our very own...essence. And yet, this is exactly the sort of moment I had, not in my solitary meditations, but packing my kids lunches for school.
Happiness is a choice...not a striving choice, but a surrendering choice.
We cannot create happiness by amassing wealth or possessions. We cannot expect our family, spouses, children or friends to bring us happiness. Changed circumstances will not bring lasting happiness. Circumstances change, people fail us, and excessive possessions only create an increasing hunger for more. I am not asserting that these things cannot bring some sense of happiness, only that lasting joy and peace come from within yourself. From that wellspring is your soul's inheritance, God's eternal spirit in you. You come from joy.
But here I am writing about something that was just a nugget in my subconscious last week. I haven't stumbled on any thing new. Most of us just aren't living in the awareness of eternity. We get by day after day, going about our responsibilities with our minds wandering in yesterday or tomorrow or in any other place but here...and now. And yet we long for something more, something purposeful and fulfilling. Our vision is farsighted. We look right past the tip of our nose, reaching for something that seems more noble and lasting. But here is our blindness. Looking beyond, we miss those nearest us...those in our community, our street, our home.