a chair and goodness

Another dream, another visitor. This time, Jean,  someone I used to work with was having her writings read aloud. Oh, how I wanted my story to be next. We writers are a vain lot. Read me, read me, and if my story makes you weepy or happy, I will love you for life. Sigh.

The word I woke with this morning was something like transparency. In Jeans' story, she was very open and vulnerable and that was it's greatness. I have trouble with that, always have. I want to be perceived as having it all together. All the time.

Maya, considered the Mother of Creation by her devotees in India is the Hindu and Buddhist Goddess of illusion. She, having brought all into existence by willing it, knows the truth of existence beyond the veils of our human perception of separateness and teaches us that we are all one.

And so, if deep within, I am that little five year old who was so afraid of making a mistake that I put a grey dot in the middle of the coloring book elephant, rather than risk going outside the lines, maybe you are too. I read on Twitter of a person that doesn't want to die but is tired of living and I pray, how I pray for grace to seep in to change that person's perception." It gets better,"; I scream inwardly and I add them to my prayer list. If he only knew how I believe God sees us.

For some reason we were talking about goodness at our last writing group meeting. I think one of the lovely participants is focusing on that word in her blog posts for this month. It brought to mind something I read about St. Therese Couderc and a vision she was gifted with that touches me deeply. She describes it this way : "

"I saw written as in letters of gold this word Goodness, which I repeated for a long while with an indescribable sweetness. I saw it even on the chair I was using as a kneeler. I understood then that all that these creatures have of good and all the services and helps that we receive from each of them is a blessing that we owe to the goodness of God, who has communicated to them something of His infinite goodness, so that we may meet it in every thing and everywhere".

If a chair is imbued with goodness from the providential Hand of God, so are we who bear His image. As Maya says: "We are all One , each of us the beautifully prismatic expression of the Divine." If only my Twitter friend knew how even a chair can speaks to us of God who we can meet in everything and everywhere.

options, butterflies and me.

Right now, outside my window is a brown and blue butterfly who is spending time on my bare, well eaten rose bush. He flits and so does my mind with this word "options". I turn to Scripture and read what is below..It stiffens my spine.It tells me to keep going even if no one reads what I write. Keep going. Get the truth out there. Be my instrument.

"I will bless the Lord who counsels me; even in the night my heart exhorts me ."Ps 16:7.

Yes, this is what is happening. At night and in the early hours I am being exhorted. To listen and never think that my words are inadequate or unnecessary.

My journal scribbles from this morning mentions the option to be kind, thoughtful, interested, things I strive to do. Minutes later I failed badly.  I was writing a thank you note to my son when my husband came in to tell me about a friend at church who just offered to pick up another older friend and bring him to Mass each Sunday. I barely paid attention, trying to achieve my goal. As he left he said : "Tim, the man who volunteered, is a good man. I finished my note and realized that I had chosen another option rather than the kind one. Sigh. Words, is that all I produce?

I went into the room where my husband was making a list and told him this: "You have offered to do that same thing repeatedly, that makes you a good man."He smiled. It is often a struggle to recognize the best thing to do and then to follow through. In reading about mindfulness,I have discovered that one can learn to control thoughts; and that there is a nanosecond between a stimulant and your reaction where you, just you , can decide the best way. Lord, led me to that place more often.

gleanings

This word attracts me. It seems bright somehow. At a glance I see the word glow. It suggests openness, an ability to let the light come in a small opening. It actually means to gather laboriously, bit by bit. Isn't that what we do in our years, sauntering through this life ? Gathering things that hold us together, that give our lives meaning. A quote here, a suggestion there. We bend over and pick up a saying by Buddha, or a Bible verse, a friend's comment and we believe. We stuff them in our souls and consider the day a good one.

I wrote these in my journal: 

......we are not alone....there is a point to our being here....no matter how grim, it does get better...the key to health is moving....writing is a special grace...what we do matters...our ancestors are somewhere...we do have guardian angels....don't stop singing show tunes...plant a garden even if it is three pots.....feed your soul with poetry and art daily and write about it..start to spend more time in nature, walk, sketch...pay attention to dreams, God can speak in that dark time.......keep a journal, back entries are amazing.....take that leap and just believe...that you are loved and that God has a plan for your life...what we can't see is so much better that what we do see...there is mystery....

Co-incidence? Yesterday was the anniversary of 9-11. I opened an old journal yesterday to find a profound dream that I had had. There I found a different entry which revealed that I had a boyfriend, the actor James Woods, who I now, 30 years later, follow on Twitter. He who was on a flight the week before with the terrorists who caused 9-11.They were acting suspiciously so he reported it to the FBI who did nothing. That was their dry run.What a co-incidence that his name should appear when I opened my old journal. He who had tried to avert a tragedy. Mystery.

Someone posted this on Twitter today.

"Faith is confident assurance concerning what we hope for and conviction about things we do not see." Hebrews 11-1.

I am grateful for all the little sticks and stubble put on my path, bits of truth that hold my life.The gleanings.

Joy

  By the time I got out of bed, the first word had left my mind but then "Joy" came and I grabbed it. Just the appearance of that word in my mind brought some speck of joy.What a word.

I only drink coffee, laced with Coffeemate Carmel Latte, twice a week as a sacrifice and I can tell you that abstaining the other days makes Wednesday and Sunday feel like a holiday with fireworks. Sweet, sweet Carmel. Today was coffee day.

It reminds me of a story I read about the monks on the solitary rock island know as Skellig Micheal off the Irish coast. They ate simply, prayed all day and had little contact with the outside world. They were so deprived that the slightest bit of beauty, a passing bird, a blooming weed filled them with intense joy. There is a lesson here.

This brought back memories of the times when my kids were young and I would head to Helen , Georgia by myself for three days. I stayed at a motel right on the Chattahoochee River; my first hour spent sitting on the small patio looking and listening to the soft river sounds. I never remember a more peaceful time.

I always went in early Spring when crowds were few. A small purple flower is pressed into my journal page dated April 10, 1989. I remember picking it, the purple so lovely against the brown leaves along the road :.... "thoughts strung together like beads, lilac scent, small purple and white violets, horses greeting me at a fence, river sounds. Discovered a lovely waterfall behind the motel. Every trip here is different. I treasure every moment."

The joy of solitude where your thoughts can go where you want and not be interrupted. A cool breeze on your face as you run by the river. No television and sleeping until you wake up. Starting the day with the Psalms open on your lap and the river at your feet. And then the joy of the four little faces that greet you when you come home, renewed.

                                                           Celtic Prayer
                                      The love and affection of the angels
                                      be with me.
                                      The love and affection of the saints
                                       be with me,
                                       The love and affection of heaven
                                       be with me.
                                      To lead me and cherish me
                                       this day.

light as a feather...

                                             

    Painting by Natalie Buske Thomas

                                                            You yourself, 
                                       as much as anybody in the entire universe, 
                                              deserve your love and affection...Buddha                                                                                                                     


The word that I awoke with this morning was "Confession." I am not sure where to go with this but I must "confess" that I am so tired of the sun and these brutal September days in my beloved Georgia. No rain, plants drooping, about to expire. One runs from car to house before being pressed and melted like an ice cream cone dropped on a sidewalk. Help.

That's not what this is about. It is telling of the relief one feels when going to the Catholic sacrament and unloading your selfishness onto the sturdy shoulders of a priest. It is about facing your shortcomings and yes, sins,  and hoping to leave them behind and start afresh, a blank slate, a new creation.

I have often heard this: why not just tell God and I get that question. My answer always relates to my time living in Denver in the 70s when I used to listen to a call-in Christian station. Many times the caller would say, "I have said I am sorry to God but I don't know if I have been forgiven, or I don't feel like I am forgiven." I would think, that is sad, because I never felt that way. The reason that has never been an issue I think is because Confession exacts a price. It is hard. To face yourself and then humbly tell another human your sins is difficult.The relief when you leave is palpable. Nothing matches it.

When my kids were young and we would go as a family to Penance , I remember them gamboling about the parking lot like new fawns having left their burdens behind. It is a great gift.

And so I recall confessions that I am sure took place with two people that I cared deeply about , my sister and my friend, Mike. They had been away from the Church for almost their whole lives but at the end, they chose to meet with a priest and tell their stories so they could move on to the next place unburdened. I makes me happy t think of them walking lightly on their way.

The scene from "The Shack" comes to mind where the sad, broken Dad walks up the path to the big house where God waits and as he walks , the dark starts to disappear, the snow melts, the trees and flowers bloom and the path is lit by the sun.That is what Confession is like, a path back to the Light.

a refection on connections...

People say that one doesn't need to go to church to worship God. I get that but then I never would have met Anna and Matthew.

It was twenty years ago that I was part of the team that welcomed people coming into the Church. The day I met Linda is etched in my mind. I sat down next to her and her husband, Joe, and admired her red hair. Just a beautiful color. She quietly told me that it was a wig but the exact color of her real hair and I could tell by her fair coloring that this was true.Thus began a friendship that was limited in time.

I don't have to say why Linda wore a wig. I will tell you of her courage. Newcomers are asked to speak at the Masses after the Easter when they are baptized and Linda volunteered. I have never forgotten her words. She told a bit about how glad she was to be a member of the Church, about her health journey and then said this : "No matter what happens, I will be alright. I belong to God."

At one of the last meetings at church,  Linda invited me to visit her at home. I was glad to do so and that is when I met her grandchildren, Anna and Matthew. I think they were 5 and 7 years old. I also eventually met their mother Lora. I don't know what happened at that visit but those children became so important to me and me to them. I think they have always associated me with their beloved Grandma.

Since then, these many years, I have been hugged, kissed, patted and loved by these children and their sister Emma, who is now 13. I have always considered it a wonderful blessing to know them. And their Mom to be a great friend.

As if this wasn't enough, after this past Sunday Mass, I got to meet Matthew's little son. He looked me in the eye and as if he knew his role as a joy giver, blessed me with the biggest smile and reached out to me. Delighted isn't the right word.

It is hard to type this final paragraph but this small story is a thank you to my friend Linda who passed in 2002. She left behind a wonderful family that loves me.

Dreams are mentors

Those title of this story was written on the top of some material I had when I was in formation to be a spiritual director. Little did I know that those words were exactly what I needed to see twenty years later. I am having so many dreams of people that I haven't seen or thought of very often for years. Why?

We have been told that dreams are just a way for the mind to satisfy it's unfulfilled desires or it's just a bit of boiled beef disturbing the stomach.(Thank you, Charles Dickens) Mostly, I think we ignore our dreams, laugh at them, or shrink from them. What if the following statement by the Psychiatrist Carl Jung is true :

"We have forgotten that age-old fact that God speaks chiefly through dreams and visions.".

Lead by a dream, I took my oldest grandson out for ice cream when he was going through a difficult time. Just he and I, to get ice cream. In the dream he had poured out his heart about the problem. I just knew I was being directed to try to have that conversation. Off we went alone, which was very unusual, and although he didn't say much, I told him I was sorry he was experiencing a hard patch and he could call me anytime if he needed help. It didn't turn out like the dream but I sensed going forward a closeness that we didn't have before.

The most profound one I had was after my sister passed away. We had been estranged for 4 years before her death and nothing I did was enough to mend the rift. So I asked my deceased Mother to fix it. Two weeks before her passing, my sister and I reconciled and I spoke to her on the phone the day she died. A week later, I had this briefest of dreams:

I walked into a bare room with only two chairs. My mother and sister sat side by side with their heads touching. I said : "It's been a long time, are you O.K ?" My mother said: "We're fine."

That was a visit. I know it.

It was a dream of his deceased father that brought the brilliant Jung to consider that maybe there is an after life. In tribal societies, dreams often comprised an alternative spiritual reality to which humans gained access only through the dream state.

Time is short, think of what we may be missing. Dreams can be mentors.