perfection is a myth

This beautiful Monet postcard reminds me of every stream or river that I have ever loved. I notice the trees with partially bare branches and tawny leaves; the slight bits of snow on the bank and rocks. The rushing sounds are almost audible.What a genius.

There is a stream in the Catskill Mountains that has always enchanted me, the Esopus. It was a warm summer day when some friends joined me for what was advertised as a Buddhist Poetry Walk. Sounds delicious? A lovely grey haired woman monk with a bright smile, handed each of us a baby food jar, cleaned and holding a snippet of a poem. Following her like a quiet gaggle of geese, we slowly walked along the banks of the Esopus. She would ring a small bell, we would stop and take out a poem. Standing silently, we would savor the words amidst the stream sounds and the scent of fir trees. All senses seemed engaged. Then we would move on.

At the end of the walk,on the rocky bank stood a small wooden tea house with timber benches. Our leader quietly passed around a cup of hot tea to each of us with a cookie. This experience of the quiet, the muted sounds of water and shuffling feet , the scent of fresh flowing water and stirring fir trees, the taste of tea and cookies has stayed with me.

The Japanese concept of Wabi Sabi is not easy to translate, but I will try. It has to do with an intuitive response to nature. It also has to do with an acceptance of the imperfect, incomplete and impermanent nature of everything. And the recognition of the gifts of slow, natural living.

That walk by the Esopus was a perfect Wabi Sabi. And what happened next closed the circle. The next Fall, Hurricane Sandy took a rare trip up the East Coast to the Catskills and flooded stream and river.The Esopus was higher than ever recorded, and in a flash the tea house and benches were washed away. Impermanence. I was so saddened to hear that.

Still, I hear the whispers of the Blue Spruce and the Esopus:

Slow down......savor....observe...note....be ready, a hurricane will come...drink from that chipped cup, it's a reminder that nothing is perfect....breathe deeply of the things around you...appreciate.  

the wisdom of Clint Eastwood..

 This is new, I don't fully understand it but at night in dreams I am being visited by someone.This happens almost every night. People from the past, the present and some more than once. I add them to my prayer list and remember them that way every day. Last night was different. Someone dropped in that has been in my life at a distance since forever. Clint Eastwood. Yes, the actor I first met in "Rawhide" years ago.

 I won't go into length about the visit, just that we were in a Western bar and I was buying a rawhide purse with tan fringe and following him around. In our conversation, I found out that he was becoming Catholic. At his age. I was curious and asked why. With big eyes and a stern face he said: "This world will go on forever." He seemed amazed at this, then he went on;," between the ages of 17 and 20, I thought I would never find my way, I was a loser, aimless, lost.". The conversation continues, " There is an invisible dance going on around this world. People holding hands, dancing with joy because they know that there is Mystery, they know that they are here for a purpose and so they swirl and clap and encourage others to join. I want that".

I could actually hear Clint's voice in those words. Maybe you can as well.

So here I am in Jonesboro,Georgia with a new name on my list. Mystery. Will I know someday what these prayers have accomplished ? I don't know. However, I am supposed to be doing this.The list grows and the Dance goes on.

"I trust in the Lord;
my soul trusts in his word.
My soul waits for the Lord 
more than sentinels wait for the dawn...
..For with the Lord is kindness
and with Him is plenteous redemption...'Psalm 130: 5-7.

it will be given back to you...

 Blues for Johanna by Ephemeral Emeralde.

From the water's depth, I see a hand. It is hers. I have been on a wooden dock with my sister; she is 9, I am 5 and I have fallen into a lake that is over my head. I see her hand still, coming down through the blue and green. She pulls me up back onto the deck. That is all I recall . She saved me, my sister.

It is 60 years later and I am in a hospital room with my sister who hasn't spoken to me in four years. She reads my e-mails but won't reply. She knows I have called but won't call back. But here we are; I am holding her hand and won't let go as she tells me of her stay in the hospital, what she is afraid of and how she wants to go home. She will not go home. She has three months to live and will be here until the end. As I leave the room, I tell her the truth: "I love you." She replies the same and on the day she passes, I say the same into a telephone held to her ear. And I say this " I will see you on the other side."

Months later, I am at the monastery, attending a writing seminar. Notebooks are provided, I pick a marbled one that has blue in the background because that was my sister's favorite color. Sometime in the sharing time of the group, I tell how raw the death of my sister is. After the session, a young woman from Florida asks if she could pray with me in the church. I agreed and she prayed a beautiful prayer and left. I began to to tell the Lord of my regret for all the years lost when we weren't communing. Then , I heard this."Those years will be given back to you."

I don't know what that means but it was so unexpected and inscrutable that I believe the words to be true.They comfort as does writing about this part of my life, my life with my dear, missed sister which will continue in another place.

"We journey through treasures every day of our lives, they are on loan so that we might learn to trust and love the Lender."

have I done enough ?

When I left for the beach a week ago, I tried to give my small spindly plant, a crown of thorns, just the right amount of water without drowning it. This little plant means so much to me. It's a connection with my beloved youngest son. There is a story there but that is for another time. One morning at the beach I awoke thinking of that plant, going over what I did for it and wondered if it was enough.

  Do we, as Christians, not wonder that all the time; am I doing enough for the Kingdom?

A few years ago, John and I started taking a man in his 50s to church every Sunday. Robert was HIV positive and had suffered for 20 years with that disease. He had had a stroke and walking was very difficult, his vision was affected as well. He could see a bit. So, we struggled to find a handicapped space every week, help him from the car and often John took him to his doctor for treatments. He was so thin, gaunt really, and weak but each Sunday he waited for us. And on the way home we would have a laugh fest.He noticed things at Mass, not holy things, I am sorry to say. Like the lady whose shoes didn't match anything she wore.Or the haircut that looked bad. On he went and we couldn't help but enjoy him. He was holy and struggled mightily to be faithful to his Lord.And how he missed dancing.

He passed away and having no family here, the church was spare in people. As I sat there viewing his casket, I thought:  "I could have done so much more for him." Once, the people who invited him for Thanksgiving phoned and canceled his visit. He called us crying. We left our family and took him dinner.We should have brought him over. I should have called him more. When his PC wouldn't work, I should have been more patient. I was thinking this with my eyes closed when I saw this: he was above the casket, dancing and then he communicated this to me: "None of that matters now.No one thinks in those terms.All is perfect joy."

I think we worry about the wrong things. Just do as you are led. A smile can heal.A note can lift. And by the way, my little sweet plant is fine. I did enough.

Follow Me

  Sometime in my twenties, I read an article in Newsweek by someone my age entitled 'Searching for Sages." I loved it , cut it out and have it still. The author, Joyce Maynard,  wrote about her generation and how they all seemed to be looking for a wise man, someone with the "answers" to life's many mysteries. How every guy she had coffee with seemed to have story about a truck driver they met who was a philosopher of sorts who imparted some nugget of wisdom that her friend hangs onto. God had been declared dead by Time magazine and so this generation, mine,  was adrift with nothing to hang onto.

 Her writing was so good she went on to publish books but her article is the one that struck me deeply. In my view, we are born with a need to know. To understand how things work, and most importantly. why we are here at all.

That generation also had travelers going to find a guru in India, famously, a Beatle, and trying Open Marriage, a way to cheat and still keep a marriage together. We became lovers of the Earth and spent our time chained to fences around nuclear sites.

In the article, Maynard describes a kid who came to show and tell in the fourth grade with rosary beads, a crucifix and spoke lovingly of God, the blood of Christ and nails. The laughter in the class was barely contained. To her and others, to speak of these things seemed almost dirty.

And so here we are,  with every abomination under the sun being exposed, things that always seem to harm women and children the most. Rudderless, we do as we please. There is nothing new under the sun; we are always trying to do it our way. I think of that brilliant poem that I only now appreciate, "The Hound of Heaven ". We know there is Someone to follow but we flee...

                               "......I fled Him down the nights and down the days,
                                 I fled him down the labyrinthine ways of my own mind
                                       and in the midst of tears, I fled from Him...

The Maynard article ends with this: "After so many unprofound facts and so much loose, undisciplined freedom,  it's comforting to have a creed to follow and a cross to bear".When the Voice says : "Follow Me." The only answer is Yes.

Life is not a race.....harmony.

There is a certain gentleness and peace about the word given today : harmony. It suggests hand holding and dancing in a circle. It may be one of my favorites although I don't quite know where to go with this. One of the definitions is agreement, another, concord. I think of the Concord Bridge in Massachusetts where the American Revolution started. Not much harmony that day except among the patriots who were tired of being ruled from miles away.

The poem Desiderata encourages this: "..as far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons." Sometimes that takes work  and forgiveness. For me, it required walking into my sister's hospital room when, for four years, she had made it clear that she didn't want to speak to me. She was very ill but alert. I didn't know how it was going to go when I walked in but my husband and niece stood outside the door in case of fireworks. When I went through the doorway she just said:  "Oh" I sat down, took her hand and we talked for a long time. I had prayed for that reconciliation and it happened. A peaceful coming together. Harmony, though quiet, requires effort.

I think the Creator of the Universe desires harmony. As the stars hum , the moon moves and the planets spin, it all works. His creatures should do no less.

Perhaps harmony is this: the placid acceptance of each other in the knowledge that we all are on the same path. That we are all made of the same God stuff and are loved equally and eternally by the same Person. Again the poem: "If you compare yourself with others you may become vain and bitter. Enjoy your own achievements as well as your plans."

I wonder if we can be in harmony with others if our interior is not in agreement with how we are living our lives. Do we reflect our own values? Balance. Are we at peace with who we are?
And this from the poem:

...."Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whether it is clear to you, the world is probably unfolding as it should. With all its sham,  drudgery and broken dreams it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy." Max Erhman

kaleidoscope love

                     

                             

                                                        Goldfinches...

.                              ...."they sing not for the sake of winning..
                                        But for sheer delight and gratitude..
                                            Believe me they say
                        It is a serious thing to be alive this fresh morning in this broken world.".
                                                                                           Mary Oliver   



The story I wrote once about the "The Goldfinch",  that 1654 piece of art above by Carel Fabritius, started out with a bit of fury, "Who would do such a horrible thing?" It was woven around the obscenity of tying a songbird to a perch for one's amusement. What a limited life the bird would have, wild as it is, fettered in a house with the ability to fly just inches. It makes me sad to think of that still.

 My story then discussed my Grandmother's limited life, she who never drove a car, also Amanda Berry, a teenager kidnapped and held captive in Cleveland for ten years, and women totally clothed who are beaten if an ankle shows. It made me appreciate how open my life is.

  Strangely, the words that came to mind as I woke up today were these two: tether-ball and kaleidoscope. I know better now than to throw my hands up and scratch my head. Tether ball involves playing with a soccer ball attached to a pole by a short rope. The ball is very limited as to how far from the pole it can go. The ball is dun colored, uninteresting to look at, although I bet the game is fun.

 And this is what I was given to understand by these two words. What we know of life, of the Creator, is about the amount of space between the pole and the ball. What God really is that our minds cannot fathom is something like a Kaleidoscope, that fascinating instrument many of us had as toys when we were children. Is there any limit to the colors, the shapes, the configurations that we can summon as we slowly, slowly turn the kaleidoscope's moving part? I can remember feeling like I was looking at another magical world so unlike my own. This , this wonder, is a glimpse of what we are to encounter when we travel back to our home. Deo Gracias