Hollow Men

I just remembered this poem.  It really impressed me in high school and I wanted to remember the last part especially.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Small Straws in a Soft Wind

This was given to me in August 2008 by Mary Bertelson at In His Presence prayer group. 

"You have repeatedly been urged to release the past,
and I tell you truly that as soon as you let go,
doors of opportunity will open wide
for you to move forward in spiritual progression.
Separate yourself from the emotional strain
of the difficult circumstances that you have endured.
Only then will you see the value of the past experiences
apart from the stress,
and you will know that you have gained great wisdom and insight
that will serve you well in the days ahead,
says the Lord.

Deuteronomy 28:12a
The Lord will open to you His good treasure,
the heavens,
to give rain to your land in its season,
and to bless all the work of your hand."

It's taken several years of steady leaning into this for me to experience even some of this separation and valuing. 

I wonder if maybe English needs another verb tense because "as soon as you let go" and "separate yourself" seem to imply it's all about me- my actions, my choices.  Yes, letting go and separating myself have been active choices on my part and yet it wasn't simply all about me.

The verse is more congruent with my experience "[God will] give rain to your land in its season, and bless all the work of your hand."  My work, God's rain.  My land, God's season.  My hand, God's blessing.  That's more my experience.

I have had very little idea how to let go and separate myself from the pain.  I could see that it needed to happen.  I wanted it to happen.  I didn't lose focus on what I did know- hot springs, go soak in hot springs.  I held on to that one piece of clarity and direction, leaning into it for two years before I went.  Then, it's taken another year of teeth and pain and abscess removal and happy, happy, happy to get here. 

And I'm still going for help and saying to Joe and Ginger, "I don't know how to live happy.  I'm anxious and the side of my face hurts, really throbs.  I don't know how to be satisfied."  And then there are days like yesterday and today when I get a glimpse of my joy.  I stand on the scenic overlook and see my life as truly beautiful.  My heart expands in happiness,  I get high on gratitude, and I do see the value apart from the stress.

And.

That's where I am- And.

Anxious and grateful.  Hurting and separated.  Hopeful and nervous.
And.

Happy used to be glimpses, like out of the corner of my eye.  It was gone when I turned.
Scenic overlooks on the road of life.  I'd pull over and get out, the clouds would part, and I would get a beautiful vista.  Then I'd get back on the road and keep driving.

Now however, I'm picking up a scent, sniffing the breeze like a hound dog.  Something.  Something is there and I'm just catching a whiff.  Waiting for the next puff of wind to carry it to me so I can follow it.

Life lived happy from the inside.  Same road, same life but lived so differently that it's nothing like it.  Not just vistas and glimpses but everything- the same old things- but entirely new.

Appreciation
Freedom
Satisfaction
Rest and joy
Power
Pleasure
Happy

These are the names I've given it over the last 8 years.  It has called to me lap after lap at the Y, in every retreat, in every walk down the pier in Two Harbors, in every piece of art, in every nightmare.

God, is my season changing?  Are You going to going to open Your good treasure? 
Is it starting to rain?
I think I felt a drip.

What Was Said To the Rose

I just thought of this quote by Rumi, "What was said to the rose to make it unfold, was said here in my chest."

So, I looked it up and found this incredible poem. I knew that quote was in a song.  Who knew it was a poem even?  I was stunned by the beauty of this piece especially after the things I'd been writing this morning about Ginger and Joe and Pastor Peggy.  Wow.

What Was Said to the Rose

What was said to the rose that made it open
was said to me here in my chest.

What was told the Cypress that made it strong
and straight, what was

whispered the jasmine so it is what it is, whatever made
sugarcane sweet, whatever

was said to the inhabitants of the town of Chigil in
Turkestan that makes them

so handsome, whatever lets the pomegranate flower blush
like a human face, that is

being said to me now. I blush. Whatever put eloquence in
language, that's happening here.

The great warehouse doors open; I fill with gratitude,
chewing a piece of sugarcane, 

in love with the One to whom every that belongs!

Poem by Jalaluddin Rumi,
translation ©2005 — Coleman Barks



This is my story today.  The great warehouse doors open and I am filled with gratitude.  I'm seeing my life, my story differently today and I am so very grateful right where I was previously grieved.  Right there, now I am grateful and so impressed by who I've known and what I've learned, what I've seen and who I've become.  It still is what it has always been and yet for me, the impossible became possible and the desert bloomed. 

I've always felt that other people would bloom, other people would heal, but not me.  
It is good to live to see such times. 
I never expected to see them. 

A privilege and an honor

On my recent retreat day to the North Shore, I finally understood the posture I want to have in the face of the truth that all things, good and bad, come to an end.

I've tried clutching tighter, trying to hold on to the season, the dream, the relationship.  This led to rigidity and dysfunction.
I've tried passivity, withdrawing- why even bother?  Why set myself up for disappointment?  This led to loneliness and disembodiment.
I've tried anticipating pain and failure since they are reliable in this unpredictable world.  This led to anxiety and heaviness of soul. 

Good memories cause pain in their loss while bad memories taint everything they touch.

And then...

It's like that for me sometimes.  I grapple and avoid, poke and wonder, approach and distract, blog and watch movies until.... something clicks.

I've been talking about "coming home" and wanting to trade off pain for happiness and letting go of the sword for a year now.  I kept circling it, walking laps on it, talking about it- not really knowing how to do it.

And then.

Driving to the North Shore, a scene from Solitudes (Stargate, SG-1, season 1, episode 18) flashed through my mind in which two air force officers are slowly dying.  As hope fades, they say to each other, "It was an honor serving with you."

It's been my honor.
It's been my privilege.

I drove, my life flashing scene after scene, repeating:
It's been an honor serving with you.
It's been my privilege.

And I found it was true.  Every day of my life has been an honor and a privilege. 

Some people and scenes I could honestly say, "It's been my pleasure."  But many not.
In the good memories, serving with those people was a privilege.  I saluted them from the end of all things, cherishing our too limited time.
In the bad memories, "It's been an honor" was a dignified and relieved way to lay it to rest and the honor was mine.

Some situations were not privileges.  Some people were not honorable.
But it was still a privilege for me to live those days.
Every day of my life is a privilege.
Who I've become is an honor.


And I wept while scene after scene of my life played on the big screen of my mind.

Gratitude in all circumstances is the posture I want.
I used to think this meant being thankful for all things but that's not my current understanding.
It's about being able to find something in every circumstance to be grateful for.
Maybe being grateful that it's over.
Or being grateful to have survived.
Or that it lead somewhere wonderful.
Or that I will never have to live that day or cry those tears or put up with that again.

Maybe it's being grateful to have known such a person even for so short a time.
Or being grateful that they tried.
Or being grateful that I became someone I admire.

Or being grateful for who I was on that day led me to who I am today.

Tears are running down my face again which is a sign to me that this is deeply true.  Maybe I don't have all the words right and can't implement it correctly.
But I am headed in the right direction.

For good measure, within a couple days, I saw another slow death scene from Aliens in a Spaceship  (Bones, season 2, episode 9) in which the dying man says,  "It's been a privilege."

And it always is.

Given Son and The Mother

I have a great story I heard from Rachel, a mom I met at the Children's Museum this last week, about Given Son, the happy boy she's adopting from Haiti.  I'd love to share it with you and if you've seen me this last week, I probably already have- it's made that much of an impact on me.

The way Rachel told this story was full of truth and grace.  There wasn't a whiff of denial.  She knew every diagnosis and consequence and talked about what survivors Haitians are.  She's been there for every one of his 8 surgeries in 18 months and she spoke of his once-in-a-generation special visa which allowed him medical care at Mayo.  She spoke of the birth mother who left him at the hospital and of how much she had loved him to give him up hoping that strangers could and would do for her Given Son what she couldn't.  At 21 months he is still struggling to swallow but he'd get it.  She glowed as she told me how he runs around home signing "happy boy, happy boy."

This child was not a pathetic case to her- not a slow child, developmentally delayed, deaf, small for his age, and unable to swallow.  He was miraculous.  He was a survivor.  He was happy.  He would learn to swallow like he had learned everything else- a little late, but he'd get there.  She knows he's a special child who has a special gift to give the world and she's doing everything she can to help him give it.  She is absolutely in love with this kid and bursting with pride.

As I was repeating this story to Angela and Megan, I said, "I want someone to tell my story like this."

Angela replied, "I do, too, but even more, I want to learn to tell my own story like this."

That's it exactly.  I want to be both The Mother and the Given Child.
I want to change my posture and tell my story this way full of truth and grace.

Cruel Master

I am once again sitting at the end of a Bones episode in tears.  This one was Finger in a Nest about dog fighting.  The last 4 minutes are really something and I find myself asking:

Why am I still trying to please a cruel master?
What of me has died because I have?
How do I bury those things and what do I have to say about it?
How can I choose to please a kind and happy one?

Themes

Since 2004 every year I have a theme.  Here's the list to date.

2004  Cultivate an appreciation for my own self and my own company
2005  Release is freedom
2006  Living what is mine and what is not mine is satisfying
2007  Satisfaction is adaptible and balanced
2008  In receptivity and trust lies the path to rest and joy
2009  True vulnerability is power
2010  Living deeply into my own life and my own body is pleasure
2011  Happy, happy, happy