Timely wisdom.

"One of the core competencies of being human is that we are the only corner of creation that can refuse to be ourselves. The mountain is just the mountain, the cloud is just the cloud, and the tree is just the tree. That's why the natural world seems to be so nourishing to us - because we get an intonation of what it might be like just to be ourselves". 

-- David Whyte

Self-Blessing

The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing.

-- BY GALWAY KINNELL

Restor(y)ing the Religious Body

I like retelling Bible stories for a modern audience for two main reasons.  A) I feel that these are some of the most misunderstood and misinterpreted collective tales of our time, and B) most of the writings, teachings, and opinions about these stories seem to be a bit polarizing.  Often these stories have been hijacked by parties that aim to concretize the Mystery, and thus either understand these stories literally, or to discount them as such, and subsequently reject their relevance or interpret them only symbolically.

The assumption, of course, is that those two views are mutually exclusive and we need to pick a side in the debate.  It’s like our current political system:  Either, or.  Right, wrong.  Black, white.  If it’s this, it can’t be that.  Stalemate!  My argument is that perhaps both perspectives are only inadequate in their exclusion of the Other.  What wants to be whole is fragmented, and the original invitation becomes a message of profound alienation.

For example, consider the miracle of the Virgin Birth in the Christian tradition.  What if it doesn't matter if it happened exactly the way it was written down, but that it does matter that it happened to be written down exactly the way it was?  I know that I took that story literally for many decades, then rejected it completely for several years, and finally circled back around to it one day with renewed reverence.  I felt it had finally yielded it's essential teaching to me:  when the Holiness of Spirit is made manifest inside of a consciously receptive human being, Christ consciousness is born.  Or, in other words, willing Spirit + receptive body = a being that is both fully human and fully divine.

A paradox.  The Mystery.

So, what then does this Being who is fully human and fully divine do with their time on earth according to these same teachings?  Love and be loved, heal the sick, feed the hungry, be in community, and tell stories that help people remember the Mystery.  I believe that Jesus literally and symbolically did what we needed him to do in order to get our collective attention, shift the cultural-religious paradigm, and then invite us all to access our unique connection to Indwelling Divinity.  That was a radical message!  And it seems that Jesus would have to demonstrate his own divinity + humanity first.

The resurrection from death was a literal happening awesome enough that we would be able to hear its sounds reverberating for thousands of generations afterwards.  I believe that Jesus, the master storyteller, used his own life in order to create a kind of master Story that might reach us on a symbolic level no matter how many people and systems tried to translate and edit it according to their own agenda.

Perhaps "the gospel message" is both concealed and revealed by the gospel message itself.

Another paradox.  More of the same Mystery.

I imagine that this is often the hardest teaching for us to accept about ourselves: the reality of being fully human and fully divine simultaneously.  The dis-ease in the Hebrew culture at the time was a belief in separateness from God.  The dis-ease in our time might be a belief that there is no God.  I'm saying that both of those are a mistake, and that the literal-symbolic Virgin Birth, Crucifixion, Death, and Resurrection calls us into a radically different story.

What Are You Running Away From?

Suppose what you fear
could be trapped
and held in Paris.

Then you would have the courage
to go everywhere in the world.
All the directions of the compass
open to you,
except the degrees east or west
of true north
that lead to Paris.

Still, you wouldn’t dare
to put your toes smack dab
on the city limit line.

And you’re not really willing to stand on a mountainside
miles away
and watch the Paris lights
come up at night.
And just to be on the safe side, you decide to stay completely
out of France.

But then danger
seems too close
even to those boundaries,
and you feel the timid part of you
covering the whole globe again.

You need the kind of friend
who learns your secret and says,
“See Paris first.”

—M. Truman Cooper

The metaphorical Mary Magdalene (every woman)

"Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven devils had been cast out" —Luke 8:2.

The first was that I was very busy.

The second — I was different from you: whatever happened to you could
not happen to me, not like that.

The third — I worried.

The fourth — envy, disguised as compassion.

The fifth was that I refused to consider the quality of life of the aphid,

The aphid disgusted me. But I couldn't stop thinking about it.

The mosquito too — its face. And the ant — its bifurcated body.

Ok the first was that I was so busy.

The second that I might make the wrong choice,

because I had decided to take that plane that day,

that flight, before noon, so as to arrive early

and, I shouldn't have wanted that.

The third was that if I walked past the certain place on the street

the house would blow up.

The fourth was that I was made of guts and blood with a thin layer

of skin lightly thrown over the whole thing.

The fifth was that the dead seemed more alive to me than the living

The sixth — if I touched my right arm I had to touch my left arm, and if I

touched the left arm a little harder than I'd first touched the right then I

had

to retouch the left and then touch the right again so it would be even.

The seventh — I knew I was breathing the expelled breath of everything that

was alive and I couldn't stand it,

I wanted a sieve, a mask, a, I hate this word — cheesecloth —

to breath through that would trap it — whatever was inside everyone else that

entered me when I breathed in

No. That was the first one.

The second was that I was so busy. I had no time. How had this happened?

How had our lives gotten like this?

The third was that I couldn't eat food if I really saw it — distinct, separate

from me in a bowl or on a plate.

Ok. The first was that I could never get to the end of the list.

The second was that the laundry was never finally done.

The third was that no one knew me, although they thought they did.

And that if people thought of me as little as I thought of them then what was

love?

The fourth was I didn't belong to anyone. I wouldn't allow myself to belong

to anyone.

The fifth was that I knew none of us could ever know what we didn't know.

The sixth was that I projected onto others what I myself was feeling.

The seventh was the way my mother looked when she was dying—her mouth wrenched into an O so as to take in as much air…
The sound she made — the gurgling sound — so loud we had to speak louder 
to hear each other over it.

And that I couldn't stop hearing it—years later—

grocery shopping, crossing the street —

No, not the sound — it was her body's hunger

finally evident.
—what our mother had hidden all her life.

For months I dreamt of knucklebones and roots,

the slabs of sidewalk pushed up like crooked teeth by what grew underneath.

The underneath —that was the first devil.
It was always with me.

And that I didn't think you — if I told you — would understand any of this —

Copyright © 2008 by Marie Howe. 

All Relationships Are Sacred

"All relationships are sacred", I said to my friend the other day.  When he asked me what I meant by that, I was happy to A) realize that I did truly mean what I had said, and B) that I might actually be able to explain to him exactly why I felt this was true.

I imagine that most of us can accept this notion when our relationships feel inspiring, supportive, and loving.  We know that those types of relationships feel precious to us, and we are typically willing to work very hard to honor and protect them.  Yet, I was also acknowledging - at least in my own life - that even the encounters that have felt quite destructive may be equally valuable experiences, which deserve some strange kind of honoring too.  

Many of my own most destructive experiences in relationships appear  - often retrospectively - to have been calling me to do precisely that:  destroy something in myself that needed destroying.  (Perhaps something in the other needed to be destroyed too -- but I can't speak for them).

For me, however, it's sometimes been my naivete or idealism that needs destroying.  Sometimes it's my passivity.  Or my sense of powerlessness.  Or my arrogance.  Or bitterness.  Or dishonesty.  Or self-protective emotional numbing.  Sometimes I have needed to destroy unconscious patterns of relating to myself or others that I'd learned from equally unconscious role models (not blaming anyone in particular - just noticing that we all seem to sort of cross pollinate one another... for better or worse).  

And painful as it has been at times, I know that all of this has ultimately been for my absolute highest good.  In fact, it's this kind of 'clearing out' that has subsequently created an ever-deepening capacity to experience true satisfaction in my relationships with others too.  

So it seems to me that the opportunity in any relationship (beautiful or painful or both) is to discover whether we're capable of accepting the initiation it's offering us, and allow ourselves to be transformed by the mutual Mystery.

I suppose I would only only add this addendum to my original statement:  I believe that all relationships can be made sacred.   

Closeness

Your body is away from me,
but there is a window open
from my heart to yours.
From this window, like the moon,
I keep sending news secretly.

-- Rumi

Things I Learned From Trees

Things I learned from trees yesterday
Include nothing not already known

And yet everything transformed

Into a kind of radiance of the Old
New way of being with Mystery

The children of Mother and Father;
These trees

Reaching out in all directions -
Never fearing Love's dark reciprocities

And so Growing up from tenderness
To create this bridge Between

And suddenly I too could remember
Giving birth to those majestic beings.

-- Whitney Logan, 6.9.13

Writer's Block

It can feel base
And meaningless
To try to make words
Form themselves
In such a way
As to deliver
Their Message

When we must too
Remember
How it is
That even the most
Carefully formed
Sounds

Simply return
Back
Into the form from
Which they emerged:

Formless.