No Need to Beat Myself

Sparkling October, repeatedly drowning (and coming to shore again) after the triggering of old traumatic wounds, and two gospel quotes keep me company:

1) "No one is good* but God alone." How comforting. We are not here to strive after perfection, because perfection is simply not available to us clay folk as long as we remain earth and spirit intertwined. (*The word translated as "good" in English, may be better translated from the Aramaic as "ripe" - aka "mature.")

2) In the parable where weed seeds are strewn in a wheat field, Jesus says not to pull out the plants we think are weeds. Until all have grown, we are too immature to distinguish weeds from good plants. Along with "do not judge," this is more or less a restatement of what Julian of Norwich received when she was tormented that "the great foreseeing wisdom of God" allowed us to cause each other such suffer. Jesus spoke with “complete tenderness, showing no manner of blame,” saying, “It is behoovely that there should be sin, but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well."

Namaste

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Writing Again - Yeah!

I don't normally post daily life stuff, but want to let my few loyal fans know why I've posted even less lately.

I AM WRITING. Yes, I have stumbled free of the lifeless writing desert in which I wandered for the last few years - with a vengeance! Alleluia.

My life took a delightful 180 last fall when I was cast in a local production by a new theatre company. (Preview and pics of rehearsal). Two weeks into rehearsals, I began writing plays.

My plays are all character driven - starting with a few people in an opening scene or situation. I have no idea who these people are, what their story is about, the turning points, the larger message, etc. My only job is to record what the characters say and do... And then edit the thing into a producible play. I've finished four one acts that vary in length from 7 minutes to 1 hour, and have a longer play in the initial stages.

I've never written character-driven stuff before. It is fun. Way fun. More alluring than reading, yet with none of the grunge feeling of addiction. Now I get what other writers mean when they say, "I can't wait to get started and find out what my characters are going to do today."

Writing has never been this self-generating and irresistible. It seems I have stumbled on my "writing medium" - which feels a little odd after writing seriously in other formats for over 20 years. Not that I won't continue with creative non-fiction, etc. (I still intend to find an outlet for the memoir of my monastic sojourn), but WOW.

This is also interesting in that I was kicked out of the monastery 5 years ago last November. In classic grief healing mode, perhaps I am finally ready to center my life elsewhere.

Peace all,

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Psalms for Addicts - Psalm 139

O God, You search me and You know me.
You know my sitting down and my rising up.
You attend my thoughts from afar.

Your breath fans my road and my resting place.
My whole journey is known to You.
Before a word is on my tongue
You know it through and through.

From all sides You surround and fill me.
You lay Your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful -
Too great for me to understand.

Oh, where can I go from Your spirit?
Where can I flee from Your face?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there.
If I make my bed in death, You are there.
If I take the wings of the dawn
And fly past the sea’s farthest end,
Even there Your hand guides me,
Your right hand holds me fast.

If I say, "Darkness has wounded me
And all the light is night,"
Even darkness hides nothing from You.
The night shines as the day,
For in You, light and dark are one.

Your breath was woven into me
In my mother's womb.
You are my inmost being.
I always dwell in You.

I praise You for the wonder of my life.
For my soul understands:
As are all Your works, I am awesome.
Every part of me lives in You.

Even as I was created in secret,
My body drawn from the clay of the earth,
You saw my new-formed self, my mortality.
And inscribed all my days with Your words.

How precious are Your thoughts.
How vast beyond belief.
Counted, they are more numerous
Than the grains of sand.

Let me wake up so I know myself one with You.

Slay the voices of my addictions!
Cleanse me of their self-negating hostility!
Or overwhelmed by fear and pain
I will forget what You are.

The oblivious speak of You, yet deceive.
In delusion, they abuse Your Awesome Name.
Do I not despise what is hardened against You
And abhor what turns away from You?
With loathing I face my addictions -
The enemies of my heart.

Search me, O God, and know me.
Examine my innermost thoughts.
Cleanse me of what leads away from You,
Awaken me and set my feet on Your path.

An interpretation based on the NIV, the ICEL and the JPS 1917 translation

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Psalms for Addicts - Psalm 41

Happy is one who is compassionate toward those who lack.
God will heal her in the day of her suffering.
She will be upheld and brought to life.
She will live happily on earth.

Do not let us be consumed by the greed of addiction.
Support us in our sickness.
Catalyze our lethargy; turn us around.

As for me, I cry, “Show Your care.
Heal me for I have wandered away from You.”
Fear speaks malice inside me, saying,
“When shall she die, and her name perish?”
The voices of addiction come into me, speaking deceit.
They slander me and fill me with lies.
Then I go out and broadcast their fraud.

These voices hate me.
Their whispers are against me.
Imagining the worst of me, they devise my harm, saying,
“Evil clings to her. She is dying and can never recover.”

Addiction was my best friend, the one I trusted,
The one who shared my food.
My friend has turned against me
And now wishes my downfall.

O God, care for me.
Restore my health that I may renounce my true enemy.
And get myself back.

I will know Your delight in me
For my addictions cannot triumph.
If You uphold me, I will enter my heart’s integrity
And live in You forever.

Blessed is the wholeness of those who struggle.
From everlasting to everlasting. Amen and Amen

An interpretation based on the NIV, the ICEL and the JPS 1917 translation

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Monastic Ticks

Today I got my first tick of the season… and I’m engulfed by sadness, longing for monastic life.

It's a sparkling, clouds sky chasing spring day. Well worth the odd tick to walk in slanting sun and deep shade woods or baby green grass, prairie fields. (‘Though imagining a tick in every little skin itch is an annoying side-effect.)

Intellectually, I know that particular monastery with those sisters was not life giving for me. I miss it anyway.

Of course, I can list the good parts of monastery life: the daily psalm chant and meditation schedule, little driving, social detachment yet constant companionship, the focus on spiritual development, the biblical concentration (Of all things! How did that become a good?), living into inspiring land… and the silence and the silence and the silence.

But what I really miss is the way those conditions made it easy to fall into divine unity… and (‘though I remain embarrassed to say it) a direct connection with Jesus of the "let's sit close and talk" variety.

But both of those could be right here, right now – if only I let go of comforting distraction and entered the barrenness that lies waiting under my more dramatic feelings.

That wouldn’t be fun. It's a painful emptiness that feels like choking on fire… and at the same time like an endless stretch of deadly dull, institution-beige-wall, sand-dry, horizon-to-horizon nothing.

I have the requisite cell – my little office. It isn’t ascetically stark, but has a quiet, clean, spacious feel. Instead of emailing or phoning or writing, I could just sit and be present.

So many teachers say that within that desert a living well exists – one that can be found no matter the external conditions. All it takes is entering the emptiness, and the persistence to stay there.

The thing is, I can just sense that well, and my Beloved by it. So why am I out here kicking and screaming with flailing arms and legs, doing everything possible to keep from falling?

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