Pigeons

Abundant gleaners
Birds so gentle and noble
Not welcome at my feeder

An Interrupted Post

I had an entire post written on a Mary and Martha theme. It was all about the conflict of work vs. resting. I deleted it because I began to sense the motivation for writing it was askew and most importantly, while I was in the middle of editing it, Jesus said to me, "Why are you worried about all these silly things you are writing about when I love you so much?" And then, I started to cry.

Some Thoughts on Painting

Fragonard, a French romantic painter, painted during the time of the licentiousness of the French courts. He particularly chose the excess of that regime as his subject. I am drawn to his art because it is more than what is depicted. Fragonard's art often shows the subject in all the pomp and circumstance of his or her wealth involved in some frivolous activity while the back ground of sky and cloud depicts doom. A perfect example is the painting, The Swing.

The Swing portrays court members in the garden with a lady painted in the innocence and ignorance of pink seated in her swing as she is pushed by her priest lover, while another man stares up her skirts. In the background ominous gray clouds are forming The trio is oblivious in their happy naughtiness unaware of the storm that is coming...the French Revolution. Fragonard had a good sense of irony.

I love the way art perfectly expresses realities that we in our own lives find hard to admit. We all distract ourselves from reality and focus on frivolity....or even scarier some noble cause. And the storm of of truth, the revolution of reality is forming.

Updates

Long time no blog. I have a moment to spare and some random thoughts.

I am uneasy with the flow of life at present. I feel there is a great deal of activity and little purpose. I keep thinking of the biblical question, "Why do you spend money on what is not bread?" I am really questioning my appetite.

We do put a great deal of energy into our perceived goals, but I wonder if in the end they will really count for what really counts in life. I ask myself is this worth it? I suppose that answer will come in time.

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We have a Cooper's hawk preying at our bird feeder. Last week it got a dove. All but a foot was left of the poor thing. After its meal, the hawk sat on the birdbath with its crop engorged until it emptied its bowels and flew away. I stared at it with binoculars and was awed at how beautiful it was. My initial response was to stop feeding the doves and sparrows, but I know I won't.

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There is a mom at my daughter's ballet school who is unbearable. She is the stage mother from hell. Unfortunately, Bronwyn was affected by her jealousy recently. It is sort of like the Cooper's hawk situation....but the mother is not beautiful.

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There also is another mom who is a backstabber. I got to experience her blade and again Bronwyn was affected.

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I got my clinical assignment recently. I will be working in the newborn and level II nursery. I am really looking forward to it. Postpartum floors are happy places. When I was in chemo, I craved holding a newborn baby all the time to help with the nausea and despair. Now I will get that opportunity. They smell so wonderful.

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I feel very far from God. I think it is all the activity.

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I don't like facebook. I log in more than once a day.

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That's all

Communication is hard.

Cocoons

Life is cyclical. There is no denying it. If you read this, you are in a cycle. Whether at a cellular, psychological, spiritual, financial or circadian level, you are somewhere within a cycle.

Cycles for the most part come in stages. Stages of cycles are not equal. Though all are critical, some are just more pleasant than others. Take the cycle of a butterfly for instance. Caterpillering around, eating yourself silly is pretty good, but come on, flying around, being beautiful, pollinating, living on sugar water through a straw seems to be the better part of the process....or is it? I guess it is just the way you perceive it. And then, well, there is the cocoon stage.

The cocoon stage is not too attractive and from the action point of view, pretty darn boring, but it is probably the most critical and interesting part of the cycle. The reason I say this is because nothing and everything is going on----the paradox of the cocoon so to speak. I love this. For me the chrysalis is one of the greatest parables.

The cocoon is where the one thing (caterpillar-- etc,) becomes cut off from its former ways and nature. It blankets itself (it has no choice really, unless some other process interfers) from "caterpillarness" to engage in a pretty radical and who knows possibly violent transformation. It is a kind of miracle if you are into that sort of thing. Yet, while becoming "other," something of the former remains. That's pretty cool.

I have always wondered what it was like inside a cocoon. Does it hurt to become a butterfly? Does the inbetween know that it is changing? Is it conscious of anything? Maybe it actually dies a kind of insect death. No. I don't think so...it just evolves while NO ONE is looking. I could be wrong, scientists like to do that sort of thing, watch and take it all apart. I recently watched a baby show with Bronwyn on how modern sonography can really provide an amazingly clear photo of a baby doing some pretty fancy transforming in the womb. Nevertheless, metamorphasis for the most part, is an isolated affair, even if there is the occasional voyeur.

What comes out of the cocoon is fairly fragile however. Cocoon armor, while cramped, is awfully protective. Yes it is something new and beautifu,l but elusive, fragile and full of new caterpillars.......hmmm??... ....cycles.

Something of the human soul can be compared to, though not perfectly, a butterfly cycle, but I won't go in to that. I just know, that is, in my analogy world, that for a human soul, cocooning has to be hard because it involves immobilization, undistracted confinement, strangeness and maybe even violence. What changes, dissolves, expands?? Does the crawling ego become absorbed by a winged consciousness that is fragile but purposeful. Whatever the stages, one MUST become another and the same. If not......no more caterpillars. There is mystery and miracle in that.

A Time to Embrace

I want to get back to blogging, but I am mired in being overly self-conscious about my post topics, inertia, time constraints etc. Facebook is a bit too superficial and its tentacles spread too far and doesn't seem to be the place for real thoughts...I could be wrong.

I have sort of been re inspired to blog by an unlikely source....I barely know the person. I really enjoy her ease at the blog. No torment, not too opinionated and yet so thoughtful. Maybe I could re-dip my toe.

What to post is the question as my last one considered a heavy passage in my life. Though I still wrestle with all the issues of that blog, I am looking at it from another perspective...... no less challenging. So where do I start? Well, I think I will start with an inspiration which comes with a little irony.

A Facebook friend was participating in one of those chain type things which I should probably have resisted -------but I didnt. The post directed that you pick up a random book nearest to you, choose a particular page and sentence and then post it----seemed fun. Well, my sentence came from a book titled, The Heart of Henri Nouwen and the random sentence was: Today I can no longer say that, and my question has become: "How am I going to use the few years left to me? Wow!

Still being in the raw times of cancer-survival- world, those words fall heavy on me. Not to mention the ouji board temptation to succumb to the prophecy of their message. But really, who knows how long anyone has to live?

According to Henri Nouwen, time is not a measure of the years we have and anxiously cling to, but an opportunity to embrace ( or not embrace) God's love offered to us from eternity to eternity. I am drawn to this and it settles on my soul pretty well. How does that work though--- especially in the light of how hard it is too embrace God when it feels like He is not hugging back? What does it look like? Instead of seeing my life as time--- (this by the way becomes a huge thing when you have been doing the cancer dance)---see it as the opportunity to embrace that which is greater than myself.

Yes, that is a good thing....except for the fact that I'm a terrible hugger. This I have been told. My anemic hug has been labeled the "Heidi" hug. That bothers me. Perhaps I have embraced God the way I have embraced people. Who knows. Whether I get a few or many I don't know, but I guess this is the time to begin embracing......... darn that Facebook....

The Boat

The boat in Renouf's painting appears to be a character in the depiction itself. Ordinary, rough, and fairly confining, it possesses a life of its own and grounds the painting. For me it represents the idea of a believer’s journey.

The Christian life, by nature, is a dynamic, purposeful movement. It is never stagnant even when it may, discouragingly, seem so. The journey is a precise design and is the object on which God acts to draw the Christian towards him. The migration takes many forms as it, by instinct, presses towards the Father’s house. The path can be pleasant, monotonous, or more than flesh and blood can bear.

When I was first offered the words tumor, cancer, metastasis, I fled, in my mind, to the sanctuary of the 23^rd Psalm. Its verses have always exerted a power over my heart, mind and soul. But it was not until I lay in bed, fully terrified, trying to recite it, that I came to this notion that the psalm itself is the image of a pilgrimage. The words represent an odyssey of states of being or locations conducted by the Lord, who is the end of the passage itself.

At this point in my life I am painfully aware of traveling through a shadowland and it is hard not to give in to the fear of its awful presence. So, here I sit in this small confining space with a depth beneath me and a distance to go. As I am able, I hope to formulate my thoughts about my traveling companion.

The Helping Hand

Art is a very important vehicle for the human soul. It challenges us and also represents the common story and struggle we all share. It is profoundly true that a picture is worth a thousand words.

Yesterday, while going through some art cards from Caitlin’s fifth grade year, I found this portrayal of Emile Renouf’s painting, titled, The Helping Hand. It captures beautifully my perception of this new geography I find myself in. In the next few posts, I would like to share certain aspects of the painting and how they have touched me. You can click on the image to get a fuller view.

The painting depicts Renouf’s daughter with her grandfather, a fisherman in Brittany, an island which has, somehow in my memory, a connection with King Arthur. The fisherman is Renouf’s father. Emile Renouf was fairly unknown until he painted this picture.

There are numerous things to comment on in this simple painting. My first impression is the stark differences between the major subjects. The child is small, inexperienced and her coloring stands out among the drabber, heavier colors of the boat and the rougher clothing of her grandfather. Her outer wear is meant for another lifestyle entirely yet, she is in this boat. Her focus is on her task. Her gaze is intense; I do see fear in it as it appears that she has never encountered this work before.

In contrast, her hands appear to be merely resting on the oar, no tension in the fingers at all. She is not in control. Does she believe she is? She is the fisherman's child and perhaps he has told her to rest them there and feel the movement, learning how he manages the boat. Her job may be to not attempt moving the oar at all. Either way, it is hard to rest or work. She looks at the oar, but he looks at her.

I see myself in the child, small, ill-prepared for the unfamiliar setting; and utterly incapable of making the boat move at all. But, I am not alone. I am connected, by birth to the experienced Oarsman, beside me who is totally good, prepared for the journey, who knows the destination and has the strength to move through the water.

The grandfather; the boat; the water; those on the shore and further out on the horizon are things I continue to ponder in this wonderful painting.

Living With Birds

Years ago, inspired by a trip to the demonstration gardens, we decided trees brought not only continuous beauty, but also, refreshing shade to one’s little plot of land, so we planted many.

The trees are maturing nicely and with this invitation, many species of birds have chosen to occupy the leafy spaces. Beauty is like that, it multiplies and invites. On a daily basis, I encounter birds. I hear them; I watch them and try to understand the rhythm and importance of their brief lives. I can deeply say living with birds has been educational, spiritually inspiring and because we have a hunting cat…. sorrowful. But this is the point of my blog.

It’s important to set down that the birds stay because the presence of a habitat. Nothing particularly compelling about me draws them. Yet, regardless that they need me not, and in fact, prefer my absence, I persist by paying attention, providing water, occasional seeds and aiding them in their times of crisis.

Life is cruel to birds. They're mauled; poisoned; shot by BB guns; they drown in pools; their nests are blown down by heavy winds and their dead humiliated bodies litter the roads. Why bother?

Torn by a guilty conscience about meddling in the lives of wild things and tired of fishing dead birds from the pool and hating my cat to a point of abuse, I have, in seasons, given up on birds; deciding it best that an arm’s length approach would preserve and protect me from the untidiness of it all. It works for awhile, but then I look outside, see the doves waiting patiently by the feeder and I can’t help it. The doves always draw me back. Beauty is like that; you have to be willing to accept it all in its fallen state.

Deciding to share life with birds is similar to deciding to share life with others of the human sort. At times a sense of comfort, connection and beauty exists in the co-mingling, but then the inevitable reality of the pain which belongs to getting involved with living things unfolds. This is the “Gordian Knot” for me which dominates much of my internal dialogue.

Sitting Here

Just sitting here, surfing the internet( procrastinating some needed studying for an exam), Gregg is on his way to pick up Serenity for a sleepover and Caitlin is into her last 30 minutes of her violin practice. She is playing, La Folia by Correlli and somehow I am inspired by the piece to write a blog spur of the moment.

Caitlin went to a very advanced music camp for ten days in Ottawa, Kansas where she was a VERY small fish in a big pond... and it brought her playing dramatically to another level.

I am fortunate to be serenaded by Corelli, Accolay and Bach in my own home. Being raised around classical music, I am therapied by it. Her playing is particularly on tonight.

Caitlin has become more emotionally involved with her playing in the last months. I think her music is helping her through adolescent issues. She is changing--- growing up, getting quiet(more than usual), testing boundaries and frequently challenging our double standards. Gregg and I run to each other for comfort, advice and blame pretty often these days as we try to navigate the strange waters. I hope we haven't screwed her up too much.

Bronwyn on the other hand........well that is another story. The only thing that comes to mind is Ballet, and mood swings right now. I do need to go in order to prepare for the onslaught of giggling, silliness and snacking that will take place when the sleepover begins. A little studying would be good too.


Good Night

A Good Sentence

"For as far as the light of God is concerned, we are owls."

Thomas Merton

Effortless

The most powerful thing about trees is that they make it look so easy; looking at them reminds me to avoid being a spiritual” try hard” or a spiritual “indifferent” because both extremes involve self-absorption.

Continuing Left and the Confirmation of Trees

Turning left seems at times to be my only connection to God lately.
Driving up this path as often as I do, I ask each time what are the trees saying today? They have been in a continuous state of transition since I decided to notice them. The last of the pink blooms have been overcome by crimson leaves. In contrast, their neighbors are easy and peaceful, flowing with green leaves. Sometimes I wonder why these trees were chosen to line this street. I do know these particular species tend to flourish easily in deserts providing beauty with the least amount of effort. That could be one reason.

In March, one of the trees was damaged by a reckless driver on a rainy afternoon and the loss of bark may cause it to die. Every time I turn the roundabout I check to see if it is showing signs of continuing or ending. If it dies, the gardeners will replace it. Though it took me a while, I began to notice there have been many replacements along the tree path. I had only ever paid attention to the mature and larger trees. Then one morning, I began seeing the sapling replacements and I wondered what circumstances brought them. It took a lot of left turns to learn how prejudiced my attention can be.

Presently, there is new activity in the corridor of trees. For weeks now, the gardeners have been pruning the trees. They’ve worked in small numbers consistently. To accomplish their task, they taper the paths of travel to properly provide the room for the large limbs to safely fall. I like this narrower path because it slows me just enough to see the gardeners and their workmanship. It’s interesting to me that I never witness the action of the cutting itself. I only pass along after the fact observing the laborers at rest as they sit beside the large piles of branches in their shade hats talking happily to one another. I respect their labor because in it they are connected to the real things. I should pay attention to this more.

The newly thinned trees have created a fresh picture and feel along the path and I take this as a possible new lesson to think about.

On one hand, I would be blind to not notice the scars that remain after substantial numbers of members have been removed. I learned once that the ways one can improperly prune are by, first, cutting the wrong branches and second, not handling the space left by the truncation. If the scar is not treated carefully, rot will develop under the wound and either weaken or destroy the tree.

On the other hand, thinning also has allowed for greater visibility down the road; more light passes between the boughs. Each plant now appears as an individual and I notice the uniqueness and the similarities in the markings on the bark and branching patterns. Perhaps the replacement saplings will now have more light to interact with and increase themselves. My mind returns to the trees before the workers came. The canopies were heavily entwined, wide and without boundary. I, and probably other creatures, enjoyed the effect, but I am not a caretaker of trees and there may be limits to this over-connection.

The bigger picture now reveals the intent of the workers to make the central core of branches heighten and not widen. I know trees naturally do both of those things on their own, but it is important in certain seasons to emphasize one over the other. Eventually, the branches will naturally draw closer, intermingle and grow heavy again, but now the focus is up. Those central ones will go up easily without the responsibilities of the fullness and wideness of previous seasons. Birds build nests in the higher central places too. As for the separated branches, I believe they will, in another form, be put to use to nourish the soil in some way or another.

Not mentioned before are the trees in the community that still stand in stages of leafless dormancy, but it will take more left turns to understand them.

Palmer's Journal

I will miss his entries. Though I didn't know him, his story and struggle helped my faith. I feel his life was so full of love and dignity. It spilled over into mine many times. I never fathom these hard things, but tonight I am very certain and secure that God is total love and peace because those are the things palmer's Journal taught me...

Turning Left

From October of 2005 until now I have taken a left turn on a tree lined street. As far as the eye can see there are two species of mature deciduous trees planted next to one another-- so close really that their branches intermingle.

Last fall, when the strong winds undressed the boughs, I noticed the many evacuated nests peviously occupied in leafier months. Seeing them, I felt God was letting me in on some secret. Nature is like that, energy and life going on, but quite hidden from awareness.

Some times it is 5:30 am when I turn left and the singing of varieties of birds inhabiting the trees is so loud that it competes with the music I am listening to. I am forced to turn down my selection because the vocalists demand an audience. Their compositions are pretty frenetic--- not as harmonious as my Bach partitas, but they contain a greater legitimacy-- more primal joy.


The first time I entered this sort of hall of trees I felt the potential for many teachable moments. Creation has a way of lulling you away from things that stunt your transformation. It seems to quiet me, yet awaken another dimension of awareness. I like being in that place. I like noticing that leaves come bright green, small and touchable and that pink blossoms may erupt violently on only one tree leaving all its other naked neighbors quite envious.

My latest teachable moments have stirred while observing the dramatic changes taking place on my pathway. Maturity is the latest lesson. Some people, like the single pink blossom, just burst out. But people are not trees and though they look mature on the out side, they can be undeveloped on the inside. It is a task, I am sure, to catch up. Sadly, I think some people never do. I’ve observed that the loss of innocence is sometimes the cost of maturity. I ask God,” Is this necessary---is it avoidable?" Can a botanist prevent a tree from bursting? What would the consequence of that be? I’ll just have to keep turning left and pay attention.

Happy?

About a year ago I attended meetings to support those with bi-polar disease and depression. Though raw and troubled, the people made me think about important things.

Lately, I have been thinking of one man in particular. When he came to meetings, the ravages of his disease were visible and palpable. It was all he could do to sit for the duration of the meeting without becoming agitated and hostile. But in a strange, yet gentlemanly way, he was able to detect his boundaries (very hard for a bipolar) and left when it became too much for him. It sounds sad, but it appeared from my unprofessional observations that it was his way of separating for his health and others. He was intelligent, well read, older and hanging by the chemical threads of his latest brew of meds.

One evening, he asked if anyone in the group was happy. He asked, "Will anyone of us EVER really be happy?" He was truly sincere. All kinds of inadequate answers floated across the table. I went into a typical Christianized mode speaking about the temporality of happiness and that it is joy that is possible. He left nevertheless after everyone's patronizing

Lately, I've thought about that question. If our goal in life is to be happy, we will be disappointed. But, he was asking for a crumb, something his problem had not allowed. It really made me think. He was very real to me---honest. And I think there were no demons to be cast out that night--just a good question posed by someone who didn't have or who never had the luxury of distracting himself with normalcy or tepid sanity.

Bird Watching 101

Anyone who is close to me knows I have a thing about birds, especially the common unpopular ones. They connect me to God in a special way. When filling their feeder today, the beauty of the weather and sounds of their singing overwhelmed and suspended me for a moment and out of nowhere the first line of Psalm 24 came wafting through my thoughts.

The Earth is the Lord's and everything in it, the world and all who live in it.


What an unexpected moment. How comforting those words are. Everything belongs.

Emotional Wisdom: Note to Self

Anyone can become angry---that is easy. But to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose and in the right way---this is not easy.

Aristotle

Book Tag

Okay Cheryl, here it is. I ‘m nervous when it comes to discussing books because I don’t consider myself well read especially where fiction is concerned. I started a journey to read great literature over a year ago, but I have taken few steps. I get contemptuous taunts from Virginia Wolf and Cervantes every time I dust their spines. Yet, in my ridiculous quest to be “edjamucated,”I continuously buy more for the journey. Brothers Karamazov and Daisy Miller just rolled their eyes. I also do that awful thing and read two or three books at a time...must be part of the mood thing.

1. How many books do you own? I own too many. I just counted and had to stop. It is in the hundreds, many are unread. I think a book compulsion has been discovered!

2. What was the last book you bought? I bought a used copy of, That Hideous Strength by C. S. Lewis in the used section of the library. It is the third book of his Space trilogy and basically is a parable about the degeneration of man as a result of his worship of scientific materialism.

3. What was the last book you read? I just finished the last pages of Blue Like Jazz by Don Miller. I read most of it several months ago and got distracted. It was humorous and meaningful, but I enjoyed Anne Lamott’s version, Traveling Mercies, much better.

4. Name five books that mean something to you. This is hard. I would never part with my copy of, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. I love her style of writing and the book themes are so wonderful. I think the essence of children is captured so well in this story.

The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen is a very important book for me spiritually. I loved that he became spiritually inspired through a masterpiece of Rembrandt. It’s a good example of the role art plays in worship and creativity. Tied with the Prodigal is N.T. Wright’s, The Challenge of Jesus. It had an effect on how I thought about what my mission in life might be.

I really got emotional after reading Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. She is an excellent writer. It’s a great picture of the underlying dysfunction of, families, the church/religion and nations; with nature of course always having the last word. I was born on the continent and in the same time of history in which the story takes place in.

Eloise by Kay Thompson is one of my favorite children’s books. There is really something in this book you are supposed to get. I identify with Eloise. I like to think about Jesus as Eloise thinks about her nanny... He is my, “ Mostly Companion.”

I think I am relatively still sane because of the words in the book of Psalms. I believe its human writers were inspired to draw upon and embrace the beauty of worship, mystery, creation and suffering. My favorite chapters are many but I love chapters 23 and 42.

If I really read more literature this list would probably change, but this is how it is off the top of my head right now...I tag Kristine, Ramon, and Sherry.