Consider the Lilies

A Bag of Tricks and Good Company

2012-02-04T23:31:00.000-05:00

After learning about light refraction by bouncing sunshine off of shiny plastic library book covers and chasing one another's squares on the elevated ceilings, I told first graders that they could add that to their bag of tricks. Several looked at me as though I'd gone a bit daft and one patiently said "We don't have a bag of tricks!" "Ah, but you do! We all do!!" was my reply. This began a whole conversation about what each of us carries in our bag of tricks...and if it was an actual bag, what would the bag look like for each of them? Soft and floppy? Lots of zippers? What color? What material? Everybody's bag is different, and the tricks inside are different too.

This came back to me this morning as I was getting ready to head out into the day. I had a speech tournament to attend but was leaving early enough to stop, have a latte, and write a bit first. Into the bag went my standard two notebooks that are always with me. Then the journal. Pencil/pen pouch. Wallet. Small pouch of whatnot...lip balm, bandaids, post-its, a couple twisties and paperclips, a rubber band or two, a small tin of mints. Then, the book decision. What book? What book I may or may not read, but would be good company? I was headed to a speech tournament! Was I going to be reading while I judged? No. While I drove? No. Yet, the decision was an important one. I selected Pablo Neruda's Antología Fundamental and tucked it in carefully. Not too big or too heavy, a diverse assortment of his writings, something for every mood, and good memories associated with the purchase of the book.

Often when I begin a day's entry, I will describe the setting where I am as I write. Today's begins like this...On the third tier of P, a large, welcome latte in hand. It is a misty gray morning today and I find myself welcoming it...no, that is not quite right. I feel welcomed BY it. It is inviting me to something. It is a day for roaming. For roaming and finding a small hole in the wall, tucking into a corner and opening the satchel, the ever present, satchel of essentials, and bringing something new into being. Again, no...it isn't as though what I carry is exactly essential...it is more the opening of the bag of tricks and good company...

Yes, one of my "tricks" is writing...it is something I bring with me everywhere and can use for the good of many or offer in service in one way or another. There is such creative power in Word and some of that lives in the notebooks of my satchel. There is potential in a twistie--I've used them a surprising number of times to solve problems of one sort or another. And Pablo Neruda is Quite Good Company...engaging, relaxing, transporting, personal, conversational.

But, whatever creative inspiration that leads to Word being spoken through me and onto the page does not begin with me...nor does it live solely on the page. The inspiration begins with the Spirit, begins with God, begins in the Heart. And God is exceptionally good company.

When we add things to our bag of tricks, we add them to our beings-to who we are and what we can offer in the service of a greater good... And each bag is beautifully unique.

Mark Strand has a brief four line poem that touches me deeply-- "We all have reasons / for moving. / I move/ to keep things whole."

I think somewhere in there is why today brought together the idea of roaming and bringing what is in my bag of tricks and good company...which is a bag and is also the self. In the roaming there is learning-seeing-doing-in the company of others and in the learning-seeing-doing in the company of others there is growing and in the growing there is more to share and the more that is shared, the more is received and the more received, the more whole we become...that we might give All.

One Year

2012-01-30T23:49:00.000-05:00

I don't know if it is everything that has happened in the course of this last year or something else, but I have to say that it feels like much more time than a year has passed since thirteen of us made final vows in Rome...But, whatever it feels like, the calendar says Yes, today is the one year anniversary! 30 January, 2011-30 January, 2012.

I have reflected much today on what the "forever" of my ring means to me...and the wearing of my profession cross. And I realize yet again and also anew how deeply their significance touches my heart...that they are profoundly important symbols to me...symbols of what I want my life to say and more than say, to proclaim.

I want my life to proclaim something of the fullness of Love and the complete welcome that God has for everyone. I want my life to proclaim its roots in God...roots that are woven around me as a nest that moves with me as I walk this journey with Jesus. I want my life to proclaim in my actions my own readiness to respond to the call of God... the call of God to fly--to go, to see, to touch, to smell, taste, hear, to create, to share, to walk in freedom-- the call of God to love as God loves, to listen, to live my humanity, to integrate, to teach, and to be taught by others, to go beyond; the call of God to walk, arms open wide, straight on, deeper and deeper into the Heart...with others...deeper and deeper into a more just world; deeper and deeper into a Love that challenges and draws me forth...deeper and deeper until discovery and revelation meet in the bend and become whole, one...

Thank you, God, for the gift of my vocation, for the life you have given me to discover and reveal your Love, borne in the heart of Jesus.

Off the top of my head

2012-01-22T01:23:00.003-05:00

As I sat and sipped with Pablo Neruda the other day, letting my mind and heart go wander the fields they fancy while dancing with his verse, a surprising visitor came knocking upon my spirit...an unbidden yet interesting interlocutor that I never would have thought to bring into the conversation.... Emily Dickinson.

Unable to completely return to Neruda, I listened to her remind me of her own passionate response to good poetry...If I read a book [and] it makes my whole body so cold no fire ever can warm me I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only way I know it. Is there any other way?

I sipped, and tilted a bit, my head resting comfortably in its favored position for considering. Perhaps it was the freedom in the breeze from the ocean as I walked La Isla Negra or in between the lines of the Carta en Camino...but here in the middle of Missouri, in a coffeeshop and very much alive, I didn't think twice about responding to the question posed by a New England poet born in 1830 while reading words of a Chilean poet who died in 1973. In fact, it was as though Emily Dickinson was asking me to respond.

Is there any other way?

For me, oh yes...yes, there are other ways to know. I know when I feel a full body ache to expand, because what I feel needs more room...I know when I want to pick up a pen to talk and can only write AUGH!!! in the margin...I know when everything inside me cries to be set free...I know when I feel as though if I could let go just enough, I might well rise. I know when I knock on the syllables and ask to come inside...I know when I feel them come up behind me and startle me not unpleasantly by their nearness.

I can understand your images and appreciate the passionate intensity they describe. But, my body knows a different language of response. Far from poetry taking off the top of my head, dear Emily...Poetry helps make me whole. It draws me toward justice, toward love, toward God, toward being more human, toward freedom. That is why I read you, and Pablo, and Walt; Mary and Wislawa and Mario; Leon, Octavio, and William; Naomi, Thomas, and Teresa; Nikki, Alice, and Langston; Gabriela, Hafiz, Rumi, and e.e. ...

That is why I write it too.

Ultimately, though, I don't think we are saying different things....just using different language to express the Word that is poetry.

And my other companion, Neruda...he waited patiently until I came back to him and then began again to make my spirit shimmy with his humid, ink-rich verse.

Possibilities

2012-01-07T14:16:00.000-05:00

The writing hand

Perhaps a bit of this comes from recently celebrating the New Year by standing under the heavens with a scope in hand, marveling at the spectacle of celestial expansiveness. Some might come from recently celebrating a birthday and spending time reflecting on how it is (and thanks to whom) that I have arrived to where I am currently and the unknown but intriguing and inviting "greater things than these" that lie ahead. A bit might also come from a recent conversation with a student who asked me why I always carried a notebook and pen. "Because 1. You just never know... and 2. With a couple of lines, mere strokes of a pen, whole new ideas can be created and shared, stories told, love proclaimed, worlds explored... and Because they can go anywhere, including where a computer can not. These are tools of creation, imagination, emancipation..." I got a little wound up.

These recent events sparked the first stages of this post...the unconscious ordering of things in mind and heart that eventually becomes an outline of sorts. That interior writing revealed itself in my windows this morning.

I awoke at my usual weekend time and rumpled my way over to the blinds just in time to witness the most extraordinary blue...deep, full...a blue to inspire and free, a blue to refresh even the murkiest thought or uncertain cloudiness of heart. Standing there, stretching to my fullness in front of the windows to both offer more of myself to God and receive with openness and exposure whatever this newest day might bring, it suddenly occurred to me that the only reason I was able to do this--the reason I am able to wonder, wander, discover, and reveal, was thanks to the generosity of someone I will never know.

I had surgery in 2001. Because of excessive bleeding in the operation, I needed to receive several pints of blood. Blood that an unknown someone thought to donate. In both tangible and mystical ways, I was not alone in that moment of early morning vitrine grace.

Another thing that can be done with paper and a pen... a record of thanksgiving. So I wrote my thanks while sitting on the third tier of a newly adopted "thought spot" that also happens to serve a good latte.

Then I went to the public library. And instead of just turning two score and two, you'd have thought I was twelve again. One of the reasons I became a librarian was because of my experience in libraries as a child. There was NO place more freeing to me. Anything I could imagine reading about was there for my consumption, my touching, tasting in speech, feasting on with eyes and mind, contemplating in heart... So it was this morning. I wandered everywhere and removed tomes with glee, building the mountain I would take home to climb! A transcribed interview with Frida Kahlo as well as a book of photographs of her diaries, paintings, letters, home? YES! Julia Child's letters with Avis Devoto? OF COURSE! Two new cookbooks? WHEE! Portrait photography from Annie Leibowitz? SURE! A murder mystery? THAT TOO! A copy of one of my all time favorite books that I may or may not actually re-read, but it feels right to spend time with it again one way or another? ADD IT!

I will likely read most of these while sitting in front of the windows in my room on a two cushion couch which has resting on it my journal, a notebook, and several pens in a small pouch. And I will again give thanks for such adventure as my life holds.

The Very Heart

2011-12-26T13:56:00.006-05:00

Though I am technically on break, I still wake up at about the same time every morning. Sometimes these days I blissfully chuckle, roll, and burrow deeper into my warm and ever so comforting pile of blankets...and other mornings, as happened today, I rise, pad into the little kitchen area, make a mug of hot welcome, and return to my room to pray, to think, to write, and witness the day's becoming in the company of God.

I wrote a friend this morning ...
I have been awake since 5:15...I've read and prayed with the readings while sitting in the corner of the sofa. I wanted to wake early today to...well...in a manner of speaking, to present myself before God. A knocking on the celestial door with a desire to be in God's company for the arrival of the sun. How I love this subtle process...each moment growing, changing, being its own work of art.

And oh, it was lovely this morning...blues, rising deep against the bare branches and filling the windows with golden rays that painted the morning on my floor. Spectacular, really. I was so taken with the variety of wonders...the reflections, the contrast of branch to sky, the clarity of the light, the feeling of being in the intimate middle of something so large, so vast...I kept saying quietly, "Thank you, God! Thank you for showing me these parts of yourself, for loving me as you do!"

As I roused myself from prayer I thought "Augh! What might a day hold after a beginning like that?"

After getting ready for whatever adventure I might encounter, I went downtown and tucked into a favorite spot on the third tier of an independent coffeeshop. From that seat, I can see the whole shop, part of the street, and the Missouri river...again, a diverse assortment of revelation.
I then took note of the group on the tier just below me...two women from Spain, a woman from Thailand, two grandparent aged folks from around here, and a baby who was being passed around, loved on, tickled by, and rocked in the arms of, the whole group. I have no idea what the connections were among everyone, but they were certain and strong. The two women were speaking intermittently in Spanish and English, someone else had a translation website up on her cell phone, the husband and wife were expansive in their smiles and gestures, and everyone was making sure that each person was part of the same conversation.

More and more people were coming in to take off the chill so I gathered up and headed out on a quest to find the nearest Trader Joe's. Not only was I successful in locating it, a cruise of the aisles allowed me to hear Russian exchanged between a father and his young daughter who was pushing a child-sized cart and delighting in the reverberating Bump it gave her when she ran into the rubber strip along the bottom of the wall and German and German baby-babble being spoken between mother and son while choosing bananas. I saw brussel sprouts sill on their stalks, fennel bulbs, and knots of ginger...

INCREDIBLE!

My heart has been Aching to find here such cultural/linguisitc diversity as all of this! Oh, how it speaks to me of God! God is unceasing in revelation, certainly, but I have missed this tremendously...the sensory awareness and experience of God's diverse beauty, diverse facets, languages used, cultures, ways of being, the laying out in such creative generosity of the Fullness that drawn together is the Whole of Love; that drawn together is the infinitely unique and beautiful Image in which we are all created; the Fullness that drawn together was spoken in Word at the Beginning, and born human and divine in Jesus. This is the Fullness from which we can not be separated, that nothing will overcome, that is Love without measure or limit of any sort...

I have missed this experience of what I knew daily in New York City and other recent lands of my journey...and it has been revealed to me here, now, in this time and place...

As I was this morning, I find myself so aware of being in the intimate middle of something grand and vast...

The very Heart of God.

Christmas, 2011

2011-12-25T18:05:00.003-05:00

The sun is setting outside my window; I have one light on in my room; I am warm and sleepy and wrapped in quiet, filling, thanksgiving.

This year has brought with it a whole new understanding of the Incarnation of love...Love that was bold enough to make itself known in the nearness of humanity...Love that continues to reveal itself in our humanity....Love that is not bound to us in a fixed way, but utterly Alive...Alive and overflowing...allowing Love to meet more of itself in others and celebrate that encounter with laughter, friendship, quiet moments,prayer, listening, embracing, a depth of knowing, caring, sharing, Being with one another...rooted in and freed by Love that calls itself forth...

We help each other become more whole by the Love we share! By the ways we discover and make manifest the Aliveness of God!

The warmth that now fills me comes from knowing what that feels like in my soul...and being amazed at the Truth of it.

And that is worth celebrating...over and over again.

Merry Christmas

of God, Polenta, and the Shopping Mall

2011-12-19T20:33:00.006-05:00

Let me first present some of the elements in play... A. My eyes were (and still are) dilated from a trip to the ophthalmologist B. I was traveling on roads I'd never driven to a place I'd never been C. I got bifocals for the first time and was wearing them home...D. While driving in the pouring rain E. By now in the dark.

Home was a most welcome destination.... And for reasons that went beyond personal and public safety.

As I wandered the mall, passing time while my glasses were being made, I found myself thinking about polenta. Yes. Call it grits, call it cornmeal mush, call it polenta. This is what occupied my mind while watching frantic last minute shoppers with bags hanging off each arm; watching red faced babies bellow for their dinners to mothers on cell phones; watching teens cruising one another while wearing elf hats, Santa hats, and Goth-meets-Emo silver studded clodhoppers; all to the tune of tinned music and the scent of cigarette tinged, perfume schpritzed air.

Me? I was with a pot of polenta. I was imagining the process I will follow tomorrow night when making it for the first time. A slow and steady stream...whisking all the while...marvelling at the creamy science of deliciousness. I was mentally dicing mushrooms and tossing them in with the garlic and onion and hint of olive oil for a quick swish around before adding the zucchini, the yellow squash, and the tomatoes....

I half chuckled to myself when I realized what I was doing...in the middle of the Too Much-ness of retail swarming, I was cooking a meal. Why? I thought about this while watching a group of children play hop-scotch on computer projected Christmas ornaments, bouncing around on the floor.

There is something essential to me about cooking. Yes, cooking leads to eating leads to living...but more than that, there is something that I find holy, something of God, in the process. There is mystery, creativity, sensuality, ritual, and there are culinary sacramentals... There is formula and there is freedom, there is community and common-good. There is interiority and there is sharing. It is about bringing things together in harmony and creating texture and flavor that pleases, nourishes, and piques curiosity. Cooking can be an act of welcome, an act of well-making, a coming home.

Home. Yes, overwhelmed in my senses by the neon exterior nature of shopping malls, I was yearning for home! That is to say, yearning for God to be what fills me...and being grateful, so grateful, for the spaces and times where I learn the marvel of what that means and what that calls forth over and over again....whether with my students, with friends or in community, in silent morning prayer, with pen and notebook, or a pot and polenta...

Advent IV, 2011

2011-12-18T16:15:00.005-05:00

Advent IV, 2011

I am waiting,

but cannot wait…

because the need is great

upon the Earth

to proclaim in our living

the bold hope of birth.

c. MperiodPress

Advent III, 2011

2011-12-11T12:15:00.006-05:00

Advent III, 2011

In this rising time

of the not yet-nearly,

let me love without reserve until splendid

with diaphanous freedom

and tasting the cinnamon

zing of hope.

c.MperiodPress

Advent II, 2011

2011-12-03T16:06:00.003-05:00

Advent II, 2011

I wish to steep in the slowing,

sense by sense…

be converted to awe

by a fullness of silence…

until I crackle radiant

with orchestral brightness.

c. Mperiod Press

Love in a time of Advent

2011-11-27T08:24:00.006-05:00

Yesterday, I went to lunch with someone who asked me, essentially-not exactly, what it is that keeps the world so open for me. What keeps things from closing in?

This followed a conversation on Facebook in the morning with one of my rscj sisters (who blogs at Allthislifeandheaventoo) in which I was speaking of the challenge of moving to “a radically different part of the country after being somewhere that drew out so much of me, that asked me to give, to discover, to share on a whole variety of levels in a whole variety of ways. And, which in turn, fed me as well...” How that will happen here, in this place, is something I do not yet fully see.

I added, “but, all of that aside, I know that I am walking, arms open wide, with God into the unknown of ahead...and that is a grand and wondrous thing. Wouldn't want it to be easy, actually...because I don't think love is necessarily easy...but it is true, wholemaking, and faithful...”

Both of these conversations followed a dinner conversation with a friend the night before that ended on the topic of freedom, deep joy, and strength of knowing oneself to be loved and of loving in return.

The convergence of that and the Facebook chat added a deeper smile to my deceivingly simple answer to the lunch question—What is it that keeps the world so open for me? What keeps things from closing in? Love. Love and the faithful journey into greater truth, being yet more whole, more honest, open, free…

There have been times in my life when I might have believed that, but not known it “center-down”. Anything I know of it now, I know from the journey itself--the journey and the people who make and have made God known to me through their extraordinary love for me, each one uniquely, preciously, incredibly. I am not in the same geographic setting as those who go deepest, but our roots and lives are woven together by a God who dances among her people, who rides the wind, and wades in the stars, and who comforts, struggles alongside, welcomes, accepts, profoundly touches and blesses. Our lives are braided with the strength and freedom of God, who gave the world Jesus, the very Word of love, a word never lost or overcome by anything, ever.

By this love, my own heart is more able to love, my spirit more able to fly, my feet more lightly but solidly rooted…and the fruit of this is what I can offer to those around me, regardless of where that is. But it IS and I AM because of Love.

Thank you, God.

Advent I, 2011

2011-11-25T23:05:00.002-05:00

Advent I, 2011

The full silence of waiting

is not without voice…

the groan of a wick

learning to burn

into the clamorous glory

of light.

Two from the Beach

2011-11-25T13:18:00.002-05:00

Walking the Tides

God? I love
being able to tell you
how much I enjoy our conversations
when I walk with my sea-hair free...
wavy and tangled and just a bit wild,
as the heron is wild with an urge
to rise on the lift of salted wind.

And, I like feeling you
warm on my face,
full in the heart,
in the smooth time sitting
clean and relaxed
after the trade wind flying.

Thank you for understanding.

c. MperiodPress

Canticle of Flying, II

Teach me to fly, oh Mary of the Sea!
To skim the waves and dip my wings
into the salted ink of light;
to write my praise upon the clouds
and leave my mark upon the sand!

Leave my mark as feet among a flock
who turn together to face the wind
as a sign to others of being ready to rise,
to rise and go where bidden
by the currents and tides.

Mary of the Sea, I want to fly!
To you and toward you,
and with you and through your grace...
Let me feel you in my feathered soul
and lift, and go, and Yes!

c. MperiodPress

Thought Spots

2011-11-18T23:48:00.003-05:00

When I think back to NYC, I can tell you immediately of my thought spots....places I found over the years where I could be relaxedly me and let my mind roam where it chose, places where my spirit broadened, deepened, stretched, loosened, to allow free passage in and out for the world in my heart. The end chair, second row back, in the Mary Chapel of Saint Francis Xavier. The flight of stairs behind the sanctuary where I'd sit to listen and write if the 9 AM Mass wasn't done yet. About 5 pews back on the aisle in the sanctuary. The steps of Union Square park. The front steps and reading room of the New York Public Library on 5th Ave. The window-well wall outside of school that was wide enough to sit on with lunch. The corner of the couch in our living room.

I miss those spots like I miss favorite jeans when they have to go...I miss how they seemed to know me as much as I knew them, their contours, creases, and places worn smooth...how they seemed to wrap around me and say "welcome home, so glad you are here, it is right that you're here, this is a you-shaped spot."

I knew these places as a child, too. I sought them and found them with ease. In fact, it was less intentional than responding to an invitation they offered, now that I think back on it. I gravitated toward snug, tucked-in places. Beneath the canopied branches of the buckeye tree at the top of the yard, in the hay loft of a neighbor's barn, lost in between the stacks of the public library, and one of my favorites--the upper bunk of a family friend's camper, parked in the driveway.

Finding new thought spots takes time...and it reminds me a bit like a more philosophical version of Goldilocks. Though, I fully realize that I can and do think, write, pray, and read anywhere that is available. It can be frustrating, to be sure, and oh, I miss New York City... But, I also believe that in my wanders I am learning more contours of The Heart.

I believe that because I believe that there is nothing that can separate us from the Love of God. And I have come to see that thought spots are resting ground in the journey to know The Heart.

So it is that I walk attentively and in faith, listening as I make my way, testing the shape of things, not knowing when the invitation will come, but ever so curious and desiring.

Blooming again...

2011-11-02T21:12:00.002-04:00

The lilies seem to be blooming again, for which I am grateful. There for a while, I had my doubts...but sometimes I think a little break is not a bad thing. Nor is hearing from someone--"Don't let it go!"

I just had to wait a while, that is all. Wait for my heart to begin to grow into this new place I inhabit; wait for my mind to wrap around the fact that I wasn't where I was and would not find here what I found there; wait for my spirit to sigh and say, "Well, okay then."

Yes, though the fall has come in a crunchy palette of raining earth tones, there are flowers blooming too.

Lágrimas/Tears

2011-09-17T10:09:00.006-04:00

Written first in Spanish...

Lágrimas

Hay ríos de palabras corriendo,

cayendo sobre la cosecha de vidas.

Son ríos de mil frases, gritos,

llantos y esperanzas.

Son palabras de deseo,

de borrar la neblina de violencia,

de opresión, de las fuerzas

contra la libertad.

Palabras de escribir algo nuevo,

palabras de compromiso y

la promesa de presencia,

de saborear la invitación.

Y cuando a mi campo,

en mi sed profunda,

los ríos me llevan sus sílabas

de bendición y fecundidad,

sus aguas llegan a mi boca

y me doy cuenta

que a veces, la Palabra

se escribe con tinta salada.

c. MperiodPress

Tears

There are flowing rivers of words

falling over the fields of life.

Rivers of a thousand sentences,

shouts, groans, and hopes.

They are words of desire,

of lifting the fog of violence,

oppression, the forces

against being free.

Words for writing something new,

words of promise

and the covenant of presence,

of savoring the invitation.

When the river arrives at my field,

it brings to my deep thirst its syllables.

Syllables of blessing

Syllables of blooming.

And I realize,

with the waters in my mouth,

that sometimes the Word

writes in salted ink.

c. MperiodPress

Marking a Decade

2011-09-10T12:53:00.000-04:00

In the Whirlwind

(written for the community of Saint Francis Xavier, NYC, upon the Tenth Anniversary of September 11^th)

I am the Love that rises,

always rises…

I rise with the sun, and

I rise with the moon…

I rise to draw down like gravity,

toward the center,

and I rise to set free,

loosing hope upon my people.

I rise to the new day and

I rise to the challenge.

I rise to see born the yet-unrevealed-

what-waits-to-be-known.

I rise when I weep

and I rise to laugh.

Nothing is stronger

than this essential constant:

rising.

I am always and everywhere,

I am for everyone and I am

in everyone, and nothing

can ever separate you from me.

I am

the Love that rises,

always rises.

c. MperiodPress, 2011

About it...I can tell you that I did not want to write anything specific to the event of September 11th, but rather something that spoke of a straight-on God... A God that does not abandon or betray, a God of every moment, a God of "hope regardless" whose hope is love. It filled me as I wrote...filled me "center-down-deep" like a Spiritual does...that is the sound I heard while writing...the loose-jointed passionate ache of truth--the truth that there is evil and that there is good. The truth of death and the truth of life, and according to our faith, the truth and freedom found in rising... whether rising like buildings being built; rising like getting up when knocked down; rising like the sun or the moon rises; rising like floodwaters or hope; rising as in resurrection...

The title is tweaked from a line of another poet, Gwendolyn Brooks, who wrote "Conduct your blooming in the noise and the whip of the whirlwind."

Made in the image and likeness of God, may we conduct our own blooming straight-on and exposed...no shade of fear, no cloak of doubt...in the whirlwind circumstances of our own time and place.

Three Days Full

2011-08-20T15:15:00.002-04:00

After a two-year hiatus filled with colossal adventures, I began a new academic year this past Wednesday.

Thanks to subbing for a world culture/geography class, I could begin writing about the experience with traveling 6 or 7 times to Brazil with at least 100 kids; or lunch duty where one tub of applesauce went down a front, one tooth came out, one kid Really Wanted breath mints, and another kid saved his chocolate milk to have for dessert; it would also be tempting to mention the eighth graders who were wearing stretchy cloth book covers on their heads while doing homework in the library, or the fifth grader who said "You know, really, I like to read everything."

If I wanted to go in order, I might mention getting up early enough to watch the sky stretch awake and reveal her morning's glory or I'd try to find the words to talk about the way the sun has learned to unravel the threads of its luminous new day greeting and pass each one through a different fraction of stained glass in the library. I'd have to mention too standing outside and spreading my arms in welcome to the humid earth smell of flowers and grass, what it is like to be sipping coffee and have a dragonfly land on your arm, and the long, and roaming conversations with a friend who is at once far away and as near as my heart

I could also throw in getting lost on foot and in the car; leaving the building and not being able to find a door to re-enter; and feeling a sense of civic responsibility accomplished when I registered to vote here, changed my drivers' license, and got a library card.

(Yes, getting a library card makes the list of civic responsibilities in my notebook.)

But wherever I would begin, the end point would be the same. This moment, now...in the middle of a Saturday where I have cleaned the bathroom, changed sheets, sent emails, made plans, done two loads of laundry, swept my room, run errands, spent time ripping out barcodes from books still soaking wet from a flood that happened about two months ago, and watched it rain.

This moment now...with me considering deeply the generosity and wonder of God...and thinking about a nap too.

It is a good place to end, this moment now. And a fine place to begin, as well.

July, 2011

2011-08-07T21:32:00.003-04:00

I have described this past month in many ways to people...

Living poetry, transparent freedom, being in the veil--not on one side or the other, but in the midst, standing between, breathing deeply in the astounding place where divinity and humanity touch...

I was part of an annual educational project in Leon, Mexico, that worked with youth who were trained as leaders in a two week day-camp for younger children from the same neighborhood. There were 45 volunteers and 200+ children, ages 5-14, attending. It was great to work with my rscj sisters, and fabulous to see the youth learning techniques, assuming responsibility, being creative, and helping their community. The kids who attended were also phenomenal...wanting to participate, learn, play, grow...

But, as well, my time in Leon was much more than that.

I had experiences of God that were transformational...experiences that came through long and winding conversations, through invitations to enter into the lives and stories of friends as well as people I had only just met, through freedom, love, honesty, mutuality, kindness, respect, tenderness, laughter, silence, stillness, prayer...

This gift, in total, is not at all something separate from my life, a set apart moment of experience, though it was lived, learned, revealed, through events and people...no, that is part of its authentic beauty...it is something that is woven together with other threads, something that makes my being more whole, more complete, stronger and more wondrous.

It is a gift that makes me want to throw back my head and fling my arms wide and say "YES!" and "THANK YOU!" as well being a gift that humbles me with its generosity and deep knowing and feeling.

It was, simply and complexly, a wonderful month.

As I get ready to go to bed this evening, two bits of poetry come to mind and heart...

"for Christ plays in 10,000 places/Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his"
--G.M. Hopkins--

"Para que todos vivan/ en ella/ hago mi casa/ con odas/ transparentes."
So that all may live in her, I make my house out of transparent odes.
--P. Neruda

Tonight, with all strength of soul, I find myself saying again and again "YES!!" to a life of discovery and revelation.

Dear God, It could begin

2011-07-10T20:48:00.004-04:00

...so many different ways.

I could start with

enchiladas, guacamole,
agua de jimaica,
quesadillas, limonada,
té de albahaca...

I could start with

compañera, friend,
quiet sitting
being, laughing
living free...

I could start with

roosters, rooftops,
rising above
the poverty of certainty
youth wanting to serve...

But were I to begin a poem for you about these last eleven days, I think I´d begin with this...

You astound me with love
surround me with glory becoming
and danced with the birds yesterday morning.
Thank You.

I could have looked it up, but nahhhh

2011-06-20T16:00:00.005-04:00

I could have looked it up. I mean c'mon, I am a librarian after all! But sometimes, that's just not the way to go. Sometimes, learning by my own hand is just what I need.

In this case, the need was an Asian dressing to go with a meal I dubbed "Spring roll in a bowl!" Cabbage, carrots, cucumber, purple and green onion, and lightly lemony-garlicky chicken with the daylights diced out of it. I had resources at ready hand... we have cookbooks in the cupboard and access to the internet... but, the need for creativity outweighed speed today.

I came at the bowl with ideas and a ratio. 3/1 oil to acid. Soon, whisk in hand, the counter was dappled with magic in the making. First, one vinegar with a pinch of salt. Stir to dissolve. Wondrous relationship there! Salt calms the acid without turning it overly salty. Then, a pinch of raw sugar. One oil and whisk! Soon, creamy chemistry at its finest! Emulsion! I love the moment it all comes together! Balanced molecular harmony! Add one oil at a time, incorporating each one before adding the next. A splash of soy sauce...a dribble of sesame...more whisking until all is one. Augh, beauty in a measuring cup!

Next batch, the same ratios, but with lemon juice as the acid. Combine the two dressings, add the whites and greens of four green onions and let steep.

I tossed the salad early to let the relationship develop between cabbage and dressing, wanting it to wilt a little but still retain some crunch, in the interest of texture in the mouth.

The pleasure was so simple and so very grand...

As I worked, contentedly alone among the bottles and pans, it came to mind that in a lot of ways, this sort of experimenting parallels writing poetry. Harmony and contrast play parts; blending and intentional texture as well; spice, flavor, feel...communication of that feeling...

And I must admit also to a parity in the role of the senses in both the process of creating as well as what comes of it. Simply put, the acts of poetry and cooking are pleasing to me, relaxing to me, soothing...delights I would even call prayerful--to witness to and have revealed Holy Mystery in a variety of forms, call it what you will: chemistry, sound, flavor, rhythm...

I find that just plain old amazing. And, delicious, truth be told.

The Inspiring Chaos of Adventure

2011-06-13T22:11:00.003-04:00

I'd think that by now I might have caught on. Yes, perhaps after a toe across the line of four decades, it would be expected. But nope. The plain fact is adventure brings a bit of chaos along for the ride as well as the grace to forget that part until the next time around.

I know this. I am typing within a U shape of cardboard boxes full of my things, a notebook open to my ever changing to-do list, and a mental panorama that spans both time and space. In 14 days, I leave the City that has taught me what it is like to actually imagine staying somewhere. Here I have found an expansive diversity that welcomes the fullness of who I am, a diversity that appreciates the gifts I can offer and calls them forth as something necessary to add to the whole. I have been loved here and I have loved--both people and places. New York has a place in my heart I never dreamed was even part of that inner landscape...

In telling folks that I am leaving, I have had one person say he was glad I was going before I stayed put and got "crusty." There is truth to that. I know myself well enough to know that no matter how happy I am here, the question of leaving would begin at some point to whisper its poetry to me:

"Arise my love, my fair one, and come..." "Go and do likewise..." "You will see greater things than this..."

And why not give in to the lush invitation, to the curiosity steeped in discernment--Where is God calling me? Where is the need? How can I respond best?

The "more" of God is limitless! The promise of that never ends--therefore the hope does not end! As Paul is, let me also live convinced "that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus."

While living that isn't always a walk in the park--Central, Battery, Union Square, or otherwise, it is all about love. And home. Another friend asked me about my beloved parish and the sadness of leaving a physical place and worship community that has been such a banquet of grace over the years.

Xavier has shown me that the best sort of home prepares us to leave and is ready to welcome again. We learn to love more in a place that is truly home. And, we learn to be loved. Home is not about staying put, home is about giving and receiving and being free and loving. I understand a little more fully now what it means to find home in God--because the love of God shared among people is what makes the home and that love moves with us.

I am home in the presence of the love of God...and that love, wonderously, is always and everywhere and now and forever with me.

What an absolutely enticing thrill.

The Awe of New Friday Five

2011-06-10T10:04:00.004-04:00

I have a little story to tell. Earlier this spring, my husband won three tickets to a concert presented by the symphony orchestra of a nearby city--featuring Mozart's Requiem. We debated for a few days about taking Trinity, our four-year old granddaughter, to such an adult event. In the end we decided to give it a try. After all, the tickets were free, so we didn't have a great deal to lose if we had to leave. (There she is in the picture, all dressed up and ready to go hear, "my Mozart!") You may wonder why we would consider taking a preschooler to the symphony, but this child loves Mozart and listens to a CD nearly every night at bedtime. Once I tried to sneak a CD of Bach in, and she cried, saying, "Grandma, that is NOT Mozart."

She was hopping with excitement, but we gave her lots of coaching, and when we arrived she gazed about with wonder at the lovely venue, and when the orchestra began to tune up she sat up straight and gazed, enraptured, with her mouth literally open. It was pure delight to watch her enjoying brand-new sights, sounds and surroundings.

This experience led me to remembering times of discovery, of new experiences. Some were my own experiences and some were remembered from my children, or those of others. Share with us today about five memorable moments of insight, discovery, awareness--from childhood or later, something you experienced or something you shared with someone else.

A. Two from growing up...
1. Giving a ten minute personal experience speech in my senior year required public school speech class about the day I met the Queen of England...and having the entire class buy it all. The teacher knew ahead of time that I was making it up, but the class--a large group of whom had teased me steadily over the years--actually believed me. Talk about empowering! My words could convince! I could speak and people would attend to what I had to say! It gave me the courage and desire to pursue the skill of oratory and it has been a gift, joy, and grand delight ever since.
2. Staying in the basement while my Dad was working there was often an insightful lesson of one sort or another...There's understanding about sound waves by putting my hands on speakers while he played the Who and radio waves by trying to tune in to the station furthest away...and who could forget lighting a leaf on fire (under controlled circumstances, naturally) with a magnifying glass and knowing you were concentrating sunshine?

B. Moments of cooking can render me stunned with awe... not because the result is any great accomplishment, but because it really did work! The science of it fascinates me...emulsions? Totally cool. Caramelizing? Slick. The reaction of flavors one with another yielding something else all together? WOW. Would that I could witness the molecular changes... So very amazing.

C. Watching my students think something or come to know a concept for the first time is a privilege that makes me nearly burst with joy. That moment of "getting it" and you KNOW that YES! Now they have a new construct, a new tool, a new way of thinking or being that will help them understand or enjoy or change or think about what they encounter. Awesome...

D. Receiving a massage for the first time...allowing the vulnerability of that encounter... absolutely life changing...

Crush-Proof Memories

2011-06-04T20:16:00.004-04:00

When I used to work for the public library system, we had a collection of bikers that would often stop by the branch where I worked. Bandanas, tattoos, Frye boots, machines that rumbled with the easily identifiable soft edged "pahtaytah-pahtaytah-paytaytah."... really. Other folks would scatter when they'd enter but I recognized them. They reminded me of people I'd met growing up. These were nice guys who needed information or a book--nothing more, in spite of every preconceived idea people had.

Today, I met another character from my past. I was in a coffee shop, sipping and writing. A rangy, wiry, grandpa-aged man sat down on a chair by the wall and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs as he waited for the restroom. He had a silver Mexican "onza" coin as a pendant around his neck. There was a pounded gold ring on one finger, a worn-soft billed cap on his short haired head, and a "crush-proof" pack of cigarettes in his neat tee-shirt pocket. He hung his head and shook it slowly while saying to himself, "Folks get in there and then decide to take up homesteading."

I laughed. Homesteading? Hilarious and completely un-New York. He looked at me, I smiled. This man and my paternal grandfather were of the same cloth. I wanted to say more, but could only smile as memories came back to me. Memories of rubbing cream into his one hand, the other arm having been sacrificed to a train when I was a young child. Memories of playing with his empty cigarette boxes...turning them into garages for matchbox cars or repeatedly opening and shutting them to hear the little poof-click of the lid. Memories of flannel shirts and thick framed glasses and how much he liked my mother's home made cinnamon bread.

Funny how a two minute interaction can turn into reflecting on decades of experience.

Rerun Friday Five

2011-06-03T17:20:00.002-04:00

From RevGals!

Summer Reruns Friday Five

It's that time of year when the only new things on television are music/dance competitions (the 21st century answer to variety shows?). Yes, it's the season of reruns.

This week the clock turned back to last fall and the Glee kids went back to school and still got "slushied," and Michael hired his nephew on The Office, which was not something even he would be likely to repeat.

In honor of this annual Time Warp, please share five things worth a repeat. These could be books, movies, CDs, recipes, vacations, or even TV shows.

Five things Worth Repeating

1. The synchronicity of clean sheets, clean blankets, clean pyjamas.

2. The Magnificent Spinster, by May Sarton. I re-read this at least every couple of years. A touchstone book that reminds me of parts of myself, good, good, people that I have known, and dreams both met and unfulfilled.

3. The song, Mystery, on Misa Gaia by Paul Winter and the Paul Winter Consort. AUGH! LOVE this song... it is for a mystical lullaby of love and a celebration of the infusion of God in our world.

4. Reading aloud the Prologue to the Gospel of John.... or any text I know as well that touches-stirs-moves-inspires-brings about an Ahhhhh...home.... in the stillness of my heart.

5. The hug of a missed friend. Yes, to repeat it means waiting again, but that feeling is a grand one.

On the Feast of Saint Madeleine Sophie Barat

2011-05-24T22:39:00.003-04:00

24th May, 2011 Convent of the Sacred Heart, 91st Street

The Sophie Stone

Some of you here this evening know that I always carry at least one stone in my pocket.

Most of you here this evening know that I returned in February from a five month stay in Rome where I gathered with twelve other rscj from around the world to create community as we prepared together to make our final profession in The Society.

All of us here this evening are here because of a visionary woman born in the midst of fire and revolution, a woman who acted according to her relationship with Jesus and drew others to action as well… Saint Madeleine Sophie Barat.

Part of the experience of Probation, the formal Society term for those five months prior to final vows, included ten days in France, split evenly between Paris and Joigny.

One of those days…one deliciously, somehow appropriately, foggy early morning in Joigny, we went winding up into the vineyards her father used to tend.

We were there just after the season for picking and, as law mandates, there was plenty of fruit left behind on the vine for those on a wander…or on a pilgrimage.

I certainly noticed the vines and the grapes—we gathered enough to make ourselves nearly sick later on! I loved the view of the rows and the rolling terrain in the fog, the earthiness of the smell in humid air, the undeniable rootedness and history that saturated the land—but I also had my eyes down, looking at the very stones in the ground.

Usually, I prefer stones that are small enough to feel jumpy in the pocket…round, smooth, heavy-feeling, pleasing in the palm and inviting to the fingers.

Not that day. When I slipped on leaves and noticed the dislodged earth beneath my foot, I knew immediately that I had found my Sophie stone.

It had its grounding firmly, though not fixedly, in the fertile vineyards of Joigny. It iss faceted, smooth, peaked, pointy, and worn gently from the work of time, and –as I chose to name them—the movements of the Spirit, interpreted for a stone: wind and footstep and forces of nature.

When I turned the stone over, I noticed that the backside has a circular layer of the outer roughness worn away and that reveals an interior that is a vision of the world! Within the exposed interior, there are swirls of blue and grey and brown and white that immediately called to my mind the famous “Blue Marble” image of our planet taken by the Apollo 17 space crew.

How fitting! Unquestionably rooted in the land of her upbringing, but with an interior vision of the world…

Like the changing nature of a stone, affected by factors internal and external, Sophie’s vision is not a stagnant one. The Heart of Jesus is not stagnant! Ever calling, ever challenging, ever bidding us to come, to build-up, bring into, rest within, to follow, to break open, to share, to act out of, to learn from…

Each of us. Individually and collectively. Uniquely but with one heart, putting on heartfelt compassion. Kindness, humility, gentleness… being thankful, bearing with one another, forgiving…letting love rise above all else, letting peace control our hearts, making room for the Word, and in word or deed, doing it all while giving thanks to God…

I recently read a booklet on the Theology of Migration that is part of the series, Christianity and Justice, put out by the Jesuits in Spain. There is a reference in it to the philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre who says –“tradition is in reality an extended conversation in time… it affirms our own personal commitment, shares this commitment with the community of believers, and extends it both geographically and temporally. We again meet with a powerful affirmation of unity in the midst of diversity.”

He was speaking of reciting the Creed –-but I think Madeleine Sophie might agree in terms of discovering and revealing the heart of Jesus through the service of education.

Think of the thousands upon thousands of students, clients, friends, relatives, patients, readers, co-workers, latte makers, companion travelers mashed against you in the subway or bus…that have walked, lived, wept, or laughed within our hearts over years. Hopefully, they know more about Love, and Justice and Compassion…more about the dispositions of the heart of Jesus, because of that piece of the journey we share. Then, they share it with others, who in turn… and so on.

Exponential sharing, exponential adaptation over time, unity in the essence. Rootedness and incredible potential. Remain in me, as I remain in you…if you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you. By this is my father glorified, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples…

We are called to cleave to the vine and dare to grow! And in the growing, the stretching, the sharing, the intertwining—In the barren years and in the bearing of fruit… so spreads the strength of the vine as well…for that strength, that love, is ever present within us.

We are invited to dare to believe that THAT it is not only possible…but True! Within us! Rather incredible. And, potentially, rather freeing….a freedom that comes from knowing the difference between being rooted and being bound….choosing between staying put, and daring to explore the unknown More. Risking, expanding, revealing.

I have packed up the Sophie stone I found in the vineyards of her childhood, carefully wrapping it so that the rough edges do not catch or break. I will unwrap it in my new room and have it be a reminder that a little erosion of the self through the actions outlined in Colossians and through being grafted to the vine but stretching ever outward and onward, liberates beauty, liberates the creative, thought-changing, feeling-changing, outlook-changing, systems changing, life-changing potential of Love in the world.

Words! Friday Five from RevGals

2011-05-20T14:09:00.002-04:00

So my suggestion for today's Friday Five is to write about 5 words you really like. Please explain why you have chosen each word, in such ways as:

It is a

* description or attribute of yourself
* activity you enjoy
* word that is spelled or pronounced in an interesting way
* passion of yours
* word that brings you hope, peace, or comfort
* word you like to repeat or sing

AUGH! How perfect a Friday Five can this be??

1. Consider...it combines contemplation with entertaining the unseen possibility of with thinking with imagination and mulling and seeing "mas allá"--beyond what is immediate. Love this approach to encountering life.

2. Glory ... Oh, how I love this word. It is a word of Light, Hope, Wonder, Fullness, Promise, Wholeness...this word absolutely Lives for me. It has dimension, color, activity...

3. Shalom... the multiple layers and all encompassing blessing and wish for well being...it has a grounded depth that I find strengthening to both offer and receive.

4. seriosity...to stand for all of those coined words that aren't really words but should be. This was my contribution from when I was a young child. I was trying to explain something to members of my family and they were not taking me seriously so ...in my frustration I said "No, in all...seriosity..." and whatever the point was I was making.

5. Antofagasta...the name of a city in northern Chile. I was (okay, AM) so enamored of the way this sounds when I say it...I have no idea why, really. Except, it has hints of a wondrous place that I used to tell myself stories about as a young child...it was a magical place where all sorts of things would happen...and I had NO idea it was a real place until years later... Guatemala. I suppose it was the most exotic sounding place I'd ever heard at the time...couldn't have been more than six or seven.

My r-pad

2011-05-11T22:06:00.000-04:00

I was in a coffee shop, pleasantly tucked into an end table, reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez's book, La aventura de Miguel Littín clandestino en Chile, sipping a dark roast perfectly milked, and going back and forth between recording new vocabulary and wandering in my mind to my own time in that most interesting country. Ironically, in a sense, I was multitasking. There were others at all the surrounding tables, each person busy about what was in front of them.

Then, blaring into the bliss, a man's voice. "Why are YOU here? What are you doing?"

I looked up from my book, notebook, pen, and mug of caffeinated glory. Yes, in fact, he was addressing me.

"Everyone else is using a computer!! And here you are. Don't you feel out of place? I mean, look around!"

True enough, those at the tables surrounding me were all plugged in, tuned in, and tikkytakking away merrily.

I looked down. "I'm using my r-pad. The window rotates with a flick of the wrist; unlimited color display; you get to choose the stylus--completely interchangeable; it records thoughts, drawings, doodles, and dreams without having to change programs; you can have up to 160 windows open all at the same time; no power required; and, gives of itself willingly so that it can be shared with up to 80 friends at a time."

Yeah, well, that's what occurred to me later on. At the time, I simply said "Nope. I feel happy, actually."

I love my r-pad.

Good Friday Reflection for the Church of Saint Francis Xavier

2011-04-22T19:10:00.001-04:00

“I now know what you have to experience before you die: let me tell you. What you have to experience before you die is a driving rain transformed into light.” --Renee, concierge, main character; The Elegance of the Hedgehog

Several years ago, when teaching Morality and Ethics to twelve year olds, one student asked me what I thought happened when a person dies. Though I recall that the question had little bearing on the topic at hand, it was also clear that hers was not an artfully lobbed “distraction question” so well aimed by Middle School students. She wanted an answer. And one that went beyond, “I don’t know—it’s a mystery.”

The class was silent as I measured my response. “I think we become the fullness of what we have sought all along.” Seeking God? We enter into the fullness of that. Seeking Truth? Same thing. And, yes, some, by choices made, seem to seek emptiness…
That was several years ago. Because of many things that have happened in my life since then, my answer would now be slightly different. It would be shorter. What do I think happens when a person dies? I think we become.

Just about a year ago, and only a month apart, I had the difficult and glorious honor of being with two people in the moment of their deaths. One was my grandfather. He was surrounded in a triangle of love. My mother on one hand. My grandmother on the other…and I held his feet. There is no doubt in my mind that he Became, capital B, as he breathed his last. More than he had ever been, more than we could understand, more than he could have hoped for. The same was true with Nancy, one of my rscj Sisters who I accompanied in her final weeks. She, who had been bound, mute and nearly blind for years, became free.

That is to speak of the final dying. These recent years have me contemplating the dying that happens more often than that.

The dying of my revulsion when helping a woman in the streets of Santiago. A woman covered in flies, scars, and the devastation of a life hard lived. She was “spurned and avoided by people, a [wo]man of suffering, accustomed to infirmity, one of those from whom people hide their faces…”

The letting go of my pride when I had to leave Chile early because a torn ligament in my knee prevented offering any kind of physical help to a country reeling from a historic level earthquake.

The letting go of fear, the dying to the hold parts of my history had on me, that happened in the Long Retreat before making Final Vows in January.

Through all of these deaths, and others, deaths and letting go that did not come easily, comfortably, or without sometimes intense pain… deaths that are likely to happen over and over again… I am so very grateful to God for Becoming a little bit more each time.

Becoming a bit more compassionate, a bit more free, a bit more “loose in the molecules,” spacious on the inside…creating room for the “wondrous love this is, oh my soul, oh my soul….”

I wonder if that isn’t the invitation of the Cross we venerate. When we are called as followers of Jesus to take up our own cross, what if that cross were the cross of becoming the fullness of who we are in the eyes and the heart of God? What if the invitation was

Go ahead and let go. Die and become more…. Become more love, receive more love, show more love. Love that seeks and stays and says always and says everywhere and nothing can separate you from me, ever. The complete love that says Do This and Remember me: Follow, serve, be broken open, welcome, accept, lay down your life, take up your cross...

This, though, is the difficult honor of love. To get there sometimes costs dearly…the rending ache of decisions made, the shaking courage of breaking free and facing the unknown, or perhaps, finally facing the truth…and choosing to go forward, arms at the side, straight on and exposed, no cloak of fear or doubt… because we believe that the driving rain of whatever it is that holds us bound will give way.

We believe that death gives way. And Amen for that. If I didn’t believe that, well, I’d find it hard to make any sense of it all whatsoever.

As it is, much does remain a mystery. And, in a lot of ways, thank goodness. Weather prediction only goes so far. The heavens could open at any given moment and we may or may not have an umbrella. And even if we do, it may or may not help. Sometimes, simply put, we get soaked…from the outside in or from the inside out. When that happens, what can we do? We can seek the hospitality of another on the journey with us until the storm passes. We tell the tale of how we ended up where we are, we accept a towel offered in kindness and understanding, and still a bit damp, with soggy bits in a pocket and a squish in the shoe, we head out again because we are called to do so.

But, we are different because of the experience. Life rubs a little differently. With the help of God and the desire to do so, we learn enough, we grow enough, to find strength for letting it happen all over again.

The invitation is to Become… to discover, to reveal… to risk, not to Stay… And the call is to do this not blindly, but aware. Aware of where that love, that obedience to relationship, to authenticity, simplicity, and openness to transformation might lead…will lead… the cross of our salvation.

We have seen in the crucifixion of Jesus the transformation of a driving rain into light. A transformation only possible because of a Great Love. The love of God for a child of God-the love of Jesus for the whole of humanity, collectively and ever so personally-the love of the Spirit that we share among ourselves.

In the large, and the little, and the all…that is our liberation.

In our quotidian letting go and in our ultimate yes, we are loved that much.

So, why not risk?

Why not let go where we are called to let go and Become?

Collection Agent

2011-04-06T17:46:00.010-04:00

For several hours today, there was the perfection of all that is most Spring. It was glorious. In the freedom of response that such beauty can inspire, I went on a wander in one of my favorite outdoor places-- The Farmers Market at Union Square. And, I went with an agenda...an indulgent agenda that brings me joy. I went collecting words.

Many others were present collecting bits and pieces that would transform into organic dinners whose very odors, tastes, and textures, will honor the grassy provenance of the ingredients. A mother and her young daughter went from booth to booth collecting samples of whatever was displayed on platters--from apples to "loose radishes--tops already removed!" to melon and goat cheese... and they even found broken sprigs of lavender to smell.

Another group was there to harvest photos. Photos of brashly confident root vegetables--parsnips and beets and turnips scuffed and creased with soil, leaves a bit raggedy, fully marvelous in form and color; flats of pansies grateful for a day to sail their winged petals into fresh wind; onions and potatoes so new I could imagine them blinking in the sun, amazed at the world.

But as for me... I wandered with my second notebook open, pen uncapped, delighting in the taste of the language set free in Springtime. Rununculus! Hydrangea, hyacinth, and the hong vit radish! Primula, pussywillow, Tuscan kale, cilantro! Sunchoke, Carola, LaRatte, Rose-val; Swiss chard, cippolini, butterscotch scones; narcissus, nasturtium, Italian parsely, mint; orchid, artichoke, and (my favorite) Dracaena Janet Smith, ("attractive plant; with age, resembles palm.")

Such living poetry! Such a deliciously textured extravagance of sound!

As I wandered, I could not help but think of the contrast between the sumptuous table laid out before me and the front section of the Times that I had read this morning. Bombs, soldiers, cracks in airplane fleets, uprisings, deaths, threats, bankruptcies, regime changes...

How to hold those two realities together... desperation and decadence... an extravagance of sound and a threatening silence...

I don't have an answer... but I have a notebook. And I will continue to make poetry as I move onward into the moments ahead.

Transfiguration

2011-03-19T20:04:00.002-04:00

Perhaps it is my recent experience with a 30 day retreat. Perhaps it is being on the cusp of a new adventure in people and place. Perhaps it is simply that though it is Lent and not August, the second Sunday's cycle A Gospel reading has Peter, James, and John taking a hike up Tabor with Jesus. Whatever the reason, I had a long think today on Transfiguration and several things occurred to me.

One, death is not itself transfiguration. Transfiguration changes Life....changes living...ways of being...ways of seeing... It is an experience that might move from living through dying...but always into life again.

Another, Love is what transfigures. Love. Nothing else but this difficult and stunning honor.

And, more... it is something that asks in love for my freedom. I cannot be bound and be transfigured.

As well, it is not a once for all. It is a consistent draw, an enticing motivation toward being more and more free...

Which includes being willing to walk the valleys...openly...trusting in Love...to walk because of Love...to walk with, beside, toward, within...Love... believing that an unknown Greater Still awaits.

I tend to think of Jesus' baptism as the first transfiguration...and that it was personal. I imagine the dawning awareness that must have come upon Jesus...under the river water, the hands of a trusted friend bearing him, hearing the voice of God name him Beloved, name him Son... Love called him, named him, washed over and through...

The trip up the mountain was a call from Love to the others. “Look.” “Listen.” “Attend.” And, understandably, it was a little much. What did it take to have them rise again? The touch of Jesus, the physical, beckoning, reassurance of deepest understanding, most profound presence, deepest love. Time to go, can’t stay here on the mountain…things to do, valleys to walk. And yet, in spite of the marvel of what happened, the trio were asked to not say anything to others.

Which brings me to another insight. I can live open to transfiguration, but the timing is not mine to mark or plan.

Makes it all that much more an adventure, really…because, who knows what opportunity will become an invitation toward new life, given in love?

And what I know for sure is that it is an act of giving and receiving. That is part of what I experienced in that thirty day retreat. Giving in to my desire for walking in freedom; for forgoing fear; for walking openly into come what may. Receiving strength; receiving even more desire; receiving more of Love’s truth and beauty; knowing more intimately the weight and pain of loving as well and knowing that there is no other choice I’d rather make than choosing to live on in love's fullness. Transfiguration is the bend of the Mobius…the both-and…the challenge-grace…the already-not yet…human-divine…

Another word for that came to me as I prayed today. The Cross.

Ah. Perhaps that is why it does not feel out of place to climb a mountain in the desert of Lent.

Another Friday Five from RevGals!

2011-03-18T15:53:00.002-04:00

Whether we liked it or not, we all "sprang forward" with the change to daylight savings time in the USA this past Sunday. There is lightness and brightness slipping in as spring approaches, so let us consider what is springing forth in our lives right now.

Name 5 things that are springing forth...

1. The croci are in foci! There's more than one I've seen...otherwise, it'd be the crocus is in focus...I've spied daffodils on the hills... Flowers in the bowers... pfloxes in boxes...Blooms in rooms... you get the idea!

2. New adventures in the freedom born from loving God, being loved by God, believing in that, and acting on a desire to keep walking on right into the midst of that, pasa lo que pasa.

3. A curious sense of the world being on a dangerous cusp of some sort.

4. In spite of the weariness that brings, a renewed and deepening call to be a person of listening and acting where need draws is also venturing forth.

5. And, really, a sense of stillness and peace within... the likes of which I have not known before... or perhaps, it is that I am experiencing them from a new place. Seeing a new side, the light glancing from a different facet of God...

Lent, 2011...or, Placards, the Paper, and Morning Ritual

2011-03-02T13:50:00.004-05:00

I was running an errand after daily Mass at my parish and passed New York Foundling—founded by the Sisters of Charity in 1869 as a home for children, its “extensive network of community based services provides havens for children whose safety is at risk, loving foster and group facilities to protect children and support for families to strengthen them.” (from their website, www.nyfoundling.org)

There is a small placard fixed by their front door that I had never seen before earlier this week. On the placard is Foundling’s three word mission. Beautifully succinct, expressive of commitment, and above all, boldly clear—“Abandon No one.”

The simplicity of that, the stark call of that, prompted a shrug of my shoulder to lower my bag and fish around for pen and notebook, though in reality I knew I would not forget those words.

Several days later, I was on the 4/5/6 train headed downtown and noticed what I first thought were new “Poetry In Motion” signs posted above the seats. It turns out the quotations I was reading and enjoying were actually advertisements for a large, local, non-denominational Christian church. It might be better said that the cards were less advertisements than invitations… The one that prompted another pat down for pen and paper is this—“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing…to find the place where all beauty came from.” C.S. Lewis

Most mornings my ritual follows a similar pattern. I head downstairs, put the water on or make coffee, get the mug ready for either tea or coffee, fix a bowl of oatmeal, and take both of those along with my missal and notebook into the living room where I tuck into the corner of the couch to pray and begin the day. Within the first several sips, I hear the whack of the New York Times arriving. I retrieve it, sort out the sections, and return to my spot with the front pages. First, though, the readings in the missal…followed by the front section of the paper. It occurred to me this morning, how well those two things go together.

So often, what I read in the paper I can only consider with eyes and a heart of faith…the suffering of so many, the atrocities, the wild misunderstandings of self, others, and the world, that lead to behaviors that harm…as well as acts of heroism, beauty, and daily humanity that touch the soul and encourage the spirit. Today’s reading from Sirach begins, “Come to our aid, O God of the Universe, look upon us and show us the light of your mercies…hear the prayer of your servants, for you are ever gracious to your people.”

The Gospel of today says that there are those who are amazed and those who are afraid…and that greatness is known only in terms of service and self-giving…the measure is not riches, or well stocked niches, or knowledge…but a willingness to lay down one’s life for another… to live within the challenge and the grace of God’s love as made manifest in Jesus.

Next week is Ash Wednesday. Forty days from now, who can know or predict the state of our world, especially given recent events? Approaching Lent this year, my prayer is this: As we journey together, the people of God, the church, may I seek to abandon no one, but instead offer prayer and service in the way and substance of my life... May I set my eyes upon the mysterious and beckoning beauty of God alive within and among creation and not fear what I encounter as I walk openly into the unknown “more” God promises... May I live ever amazed by love and desiring to embody what I receive so generously.

V-Day

2011-02-15T08:54:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, amidst the wandering multitude bearing stuffed animals, single flowers, whole arrangements, and balloons, and the father on the bus who handed his son one gummy worm at a time and said "Happy Valentines Day" with each wriggling sweet, I found myself considering love.

It was not the fizzy confection of love that I considered this day of chocolates and promises, but love in action...love within one's community--whether work, friends, family... Love that is sometimes a difficult honor, love that is challenge and grace, love that calls forth, is sustaining, generative, creative, and freeing.

I considered the Love of country that inspired the Egyptian youth to revolution. I contemplated the Love that will bring me to see my father again in the Spring. I recalled again the line in our vow formula..."trusting in the fidelity of God and in the love of my sisters..." I "went out" to friends around the world and offered gratitude for their friendship, their love, that makes me a better person and shows me more about God.

In a moment later in the day, I looked down and saw my ring and cross and was taken back several weeks to the prayer we had the night before our Profession. In that prayer, we each simply held our ring and our cross together, silently. That was the first time I had ever contemplated the two symbols together. In the two is the Complete Love to which I give my life and the Complete Love which I receive and from which nothing can ever separate me.

This is the Love that stretches and challenges, the Love that has no beginning and no end, except in God. Then, I found myself repeating a prayer... May I live as God loves me and may I love as God lives in me... wholly, deeply, widely, freely, and with joy.

Happy Valentines Day, world.

Praying the Readings

2011-01-14T16:28:00.003-05:00

Things encountered today…

Brie on a bridge. I was crossing the Mazzini bridge near the house and saw a paper plate, a napkin, and a wrapped wedge of brie. It struck me as both intriguing and somewhat sad at the same time.

A man with a hacksaw cutting the lock from a bicycle. I hoped it was his own.

A woman spiraled into the corner of a street, swathed in cloths of every color.

An enormous tour group with more cameras per capita than wheat sprigs in Kansas

An exceedingly happy woman walking her even happier dog

A homeless sidewalk artist chalking Mary Poppins-worthy paintings onto the cement

A hormonal gaggle of high school students pitching crumbs to pigeons…

…pigeons who honestly shared with one another. If there was a large crumb, one would come and peck, then step away. Another would come along, peck, and move aside…

Another dog who thought I was the greatest thing ever as I came out of a market. I got it all--play bow, hand slurps, head bonks on the thigh… His owner was amused.

Today was a day of prayer dedicated to praying with the readings we are going to use for our final vows.

Isaiah 61: 1-3

The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; He has sent me to bring glad tidings to the lowly, to heal the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners, To announce a year of favor from the Lord and a day of vindication by our God, to comfort all who mourn; To place on those who mourn in Zion a diadem instead of ashes, To give them oil of gladness in place of mourning, a glorious mantle instead of a listless spirit. They will be called oaks of justice, planted by the Lord to show his glory.

Philippians 2:1-5

If there is any encouragement in Christ, any solace in love, any participation in the Spirit, any compassion and mercy,complete my joy by being of the same mind, with the same love, united in heart, thinking one thing. Do nothing out of selfishness or out of vainglory; rather, humbly regard others as more important than yourselves, each looking out not for his own interests, but (also) everyone for those of others. Have among yourselves the same attitude that is also yours in Christ Jesus.

John 15:1-15

"I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine grower. He takes away every branch in me that does not bear fruit, and everyone that does he prunes 3 so that it bears more fruit. You are already pruned because of the word that I spoke to you. Remain in me, as I remain in you. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit, because without me you can do nothing. Anyone who does not remain in me will be thrown out like a branch and wither; people will gather them and throw them into a fire and they will be burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you. By this is my Father glorified, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples. As the Father loves me, so I also love you. Remain in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and remain in his love. "I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and your joy may be complete. This is my commandment: love one another as I love you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I no longer call you slaves, because a slave does not know what his master is doing. I have called you friends, because I have told you everything I have heard from my Father.

It was important to me to pray these readings while I was out, in the middle of the masses, face-on with the muchadumbre, the khuli baloli, the crowds of people that I encounter and serve with my life, consecrated to the glory of the heart of Jesus. I spent time sitting in the middle of a plaza, opened my bible, read, and prayed. Then, I walked some more, found a new bit of old stone, plunked down, read them again and prayed. This pattern sustained me for several hours.

I loved the reading of the texts while among the incredible diversity of humanity. Word was within me and outside me…It was the wholeness of it all… The love of Jesus expressed in the text, the love of Jesus within me, the manifestation of this love all around me as well as the call to share my bit of it, to engage in relationship with humanity/creation with all that might mean—challenge, love, self-emptying, growth--and discover even more…and bring that to prayer with the Word and listen, and discern, and venture on with openness and freedom…

This afternoon it occurred to me yet again that whole stories are not borne on the exterior. Any one of the people I passed, saw or did not see, spoke with, smiled at, nodded to…might be mourning. Someone of them might be being held captive or prisoner by a situation or experience or… Who among them needs the oil of gladness? A royal crown instead of a wreath of ashes? And how would I ever know, unless I engaged in a relationship of listening, serving, being broken open for another, that has as its source and strength the love of Jesus?

Doing that very thing, engaging in that sort of relationship with others, is, I think, being united with the heart and mind of Jesus. In that way, I am remaining with Jesus, who loves me completely and always, and I am freely experiencing that love within me…that love which also draws me onward and beckons and lives in others and challenges…and nourishes…

Yes, nourishes…the branches, which are fed from the vine and so produce fruit, but not without pruning. And what relationship of value does not include a snip here and there? And why?

So that our joy may be complete--in the loving of one another as we are loved by God.

I am going to bed so very grateful tonight...

Deep Down Center

2011-01-07T17:07:00.000-05:00

Deep Down Center

Deep down center within my home,
within your love, within you,
is a stirring wound.
A wound that reminds me
that I live with the grace of fragility
which is the giving of self to you…
A humble ache of emptying
that draws tears when probed
and loosens my soul to offer
space to the much and the many.
In that movement of welcome expanding,
my heart breathes freely and
comes the freshness of being called forth
to move onward into the more,
into the greater fullness
of your love for me.

c. MperiodPress

The Large, the Little, and All

2010-12-21T04:13:00.002-05:00

The Large, the Little, and All

You have given me the large, the little, and all.

My body with curves and quirks and breath to fill it,
and a mind, a heart, and the complement of senses;
the plot and the characters of my life,
the turns of the journey that leads me free
and leads me always, and always home-
Home to generous and forgiving you, home to loving you,
home in the open heart, come to me,
eternal you.

You, in whose image I
am created to bear your syllables breathed,
your radiant Word spoken and made known
so that your glory might take on bone and blood
at the beginning and in your son and at my own birth.
Seen best directly, straight on and exposed,
no shade of fear, no cloak of doubt…
Oh how it shines where your love is home!

Your son died for me- you suffered to give me all.
A love that rises, love that seeks and stays, and says Always
and says Everywhere and Nothing can separate you from me, ever.
The complete love that says Do this and Remember me,
follow, serve, be broken open, welcome, accept,
lay down your life, take up your cross…
Your verse of life, your full humanity, your body given
that I might be freed by Love.

Grace upon grace, your love fills my life!
I am not worthy—but I am grateful.
When I wander, you remain.
When I avoid, you challenge.
When I need, you give.

In the large, the little and all,
it is enough that you love me.

c. MperiodPress

Further Thoughts on Poverty

2010-11-06T13:51:00.003-04:00

...poverty is being in a place where you know dispair or misery is just on the other side of a very thin line and you are doing everything possible to not cross over. To be there with others is living this vow in fullness to me.

To stand alongside and help someone look for the face of God ; and to stand with God and be that face, that attitude, that act of love.

It occurs to me that I might just have learned something new about what it means to be transparent. To put myself on that thin line...

To put myself on that thin line...

The line is where Jesus walks. Being the face, revealing the face, opening eyes to see and ears to hear and hearts to recognize...

Poverty

2010-11-04T02:55:00.001-04:00

Poverty
(With thanks to GM Hopkins for his line for Christ plays in 10,000 places)

Let me live openly,
simply, as you
who play in ten thousand places.

Let me live loosely
in all but relationship to you,
the fire that beckons and gathers and warms-

and dies and rises in glory and is discovered
in wonder and by the calling of our names.
You send us to tell the others...

Help me live where you play and weep and walk
and learn to move unbound, unrestricted,
as one enfolded in the whole cloth of love.

Face to the sun, ear to the story,
heart to the new day, hands to the task
of helping spin hope from the unraveled threads

of what is scuffed along, too much to be borne alone.

c.MperiodPress

Best Adventures

2010-10-31T12:31:00.004-04:00

"The best adventure of all--living openly and allowing life to touch the heart."

This past weekend was full of these best-adventures. One began with the simple need to leave the house for a bit, to get fresh air, stretch the legs, go on an amble amidst a greater reality. I went with one of the other Probanists who was looking for chemical-free cream. In our walk along the Tiber we were beset with "carcajadas" (loud guffaws/silliness/laughter--SUCH a great word) as well as the quiet rumination and wandering conversation that is allowed when two people are at ease and trust one another.

That feeling is a precious one and I have been gifted with two friendships like this in the months I have been here. Who knew it would be that way? I am filled with such a depth of gratitude.

We continued along the river until the bridge that would take us to the Plaza Argentina. Across the river, in between checking pharmacies, we stopped at a pen/paper store and somehow began a conversation on the history of colors while looking at the rainbow of sheets they had stacked on the walls. In hearing Spanish being spoken, a woman in the next aisle said, "Oh! It is SO nice to hear people speaking Spanish!" She came over and engaged in conversation. Turns out, she is an engineer from Venezuela who has lived in Rome for 16 years.

In a short time, we got the brief version of her last twenty years or so and also shared with her who we were and why we were in Rome. She was so kind, so open and interested...and helpful and generous as well! When we told her about the cream and the need to find blank cds, she set out on the walk with us. She showed us the Jewish quarter of the City, pointed out stores we should visit for different things we needed, told us about her family, and dropped us off at an herbalists' shop. But, the shop was temporarily closed. So, she invited us to join her for a classic Italian sandwich at a shop just around the block while we waited for the clerk to return.

The deli specializes in "paninos"--especially those filled with mortadella. I admit to having previously snubbed the thought of mortadella...think really huge bologna made from pork, small chunks of pork fat, pistachios, and various spices. Note the use of the word Previously... this sandwich was amazing. Foccacia bread split open, paper thin mortadella stacked inside, wrapped in a brown paper wrapper and handed to you to take outside and eat on the go. The line was out the door, the shop was insanely small and jammed full of people calling out "Largo!" "Piccolo!", indicating sizes with handspans, and a clerk who could make change, toss change, and keep order with an ease I have not often witnessed.

The sandwich practically melted in my hand...so tender, so delicious, so...of the moment. Walking the streets of Rome with a friend, accompanied by an incredibly kind woman we did not know an hour ago, speaking Spanish, eating a mortadella sandwich wrapped in crispy brown paper, and wiping crumbs onto the cobblestones for the birds to find.

This followed by a slow walk home, God-filled conversation, more laughter, watching the river...

And then another walk in the evening, this time with a group of people... to look for the Mariachi Mass that never was. Turns out the information we had was wrong about the day. Some opted to stay in the same place and wait through the Rosary until Mass began. The two of us who had been together earlier opted to walk back toward home and find another Mass instead. Those who stayed ended up in the midst of a Latin Rite Rosary and Mass. We, however, ended up in a simple, though lovely, church, with a cantor who had an incredibly lovely voice--so rich and round. We followed this with a walk in the Trastevere and pizza while sitting outside.

Then, a fabulous movie in the community room with others who were knitting, braiding hair, and simply being with one another.

Indeed..."allowing life to touch the heart..."

Chastity

2010-10-29T10:57:00.002-04:00

Chastity

I am a woman of bone and blood,
of air and ink and fire and clay.

A woman created, and meant to create...
meant to touch and feel and breathe,
meant to love and shape and hope
burning embers into light.

This, while letting go myself-
allowing the One and the Many
to reach in and stir
my own deep heart flame.

This, while letting go enough, loosening until
it no longer matters or is possible to know
spark from fire from sunrise
and whether the glow is inside or out.

c. MperiodPress

Obedience

2010-10-22T17:08:00.000-04:00

Obedience

You have had my yes
for years--
and I have had yours
since the sun, the seashells, and the storms at sea.

But now, ah...you and I
are more than yes.
As time moves with, within, and around,
this yes of ours takes on wings, takes on colors I never imagined,
challenges that strengthen and soften me,
glory that stills me, stirs me, extends and opens me.

It becomes a murmur of love that we share.
Love that frees me and compells me
to choose you again and yet again...
that I might respond as I wish to respond...
openly, knowingly,
even a little mysteriously...

as the bush in the desert responded to flame.

c. MperiodPress

A Vow

2010-10-15T07:46:00.000-04:00

A Vow

To desire

to stand before you and bow before you
and be within you
and feel you within me
and see you, reveal you,
know you, and touch you
in the others I meet along the way…

To do so with my life,
with any ache or wonder I know
of heart or mind,
that comes from the glimpses of you
I sense in the eyes and wounds,
in the humming joy and confusions
of the earth that roots me and the love that moves me

is yes and yes and yes
the vow I make to witness
to your glory, your mystery,
ever alive and always becoming.

c. MperiodPress

Canticle of Flying

2010-10-08T06:29:00.001-04:00

After returning from Assisi...

Canticle of Flying

Loosen me Lord, and free my spirit!
I want to fly!
To know the wind as the bee knows the wind;
to taste the salt water rain of tears
that act as prisms do, reflecting the fullness of light.
When the thunder comes moonless,
when the fields are ready in a ripeness of green,
let me fear neither the darkness nor your glory.
I want to juggle the sparks between lightning and stone,
while riding on currents of grace and mystery.

Oh yes!
Teach me to fly with my feet on the ground!
Take me by the hand, with your hand
that makes a chain with time and space,
through the clouds of witnesses and history!
And let my other hand reach
for the hands of the ones on either side;
And let them reach as well!
Oh, let the circle be unbroken
so that when you ask each of us—
Where are all the others?
We may bow together, humbly,
and stand as well…
Standing with our faces toward the sun.

c.MperiodPress

So too, the heart

2010-10-03T00:47:00.007-04:00

I get up at roughly the same time every morning. It is good for my body as well as my spirit- the constancy of it, but also what it allows. Establishing a routine can allow for noticing variations in the pattern that otherwise might have gone unnoticed. Scientists have approached curiosities in this way for years; however, for me, it is less an issue of resolving curiosity than expanding it, allowing wonder to be in greater and greater dimension.

The nuances of sunrise, for example. By watching it every morning here in Rome, I can say that yesterday's was a vibrant, confident, proclamation of glory and today's is a bit misty...sifted through the clouds and emotions of a just-waking sky. How lovely to know that both are complete, both represent a fullness. What will tomorrow's add?

In a similar way, these weeks have taught me new things about the capacities of my heart. Each day brings unique feelings, opportunities to go to the rooftop and proclaim my "YAWP" (thank you, Walt Whitman, for that) as well as times of more subtley. A gentle curve, a bend around which one finds a stand of honeysuckle perfuming the night air. The boldness of one, the quiet of another...each yeilding a fullness my heart is pressed to contain.

And sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes I can do no more than weep in gratitude...or in fullness or in awe or simply as a response to the intensity. Sometimes my response is a ripple of quiet floated in the pond. Sometimes laughter...

But, it occurs to me as I sit here with coffee, perfectly milked, and quiet all around, save the nubby bumping of my fingers on the keys, that the love that lives in those moments is like the sunrise.

The sunrise is the expression that comes in different ways...in different colors and intensities and nuances...

but still, it rises.

Because that is what the sun does.

And so too, the heart. It loves.

God is good.

God is enticing.

What will tomorrow be?

for now it is enough to know the sun will rise.

Hills and Bridges

2010-09-23T15:47:00.006-04:00

I am in Rome. ROME. I dreamed of many things as a child...dreams that seemed big to me at the time... but the idea that I would one day be walking the streets of Rome is beyond what even my intense imagination could have thought possible. Philosphies were born here, art was created here, science was advanced here--ROME.

I am in Rome, living with 15 others from 8 different countries, speaking in Spanish and English all day long. I am experiencing new aspects of my religious congregation, learning tangibly of its history, and trying to dance with my sisters from Congo and Kenya. I have eaten gelatto, learned how to conjugate three verbs in Portugese, and laughed and cried and been quiet and shouted the "grito" for Mexican independence.

And, in the City of Seven Hills, I have learned about bridges. Yes, bridges. The languages of this five months together are Spanish and English. I am comfortable in both, others here are not. A chance to be a bridge. And there are challenges with that. I think that it is not a coincidence that bridges must stretch to function, must reach and touch edges and be strong enough to withstand the tension. I am fortunate in that there has been someone here with whom I connect well and can share what it feels like for me to be one bridge between languages. That has been a grace, actually, and though the time has been short, it has been a huge help and a lovely beginning to a friendship I hope continues.

I took the tram home tonight with a group of people after we had visited the mother house for supper. Between the tram and where I am staying, a quartet of us ambled slowly, enjoying the evening life of the plazas in our neighborhood...the musicians serenading those out for an evening meal, the human statues, the vendors, the sounds of languages from all around the world. The moon was nearly full, only adding to the mood. And, it occured to me as we walked and told stories to one another, that there are many ways to be a bridge.

It isn't simply a matter of spanning space y ya, punto. It might be a bridge between languages, but it also might be a bridge between points of view or ways of being... introvert/extrovert, helping someone see a defict as an asset, or any number of points where the desire is for connection... And instead of a fixed span of tension, perhaps it is an invitation--an extension of arms and hands to invite someone to another place, new way of seeing, or simply a different viewing point.

With my head at a certain tilt, it takes little effort to see Jesus as a bridge, actually. A bridge or a point of unity, an invitation to view the world with broader vision, a place to rest on the journey. And Jesus calls me to go and do likewise. To connect when I can, to allow the passing and pausing of others through my life, to use my being-ness in service, and to also enjoy the fish when they tickle my feet and ankles, passing beneath, offering a greeting. Now and then bridges need to be repaired as well, and that is okay. It happens. And who doesn't need reinforcement now and then?

Bridges help. Bridges are important.

Much care goes into the design and building of a bridge... Bridges can be beautiful.

Stormy Friday

2010-09-03T14:08:00.004-04:00

Friday Five: Storms of Life Edition

I'm listening this morning for word of Hurricane Earl. Is he coming to visit, or will he bypass my part of Maine and move further Downeast, or veer toward Nova Scotia? Should I buy those bottles of water, just in case wind brings branches and power lines down? And how many times will the tracking map change today?

Herewith, a Friday Five about the storms of life:

1) What's the most common kind of storm in your neck of the woods?

Nor'Easters. Horizontal rain, wind...

2) When was the last time you dealt with a significant power outage?

During and following the earthquake in Chile this past February. This was accompanied by a water-outage as well. I'll take no power over no water ANY DAY.

3) Are you prepared for the next one?

I know a heck of a lot more about what do do when there's no water than I did before, so yes, I'd have to say I am much more adequately prepared. Bleach is your friend, let me just say. Wonder worker, that. Power outages? Small radio, stash of batteries, sanctuary candles (in glass all the way up, tall, burn forever...), kitchen matches and a coat hanger holder for them to stick them down in pilot light holes or deep candles...add bread, water, fresh fruit and raw veg...yep, basics covered.

4) What's the weather forecast where you are this weekend?

Rain should be coming--will be something of a relief for the heat, actually, though I am sorry it comes because of Earl because of what it will mean for the others who will feel the brunt of it.

5) How do you calm your personal storms?

Ah... I'd a friend, sadly felled recently by a brain tumor, who used to remind me, "There is no problem in this world that sleep will not help." Solve, no, but help, certainly. Also, I am a believer in the utter goodness of massage as a way to re-unify body/psyche--two aspects of myself that sometimes tend to wander their own ways during those storms. Writing helps me as does sitting alone in silence in a space I find comforting. Both the writing and the sitting are part of praying for me, so that too is a part of it. Good friends are a help too. As safe places to bounce things around a bit or as necessary distraction.

Firefly Saints

2010-08-30T07:41:00.003-04:00

And so it is that I find myself gearing up for another adventure. Goodbyes are being said, hugs given, and blessings bestowed. It all continues to fill me with a depth of gratitude beyond my capacity to contain. I am simply and humbly aware that those gifts of friendship, support, and love are part of the foundation beneath my feet. With every step, so moves this communion with me.

I have taken the ring I will use for profession with me to various gatherings of late and many of the people I know and love have held it, touched it, prayed over it, blessed it. Those who are also nearest my heart but furthest away in distance are also a part of this--because they are within me.

Someone recently asked me how that felt--the awareness of how many people live in your heart. Fireflies came to mind. Who can look over a hill, see fireflies, and not smile? And what is the light? A second, a blink, a delight, a hope, a surprise. That is what it is like. Now and then in the midst of the whatnot of life, blink! The light of a friend. In the midst of disorienting night, flash! The reminder of hope.

And sometimes, sometimes you actually get to see one up close! But, you have to let them go as well. Because there are others who watch for their light too, others who need them. But, the light they bring has a staying power beyond anything the technology of today can ever hope to achieve.

For that moment though...the phone call, the email, the chat, the hug, the laugh, the being with, the re-read, the memory... the whole hillside might as well be filled!

Love, the ultimate re-newable energy. And somehow, I find it all the more appropriate that it comes in the wondrous complexity of simply being. For the fullness of its becoming, love is both internal and external. It is a draw for others, and a joy for the one in whom it dwells.

Makes me smile to think about what it would look like if a hillside of firefly saints got to laughing together... pure glory.

Hot Time, Summer in the City

2010-08-13T11:49:00.002-04:00

It's a Summertime Friday Five from Rev Gal Blog Pals!

I love summer, and wait anxiously for it every year. So how is it that we have arrived at the hot and humid "Dog Days" of August, and I have not done nearly enough of what I planned to do? I want to pack in as much as I can before snow flies once again.

How about you? And what is happening for those of you who are in a different hemisphere than I, and it may be cold?

1. What is the weather like where you live?

HOT. STICKY. Weighty. Clingy. Thick. In need of a cleansing.

2. Share one thing you love about this time of year.
Farmer's Markets...and how the heat calls out the fullness of the scents of the fruits and vegetables and herbs.

3. Share one thing you do NOT love about this time of year.

Being in a perpetual state of sweatiness. Eww.

4. How will you spend the remaining days leading up to Autumn?

Getting ready to leave to go to Rome for five months! Going to gather with an international group of 13 others in my order for conferences, giving presentations, a month long retreat...and final vows in January!

5. Share a good summer memory.

Making homemade icecream as a kid...sitting on the board while Dad churned. Mom always got the paddle when we were done and she slurped away merrily in the middle of the yard.

And, I have to add...kool-aid icecubes in a yogurt cup! My grandmother had an icecube tray that made a zillion little square ice cubes at a time and she'd fill it with Kool-Aid and then pop out the cubes and give us yogurt containers full of them to go suck on outside.

Bonus: What food says SUMMER to you? Watermelon, a bowl of sliced peaches and blueberries, tortellini salad with artichokes, cucumbers, tomatoes, mushrooms, parmesean...burgers on the grill and corn on the cob...

Free Agent

2010-08-01T15:45:00.006-04:00

I have had reason of late to consider the idea of “free moral agency” as it pertains to several people close to me. Free moral agency…the right to make choices and decisions on one’s own, provided it is deemed that no harm is being done. Deemed or determined by whom and against what measure remain questions to me, but that is a whole other theme.

The expression came to the forefront of my mind and heart while talking to a social worker who was bandying it about while explaining someone’s legal rights. I began to imagine a sliding fulcrum that teetered loosely between the rights of one to their agency and the obligation of others to intervene when those rights to choose result in a lack of care, a lack of whatever well-being is within their means, and pain for those who love them.

There is an undeniable and certain obligation to allow for free moral agency. I understand that, believe that, and also know that the results can be both beautiful and achingly tragic. One person I care for happens to fall closer to the latter end of that spectrum, but he is at least not hugging the border of danger quite so firmly as he once was. Sadly, not so with all.

I think that aside from issues of legality, the call to love is partly a call to allow that agency--to allow for free will while fully aware of the possibility that the full-flowering of that might lead to unfortunate results and sad situations for those we love. But, the nature of love is that it “pervades all things” (as Wisdom) and continues on through, bearing the challenge of watching someone live with the circumstances that arise from the exercise of their agency--being with someone, not condoning a poor choice or trying to pretty-up a mess…not abandoning the ones we love, while also understanding one’s own human limits, one’s own responsibility to personal well-being and healthy self-agency.

This gets me thinking about the concept of obedience….and the vow of it. My experience and this musing are leading me toward describing it, this vow, as something that radiates from a point (the individual), not a force aimed at a point from a larger, more powerful swarm of points who seek to absorb or consume as many other points as possible, and are only able to do so once those points have “obediently” conformed their thinking and way of being to that of the swarm. I believe obedience is something offered instead of imposed.

Obedience to whom or what? To the responsible exercise of my own moral agency because it is best for the larger group that I do so. That larger group might be family, religious order, church, society…however you want to look at it. My responsibility, well-exercised, frees me to focus outward and eases the burden of others as well, thus freeing them.

With this line of thought, a whole new light is shining on the primacy of the individual conscience in Catholic theology. Within all of this, we each remain a unique image and likeness of God, are given a conscience by God, are endowed with the freedom to listen to revelation or ignore it, to choose wisely or not. Removing this primacy would seem to negate the idea of agency in the first place and without that, we are not really free.

God is an invitation, not a command. So is, then, by faith-filled extension, well-being. Perhaps the best that can be done is to interpret the invitation to wholeness when others seem confused by it.

All assuming that no harm is being done along the way…

Hmm. Yes. Now, as to that...

Trite, but True! I-Heart-NYC

2010-07-30T22:15:00.002-04:00

Back in the Saddle with Friday 5 and RevGalBlogPals! It's the I-Heart-NYC edition!

Friday Five: Love the One You're With

This Friday Five will post while I'm at the beach which for me is more than a vacation destination, it is a trip home. I have found it quite easy to wax nostalgic about the places I used to live (well, except for one) and have begun to wonder what it is I like about the place I'm living now? For instance I sure do love the beach, but this picture was taken about 30 minutes away from my house - not too shabby!

And so I ask you to please name five things you like about where you are living now... and as your bonus - 1 thing you don't like.

1. Diversity Diversity Diversity!! New York is a slice of the world passing by! Languages, faces, politics, food, histories, mysteries... Love it. People watching is the best free thing going in the City.

2. Public transportation! Yes, the rate hikes are getting ridiculous, but you can get practically anywhere... fabulous.

3. You WILL fit somewhere here in the City. Got a unique interest? Someone else does here too. Haven't found a place you feel comfortable elsewhere? Bet you will here--though it might take effort to find it, it's here waiting for you.

4. Parks and public spaces--funky finds all over. Little surprises of green civility.

5. Walkability and ease of finding one's way in Manhattan. Three cheers for the grid system! (Until you get far enough south...but....) Going out on a wander just to see what there is to see is such an awesome thing here. Hidden independent coffee shops, historical markers, unique architectural details, flower stalls, fruit displays, public art...

And one thing I don't like...

Let's just imagine... 8 million people and their garbage + an insanely hot summer. Sometimes it just plain stinks.

A Bearable Lightness of Being

2010-07-18T22:32:00.002-04:00

It is not often that one has a chance to pair the absence of coffee in the can with a curious sleepy ponder about whether there actually is just a little less gravity holding things in place.

So it was this morning at 5:30 when I opened the cupboard and was reminded in one sad sandy shake that I’d forgotten to replenish the grounds of caffeinated morning glory. Ah, well. There was no paper yet either. Well, ah.

Yet, there was the corner of the couch just like usual and the table with a bare spot just big enough for the plunk of two heels. There was also the fleeting peace of being the only one downstairs and engaged in the quotidian personalized rituals of rising wakefulness.

Coffee or not, these moments are precious to me and I was keen to take advantage. I tucked into the corner, put my journal on the next cushion, and closed my eyes.

Whether it was the lack of liquid stimulation or simply the temporal proximity to my former state of being, I quickly entered that embracing in-between-ness of neither completely asleep nor entirely awake.

I love that place. I can’t describe it to you, and in fact, think it is different for everyone, but I know that it is a place where I feel intensely close to God. A space of welcome vulnerability where, as I wrote later, “things can float freely though your mind and heart for an hour—an hour when gravity has a little less hold and things can be examined, removed from an internal pocket and set in front for flipping, spinning, touching, tracing, manipulating, with the aim to come to know and perhaps, though not necessarily, understand.”

This morning, some of those things included shedding some residual from a conversation I’d had recently, concerns about my father, preparations for Rome and things left to be done, upcoming travels, future ministry and living situations…

It is a place of trust and presence and safety. It is a place of desire—a place I desire to be, a place to discover God’s desires, a place where I am desired to be by God. And it is not something I can plan or even where I would choose to go every time I pray. Which is a good thing, because it certainly doesn’t happen every time I pray.

This morning I went one place among many places—many rooms. Some spaces are bare, some are crammed, some are with one cushion, some have stadium seating, some lit with a candle or the stars, some without power.

This house of prayer is a fascination, it is. It is entirely enticing and without end.

Feasting

2010-07-14T13:35:00.003-04:00

In these last weeks, I have been to the library quite a bit. I have found new mystery authors to enjoy, yes, but the real thrill has been 641.5. Not six-hundred forty one and a half, 641.5. Cookery. I have been devouring cookbooks and food writing books. And not only reading, but putting into practice! I have made lime-chili-sesame green beans that sagged my socks, a blueberry cake, the left-overs of which made 5:30 in the morning a truly dreamy moment, and roasted tomato-garlic pasta with balsamic parmesean zucchini that did little somersaults of joy all the way down.

In thinking about this spate of spatula toting, I was drawn back to earlier journal entries.

From my journal entry of 28 March, 2010, written after a much needed massage soon after returning from Chile…

I get a good vibe from S…it is that feeling that allows the trust to have her care for me in that way. It is not there for me with everyone…I am grateful when I do feel it. It is the sense that with her you can let go and she will help you and keep you safe all at the same time. For that hour, someone you trust is helping you on the journey…and it is okay to rest and allow it.

And a quotation I found yesterday, 13 July, 2010, while paging through The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters….

It is the many dimensions of sensual experience that make cooking so satisfying.

These two ideas are intimately related, I think. And the link has something to do with the absolute need for the beauty of the senses in my life. I feel the lack of it when it isn’t there. I remember thinking just before the massage—Ahh, touch! Thank you, God, for that. For the touch of someone I trust…for being able to feel the relaxation moving within me, the gratitude, the warmth, the sense of being home in those moments, of being with God.

In the kitchen, it is the textures, the colors, tastes, feels, smells, that do it. The sensory input, the providing for others, the delight and marvel of the science of it…how an understanding of the chemistry leads me to new understandings of the depths of relationship—relationships of harmony, that lead to beauty or a fullness of taste that could not otherwise be achieved.

The idea that certain spices draw out the best in certain foods is not unlike the idea that certain people draw out the best in certain others. Friends! We know our best ones because they accept and allow our humanity while calling us to be our best selves, to live more intimately our important, though fractional piece of the image and likeness of God. And, in my experience, they do this by the questions asked, by support given, by being still enough often enough to allow the other to do likewise and together create peace.

And I imagine that this sort of peace, rightness of relationship, is something like the meal created in Babette’s Feast—balanced, flavorful, full of joy and surprise and both personal and communal exposition and delight—if we allow ourselves to participate in it, to be touched by it, to be made vulnerable by it.

And how often, in the midst of such a meal or such relationship, silence comes welcoming with the coffee or quiet smile--silence not for any sort of lack, but for the sake of savoring the fullness.

Amen, I say.

And then comes the joy of bringing some small part of that experience and knowledge to others...not by dint of force or subjection, but rather by allowing it within myself. Allowing it to shape me, touch me, yes, change me. And that is what I walk with and the well from which I share... and cook.

Word-liness

2010-07-03T20:43:00.002-04:00

From the journal

6:07 AM

And so the morning begins in cool and breezy silence….at least for some moments. It is a passing but welcome peace that settles here in the living room where I am tucked into a couch corner with the front section of the paper and mug number one of caffeinated glory. But first, important and handy words I learned while translating last night. My favorite is matiz, nuance. SO nice to know how to say that! Amparo- protection; al amparo de- with the help of; to say nothing of learning the words for each sense! There were more than a couple moments of “Oh, wow, there IS a word for that!”

I was telling someone about the wonder of that and she asked, “Why didn’t you simply look it up in the dictionary if you needed it before?” In other words, the word has always been available to me, why such a revelation?

Hm. To explain or not to explain? I opted for not. But, for the record, here’s why.

Some of it is because of the moments of “I need a word that means….” Sometimes you know the meaning of the word you want to translate but not the word itself, which renders a riffle through the dictionary potentially interesting, but not precise.

And then you have those times when you might be thinking of the word, but when you look up the word, it is not translated with the same word you might encounter later on that more accurately suggests it. Matiz for nuance is an example. Faceta, facet, is ~ish to matiz, nuance.

Also, sometimes it is simply neat to know that a word means multiple things. Colmar can be used for both fill-to-the-brim and to fulfill. Knowing both translations might color your choice between various options and on a rather basic level, you have the added satisfaction of knowing that you made a conscious choice to use the fullness of a word. You chose the word for a particular use because you were aware of its depth. The reader or other half of a conversation might never know that is why you used it, but the writer or the speaker knows. For me, that counts for something.

This is much, I imagine, like the feeling might be to just once pull out the stops when you drive in order to feel the full potential of the engine’s design when under ordinary circumstances you might be testing it at about half capacity. Ever after the layout, the driver knows the engine’s fullness. It is felt within and at the same time both a thrill and something that passengers need not necessarily know or experience. The driver knows and that is enough…most of the time.

But sometimes, it is just too cool to not share.

Ingredients or Durante el Después (During the After)

2010-06-26T12:41:00.005-04:00

As I sit here and type this, I have chicken that I will eventually slice for dinner cooling on the top of the oven. There is something pleasing to me about the simplicity of the preparation and ultimate result of baked chicken. It is a complementary food that, done right, is flavorfully polite to other elements of the meal, juicy, tender, and nourishing. This will be served room temperature alongside a batch of slightly more daring creamy smooth gazpacho I made earlier in the day that is presently getting to know itself better in the refrigerator.

I had been reading back issues of Cook’s Illustrated when I chanced on a recipe for this summer soup. It is filled with nothing but refreshment—tomatoes, cucumber, onion, garlic, green pepper, a jalapeño, a little kosher salt-pureed together with a torn slice of bread, olive oil and a wee hint of wine vinegar. Post-blender, I spooned a little in my mouth to taste. It was like being invited to a small enough party where the guests have forged a group identity that puts everyone at comfortable pleasant ease. Still, you can tease the identity apart and tell that there are those who barb (jalapeño and onion), those who smooth and cool (cucumber), the interesting and unique (green pepper) and those who are at ease nearly everywhere (tomato and garlic).

It is an interesting exercise to look at things that way every now and then. Dish-ingredients, sum-parts, macro-micro.

I think about that also as I look at my desk and notice an empty and relatively nondescript blue, extra-fine point, roller ball. It is the only pen I have used for writing since returning from Chile and it ran dry three months to the day after my first moments in California, where I landed at the end of March.

While I certainly did not start out knowing the outcome, I see now that this pen, in its emptiness, has provided an answer I can offer to often posed questions—“Kim, what have you done since coming back? How have you been spending your time? Have you been working?” Instead of groping in my pocket to find more syllables among the inter-cultural, -continental, and -state, memories and mystical dust, I can say “Dejo a contarte la tinta corriente de mi pluma.” I leave the flowing ink of my pen to tell you.

This ink that has described the last three months of my journey for history and memory begins at this source—sitting in the chapel after my arrival at the last bedroom in a hallway of an RSCJ infirmary in the northern part of California, after a twenty hour journey with my leg immobilized. It speaks of going to the doctor for consultations, a scan of all bones, and the queasy uncertainty of the outcome. It addresses the dawning realization that I am no longer physically in Chile. It bends and ripples playfully through the joy of feeling at home among my elder sisters and the laughter shared at table, in the hallway, and over the computer when I could help them. There is gratitude for tasting Word anew in English when reading during Mass as well as the realization that I continue to pray the Our Father in Spanish and it feels right within me to do that. And, there is relief that no more lesions were discovered and surgery does not seem necessary at this moment-- while also knowing that the ligament remains torn and that knee is not now and likely never will be again, the same as its companion.

The blue river of words speaks gently and deeply and widely of the quiet awe of being at the bedside of two people as they died. Their feet continue to move the inky waters when I revisit those passages.

My grandfather died at home, face turned toward the sun coming in the window, listening to flute music, on April 15th. My mother, grandmother, and I were with him. I had been there helping for a week before his death and stayed on with my grandmother for two weeks following. I had not spent that much time around family for at least twenty years and for many reasons, this visit was a not always proportional blend of gift and challenge. Nonetheless, gratitude is the navigating sentiment.

Nancy Kane, RSCJ, died at Oakwood on May 13th. The ink sings of her soul for a week prior to her death as vigil is kept. Her final day is a horizon of her sisters surrounding her, singing Spirituals and offering lines of scripture, letting her know that it was okay to wade in and go. She did, humbly, quietly, without tremor.

A week later, there was a rather abrupt need to head into the rapids of my father’s life and situation. I spent three days with him, doing the best I could on his behalf and simply loving him and loving God and being thankful for the strength of the company of the saints and my sisters as I made my way. There are times when I write where minimal ink means maximum emotion…this is one of those moments.

Were you allowing the current to take you, the ink would next break open into the riotous amazement of being back in New York City…reconnecting with my community, visiting with friends, updating my resume, gathering documents for my Visa to go to Rome, and writing reflections at the request of my parish, Saint Francis Xavier. I have written four pieces for them recently and had them appear on-line and in the bulletin. The fine point strokes dance pages of gratitude for again being a part of this community, especially at this time in its history, and being encouraged to reflect and write about it for others.

I can look at all of these things individually and savor the events, taste and experience their flavors, contours, textures, complexities, on their own. I can also read the whole and see what is made of them all when brought together. It is a rich and round meal I eat on this journey. Nourishing, pleasing, con bastante pica para mantener interés y bastante dulzura para equilibrar…with enough bite to keep it interesting and enough sweetness to balance. It is a meal of the Mystery of God, the Invitation of God, to come to the table and stay there--to explore and invite others to do the same…to realize anew that the table is our whole world and to choose with passion to be open to it…to the continued experience of the complex simplicity of Love.

I am leaving soon to share my ink, my story, with others. I am leaving to say a formal YES for my life, binding myself in perpetual vow to God and thousands of others. It is good that the table we share is big--many are needed, so grand is the work, to serve and to receive, to laugh, weep, encourage, support, speak the truth as we experience it, to discover and reveal the love of the heart of Christ in a beautiful, wounded, world.

What an awesome thing.

How Awesome is this Shrine!

2010-06-23T13:09:00.001-04:00

In a recent blog entry about returning to Xavier since the completion of the major work undertaken over the last year and a half, I wrote of an overwhelming desire to “walk around wow-ing as respectfully as possible.” With each tracing of the cleaned and defined curlicues on the bench ends and each moment of gazing at the statues, the windows, and the sunbeam that continues to fall precisely on pew 39, I find myself saying as Jacob did after his dream, “How awesome is this shrine!”(Gen 28:17)

But, this “shrine” we know as the Church of Saint Francis Xavier, beautifully restored and renovated as it is, takes on most of its notable character because of “inner dispositions,”—the people who gather in here and worship here, the people who come to serve and be served, the thirst that is quenched here, the rest that is sought and offered here; those who carry this love, this respite from struggle and hopelessness, with them to stoops and chapels and shelters and clinics and and and… here in the City and incalculable distances beyond .

The space serves those who gather. There are more ramps for ease of accessibility as well as a “No Standing” zone on the street. The “unseen until too late” subtle variations in the topography of the floor have been smoothed out. The choir has a dedicated space, the sacristy is ample… The space inspires and encourages. We are surrounded with restored paintings and cleaned statues that tell the stories of those who have given their all for the honor and glory of God. The windows are prisms of glory that draw the eye upward, delight, and fascinate.

The space serves those who gather—so that those who gather may leave. The space serves those who gather—so that those who gather may leave—to gather together others along the way. The space serves those who gather here in whatever way or grouping—so that those who gather may leave—to gather together others along the way—in the name of Love. When we leave this space, nourished and inspired, we are bound to share that strength, to offer the welcome we receive to others. In effect, to be the Body of Christ…people of communion, humble servants, people of God.

For me, even with all of my wow-ing and tactile inclinations toward experiencing beauty, I have to say that one of the most inspiring revelations of the recent work is the quotation above the arched doorways at the back of the church. Non est hic aliud Nisi domus Dei Et porta caeli.

Some of the Ah!! Is because of the translation and some is what it means to me because of where it is. After Jacob’s post-dream proclamation of awesomeness, he continues—“This is nothing else but a dwelling place of God and that is the gateway to heaven!” To see this quotation over the doors, one must be looking out over the people gathered—certainly dwelling places of God, each one. When do we have this perspective? When proclaiming, when serving as Eucharistic ministers, when singing, incensing, dancing, returning from Communion.

And we also see it when leaving that way. In a way, these gateways lead to the kingdom of God here on Earth, the streets not yet paved in gold or flowing with milk and honey, where not everyone has enough, not everyone is loved, and not everyone is safe… Not yet. But to that end we gather, we pray, we hope, and we love and we work.

And we do in gratitude for this awesome shrine that invites us in to rest in glory, to be challenged, to be touched by beauty and community, and to leave again to share it all by our actions, our words, our lives.

Anticipating the Feast

2010-06-08T15:22:00.000-04:00

In anticipation of this Friday's Feast of the Sacred Heart...

Feast of the Sacred Heart, 2010

O Sacred Heart of Jesus,
to you I offer all.

You find me, you call to me,
you taunt me, challenge me, entice me.
You reveal your mystery to my senses.

O Sacred Heart of Jesus,
to you I give my life,
my imagination, my strength, and endurance.

You intrigue me, confound me,
teach me, sustain me,
and startle me with love.

O Sacred Heart of Jesus,
you who are in all things,
always, and everywhere…

You who are

Air current, wing, and point of view,
stamen, petal, meal for the bee,
tides, wetlands, rainforest, and desert;

Gong, bellows, hum of the living,
timpani, cello depth, orchestral jungle,
children weeping and the laughter of fish;

We count on you.

O Sacred Heart of Jesus,
infinite in glory,
you who are

Nucleus, quark, molecule, synapse,
ore, element, thought, foundation,
inspiration, exhalation, cycle of the seasons.

Bluegrass, haiku, sonnet of love,
epic. classic, ever new,
sculpture, painting, jazz, and flamenco;

We trust in you.

O Sacred Heart of Jesus,
eternally divine,
you who are

Human, spirit, bread, table,
hunger, thirst, need, wound,
blood, hope, Word, and light;

Love undiluted, prophetic and just,
adamant, entire, all encompassing,
world without end;

We ask your mercy.

O Sacred Heart of Jesus,
we believe that you will not fail.

c. MperiodPress

On Returning to Xavier

2010-06-01T10:54:00.003-04:00

“So??? What do you think??” With heads tilted nearly perpendicular, arms spread, and palms shrugging upward, these were the questions that most frequently followed A. hugs, B. inquiry into my well being, and C. commentary on the length of my hair, when I returned to worship at Xavier this past Sunday after having been gone since September.

In generating a response, I had to admit to myself that I had built up the renovations as something far more radical in my mind. I was struck at how the space felt the same. Yes, the grime is gone, the details are exquisite, and I have an overwhelming desire to walk around wow-ing as respectfully as possible and touching everything, but the essence of the space, the essential cumulation of character that has made Xavier, Xavier, seemed to remain within the stripped and stained wood, the polished marble, the tooled capitals and power-showered statues.

That observation led me to say in reply—“I think it woke up.” Fall and Winter are great seasons in their own right… there is something satisfying, even comforting, to me about sleeping under thick, floppy blankets that in their heft and weight seal in the goodness and seal out the chill. Spring and Summer, however, also have their merits: light and life and blooming things…and crispy cool sheets after a day’s labor in a City field. Architecturally, it seems that we have woken up into a period of Spring after a long stretch of Fall and Winter.

But, for a moment, back to the essential cumulation of character…ours is a storied space, a space where you can walk and touch the tale that lively quivers beneath the surface…a space and a people who at their best, beckon and say, “Ah…welcome…come!” At its best, it is a place that inspires being home rather than guest.

One of the signs, I believe, of being home somewhere is being welcome in the kitchen. And, in the community house where I live, at least, that means gathering around the wobbly, long tended table that has the dings and scratches and stains--the table that has taken and heard much over its history; that accepts for seating whatever the number who happen to be gathered; that has been oiled and sealed by touch, by being in the living midst of quotidian moments that speak intimately of the heart.

Now and then, the table gets a new cloth put on, the kitchen a good scrub--but we know what is at the heart and we love it—wobbles, flaws, beauty, welcome, history, nourishment of all kinds, and hope. If we didn’t know that, if we didn’t believe that, there’d be no need to work at taking care of it.

Without trotting out the sampler adage about what makes a house a home, it occurs to me that Home is a relational feeling. I feel home because I am in healthy relationship with the people and life and happenings in a given space at a given time. That relationship is sometimes rife with tension, sometimes seemingly remote even when well-seated within me, sometimes the necessary air that fills me. Such is the full, round, nature and limitation of human love--the human love I have for creation, for home, for our triune communitarian God who was, is, and ever shall be without bounds or border or finite end.

Florence Nightingale was an early proponent of fresh air as a part of healthy living. Fresh air is also a part of springtime. As I sit in the newly cleaned pews, gaze at the restored beauty created first for the honor and glory of God alone, I breathe deeply, and sigh my thanks, praying that I may store some of the detailed awe that begs to be known in all its contours as nourishment for the journey that I know is ahead.

It is a journey I make with others in, through, thanks to, and because of, the Love of God that tells us when we are Home.

Friday Five

2010-05-29T00:14:00.006-04:00

From RevGals... It's another Friday Five! This one being written once again from NYC...just returned this evening after being away since September.

There is a German expression: ich würde die Hand dafür ins Feuer legen, which means: “I would put my hand in the fire for that.”

So, what are five things for which would you put your hand in the fire? Things / people / causes in which you believe passionately and completely? This might be demonstrated in that you would take extraordinary (for you) action…donations, marching, writing letters…or merely in the way you live your life. You may give as much or as little detail as you wish.

1. Light will overcome darkness. This is an absolute for me...Hope WILL have the upper hand. Darkness will be there, but I believe resolutely and by experience that light will NOT succumb.

2. God is a God of love. Bottom line. End of story. Not just for me, but for everyone and the whole of creation. And if that is what we believe as people of whatever faith, then that SHOULD mean something in our attitudes of welcome, our stance of justice, our actions of solidarity, our approaches to disagreements, our own esteem.

3. Listening to children...showing them by action and attitude that they have valid and worthy thoughts, that their experience might be limited, but it is important and it matters, that they are capable of thinking great and original things and teaching them how to use their mind and their heart together.

4. The importance of being able to change perspective or point of view to look at an issue or circumstance. The point is not agreement, but to be able to see something a different way can lead to a greater, deeper, understanding of whatever is going on.

5. We never know the stories borne within based on what is seen on the outside.

Organic Mystery

2010-05-25T16:50:00.005-04:00

Today is the feast of Saint Madeleine Sophie Barat, RSCJ. Religious of the Sacred Heart, former RSCJ, students and former students of Sacred Heart, Associates, and colleagues around the world, are celebrating her vision, her gift, her life, in varieties of ways. Sometimes that celebration includes wishes in voice or emails sent to one another in friendship and faithful bond. And sometime in the course of the day, there might be a sharing of favorite maxims, or sayings.

Several quotations crossed my mind and heart this morning as I sipped my mug of caffeinated glory, and gave thanks to be back in my room here in California. I returned yesterday afternoon from a quick and challenging trip to see a family member. It was a journey done in love, a journey whose fruit is sadness and uncertainty on many levels and the sure knowledge of bringing joy, how ever fleeting, to someone on another.

This mix got me thinking about walking with it as a part of who I am and praying that the reality of the situation may shape me, may soften serrations of personality, may serve to enrich any sense of compassion and understanding that I bring to other people and circumstances...whether that sense converts into word or action or simple presence.

I do believe that experience shapes a person's presence, their feel, their being. May walking with this serve to nuance mine, to flavor it with depth and breadth and a pinch of wisdom. May it flavor with equal parts of a far more complex and far more elemental understanding of what it means to love someone.

It occurred to me too that I usually think of more elemental or foundational things as being simpler, more basic, but I wonder if that is true. Or, it could well be that the other side of that idea is that the more simple a thing, the more true or basic or elemental a thing, the more Mystery is involved as well.

Organic mystery. Integrated mystery. Naturally occurring Mystery.

Yes, I find that a pleasing thing to consider...that Mystery itself is part of the truth, part of the elemental order of things.

The maxims I recorded today are two...and I like them together.

"To live without suffering is to live without love. To live without love is to die."

"Be humble. Be simple. Bring joy to others."

What is the alternative but to love in full freedom? Live in that love...that includes the marvel and the mess and the mystery entire.

Happy Feast.

On Journal Writing

2010-05-17T00:03:00.004-04:00

Most of the time when I write in my journal, I simply pick up the pen and begin.

There is a modest initial structure in that entries begin with the time of day and a brief account of my surroundings at the moment. Perhaps a theme or thread will emerge according to the flow or cohesion of what I write, but if so, it does so only by virtue of linear thinking and not by overt intention.

One of my joys is to record sensory observations and experiences because it is through those observations that I can re-member or re-enter a moment, a thought, an encounter, at another time. Another pleasure is simply laying down a running commentary of circumstance and seeing where it goes. This writing also helps me to know what I am thinking or feeling..I actually think better with pen in hand.

In a way, these lines, these quotidian paragraphs of this and that, are like the moving photographs of Harry Potter. The language is fixed to the page, but the words are not. They rest, shimmering as a fish scale bent in motion...ready to catch light, to reflect, to layer with others and create dimension--and sometimes to simply be cast off, shed into the ocean of moments.

Stepping Path

2010-05-15T11:34:00.000-04:00

Stepping Path

When I go home, Lord,
I want to walk on song-
yes, lay me my stepping path
with a love that sings.

Line my way with
orange blossoms, Lord,
that hum your honeyed Word
of beauty and praise!

Let the rail at my hand,
Lord, be the rays of glory
that wake the sleeping chorus
with their morning Amen!

Oh when you come
and you call my name,
I might be afraid, Lord,
yes, I might be afraid.

But your song has a way
of calming me home.

Oh, lay me my stepping path
with a love that sings.

©MperiodPress

Journal Entry

2010-05-09T11:23:00.004-04:00

8:34 p.m
Sitting with N. Have been here since 7 p.m., F. coming at 9 p.m. This act of "being with" is amazing to me and I pray I will never grow accustomed to it. Comfortable with is one thing--accustomed to is another.

The nurses just came in to rotate the side on which she's been positioned. They, too, are so tender-- some stopping by periodically just to pause a moment, just to touch her face or forehead in a sort of permissive blessing-- or, better, a blessing of permission, of freedom, to go where God is beckoning.

It is as though God is calling upon the community to walk her to the riverside. Not that God needs the help, certainly, but it is almost like an invitation to help because God knows it is important--for the community and for the one dying. What a privilege to be a part of that...part of a whole group hearing and accepting the invitation to accompany someone to the waterside.

And as to the why this feels so important, so right... well, I am left reflecting on the fullness of what it means to love God and love one another. It is part of that perfect freedom that binds us. The freedom to receive, the freedom to give, the desire that no one be alone and the recognition that sometimes all we can do is be and that being at its best is being with even when alone and that is enough. Beyond enough, actually. It is at the heart of being humans created in God's image and likeness. It is right and important in ways I can not quantify with syllables.

We do not actually accompany into the arms of God, I think, but to the point of that final giving...at some moment known to God and the one whom God calls, everyone who is journeying with the one who is dying must stop at the mystical intersection of here and beyond here. We must stop at "Where I am going you can not come," and there set free the one who is headed home.

How evening it feels

2010-05-05T17:59:00.001-04:00

How evening it feels

How evening it feels
to be thick tired yet drawn
toward the secrets of firefly telegrams
and how it is that spiders
knit star-glow in their webs.

Here among the orange blossoms
and the moon heavy coolness
I sigh awake the hope
that lullabies in this glory
of presence and of mystery.

c.MperiodPress

It began with a Turtle

2010-04-30T14:40:00.002-04:00

I am once again able to do the Friday Five! It feels good to be doing it again-- and on what better topic than friendship

Many of us have friendships - past and present...so today we will celebrate Friday with friendship:

1) Do you remember your first best friend? What did you do together? Are they still in your life?

Absolutely I remember my first best friend! I met him when I was three. I was bellowing in the back yard because there was a dinner plate sized turtle by the chain link gate, had never seen one live before, and was not too certain I wanted to. My hollering caused him to wander over from across the street and we both squatted down to examine the creature. My mom came outside, we walked across the street and met his mom, and then we took the turtle down to the creek to let it go. I have not been in contact with him for years and years, but I still remember him...

2) Did you ever have to move away or have your best friend move away from you?

Yes... I have two best friends. One that I have known since eighth grade...and we have not lived in the same place since heading off to college--but are still dear friends and in regular contact. The other is someone I met in grad school. Moving away from her was much harder. But she and I too are in regular contact. I am a fortunate woman to be blessed so richly and consistently with good people in my life.

3) Are there people in your life now that you can call 'friend'?

Absolutely. It is one of the things for which I give eternal thanks to God... I have friends all over. Not loads of them, but good ones. Ones where your reaction is to throw open your arms and close your eyes and laugh or cry or smile or say nothing at all and give a great hug.

4) What are some of your favorite things to do with your friends?

Running errands and doing the whatnot of life with someone you care about; coffee and conversation; cooking with friends; reading...when you can be in the same room as someone and the quiet between you is welcoming and hints at the ease of your hearts with one another; road trip...maybe with a purpose, maybe just to ride.

5) What is a gift friendship has given you?

Life, joy, confidence, self esteem, freedom, love, the chance to give to someone else.

Three weeks and a Day

2010-04-29T14:45:00.003-04:00

It has been three weeks and a day since my last posting. In those three weeks and a day, I have been witness to illness, death, and the feeling of someone's sure and certain resurrection into the glory of God.

I have witnessed other illnesses as well and the debilitating effects they can have on those who surround them. I have felt the tangle of some relationships and the liberation of others.

I have felt sadness, awe, fear, joy, wonder, vacancy, frustration, and the heart of the word impotencia. I have felt the gratification of returning home upon arriving in San Francisco last evening and know that I will have that joy again when I head back to NYC at the end of the month.

I have been overwhelmed by the love and support of my Sisters and overwhelmed by the emotion and multi-faceted intensity of being with family during stressful times.

And, thanks to a letter I read last night before going to bed, I know that there are yet other potentially sticky familial tasks that lie ahead of me between now and September- tasks that have nothing to do with the last three weeks and a day, yet promise more of the same.

My faith tells me that God created the world in six days and a day of rest to contemplate its goodness. A lot can be done in six days if you are God. A lot can happen in three weeks if you are human.

It is pleasing to me to think that God took a day of rest to consider things. I need to do the same.

Friends of God and Prophets

2010-04-07T13:08:00.003-04:00

Friends of God and Prophets

The morning sun,
out beyond the irises,
is writing the icon of her praise
on the wall beside my chair.
This, after passing through me,
borrowing contours
of breath and being.

Wisdom's startling portrait,
coffee included.

c.MperiodPress

Easter and Dynamic Stasis

2010-04-05T13:48:00.004-04:00

It is Easter Monday. It rained gently all night and the flowers in the raised beds are enjoying a prismatic, glorious morning stretch sun-ward thanks to the moisture. Floral resurrection. There were even a couple bees for musical accompaniment--seemed fitting.

No surgery is necessary on my knee right now, thanks be to God. I am to keep on with the brace at all times (except night/sleeping) for six weeks and go back to see the doctor. The ACL will remain torn for now--stability will improve with time, though the tear will not heal on its own. I will bring the brace and a cane to Rome to use when a major walk is in store. How my knee behaves in Rome will color the Dr's decision about whether to surgically reconstruct the ligament or not. I have no vanity issues about using a cane, can walk quite nicely with it, and find it helpful when it is needed, so I am not overly worried. Some friends have joked that a cane even suits me...fits in with that writer/intellectual vibe thing they say I have going. Don't know about that, but do know that it works for me to use one.

Hospice has told my mother that this is the end for my grandfather so I am headed to WI on Thursday to drive with my mother and step-father to OH on Friday morning. Not sure whether he will still be alive by then, but that is up to God and my grandfather. It is good that I have the time to be there for my mother now and it will mean a lot to my grandmother as well. Being able to do that for them is important to me.

I read about the quake in Baja and continue my walking pleas to the Earth... Enough, already, enough! Thinking about and experiencing the amount of energy on which we walk every day has altered the way I think of terra firma. Firma is more about equilibrium, it seems, than any sort of real solidity. Firma is firma because of synergy and harmony, things being held in a dynamic stasis. I don't know if that is a scientifically sound pairing of concepts, but it is what comes to mind with ecosystems, for example. There are cycles that happen, giving and taking and serving and receiving (dynamism), within that particular ecosystem (stasis)that will continue until some part of that pattern is disrupted. When it is disturbed, something must be done to restore it...volcano, earthquake, tsunami, etc.

Makes me think of Madeleine L'Engle's question in her young adult classic, A Wrinkle in Time. Do I dare disturb the universe?

Sometimes it is called for...and the results are not always containable or predictable. But that does not mean the question goes away.

Glory unto Glory

2010-03-16T09:00:00.007-04:00

I am leaving Chile with many things --only several of which have physical form. Yes, there is a volume of Neruda packed in my bag, there is a medal of San Alberto Hurtado keeping Saint Madeleine Sophie Barat company on the cord around my neck. (I love that, actually, and have no doubt whatsoever that the two of them would have been friends had they known one another.) There is a copper picture frame my community gave me last night before we went out for empanadas at Las Delicias. There is the stone in my pocket from la tierra chilena in Pelarco.

But, more importantly and more lasting, there are other things...intangible wonders...that are also coming with me.

New words to describe concepts. Some of my favorites include: Hermandad-- a word that for me encircles much more than sisterhood. Hermandad, in addition to having a more pleasing sound in my ear, has the added dimension of the feeling as well as the concept. Hay que averiguar... there is the need to discover/determine/figure out/piece together. Pues, no sé, fíjate...Huh, you know what, I don´t know! Involucrar--to engage the other in such a way that the other is motivated to lend support or assistance...

There are so many more complex, stark, juicy, dense, colorful, pared and honed words...and so incredibly immediate are they that it is hard to think of them being of another language, really. Simply more options, more ways to speak of this incredible journey. I am grateful beyond telling to welcome them into the pool of language that waits for the dip of my mind, my pen, to offer her treasure.

There are new feelings as well. New levels of frustration and impoténcia, unique experiences of awe, moments of glory and desolation and desire and fear and support and wonder and even a little whooooaaaaa that is coooool. Among other things, realizing that I was looking at the other side of the moon fell into that category.

A friend wrote in understanding that it is difficult to leave a place where you heart has been stretched and where you have had to stretch to make room for your heart. There is much, much truth in that. I wrote to someone this morning that...

I just got an email...suggesting that perhaps God has done all that he had to do in me here in Chile. While that may be, I replied, I remain with serious questions about that. But, hey, questions allow the conversation to move forward. It is more a curiosity than anything else-- If not here, where, then? And, what? And, when? A somewhat frustrated, sad, and yes, disappointed, curiosity at the moment, but curiosity nonetheless.

As I wrote that, I could not help but think of Saint Rose Philippine Duchesne, the Religious of the Sacred Heart who brought the Society to the United States. For years before being given permission, her burning desire was to come to the United States and work with the Native Americans. In 1818, the desire to come to the US became real...though at first, her work was in founding schools and establishing communities rather than working with the Native Americans. She never managed to learn English or the language of the Potowatomi, never felt herself any sort of success. and filled letters with her doubts and uncertainties, her frustrations. What she wanted, as she wanted it, did not happen. Something else, did, however. And it is thanks to that something else that I am here, experiencing my own frustrations and moments of enlightenment.

On Saturday, a wise, caring, brilliant, laugh-filled and tear-filled, 64 year old rscj died as a result of a brain tumor in California. In thinking of her, in thinking of Philippine, in thinking of the rscj here that died several weeks ago and the stories people have told of her...in thinking of this wild and mysterious, rica y redonda journey, I propose that instead of "dust unto dust," however ultimately concretely true, we go with the image "glory unto glory."

It is equally mysterious, equally incomprehensible, yet filled with awe and eternity.

Fourteen days

2010-03-14T09:51:00.002-04:00

One´s world can be spun a startling number of times in fourteen days.

Being in a historic earthquake; the consequent upheaval and uncertainty; as well as profound devastation in much of Southern Chile.

Near daily aftershocks-including three (7.2, 6.9, 6.0) within a half an hour the day before yesterday that were accompanied by a tsunami alert with Caribineros sending all people and vehicles to the hills. This required us to evacuate all students from the school, each leaving only in the company of a parent.

The funeral of a 97 year old rscj and having the incredible experience of accompanying her to her final resting place in the mausoleum by singing and praying aloud as we walked the halls and courtyards. Other families that we passed who were also mourning would reach out and touch the casket-one putting a flower on top-most stopping what they were doing, turning to face us, and quietly signing themselves. This mausoleum, with the cracks and crumbles that mark the effects of the recent quake. What an amazing thought, that even to those who have died, the earth still speaks.

The news of the advancing illness of another rscj.

Continued news of my grandfather´s declining health and the toll it is taking on my grandmother.

The absolute desire to be doing something concrete that can help the people who have suffered such devastation, losing everything and sometimes, everyone. The desire to go help our sisters in Concepción by being two more ears to listen, two more arms to carry, one more voice to speak of love and hope amidst the fog of confusion and pain and overwhelmedness.

And, along with that coming to know with great pain and difficulty that the continuing problems with my knee and leg do not permit that now... and that instead, for the sake of everyone, the responsible thing to do at this time is return to the United States, figure out what I need to do to get my knee back in order, do that, and go from there.

So I shall.

This coming week, I leave Chile with my tears adding to her glaciers, my sighs adding to the Atacama winds, and my hope to return living in the song and cry of her people.

This God

2010-03-07T07:46:00.005-05:00

This God I know, this God who created the complexity of my being, the intricacy of a molecule, the simple beauty of a rain-spattered spider web... This God who created in six days the forces, the energies, the potentials, the being-ness, that over time have brought the world to the present moment... This God of love...

...is more a mystery now than ever before and I´m fairly sure I did not think that possible. In a way, it is like moving from those Encyclopedia Browns that I thought were the be all and end all in my youth, to discovering Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers. More mystery is revealed as growth occurs. Actually, it is more the relationship shared that is the mystery to me these days. The relationship that is gift, purest gift, covenant, a promise of being so profoundly, intimately, a part of one another that the binding can not be overcome.

It is this Mystery that has provided space to say in the midst of this devastated country, God is good. Mystery allows gratitude amidst such suffering. Mystery inspires youth to organize caravans of supplies and people to help remove rubble, listen to the stories, and be faces of love.

At the same time, there is space in Mystery for my desire to sit with Jesus and ask, what exactly is going on here? Earthquake, ill grandfather, grandmother who is not dealing well with that, and now to know that the reason my knee is still swollen three weeks later is that there is a lesion on my tibia. Tests to follow this week.

There is space within this Mystery to offer thanks and express gratitude and ask what the deal is...and I have done that.

In a nutshell, the most mysterious thing to me is the core simplicity of my reaction, amidst the nervousness, the uncertainty, the sadness:

What is, is. And so am I and so are many others and so is God. With that, the new day dawns, the work continues, the hope lights the path so the neighbor too finds her way. Those who have died know the fullness of Glory and are part of that hope now too, as are all the saints.

It is a living out of the covenant here on Earth, really. The binding of one to another in time of need and suffering.

Thanks be to God, mysteriously.

From an Email

2010-03-02T08:28:00.001-05:00

From an email I sent to Xavier in NYC, my wonderful, wonderful, parish there.

Know of my profound gratitude for all of the prayers and love sent from those at Xavier. As to how I am doing... I have only reasons to praise God while my heart is breaking to see the devastation and hear the stories and feel the "impotencia" of not being able to do much that can help. Right now, word from our community in Concepción and the news is that it is too dangerous to go to the region, though there are those here in this area who are organizing a caravan that will leave tomorrow. People suffered multiple times with nature. Now, the fear is the people themselves. The looting, the violence, the raids of houses, the fires, the complete, complete, chaos.

Just being here in Reñaca Alto, where damage was so minimal, the memory of that early morning still lives in my body. I know now that a 7 on the Richter Scale is worthy of a quick review of all that is most precious as one is made to dance along the shores of the Jordan... I can not imagine an 8.8....where the river, the land, the ocean herself, came to take away so much and so many. Fatalities up to 711 at last reporting.

No, safe to say, I was not expecting all this.

Day following

2010-02-28T16:28:00.002-05:00

The earthquake hit here at 3:40 in the morning on Friday, February 27th. It hit the epicenter as an 8.8, moved up north, and hit here as a 7.

The south is devastated. It is bad in Valparaíso near here.

All in my community are fine.

Please, please, pray for the pueblo chileno.

Wind in my Praying

2010-02-26T07:51:00.002-05:00

Part of the response to a friend who emailed and mentioned that I seemed to be really in "it" here...meaning the experience and the living.

Yes, I guess you could say that I am in "it" here, but I still go "there" as well.... and sometimes my heart doesn´t know where to go and just takes off, lighting on images and faces and memories and places all around the world. A in India, C and I in Brasil, I in France, L in Indonesia, M in Canada, folks in various places in Mexico, all over the US, S in Japan, all over Chile, L in PR, memories of England, images from the news, Haiti, NOLA, SF Xavier in NYC, the schools where I have been, years and years of dear and wonderful friends, people who have passed through the community.... Often I walk with beads and let each one be a name, a place, a face, an image, praying. If not beads, then with a flip of the stone I carry in my pocket...it is just the size and roundness and smoothness to fit in my hand and turn over with a scootch of the fingers of that hand.

At the same time, I like it when my heart goes free like that--to feel wind in my praying... and there is also a desire to be grounded too.... the grounding is what lets the other happen with such joy. And wow, to think that the grounding is God and hope and love that I know in the here and now...

From the Journal or, Driving in English

2010-02-19T08:20:00.003-05:00

An excerpt from yesterday´s journal entry, after the visit to the National Library of Chile (click here to read ). Point to note before reading, since September, my journal entries have been 98% in Spanish. For reasons that are difficult to explain, it is easier for me to do it that way... otherwise, there is a sort of freeze-up in the brain when trying to think in one language and being surrounded by another, both of which I understand.

6:10 pm. In the dining room with a fortifying, strong mug of tea. A prize for having finished a slice of whole wheat pan de molde and a wedge of unripe avocado. I have come to really enjoy this civil ritual of afternoon tea--there is something so balanced about it. So balanced and pleasing, in fact, that I shall do what five months ago would have been unthinkable, and double-dunk. Two cups, one bag. I must also add here, while the steeping is in process, that it is a genuine pleasure to be writing in English for an entry.

The best I can do is liken it to slipping behind the wheel of a car you have detailed and cared for--a car who purrs for you, who knows your touch and style and responds with fluidity and throttle. A car you shift seamlessly, feeling the potential of the engine, feeling the smooth thrill of low-seated velocity, the slope of a curve well taken. A car that seems in perpetual idle, waiting for the driver and an open highway, or blank page, so it can do its thing--both what it was meant to do, and what it and the driver learned it could do when patience, capacity, and a certain marvel for mechanics meet.

From Humitas to Gabriela and the Greeks

2010-02-19T07:34:00.002-05:00

It has been some weeks since last posting. There are several reasons for that, but they don´t seem so important to mention right now. Let me just say that I am glad to be back at the keyboard, finding a way to share with a crowd the insights and adventures that come my way in this wild and wonderful life.

Humitas. Sounds like something Latin, to me. On the one hand, it reminds me of the word humble. It also makes me think of humus, the rich soil that is good for growing. The reality actually combines both of those things. I learned about humitas during three days in the Chilean countryside with the large and welcoming campesina family of one of my sisters. These days followed two weeks of meetings with the entire province in a retreat house outside Santiago and were a welcome break from that level of engagement. They were days filled with delicious, simple, incredible food. Tomatoes, corn, raspberries, peaches, chicken, honey, watermelon, ají, onions, basil...all straight from the earth to the mouth. So very juicy and flavorful! So incredibly delicious. One morning I was invited to help in the preparation of what would become lunch. Yes, humitas.

Humitas are the Chilean version of tamales. One group of people shucked the corn, one group sliced the corn from the cob, I helped hand grind the corn into, well, corn-paste, and another group diced and cooked mountains of onion. Onions and cornpaste are mixed together and the leaves of corn are stuffed with the mixture and folded into little packets, tied with thin strips of wicker from the garden that have been boiled into strong, flexible, string. The packets are dropped into boiling water to cook.

While this process was going on outside, some folks inside were preparing various tomato-based chunky salsas to spoon on top. Chancha de piedra involves peeled tomatoes and garlic in a mortar, mashed into goodness with a pestle. Pebre is diced tomato, ají pepper, cilantro, garlic, and onion or chive, all dancing cheek to cheek.

A little of either one of these on top of the steaming packet of corn-onion perfection, and you have a delicious, fresh, healthy, flavorful party going on in your mouth!

From Pelarco in the country, I came to Santiago in the city this past Monday. I will be here until Sunday. My time has been filled with sleep, finding a knee brace (according to the doctor, I have a nasty sprain--and all I did was stand up to get off the bus, honest. Swelling, funky looking muscles, the whole nine. Getting better, though, thank goodness) and going to some museums.

One day was a trip to see the terracotta soldiers from China, one day the Museo de la Memoria y los Derechos Humanos--The Museum of Memory and Human Rights. The latter chronicles the dictatorship here in Chile and what happened, or didn´t, as far as human rights during that period. It also has sections on Human Rights around the world. An amazing and humbling expose of the atrocities and the desire that they never happen again.

Yesterday, I went to the National Library of Chile! It is such a library! A techy, papery, booky, marbley, monument to learning and scholarship. Part of my time there was spent in the Gabriela Mistral Sala de Lectores, writing, describing, observing. Funny thing with Gabriela. There she is in the center window nook, overlooking all in the room. To her right and left are other busts...Virgil, Homer, Demosthenes, Voltaire.

I thought it a funny combination, actually. But still, was glad for her company and watchful presence as I sat there in a sunbeam, in my wooden swivel chair at the green-felt and glass topped wooden tables. If I tilted my head just so and closed my eyes, I could almost hear her saying "Bienvenida compañera, escritora..."

"Welcome, fellow writer."

The allure of a pencil named Minerva

2010-01-26T16:01:00.006-05:00

One of the things I have come to know over eleven years in religious life is that I am a better person because I live in community. The company, the accountability, the sharing of resources, the communal concerns shared and shouldered, the prayer, the polishing of my own edges. It all makes me more able to understand others and I take that understanding with me wherever I go...allowing it to inform whatever work I undertake.

That said, it is human nature to also need and want time alone. That has been my gift these last days. I talked to a friend on Skype last night and he pointed out, "It is a chance to live without self-censoring." Before this experience of being fuera de la casa--outside the house--for an extended time, I have never before been so aware of the reality of that and the energy it takes when the "casa" is country, culture, and language. But, he is absolutely right.

It is the nature of community living to think about the impact of one´s own behaviors on the group as a whole. Here, that means not speaking in English when others are around who will not understand. It means not speaking one´s mind with fluidity because my way and nature of expression is culturally influenced and does not translate into castellano. There is the need to rethink, to express differently, to find other words for... To speak the truth, yes. But, the point of speaking truth is having it understood, I think, and in order for that to happen, adjustments must be made.

These last days, when others in the house are on retreat or visiting family, I have been listening to NPR news broadcasts and other shows on the computer speakers. I have been working at the table instead of my desk, have prayed there with a candle lit in the open-heart holder, have headed out on wanders without destination and returned to cook when my body tells me it is hungry.

One of those wanders took me to a stationers. Before leaving, two in the house asked me to prepare the community´s "corner" for the upcoming provincial assembly. That required the trip, which, I confess was not a suffering of any sort for me. I love office supply stores!

It was there, in a eraser-crumblies covered bin in a back row, that I found Minerva. There was only one. She was covered in a blop of ink at the tip and dinged up on the back end. But what was perfectly clear was her name. This pencil was Minerva.

I have to say, my writing soul did the dance that surfaces unsummoned at things "right in the world." To me, a pencil named Minerva seems just about perfect.

What other name could a pencil have that would suit so admirably? Practical, serviceable, loyal, a little retro, classic... Minerva.

Sadly, this Minerva, that someone used as a would be dip-pen, was the only one in the store. Would they be getting more? They did not know. Might they be in another branch of your store? Maybe.

One day, on a wander unpredictable, perhaps our paths will cross again...

Until then, I shall enjoy my alone time, I shall enjoy my community time, and I will continue to write.

Along for the Ride

2010-01-20T10:34:00.001-05:00

During my ride to Antofagasta, I made a list of things that caught my attention...

1. A business called Frenos Daytona 500 (A brake repair shop)

2. Not one but several mattress repair shops. Who knew it was an industry?

3. Women´s pick-up soccer played in a field along the highway

4. The trees with branches and leaves all headed in one direction because of the wind. An arboreal comb over!

5. The need to report name, ID number, and emergency phone contact to the assistent on the bus...just in case.

6. The positively mauve colored sunset the first night on the bus. No other word for the color...I have a theory about that, but don´t know anyone to ask...and my first attempt at explaining the idea in Spanish tanked...no wonder, really, because it has to do with the curvature of the earth and topography and latitude. Will work on that.

7. The periodic roadside shrines--not all of which are for people who died in accidents. Some are just little shrines. None bigger than a doghouse, most decorated with shiny things and lots of what I will call religious articles. Beads, bitty statues, medals, etc. CDs are a popular choice for decorating, too. Reflective.

8. Periodic expanses of white salt deposits

9. Periodic small hills of oxidized copper dust

10. Wind farms with huge turbines in the middle of lots of nothing else. What a perfect place! I wonder,though, how they tap into the energy produced? And where-how is it stored?

11. Why is there the need for a curve in the middle of the desert? It is nothing more than a bump out on a straight line.

12. I saw one enclosure...in the middle of seemingly nothing else. No structure, no people, no worn path or road, no vehicles...just a cement walled square.

13. There is nothing boring about this ride. It is long and it is fascinating. God is so creative! And so vast and, well, powerful, but not in a wielding sort of way. More in a grand, sweeping, awesome, sort of way...

Between the desert and Haiti, it was a week of seeing forces of nature loosed and active, the whim and caprice and devastation.

If

2010-01-15T14:40:00.003-05:00

RevGal Friday Five composed in Antofagasta, Chile. A 21 hour bus ride north of Santiago....through hours of the Atacama desert...fascinating, really.

1. If you were a color, what would you be?

My dream job as a child was to be the one who thought up names for paint colors... So, I´m going to go with Ruminative Oceanic Blue-Green.

2. If you were a flower (or plant), what would you be?

Cactus. Sturdy, hardy, colorful, though not obviously so at first, can take in a lot and can live through a lot.

3. If you were an animal, what kind would you be?

Definitely an elephant. Contemplative, compassionate, loving, loyal, seemingly slow but of long memory and far reaching vision.

4. If you were a shoe, what type would you be?

Gotta go with the Birks here. Simple, free, comfy.

5. If you were a typeface, which font would you be?

Oh, I can´t remember the name...something like SchoolBook. Clear, clean, not overly girly or curly, easy to read, practical.

Y las estrellas bailarán And the Stars will Dance

2010-01-14T13:49:00.002-05:00

Desde Antofagasta, Chile... From Antofagasta, Chile.

Primero en castellano, luego en inglés...

Hoy fui con A a la casa de retiros de los Jesuitas para caminar, sentar, rezar, mientras ella acompañó O quien está haciendo su retiro acá. Allí tenía un momento de oración diferente de todos los demás que he tenido aquí en Chile...profundo y necesario. Estaba escribiendo y lo siguiente pasó...

Me di cuenta de algo interesante aquí, sentando entre mar, montañas, y desierto. Me di cuenta que hay veces en que la cosa mejor es no preguntar. O, mejor sería decir que hay momentos en que sería mejor si las preguntas esperan...

Momentos en que Dios dice-- Buena pregunta, buena observación, pensamiento... guárdelo y te aseguro que llegaremos al momento de descutirlo. Confiá en mi. Ahora hay mas que vivir, experimentar. Te prometo que llegaremos al momento. Y sí, sé que a ti no te gusta sentir puesto al viento sin orientación. No estoy diciendo que no puedes sentir--claro--como si fuera posible-- ni que no puedes expresar tus sentimientos o pensamientos o gritos o lágrimas. Por favor, sigue compartiéndlos.

Lo que sí, estoy diciendo, es confía en mi. Vamos a tener una conversación que en ese momento tu no puedes imaginar. Una conversación en que van a bailar para ti las estrellas, van a conversar contigo las olas poderosas que a ti te gustan tanto. Y tú y yo seramos Creador, creación, pregunta y comprensión, inseperable.

Estoy diciendo también que no hay tanta necesidad de buscar con prisa, escuchar con fuerza. Estoy aquí. Estoy contigo. Siempre estoy. No soy capaz de dejarte ni lo haría si fuera capaz. Tú sabes eso. Si lo has olvidado, aquí estoy para que recuerdes. A mi no me gusta mirar tu frustración, tu tristeza. Sé que hay estas dos, y sí, entiendo por que.. Pero, te digo, confía en mi. Llegaremos juntos al momento de entender.

Te quiero, pero además a mi me gusta estar contigo, conversando, escuchando, y compartiendo silencio.Tú eres buena compañía para mi. Recuérdete eso y confía en mi.

-------

Today I went with A to the Jesuit retreat house to walk, sit, pray, while she accompanied O on her retreat. During that hour or so, I had a moment of prayer unlike any other moment I have had so far in Chile. What happened follows...

I realized something interesting sitting here, between mountains, sea, and desert. I realized that there are times when it is best to not ask questions. Or, better said, there are times when it is best if the questions wait.

Moments when God says-- Good question, interesting observation, thought... save it and I assure you we will come to the right moment to discuss it. Trust me. For now, there is more to live, more to experience. I promise you, we will come to the moment. And yes, I know that you do not like being set to the wind without direction. I am not saying do not feel...naturally, as if that were even possible... nor that you should not express your thoughts or feelings or shouts or tears. Please, continue sharing those.

What I am saying is trust in me. We are going to have a conversation, you and I, that you can not right now even imagine. A conversation in which the stars will dance for you, in which the powerful waves you love so much will speak to you. And you and I will be Creator-creation, question-understanding, inseparable.

I am saying too that there is no need to search in a hurry, to listen so hard. I am here. I am with you. I am always. I am not capable of leaving you, nor would I even if I could. You know this. If you have forgotten, here I am to remind you! I do not enjoy watchng your frustration, your sadness. I know that they exist and I know why. But, I say to you, trust me. We will come to the moment of understanding.

I love you, but even more than that, I like being with you, talking to you, listening to you, sharing silence with you. You are good company for me. Remember that and trust in me.

After Reading Neruda

2010-01-03T14:16:00.001-05:00

En castellano primero...luego inglés...

Para que todos vivan / en ella / hago mi casa / con odas / transparentes.
--Pablo Neruda en La Casa de las Odas

Deseos Después de Leer Neruda

Que mis odas sean escritos de piedras y aire-
hechos de muros y sílabas permeables.

Que su cocina sea con el sol en las mañanas--sol
y una mermelada de palabras para endulzar el pan cotidiano.

Que la tinta corriendo de sus llaves sea fresco-
con el gusto de ser nacidos en las montañas y la sabiduría.

Que haya en sus rincones un pequeño destello de polvo-
oraciones ofrecidas desde mis lágrimas, mis gritos y asombras.

Que los que lean mi casa se sienten acogida
abajo de su techo tejido del canto de pajaros y verso.

c. MperiodPress

-----------------------------------------

That all might live in her, I made my house of transparent odes.
--Pablo Neruda, from The House of Odes.

Desires after Reading Neruda

That my odes be written with stones and air-
made of permeable syllables and walls.

That their kitchen have sunlight in the mornings--
sunlight and a sweet marmalade of words for the daily bread.

That the ink running in the taps be fresh--
flavored from a wise and mountainous birth.

That in the corners there be a glistening hint of dust--
prayers offered on my tears, shouts, and surprises.

That those who read my houe find welcome
beneath her roof woven of birdsong and verse.

c. MperiodPress

Wishes with borrowed words

2009-12-23T06:31:00.005-05:00

For a change, this year I am going to use someone else´s words to express my Christmas wishes. This is a unique time for me, a learning time for me, a journey time for me, a deep and enriching time for me... Oddly enough, in some ways, those feelings make me feel more in touch with what must have been a disconcerting, world upheaving, all is uncertain, all is wonder, the future unknown and more than a little amazing... time a couple thousand years ago when a baby was born. A baby who added stars to the heavens and hope to Earth, a baby who would grow, change world history irrevocably, love everyone infinitely...

Peace to all who visit these pages. May we take on the mantle of this wonder filled child and have the courage to walk out of darkness and witness to the light by making manifest in our actions and being love, justice, courage, respect, dignity, and joy.

Christmas thoughts from Karl Rahner...

"And now God says to us what he has already said to the world as a whole through his grace-filled birth: " I am here. I am with you. I am your life. I am the gloom of your daily routine. I weep your tears. I am your joy. Do not be afraid to be happy, for ever since I wept, joy is the standard of living that is really more suitable than the anxiety and grief of those who think they have no hope. When the totals of your plans and of your life's experiences do not balance out evenly , I am the unsolved remainder. And I know that this remainder, which makes you so frantic, is in reality my love that you do not understand. I am present in your needs.

This reality--incomprehensible wonder of my limitless love--I have sheltered safely in the cold stable of your world. I am there. I no longer go away from this world, even if you do not see me now...I am there. It is Christmas. Light the candles. They have more right to exist than all the darkness. It is Christmas. Christmas that lasts forever."

Two for Advent/Dos para Adviento

2009-12-21T13:44:00.001-05:00

Pageant

The star-
plastic.

The robes-
bedsheets and dirty cord.

The kings-
dethroned and sun leathered.

The baby-
oh, the baby was wailing real

and seemed to know
that his life would be
with the people of the streets.

c. MperiodPress

Adviento IV, 2009

Oro, Incienso, y Mirra

Cuando yo les encontré,
tenían regalos para dar.

El cantante borracho del calle
que besó mi mano.

La abuelita sin dientes
que besó mi mejilla.

El hombre que dió un guiño
mientras tomó mas pan
para dar al perro.

Seguramente,
Gaspar, Baltazar, y Melchor
están en camino.

Guarde unas comidas
para los viajeros reales
y unas cascaras con mantequilla
para el perro.

c. MperiodPress

Advent IV, 2009

Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh

When I met them,
they were laden with gifts to give.

The drunk street musician
who kissed my hand;

The toothless grandmother
who kissed my cheek;

The guy who winked
when he took extra bread
and fed it to the dog.

Gaspar, Balthazar, and Melchior
are on their way.

Save some food for
the travelling royalty

and some buttery crusts for the dog.

c. MperiodPress

Adviento III / Advent III

2009-12-13T17:18:00.000-05:00

En castellano, luego inglés...
que estén bien, queridos amigos.
en paz...

Adviento III, 2009

El humo del incienso
que te llevo como ofrenda
huele de las especias
comunes y cotidianas
que han dado sabor a mis pasos recientes:

la amistad, el pan;
el polvo, la orilla;
la esperanza y la pobreza;
el sol que impregna
mis sábanas limpias y secas.

c. MperiodPress

Advent III, 2009

The smoke from the incense
I bring to you as an offering
is scented with the common,
daily spices that have flavored
my recent days.

friendship and bread;
dust and the shoreline;
hope and poverty
and the sun that permeates
my clean, dry sheets.

c. MperiodPress

Quiero que vengas

2009-12-11T06:42:00.002-05:00

From the Virtual Heart of RevGals...It´s Friday Five!

Please share five ways that God has come to you (your family or friends, your church or workplace, our world) in the past year, that God is coming to you right now, and/or that you are longing and looking for God to come.

Before I begin, I must say that I chuckled when reading this one... read my previous two blog entries and you will understand why!

1. God has come in a young girl with sticky, wet, grimy, loving, cheek kisses for her beloved ¨tías¨ (The rscj who live in her public housing sector). This child with a fungus on her cheeks from malnutrition, this child whose mother has no kitchen or any other means of cooking a meal, this child with light and depth and too much age in her eyes.

2. God has come in the grandeza and profundidad of both the Pacific and the Andes. Such amazing, amazing, images of God for me. Talk about offering a perspective far greater than the personal. When I have a chance to be by either one, I simply can not stop staring with a longing in my heart.

3. God has come in visitations...with my grandmother and grandfather (89 and 92) before leaving...with two chances to see dear and loving friend I have known for twenty six years...in a surprise phone call here in Chile from another wondrous friend...in time spent with friends before leaving...in messages exchanged de lejos tan cerca (from a far away that is so near).

4. God has come in silence. In finding places where my mind and body and spirit can give in to a desire for resting in silence with God...without a need to think, a need to speak, a need to read. Simply a need to be.

5. And I am pretty sure that was God in the form of a butterfly who landed on my jeans while they were drying on the line in our back yard.

Una respuesta/A response

2009-12-10T15:44:00.000-05:00

Again, first in Spanish, then in English.
Otra vez, primero en castellano, después en inglés.

Como he tenido unos que me han preguntado después del poema Adviento II--¿Lindo, pero no te crees que la llegada es ahorita y siempre ahorita? quiero tomar un momento y explicar un poco mi motívo...

Sí, creo que la llegada es ahorita y siempre ahorita, pero por un razon--o mejor, por multitudes de razones, este año tengo ganas de decir explícitamente que tengo el deseo, tengo la necesidad, de su presencia. Es algo diferente expresarlo tan directamente para mi. Significa que estoy hablando desde mi profundidad, tocando o sentando en la piedra bien calentita en el centro de mi ser. Estoy hablando sin pensar en mas que la necesidad de decir una cosa. Siento honesta con este poema. Bueno, siento la honestidad de todos--si no, no los escribiría. Y cuando digo que quiero que Jesús venga, es venir a ese mundo que le necesita tanto. Este mundo herido, bello, increíble. Y como parte de ese mundo, estoy sintiendo la necesidad de expresar mi deseo, aunque creo con toda mi corazón, mi mente, mi alma, mi fuerza, que está siempre-- en todo, por todo.

As I have had several people write and ask after Advent II -Lovely, but don´t you think Jesus´arrival is now and always now?- I wanted to take a moment and explain my impulse a bit...

Yes, I believe the arrival of Jesus is now and always now, but for some reason-- or better, for multitudes of reasons, this year I had the urgeto say explicitly that I have the desire, the need, of his presence. It is different to express it so directly for me....I am speaking from my depth, touching or perhaps sitting on the warm stone in the center of my being. I am speaking without thinking of anything beyond the need to say a thing. I feel honest with this poem-- well, I feel honest with all of them--if I didn´t, I would not write them. And when I say that I want Jesus to arrive, it is to arrive in this world that needs it so much. This wounded, beautiful, incredible, world. And, as part of that world, I felt a need to express my desire--though I believe with all of my heart, my mind, my spirit, my strength, that Jesus is Always, in all and for all.

Advent II, 2009

2009-12-09T18:56:00.001-05:00

Primero en castellano, después en inglés. Así fue el proceso de escribirlo, y por eso, el proceso de ponerlos aquí también.

First in Spanish, then in English. Such was the process of writing them and so thus is the process for putting them here too.

Adviento II, 2009

Soy de pocas palabras
durante estos días de esperar;
estas noches de gloria fresca.

Por eso, digo en forma sencilla,
en palabras humildes como
la llama que baila por las sombras

quiero que
vengas.

c. MperiodPress

Advent II, 2009

I am of few words
these waiting days,
these glory tossed nights.

So I say simply,
in words humble as the flame
that dances for the shadows,

I want you to arrive.

c. MperiodPress

Won´ts and Wills

2009-12-04T13:28:00.003-05:00

From RevGals...

List Five things you won't be doing to prepare for Christmas.

Simple!

1. The tin soldiers will remain unpolished
2. The goose is on a diet, but I promise to still put a peso in the old man´s hat.
3. The one horse open sleigh ride is just going to have to wait. Sand in the runners, salt water in the horse´s eyes... not a good scene.
4. The open fires I have seen lately are rubber tires burning, so I´m thinking chestnuts are not an option either.
5. No muzak renditions of wilting holiday wishes here!

Five things I WILL do... (I know, not part of the play, but in the interest of balance...

1. Continue the series of Advent poems I have composed now for ten years.
2. Participate in Navidad en las Calles--Christmas in the Streets...celebrating the holiday with homeless people in Viña del Mar.
3. Light a candle for all those I love and miss...
4. Read the Midnight Mass Isaiah reading (9:1-6) and likely weep. I LOVE that reading.
5. Give thanks for Mystery in the Midst.

Matisse, my camera, and Inner Ah!

2009-12-03T08:10:00.007-05:00

I have never been much for taking photographs. Once I read an article by Alice Walker, author, about the fixed nature of pictures versus the roominess of the written word. It was fascinating and helped me understand why I preferred to write in the place about being in the place rather than take what I assumed would be a static snapshot.

This habit served me well when I went to England with a group of students in 2003. Everywhere we went, I had my notebook and would write first impressions, things I thought important, time of day, weather, where I stood, what I was seeing, what was going on around me. I lost all of the pictures I took in a developing accident, but had this marvelous record that I was able to share with friends.

With that as a preface... several years ago I went to an exhibit of Matisse paintings and the material that inspired the patterns he used within them at the Metropolitan in NYC. A number of things stay with me from that exhibit. One, everyone in the room was smiling. It was a place of joy--to see the brilliant colors, the contrasts, the textures, the play, of threads and patterns and then notice how he encorporated what he experienced in the particular cloth into a certain painting. Another thing I recall is that while I was walking through, I marvelled that I understood what he was doing with colors and textures because I hear the same thing with language! The rub, the blend, the contrast, the pleasure of texture, the evocation of feeling simply by how you place a brushstroke or combination of letters. The intentionality of each element in order to evoke response.

Before coming to Chile, I bought a digital camera. I knew I would need to take pictures and would want to be able to share visuals with friends, so as to invite them in...to virtually tap them on the shoulder and say HEY! Look at THAT! Hey! Doesn´t that tell a story? THIS is part of my daily reality and I wanted you to know it too... Somewhat reluctantly, I bought this camera. Functional, not flashy, no bells or whistles, one button and voila. I knew I would need to remind myself to take pictures and not simply take up my pen and write.

It did not help my motivation that for a while there seemed to be no way to download the photographs I had taken. Why take them to keep them, I thought. If I take them, I want to share them. Funny, that. That thought should have been my first clue...because while I do write for myself, there is also a large part of me that writes knowing that she will share the results with others. Particularly poetry.

Several days ago, I found a way to download those that I have taken so far. A significant help in the motivation to take more. In looking at the snapshots again, I realized that I really must enjoy composing the shots...thinking about the colors, the patterns involved, the shadows and lines. In the days since--now knowing a sure method of sharing what I see--I have walked and walked with my camera in my bag and have found myself truly enjoying putting together a picture--nothing too constructive--perhaps simply putting a leaf against the pattern of a chairseat.

I find it truly satisfying and pleasing and evocative to notice the textures, the angles, the light. It is an unexpected gift, that.

And as I was writing about it this morning, I realized it is not a new interest that is blooming. No, instead it is another way of expressing a long held joy and intuition. That to draw a person in and invite a person out, one must pay attention to silence and spark, to meaning, to context, to movement, to music, and to integrity...

I suppose it is a desire to explore, to probe, to suggest, the fullness of a thing...knowing that in the entering, there is so much more. In that is the Ah!

(In a funny irony, I am not able to upload any to the blog at the moment! Augh!)

Advent I, 2009

2009-11-29T08:05:00.002-05:00

Advent I, 2009

Will it be
like the potent natural urge
of moon and gravity
to loose the sea
and let her praise?

Will it be
like the smooth and traveling warmth
in my hands, my fingers,
when I hold a stone
that has rested with the sun?

Will it be
like light and silence-
the fullness of color,
the fullness of sound,
like the awe of recognition?

c.MperiodPress

Talkin´ Turkey Friday Five

2009-11-20T07:10:00.002-05:00

The Cure

Lying around all day
with some strange new deep blue
weekend funk, I'm not really asleep
when my sister calls
to say she's just hung up
from talking with Aunt Bertha
who is 89 and ill but managing
to take care of Uncle Frank
who is completely bed ridden.
Aunt Bert says
it's snowing there in Arkansas,
on Catfish Lane, and she hasn't been
able to walk out to their mailbox.
She's been suffering
from a bad case of the mulleygrubs.
The cure for the mulleygrubs,
she tells my sister,
is to get up and bake a cake.
If that doesn't do it, put on a red dress.

--Ginger Andrews (from Hurricane Sisters)

So this Friday before Thanksgiving, think about Aunt Bert and how she'll celebrate Thanksgiving! And how about YOU?

1. What is your cure for the "mulleygrubs"?

Cooking or baking for others is always a good one for me. So too a trip to a coffeeshop--a large mug full of something strong, a journal, a seat by the window to look out onto the streets of NYC, a favorite pen, a book, and music in my ears. Another too is simply the courage to say You know what, could I please have a hug?

2. Where will you be for Thanksgiving?

In Reñaca Alto, Chile. No Thanksgiving this year--or next, for that matter, now that I think of it...will be in Rome with an international group of rscj. Ah well. Am glad for the memories I do have and the hope for those to come!

3. What foods will be served? Which are traditional for your family?

Greenbean casserole! Break out the crunchy onions! Mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, turkey, and my Great-Grandmother´s orange date bread--and her Bing Cherry Salad--always served on one leaf of iceberg lettuce. Let´s hear it for the midwest and jello salads!

4. How do you feel about Thanksgiving as a holiday?

Love, love, love it. Love the time cooking in the kitchen with friends, love the smell in the house, love the warmth inside on a cool day outside, the gratefulness, the gathering of people who want to be in one another´s company to share a meal. Favorite memories include using a staircase as extra seating while in grad school and playing wordgames in the kitchen afterward while the whole bunch of us cleaned dishes. Also, learning to make cranberry sauce from scratch from a friend in Louisiana...zesting the orange, the port wine heating, the pop of cranberries as they split and offered up their tangy zing. Can´t forget either, the Thanksgiving around a community member who was dying though still awake and alert. Her bed was in the livingroom and we gathered around her to eat...such laughter, such joy...the passing of food, the passing of life, and gratefulness for all.

5. In this season of Thanksgiving, what are you grateful for?
Too much to contain here, to be certain. I am grateful for what I have learned in life so far, for the people I have met and loved along the way, for those who have loved me, for my sisters, my friends, the opportunities I have had to share what I have been given... for so many many things.

BONUS: Describe Aunt Bert's Thanksgiving.

I can see Aunt Bert remembering that in the bottom drawer of the breakfront where she keeps her dishes, there is the good tablecloth that she has not used for a while. She gets it out, spreads it on the table, and lets the wrinkles settle while she bakes. Then, she thinks about Uncle Frank, lying in his bed, and remembers that somewhere she has a record of music from WWII that they listened to while they were courting. She finds it when she goes to check on the table cloth and looks up to see the photographs of her family on the shelves between books, knickknacks, and some dust that she doesn´t notice anymore. On the edge of a low shelf was a stack of LPs. Finding one that she recognized, she put it on the player and lifted the needle. The dinger rings, she pokes the cake with a knife--clean! And takes out the cake to cool. Meanwhile, she heads to her room--they have had separate rooms now for some time...just easier that way--and finds her red dress, wrapped in plastic from the drycleaner where she took it last Spring--or maybe two seasons ago? It is a little big on her in some places and a little snug in others, but no matter. She slices the cake, puts a piece on a plate and brings the tray to Uncle Frank. Sitting carefully on the edge of his bed, she cuts bites and feeds him one bit at a time, so patiently and carefully. He can hear the music and thinks he might just remember the connection between it and the woman who is offering morsels of warm chocolate cake. Aunt Bert, when Frank has eaten all he can, goes back to the kitchen, pours a glass of milk, cuts another slice or cake, and sits at the table with the now smooth cloth, and watches the snow fall with a smile on her face.

In the beginning...

2009-11-18T08:22:00.002-05:00

The theme of prayer the other night was the question Jesus put to the blind man—What would you have me do for you? The answer was easy for him—I want to see. And so he did, by his faith.

It was an interesting thing to think in what my answer would be—or better, what my answer is, to the same question. And, it came easily to me as well. What would you have me do for you? I would have you write with my life. I want to write more of your story with my life.

And with that came the most marvelous imagery, the most beautiful pictures in my mind and heart. It was something like the wedding feast at Cana, but instead, people gathered around a fire at night, telling stories. All had told one except Jesus, who is laughing and looking deeply as he pokes the embers to stir more flame.

¨There is another tale,¨ he said between the conversations and good spirit…and as people began to realize what he said, they quieted slowly and turned toward him.

¨There is another tale,¨ he said again, ¨But it is not in my bag to bring forth and reveal, though it has its home in me. I know it by twist and surprise, grace and syllable, but again I say, it is not in my bag of stories to spin amidst these sparks and stars. Search your own.¨

Surprised and curious, people unbuckled or untied their purses and satchels, searching for some forgotten hint of the words Jesus might mean.

I folded over the flap of the bag always at my side and slid my hand in as well—moreas a matter of following suit than of hope in finding something new that was not there when I gathered my things for the day in the morning. My fingers touched the familiar edges and shapes lovingly. It was a perfect bag, a comfortable bag, that held all I needed in a day and I kew each ítem in it.

I looked and saw Jesus tilt his head back, pulling the person next to him to his front. Soon, they were both pointing at the stars and marvelling. Then, my fingers went into a far soft corner of my satchel where a coin often likes to hide. There was something new there—smooth and gently curved with a stopper in the top. It fit easily in my palm as I carefully withdrew my hand.

I lifted my own head, staring across the spark-lit darkness. This time Jesus was looking at me. And so were the others.

I held the vessel up to the moon and starlight to see more clearly. As I brought it closer to me, I found myself protecting it almost reverently, as one might the tender first flame of a newly lit candle until it gathers strength.
Jesus passed through the ash and flame, approaching me face to face. His hands wrapped my own for a moment before he moved behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. No one had spoken for several moments.

¨Ink?¨ I asked. I felt him nod gently. My thumbs loosened the cork plug and I tucked it safely in a pocket. That same hand reached again into my bag and found a narrow roll of cloth. Working free what the worn material protected, I brought out a freshly sharpened reed.

I felt Jesus smile and sit down behind me. Others also began to sit, leaning on one another for warmth and the pleasure of close company.

I dipped the reed inside the fine clay bottle and felt the refreshing confidence of river water moving through my being. I smelled lilacs as though I were napping in their branches and oh! A taste filled me entirely! Cinnamon, honey, and clove! The bite of curry, garlic, and pungent, warm, citrus…smoothed with a clean hint of something close to vanilla. The sound of drumming met in my hearing with the calls of birds whose songs were the light for flowers to open! Before my eyes was the very world! People standing shoulder to shoulder, weeping and dancing, people eating, sharing, walking together…

I heard myself sigh in wonder before I spoke. ¨The story I continue is old and true, according to all the faith I have. In the beginning was the Word…¨

La Iglesia del Mar-- The Church of the Sea

2009-11-16T15:21:00.003-05:00

Yesterday morning I went to the iglesia del mar-The Church of the Sea. I sat on the beach and prayed my own version of the rosary and was accompanied by flocks of pelicans cruising in synch. I also learned how to tell which line on the water will become a wave. Before I guessed, but now I know. It changes color just before the lift and surge. The color is from the tidal pull that draws up the silt from the ocean bottom and causes the wave to form. God is good to show me a thing like that. Just the sort of thing I think is cool.

And the sort of thing I need to remember on low spirit days like today. So many people have asked me what it is that I miss most. It is not products or places or even particular people. What I miss is having a friend reasonably near...even near enough for a phonecall that doesn´t break the bank. I am grateful for the technology that allows for virtual connection, but it just is not the same. I have so much to say, so many thoughts, that don´t have a place at the moment.

I am reminded of a question from a movie I saw last summer in Mexico. How do you keep a drop of water from drying? Throw it to the sea.

I need to spend more time in that sancuary, I think.