Gratitudes, in Question Form:
1. What brought you sudden joy? Walking the labyrinth I mowed into the parking lot, and hearing the screech owls begin their whinnying conversation as I was on the outward laps. What do I take with me into this season? Screech owls calling in the bamboo.
2. What was a relief? Coming home to the air conditioned room.
3. What made you smile? Hearing a boy, as he set up a puzzle in the living room: “We can call ourselves puzzle people, can’t we? We’re puzzle people.”
4. What made you think? Reflecting on the themes and ideas in Flannery O’Connor’s “A Good Man Is Hard to Find.” And Michael Booth’s words in chapel about owning our stories instead of letting them own us.
5. What challenge did you face? Heat. Being exhausted from heat. Talking over the sound of the fans and air conditioning unit. I made it through, faced the challenge. I can’t do this for too many more days, but I think I can do another day.
May we walk in Beauty!
(Reprise from 2016)
1. Words that lead me through the labyrinth
2. Words that open doors and build bridges
3. Words that nudge and tickle and surprise
4. Words that scour and scrub and wake me up
5. Words that wonder and question and probe
6. Words that frame and structure and organize
7. Words that soothe and hold and bless
8. Words that weave people together
May our words be the right ones for each moment.
I am signing off for a few days. I am going to the woods with some of my beloved community, to sing and laugh and play together, to walk the labyrinth in the woods, to listen for birdsong and look for tiny fungi in the leaf litter, to breathe and to wander. I will see you here in a few days.
“I remember nothing more about that night, except knowing that the enchantment of that moment would be with me forever, how what was burning so intensely in my heart could manifest itself in all of nature and how a song could thread itself through a needle, and stitch it all together, for one other-worldly, soul-aching, heart-breakingly hopeful glimpse of Nirvana.” –Excerpt of blog by Gloria Talcove-Woodward
“How you get there is where you’ll arrive.” –Cynthia Bourgeault
“When a person tells you that you hurt them, you don’t get to decide that you didn’t.” –Louis C. K.
“Never apologise for your sensitivity. It is the thinness of your skin which makes you brave. You are willing to live. You are willing to be alive.” –Dreamwork with Toko-pa
“Acknowledge your mission. Trust your path. Become your chosen destiny.” –Jamie Sams
“You are what you eat eats.” –Michael Pollan
1. Fridays: Week’s end, Faculty Hymn sing, the anticipation of rest and time in the woods with beloveds
2. Yesterday’s clouds, which were dragons and caves of flame and featherbeds
3. Teenagers and their enormous hearts
4. Monarch and dragonfly
5. Sharing laughter. What warmth of human connection when someone says, “Hey! Wanna hear a joke?” The social connection of good, healthy humor, how it bonds people together
6. (I am breaking the rules today and adding another) Playing with sentences. In a couple different classes right now, we are playing with sentence structure, copying the forms of professionally-written sentences, writing poems based on set formulae of absolute phrases and participial phrases. For some, it’s a bit tedious, but it has been delightful to watch the twinkle in the eyes of others when they begin to get it, to feel what it’s like to write a really elegant sentence.
7. (while I am at it. . .) Yesterday’s chapel talk by Brenda Martin Hurst. She reminded me of how much work has been done by so many to create a world and a church in which girls and women are valued as much as men and boys, and how much work there still is to do. I am grateful for my mother and others who worked with such love and courage and sheer will to begin to pave a way for women’s voices to be more fully heard in the Mennonite Church. This, more than anything, gives me great hope that some day we, too, can break through the wrongs against which we raise our voices.
May we walk in Beauty!
This is known as the Ljubljana dragon. One legend says it was killed by Jason and Medea, while they were still on friendly terms. Other legends say it was the ancient Slavic god Veles.
I don’t intend this as a poem. My thoughts tonight are fragmented as I consider the shifts that are occurring in the world in the next twenty-four hours.
Tonight I need a dragon.
I need a fuzzy pink hat with cat ears.
I need a photo of Michelle Obama saying, “. . .we go high.”
I need a soulful labyrinth.
I need to hold selenite and labradorite in my palms.
Tonight I need to pray and breathe and center.
I need a friendly ghost to tap me on the shoulder and wink.
I need a warm cat on my lap, purring.
I need a cup of tea with milk and honey.
I need a wild wind to blow.
I need a spot beside the heating vent.
Let’s keep reaching out, holding onto love, holding on to what is right and good and full of beauty. May we remain grounded in our desire to protect and heal that which we love. May we keep wide awake and aware, bearing witness, staying vigilant and conscious, grounded in our centers, offering our strength and power to those who need it. May justice roll down like waters.
I know of some people who are choosing to walk labyrinths tomorrow morning. I will be dancing through labyrinths of language in my classroom. During our chapel tomorrow morning, we will be celebrating the life and words of Martin Luther King, Jr.
1. The way breath and heartbeat simply happen.
2. The way breath births language.
3. The way language gives shape to meaning.
4. The way language carries the rhythm of heartbeat and breath.
May we walk in Beauty!
I find myself doodling and drawing labyrinths again–it always seems to happen when I am thrown off-balance. Here is one of my favorite labyrinths, up at the Jesuit Center in Wernersville.
Today’s Poetry Prompt is to write an Activity Poem.
Blessing for Election Day and Beyond
by Beth Weaver-Kreider
May we be spinners of webs,
catching each other,
wrapping each other
in silken threads
to keep us all from falling.
May we be builders of bridges,
creating firm pathways
so all may walk safely
over the chasm
or meet in the middle.
May we be wanderers,
willing to walk in the wild places,
seeking each other
when distance has
broken our circles.
May we be dreamers
and planners, wishers
and makers, devising a future
may find a home in love.
1. A pileated woodpecker sailing through the treetops and sunshine on the way down Ducktown this morning. It has been a long time since I have seen one.
2. Getting the grades in. What’s the old saying? “The wonderful thing about hanging by your fingernails is it feels so good when you’re done.” Yeah, that.
3. The promise of a warm and comfortable bed very soon. I admit it, small as that hour is, the time change is challenging for me. I always feel like I need extra sleep to handle it. I am off to bed VERY soon.
4. Jon Carlson’s thoughtful reminder in chapel this morning: The really important thing is Love. I will carry that with me like a shiny pebble into the day tomorrow, and the days that follow.
5. You, my friends. You keep bringing me back to center when I start to fray around the edges. What bright and brilliant community.
Hold on tightly. Breathe deeply. Smile at each other often. Get some sleep.
I spent last week quietly anticipating another walk of the Camp Hebron Labyrinth. On my Saturday morning walk own to the woods, I kept thinking how different the paths and the distances seemed in just a week. The thought appeared in my head: “It’s a different journey now.” Even though I am walking a similar path and toward a different destination, the journey keeps shifting and changing. Just moments after I had begun to ponder what I meant by thinking that, I arrived at the labyrinth to find that a tree had fallen across it.
I recently found this piece of paper on which I wrote, in the summer of 2015, a series of examen-type questions. I think I probably have already written these in the blog, but I am going to put them here again so that I can ponder them this week. I wouldn’t use more than five of them a day, probably, and for similar ones, like the first four, I would spread them out over days, to see how the different ways of asking almost the same question evokes different internal responses.
How did Mystery encounter you today?
How did you encounter Mystery today?
How were found by Mystery?
How did God/dess seek you?
What awakened you?
What vision brought your spirit awake?
What nudged you? (Or nudged you forward?)
Where does your heart sit?
What gave you wings?
What do you take on your journey?
What do you tuck into the corners?
What quickened within you?
What brought your senses (or your heart, your spirit, your brain) alive?
What do you take deeper?
What do you take into prayer?
What is the weight that you carry?
And not that I am thinking about it again, I’ll add some more from today’s heart:
What itches? What makes you uncomfortable?
What feels unsettled?
What skin are you shedding?
What muscles are you stretching?
1. Bridges, and bridge-building language and actions
2. Gathered Community
3. Getting the work organized, making a plan
4. Treasuring each other
5. Waking up–I am struggling with the actual physical process this morning. How much more intense it can be to wake up in other ways. May we always be open to the pull to wake further, to bring our dreams into the wakeful spaces.
May we walk in Beauty!
Panorama photos provide interesting, and often slightly disturbing, perspectives. This one captures the way the labyrinth at the Jesuit Center is in a little protected space, but also how it has a view of both the monastery and the grounds. But the benches on either side of this photo are placed next to each other, on either side of the entrance to the labyrinth.
1. Learning a new thing. I have been making empanadas, expanding my dough repertoire.
2. This kiddo is cutting and pasting magazine pictures, making his own little book of pictures he likes.
3. Reading with children. This is connected to visceral memory from my childhood. I sometimes say that I became an elementary school teacher years ago just so I could read to kids like my mother read to us. Then I had kids so I could read to kids (there may have been some other reasons). I cannot read CS Lewis or JRR Tolkien without hearing my mother’s voice. My children will not be able to read Redwall without hearing my “interesting” attempts at various accents. I sit on the couch, and no matter how hot it is, they snuggle under my wings.
4. Summer’s pacing.
5. Goldfinch Farm Crew!
May we walk in Beauty!
Scattering Milkweed seeds like prayers.
Yesterday I mowed a labyrinth into the grassy patch between the barn and the greenhouse. The boys and I took a basket of milkweed pods that we had gathered last fall, and spiraled our way into the center of the labyrinth, where we scattered the the fluff like prayers. Prayers for the monarchs, for the future of these children and the planet that supports them, for the people I carry in my heart. For you. For me. For transformation, and for compassion and for love. For Beauty, and for fun.
1. That wren out there reminding me to keeping listening, keep talking, keep the conversation going.
2. Being in a body. These morning aches, this slightly blurry vision, this stuffy head–it’s all part of being in the body, along with tastebuds, sensations of cool breezes and warm sweaters, satisfying stretches.
3. Prayers. I am re-establishing my connection to the word prayer. I will keep using my other words, too–carrying stones, casting webs, holding the bowl–but prayer is a strong universal signifier for being mindful and concerned, and I am finding that I am choosing it more often to represent what I do, wordless as it so often is.
4. That tiger swallowtail that slipped like a sunbeam down the green slope of the ridge yesterday.
5. Compassion, and all the places you find it.
May we walk in Beauty!
I am finding the simple three-circuit labyrinth to be really satisfying. Like a spiral, each circuit brings you one step closer toward the center, yet there’s that unsettling turning at the end of the circuit. Wait a minute! I’m now going the other way! Still, despite the change in direction, I continue to move ever closer to the center. This hit me yesterday. Life has sent me reversals. I have had moments when I have suddenly changed directions. The whiplash can feel overwhelming, the sense of lost time or futility in what came before–but the turnings also bring me closer to the center. The apparent about-faces and the changes of plan do not mean that I am going backwards, undoing the past. I am still moving closer to the center. It all leads toward the center.
1. (What feeds you?) The red of the poppies. I think I could probably live on the food of that red. Such an impossible color. That and the orange of Oriole. And the thousands greens of the last week of May.
2. (What finds resolution?) I now have fewer balls to juggle, fewer plates to keep spinning in the air. I can look to caring for my children more intentionally, to tidying and cleaning and systematizing.
3. (What images draw you?) The labyrinth. We used the labyrinth as the structure for the service in church yesterday, and this Wednesday, I will be focusing on the labyrinth for my mini-course with my students.
4. (Who has been helpful?) Walt Whitman, Rachel Carson, Sojourner Truth–I will meditate on the words and lives of these wise ones this week.
5. (What helps you cope?) This little air conditioner. If I choose to live beneath the branches of a grand tulip poplar, I must have respite during its blooming season. This magnificent tree draws our orioles to us. Its leafy embrace cools us here in the hollow during hot summer days. It stands across from the sycamore like a sentinel. It is a city teeming with life, vibrant with the flashing colors, the buzzing and twittering conversations, the busy living of its residents. Its buttery blooms are elegant. . .and toxic to me. We make allowances. We adjust ourselves sometimes to live with those we love. For the week or two that it sends pollen to bless the world around, I spend my time at home in these rooms with the air conditioner on, venturing out for short periods to listen to birdsong, to watch the sun shift across the sky.
May we walk in Beauty!
Today’s poetry prompt is to write about resistance:
I have seen the way the world is weighted,
heard you murmuring the words
distress, despair, disgrace,
marked the way it seems the fates
conspire to place you
underneath the wagon’s wheel.
If I can try one phrase to bless
this wretched space in which you rest
between the gales and squalls,
let it be this:
May your soul be a sail.
Your spirit will resist the winds that drive you
into dusty earth or claw you from the cliff-face.
May you catch that wind and rise.
May you surprise yourself in flight.
1. The Chalice Labyrinth. Balancing my light and my shadow. Finding my way across the divide between the different parts of me.
2. Six deer silhouetted in the dusky moment just before dawn.
3. And then the sunrise. I am learning my colors: magenta, chartreuse, indigo, aquamarine, tangerine. And there’s one that’s not quite peach and not quite tangerine, something I can’t quite name yet.
4. Walking over the fields with my guys: Jon, the boys, and Fred the Cat. And that bird: peregrine, perhaps. Or osprey. Long crooked wings, and white beneath, sweeping over the fields in the spring breeze.
5. Saying yes to the new thing, new growth, new learning. Trusting, like the Fool, in the grace of wind to catch me in the leap.
May we walk in Beauty!