Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 110

Embrace your inner Warrior with the desert mothers ~ A love note from your online abbess

Amma Syncletica said, “In the beginning there are a great many battles and a good deal of suffering for those who are advancing towards God and afterwards, ineffable joy.  It is like those who wish to light a fire; at first they are choked by smoke and cry, and by this means obtain what they seek (and it is said: “Our God is a consuming fire” Heb. 12.29): so we also must kindle the divine fire in ourselves through tears and hard work.” (Syncletica 1)

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

There is a marvelous collection of sayings which are titled “Sayings of the Desert Fathers,” but fortunately we do have several stories of the desert mothers also included in this text, and we have a small collection of female desert elders’ stories found in other sources as well.

When these women decided to leave their conventional lives behind – and many of them were well educated, some were quite wealthy, and some were prostitutes – they each made an intentional choice to live in a way alternate to the dominant culture.  The ammas reveal that from the very beginnings of the life of the Church, women have been initiators of new patterns and teachings.

In the story above Amma Syncletica counsels courage and hard work in this “battle.”  I have trouble with the metaphor of battles for the spiritual life which the desert elders often use.  I resist that kind of violent imagery.  And yet, in Benedictine monk and scholar Michael Casey's book on humility, he writes that “a much more creative way of dealing with difficult texts is to take our negative reaction as an indication that there may be an issue beneath the surface with which we must deal.” When I experience resistance to what I am reading, I need to pay attention to what is being stirred within me. She calls forth the Warrior within me.

The Warrior archetype is that part of ourselves which is ready to protect and defend whatever is necessary. We find this archetype often in great legends and films. The Warrior is depicted as strong and often invincible, loyal to the sovereign, willing to fight to the death for what is most valuable, aligned with a just cause. While they are often depicted as men, women are just as likely to have this energy within to draw upon.

I also experience the Warrior as that part of myself which is able to create and maintain strong boundaries in my life, whether physical or energetic. I draw on the Warrior to help me protect what I claim as important. As a monk in the world, it is so easy at times to let my contemplative practice go when life becomes too busy and full. My Warrior is an ally, reminding me that I need to be fierce at times to keep my own needs met.

What precious thing might your inner Warrior help you with protecting?

Join us tomorrow when I explore this in our FREE live video seminar – click here to register.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Dancing Monk Icon © Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts

Dr. Jamie Marich joins the Abbey Wisdom Council!

Abbey of the Arts is delighted to have a Wisdom Council with 12 wise members who enthusiastically support what we do, offer their gifts in service to this community, and provide a sounding board for discernment over future directions.

We welcome Dr. Jamie Marich to our council. She is the creator of Dancing Mindfulness, a wonderful contemplative movement practice which Christine has been certified in. Jamie has also written a great book on the practice which you can find here. She has attended live retreats and pilgrimages with the Abbey, been a guest teacher on our Body Wisdom online course, and is a true kindred soul through her work and spirit!

Check out our Wisdom Council members here>>

(Several of them offer spiritual direction by phone or Skype, including Jamie)

This is Jamie's Monk in the World guest post for the Abbey>>

Monk in the World Guest Post: Jessica Curtis

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Jessica Curtis' reflection on the breath prayer of presence – acceptance – love.

Recently, while leading a workshop on creating a fulfilling life, I shared the very fulfilling experience I had last year of walking with my mother-in-law through the last days of her life. I hadn’t questioned how fulfilling this experience had been, yet I looked out at many puzzled faces trying to connect their idea of fulfillment with loss and death.

It’s no surprise – we often associate fulfillment with happiness and contentment, joy and celebration. But in this case, fulfillment came from an experience of loss and grieving.

Fulfillment comes when we are walking in alignment with our values. It comes when we experience a sense of congruence between our experience and what we hold most dear. In this case, I was honoring my core values of depth, witness and authenticity as I sat with my husband and his family at my mother-in-law’s bedside.

The trappings and stressors of material living melted away, as we sat together in the quiet. This is what matters, I thought.

There wasn’t much to say or much to offer except my presence, acceptance and love – just as she offered them to me. And those were the mantras of her bedside.

“I’m here.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

Presence.

Acceptance.

Love.

Embodying the qualities of presence, acceptance and love in those precious moments required no special effort. They were simply there, and I felt those muscles grow as I continued to sit with her in her final hours.

Months have passed now. I feel her significant loss. I also feel immensely grateful for the experience itself, for the very real practice it offered me of being present, accepting the inevitable and expressing my love.

Since that time, I find myself thinking about how to bring this fulfillment into the day-to-day, into moments I might otherwise describe as mundane. Not just moments of prayer or meditation, but moments of car troubles, never-ending laundry, bickering children and fatigue.

It often feels like an uphill battle. No matter that I consciously try to under-schedule my family, limit the time we spend in front of screens, and sit at the table together for dinner most every night. It is not enough.

 

Recently, I have become intentional about cultivating presence, acceptance and love amidst the very alive and turbulent world of my everyday experience.

I have taken up a practice of breathing, as a way to nurture these qualities in all moments of my life. Whether I’m in the car, writing at the computer or helping with homework, I can manage to breathe. I can pause in whatever I’m doing and simply breathe.

I breathe in Presence. And I breathe out Presence.

I breathe in Acceptance. And I breathe out Acceptance.

I breathe in Love. And I breathe out Love.

As I breathe, I see each word – Presence – Acceptance – Love – in my mind’s eye, and after a few rounds of breathing, they unite into a single sensation.

I flood my lungs with oxygen and flood my heart with presence, acceptance and love. This in-breath heals the inner wounds of shame and judgment. It is a gift that returns me to my wholeness. As I breathe out, I can share this gift with the world around me, just as my mother-in-law did for me.

Breathing brings me back to center. Instead of seeing the dirty dishes and crumbs on the table, I can see my children’s faces, engaged in conversation and sharing an afternoon snack. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by the phone call relaying information about a family member’s difficult diagnosis, I can feel grateful for the connections of family. I am reminded of the beauty of this chaotic and sometimes overwhelming period of my life, and I can feel myself come back to center.

Breathing in this way softens my experience of the world. As my experience is softened, so am I. There is so much to notice when I am present to it. There is so much that simply falls away when I can accept what is. There is so much love to receive when I open my heart.

I am flooded with compassion and gratitude for all that lives within me, for all I have to offer to the world. I am flooded with compassion and gratitude for all that lives within you, for all you have to offer the world. I am overcome by the sense that there is no separation between inner and outer, me and other. It is a moment of fulfillment, of healing, of God. "

Jessica Curtis, M.Ed., CPCC, ACC, works with people seeking growth and fulfillment in their lives. A certified, professional coach, Jessica also holds an M.Ed. in Counseling. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband, three children and a flock of chickens. You can learn more about Jessica and her work at: www.jscurtiscoaching.com

Feast of St. Hildegard: Greening Our Lives and Spirits ~ A love note from your online abbess

St. Hildegard Strolls through the Garden

Luminous morning, Hildegard gazes at

the array of blooms, holding in her heart

the young boy with a mysterious rash, the woman

reaching menopause, the newly minted widower,

and the black Abbey cat with digestive issues who wandered

in one night and stayed.  New complaints arrive each day.

She gathers bunches of dandelions, their yellow

profusion a welcome sight in the monastery garden,

red clover, nettle, fennel, sprigs of parsley to boil later in wine.

She glances to make sure none of her sisters are

peering around pillars, slips off her worn leather shoes

to relish the freshness between her toes,

face upturned to the rising sun, she sings lucida materia,

matrix of light, words to the Virgin, makes a mental

note to return to the scriptorium to write that image down.

  When the church bells ring for Lauds, she hesitates just a

moment, knowing her morning praise has already begun,

wanting to linger in this space where the dew still clings.

At the end of her life, she met with a terrible obstinacy,

from the hierarchy came a ban on receiving

bread and wine and her cherished singing.

She now clips a single rose, medicine for a broken heart,

which she will sip slowly in tea, along with her favorite spelt

biscuits, and offer some to the widower

grieving for his own lost beloved,

they smile together softly at this act of holy communion

and the music rising among blades of grass.

— Christine Valters Paintner

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

I have now had the great privilege of leading a pilgrimage twice to the landscape of Hildegard of Bingen with my dear teaching partner Betsey Beckman. Immersing myself in this lush landscape of the Rhine Valley in German, I discovered viriditas in a new way. Viriditas was Hildegard’s term for the greening power of God, sustaining life each moment, bringing newness to birth. It is a marvelous image of the divine power continuously at work in the world, juicy and fecund.

While I expected to see this greening power alive in the vineyards draping the hills, in the beauty of the Rhine river flowing through the valley like a glorious vein of life, and in the forested hill of Disibodenberg where Hildegard spent much of her early life, what I received as gift was the greening that came alive for me in the community gathered.

There is something so powerful about walking in the places that our great mystics and visionaries dwelled, and to feel the wisdom of their teaching in a fully embodied way. However, to do that with an intentional community of fellow pilgrims, each arriving with their own longing and particular love of Hildegard, was a beauty beyond my expectations.

On our pilgrimage, we created a community of modern monks. In my own work, I use the image of being a monk in the world to invite folks into an experience of integrating contemplative practice into the daily tasks of living. The beauty of the monastic mindset, of which Hildegard was deeply shaped and formed, is that it asks us to see the holy in all things, all people, and in the unfolding of time.

We would gather together in the mornings for praying the psalms, in the great monastic tradition of praying the Hours. We entered the psalms through contemporary songs which carried us into their poetry and danced.  I am certain Hildegard would have approved! Throughout our days spent back at the hotel gathering space, which we fondly dubbed our chapel and cloister, we created together through poetry, photography, mandala drawing, and dance.  We would both laugh and weep together as we touched into the wonder of our experience.

On our outings, we received the gifts of these holy sites. We listened in the silence, the way the monks of old would and the way Hildegard surely would have, for the shimmering voice within that so often goes unheard.

Kindred spirits are a gift beyond measure. When we find our tribe, we can feel like we have come home again. We experience the viriditas in our souls, which Hildegard counseled. In that safe space of being met by other pilgrims who also have a love of contemplative practice and creative expression, we are able to start to drop down to a deeper place and let a part of ourselves come alive that we may keep hidden in daily life. We can welcome in the moistening of our souls. This is the greening power of God at work. We find ourselves vital, fertile, alive and saying yes in new ways, affirmed by our fellow companions.

(We will be leading another pilgrimage to the land of Hildegard in September 2018 to coincide with her feast day, email us to be notified when registration opens!)

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Dancing Monk Icon © Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts

Monk in the Word Guest Post: Laurie Klein

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Laurie Klein's reflection on using playful gestures for prayer.

I wanted to play more. Ultimately, a childhood diversion beckoned.

'Busy hands are happy hands,' my mother always said.

Raised to work hard at everything, I’ve been productive over the years but often at great personal cost. Excessive intensity wears a girl down.

Other people seem to delight in each step toward their goals, a pleasure I find inspiring. And contagious. As a fellow monk in this dangerous, everyday-falling-around-our-ears-world, I want to step lightly. I long to filter the gravitas of purposeful work through generous handfuls of joy. Spontaneity. Childlike vision.

So, I’m trying to bring play into my work.

Tapping the spritely energy of play generates something more alive—in my process, the end product, and in me.

Brother David Steindl-Rast reminds me that play 'works' because it’s meaningful. And for me, it unknots something within, loosens those self-imposed seams I construct to protect myself.

Play not only frees, it heals. In response to one of Christine’s writing prompts, I wrote these lines to remind myself how I want to view life:

How to Live Like a Backyard Psalmist

Wear shoes with soles like meringue

and pale blue stitching so that

every day you feel ten years old.

Befriend what crawls.

Drink rain, hatless, laughing.

Sit on your heels before anything plush

or vaguely kinetic:

hazel-green kneelers of moss

waving their little parcels

of spores, on hair-trigger stems.

Hushed as St. Kevin cradling the egg,

new-laid, in an upturned palm,

tiptoe past a red-winged blackbird’s nest.

Ponder the strange,

the charged, the dangerous:

taffeta rustle of cottonwood skirts,

Orion’s owl, cruising at dusk,

thunderhead rumble. Bone-deep,

scrimshaw each day’s secret.

Now, lighting the sandalwood candle,

gather each strand you recall

and the blue pen, like a needle.

Suture what you can.

***

I find that absorbing regular doses of wonder equips me to better mend this hurting world. Which makes me wonder: What if work and play are kissing cousins, rather than twins separated at birth? Maybe they’re meant to play tag. Even hold hands, at times.

Whatever the task, I want to kneel often, and marry the moment with the abandon of that hatless, laughing kid in the rain.

Can I bring play into prayer?

My mother used to calm my fears with a fingerplay.

'When you’re afraid,' we spoke in unison. Then, from pinkies to thumbs, each of us touched our fingertips together, pair by pair, adding one word for each motion: “Put – your – trust – in – God.” The fingerplay soothed and refocused me.

A childish diversion? Sure. But I still use it when late-night anxiety assaults my thoughts.

One day my body decided to take Mom’s anodyne further.

My personal theme for last year was “Extend Your Orbit.” Intending to prop penned reminders of this around the house, I wrote the phrase on numerous 3×5 cards. Afterward, my hands cramped. With no plan in mind, I interlaced my fingers over my heart, palms facing inward, then turned my linked hands outward, lifted and circled them over my head—a good stretch. (Try it right now?)

If you’re playing along, now expand the gesture, allowing the movement to come from your waist, gently swinging your raised, interlocked fingers in a larger circle.

Feel anything loosening?

I like to think that what arose spontaneously for me that day stems from my mother's gift to me, all those years ago. It certainly distilled “Extend Your Orbit” into a wonderfully repeatable, wordless prayer. Now I begin most mornings this way.

'Some love best with their hands,' Annie Dillard once said.

Perhaps you’d like to try some of these universal gestures as a fresh means of prayer, with or without words:

Use the French Voila! fingertips kiss, to acclaim the beautiful
Brush palms past each other several times, to honor completion, or a boundary
Salute the heavens as a pledge of obedience
Blow a kiss skyward as a silent “I Love You”
Applaud, audibly or silently
Tenderly lift your chin with an index finger, and raise your eyes
Tap your watch, then open your hand and lift it to God

Spontaneous movement waits within, ready to bubble up and surprise us.

You might also consider exploring sign language to find more motions that speak for you. Words like please, thank you, life, grow, joy, forgiveness, love, friend, Jesus, and compassion are easily learned, eloquent movements.

For illustrated ideas, click here >>

Does this idea beckon to you? I hope you’ll share your ideas for using gesture as prayer. I’d love to hear them! "

Laurie Klein plays with words as well as her hands to see what they’ll say next. She blogs at lauriekleinscribe.com, and her debut poetry collection, endorsed by Christine, is titled Where the Sky Opens. A past winner of the Thomas Merton Sacred Poetry Prize, she lives in the Pacific Northwest.

Feast of St Ciaran: Cherishing Animals, Honoring Dreams ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

September 9th is the Feast of Ciaran of Clonmacnoise, one of the great Irish saints. He lived in the 6th century and is one of the great monastic founders called the “Twelve Apostles of Ireland.” Ciaran had a kinship with animals. There are stories of him befriending a fox who would carry his Psalter back and forth to his teacher so he could learn. He had a cow which gave milk to all of the Abbey. The cow was so revered that when she died, her hide became a kind of relic and it was said to offer healing, and whoever laid on it would go to heaven. Ciaran would also put his books on the antlers of a stag, as a kind of book rest. It was also said that a boar became his first monk.

There is a story that Ciaran goes out to the island of Inismor to visit with the great Abbott Enda. There they both have a dream of great fruitful trees growing beside a stream in the middle of Ireland. In the vision they could see the tree protecting the entire island with abundant fruit provided.

Enda told Ciaran: "The great tree is you, Ciaran, for you are great in the eyes of God and all people. All of Ireland will be sheltered by the grace in you, and many will be nourished by your fasting and prayers. Go to the center of Ireland, and found your church on the banks of a stream."

I love this great and flourishing tree as symbol of Ciaran’s call in life. He was moving toward his own soul’s ripening. The dream pointed the way.

He founded his monastery at the intersection of the river Shannon running north to south, and the esker, a system of ridges forming a natural roadway, which runs across Ireland from east to west. Clonmacnoise became one of the largest and most significant monasteries of the entire Irish church as a center of learning.

What dreams are calling to you as summer begins to turn to autumn (or winter into spring if you are in the southern hemisphere)?

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Dancing Monk Icon © Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts

Monk in the World Guest Post: Naomi Kelly

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Rev. Naomi Kelly's reflection on finding God's grace in the non-anxious practice of visio divina.

Most mornings, when I get up to walk the dog, I take my smartphone with me, keeping the camera poised to snap pictures. What a blessing to have been exposed to the idea of visio divina from Christine and Abbey of the Arts. Everything we pass—trees, rocks, creatures—offers a feeling, a whisper, a message from the Divine.  It’s so much as looking for God to speak to me as it is being present and letting the picture come to you.

Even a short walk around my neighborhood reveals so many gifts of nature. The deer are watching, hoping to receive a hand out. There are drops of water, glistening on the pine needles like diamonds. The promise of spring abounds in the buds, the running water, and in the air itself.

I feel I am one with the earth, human/humus. When I am in the forest, or by a stream, or overlooking a meadow, I feel as though I am part of it—it is home, it is belonging. A gust of wind will get my attention and I can feel the earth breathing with me; I am in awe and at the same time a component of the awe. A drop of dew on a flower petal holds my reflection and the mystery of all reflections.  Just stepping outdoors and breathing in the air of ‘almost spring’ reminds me that I am alive and it energizes me.

There is a story John Philip Newell tells about a dog who went into a church sanctuary, sniffed around and left because there was nothing there that would interest a dog. And what interests a dog? Natural smells – my dog is interested in so many things as the snow recedes, as if there are new found friends being born out of melting ice. That powerful story made me think about our churches: What do our churches offer that the people need? Is a sterile building giving substance to our people to awaken and open our hearts?  Many of Newell’s writings have helped me to reconcile my love of nature with Christianity. Of course, reading the stories of Jesus, we find he is always walking off in the wilderness, meditating outside, telling stories about the weather, or food. He was an outdoors sort of guy.

Because  of the visio divina, I decided to share some of my pictures, so I began to post a picture with a short caption almost everyday on Facebook. I would see a sun rise and the beauty would be breathtaking, and posting it would prompt questions like: ‘Where do you see beauty today?’ The questions helped to focus me. Later, I began to have a theme. One week in particular revolved around a small fern-like plant called lycopodium. We have four species in our area, and while it was fun, I found myself beginning to determine the content instead of letting the content capture me. Later, I decided to follow the lectionary so that my Facebook posts could be related to what I was going to discuss during Sunday morning worship. For a while I felt very confined. ‘Oh no,’ I thought, ‘What if I don’t find a picture that goes along with the lectionary?’ When we try and control the outcome we can get ourselves in some anxious situations. But visio divina is not an anxious practice, it is freeing and surprising. I learned more about the graciousness of God and how, if I make a commitment to show up for this practice, there will be a picture and there will be a question. It is like writing, the more we write, the more we are able to write. This is true with most any practice.

This summer it will be a whole year of this practice. What could I possibly see that will be new? Haven’t I explored my neighborhood enough? Maybe I should move out and see what else the world has to offer. That is the kind of thinking that stops an artist, that stops spiritual growth, too. Better questions for me will be, what does today have to offer? What is drawing my eyes this morning? As we say in our yoga meditation, ‘I am awake, I am alert, I am practicing.’

As I continue to be in the world of nature and let it teach me, I think that my awareness (consciousness) of it will increase my ability to find more wholeness, unity and peace. "

Rev. Naomi Kelly is a pastor, Spiritual Director and retreat leader.

 

 

Dorothy Day and the Archetype of the Orphan – join us tomorrow! ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Dorothy Day, the 20th century founder of the Catholic Worker movement and a Benedictine oblate, was very much committed to those who were “outcasts” and on the fringes of society.  She loved the widow and the orphan. She was passionate about the corporal works of mercy: feeding the hungry, sheltering those without homes, providing clothes for the naked. She was always trying to see Christ in “the poor lost ones, the abandoned ones, the sick, the crazed, the solitary human beings whom Christ so loved, in whom I see, with a terrible anguish, the body of this death.”

The fundamental experience of the Orphan is abandonment, feeling like an exile, and longing for an experience of being at home. The Orphan archetype in each of us is activated by all the experiences in which the child in us feels abandoned, betrayed, victimized, neglected, or disillusioned. We are all orphaned in one way or another simply because we are raised by parents with their own wounds and somewhere along the way they have orphaned us – we each have an inner orphan.

While our first instinct may be to run when our inner feelings of need and loneliness arise, the central task of the Orphan is to feel this pain of unmothered child. Ideally we do this hard work from a place of strength and feeling good rather than waiting until we feel awful. We are invited to face our experiences of pain and disillusionment. The Orphan calls us to wake up, let go of our illusions, and face painful realities. We all have losses and catastrophes, we all carry grief that has gone unmourned, that has been pushed away.

The Orphan can also help to crack open our intuition and empathy. Those who suffer much in conscious ways are often able to offer that as gift back to the community. The Orphan also invites us into an interdependence with others as we realize that we are all wounded in some way.

We live in a world rife with abandonment. What a gift we offer when we do not turn away this part of ourselves but welcome her or him to the inner door with open arms.

Join me tomorrow as I discuss the archetype of the Orphan in our free live video seminar. You can register here>>

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Dancing Monk Icon © Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts

Abbey Fall 2016 online programs now open for registration

We are excited to bring you some wonderful online retreat programs this fall!

See below for our special combined registration offer and get the writing retreat free!

Writing as a Spiritual Practice Online Mini-Retreat

Thursday, September 15, 2016

This is a mini-retreat with two 1.5 hour live video sessions (recorded for later listening) where you will be invited into contemplative practices and guided writing exercises to explore writing as process and spiritual practice.

Water, Wind, Earth & Fire: Praying with the Elements

September 26-October 30, 2016

This is a 5-week online retreat based on Christine Valters Paintner's book Water, Wind, Earth, & Fire including extra written reflections from Christine, SoulCollage explorations with Kayce Hughlett and movement invitations with Betsey Beckman.

Honoring Saints and Ancestors: An Online Retreat for the Season of Remembrance

October 30-November 19, 2016

This is a 3-week online retreat to honor the month of November, a time to remember those who walked before us and receive their wisdom and guidance in our lives. Includes written reflections from Christine Valters Paintner, a guided meditation, an invitation to create an ancestors' shrine, and movement invitations with Betsey Beckman.

Birthing the Holy: Wisdom of Mary and the Sacred Feminine

November 27-December 24, 2016

This is a 4-week online retreat to honor the season of Advent, a time of holy birthing and tending to what whats to come to life within us. Mary will be our guide and Christine and John Valters Paintner will offer reflections on Mary's names and titles as well as gospel stories about her life, as well as movement invitations with Betsey Beckman.

Combined Registration Bonus:

Register for our three fall online series and receive the writing retreat free

Sign up for all three of our fall series online retreats:

Register here for Water, Wind, Earth & Fire ›

Register here for Honoring Saints and Ancestors ›

Register here for Birthing the Holy ›

then email the Abbey for free access to the Writing as a Spiritual Practice Online Retreat

Lughnasa and the Harvest of Our Lives ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

During July we are sharing some reflections from the Abbey Archives (and in August we will be taking a break from our daily and weekly newsletters for a summer sabbatical):

Lughnasa (pronounced Loo-nassah) is one of the ancient Celtic feasts celebrated on August 1st marking the time of the beginning of the harvest and the gathering in. It is said to honor the Celtic sun-god Lugh who was an ally to the farmer in the struggle for food. With the Summer Solstice six weeks before, you can start to really feel the shortening of the days in August in Ireland. There is a subtle shift in the light and the air that leans towards autumn’s crispness and cooler days.  The energy in the world is changing.

Autumn and winter are my favorite seasons so I love this time of just beginning to really feel the darkness growing. The doorway to mystery is beginning to open. In the mystical tradition of Christianity, darkness is seen as a rich time of incubation and rest. The fullness of summer’s growth has reached its peak and is now starting to wane and you can just begin to see the signs of nature moving toward her own storing up of energies for the journey inward the seasons ahead will invite.

Lughnasa is a time to gather in and to reap what has been sown. The other side of the wheel from Lughnasa is Imbolc, February 1st, when the very first signs of spring started to rumble awake on the earth. In these last six months, we have seen a cycle of flourishing and fecundity, both around us and perhaps also within.

It is sometimes thought of as the time of “first fruits” and is when the grain is gathered in. One of the central rituals for this feast is cutting the first corn and making it into a loaf for the Mass at church on August 1st or 2nd. In the Hebrides in Scotland, it is recorded that families would celebrate Lughnasa on August 15th in connection with the feast of the Assumption of Mary. Each family member would take a piece of the bread and walk sunwise around the festival fire and sing a song to Mary.

There is also an ancient tradition at this time of year in Ireland to go on pilgrimage, especially to climb the sacred mountains. The weather made for good traveling and sleeping under starlight. A pilgrimage is, of course, not a vacation, but an immersion in a landscape and a courting of holy disruption along the way.

This was an excerpt from our online self-study retreat Sacred Seasons: A Yearlong Journey through the Celtic Wheel of the Year. The retreat includes invitations to reflection, contemplation, and creativity all rooting you in the call of this season.

We are taking a summer sabbatical from our daily and weekly posts starting tomorrow. We will be back on Sunday, August 28th!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner