Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 111

The Soul’s Migration: Following a Holy Direction ~ A love note from your online abbess

Fin and feather, flesh, blood and bone: the earth calls its creatures to leave the familiar, turn again into the unknown; to move steadily and continuously and at great risk toward an invisible goal, expending great energy with the possibility of failure… ~ Marianne Worcester

Dearest Monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Two years ago I had the privilege of leading a retreat on the shores of Cape May, NJ. Cape May is a resting place for weary souls seeking renewal and refreshment. It is also the resting place for Monarch butterflies as they make their long migratory journey to Mexico.

In the Skagit Valley, north of Seattle, I have stood on a midwinter's day and witnessed thousands of swans and geese landing in a field, also on their own movement toward an invisible goal. In Alaska are the pods of Humpback whales who feed off the nutrient rich waters all summer and gain sustenance, and then return to warmer seas to give birth in the winter.

Autumn is the time of transition, of the earth's turning, with the balance of light and dark in the northern hemisphere tilting toward the dark season and the invitation to release the excess we carry and rest into growing Mystery. It is a season of initiating these great movements across the globe of birds, fish, and mammals following an instinctual call.

I am taken with the mysteries of migration, the inner knowing that rises up in them to embark on a journey, the impulse to swim and fly across great expanses of earth and sea in search of a feeling of rightness that season.

I think of the ancient desert monks who each knew that one day they would have to leave behind the familiar and venture out into the wilderness to seek a space of radical encounter with God. Or the Irish monks who felt called to a particular kind of journey called peregrinatio, which was a pilgrimage for the love of Christ without a destination in mind. The practice was to step into a small boat called a coracle, without oar or rudder, and let the current carry them to the place of their resurrection.

They yielded their own agendas and plans to the current of love, trusting in this deeper wisdom at work in water and wind, on behalf of the One who opens the way before us.

St. Gobnait, one of the early Irish women saints, fled her home to the island of Inisheer, but was told by an angel that this was not her place of resurrection. She was to seek the place of the nine white deers, which led her journey onward to a place she did not know. The place of resurrection is the land where the heart finds its home and soul's deepest dreams come to fruition.

Swans and swallows, whales and salmon make the long arduous journey to give birth to the new lives breaking forth in them. The monks wandered in search of wild places that could break apart their own expectations and judgments, to let the new life being offered to them come forth.

In the Book of Isaiah (48:6-7) we read:

Now I am revealing new things to you, things hidden and unknown to you, created just now, this very moment. Of these things you have heard nothing until now so that you cannot say, Oh yes, I knew this.

In the Christian contemplative tradition, we are invited to rest more deeply in the Great Mystery, to lay aside our images and symbols, and let the divine current carry us deeper, without knowing where, only to trust the impulse within to follow a longing.

As autumn tilts us toward the season of growing darkness, consider this an invitation to yield to the mystery of your own heart's desires. You do not need a map or agenda, simply a willingness to swim in the waters carrying you back home again.

The monks knew the wisdom of embracing a season of unknowing, to wrest from their grip the idols of certainty and security. As mythologist and storyteller Michael Meade says, "a false sense of security is the only kind there is." Of the new things happening you have known nothing until this moment.

Taking flight requires courage to ascend into the unfamiliar and unknown. And it requires a community of kindred souls who affirm the journey isn't completely crazy and there is more awaiting us beyond the borders of our narrow expectations.

The soul's migration demands the long, slow journey in a holy direction, calling us only to follow the impulse of love.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Dancing Monk Icon Cards – limited number of sets available for holiday orders

**Ordering open until October 31st or we sell out of current stock – whichever comes first.**

We are delighted to offer for sale a limited number of sets of the dancing monk icon cards.

All 18 designs included – the original 12 dancing monks plus an additional 6 we added from the Irish Celtic monastic tradition (see list of names below).

These are printed on high quality cardstock, plastic-coated, with rounded corners, and in vibrant colors. Reverse side of all cards is the same design (see image to the right).

Size is standard European A7 size (74×105 mm).

Place your order by October 31st and the packages will be mailed direct from Ireland in the beginning of November. Please allow another two weeks beyond that for shipping time. This should allow plenty of time to arrive for the holidays.

To order outside the European Union (non-EU):

$25 per set when you order 1 or 2 sets –

$20 per set when you order 3 or more (maximum of 10 sets) –

$5 flat rate shipping (no matter how many sets you order)*

*After you add your item to the cart below you must select your country and zip/postal code and click "update cart" for shipping charges to appear.* (If you have no postal code, enter 0000)

*Please keep in mind that we do have to include customs forms for packages outside the EU and you are responsible for any customs duty charged on your parcel.

 

To order within the European Union (EU):

€25 per set when you order 1 or 2 sets –

€20 per set when you order 3 or more (maximum of 10 sets) –

€5 flat rate shipping (no matter how many sets you order)*

*After you add your item to the cart below you must select your country and zip/postal code and click "update cart" for shipping charges to appear.* (If you have no postal code, enter 0000)

VAT is included in the EU price.

 

*If you would like to order 10 or more sets please be in contact with us first.

 

Designs include the following monks and mystics from our series:

Hildegard of Bingen: I am a feather on the breath of God.

Benedict of Nursia: Let our hearts overflow with the inexpressible delight of love.

Mary, Mother of God: My soul proclaims the greatness of our God, my spirit rejoices in God.

Francis of Assisi: The world is my monastery.

Dorothy Day: Heaven is a banquet and life is a banquet too.

Rainer Maria Rilke: May what I do flow from me like a river.

Amma Syncletica: We must kindle the divine fire within ourselves.

King David: David danced before God with all his might.

Prophet Miriam: And the women went out after her with tambourines and dancing.

Thomas Merton: Join in the joy of the cosmic dance.

Brigid of Kildare: Christ dwells in every creature.

Brendan the Navigator: Help me to journey beyond the familiar and into the unknown.

Ita of Kileedy: I thirst for divine love.

Gobnait of Ballyvourney: Go seek the place of your resurrection.

Columcille of Iona: Alone with none but you my God, I journey on my way.

Kevin of Glendalough: He finds himself linked into a network of eternal life.

Ciaran of Clonmacnoise: Circle me God, keep fear without, keep joy within.

Patrick of Armagh: Christ within me and all around me, in everyone I meet.

Monk in the World Guest Post: Timothy Nickel

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Timothy Nickel's reflection on dancing with God and each other as hospice chaplain.

Silence and Space

God is the silence behind all sound,

ever present if we listen.

God is the empty space amidst all objects,

ever present if we behold.

These truths inform us …

we are always in God’s presence.

Indeed we are God’s presence!

If we listen for the silence behind all sound,

there is God.

If we behold the empty space amidst all objects,

there is God.

With sound or without,

With space or without,

God is no more or less present.

God is the very emptiness from which all else flows.

All sound comes out of God’s silence.

All objects reside in the midst of God’s space.

We live and “die” encased in God’s very being!

My employment is that of a hospice chaplain, a contemplative “monk” dancing daily with death.  In the legal field, there is a phrase, “in contemplation of death,” which pertains to the giving of a gift when someone knows or expects to die in the near future.   The giving of the gift is motivated strictly by the understanding and belief that death is quickly approaching.  My daily dancing with death, my awareness that death is interwoven into our living,  is typically a contemplative, meditative dance often of silence and equally as often, of verbal reflection with the one who is dying or with vigilant family members.

In my daily contemplation of death, I have the opportunity to gift others as well as to be gifted by others.  Though this monk prefers to dance alone, there are always the occasions of dancing with others.  Sometimes we dance at arm’s length, not even touching, as we move about the room, metaphorically, assessing each other, me for their needs, and they for my trustworthiness.  Sometimes we dance much closer as the relationship evolves over time or when circumstances dictate a fast forwarding, when the dance floor is suddenly titled, like the developing tragedy on the Titantic, and we find ourselves in each other’s arms, not necessarily because of our own choosing, but because life has given both of us an invitation into a depth of relationship that has now opened up to us.  And sometimes, we dance with the greatest of intimacy, as tears flow, prayers are spoken, stories are told, laughter is shared and we sit in the embrace of sacred silence, witnessing with awe the changing breathing patterns of a beloved exiting this world.

Death invites us into the deepest of contemplative stances which some have called Innocence or a state of Not-knowing.   The author of the Cloud of Unknowing writes of it.  Death educator, Stephen Levine, speaks to the issue, particularly in his book, “Who Dies?”  It is those moments of being fully present to what is occurring.  It means bringing to a situation, to a crisis, a mind that clings to nothing.  It is when we can empty ourselves of ourselves so we can be filled with Something Else and we are able to hold the Something Else in a sacred container for everyone in our presence.  In these moments, we step closer to laying claim to the mind of Christ, Christ consciousness.  We exist with clarity and compassion, our egos and sense of “I” dissolve for a time.    We are graced with stepping through that liminal veil that seemingly separates the physical/material world from that which exists as pure spirit.

Cultivating this openness to the Unknown is typically a developmental process, a maturation in the spirit, where Love slowly overtakes us and it becomes easier  to say what God is not, than it is to tell someone exactly what God is.  For me it has been a journey that started as a young man caring for the aged and has evolved into me soon becoming one of those aged ones myself.  I am experiencing a slowly opening appreciation of the archetypal Jokester and Trickster, having moved through a number of other archetypal stages along the way, i.e. Warrior, Seeker and Magician.

My daily discipline is now a hodge-podge of what I am able to do rather than what I would like to do.  Walking the dog first thing in the morning introduces me to the Zen life of my dog, Satori, who simply eats when she is hungry and sleeps when she is tired and provides me with unconditional positive regard by licking my bald head.  My daily devotions consist of reading, writing and relationships with some meditation thrown in when I able to remain awake.  I believe God is working in me, however, even when I drift off to sleep.  I integrate my day through writing about my visits with dying patients and grieving family members in brief 100 word narratives, capturing the essence of any visit I might make.  Poetry comes to me as a desire and in that desire, it usually finds its own expression.  My role is to not force it.  When “I” become involved, the poem usually grinds to a halt, I recognize this and toss it aside.  Kahlil Gibran in his book, "The Prophet", speaks of the Wander, the seeker of the lonelier way, the one who walks upon the mountaintops, and loves the unreachable heights, striving to attain that which is most unattainable.   For me, that is a rather good description of this Dancing Monk.

I began with a poem, allow me to conclude with a poem:

And We Dance

Happy we come in to the world as infants.

Emotionally balanced with memories of from where we came.

Slowly we awake to this new world,

Engaging with it with stuttering steps and a new found language.

We breathe in the Life Energy offered to us.

The world from which we came soon dissolves in our memories.

There is a forgetting.

Age advances and there is a call to grow and evolve … transform and transcend.

We are invited to seek and search for ancient truths that lead to progressive change.

For some, there is an opening, a discovering of who I am, of who I can be.

Harnessing the secrets that seem to be locked away, secrets forgotten by most.

We heal in body, mind and spirit.

Reaching out to others with our healing so they might live in the world free of pain.

In moments of quietness, the extraordinary is revealed in the ordinary.

Sobering joy descends upon us.

Our True Nature is revealed.

The realization of who we are, from whence we came and the fullness of our life

adventures is seen and appreciated.

We realign ourselves with the imagination of our spiritually mature

childhoods of innocence and wonder.

Playfulness returns.

Our hearts sing.

And we dance.

Timothy has been a hospice chaplain for the past six years. Previously, he was a Pastoral Thanatologist at a continuing care retirement community where he has worked for 35 years. His education in the realm of religion, spirituality and psychology. His early influence was Thomas Merton and now is immersed in Evolutionary Spirituality.

 

Feast of St. Francis and the Holy Fool ~ A love note from your online abbess

St. Francis at the Corner Pub

Approaching the door, you can already

hear his generous laughter.

He stands on the bar upside down for a moment

to get a new perspective on things,

a flash of polka-dotted boxers

as his brown robe cascades over his head,

sandaled toes wiggling in the air in time with

a fiddle playing in the corner.

Rain falls heavily in the deepening darkness

and he orders a round of drinks

despite his vow of poverty and the single silver coin

in his pocket, multiplied by the last Guinness poured.

Nothing like a good glass of wine, he gleefully says,

heavy Italian accent echoing through the room,

he holds it up to the overhead light, pausing for a moment

lost in its crimson splendor, breathes deeply.

At ease among fishmongers and plumbers,

widows and college students, and the

single mother sneaking out for a moment

of freedom from colic, cries, and diapers.

As the wind blows rain sideways, in come the

animals, benvenuti to pigeons, squirrels, seagulls, crows,

and the neighborhood cat balding from mange,

a chorus of yowls, coos, caws, and meows arising,

all huddle around him. No one objects to the growing

menagerie, just glad to be dry and warm.

He clinks glasses all around, no one left out.

—Christine Valters Paintner

 

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

“We are fools for the sake of Christ” (1 Cor. 4:10)

There are many aspects of Francis’ foolishness, from stripping his clothing publicly, appearing naked in the church, renouncing his wealth, befriending all creatures, and calling his community of brothers “fools for Christ” reflecting the words of St. Paul above. He tames a wolf and during the Crusades he walks unarmed across the Egyptian desert into the Sultan’s camp where he had every reason to expect his own death, a foolish act indeed.

We are always being called to new revelation and to see the world from another perspective. The inner Fool is the one who helps us to see things anew and to dismantle the accepted wisdom of our times. Paul also writes “Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” (1 Cor. 1:20b) Productivity, striving, consumption, and speed are some of the false gods of our western culture. A life committed to following the Divine path is one which makes the world’s wisdom seem foolish, but conversely, the world looks upon those with spiritual commitment often as the ones who are “fools.”

This can be a challenging archetype for some of us as we often try to do everything possible so as not to look foolish. However, this archetype is the one which helps to subvert the dominant paradigm of acceptable ways of thinking and living.  The author GK Chesterton, in his book about Francis of Assisi, explores the idea of Francis seeing the world upside down, which is really seeing it right side up, because we get a totally new perspective. There is a subversive act of truth-telling through the Fool’s humor and playfulness.

The Fool risks mockery by stepping out of socially acceptable roles and asks where are you willing to look foolish? Through the fool we find vicarious release for much we have repressed in ourselves. If we have always lived according to the “rules” or been overly concerned with how things look, the Fool invites us to break open and play. The Fool encourages us to laugh at ourselves, reminding us that humor and humility have the same root as humus, which means earthiness.

We activate the fool when we do something that others have a hard time understanding or accepting. I remember when John and I first began our move to Europe and we sold off or gave away our possessions, various family members and friends couldn’t understand different things we had let go of – how could we release our library of treasured books? How could I burn years of journals? How could John quit his secure job? To some, our choices appeared “foolish” because they didn’t fit their way of thinking about how you move through life. To others, they seemed liberating precisely because it was a different path chosen.

How does Francis call you to your own path of holy foolishness? What have you been longing to do but afraid of looking “foolish” to others?

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: Kimberly Knowle-Zeller

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Kimberly Knowle-Zeller's reflection on weeding for life.

I’ve never been a gardener. But don’t say my mother never tried to cultivate a love of the dirt and growth and soil and plants. She tried her hardest. She lived in the garden and hoped her daughter would similarly follow suit. Yet, I’ve heard her repeat over to me, “You barely pulled one weed growing up.” Perhaps it was the hard work. Or the heat. Or my impatience.

But I didn’t pull many weeds nor did I plant much as a child. So the fact that I have a garden now is quite amusing to my mother. And to be honest, it’s pretty amusing to myself as well. Because I still am impatient. I still run away from hard work at times. And I still am not a fan of the heat. But gardening I am.

In the interest of full disclosure, my mother actually planted our first bed of plants. She created the raised beds. She weeded. She watered. She nurtured. Then she went back home to Ohio. Leaving us with our new garden and the work of nourishing the plants. To my surprise, I found myself weeding at night. After our daughter was in bed and the heat subsided I would go and weed. I would pull and pull some more.

With all this rain, there have been plenty of weeds. I hear my mother’s voice, “A weed isn’t bad in and of itself. A weed is just that which we don’t want.” The weeds in my garden are those plants that aren’t life giving to the rest of my garden. They are getting in the way of full growth for my strawberry and tomato and pepper plants. Many nights I keep pulling. It’s a never ending task. I remove the weeds to make way for more growth that is sustaining.

One night as I weeded, I thought to myself, “What are the weeds in my life that I need to remove?” What are those things that aren’t necessarily bad for me, but are keeping me from truly living?” Too often I have too much and I’m not able to remember that nothing belongs to me. Too often I fail to remember that everything is a gift from God. Too often I recite the Lord’s Prayer, “give us this day our daily bread,” and I forget that my neighbor, too, needs daily bread to survive. Too often I give to Open Door Food Pantry that which I don’t want and that which is left over rather than giving from my abundance. I have plenty of weeds that are keeping me from really experiencing life.

When I pull these weeds each night and reflect on what I have, I get uncomfortable. “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded” (Luke 12:48).

I pull and pull and pull some more. I have been given much. I have been entrusted much. In shedding my attachment to things and stuff, in removing myself from the busyness and the drive to compete and gain notoriety, I begin to see myself as God sees me — a loved Child of God. When we’ve been stripped down to not needing to be defined by what we’ve accumulated, then, only then, can we really see ourselves and our neighbors for who we are — children of God. Nothing more and nothing less.

Much of the time my thinking of how much stuff I have is just that – thinking. But it’s a start. Maybe it’s enough to keep pulling those weeds. Giving thanks for the One who sustains all of life. Maybe it’s enough to sit and rest in the garden. To be still and know that God is God. Someday soon, I pray, I will start pulling those weeds in my life that are keeping me from fully living and loving and serving. For I know that my life and the life of my neighbor depends on it.

Kimberly Knowle-Zeller is an ELCA pastor, spouse of a pastor, and mother to a one-year-old.  She currently lives in Cole Camp, MO. In her free time, Kim enjoys serving on the board of the Sedalia Area Farmer's Market.

 

 

Water, Wind, Earth & Fire: Wisdom for Life’s Journey ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

This week we marked the autumn equinox, a time when the sun rests above the equator, and day and night are divided equally. It heralds a season filled with change, celebrates the harvest, and ushers in the brilliant beauty of death. Autumn is a season of transition, of continual movement.

In the ancient Celtic tradition, these seasonal turning points are threshold times when we are invited to pay close attention.

Another ancient practice was that of drawing a circle of protection around oneself, as a way of creating safe boundaries and honouring the divine presence surrounding us. Sometimes the world can feel quite threatening and the circle is a sacred symbol of wholeness. This practice was later incorporated into the Christian tradition and we see examples of it in St. Patrick’s breastplate prayer – Christ before me, behind me, to my right, to my left, above me, within me, around me, and in everyone I meet. There are many examples of this prayer, with the Deer’s Cry being perhaps the best known.

This practice of drawing a circle of protection is also intimately connected with a prayer of the directions. When we name the presence of Christ and the sacred in every direction — in the east with the resurrection, with the rising sun in the south at the hour of fullness and fires burning brightly within, in the setting sun at dusk that reminds of our own limits and the sweetness of what is most precious, and the darkness of the north, a place of mystery, unknowing, rest, and incubation – we come to know this presence as infusing our every encounter. We come to honor the seasons of our lives.

The Celts traditionally aligned the directions with the four elements as well (this is a practice in many indigenous traditions) and we find it later integrated into some Christian prayers and awareness. St. Hildegard of Bingen in 12th century Germany followed this same alignment in her teachings too.

The season of autumn is connected to the hour of dusk, to the waning of the moon, and to the element of water. Water invites us to yield and surrender our own ambitions and striving, and allow a wiser and more fluid source to move through us.

Fall calls me to let go of false assumptions, wrests my too-small images of God from me as I slowly approach the Mystery of dying and rising. Autumn demands that I release what I think is important to do and returns me to the only thing which matters that I remember—to love and to allow love to sculpt me, even as it sometimes breaks my heart. Water reminds us to allow the river of love to flow freely through us.

But equally, this season calls us to the harvest. Seeds planted long ago create a bounty and fullness in our lives. Autumn invites me to remember the places in my life where I had a dream that once felt tiny and has now grown and ripened into fullness. The element of water reminds me of the wide expanse of the sea and in the Irish landscape the abundance of holy wells which are signs of the abundant source of life available to us.

The directions and elements are a part of an incarnational spirituality, one that honors the divine presence all around us and infusing us, and an intimate part of creation.

Water, Wind, Earth, & Fire: The Practice of Praying with the Elements starts tomorrow! Join us on a journey into deeper intimacy with nature through reflections, creative practices including SoulCollage®, movement, and song. We also are hosting a discussion forum where a vibrant conversation always unfolds.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World Guest Post: Ann Hoare

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Ann Hoare's reflection on experiencing the beauty that enlarges life.

‘Once the soul awakens, the search begins and you can never go back. From then on, you are inflamed with a special longing which will never again let you linger in the lowlands of complacency and partial fulfilment. The eternal makes you urgent. You are loath to let compromise or the threat of danger hold you back from striving towards the summit of fulfilment. When this spiritual path opens, you can bring an incredible generosity to the world and to the lives of others.’

These beautiful words from John O’Donohue’s Anam Cara, profoundly influence my spiritual journey. My spiritual formation is that of St Ignatius Loyola – Ignatian spirituality – that has its roots in the conviction that God is active, personal, and—above all—present to us. Ignatian spirituality is a spirituality for everyday life. It starts from God in our world and active in our lives. It is a pathway to deeper prayer, the grace of spiritual freedom, good decisions by keen discernment, and an active life of service to others. Jesuit priest David Fleming wrote: it is a spiritual “way of proceeding” that offers a vision of life; an understanding of God; a reflective approach to living; a contemplative way of praying; a reverential attitude to our world; and an expectation of finding God daily. So for me, God’s footprints can be found everywhere—in my work and relationships, in my family and friends, in my sorrows and joys, in the sublime beauty of nature and in the mundane details of my daily life.

One of the key elements of Ignatian spirituality is the Daily Examen, a technique of prayerful reflection on the day’s events in order to detect God’s presence. In these reflections I return often to a constant theme in my life – why am I here? What is my purpose? To paraphrase Mary Oliver, what do I plan to do with my one wild and precious life? The ongoing discernment of the Examen provides an answer to these questions. I am here to make a difference: to all lives that touch mine and to all God’s creatures; to live a life of service; and to do this with passion and joy.

In these often troubled times it is easy to become disillusioned and to join in the 'woe is me chorus'; to forget that in spite of the newspaper stories and TV sound bites that tell us otherwise, the good and the beautiful surround us as well, if we just take the time to notice. The following excerpt from O’Donohue’s poem A Blessing for One Who is Exhausted complements the Examen perfectly:

Take refuge in your senses, open up 

to all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain

when it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,

Taking time to open the well of colour

That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone

until its calmness can claim you.

Be excessively gentle with yourself. 

Stay clear of those vexed in spirit.

Learn to linger around someone of ease

who feels they have all the time in the world

Gradually you will return to yourself,

having learned a new respect for your heart

and the joy that dwells far within slow time.

Thomas Moore in Care of the Soul, writes that the soul craves beauty, and is nurtured by beauty. What food is to the body, arresting, complex, and pleasing images are to the soul. For the soul, it is important to be taken out of the rush of practical life, out of all the messiness, and busyness of our everyday lives, for the contemplation of the timeless and eternal realities.

Beauty is a necessary part of my ordinary life. Each day I look for those moments when my soul glimpses an occasion for beauty, not just in my surrounds but in the people I meet, and those unexpected encounters that lighten and brighten my days.

Today my life was filled with beauty. As I drove to an afternoon tea to celebrate the 89th birthday of a still practising artist, I took notice of the cloudless blue sky, the Cassia and Golden Rain trees bursting into bloom, and the pelicans as they perched on the bridge spanning the bay. We ate cake and sang happy birthday, and listened to the stories from a long and creative life, filled with passion and joy. On my way home I paused to sit by the sea and watch the myriad of colours streaking the sky as the setting sun cast its light across the water.

Now as I reflect on this day I give thanks for the loveliness of autumn, for the beauty of creation and for friendship. Again I return to John O’donahue who wrote that ‘to experience beauty is to have your life enlarged’ and at the end of this day, I feel that my life is enlarged indeed."

I am a fledgling spiritual director, a facilitator of prayer and reflection days, with a particular interest in art and prayer, and a giver of the first Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius Loyola. I live in Brisbane, Australia.

 

 

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