Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 113

Monk in the World guest post: Isaura Barrera

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Isaura Barrera's reflection on praying the hours to connect with Infinite Light and Love.

When I decided to explore submitting a guest blog, I looked up the word “monk” on Wikipedia and found the following quote from St. John Klimakos: “Angels are a light for monks, monks are a light for laymen.” These words echoed my belief that being a monk in the world is about light—finding it, reclaiming it, sustaining it, sharing it—not in contradiction to darkness but as a reality intimately intertwined with it.

I believe everyone receives Infinite Light and Love at conception, incarnate in the human light and love we are given to cultivate, safeguard, enjoy, and share. As a child, I had a strong sense of that light. That sense slowly lessened as I encountered “adult” reality I could not reconcile with it. About 10 years ago, haunted by memories of my childhood’s sure sense of Light and Love and inspired by a deep friendship that revived that sense, I started to journal my journey to reawaken it fully once again. It was a private search and a private journal, shared with only one or two close friends. Gradually, though, I’ve came to the realization that I need to share my journey more openly. The first step in that direction was the publication of my journal as an eBook. This blog submission is my second step. I’ve taken both steps with trepidation. Being a monk in the world when one is basically an introvert and private person is not easy. Even so, I keep feeling called to share my inner “monk self” more publically. My hope is that such sharing will help others and myself to trust the presence of Infinite Light and Love more consistently; that it will help me as well as others be more faithful through the ups and downs of our sensing of it.

For many years, I believed it was Infinite Light and Love itself rather than my sense of it that waxed and waned. Now I am learning differently. Inspired by Steinal-Rast and Lebell’s The Music of Silence and Wiederkehr’s Seven Sacred Pauses, I’ve started a simple practice.

Using the framework of the liturgical hours as a metaphor for the changing facets of my sense of Infinite Light and Love, I’ve developed a series of reflections in which each “hour” marks the degree to which I am sensing of Infinite Light and Love at a given time. It is a practice that helps me both attend to and cultivate the living out of Infinite Light and Love in my daily life. At times, it reminds me that when my sense of Infinite Light and Love is strong I should not cling to it, even as one cannot cling to the sun’s bright light at noon. At other times, it reminds me that I need not grieve its passing, for it will once again be strong and even darkness offers unexpected gifts.

Typically, after discerning which “hour” most closely corresponds to my sense of Infinite Light and Love at a given time, I reflect on that time—what it looks like, what feelings it evokes, its colors and sounds—and on discerning its invitation. If, for example, I do not fully sense Infinite Light and Love (a good time to turn to the reflections) yet I can intuit its presence “just around the corner,” I imagine a pre-dawn scene. If, on the other hand, my sense of Infinite Light and Love seems to be fading rather than emerging, I imagine a mid-afternoon scene.

REFLECTIONS

Still-hidden Light (Pre-dawn)

Am I filled with a growing sense of Infinite Light and Love gently nudging my darkness aside, giving off glimmers that herald its coming fullness like early birdsong heralds a coming dawn? INVITATION: Go forth to the very edges of your longing to receive what waits, wrapped and hidden from sight.

Light on the Horizon (Dawn)

Is my sense of Infinite Light and Love breaking over the horizon of my longing, sending streams of forgotten colors to announce its reawakening? INVITATION: Attend to what is being revealed and released from shadow.

Full Light (Mid-morning)

Is my sense of Infinite Light and Love clear, clothing my world with bright colors and ringing sounds? INVITATION: Embrace and give thanks for miracles revealed, reclaimed, and re-membered.

Luminous Light (Noon)

Am I filled with a sense of the transcending presence and strength of Infinite Light and Love? (May be a time of wonder or, at times, one that overwhelms, challenging my sense of security and control.) INVITATION: Celebrate eternity palpable in finite time and space.

Waning Light and Growing Shadows (Mid-afternoon)

Is my sense of the strength and presence of Infinite Light and Love fading, invaded by growing shadows of shifting feelings, memories, perceptions, and experience? INVITATION: Listen intently to the continuation of Light’s inner music, which never stops even as it becomes less audible, and its dance, which never ends even as it becomes less visible.

Lamp-lighting Time (Evening)

Is my sense of the absence of Infinite Light and Love increasing, erasing the boundaries between light and dark while, paradoxically, simultaneously offering bright splashes of color that pierce the growing darkness? INVITATION: Fill your spirit with splashes of color, distilled like honey from the pollen of all that’s blossomed in the day.

Darkness (Night)

Is my sense of Infinite Light and Love enveloped in darkness, challenged by the mystery of absence? INVITATION: Return the gift of presence to Presence, guided by “no other light than that which burns in your heart” (St. John of the Cross).

Vigil- Keeping Time (Midnight)

Has my sense of the absence of Infinite Light and Love deepened to where even heart’s light is having difficulty detecting piercing the darkness? INVITATION: Seek intimacy even in absence; tune in to the beloved melody of Infinite Light and Love, waiting like unsung notes to be given voice once again."

A lifelong spiritual explorer, Isaura Barrera lives in San Antonio, Texas. She has lived in Buffalo, NY, where she obtained her Ph.D. in Educational Research and Evaluation as well as in Albuquerque, NM where she spent 20 years as faculty in the Special Education department at the University of New Mexico. She recently retired as professor emerita from that university and is now following her bliss and pursuing a Master’s degree in Spirituality from the Oblate School of Theology. She has co-published three books focused on Skilled Dialogue, an approach she developed for crafting respectful, reciprocal and responsive interactions across diverse perspectives and values. Though these book indirectly reflected her spirituality it is only this year that she has published her first book with an explicitly spiritual focus, Beloved’s Gift: Reflections on Following Soul’s Song into Love, Hope and Faith.

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Do you hear your inner monk and artist calling? ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

The heart of human identity is the capacity and desire for birthing.

To be is to become creative and bring forth the beautiful.

– John O’Donohue

Discovering the monastic way has been one of the great joys of my life.  Years ago I thought the life of monks had nothing substantial to offer me in the world beyond the monastery walls.  Ironically, while growing up in New York City, one of my favorite museums was The Cloisters which is a branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art on the north end of Manhattan overlooking the Hudson River.  It was created from elements of five different medieval French monasteries. I loved wandering the cool stone hallways, gazing at the pages of illuminated manuscripts, admiring the unicorn tapestries, sitting in the peace and refreshment of the medieval garden.  I was not aware of it consciously at the time, but the aesthetic dimension of monasticism had captured my heart long before I knew about the contemplative wisdom and rhythms of prayer that would one day become my spiritual home.

While I was in graduate school I became enamored with Hildegard of Bingen, the 12th century Benedictine abbess who was an artist, visionary, musician, theologian, preacher, spiritual director, and healer. I was captivated by her sheer creative breadth.  I felt a kinship to her expansive spirit.  She could be a wisdom guide for me across time. I grew curious about the context of her life and what supported her creative flourishing.  As the Abbess of a Benedictine community, she was of course deeply immersed in monastic life and practices and so this became the doorway into my own passion for Benedictine spirituality.

Through Hildegard’s guidance, I discovered that the way of the monk is deeply connected to my path as an artist and writer.  Monks have been the great preservers of literary tradition, saving many sacred texts from destruction and loss during the dark ages and illuminating manuscripts with gorgeous art.  They have offered their gifts in the service of creating beautiful spaces of sanctuary.  Monasticism has given us the great tradition of chant to immerse us in the continuous cascade of praying the hours.  These ways of being in the world have been cultivated over hundreds of years of practice and offer us tremendous wisdom about what it means to live a meaningful, vital, and creative life.

When my husband and I moved to Seattle after graduate school, I made the journey toward becoming a Benedictine Oblate. I have a deep love of Benedictine tradition, as well as the gifts of Celtic and desert monasticism.  The monastic way is my primary path through the world and the foundation of my work in spiritual formation, direction, and teaching.

You may arrive to the Abbey as an artist or writer seeking spiritual practices to help ground and support your creative expression. Or you may be someone who is already familiar with the treasures of monastic tradition, but looking for another window onto this way of life. Perhaps you have intuitively known the connections between contemplative practice and creative expressions and this book will feel like coming home.

You are most welcome here.

To dive more deeply into the Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist, join us for our 12-week online journey in community which begins tomorrow!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner at Corcomroe Abbey

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Monk in the World guest post: Nancy Agneberg

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Nancy Agneberg's reflection Mindful Moments. Sometimes.

I would have preferred to sleep a bit later this Sunday morning, but I am one of the presenters at the Adult Forum between services at our church, and we will attend the early service first. I have prepared my brief talk, a quick three-minute one, and am not nervous, but nonetheless, that is on my mind as I head to the lower level of our house to take a shower. I walk through our teeny-tiny kitchen and down the stairs. I take my shower and dress and, walking through the teeny-tiny kitchen again, I proceed to the first floor bathroom where I put on my make-up. 

Great, I think, when I am ready for the day, I have time for a bowl of cereal before we need to leave for church. It is then, only then, I notice something new in the kitchen, which I have walked through twice already this morning. It is Valentine's Day and on the window sill over the sink are four small red pots filled with fluffy, fresh herbs, a present from my forever Valentine husband. How could I have missed them?

Mindful? Not so much.

Another story. 

The next day I get in the car to drive to a friend's apartment. We are meeting to plan a talk on mindfulness, of all things, which we have been asked to give at church. I drive the familiar route along the Mississippi River dividing St Paul, Minnesota, where I live, from Minneapolis. I cross the river on the Ford Parkway Bridge and note how there seem to be a few small areas of open water on this bright winter day. I look for the soaring of a bald eagle, who frequents this area. No sign of him today, but just recalling other times when I have spotted him swooping close to the water is a gift of spirit. I make the turn to drive through Minnehaha Park, a route I always take to visit my elderly father in a nearby suburb. I congratulate myself for making such a mindful decision, choosing a longer route, but a less-traveled one, lined with gracious old homes and trails for walking and biking along the winding creek. Yes, a mindful decision, until I realize today my destination is not my father's apartment, but Ruth's apartment. I should have taken a left in the park, instead of a right, and now I will be late for our appointment.

Mindful? Nope.

I laugh at myself and remember St Benedict's kind, true, and apt words, “Always, we begin again.” I wasn't mindful. I wasn't present to the moment at hand, but I have yet another chance to begin again and to practice awareness. To wake up and be mindful. I know all to well that mindfulness is not something I can achieve. I can't cross it off my bucket or life list and announce, “Got it! I am now mindful.”

Some days I remember to be more attentive to the rhythm of the day, to my own breath and the quickening of my heart. Some days I remember to pause for a breath break at the end of one task before starting another. Some days I remember to give thanks before sitting at my desk to write a new post for my blog and work on a chapter for a much longer project. Some days I realize what I most need to do is choose a pretty note card from my stash and write to a friend who has had surgery recently or another friend, who needs to know someone is thinking of her right here, right now. 

Some days I am more mindful, but over time I have learned being mindful is more possible on the days I have started my day with an “on-cushion” practice. On-cushion practice refers to Buddhist formal meditation practices, but in my case it means devoting an hour or more to studying a sacred book, writing in my journal, praying and sitting in silence for twenty minutes or more, noticing my breath and the thoughts interrupting the stillness. Rev. Jane Vennard in her book Fully Awake and Truly Alive, Spiritual Practices to Nurture Your Soul says “the purpose of meditation practice is to take what is learned on cushion into everyday life.” Off-cushion. 

Off-cushion I give thanks for the morning light as I raise the living and dining room blinds. Off-cushion I make the bed and give thanks for a good night's rest. Off-cushion I notice signs of changes in the seasons as I walk our neighborhood. Off-cushion I watch young children frolic as they head to school, and I pray our children and grandchildren have a good day. I attempt to move through the day open to off-cushion opportunities and have learned the more I attend to them the more there are to discover. My heart yearns towards such fullness. 

Yes, I am mindful – until the next mindless moment, but even that mindless moment offers a gift. Now every time I walk into our kitchen, I smile at the cheery green herbs in their red pots, and I think about the considerate, loving nature of my Valentine. And the next time I drive the familiar route along the river and through the park, I suspect I will pay more attention to where I am going and what I am seeing. That is my prayer."

Nancy L. Agneberg is a spiritual director whose joy is helping others discover the richness of contemplative practices. After 20 years of living in other states, she and her husband have happily returned "home" to Minnesota. Currently, Nancy is writing a spiritual memoir, as well as frequent posts on her blog, Clearing the Space, One Woman's Journey.

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Join us for Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

June 9th is the feast of St. Columcille, one of Ireland’s three patron saints, and the founder of the monastic community in Iona. Above is Marcy Hall’s wonderful dancing monk icon of him.

On June 13th we begin a summer online journey through my book The Artist’s Rule called Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist.  Out of all my books, this one is still the best selling title, I think because it taps into this deep hunger for integrating contemplative practice with creative expression. When I started the Abbey 10 years ago I had no idea how far and wide the community of monks and artists extended in the world waiting for a place to call their own.

These words, inspired by a poetry writing exercise to write a poem of instruction, tumbled forth from me years ago as I discerned writing the book:

Be. Here. This Moment Now is all there is, don’t go seeking another. Discover the sacred in your artist’s tools, they are the vessels of the altar of your own unfolding. Look at this cup of holy water, washing clean the brushes. See the blank page, awaiting your blessing. Gaze on the colors before you, each one a name of God: Saffron, Cobalt, Azure, Ruby. Say each one slowly and taste its juice in your mouth. Let this be your prayer. Brush them across the page. First the small strokes, then the larger sweeps. Lose track of all time. This too is prayer. Listen for the words that rise up: Awaken. Envision. Sing. Alleluia. Place marks on the page saying I am here. Watch as word and image dance together. Luminous. Illuminated. This is your sacred text. This is where God’s words are spoken, sometimes in whispers, sometimes in shouts. Be there to catch them as they pass over those sacred lips, tumbling so generously into your open arms.

Most of the books I write are process-oriented, meaning that they are best savored slowly, working through the material week by week, rather than in one big gulp. Much like the way of the monk. They are also enriched by engaging in them in community, to enter into conversation around the ideas, to share one’s creations in a safe space, these all bring the work to life even more.

For this next offering of the 12-week online retreat I have a special added bonus of six teleconference calls where I will be sharing further on the ideas in The Artist’s Rule, from 5 years on after publication. If you can’t make the scheduled times these will be recorded for later listening.

Join us for Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist. There is always an amazing community of monks and artists that forms. You do need to purchase the book to accompany it as well.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Columcille Dancing Monk icon by Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts

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Monk in the World guest post: Tim Olivieri

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Tim Olivieri's reflection on not overthinking compassion.

In my early 20’s I lived as a member of a Roman Catholic religious order. Once, while traveling to visit family, a woman in the Philadelphia airport began to make conversation with me. A the time, I was reading  In The Spirit of Happiness by the Monks of New Skete. She told me how her employer had called her to Philadelphia only the night before. She arrived that morning, was unceremoniously fired, and put on the first flight home. She was putting on a brave face and trying to laugh about the inhumanity of it all. I could only imagine the pain, embarrassment, and uncertainty that she was feeling, and would likely feel more intensely later that night. As my flight was called, I gave her my book. She had a long wait, followed by a long flight and then an uncertain homecoming. She was a single mother who was very recently unemployed.

Years later, I am no longer, by all outward appearances, a monk. I am married. I am a father. I wear a tie to my secular job. I meditate daily. But, unlike my former life, I also worry about bills, work deadlines, the sorry state of my retirement account and if I will be able to pay for my daughter to receive the quality education I feel she deserves.

Silence, as a spiritual practice, has always come easily to me. From the time I first read Thomas Merton in high school I began finding peace and serenity once I retreated into silence. My walking meditation has likewise always been an enjoyable practice. Where I have always been lacking was in the area of compassion. Empathy? No problem. I find that I empathize with others readily. I recognize their suffering. I’m just very bad at doing anything about it.

I’m inclined toward introversion. My spiritual practice throughout my teens and 20’s was introspective. I empathized with the homeless and the suffering. But I never ventured outside of my comfort zone to learn how to connect with them.  I never would have had the positive interaction with the woman in the airport had she not started the conversation. It was easier to simply bask in my silence. Retreating inward is easy. My challenge is the outside world.

Spiritual exercises are not unlike physical exercises. When they become too easy the benefit to us diminishes greatly. The resistance we experience enables us to grow. Without resistance, there is no growth.

Flash forward to my present life. An Ivy League university with a multi-billion dollar endowment is situated to my right. To my left, you can see the probation office, the drug treatment center and the subsidized housing. Right in the middle is the trendy little walking commons where the two worlds meet. The homeless beg for money and food while the wealthy browse in trendy shops. I have to walk through this space to get to my office every day. My walking meditation often makes me oblivious to those around me. I cannot count the number of times that, wholly wrapped up in my own introspection, I have walked past a particular corner with a daily changing homeless person. Even when I am aware of their presence, I find myself feeling awkward. I’m embarrassed to meet their gaze. I’m too ashamed to admit that I don’t know how to help. Too ashamed to admit that I wouldn’t know what to say.

One especially cold winter day, I was preparing to leave the office when I noticed three small oranges in the break room that were free for the taking. I love oranges. I put them into my coat pocket and headed out. It was snowing. The falling snow was brilliantly illuminated by the street lights. Students and locals walked about, ducking into expensive shops, upscale eateries and high end cafes. There, on that same corner, was a woman huddled beneath a comforter.

My meditative walk was uninterrupted. I walked over and pulled the oranges out of my pocket and offered them to her.

“Hi, I’m Tim. What’s your name?” I said without giving myself an opportunity to think before speaking.

“I’m Sarah. Thank you," she said as she took the fruit.

“Enjoy them, Sarah. Please stay warm.”

“I will, God Bless you,” she said.

As I walked toward my car I realized that my weakness was not in compassion. Rather, my weakness was overthinking compassion. On this occasion I acted without conscious thought. On any other day I selfishly worried about how I might “do” compassion wrong; how I may embarrass myself by saying the wrong thing. And so, I avoided saying anything. In doing so I missed the point of my meditative reflections and my efforts– to be a better person.

Is there a moral here? Perhaps. Don’t think about being a better person. Just be."

 

Tim Olivieri is a former member of a Roman Catholic religious order. After leaving the religious life he converted to Judaism. He now lives in Ithaca, NY with his wife and daughter and maintains a daily spiritual practice.

 

 

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St. Kevin and Holy Yielding ~ A love note from your online abbess

St. Kevin and the Blackbird

(after Seamus Heaney)

Imagine being like Kevin,

your grasping fist softens,

fingers uncurl and

palms open, rest upward,

and the blackbird

weaves twigs and straw and bits of string

in the begging bowl of your hand,

you feel the delicate weight of

speckled blue orbs descend,

and her feathered warmth

settling in for a while.

How many days can you stay,

open,

waiting

for the shell

to fissure and crack,

awaiting the slow emergence

of tiny gaping mouths

and slick wings

that need time to strengthen?

Are you willing to wait and watch?

To not withdraw your

affections too soon?

Can you fall in love with the

exquisite ache in your arms

knowing the hatching it holds?

Can you stay not knowing

how broad those wings will

become, or how they will fly

awkwardly at first,

then soar above you

until you have become the sky

and all that remains is

your tiny shadow

swooping across the earth.

—Christine Valters Paintner

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

June 3rd is the feast day of St. Kevin. The story of Kevin and the Blackbird is perhaps one of my favorites of all the Celtic saints.  He would pray every day in a small hut with arms outstretched. The hut was so small though that one arm reached out the window. One day, a blackbird landed in his palm, and slowly built a nest there. Kevin realized what was happening and knew that he could not pull his hand back with this new life being hatched there. So he spent however many days or weeks it took for the eggs to be laid, and the tiny birds to hatch, and for them to ready themselves to fly away.

I love this story because it is such an image of yielding, of surrendering to something that was not in the “plans,” but instead, receiving it as gift. Instead of sitting there in agony trying to figure out how to move the bird, he enters into this moment with great love and hospitality.

How many times in our lives do we reach out our hands for a particular purpose, and something else arrives? Something that may cause discomfort, something we may want to pull away from, but in our wiser moments we know that this is a holy gift we are invited to receive.

Join us in Ireland on pilgrimage where St. Kevin is one of our wisdom guides for the journey!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © St. Kevin Dancing Monk Icon by Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts.

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Monk in the World guest post: Susan O’Connell

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Susan O’Connell's reflection listening and contemplation:

Listening to the silence is truly one of the great spiritual practices, in which we tune into a deeper level of being and of experience. Silence in nature can facilitate that deeper connection to ourselves through allowing us to listen more deeply to our hearts and bodies. Nature or wilderness can provide a holding environment so that we can relax the ways we chronically constrict ourselves. (Hutton, 2003, p. 250)

Having an affinity for communication and service, it came as a surprise to me how much my soul yearned for quiet.  In response, I began to dedicate time to contemplative practices such as yoga, meditation, creative expression and nature walks. These slow and quieting practices enabled me to reach deep into the well of silence. They assisted me to listen to, and trust, subtle ways of knowing beyond thought. Contemplative practices created space to explore the Divine mystery, to become aware of my soul’s longing, and to be fully present to others, often recognizing an unspoken meaning.  I began to have glimmers of understanding about Longaker’s (2003) words regarding the “spaciousness,” and “unbounded gratitude” found through meditative practices (p.8).

The contemplative practices holding the deepest meaning for me take place in nature. As long as I remember, I have felt a connection with the natural world. At the time of my upbringing, children were encouraged to be outdoors a good part of the day and into the evening. I was allowed the experience of being alone in a sensual natural world. My child’s heart and body felt connected to earth when I was surrounded by the beautiful, singing, and creative world. My imagination came alive when I witnessed the crashing waves, the trees dancing in the wind, and the pelicans in flight. Further, I was drawn into the mystery of life, recognizing both a sense of self and the Sacred. It was in nature that I most easily experienced well-being, wonder and joy. Today, I am aware how deeply nature has informed me throughout life.

To return to dedicated nature engagements in adult life is a blessing. My favorite contemplative practice involves walking in nature. Being in nature assists me to empty my busy mind which creates a spacious opening for image, soul and the Sacred.  When I stay faithful to my daily walks, I feel my senses opening in alignment with the natural world and all beings.  I notice an inner sense similar to a burst of color, texture, and joy, as when coming out of a dark, dense forest and being surprised to see a green meadow carpeted in wildflowers and interwoven vines. As I bear witness to, and absorb, the diversity found in nature, I am called to offer back care for earth and those beings that live in the wild. These experiences serve to awaken me from sensory slumber and I sense a re-kindling of life love. These sparks of light grow to flames that nourish me.  I understand that for me the natural world offers a portal to the Sacred. This is all very quiet, yet powerful.

There seems to be an invitation from the sacred regardless of the contemplative practice chosen. Within months of returning to contemplative practices, I noticed a resurgence of creative energy. It became clear that nature inspires my creative expression. This occurs organically through listening, which offers space for the unknown, and through walks in nature, which provide image, rhythm, and diversity.  My imagination is enlivened through a cross pollination of practices.

One way I explored the healing aspects of nature and creative expression was in addressing the grief that accompanied my father’s death.  The image that spoke to my sense of sorrow was that of a bleak, snow-laden landscape with no growth as far as the eye could see. The sky above was steely gray and unmoving. The sound was muted, and the air was icy cold. I pictured myself lying on the cold snow facing the gray sky while snow softly fell from the sky. I was exposed to the harsh elements even as the world turned around me. Visualizing and then painting this image offered comfort as I fully received and digested one of nature’s cycles.

The gifts of contemplative practices and listening are varied and subtle; offering an avenue for inner and outer growth and expression, as well as experiential recognition of the Sacred. Thomas Merton writes beautifully;

'When I am liberated by silence, when I am no longer involved in the measurement of life, but in the living of it, I can discover a form of prayer in which there is effectively, no distraction. My whole life becomes a prayer. My whole silence is full of prayer. The world of silence in which I am immersed contributes to my prayer.'

(In Dear, 2001, p. 29)

As my openness and receptivity expands so too does my calm center merge into my everyday life until I experience a sense of belonging and unification with all of life. I feel released from many self-imposed and learned constrictions. All this invites me to offer myself to the world in a new way, and I am grateful.

Today, I continue to follow the call to engage the many ways of listening through contemplation practices knowing this as a lifelong learning process. I notice how contemplative practices influence the way I navigate within the context of communication. As I stumble along this learning path, my language broadens even as it decreases, and I have come to appreciate open, non-valuing queries and comments. These changes enable me to be more compassionately present to others, regardless of where they find themselves in life. I notice this benefits both the speaker and the listener when deep listening encourages reciprocity and rapport, which enables communication to flow trustingly from one heart to another.  I begin to understand Ausburger’s beautiful meaning; “Being listened to is so close to being loved that most people don’t know the difference (In Brady, 2009, p. 15).”

References

Abram, D. (1996). The spell of the sensuous. New York: Random House. Cameron, J. (1998). On the path to creativity. Shambala Sun 6(5), 36-41.

Dear, J. (2001). Living Peace: A Spirituality of Contemplative and Action. Doubleday Religious Publishing

Hutton, M. (2003). Listening to the land. In M. Brady (Ed.), The wisdom of listening (pp.243-260). Somerville, MA: Wisdom Publications.

Lawrence, Brother. (Ed.) (2003). The practice of the presence of God. Boston: New Seeds Books.

Longaker, C. (2003). Listening with presence, awareness, and love. In M. Brady (Ed.), The wisdom of listening (pp. 7-22). Somerville, MA: Wisdom Publications.

Muller, W. (1999). Sabbath. New York: Bantam Books.

Susan O’Connell, MTP serves as the Creative Expression Certificate (CEC) Director at Sofia University where she also teaches Creative Expression and Ecopsychology. Susan serves as Co-Chair for IEATA where she was awarded the professional credential of Registered Expressive Arts Consultant/Educator (REACE). She also serves through a multi-cultural ministry.

 

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Pilgrimage + Join us for the free Illuminating the Way monthly calls ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

It is hard for me to believe that ten years ago this month I first started writing the blog that became Abbey of the Arts and a global community. It is also hard for me to believe that four years ago my husband John and I were wrapping up the details of our life in Seattle, to go on a midlife adventure and pilgrimage to Europe and see where we would land.  It is impossibly delightful that we have rooted ourselves here in Galway and now offer pilgrimages to others.

I offer you this reprise of a reflection I posted during that spring season of shifting in May 2012:

My husband and I put up the For Sale sign on our life as we know it. Our home has already sold, now we move through the process of closing. Something Holy is calling us East. It is an ancestral call, it is the call of the land itself, it is the call of our own unfolding longings. This time of preparation has many challenges and much grief and yet it is an essential part of the journey. This northwest landscape enlivens our souls, our friends are dear and beautiful, our neighborhood is thriving. This is a life we love, we are not running away from anything, but toward something invisible, yet shimmering with possibility. A new way of being, a simpler life, a slower life, a life with deep roots in ancestral stories, a life of more risk and adventure. A life full of things we can't even yet imagine.

We are feeling the call to move toward "an invisible goal, expending great energy with the possibility of failure; to live on migratory pathways into the future. . . an ancient summons. . . against the reasonable and safe." (Marianne Worcester) The natural world offers us so many symbols that speak to our inner life, creation is a map to the spiritual life. Everything outward is symbolic of an inner reality.

What is it that calls the great beating hearts of wild geese and king salmon, humpback whales and monarch butterflies to the very long, and often arduous, journey from one place to another? They do not doubt this call. They do not spend time and energy telling themselves stories why they can't follow the patterns of thousands of generation before them. They obey the longing, and in witnessing to that kind of obedience, we as witnesses are taught something about being a monk in the world.

My husband and I are carried on this journey ahead by the ancient wisdom of monks:

Our obedience to a call, an invisible thread drawing us forward; our commitment to conversion and always being surprised by God, even the monastic call to stability – which usually refers to staying in one place for a lifetime – in our case means staying with our experience and all of its doubts, uncertainties, questions, and judgments, and not running away from the inner challenges of being alive.

We must embrace a radical kind of inner hospitality as we welcome in all of the strangeness that we feel in moving to a foreign culture. Navigating new worlds, learning new customs, deepening into a foreign language, are all ways of extending welcome to the stranger within ourselves.

A profound kind of humility is also being demanded of us, as we recognize that we do not know – we do not know what exactly will happen, we do not know how long we will be there, we do not know how we will be changed by this experience. We will surely stumble and fall. We will certainly act foolishly at times. We do not know the magnitude of this path.

Simplicity is also calling to us. We are selling things and home and car and will be moving into a much smaller apartment in Vienna where we will rely on walking and excellent public transit. My husband has let go of his secure income and so we will have to live simply to make our finances stretch further. And in this letting go I feel the lifting of many burdens.

What will ground us is a commitment to return to the center. To make space for silence and solitude so that we can integrate all that is happening and unfolding. So that we might listen. The monk in the world knows that these holy pauses are essential for discovering the meaning of our experiences. There is no map, only the dropping deep into our hearts to hear the next step.

To return for a moment to the metaphor of migration and nature as wise teacher, I am exploring what it means to live a wild life. A wild life is one that is not domesticated or tamed or confined into boxes of safety, convention, or expectation. It is a risky way of being, because in the wild there is always an encounter with fierce forces. But the alternative is to slowly suffocate on dreams that dissolve by never allowing the opening. Monks are not concern with maintaining the status quo. The first monks went out into the fierce desert, knowing that life on the edges was fertile and rich. Living from the wild heart means remembering that God, the source and sustainer of everything, can see horizons much wider than we ever can.

What is the invisible thread you are being called to follow?

What would living from the wild heart mean for you in this season?

Stop by Monasteries of the Heart to read my guest post there.

Make sure to join us tomorrow for the first of our free monthly teleconference calls about my newest book Illuminating the Way: Embracing the Wisdom of Monks and Mystics.

If you missed our free Pilgrimage Preview Call, you can download it here. Listen to Christine read some poems, guide you in lectio divina, and hear John and Christine talk about what they love about pilgrimage as a sacred practice.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner leaving behind the U.S. in 2012 for our life pilgrimage

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One space just opened in our September 20-28, 2016 Ireland Pilgrimage!

We just had one space come available for the September 20-28, 2016 dates of our Soul's Slow Ripening itinerary out of Galway where we explore Celtic wisdom for discernment. Imagine 8 nights on the wild west coast of Ireland exploring monastic ruins with kindred souls.

Please get in touch with me if you are interested in joining us or have any questions. Full payment for the program will be due at the time of registration.

Program details here>>

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Monk in the World guest post: Mary Thomason-Smith

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Mary Thomason-Smith's reflection on the homily of birdsong.

All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres—Maltbie D. Babcock

Stepping on my deck for a deep, belly breath full of fresh air, the tranquility of an Indiana summer morning invites me to stillness, to receive the peaceful offerings of dawn.  Green morning glory vines noodle their way through the wooden rails and posts that frame my space for prayer.  A rabbit nibbles on clover just beyond the deck. The breeze stirs, ringing my neighbor’s wind chimes.  The proud cardinal in the white pine summons me to morning prayer with his pure, cheer cheer.  Aromas of dampened soil and grass rise like incense from the earth, while the warmth of golden light on my face is a morning discourse of the gospel:  I am the light of the world.  My soul settles in this space of serenity, my body softens to nature’s gentle, awakening presence, while sounds and scents vibrate with her hospitality of belonging:  the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it, the world and all who live in it.

Creation sings to me God’s love song.  Free of pretense, distortion or deception, it is a clear song given by our Divine Creator; a song pure of heart, utterly honest, trustworthy.  I am not a stranger to song, having spent my life pursuing excellence of musical expression as a classical pianist, an organist, and presently directing a choir.  Though graduate studies, I taught aural training and sightsinging to musicians, a course of study to develop a musician’s ear to identify musical patterns and relationships, to discern characteristics of harmony (major or minor chords, for example), to measure the distance between two pitches (intervals), and to transcribe (write in musical notation) rhythms, melodies and harmonic progressions.  In addition, musicians practice singing musical intervals, melodies and rhythms at first sight.  As a musician develops her ear, the greater her capacity to process, analyze and perform music.  A culmination of my training, practice and teaching, I now realize, was my ear’s expanded ability to listen intently to the songs of creation, and to God, and my capacity to respond, in turn, with my own voice.

Following my transition from academia into the role of a practitioner musician, while embarking on my larger life’s purpose as a mother, birding became my hobby.  Learning to identify birds by their songs, chirps, warbles, trills and repetitive calls was a delightful exercise combining my love of nature with an altogether unique challenge for my aural recognition skills.  I shared this learning experience with my two preschool-aged children, Noah and Melody, comingling curiosity and growth with one another.  From the library we borrowed materials to learn mnemonic devices for easier bird identification: cheeva-cheeva we learned was the call of the tufted titmouse, while we were charmed by the delightful little fellow who calls his own name, chick-a-dee-dee-dee.  

As my children grew, we continued to savor occasional birding together, but their interests took different turns, so I kept my birding hobby alive for myself on my daily walks.  In solitude, I discovered opportunity for a spiritual discipline of attentiveness to birdsong.  As a result, rare and precious transcendent moments emerged for me through contemplation with birdsong.  Prompted by my companion musicians, the birds, I experienced exquisite glimpses of closeness to God. Relaxing in a posture of openness to the beauty of their music, their songs brought grace into spaces of need in my soul.  Like a cantor singing a psalm, their expressions led me into worship.  And I willingly welcomed their lead.  Their distinctively pure and effortless song fascinated me.

My present daily practice, very simply, is to appreciate the beauty of birds’ musical expression, and to embrace their musical invitation into worship, reverence, stillness, and ultimately, to release my voice as they do theirs.  While I may be able to identify the bird by its call (or more often, not) I savor what their songs now signify to me:  spontaneous praise, liberation of the voice, unprompted expression, freedom to sing the truth.  It is a mystery to me, how God uses the beauty of creation to stir and soothe our spirits.  As I listen with my heart’s appreciation turned to God’s beautiful gift of birdsong, I am warmed.  Some mornings, it’s the eastern wood-pewee at whom I chuckle and am reminded, as he calls pee-a-wee, that laughter heals. Other days, it’s the white-throated sparrow’s lyric and plaintive, oh-sweet-Canada-Canada that calms my worries.  This spiritual discipline is my delight.  My practice is to listen, to pursue the hidden homily in their song, to experience their music as a means of grace.  In birdsong, I find messages of joy and jubilance, fear and alarm, melancholy and sadness—songs, I too, must liberate myself to sing.  And I offer God gratitude for these trustworthy friends who unfailingly coax me into song.  "

Mary Thomason–Smith is a musical artist seeking harmonious living through artistic expression in all roles and relationships in her life. Her interests include liberating the voice through the arts, through nature and through song.  Nature that surrounds her home in Indiana provides inspiration and delight for her, her husband and two children.

 

 

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