Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 121

Monk in the World guest post: Jodi Blazek Gehr

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Jodi Blazek Gehr's the sacred pilgrimage of driving country roads:

A Country Road Contemplative

My country drives are a sacred experience, a contemplative, scenic journey through four counties of Nebraska. 

Driving country roads has become a pilgrimage of its own as I travel to St. Benedict Center, a Benedictine retreat center and monastery seventy miles northwest of my home. Once or twice a month, I receive spiritual direction, participate in or lead retreats, attend Oblate meetings or pray with the monks. It’s where I go to honor my “inner monk”, find peace and quiet, learn to live more holy and grow in love. It has become my spiritual home and a home-away-from-home.

Initially, the drive was a means to an end, an hour and a half that I endured to get to my spiritual oasis. For most of thirteen years, I’ve taken the most direct route via paved highway. Occasionally, I took a different route or explored shortcuts, attempting to shave minutes off the drive.

The most efficient shortcut requires traveling on ten miles of gravel roads through small towns with few houses, and long since closed grocery stores and taverns. Every mile or two, there is a farmhouse nestled in rolling hills (or on flat-as-pancakes plains; we have both in Nebraska), acres of crops, cattle and pig farms, old trucks and tractors, and farm dogs that run after my car, barking.

I begin to notice details—the color of the sky, shapes of clouds, shadows on a hill. I wonder about the farmhouse that still has curtains on the windows, yet abandoned. I stop on bridges and watch water rush below. I see turkey and deer, donkeys and horses, weeds and wildflowers, fields of sunflowers and bales of hay. But, rarely, do I see other people.

It’s common in Nebraska to travel country roads and not encounter another car or person for miles. I feel as if I’m the only person in the world, an unmatched solitude and peace. I am taken with the beauty of the changing seasons—the greens of spring and summer, the gold and reds of autumn, the browns and grey of winter. I notice when the corn is higher, the sky more blue. The landscape is always being re-created, always in a state of becoming.

It happened slowly, but I realized that the drive is just as sacred of an experience as getting to my destination.  I prefer to drive alone, sometimes spending two or more hours turning west, then north, then west again; taking roads that look interesting and head in the general direction of St. Benedict Center. It has become part of the weekend getaway instead of the means to an end. The drives that I had tried to trim minutes off of, actually have become longer. As I plan more time for the drive, my weekend pilgrimages start the minute I get in the car.

A pilgrimage is a journey. A pilgrimage does not require a far-off destination or even a sacred shrine as the endpoint. A great Desert father, Abba Moses, advised his monks, “Go sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything." My car has become my “cell”, where I turn inward, reflect, behold, contemplate and enjoy the country roads.

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.” ― Heraclitus

I wanted to capture the beauty of the land that is so seldom seen—not just in numbers of people (although that can be an issue in Nebraska), but I mean really seen—appreciated, cherished, shared.  Now I take a camera with me every time I travel country roads. I pull my car to the side of the road and photograph animals, sheds, flowers, old buildings, roads, fields, clouds, gravestones on a hill. I take pictures of cows that make eye contact with me (and they always do). I photograph barns that are bright red, barns with peeling paint, barns that have collapsed.

With each photo I take I know I am experiencing a once-in-a-lifetime-moment. I have taken thousands of photos of the countryside, but no two will ever be the same.  Never again will the clouds look just that way or will the grass be just that shade of green. Never will I step into the same “river” again, each moment unique and made for me to celebrate. When that moment is gone, it is gone forever.

I am alone on my pilgrimage, yet accompanied. This is where I know I meet God. This is where ideas overflow; where there are bursts of creativity and a wealth of insights; where problems get solved, prayer happens and time stands still, in my “cell”.

My “cell” has taught me that photography is contemplative prayer. It is a new way of seeing. I honor the present moment like no other time or place. There are so many undiscovered parts of our world—places where no one is—in the depths of the ocean, the expanse of a cornfield, down a Nebraska country road. God is present in all of those places and in our solitude we can be there too.

I have learned so much about God and life on country roads. The most efficient route might not be the most fruitful. I can head in a general direction and God can fill in the details. I can be flexible. Listening to God and following my intuition works. Perhaps I don’t need to have everything planned out perfectly. I can look for signs along the way (some roads are more winding or steep; usually there is a warning, just like in life). I can surrender to surprise. The present moment is all we have and we better appreciate it. Joy is meant to be shared, eventually, but solitude is essential. Spirit is the best roadmap. I am not the Absolute, so I cannot know absolutely where I should end up. I’ve learned to listen, to pray, to rejoice. I experience the sacred on country roads.

Jodi Blazek Gehr  is a SoulCollage® Facilitator; Benedictine Oblate of Christ the King Priory; Retreat leader at St. Benedict Center, Schuyler, Nebraska; High School Business Teacher; Mother of 21 year old Jessica; Married to Joe for 30 years; Marketing and Social Media enthusiast; Lover of learning, reading, creativity and spirituality.

 

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Thomas Merton and Embracing Your Inner Monk ~ A love note from your online abbess

“Whose silence are you?”

After Thomas Merton

The single eye of the sun long shut,

world deep asleep like a sunken ship loaded with treasures,

full moon’s fierce shadows illumine the way for miles,

stars glint like coins dropped to the well’s black bottom,

last apple fallen from the tree

in a slush of honey and crimson.

I walk barefoot across wet grass,

night’s questions relentlessly wrestling

in my mind’s knotted weave.

I look for answers written by salmon in the stream,

or a snail’s slither of streaming silver.

I prostrate myself at the gnarled foot of the ash tree.

River softly murmurs her secrets.

Then the wind departs, taking words with it.

Hush cracks open, and

only Silence

blankets my moss-covered dreams

under the mute howl of night.

The long slow leaving of voices reveals

the ancient song of repose.

I awaken covered with dew,

stillness shaken by a single robin.

No longer full of my own echoing emptiness,

I am able to hear at last.

—Christine Valters Paintner

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

December 10th is the feast day of Thomas Merton. Merton was a Trappist monk living in the 20th century and was instrumental in bringing the contemplative life and wisdom teachings to a wider audience through his writings.

Here is a brief excerpt from my forthcoming book Illuminating the Way: Embracing the Wisdom of Monks and Mystics (being published in April 2016 by Ave Maria Press) on the invitation to embrace your inner monk:

Archetype of the Monk

The root of the word monk is monachos which means single, as in singular of focus, or single-hearted. The monk seeks to discover the divine presence in everything, every moment, every person. This is, of course, a lifelong practice and is never “perfected.”

The Monk seeks wisdom, knowing this comes through showing up to the struggles of the inner life. Stability and a commitment to staying with our experience is at the core of the monk. There is a commitment to presence to the moment and not running away, whether physically or emotionally. The monk knows that staying with discomfort yields grace and growing freedom.

Connected to this is hospitality and welcoming in the stranger. Monasteries have traditionally been sought out as places of refuge and sanctuary. In medieval Ireland, this was literally true as the laws of the kingdoms did not apply within the monastic complex. So the Monk invites us to let in all that is strange, both within and without, and welcome it as a divine guide.

The Monk treasures reflection and time spent in solitude and silence, knowing that in this time, rich connection to the inner life is fostered and then spills over into connection with the world. In some monastic traditions, there was greater emphasis on the hermit, who retreated out to the wilderness and was then sought out by those desiring wisdom. Other traditions emphasized the communal nature of the monastery, and the support needed for the rigor of this life commitment. In Celtic traditions, a monk was expected to have an anam cara, or soul friend, with whom they could reveal all the struggles of the soul. Often it takes someone quite mature in their spiritual practice to be able to live a hermit life free of the wrestling with one’s shadows.

The Monk also relishes the gift that practice brings. There is a discipline in the monastic life, of committing oneself to prayer practices which help to remind us of the divine indwelling in each moment, and within us. These practices also support us in shedding our false identities and continually return to the indwelling spark that is our divine nature.

May your own monk be inspired by slowness and attentiveness in the world.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo: © Thomas Merton Dancing Monk Icon by Marcy Hall

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Monk in the World guest post: Susan Heffron Hajec

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Susan Heffron Hajec's reflection on living as steadfast love:

Walking in Faithfulness

"For your steadfast love is before my eyes, and I walk in faithfulness to you."  Psalm 26:3

I am an ordinary person who is immensely grateful for the gift of living an extraordinary life. At the age of 72, I recognize the steadfast lovebefore my eyes that has accompanied my journey all along the way.

At my age, life’s responsibilities are simplified and I love that. But even during the frantic days and years of multi-tasking, I began a search into the quiet and contemplative practice of prayer and meditation. I am glad the roots of becoming a monk found their way early into my life and took hold because this has become a very natural way of life for me.

Our household now consists of my beloved husband of fifty years and me. The sacrament of matrimony has blessed our lives deeply. The first part of every day begins for both of us with a prayer song of raising and blessing each other and the wounded of our world. Thus, prayer is the first thing we touch our lives and our world with daily.

After breakfast, we each continue in silent prayer, with intentions that include our family, friends, and world needs. We each include quiet, contemplative reading as part of our united practice. This way of life has been in place for many years and I am uncomfortable when there is some momentary interruption to it.

After meeting Christine Valters Paintner online in Abbey of the Arts, I felt drawn to expressing my spirituality in many of the creative venues she offered. Then came the formation of the Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks. I knew instantly I belonged to this disorder.

This is the way I am a monk in the world:

I Am Living as Love. Each year, I make an Intention Mandala and live by the intentions stated on that mandala. My overall lifetime intention is to live daily as love.

In my mind, I live as love by paying attention to the thoughts I have, weeding and releasing those that are harmful to myself and others. I am an amazing expression of God and thoughts  that cause me to think otherwise are not the truth of me. I can tell some thoughts, “thank you for sharing” and let them pass through. I can add the discipline of not acting upon other thoughts and praying about them until they no longer take up space in my head.

In my heart, I live as love being my primary life motivator. My love starts with my connection to God during times when I feel it strongly and times when I am in search of it. Love moves out from my heart into the places where I touch people each day. The Prayer of St. Francis is a high bar to meet but it is my reminder of living love.

In my flesh, I live as love by fully appreciating my body as my vechicle of life and the house of my soul. I do this in the choices I make on all levels, physical, emotional and spiritual. When there is discomfort in my body, it is time for reflection, discernment and guidance. Quiet graces are then given for adjustments.

In my life, I live as love primarily through prayer and service. I serve in my primary vocation as wife and mother first. I am respectful of my vocation and mutual love is its first seed.  From there, I reach out to our children and grandchildren in living our heritage of faith. They are very aware of my faith-centered life and seeds of example are sown in their lives also. Beyond the family, my love, like water, flows where it will and where it is needed. I lend my Christ-centered hands and heart to the world.

In my world, I live as love by the practice of Reiki healing. I am centered in the practice of SoulCollage® and I  have a labyrinth in my backyard for the practice of moving meditation and reflection. These are quiet practices of the arts and spirituality which connect me to life’s daily purpose, and life’s larger dimensions and meaning. I share this through small gatherings which spread the awareness of the gift and grace of quiet in our lives.

In our culture, we are so encouraged to be noisy, busy, and in some other place than where we actually are through constant gadget peering, that the reality of the present moment is negated.

As a monk in the world, I am quiet. I move slowly. I touch peace in my day.This is the gift I give as monk in my world.

 

 

Susan Heffron Hajec is a Truth Seeker, Peace Maker, and Love Giver who treasures sharing her spirituality in the community of Dancing Monks and is fed graciously by the contributions from her companion monks. Writing and photography are her strongest spiritual connections and gifts.

 

 

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Join us for Sacred Time this Advent

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Today we begin our journey into the holy season of Advent with our online retreat. The theme this year is Sacred Time: Embracing the Slow Rhythms of the Season. Here is a brief excerpt from the first week’s reflection:

"The seasons, whether of the day, week, month, year, lifetime, or cosmos, invite us into a profound respect for thresholds. In our usual day to day awareness, one moment isn’t especially different from another. In seasonal time, we become aware of the continual invitation to cross a threshold into a deeper awareness. Dawn, day, dusk, and dark each carry different qualities and questions. Spring, summer, fall, and winter each offer new perspectives on the rhythms of life.

Thresholds are what the Irish call “thin places,” where heaven and earth seem nearer to one another. A threshold is a place between, where we are invited into not knowing what the next moment will bring. Of course, we never really do know what life will bring us, but we often march through our days with a sense of sameness and tedium.

This beginning of Advent marks a threshold into a new liturgical season of the year. In the Christian tradition, this is when the New Year begins, we move into a new cycle of readings. As we honor the season ahead, we honor crossing a threshold into a time of growing darkness (if we are in the northern hemisphere, the light will begin to grow in the south).

We honor that this time now is different than what came before. We are in a new season, both of the outward focus of ritual, and the inward focus of our lives. Seasonal time can give us a profound appreciation of the varying textures of our lives. Perhaps you are at a place in your life of discerning a new direction and find yourself at your own threshold.

In this retreat we will focus on the seasons and rhythms of life as a way of embracing a different experience of time. Time as unfolding rather than always running away from us. Time as offering invitations rather than demands that we keep up. Eternal time, present moment time, the fullness of time.

Sacred time is time devoted to the heart, to things that matter, to wonder and beauty, to catching glimpses of eternity. Sacred time is not measured in minutes or hours, but offers us an inner sense of expansiveness."

The retreat starts today. I hope you will consider joining us for an always meaningful conversation with one another about living life with more attentiveness and generosity.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo: © Christine Valters Paintner at Vienna Central Cemetery

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More Reflections from the Wild Edges

In early September 2015 we had 13 pilgrims join us for a very special pilgrimage and writing retreat on the wild edges of the world. We stayed on the islands of Inismor and Inisbofin, off the coast of Connemara and let the landscape inspire our creative process. I am grateful to these dancing monks for sharing their inspiration so freely with the community. Pour a cup of tea and then savor these reflections from Randy Pierce and Eileen Harakal.

A Desert Owl

I am like a desert owl,

like an owl among ruins.

—Psalm 102:6

Reading Psalm 102 brings to mind the overwhelming experiences I had wandering among the crumbling monastic ruins of Inishmore Island, Ireland during our Writing on the Wild Edges of the World Retreat a couple of months back. St. Macduach’s Church, close behind our B&B, Kilmurvey House, was especially poignant as I celebrated dawn communion with the great cloud of long dead Celtic saints after matins.

This psalm is a lament, a wailing of affliction.  However, the solitary within me finds great solace in these words. Rather than despair, they speak to me of precious, private times ‘alone with the Alone’. My God created each of his creatures with unique qualities and characteristics. He made the owls and me eremitic beings, designed and driven to silently wander the nights in solitude.

I am like a desert owl

like an owl among ruins

lone, but not alone

solaced by the Solacer

like an owl among ruins

ancient stones echo my aubades

solaced by the Solacer

communing with saints of old

ancient stones echo my aubades

lone, but not alone

communing with saints of old

I am like a desert owl

© Randy Pierce

Irish Islands

The sky is a landscape of its own, a bowl suspended over open land with no trees or tall buildings to obscure a 360-degree view. The skyscape at first glance looks static, but if you take your eyes away even briefly, something will have happened. Massive gray clouds hurl across the horizon at you, bringing rain on one side of a building and not the other. Off the west coast of Ireland, it can rain for hours, but more likely moments.

Sea and land conspire here. Only the beach is flat, and barely so. No sooner does the land rise than it falls, grass cropped by sheep and wind and time. Even far uphill, the land is littered with small gray seashells.

Stones grow like wildflowers which grow like gardens. Wandering monastics from centuries ago inscribed the land with manuscripts illustrated in stone. Their icons are written now in roofless churches, holy wells, bee-hive cells.

The islands are parceled by stone walls into a sturdy geometry, until you see a wall silhouetted against the sky or the ocean. Chinks of light come through, turning solid stone into gray lace. What is hard, edgy, sharp becomes frail, to be undone by invaders from anywhere else. But in Ireland, stubborn stone prevails. Long after the monks and the marauders have come and gone, always and everywhere what remain are the open space, the rock, the wind, the sea, the sky.

© Eileen Harakal

Photo © Anne Wicks at Kilmurvey Beach on Inismor

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A Celebration of Gratitude ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

The United States celebrates the feast of Thanksgiving this week. I have always loved this time of gratefulness and sharing with loved ones. My heart overflows with gratitude for this beautiful community we have created together. I delight daily in knowing there are dancing monks all over the world.

I share with you an adaptation of a reflection I recently wrote for Spiritual Directors International on gratitude as a spiritual practice:

The 5th century monk and mystic Benedict of Nursia counsels in his Rule for monastic life an attitude of contentment among his community. Whatever the circumstances they find themselves in, they are to find some satisfaction with what is in the moment. In a world of self-entitlement and inflated sense of need, learning to be content with what we have has the potential to be quite revolutionary. It means craving less and being more satisfied with what one has.

One way to encourage this this posture of contentment in our lives is gratitude. Gratitude is a way of being in the world that does not assume we are owed anything, and the fact that we have something at all, whether our lives, our breath, families, friends, shelter, laughter, or other simple pleasures, are all causes for celebration. We can cultivate a way of being in the world that treats all these things as gifts, knowing none of us “deserves” particular graces.

We might begin each day simply with an expression of gratitude for the most basic of gifts, life itself. Awakening each morning for another day to live and love, grateful for our breath and a body that allows us to move through our day. Then we can offer gratitude for a home and all the things that are important to us about this place of shelter.

Environmental activist and author Joanna Macy describes gratitude as a revolutionary act “because it counters the thrust of the industrial growth society, or the consumer society, which breeds dissatisfaction. You have to make people dissatisfied with what they have and who they are in order that they keep buying.” Gratitude is a way for us to cultivate a healthy asceticism and reject consumerism.

Gratitude is a practice that can begin with the smallest acknowledgement and be expanded out to every facet of our existence. A simple way to nurture this awareness in our lives is to end each day with a gratitude list. You might write 5-10 things for which you feel grateful each day, lifting up both the large and small moments of grace. It is a way to end the day by honoring the gifts we have received rather than dwelling on where life came up short for us. Consider saving these grateful noticings together somewhere, and after a season of time reading back over the things that made your heart expand and notice what patterns you find there.

Gratitude has a way of transforming our approach to life into one that is more open-hearted, generous, and joyful. Rather than moving through our day feeling cynical or burdened, we can consciously choose our thoughts. This doesn’t mean that we have to offer gratitude for injustices or abuse, we are always called to resist those. But it does mean we might be able to tap into greater joy to replenish us for those moments when we do need to fight for dignity and kindness. Gratitude overflows into joy and makes us feel connected to something bigger than ourselves.

With great and growing love,

CHRISTINE

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo: © Christine Valters Paintner

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Listen to Christine's Interview on Soul of a Pilgrim

This past week Christine appeared on the radio show "Out of the Fog" with Karen Hager where she discussed her latest book Soul of a Pilgrim.  Tune into the recording where they discuss welcoming in discomfort, preparing for the journey, and coming home again.

Click here to listen to the program>>

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Monk in the World guest post: Michelle Chung

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Michelle Chung's reflection on recovering from perfectionism:

Helpful Tips from the Recovering Perfectionist

When I started practicing contemplative spirituality, I faced quite a culture shock. Being from the Silicon Valley, I was task oriented, perfectionistic, and goal driven… everything the contemplative ways are not. Where were the deadlines and checklists I’m so familiar with? It took quite a while for me to understand and adapt to this new and curious lifestyle.

The contemplative traditions are more “organic”.  You can follow a plan and do the exercises, but the results are not so concrete. It’s more like watching plants grow. From day to day, the growth are so minuscule that they are barely noticeable.  Similarly, when I started meditating and going on walks, I couldn’t really see where all these changes would take me. What would really come of just ten minutes of being quiet?  Then, little by little, the peace and quiet from the few minutes spilled into the rest of my day. The changes didn’t come overnight, but they did come.

Growing up being so result-driven, it was tough for me to develop my “monk” routines when I can’t see the effects right away.  Here are some tips that helped me along.

Be persistent

Whether it's a physical routine or spiritual exercise, any deep and lasting change takes time to develop. Because of my perfectionist tendencies, I tend to start a routine with lots of excitement, but stop soon after because I felt like I wasn’t doing things “right”. Eventually, I realized it’s doesn’t matter how pristine your routines are as long as you keep going back to them.

When you start exploring a new path, don't let the feelings of shame or disappointment put you in a downward spiral. Give yourself a break and simply push the delete button and start over. Persistence is the key in our learning process. Remember what motivated you to start this journey. Whether you’ve veered off the path for a day or a month or a year, just pick up where you left off. You'll always be a step further in the process than if you gave up.

Get an understanding about what worked and what didn’t.

When things don’t work out the way we hoped, many of us feel both surprised and disappointed.  We shove the experience away and never think about it again. However, that's often why we repeat the same cycle over and over. One way to fail forward is to take a break and review your experience. Take some time to see where things went wrong (or got stuck) and consider how you can do things differently next time.

What helps me process is to write about my experience. First,  focus on journaling about your feelings during the process. Try to be honest about any frustration or blockage you face at this stage. This helps to uncover root issues or fears that often sabotage your process. Maybe you need to get better shoes so your feet won’t hurt during your nature walk. Perhaps you’ve set such a lofty goal that even a Zen Master can’t achieve. Or maybe the experience brought up some old memories and unexpected feelings, and it’s time to seek counsel. Whatever it may be, it’s worth spending the time to process through it.

Part of my process also includes solitude time. Solitude and stillness exercises teach us how to let go of the day to day things that monopolize our attention.  Sometimes, the answer is right in front of us, but we’re too distracted to see it. Once our focus is freed up from the mundane, we can suddenly see the answer clearly .  A few times after I had quieted down my heart, it became clear that my perfectionistic tendency got in the way. I was too focused on getting the result rather than enjoying  the process. The real adjustment I needed was to let go of my own expectations.

Be gracious to yourself

I’m very kind and encouraging to my friends. For some reason, I’m always hard on myself.  I’m learning to offer myself the same grace and kindness I have for my friends. Something I remind myself often is that I’m just like other people. We are all human beings with weaknesses and limitations. When we remember that we’re but flesh and blood, we become more gracious to ourselves and to others. When we can look at our own weaknesses without shock and shame, it’s much easier to face these issues and work through them…

From time to time, I still fall back to my old driven and perfectionistic habits.  The difference is now, I can quickly shift into the rhythm of my new life. Little by little, the seedling of change sprouted, matured, and bore fruit: a life of peace, patience, kindness and joy.

Michele is a recovering perfectionist. She loves reading and learning about all things contemplative.  After a myriad of jobs, she is currently pursuing painting and blog writing. Michele lives in Silicon Valley with her husband and a house full of books. You can find more of her writings at mzchele.wordpress.com.

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What is it the Season For? ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

I had a beloved spiritual director years ago when I lived in the San Francisco Bay area during graduate school who often asked me this question: What is it the season for?

I loved this question because my creative heart was always full of new ideas, but one of my great invitations in life has been to discern the season I am in and what it calls for – to say no or not yet to many of the creative ideas stirring in me, to listen for what is truly ripe, to make space for the task that is calling to me most deeply this moment.

There is a beautiful rhythm of rise and fall found in every breath we take, in the rising and setting of the sun each day, in the balance between work and Sabbath time each week, in the waxing and waning of the moon each month, the flowering and releasing of the earth through her seasons, and of course the seasons of our lifetimes.

Discernment essentially means to distinguish between the life-giving and life-draining voices calling to us and learning that our lives each have their own unique rhythm.  I like to think of life as a continual process of discovery, a pilgrimage through time and space.

One of the greatest gifts of the seasons for me has been this profound insight into the nature of the world around me.  My mother died in autumn twelve years ago and those weeks following her death, when I ached with grief deeper than I had ever experienced before, I would walk among the trees.  And as autumn’s journey of letting go moved into winter, the bare winter branches, the pale glow of the sun, the long shadows all spoke to me where I was.  When the first signs of new life began to sprout I was still deep in my pilgrimage through the landscape of grief, however the fact of spring did offer me solace.  It would take another cycle of the year before I could enter into my own springtime.  And in the years since, the seasons have become a source of great wisdom for my own life.

In the monastic tradition, we follow the Hours of the day.  Dawn, day, dusk, and dark each become a prayer station inviting us into the gifts of this moment.  Over and over I am immersed in this rhythm of rise and fall.

This rhythm of rise and fall calls us to remember that time is not always linear, moving us toward an end goal. Time can also be spiral, moving us in cycles of regeneration, growth, release, and stillness.

Our Advent & Christmas online retreat invites us into a new way of relating to time by calling us deeper into the rhythms of unfolding of each moment. When we bring ourselves fully present to here and now, we touch the eternal and the pressures of daily life briefly fall away.  Please consider joining us for a season of slowing down and bring lavish attention to these life-giving cycles.

With great and growing love,

CHRISTINE

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo: © Christine Valters Paintner

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Monk in the World Guest Post ~ Patricia Campbell Kowal

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Patricia Campbell Kowal's reflection on living the mystery:

"I commit to finding moments each day for silence and solitude, to make space for another voice to be heard, and to resist a culture of noise and constant stimulation."

This is the first expression of commitment in the Monk of the World Manifesto which has become a foundation for my life. One way I practice this first expression is by sometimes putting my prayer- thoughts on paper. If it stirs a God-thought for me or another this gesture seemingly becomes a spiritual gift.  Recently as I practiced this commitment, I went into the loft of my home—a sacred place for me. With pen and journal in hand (just in case) I listened to a visualization meditation I had read in one of Christine's books and had recorded on my smart phone (sometimes too smart for me!)  Alas, I sat in quiet, put the ear buds in and listened to my own voice saying the words and directions of another's suggested meditation.  One prompt was to just be with the strongest emotion I was feeling and then listen for a word to come.  My emotion was “powerlessness” as I was experiencing many transitions around me. Then the word that came was “mystery” as it was beyond me to figure everything out! So, I sat with the word mystery and then I found my pen on paper as I began to realize that we experience mystery in all the passages of our lives, which is I believe, the call of the soul.

The following poem flows from that quiet meditation. It had meaning for me and perhaps it may have meaning for you, so I humbly share it here.

Call of the Soul

The unknown a newborn faces upon its birth She wails in anticipation with her first breath

. . . mystery

like cacophony from geese in the sky heard during spring migration.

 

The unknown the teen confronts upon his introduction to the adult world He craves the call to independence

                                   . . . mystery

like the feeling of wind on his face while racing downhill on his bicycle.

 

The unknown a betrothed embraces in a life-partner commitment Neither knows where this excitement will lead

                                 . . . mystery

like the delight of running with abandon in an open field.

 

The unknown of choosing one’s life-path The final outcome beyond understanding

                               . . . mystery

like experiencing starlight glitter across the sky.

 

The unknown in accepting divine guidance Hope and trust guide the sojourn

                              . . . mystery

like the fulfillment of longing that was always deep within, but secret.

 

The unknown of letting go of the familiar Conflicting feelings create confusion

                             . . . mystery

like choosing between sweet and sour, both enticing.

 

The unknown of saying good-bye to a relationship—once loved or not Sometimes great sadness, sometimes great relief, perhaps both

                          . . . mystery

like sitting by a runway seeing an airplane vanish into the sky.

 

The unknown of relinquishment of the earthen body to its final rest A new level of living is the hope

                         . . . mystery

like deep sleep before awakening.

 

                      . . . mystery—The Call of the Soul

Patricia Campbell Kowal offers Spiritual Direction and Grief Recovery Workshops as a Certified Grief Recovery Specialist. Pat lives with her husband, Bob, in Spokane, WA and together they have three grown children and a first grandbaby due any day!  She is grateful for the paths her life has taken.

 

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