Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 135

Mid-Way through Lent: Beginning Again

For the next few weeks I will be offering you some gems from the Abbey archives as I create the space I need to finish several writing projects and prepare for spring's teaching.

In the middle of the journey of our life

I found myself astray in a dark wood

where the straight road had been lost sight of. —Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

We are approaching the midpoint of our Lenten journey through the desert. This is a ripe moment to pause and reflect on the commitments we made in earnest almost a month ago as ash was smeared across our skin, reminding us of the preciousness of our days.

The human heart is a funny thing, full of passion for spirit one day and then feeling lost or astray the next. Then we may start to berate ourselves for not being better, more committed, more diligent. In that barrage of inner voices that rise up, we often find ourselves so much further away from our heart's desire than when we began. This very act of self-judgment actually distances us even further from our deep longings for peace and rest.

Or perhaps we encounter what the desert monks called acedia, which is translated in different ways but essentially means slothfulness, and has been called the "noonday demon." Halfway through our journey we find ourselves bored. Our spiritual practice wanes, perhaps because we had high expectations about how we would be transformed by now, and so the realities of daily life dull our commitment.

This is why we call it practice. The monks knew that the only response to acedia was to continue to practice. When we feel full of judgment for ourselves, the only response is to continue to practice. We can construct all kinds of ways to abandon the conscious journey and return to a life on the surface of things. These are the temptations of the heart, written about by mystics for centuries, so why should we be surprised that we confront these same struggles as well?

The Lenten journey goes straight through the heart of the desert. In the middle of that parched land where everything comfortable is stripped away, we often find ourselves wanting to run or go to sleep.

Monastic spirituality calls us to return again and again to the practice of showing up, of being still, of opening our hearts to an encounter with the holy. In the Sayings of the Desert Fathers we hear this story: Abba Moses asked Abba Silvanus, "Can a man lay a new foundation every day?" The old man said, "If he works hard he can lay a new foundation at every moment."

St. Benedict in his Rule writes about the commitment to always we begin again, to be a beginner in all things. The desert is a place of new beginnings. No matter how far I stray from my practice, there is always an invitation to begin again. Not just each day, but each moment offers us the chance to lay a new foundation.

In the philosophy of yoga I love the concept of tapas, which means fire or heat and essentially is the discipline we need to show up to our practice again and again. There will be days when we don't feel like coming to the mat or the cushion or our quiet corner. There will be days when life seems to actively conspire against this and we begin to believe that the stillness just isn't possible for us or that our lives are too full to cultivate genuine presence. This is acedia talking, a kind of inner dialogue that sabotages our sincerest efforts. When this happens—and it will happen—our invitation is to gently notice this and begin again. We bring the fire of tapas back to our practice, we commit to showing up over and over.

Practice

Take some time this week to reflect back on your Lenten commitments and promises. Notice over the past several weeks how you get thrown off your rhythm of practice. What are the circumstances of life that seem to conspire against your best-laid plans? What are the thoughts that rise up in response? What are the judgments you hold about yourself in these moments? Just notice these gently without more judgment.

Then connect to your breath, allow it to be slow and full. Savor a few minutes of silence, drawing your awareness down into your heart and resting there in the infinite source of compassion. Bring that compassion to yourself. Hold yourself lightly, perhaps even seeing the humor in your patterns. Humor is rooted in the word humus, which means earthiness and is also the root of the word humility. Acknowledge that you are human and that to be human means to forget sometimes our deeper desires. Embrace your imperfections as the landscape of your journey, the detours that take you into dark woods sometimes so that you feel lost.

From this compassionate, humorous, and humble place, make a commitment to begin again. Make a promise to lay a new foundation in every moment as best as you can. And when you fall away from your commitment again, return yourself to it gently over and over. Let your breath kindle the fire and heat within you necessary to keep showing up. Let this be your Lenten practice and your life practice, this beginning again and again.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Invitation to Poetry: Kinship with Creation – How might you nourish an Earth-cherishing consciousness?

Welcome to Poetry Party #86!

I select an image and suggest a theme/title and invite you to respond with your own poem. Scroll down and add it in the comments section below or join our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group and post there.

Feel free to take your poem in any direction and then post the image and invitation on your blog (if you have one), Facebook, or Twitter, and encourage others to come join the party!  (If you repost the photo, please make sure to include the credit link and link back to this post inviting others to join us).

We began this month with a Community Lectio Divina practice with a passage from Psalm 104 and followed up with our Photo Party on the theme of Kinship with Creation, part four of the Monk Manifesto. (You are most welcome to still participate).  We continue this theme in our Poetry Party this month. What are you continuing to discover about your own relationship with Creation? What does the image above evoke for you? Express this through poetry.

You can post your poem either in the comment section below*or you can join our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group (with more than 2900 members!) and post there.

*Note: If this is your first time posting, or includes a link, your comment will need to be moderated before it appears. This is to prevent spam and should be approved within 24 hours.

Monk in the World guest post: June Mears Driedger

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for June Mears Driedger's reflections about spiritual direction and the contemplative life:

Following the call of being a monk in the world through spiritual direction.

I enter the room for spiritual direction. My director, J. is there, lighting a candle and smiling as she greets me. I meet with her about every four-six weeks, depending on our schedules. This is a discipline I practice to deepen my relationship with God and enables me to be a monk in the world. With a spiritual director or companion I have someone who listens compassionately as I discern God’s presence and movement in my life. The loving presence of  my spiritual companion enables me to slow down, pay attention, and listen.

I initially heard about spiritual direction from Lisa, an acquaintance more than two decades ago. She had a contemplative stillness that drew me to her and as we talked she mentioned “spiritual direction” then explained what it is in response to my quizzical facial expression.

“Spiritual direction is an ancient ministry which has gained a resurgence during the last 30 years. It is a relationship in which one person assists another in listening and discerning God’s presence in their lives,” she said. “The spiritual director serves as a companion on a life’s journey, listening attentively and contemplatively to an individual.”

A few hours later, while reflecting on our conversation, I heard in my heart the words, “You need to do this.” It was such an unusual experience to “hear” words from nowhere that I assumed this was from God.  And I responded, “Yes, Lord.”

The next time I saw Lisa I asked her how I might find a spiritual director.

“I am delighted you’re interested!” she said. “Talk with Sr. Thomas at the diocese office. Here’s her phone number.” She retrieved a small address book from her purse, flipped through it and read the numbers to me.

I  called Sr. Thomas and met with her in the diocese office. She was older, past retirement age, in nun’s habit. She carefully looked through several pages of names and occasionally paused, looked up, placed her forefinger tip on her chin, and said, “Maybe this person,” and jotted on a pad of paper near her on the desk. After about 15 minutes of this, she gave me three names with phone numbers of potential spiritual directors.

I met with each woman listed on the paper and after prayer and pondering, I began meeting with a Catholic laywoman with whom I met for nearly two years until I moved out of state.

Now I meet with J., a retired Episcopal priest, my seventh spiritual director in the 23 years since that conversation with Lisa and meeting with Sr. Thomas.

J. and I meet in her office located in a separate building behind her garage. We sit in chairs facing one another, near the windows looking out onto a meadow, and together we wait in silence, in prayer.

“I don’t know what to talk about today,” I say.

J. nods and waits.

“I’ve been working on some writing projects ….” My voice trails off.

She attentively waits.

“And I’m writing some stuff for my blog but I think I have offended some people.”

J. raises her eyebrows and asks, “Really?”

And in this moment I see that I have no idea if someone was offended.  God reveals to me that I am very fearful of rejection and criticism—I am afraid of offending someone who will in turn reject me. And I see my fear as something God wants to heal and transform in me. I have slowed down enough to pay attention to the deeper movement of God in my life.

“I’m afraid and I feel very bound up by fear,” I say.

“Well, how do you pray about your fear?” she asks.

“I often pray, ‘Perfect love casts out all fear,’” I say. “But I don’t know if I believe this is true because I feel so afraid.”

“Do you want to talk to Jesus about your fear right now?” J. asks.

I nod yes and she leads me in a guided meditation where I offer my fear to Jesus but also ask him to help my unbelief. I use a lot of tissues during this prayer time.

We conclude the guided prayer and I feel some relief, some resolution, but I know managing my fear is a lifetime struggle for me.

J. says to me, “The opposite of fear is freedom that comes from faith. I suggest a breath prayer like, ‘Set me free Lord, set me free.’ I think if you focus on this prayer for the next several months you will begin to experience some inner freedom.”

It is her work as a spiritual director to help another feel welcomed and accepted “without judgment or distortion, subtraction or addition,” writes Richard Rohr in his book, Falling Upward.  “Such perfect receiving is what transforms us. Being totally received as we truly are is what we wait and long for all of our lives.” A spiritual director sees us with God’s eyes and hears us with God’s ears and then enables us to see and hear ourselves as God does. In many ways, the spiritual director is a monk in the world (or, an actual monk!) who nurtures others into monkish ways in their own lives.

I agree with her and tell her I will begin using the prayer this very day. She doesn’t often suggest a specific prayer or assign “homework” but because I trust her—her wisdom, experience, and faith–I do as she suggests. We sit in a comfortable silence until I say, “Thank you—even though I didn’t have anything to talk about today, God certainly had a plan!”

We laugh together then she closes our time with prayer. My spiritual companion shares her time, presence, and wisdom and through our sessions together I have a greater awareness of God’s healing, transforming movement in my life. We set our next meeting, I pay her, hug her, and leave the room knowing that I have encountered God during this time of spiritual companionship. As I climb into my car I am able to continue the call of being a monk in the world.

June Mears Driedger is a writer, editor, spiritual director, and retreat leader in Lansing, Michigan.

Click here to read all the guest posts in the Monk in the World series>>

 

Making Space for the Divine: The Gift of Silence

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For the next few weeks I will be offering you some gems from the Abbey archives as I create the space I need to finish several writing projects and prepare for spring's teaching:

It was said of Abba Agathon that for three years he lived with a stone in his mouth, until he had learnt to keep silence. (Agathon 15)

The silence of the desert elders is called hesychia, which means stillness, silence, inner quiet. However, it is much deeper than just an external quiet. A person can live alone and still experience much noise within and a person can live in the midst of a crowd and have a true sense of stillness in their heart.

There is always a shadow side to silence—the kind of silence that keeps hidden secrets and abuses. This is not the life-giving silence the desert elders seek. Silence can be poisonous, as when someone's voice is being silenced or when we silence ourselves out of resentment or anger. Think of times when you have engaged silence as a weapon in a relationship. There is also the silence of hopelessness or giving up, feeling overwhelmed by life. Or silence that comes when we feel another has all the answers and our voice doesn't matter.

The desert monks are talking about silence that is life-giving. They urge us to seek a particular quality of silence that is attentive and emerges from a place of calm and peace. Our freedom to be silent in this way indicates our freedom from resentment and its power over us. Authentic silence is very challenging to achieve.

Meister Eckhart wrote, "There is nothing so much like God as silence." When we experience moments when we find ourselves releasing words and simply entering into an experience of wonder and beholding, this is the silence of God, moments when we are arrested by life's beauty.

Silence is challenging. We create all kinds of distractions and noise in our lives so we can avoid it. Thomas Merton writes about people who go to church and lead good lives but struggle with quiet:

Interior solitude is impossible for them. They fear it. They do everything they can to escape it. What is worse, they try to draw everyone else into activities as senseless and as devouring as their own. They are great promoters of useless work. They love to organize meetings and banquets and conferences and lectures. They print circulars, write letters, talk for hours on the telephone in order that they may gather a hundred people together in a large room where they will all fill the air with smoke and make a great deal of noise and roar at one another and clap their hands and stagger home at last patting one another on the back with the assurance that they have all done great things to spread the Kingdom of God.

Merton is fierce in his critique of all the ways we cling to words to feel productive, while never making space to surrender into the unknowing of silence and experience silence as beyond all of our good words and intentions. Silence is what makes our actions meaningful, not the other way around.

The desert monks invite us to consider what it means to be selective about our words. Cultivating silence is about making space for another voice to speak. Silence is a presence rather than an absence. I can fill my day with endless words or I can choose when to speak and when to keep silent.

Abba Poemen said: "A (person) may seem to be silent, but if his heart is condemning others he is babbling ceaselessly. But there may be another who talks from morning till night and yet he is truly silent; that is, he says nothing that is not profitable." (Poemen 27)

Regular practice of silent prayer and meditation helps us to grow aware of the chatter of our minds and the judgments we carry about ourselves and others. By becoming fully present to these thoughts and being compassionate with ourselves, we can start to notice when they rise in everyday life. The desert elders remind us to pay attention to our inner judgments as a form of noise which poisons the silence we so desperately seek.

Sitting in your cell requires patience to not flee back into the world of distraction and numbness. It means being fully present to our inner life without anxiety. Interior peace comes through sitting in silence, through attentiveness and watchfulness.

Much of the time I find silence a deep source of consolation. However, there are many times when I find myself wrestling during my silent practice: watching the clock, feeling impatient, restless, distracted. The tempting thoughts arise that I could get up early and walk away, that I wasn't really present that day and so could try again tomorrow. And yet the call is precisely to stay with the practice when things become difficult. The desert elders said this was a lifelong struggle. They considered themselves beginners on the spiritual path. I try to remember this during my inner debate about staying put. I try to smile at myself. If these wise elders were beginners, then certainly I have only just begun to explore the possible depths of silence.

The desert elders warn us repeatedly about the ways we resist silence, especially in our interior chatter and the onslaught of thoughts most of us experience when we sit down to pray. In fact, this encounter in silence is often why we resist slowing down and being still. We fear what might be revealed in that space.

Our lives are precious. Each moment should be cherished. The more I stay with myself in those times of challenge, the more I open up the possibility of sustained and lasting peace. Lest we think this is a selfish activity, the world desperately needs this kind of peace that rises up from within the hearts of passionate and committed people. Silence awakens us to renewed vision, to a deepened awareness of the world around us.

We each live with fundamental lies, stories we tell about ourselves that are untrue. Our words help to strengthen the illusions we live with. Silence helps to free us from these constructions and heal us from our attachments. Our normal speech seems to reinforce the way we keep ourselves from freedom.

Silence isn't just the absence of sound, but a form of human consciousness. This silence of the heart is a profound place of moving beyond ego, judgments, and dualistic thinking to witness the presence of the divine. In silence, we can experience a sense of inner expansiveness which makes more room for God's presence.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Photo: Flaggy Shore (by Christine)

Invitation to Photography: Kinship with Creation – How might you nourish an Earth-cherishing consciousness?

Welcome to this month's Abbey Photo Party!

I select a theme and invite you to respond with images.

We began this month with a Community Lectio Divina practice with our reflection on Kinship with Creation (the fourth principle of the Monk Manifesto) with a quote from Psalm 104 (read them here).

I invite you for this month's Photo Party to hold these words in your heart as you go out in the world to receive images in response. As you walk be ready to see what is revealed to you as a visual expression of your prayer.

You can share images you already have which illuminate the theme, but I encourage you also to go for a walk with the theme in mind and see what you discover.

You are also welcome to post photos of any other art you create inspired by the theme.  See what stirs your imagination!

How to participate:

You can post your photo either in the comment section below* (there is now an option to upload a file with your comment – your file size must be smaller than 1MB – you can re-size your image for free here – choose the "small size" option and a maximum width of 500).

You can also join our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group and post there. Feel free to share a few words about the process of receiving this image and how it speaks of the harvest for you.

*Note: If this is your first time posting, or includes a link, your comment will need to be moderated before it appears. This is to prevent spam and should be approved within 24 hours.

Monk in the World guest post: Carmen Brown

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Carmen Brown's poetic wisdom on living as a monk in the world:

During a particularly difficult loss in my life, I discovered the path of the contemplative.  This dark night of the soul caught me unexpected, unaware—grasping  and gasping for relief and answers.  Divinely, I met Christine Valters Paintner through her website and later her books.  For the first time in my life, I felt home — a place where the expression of my soul found a voice, resonance, and peace. On a dreary winter day, Christine offered a call to return to Him with my whole heart .  What happened next can only be explained as God-inspired.  As I began to journal, a poem emerged, then an image. While I often journal my prayers, this was different.  This was an encounter with the Holy Spirit in which He comforted, taught, and inspired me.  Through my deepest aches and sufferings, a birth process began—one of surrender.  I learned the truth of 1 Peter 5:10:

“And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”

The qualities that make us contemplatives are the same ones that intensify our sufferings, but also increase our joys.

May joy be given and shared with our whole hearts.

 

Border Shadows

Within my questions,

A revelation of lack,

Floods my soul with lamentations.

This root decay.

Lurking beneath the soil,

Like aphid eggs in winter’s hibernation.

Until the warmth of spring,

Brings back to life the death within the new growth.

Then and only then,

Does the truth appear.

Amid the green exists the brown,

The parasitic suck,

Chokes and destroys the intention,

And perseverance of life.

My God! Oh God!

Trust has become a border shadow,

Ever shifting and moving,

Dependent on surface, circumstance,

No roots of its own.

If I planted a sunflower,

And a daisy grew in its place,

Would I focus on the difference,

And deny its beauty?

Might I yank it out,

And curse its defiance and audacity?

Or would I trust the gift,

Although, not desired, expected?

Could I see its possibility?

Its promise?

Its purpose?

My soul’s cry,

Is that I would cup it tenderly,

Within my hands, and–

Behold its creation in solemn surrender to the Creator.

Carmen L. Brown is an assistant professor of English at a community college in Knoxville, TN.  Additionally, she is a beholder of all things herbs.  This passion led her to create Carmen’s Herbs, Balms and Salves, a small farmer’s market business of organically-crafted herbal skincare focused on the Creator and the awareness of self-nurturing practices.  She can be reached at cbrown9673@aol.com.

Click here to read all the guest posts in the Monk in the World series>>

Sit in Your Cell: Desert Reflections for Lent (a love note from your online Abbess)

For the next few weeks I will be offering you some gems from the Abbey archives as I create the space I need to finish several writing projects and prepare for spring's teaching.

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

The road of cleansing goes through that desert. It shall be named the way of holiness.

—Isaiah 35:8

If the desert is holy, it is because it is a forgotten place that allows us to remember the sacred. Perhaps that is why every pilgrimage to the desert is a pilgrimage to the self. There is no place to hide and so we are found.

—Terry Tempest Williams, Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place

In the fourth century, out in the desert landscape of Egypt, Syria, Palestine, and Arabia, a powerful movement was happening: the flowering of Christian monasticism in response to a call to leave behind the world. The center of this movement was in Egypt, and by the year 400 A.D. it was a land of hermits and monks experimenting with a variety of forms, including the solitary life of the hermit, the coenobitic or communal form of monasticism, and groups of ascetics.

The wisdom of this tradition forms the foundation for much of Christian spirituality that emerged in the following centuries, especially Benedictine and Celtic forms of monasticism. A literary genre emerged which was similar in form to parables and proverbs, story teachings to impart wisdom. These are gathered together in the Sayings of the Fathers (Apophthegmata Patrum), which include the wisdom of both the desert fathers and mothers.

The word for desert in Greek is eremos, which literally means "abandonment" and is the term from which we derive the word "hermit." The desert was a place of coming face to face with death. Nothing grows in the desert. Your very existence is, therefore, threatened. In the desert, you can only face up to yourself and to your temptations in life, which distract you from a wide-hearted focus on the sacred presence in the world. The desert is a place of deep encounter, not of superficial escape.

We do not have to journey to the literal desert to encounter its power. Each of us has desert experiences, seasons that strip away all of our comforts and assurances and leave us to face ourselves directly. Each of us can benefit from the wisdom of the desert mothers and fathers who speak to us across time.

St. Benedict, who was deeply influenced by the desert elders, wisely wrote 1500 years ago, "Always we begin again." As you move through your Lenten journey, you might want to write those words somewhere visible, to call you back each time your commitment to spiritual practice wavers. The desert is a place of new beginnings; it is where Jesus began his ministry. In the desert, we are confronted with ourselves, naked and without defenses, called again and again to bring back all of our broken and denied parts into wholeness.

The monastic cell is a central concept in the spirituality of the desert mothers and fathers. The outer cell is really a metaphor for the inner cell, a symbol of the deep soul work we are called to, to become fully awake. It is the place where we come into full presence with ourselves and all of our inner voices, emotions, and challenges and are called to not abandon ourselves in the process through distraction or numbing. It is also the place where we encounter God deep in our own hearts.

Abba Moses wrote, "A brother came to Scetis to visit Abba Moses and asked him for a word. The old man said to him: 'Go sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.'"

Abba Anthony wrote a similar message: "Just as fish die if they stay too long out of water, so the monks who loiter outside their cell or pass their time with men of the world lose the intensity of inner peace. So like a fish going toward the sea, we must hurry to reach our cell, for fear that if we delay outside we shall lose our interior watchfulness."

Connected to the cell is the cultivation of patience. The Greek word is hupomone, which essentially means to stay with whatever is happening. This is similar to the central Benedictine concept of stability, which on one level calls monks to a lifetime commitment with a particular community. On a deeper level, the call is to not run away when things become challenging. Stability demands that we stay with difficult experiences and stay present to the discomfort they create in us.

In our cell, we are called to full presence to our inner life. We cultivate the inner witness and watch as our thoughts scurry between different states, notice our internal responses to things, and observe when our minds move to distraction as a way of avoiding engagement with life. The cell is the place where we grow in deep intimacy with our patterns and habits. When we become conscious of our methods of distraction, we can learn to bring ourselves always back to our experience.

For Lent, I invite you to cultivate presence to your own inner world. Allow yourself time for silence each day. In that space, let your breath carry you inward into your own monastic cell. Stay present with yourself as you notice emotions rising and falling.

Do you have an outer monastic cell—a room or space where you can pray without distraction?

How might you practice stability in your own life? What are the emotions that cause you to want to run in the other direction? Grief? Anger? Deep joy?

What are the ways you distract yourself from being fully present? We all have ways of numbing, whether through watching hours of television, surfing the internet, shopping, eating, drinking. Really, anything can serve as a way of numbing ourselves when we engage in them as a way of avoiding what we are experiencing within. Consider fasting from distraction this Lent and becoming more conscious of the ways you avoid staying with yourself.

If an outer pilgrimage calls to you, our dates for 2016 in Ireland have now been posted and you can find more information here.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Photo by Christine: John Paintner on the trail up to Maumeen Pass where St. Patrick is said to have journeyed. This is one of the journeys we make with pilgrims in our new pilgrimages itinerary out of Galway.

Invitation to Community Lectio Divina: Kinship with Creation – How might you nourish an Earth-cherishing consciousness?

With March we offer a new invitation for contemplation. Our focus for this month is Kinship with Creation. We are continuing our monthly exploration of each theme of the Monk Manifesto. Our focus for this month is Kinship with Creation — How might you nourish an Earth-cherishing consciousness? The fourth principle reads:

I commit to cultivating awareness of my kinship with creation and a healthy asceticism by discerning my use of energy and things, letting go of what does not help nature to flourish.

We invite you into a lectio divina practice with some words from Psalm 104 (see below).

How Community Lectio Divina works:

Each month there will be a passage selected from scripture, poetry, or other sacred texts (and occasionally visio and audio divina as well with art and music).

How amazing it would be to discern together the movements of the Spirit at work in the hearts of monks around the world.

I invite you to set aside some time this week to pray with the text below. Here is a handout with a brief overview (feel free to reproduce this handout and share with others as long as you leave in the attribution at the bottom – thank you!)

Lean into silence, pray the text, listen to what shimmers, allow the images and memories to unfold, tend to the invitation, and then sit in stillness.

You cause the grass to grow for the cattle,

and plants for people to use,

to bring forth food from the earth,

and wine to gladden the human heart,

oil to make the face shine

and bread to strengthen the human heart.

The trees of God are watered abundantly,

the cedars of Lebanon that God planted.

In them the birds build their nests;

the stork has its home in the fir trees.

The high mountains are for the wild goats;

the rocks are a refuge for the conveys.

You have made the moon to mark the seasons;

the sun knows its time for setting.

— Psalm 104:14-19

After you have prayed with the text (and feel free to pray with it more than once – St. Ignatius wrote about the deep value of repetition in prayer, especially when something feels particularly rich) spend some time journaling what insights arise for you.

How is this text calling to your dancing monk heart in this moment of your life?

What does this text have to offer to your discernment journey of listening moment by moment to the invitation from the Holy?

What wisdom emerged that may be just for you, but may also be for the wider community?

Sharing Your Responses

Please share the fruits of your lectio divina practice in the comments below (at the bottom of the page) or at our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group which you can join here. There are over 2900 members and it is a wonderful place to find connection and community with others on this path.

You might share the word or phrase that shimmered, the invitation that arose from your prayer, or artwork you created in response. There is something powerful about naming your experience in community and then seeing what threads are woven between all of our responses.

Join the Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group here>>

*Note: If this is your first time posting, or includes a link, your comment will need to be moderated before it appears. This is to prevent spam and should be approved within 24 hours.

Monk in the World guest post: Dianne Jones

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Dianne Jones' wisdom on living as a monk in the world:

Stop Breathe Believe – A Beginning to a New Way of Being

Several years ago I began PrairieFire, a three-year program of spiritual formation, to learn to walk alongside others in the process of slowing down and discovering the heart of their spirituality.  My classmates and I often called ourselves the Monkettes.  We learned together, we cried together, we dared greatly together, we shared deeply with one another, we listened to one another and we listened to God.

In the final year of the program I was in the beginning processes of giving birth to a book based on a practice I used as an individual and couple’s therapist.  I had developed the practice when I was struggling with my own thinking – struggling with my own path, struggling with some major decisions regarding my career.  I often give credit to the Monkettes as being the midwives, along with many others, of the book.

The practice of Stop Breathe Believe® is a practice that will help you first become aware of your thoughts, and then harness the power to allow in only the thoughts that help you on the journey to wholehearted living, while gently, without judgment, turning away the thoughts that impede you.

Stop Breathe Believe, like any new skill, takes practice, but you will get better at it, and the more adept you are at implementing it as a practice in your daily life, the more effective it is.  With healthy patterns of thinking, you get healthy patterns of being.

Stop: At a predetermined cue (like a stoplight) orat a moment you find yourself struggling, stopwhat you’re doing and become aware of what you’re thinking.  You may even want to say the words aloud, using your name: “Stop, Brenda;” or “Stop, Stephen.”  Speak to yourself with kindness but firmness.  Now, notice what’s going on in your mind.  Whatever thought you find—and believe me, it could be anything!—simply become aware of it.  Just recognize it, and note it without judgment.  In keeping with the stoplight metaphor, if your thought is a green, life-affirming thought, take a moment to be grateful!  If it’s a “red” or life-draining thought, move on to Breathe.

Breathe: As you’re able, change your physical position. Sit up straight so as to be able to make use of your lungs’ maximum capacity.  Now, breathe in slowly through the nose for a count of four, and then at the top of the breath, exhale through the mouth for a count of eight. Deep, diaphragmatic breathing triggers the parasympathetic nervous system to relax the body—your heart rate slows, your respiratory rate slows, your muscles loosen.  With each exhalation, you’ll feel your mind and your body begin to relax.  Even if it’s for just a moment, you’re redirecting your attention away from the negative thought you noticed during Stop.  You can rest and recharge in the Breathe portion of Stop Breathe Believe as long as you like.

Believe: When you feel ready, start to create a belief statement that truthfully addresses the thought you observed during Stop.  Let’s say that the thought you became aware of was “I’m such an idiot for losing my temper.”  An effective belief statement could be: “I’m so human.”  Or: “I’m learning a new process that will help.”  Or: “Anger does not define who I am.”  Whatever your belief statement, it’s the stepping-stone to get you through the next obstacle.  You can use your belief statement in the midst of a tense situation, or as an anchor throughout the day.

Through the process of Stop Breathe Believe you can stop the endless stream of thoughts and become awareof one thought that needs replacing, breathe your way to a state of calm openness, and then believe a unique truth statement of your own creation that brings release from the unhealthy thought that’s hindering you.

Stop Breathe Believe is a contemplative practice that can be essential during times of struggle and heartache.  It can also help in the day to day events that cause us stress: an overburdened schedule, the difficult conversations we all face from time to time, the running late to an appointment, the miscalculation of the budget for the month. Each day offers an opportunity to practice beginning again – and reflecting in a calm way on how you want to relate to and respond to the world around you.

This blog post is adapted from STOP BREATHE BELIEVE:  Mindful Living One Thought At A Time © Stop Breathe Believe, LLC.

Dianne Morris Jones is a Licensed Mental Health Counselor (LMHC), a Certified Daring Way™ Facilitator – Consultant (CDWF-C), a Laughter Yoga Instructor, has training in Spiritual Direction and the Enneagram, and author of STOP BREATHE BELIEVE:  Mindful Living One Thought At A Time.  She practices at Family Legacy Counseling in Des Moines, Iowa.

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Invitation to Dance: Community – Who is your tribe?

We continue our theme this month of "Community — Who is your tribe?" which arose from our Community Lectio Divina practice with the story from the Third Principle of the Monk Manifesto and continued with this month's Photo Party and Poetry Party.

I invite you into a movement practice.  Allow yourself just 5 minutes this day to pause and listen and savor what arises.

Begin with a full minute of slow and deep breathing.  Let your breath bring your awareness down into your body.  When thoughts come up, just let them go and return to your breath. Hold this question of "Who is my tribe?" as the gentlest of intentions, planting a seed as you prepare to step into the dance.
Play the piece of music below (Ravel's "Bolero" performed live, outdoors in Algemesí City, Spain) and let your body move in response, without needing to guide the movements. Listen to how your body wants to move through space in response to your breath. Remember that this is a prayer, an act of deep listening. Pause at any time and rest in stillness again. As more instruments are added to the song, see what arises in your own imagination about your community.
After the music has finished, sit for another minute in silence, connecting again to your breath. Just notice your energy and any images rising up.
Is there a word or image that could express what you encountered in this time?  (You can share about your experience, or even just a single word in the comments section below or join our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group and post there.)
If you have time, spend another five minutes journaling in a free-writing form, just to give some space for what you are discovering.
To extend this practice, sit longer in the silence before and after and feel free to play the song through a second time. Often repetition brings a new depth.