Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 146

Solstice Blessings + How to Be a Pilgrim (a love note from your online Abbess)

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How to Be a Pilgrim

Air travel is like

ancient pilgrims walking on their

knees, flight delays and narrow seats

offer their own kind of penance.

You jettison excess baggage,

leaving behind the heavy makeup case,

knowing the rain will

wash you free of artifice.

Books you wanted to carry left too,

no more outside words needed,

then go old beliefs which keep

you taut and twisted inside.

Blistered feet stumble over rocky

fields covered with wildflowers and you

realize this is your life,

full of sharp stones and color.

Red-breasted robins call forth

the song already inside,

a hundred griefs break open under

dark clouds and downpour.

Rise and fall of elation and exhaustion,

the tides a calendar of unfolding,

a bright star rises and you remember

a loved one waiting miles away.

A new hunger is kindled by the sight of

cows nursing calves in a field,

spying a spotted pony, you forget

the weight and seriousness of things.

Salmon swim across the Atlantic,

up the River Corrib’s rapids to the

wide lake, and you wonder if you have

also been called here for death and birth.

This is why we journey:

to retrieve our lost intimacy with the world,

every creature a herald of poems

that sleep in streams and stones.

“Missing you” scrawled on a postcard sent home,

but you don't follow with

"wish you were here."

This is a voyage best made alone.

—Christine Valters Paintner

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

I wasn't planning on writing to you again so soon, and yet I couldn't let the Solstice go by without a mention as I so love the wisdom of the seasons. Here in Galway last night the sun did not dip below the horizon until after 10 at night and full darkness did not descend for another hour. The golden glow of the sun's light so late in the day was beautiful to behold and a reminder of how far north we live. As someone who loves the quiet of darkness, I am glad that the earth is shifting today and beginning the long slow journey back toward the womb of night.

Of course, in the southern hemisphere, our fellow monks are experiencing quite the opposite as the descent to winter has reached its peak in terms of sun hours lessening, and now the shift is moving toward welcoming in the growing light. It is amazing to think that our planet is experiencing such diverse movements at the same time.

I think of all of these seasonal shifts as a cosmic pilgrimage. The sun's journey across the horizon, her arc over the sky, always shifting and changing and reminding us that the journey is ongoing. Sometimes we might think of pilgrimage as a voyage to a destination, but the ancient monks knew it reflected something much deeper, the always unfolding quality of life.

The solstice also reflects the call to pause in this midst of the journey. It is a threshold, a resting place in the midst of life's ever onward flow, a place to reflect and savor all that has come until that moment. A time to let go of the busyness which sweeps us in its clutches and commit again to a more slow and present way of being where other wisdom can emerge from beneath the productive and logical mind.

I have a great fondness for this time of the summer solstice as my birthday is on Monday, June 23rd and John's is Tuesday on the feast of St. John the Baptist. We are actually born a day apart on the same year, so our birthdays are usually a two-day long celebration of us.

Even more remarkable is that several years ago in our early travels to Europe together, we discovered that the solstice here is often celebrated on June 24th because of St. John's day, and begins the night before, on the 23rd for an all-night festival. In Latvia, where my father was actually born, it is their biggest national holiday, so the year we turned 40 we made an ancestral pilgrimage there for our birthdays as the whole country celebrated.  Many other European countries hold this Christianized tradition as well.

These pilgrimages we made to places like Latvia, Austria, Germany, Belgium, England, and Ireland over the years were all journeys to make ancestral connections. But they also opened up inside of us a deep appreciation for the way that pilgrimage calls us back to ourselves and helps us to "retrieve our lost intimacy with the world" as the poem above says. These journeys help to awaken a new kind of attentiveness to the way the world acts as inner catalyst and calls forth our inner transformation. And even if you make the journey with a loved one, it is ultimately something which calls us to our own solitude and search for inner meaning, our unique gifts to be broken open.

Pilgrimage also leads us to surprising places, to make other journeys we didn't expect. Certainly when John and I began our soulful travels together we didn't imagine ourselves one day living in Ireland and we definitely didn't imagine at the time the grace of welcoming other pilgrims to this place we have now rooted ourselves.

What journeys are calling to you? How might you awaken to the way the world is inviting you deeper into yourself? Can you offer up a holy pause at this threshold time to savor and remember?

Sheila Massey Connor, one of our pilgrims from our May journey has been writing wonderful reflections on her experience at her blog, you can see some of her posts here and here. (Click here for more details on the pilgrimages we offer - spaces available in some of our 2015 dates.)

The next time you hear from me will be in mid-July (July 11th is the Feast of St. Benedict!) when we announce the lineup of online classes for the coming year. We are very excited about what we are dreaming up in the spaciousness of our summertime, plus there will be an opportunity to subscribe to the series of online retreats for a discount and with extra gifts. (Hint: the dancing monk icons will be featured for Advent!)

In celebration of the solstice and our birthdays, we are releasing some new self-study classes below, along with free gifts for registering (now through June 24th)! See below for more details.

And if you live in Ireland, John and I are also holding the possibility of starting some monthly gatherings for monks in the world here, so please email me if you are interested in finding out more.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

www.AbbeyoftheArts.com

Photo by Christine (Christine and John on the beach in Jurmala, Latvia on the eve of St. John's Day)

New Self-Study Classes Available and Solstice / Birthday Sale!

We have some new self-study classes available. Our Soul Care Institute is changing format and so we are making some of the classes which have been a part of that program available to a wider audience.

Register for any one of these by the end of Tuesday, June 24th and also receive a free digital art journal titled Season by the Sea. This was one of the favorites of the series when I had them printed.

Register for two or more and receive Season by the Sea plus a $20 discount coupon good toward any future program (including live retreats).

To claim your gifts register for the class(es) you want by the end of June 24th and then send Christine an email with your request.

Choose from:

Earth as Soul Care Matrix: The Wild Heart of Ministry **
A Midwinter God: Making a Conscious Underworld Journey **
Live it to Give it: Essential Practices of Soul Nourishment and Self-Care (with Kayce Hughlett)**
Exile and Coming Home: An Archetypal Journey through the Scriptures (register now and receive access starting August 1, 2014)
Honoring Saints and Ancestors: Month of Remembrance  (now available as a self-study class which you can start at any time)

Register now and start them at any time in the future.

**For these first three classes, you also have the option of adding individual spiritual direction (with Christine) or individual coaching (with Kayce) for an additional fee.

Aligning with the Season of My Soul (a love note from your online Abbess)

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

I am relishing the slower rhythms of summer, time for unstructured schedules when I can follow my own inclinations, noticing what my body and spirit need in a given moment. I have much work to do on my manuscript to have it ready by August, but what nourishes the writing process for me is allowing time for diversions like making seashell mandalas, writing poems, and going for long walks when things in my mind need a little shaking loose.

John and I went on a spontaneous trip out to the island of Inisbofin (Island of the White Cow) last week. It is a place we visited last summer and felt smitten with. The requisite monastic ruin on one end close to beautiful beaches with lots of shells for gathering, the other end wild and more rugged with evidence of inhabitants dating back to 8000-4000 B.C. This is an ancient and thin place, revealing the veil to be very diaphanous between worlds.

We went because we have been inspired to create a new pilgrimage itinerary in Ireland for next year, one that is part writing retreat, and focuses on some of the stunning islands off the coast of Connemara. On our overnight trip we felt drawn even more strongly to bring others to that place, and others we have fallen in love with. (You can find out more about Writing on the Wild Edges of the World: A Creative Pilgrimage and Retreat in Ireland - August 30-September 7, 2015 and we have new dates for our Monk in the World Ireland Pilgrimage - October 20-28, 2015).

John and I have returned to our daily practice of lectio divina, after falling away because of so much travel and groups arriving. The beauty of the monastic path is that we are simply called to begin again.  To remember that we are always beginners in this spiritual life. And in that return after absence I remember with even more vigor the gifts this practice offers to me.

We are practicing lectio continua, which is rooted in the ancient monastic tradition of choosing a book of the scriptures and praying with a couple of verses each day, working slowly through it. In this way you pray with texts you might not otherwise, you read the words in context. We did this with the Song of Songs, and have recently begun praying through the Psalms, knowing this will be a long-term commitment.

Our text the other morning was Psalm 5:8-9 and the words that shimmered were "make straight the path before me." I resisted at first, because I am not one to seek things laid out in order. I prefer peripatetic wanderings and following the thread. I love meandering and holy pauses, the questions rather than the answers . But as I sat with the text in the silence I realized that it was lifting up a longing I have been having recently: to be in alignment with what is ripening within me.

I am a big believer in seasons of the soul. And of course, moving overseas two years ago and starting new lives on this side of the ocean ushered us into a brand new season. When we moved six months later from Vienna, Austria to Galway, Ireland another new season broke open as we focused on getting to know this landscape that had beckoned us.

In recent months the season has been shifting again, or revealing more of its contours and invitations. I have a deep sense of longing to root myself even further here. I am remembering the delights of the sacred ordinary each day in new and sometimes unexpected ways. And I am being called to spend more energy on bringing groups here who want a soulful and intimate experience of this place we have fallen in love with.

Summer will allow me to keep listening to how this wants to unfold. The season ahead is calling for a deeper alignment, a sense of being in congruence with the movements of the Spirit in my life. This is what the biblical text means for me, a longing to see the new grooves being formed in my soul and follow them. My sense is one of coming into alignment with something deep inside of me that I cannot yet name, but I trust more than anything. There is a rightness in letting go some of what worked before, some of the patterns and rhythms which carried me to this point but are no longer necessary and in fact get in the way of true alignment. This is what living the questions and the mystery means for me.

What would coming into alignment with your own soul's ripening mean for you?

Our rhythm at the Abbey this summer will be much slower, the newsletters will be a little less frequent. We are pausing our weekly invitations to lectio divina, poetry, photography, and dance, as well as the monk in the world guest posts until September again.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE
www.AbbeyoftheArts.com

Photo by Christine of seashell mandala

Summer scripture course starts tomorrow!

Our online summer scripture course which John is co-teaching with some amazing colleagues begins tomorrow, so if you want to dive into conversation with others around these sacred texts sign up here. It is going to be a fabulous course and the registration will be closing in the next couple of days, so this is your last chance to join the community.

Join us this fall in the Northeast U.S.

This fall I am delighted to be traveling to the Northeast to teach two different retreats. My dear friend and colleague Kayce Stevens Hughlett and myself will be offering Exploring Archetypal Energies through the Expressive Arts October 1-5, 2015 in Reading, PA with only 1 space left!  Kayce has written a guest post for the Abbey on Clues and Curiosity, if you are feeling the nudge to join us stop by to read her reflection (or even if you can't come, I recommend you read her wisdom anyway). My other retreat Sacred Rhythms Writing & Movement Retreat September 20-24, 2014 in Cape May, NJ is officially full but please feel free to contact me if you want to be added to the waiting list.

Clues and Curiosity: Considering ways to explore archetypal energies (guest post by Kayce Stevens Hughlett)

I am delighted this fall to be traveling to the Northeast and leading a retreat with one of my favorite people and dear friends, Kayce Stevens Hughlett, on the archetypes and expressive arts. There are only two spaces left, so if you would like to join us in Reading, PA October 1-5, 2015 click here for more details.

Kayce has generously offered us some of her wisdom on clues and curiosity as the trails we follow:

“All you get on your life way are little clues.” Joseph Campbell

I’ve been on a bit of a writing sabbatical this summer. It wasn’t intentional or something I’d named in specific words, but as I began to prepare this blog post for Abbey of the Arts I noticed that my fingers felt odd on the keyboard and an inner voice beckoned for me to toss aside my obligations and run outside to play in the sunshine.  Being the curious sort that I am, I stopped typing, paused and considered, “What clues do I see here?” Hmmm. My inner child appears to be close at hand —the one who loves loose schedules, ice cream for dinner, breaking rules, and dancing barefoot in the grass. My internal caregiver says it’s time for nurturing which includes lots of rest, fresh foods for my tummy, and bike rides or long strolls through the park and countryside. Nurturing means time with friends and space for laughter, lots and lots of space.

“What is the point of all this?” you might ask.

The answer? My curiosity is combining with the writer within as I attempt to share about one (or two) of my favorite topics: archetypes and expressive arts.

“(Archetypes) live in us, but even more importantly, we live in them. We can, therefore, find them by going inward (to our own dreams, fantasies, and often actions as well) or by going outward (to myth, legend, art, literature, and more).” Carol S. Pearson

I see archetypes as patterns and ways of being, thinking, or observing the world that reside in all of us. Jungian psychology defines them as “a collectively inherited unconscious idea, pattern of thought, image, etc. universally present in individual psyches.” Archetypes are recognizable across cultures, time, and belief systems. A few examples we see throughout time and place are the archetypes of Mother, Hero, and Ruler.

“Archetypes help us connect with the eternal; they make the great mysteries more accessible by providing multiple images for our minds to ponder.” Carol S. Pearson

Archetypes help give categories and meaning to our own life journeys by exploring internal and external movements. They help us decipher our personal “clues” in the world. I adore playing with archetypes, and the expressive arts make an excellent playmate.

Last month I had the privilege of leading a small group of women on their own journey of internal and eternal discovery. The city of Paris was our backdrop and the archetype of the Pilgrim was our container. The rhythm of our days included deep listening and intention setting, and, of course, lots of play and laughter. It was magical to see how the qualities of the Pilgrim spoke to each woman in her own unique ways. We incorporated movement, writing, art, culture, and nature to explore our Pilgrim’s voices.

Curiosity is one of my strongest attributes, therefore I love searching for clues to deepen my own life and helping others experience their personal discernment. Archetypes and art help do both of those things. This form of combined exploration is one of the reasons Christine Valters Paintner and I created “Exploring Archetypal Energies through Expressive Arts.”

Incorporated in this retreat is one of my favorite forms of artistic expression – SoulCollage® – a process for accessing your intuition by creating collaged cards. Each card is filled with personal meaning that can help you explore life’s clues, questions, and transitions. And what’s more fun than playing with scissors, glue sticks, and lots of images?

Christine and I are delighted to be bringing archetypes, SoulCollage®, and expressive arts to the Mariwald Retreat Center in Reading, Pennsylvania this coming October. I hope you’ll consider joining us.

My Writing Self may currently feel like she’s “on sabbatical,” but the Teacher and Lover in me can’t wait to share more experiences with you!

Join us for Exploring Archetypal Energies through Expressive Arts October 1-5, 2015 at the Mariawald Retreat Center in Reading, PA. Only two spaces left!

Kayce Stevens Hughlett, MA LMHC is a soulful and spirited woman. In her roles as ponderer extraordinaire, spiritual director, life muse, author, creative coach, and speaker, she invites us to playfully and fearlessly cross the thresholds toward authentic living.

Kayce holds a Masters in Counseling Psychology with additional emphasis in spiritual direction and experiential learning practices and is a Certified Martha Beck Life Coach. She is the author of As I Lay Pondering: Daily Invitations to Live a Transformed Life and the co-author of “Arts Centered Supervision” published in Awakening the Creative Spirit: Bringing the Expressive Arts to Spiritual Direction. Kayce is a trained SoulCollage® facilitator, a founding member of the Soul Care Institute, and has worked with groups and individuals for more than 30 years in a variety of settings.

Monk in the World Guest Post: Courtney Pinkerton

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Courntey Pinkerton's reflections on the practices which nourish her path as a monk in the world, including the wisdom of the Enneagram:

I used to be quite happy in the righteous do-gooder camp. Fresh out of college working with homeless women and children or later in the Peace Corps in Nicaragua, I was comfortable dividing up the world. There were the social activists and the complacent ones. Those awake to the deep and juicy registers of life and the other people, walking yet asleep.

Increasingly I recognize myself in all the above categories and see my life as a Mobius strip where the inner and outer connect in surprising ways. As I walk this strip I experience moments of freshness, moments caught in the grip of a habitual filter worrying what people think of me, moments of kindness, moments of fierce inner static or exasperated comments to my kids such as “Go to sleep or mama is going to lose her mind!” And that was just last night. Yet somehow this whole package of creative tension is held in the Compassionate Embrace.

To be a monk is to walk such a Mobius strip of awareness in our lives. It is to practice non-dual seeing, moving beyond the impulse to evaluate our experiences & responses as good or bad, right or wrong and instead to peer into the hidden wholeness of each moment, what Richard Rohr calls “seeing as the mystics see.”

Now this non-dual seeing is far from my dominant mode. In fact, I have mystic-envy. I long for such abandon and surrender. I get fleeting tastes of it and wonder what it would be like to experience the world that way more often.

Yet I have needed non-dual goggles to make sense of my life the last few years as I transitioned out of a role as lead pastor of an emerging church and into one of soulful entrepreneurialism. Two plus years ago I launched Bird in Hand, a web-based watering hole for the spirit, through which I write, offer holistic life coaching and teach the Enneagram. My goal is to tell the truth about the soul journey in an invitational way and to interpret spiritual wisdom so that it is digestible in daily life. Transformational work has its own cadence and rhythm, and requires both deep dives into the Mystery and attention to quotidian realities, like cleaning out the closet, investing in nourishing food, or making space in a busy schedule for a green hour outside after dinner.

Starting a daily meditation practice was a big shift for me toward finding more ease in daily life. I went from doing lots of “contemplative-like” things throughout my day to a regular morning meditation routine which grounds and revitalizes me. Learning two key points helped me step over the final obstacles to starting this practice: 1) thoughts are evidence of stress leaving the body and 2) the moment of noticing a thought and gently re-orienting to the breath is actually the moment of practice which rewires the brain to be more stress-hardy!

My personality is more comfortable when I get to be the expert or the one serving others so it is vital that I practice receiving. That is my favorite definition of meditation: it can be anything, even a moment outside with coffee and the birds, as long as it allows you to “go receptive.” Now I approach meditation not so much as something to do as something to drink: a nourishing tonic which detoxes the nervous system.

In particular the loving kindness meditation reminds me that the love I want to offer others and even the whole world is as indiscriminate and nourishing as the rain. It falls also on me. The traditional loving kindness phrases (which are really a blessing offered first to yourself and then outward in expanding circles) are four: 1) May you be safe, 2) May you be happy 3) May you be healthy, and 4) May you live with ease. I especially like the first phrase which can also be interpreted: “May you be free from danger.” This refers both to outer danger (in the obvious ways) but also to inner danger from thought patterns or dialogues with the inner critic which leave us depleted and weary.

Other simple (but not necessarily easy) practices which help me live as a monk in the world:

Sitting on my porch and holding a hot lunch in my hands, looking out at the trees while I chew.
Turning off screens (including my iPhone!) when my littles come home from school and surrendering to their pace and agenda as well as the call of the house to attend to its dishes and laundry with care.
Giving all my weekly tasks a home in my calendar. This comforts me in that I know I have Sabbath time of deep rest, but also specific focus days to tend to the business aspects of my work, to write and create new content, to coach clients, and to enjoy family and couple adventures.

All of these little things add up to a big thing: a life which feels deeply resonant (at least most of the time.) And on not so good days these practices breathe for me.

Lastly, the Enneagram, an ancient map of the human experience, opens the door for me to show up authentically in my spiritual life and day-to-day relationships. I find it comforting that there are only nine different ways, or personality types, through which we can lose and subsequently find ourselves.

Whether your type leads with the head, heart, or gut/body center of intelligence the goal is not to eradicate your humanity or even to heal your type but rather to dance with it. And to trust that this shift from being constricted in our type energy and then remembering and relaxing is actually a process which develops our consciousness.

I find it helpful to distill the Enneagram down from where it normally lands (as a cognitive framework) to where the magic happens, which is in living it! Our personality is our partner and there is something meaningful about noticing, for example, when I get all stirred up about what people think of my work or writing (I’m a type 3 so this is a big trigger) and to simply allow that sensation to settle in my body. It usually lands as a squeeze on the heart. Making space for that squeeze to be there and simultaneously finding my feet, connecting to the ground and to Source, helps the nervous system digest the stressor.

One of my Ennea teachers says that the only way to maintain an undefended heart is with a grounded presence. That rings so true to me. Given my natural orientation I will kind of float off in the ethers. This is when a Zen teacher would whack a student on the arm and say, "Kill the Buddha and wash your bowls."

This is harsh language but I understand the sentiment. To not allow the mental construct or vision of oneself as a certain kind of practitioner to lead one out of the present moment. Instead to ground the power of spiritual truths in daily living.

This is the monk’s path.

As is finding a life-giving community of practice.

I am grateful for the Abbey of the Arts and each of you monks in the world for holding such a space.

Courtney Pinkerton is the founder of Bird in Hand Coaching and the publisher of a weekly enewsletter on meditation, the Enneagram and soulful living. She lives in Oak Cliff, Texas with her husband Richard Amory where they try to keep up with their three young children and remember to water their garden boxes. Courtney can be reached through her site, www.courtneypinkerton.com. Also her Summer of Meditation Challenge, a free eight-week training program, starts in June! Watch the video to learn more and sign up if you would like support to keep your meditation practice going strong or to explore its benefits this summer.

Stopping by the Holy Well (a love note from your online Abbess)

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Stopping by the Holy Well

Gentian blue sky,

dandelion seed clouds play

hide and seek with the sun.

The long walk on the pilgrim

road, across blooming limestone

to this flowing fissure.

Brightly colored ribbons hang

like old party streamers

from branches, banners

of longing: a prayer for healing

the great divide of the heart,

or a beloved consumed by cancer.

Or simply an echo of the psalmist’s

ancient cry, “How long, O God?”

into the vast and thunderous silence.

No pronouncements in reply,

no choruses of Alleluia.

Only moss and streams and birdsong,

only the knowing that life still

burgeons here on the edges of

our own landscapes of loss.

I plunge in my hands.

—Christine Valters Paintner

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Over the last two weeks my days have been filled with journeys to holy wells and the sacred ruins of monasteries hundreds of years old. My days have been filled with the companionship of fellow pilgrims, who traveled here to Galway, Ireland from the U.S., Canada, U.K., Ireland, Australia, and New Zealand, making the global community of the Abbey so very real and alive.

Together we sang chants inspired by the Psalms, read poems aloud, walked in sunwise circles around the wells and other holy sites keeping ourselves in alignment with ancient practices and the forces of the cosmos, we hung ribbons on the rag trees to ask for prayers, and we plunged our hands into the healing water rising up from beneath the earth.

We also ate beautiful meals together and shared what was stirring in each of our hearts, how the journey was calling forth something both new and very old. Pilgrimage is often about remembering something we have forgotten while also embracing the act of self-forgetting so that we become one with the thousands of others who have made this journey before us.

When I started the Abbey 8 years ago now, I never could have anticipated all that has unfolded. I did not know this would be become a global community and movement of hearts committed to a different way of being in the world. I did not know that I would be called to uproot myself and make the journey to the wild edges of Ireland and then welcome other pilgrims there. As the poet David Whyte writes, "what you can plan is too small for you to live."

Ireland has offered us so many gifts and has been calling us to plant ourselves even more firmly here, to travel away less, and rediscover the gifts of the sacred ordinary in our daily lives. Ireland has been a muse for my own poetic heart, sparking a new dance of words in my imagination.

Ireland also has a troubled history, like any land, and like other places it carries both wounds and blessings. It is such a privilege to be a part of the healing of memory through acts of love and devotion to the sacred so alive in this place, as well as part of the reclaiming of ancient wisdom for our times.

The poem above was inspired by one of my favorite holy wells, St. Colman's, at the site of his hermitage cave. It requires a twenty-minute saunter over the rocky limestone of the Burren and across a threshold of hazel trees to reach this sanctuary. Within the circle of hazelwood, and nestled into the base of the mountain, is a gushing well flowing into a stream of living water. The rag tree stands guardian over the space and invites prayers to be tied to her branches.

If you make a short climb up the hill past the oratory, there is the small cave where St. Colman is said to have retreated to with a rooster, a mouse, and a fly. The rooster awakened him for morning prayer, the mouse made sure he did not fall back to sleep, and the fly walked along the page of his Psalter to keep his attention on the lines of the text. He lived in communion with creatures and there are dozens of delightful stories of these Irish saints and their intimacy with creation.

I was aware these last few days of journeying with our private group who arrived soon after our pilgrimage group left, that I was on a threshold. I was about to enter the holy space of summer's spaciousness, where I have made a commitment to nourishing my body and my health while I finish writing my manuscript. So I asked for blessings myself in these places, I asked for the wisdom to savor my time, I asked for clarity and courage to really listen to what wants to break through in this season ahead.

What are the prayers on your heart as we pass across the threshold into summer (or winter for our southern hemisphere monks)? What is it the season for in your own being?

We have a special summer gift for you! Subscribe to our newsletter for the next in our series of digital art journals, this one on Illuminating Mystery: Creativity as a Spiritual Practice. This is one way I offer my gratitude to you for your wonderful support of this work and your commitment to an alternative way of being in the world.

For more reflection this week, stop by Richard Bruxvoort Colligan's guest post on psalms. The Abbey is thrilled to be offering a summer online class on Exile and Coming Home: An Archetypal Journey through the Scriptures and Richard is one of the main teachers along with John Valters Paintner, Ronna Detrick, and Roy DeLeon.  And we have a new Monk in the World guest post by fellow monk in the world Robert Rife.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

www.AbbeyoftheArts.com

Photo by Christine at Kilmacduagh Abbey

Monk in the World guest post: Robert Rife

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Robert Rife's wisdom on finding the sacred in the most ordinary moments:

I-You-Holy Ground

By Robert Alan Rife

I am the dusty ground, low and dry

thirsty for the imprint of holy feet.

Despoil with radiant prints, this virgin ground.

You are the rain, falling deftly

upon my brown soil. Now is left

your footprint on this ground.

I am the ashen leaves, curling and broken

awaiting but a whisper. For only then

can I fall on solid ground.

You are the soundless wind, howling, still.

You creep up behind me and

exhale me to the ground.

I am the snow, disembodied worlds of cold

and chance encounters with hand, or tongue,

eye-lash or palm needing ground.

You are the frozen air in which I am held

aloft, drawn slowly down

to meet with others on the frozen ground.

I am the waning autumn death

soon to give way to the long silence-when one Voice

becomes the loudest ground.

You are the Voice that speaks

heard best in dying, power given for

rising from this shivering ground.

I am the distant hours, the midnight passing-

the refusing minutes, trapped in hours,

running from the years of ancient ground.

You are the many, and the one, and all time

and nothing and everything from nothing

where time has no ground.

I am the weeping, the squalid groaning,

the unrequited miseries of misery’s company

laying crippled and diffused in the ground.

You are the end of tears and years, the question

and the answer, the sutured nerve of joy, not suggested

but present, here, on this Holy Ground.

A Celt in a kilt and the beautiful mundane

For me, the term ‘monk’ used to mean ‘one safely cloistered away from the cares of normal life in dimly lit, echoing stone hallways where hooded men sing hauntingly beautiful music and basically float just a bit off the ground. A single, piercing glance from their crystalline eyes means healing, they have superpowers, can read your thoughts, never need to eat, and speak once a year whether they need to or not.

Since leaving behind my roots in evangelicalism for headier waters elsewhere I’ve since discovered that monks often have the sauciest senses of humor, the bawdiest stories and, not surprisingly, the deepest delight in the world around them. My kinda fellas. They’re as non-dualistic as they come; a life to which I aspire. Apophatic meditation one moment. Bodily noises the next. Welcome to my world.

I am a dreamer; a philosopher-poet capable of romanticizing even the most mundane banalities. To a guy like me, cutting the grass has the potential to be a portal into the nether regions of the universe, awash in liminality, where mythic faeries ride unicorns on their way to Celtic slumber parties. But, I’ve been known to overstate a little.

Clearly, I’m a favorite among type-A corporate headhunters (tongue super-glued to cheek). Rather, stereotypical songwriters, tree-huggers, poets, unfocused A.D.D. artsy-fartsies, and contemplatives love to love me. They’re my peeps. My homies. They know my psychic address.

These overly romanticized sensibilities haven’t always promised smooth sailing for me. In fact, more often than not they’ve brought more than their fair share of woe and disillusionment. The world has precious little patience for those like me, preferring instead the multi-tasking, power-doers with ambitions larger than the moon upon which they hang their coats (but generally not their egos). It’s a challenge in our super-charged, winner-take-all culture to prove real value in lighting candles and pursuing silence when time is money and money is god and god keeps shrinking or running away.

My earliest recollections of spiritual awareness contained the following simple elements: surprised by joy moments, generally unasked for and seldom expected; a sudden awareness that the world was not really as it seemed – that from God’s perspective all was well. Specifically, I was drawn to all things ancient, mystical and Celtic. As a bagpiper/Irish whistle player who has toured extensively it makes sense that, for me, the world is seen through green colored glasses, smells just a little peaty, telephone poles were meant for tossing, and “ladies” is misspelled on the restroom door (insert look of shock and consternation here).

Although a mystic from a very early age, despite a decided lack of language to articulate such things, my fate was forever sealed when, for the first time I heard the Great Highland Bagpipe. I was seven years old. I was gobsmacked. Mere weeks later, in the basement of St. Andrews Presbyterian Church, I started learning to play the pipes. I have played ever since.

Something else happened however. It christened a liminal journey of my inner mystic and forever sealed my fate as a lover of all things Celtic, monastic and artistic. It also began an almost unassuagable thirst for the monastic realities of thin-place living. Puddles become holy water. All time, whether singing, snoring or snacking, can be wrapped up in a ball of quivering holiness. It is the essence of Celtic spirituality. It is my essence (especially if we had haggis the night before).

Now, a gazillion years and as many prayers later, to be an artist, a mystic and a monastic-wannabe is for me to see myself less as a dreamer and more as a waking dream. Life is to find the holy in the banal; the glorious mundane. The perfect, daily moments of nothing-special that, simply by virtue of noticing them, become possibilities of inherent wonder. The greatest gift I’ve received in the past few years, something particularly attributable to the Celts, is that of awakening to these shimmering possibilities in the blasé and dull. How brightly they shine under the light of the God of order and magnificent delights.

Robert Alan Rife was born in Calgary, Alberta but presently serves as Minister of Worship & Music at Yakima Covenant Church in Yakima, Washington. He is a singer-songwriter (his CD, “Be That As It May” is available on iTunes), Celtic musician, liturgist, speaker, poet, and a blogger here, here and here. He is a graduate from Spring Arbor University with an M.A. in Spiritual Formation and Leadership. 

See in each herb and small animal, every bird and beast, and in each man and woman, the eternal Word of God.   ~ St. Ninian ~

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

Rants of a 21st-century Psalmist (guest post by Richard Bruxvoort Colligan)

This week Richard Bruxvoort Colligan is sharing a guest post of his love of the psalms. Make sure to join him this summer at the Abbey (along with John Valters Paintner, Ronna Detrick, and Roy DeLeon) for an exploration of the scriptures and the questions to which they call us. Exile and Coming Home: An Archetypal Journey through the Scriptures is a six-week online class which begins June 16th!

Rants of a 21st-century Psalmist

or

What the Psalms Do To Us

My artist friend Erika looked at my scrunched-up face from her sofa and said, “Is there any reason you couldn’t call yourself… a Psalmist?”

It was 11 years ago when my enthrallment with the Psalms was a seed breaking open. I was at a vocational crossroads as I finished seminary, struggling with practical things like employment. Erika saw something I didn’t: I was falling in love.

Since then, an unlikely calling has emerged: studying, composing, singing and teaching the Psalms. (Who gets to do that for a living?) Against all odds, I guess I’ve become what Erika commissioned me for: a Psalmist.

People often ask why the Psalms have become so important to me.

The word Psalm means “song.” Five books of them in the Hebrew Testament are the sung prayers of ancient Israel, the foundation of the Judeo-Christian worship liturgy, and the prayers that Jesus knew by heart.

You may have run across one of two in your life or may even have one memorized. What’s been your experience? How did you feel about the ones you’ve heard?

Some Psalms scream. Others sing high and pretty. When we read, sing or hear them, we witness prayers so raw and transparent we’re often uncomfortable or even resistant to letting them in. They are old, written by individuals and communities who were having a tough time of it.

Like most of what we call scripture, the Psalms are stories of a people working out their life, documenting for us a history of some of the people of God.

To be honest, I had always been kinda bored with history. Mr. Zander did his best in 8th grade but it didn’t take. That is, until our son Sam was born. Then I discovered a deep desire to explain and describe the world, not just to him but to myself. What does Then have to do with Now?

My passion for the Psalms is less about archaeology and more about our lifelong spiritual formation.

It might come as a surprise that these 3000-year-old poems speak directly– even specifically– to 21st-century issues. Here are a few biggies. See if they ring true to you for present-day life.

Ecology and how we treat the earth
Economic systems and what money means
Whom do we welcome and shove out?
The reality of injustice and our responsibility
How to be happy
Understanding depression, anger, anxiety and grief
Patriotism, national crisis and being a citizen of the world
War, violence, vengeance and justice
Life in a culture obsessed with sex, power and denial, and
Can I really save 15% on my car insurance?

That last one may be poor exegesis talking.

But let me ask you, a person who cares about the invisible life of individuals and communities: What would happen to you if you were immersed in the Psalms? If your spiritual community had a regular feed inviting you to stretch, grow and discover in every dimension of your life?

We’d encounter Psalm 22 — ”My God, why have you forsaken me?”– and be invited to pray in solidarity with Jesus for all those who suffer in the world. We’d notice a holy pull toward a life of justice, mercy and love.

We’d run into Psalm 23’s reality check that life is really, really hard sometimes– death, trouble, terrorism, all of it– and that there is such a thing as fearless shepherd guidance through every meadow and valley.

We’d puzzle over the mystical Psalm 87– a text all metaphor, naming us all babies born to one wonderful mother, citizens of the Holy City (the records don’t lie) and tributaries of a generous river. All of us born in Zion, and all of us sputtering our protests to this bewilderingly beautiful promise.

I’m delighted to be part of the “Exile and Coming Home” journey that taps into the Psalms.

My experience with the Abbey’s version for men was heart-opening. Not only did the material stretch us in wonderful ways, a community formed around our stories, questions and discoveries.

In the trajectory of our time together in “Exile and Coming Home,” you’re invited to tend the season you’re in right now. What does it mean to be faith-fully angry, contemplative, silent, hopeful, dedicated or active? In the company of strong characters like Amos, Hagar, Ezekiel, Mary, Hannah, Nehemiah, and Eve, we get an earful.

Let’s take a deep breath together and make space for something new.  

In particular, I welcome you to an experience the Psalms– what has been for me the most transformational spiritual practice of my adult life.

Well. I do go on.

[Shrug, smile]. I’m a Psalmist.  —Richard Bruxvoort Colligan

Register for our summer online course!

Exile and Coming Home: An Archetypal Journey through the Scriptures

June 16-July 27, 2014

A six-week online program

with John Valters Paintner, Ronna Detrick, Richard Bruxvoort Colligan, & Roy Deleon

The scriptures can seem foreign and out of date to modern readers. The Bible is often ignored, misused, or abused even by those who claim it as their own sacred text. And yet, beneath all its modern baggage, it holds great sacred truths. Only through careful reading and reflection can we find a deeper kinship with our spiritual ancestors. It is time to put aside what we think we know and read again with fresh eyes what the scriptures have to teach us.

This six-week course will explore the universal experiences of exile and return home again through personal reflection on the stories of several Biblical figures and Psalms. These offer invitations into different archetypal themes of what it means to live meaningfully as a contemplative and creative person in the world. How might these potent stories and ancient prayers from the Hebrew Scriptures deepen our journey into becoming monks in the world and artists of everyday life?

Each week we will explore a different theme which break open the great archetypal themes of exile and coming home at the heart of the scriptures, a male and female voice from scripture, and a Psalm which deepens our understanding of the theme, connecting our prayers to the great lineage of monastic tradition.

The course includes reflections by John Valters Paintner, Richard Bruxvoort Colligan, and Ronna Detrick whose passions are the wisdom of the Scriptures for our world today. Roy DeLeon will be inviting you into a gentle movement prayer for the week's psalm, to explore its meaning in an embodied way.

Each week you will be invited into reading, questions to ponder, the practice of lectio divina, creative invitations through writing and photography, movement prayer, as well as an online forum to have conversations with other monks reflecting on this journey. John, Richard, Roy, and Ronna will be facilitating this virtual gathering space. You are welcome to participate online as much or as little as needed for your own journey.

Click here for more details and to register>>

Call for Submissions: Monk in the World guest post series

We welcome you to submit your reflection for possible publication in our Monk in the World guest post series. It is a gift to read how ordinary people are living lives of depth and meaning in the midst of the challenges of real life.

This summer the Abbey is taking a break from this series but will return in the fall again. There are so many talented writers and artists in this Abbey community, so this is a chance to share your perspective. The reflection will be included in our weekly newsletter which goes out to more than 8000 subscribers.

Please follow these instructions carefully:

Details:

Please click this link to read a selection of the posts and get a feel for the tone and quality.
Submit your own post of 750-1000 words on the general theme of "How do I live as a monk in the world? How do I bring contemplative presence to my work and family?" It works best if you focus your reflection on one aspect of your life or a practice you have, or you might reflect on how someone from the monastic tradition has inspired you. We invite reflections on the practice of living contemplatively.
Please include a head shot and brief bio (50 words max). You are welcome to include 1-2 additional images if they help to illustrate your reflection in meaningful ways. All images should be your own. Please make sure the file size of each the images is smaller than 1MB. You can resize your image for free here - choose the "small size" option and a maximum width of 500).
We will be accepting submissions between now and August 15th for publication sometime in the fall/winter of 2014/5.  We reserve the right to make edits to the content as needed (or to request you to make edits) and submitting your reflection does not guarantee publication on the Abbey blog, but we will do our best to include as many of you as possible.
Email Christine by August 15th with your submission and include the reflection pasted into the body of your email and attach your photo(s).
We will be back in touch with you by the end of August to let you know if edits are needed and/or when we have scheduled your post to appear.

Community & Solitude (a love note from your online Abbess)

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

John and I just completed another pilgrimage here in Ireland with a beautiful group of pilgrims. We are continually amazed and humbled at the deeply soulful and wise folks that join us for our programs. Dancing monks are the most wonderful folks there are. Dwelling in these holy places where countless have prayed for thousands of years is an experience of connection to the community of monks across time. We step into thin time and place together, where the veil between the sacred and ordinary becomes sheer, the division is no longer clear.

Again, my heart came alive in so many ways, being with modern monks in ancient places, singing, praying, walking the holy rounds, bringing the spirit and wisdom of these holy sites alive through our presence. Cultivating community through ritual, shared silence, reflection, and feasting on the incredible food that Galway offers.

We are awaiting a private group arriving on Sunday for a couple of days of exploration of the wild edges here, and so I wanted to pause and send you a note, my beloved monks, wherever you may be, to let you know that you are deeply in my heart when we lead these journeys, connecting to the gathering of monks across space. I feel a particular kinship to the worldwide community of monks we have created together in this virtual space, and a profound sense of gratitude and privilege when I get to be with monks in person.

I am pondering the call to community a great deal these days and how that is unfolding for us here at the Abbey. How can we continue to nourish these meaningful connections among kindred souls, so that we come to know the path of slowness, intention, presence, and depth of meaning as a revolutionary force in the world? How do we gather together to nourish ourselves for this sometimes difficult path in a busy, preoccupied, and often violent world? What wisdom do the ancient monks offer to us today?

I am also preparing for a summer of writing, I will be finishing up a manuscript based on the online course I taught this past winter on Coming Home to the Body. I am thrilled to be spending much of the next couple months descending into the body's wisdom and landscape. And so the paradox is that I am entering a season of relative solitude as I hold these invitations to community. It is a necessary time for me to dive into the writing process fully, and also dream some visions for the coming year (there are many wonderful things in store for the Abbey!)

We will be taking a break from the weekly creative invitations here starting June through August and the monk in the world guest posts (stay tuned for two more fabulous ones in June before our hiatus!)  The newsletters will be a little less frequent, although I know I will not be able to resist sharing some of what bubbles forth in the quiet spaces of summer.

This is a transition time, crossing a threshold into more stillness and slowness. It is a vital time of renewal and replenishment.

Where are you longing for more moments to simply pause and listen?

How might you craft open spaces for the Spirit to enter in with new dreams and visions?

For more reflection this week, stop by Ronna Detrick's guest post on What I know for sure. The Abbey is thrilled to be offering a summer online class on Exile and Coming Home: An Archetypal Journey through the Scriptures and Ronna is one of the main teachers along with John Valters Paintner, Richard Bruxvoort Colligan, and Roy DeLeon.

At the Abbey blog, this week we have a new Invitation to Dance and two new and fabulous Monk in the World guest post by fellow monk in the world Martha Jane Petersen and Sara Hillis.

If you want to join me this fall in the Northeast U.S., there are two opportunities, with very limited space left. Please consider the Sacred Rhythms Writing & Movement Retreat in Cape May, NJ (September 20-24, 2014) in Cape May, NJ with just ONE space left or Exploring Archetypal Energies through Expressive Arts (October 1-5, 2014) in Reading, PA with my fabulous teaching partner Kayce Stevens Hughlett and just a few spaces left in that one. Both promise to be soulful experiences of connection with your own deep longings in a community of kindred souls.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE
www.AbbeyoftheArts.com

Photo by Christine at Kilmacduagh Abbey

Monk in the World guest post: Martha Jane Petersen

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Martha Jane Petersen's wisdom on quilting as contemplative prayer:

At age 65, I encountered a major turn in my life’s road. I slowly heeded a Divine call to become an artist. My hesitations gripped me long and hard. At this stage of life? I exclaimed. And what do I do about my writing, and being a minister?  Whenever I found myself enmeshed in art – among artists, or at galleries, or in my own art making – my energy revved up, excitement mounted, and joy flooded me. I was led to recognize this as “a call.”  It persisted  and I saw that art could become a means to share God’s Good News visually, not just verbally. Explorations into painting, weaving, pottery, and art books finally led me to fabric art. I had loved fabrics and made many of my own clothes since my teen years. It felt like rounding a full circle. I disregarded making traditional quilts with their tedious construction, directed by someone else’s design. So I began to make art quilts –  wall hangings of fabric – improvisa-tionally. This means my creations arise from my imagination, not from quilt books with set patterns, designs and instructions. In making my quilts, I pre-plan nothing and do not know where I am going when I begin.

When the urge to create a new quilt arises, I simply step forward in my studio to choose fabrics which seize my attention. Motivated only by my longing to create a new quilt – to play with color and shape, and make tangible something invisible – I make hard choices, excluding other beautiful possibilities. After finding an entry point I then arrange and re-arrange these selections through extensive trial and error.   I attempt to discern a path without knowing the end result. The rise and fall of energy, what feels right, and checking in repeatedly with my intuition guide me. The design unfolds only as I proceed. The path gains clarity simply as I walk it.

When I have finalized a design, I flesh it out by constructing it. Putting the quilt together presents its own challenges. Sometimes, lengthy hard work may stall me. Sometimes I don’t know a suitable technique to complete a project, or I may have painted myself in a corner, and don’t know how to move beyond the impasse. I experiment with various techniques, some familiar, some I have only heard or read about. In the muddle of chaos, an exciting new thing often emerges, something unexpected, something fresh. As I boldly move ahead, I frequently take a hot iron and fuse pieces together. Or I sit and stitch, sometimes by machine but usually by hand in a contemplative frame of mind.

As a neophyte artist, I soon discovered that, in our work, artists become contemplative. Our focus narrows to the project at hand. We tune out distractions. We pay attention to shape and color, line and rhythm. We gaze at possibilities. I clearly understood this phenomenon in a new quilt. It was birthed in contemplative moments.

Initially the process of working out its design involved ideas, analysis and decisions, The first task of choosing the fabrics led me to settle on small squares, rectangles and a few triangles from three swatches of decorator samples a friend had given me. I cut out those shapes in the fabrics which resembled watercolor washes in shades of green, burgundy, pink and creamy white. Then I arranged the pieces in a path from the dark reds and greens at the bottom to the white in the top right corner. I labored over blending the colors from one shape to the next with no abrupt change. It felt like putting together the pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle.

Swooping up from the lower left hand corner to the upper right, a curved line of red embroidery interlaced with gold metallic threads anchored down a few of the pieces. I fastened the rest to the back by hand with beads: dozens of beads sewed in almost every corner of the geometric shapes. The beading required inserting invisible nylon thread into an almost invisible eye of a skinny needle. Threading the needle and knotting the thread proved challenging. The thread frequently tangled and I’d have to start over. I stitched the beads by drawing up the knotted thread from back to top, piercing the hole of the bead and down to the back several times to secure the bead. Up and down. Bead after bead after bead, day after day after day.

In the process, analysis faded as I concentrated on my work. Contemplation took hold when the quiet repetitive action of my hands allowed my inner self to grow quiet. Every other part of my life fell away when I gave the quilt my full attention, time and energy. I was thoroughly focused, totally absorbed.  Not reflecting, not considering what to do next, not ruminating – just absorbed. The repetitive process captured my body and mind, heart and spirit. In and out, up and down. Over and over again. My mind was stilled, my verbalizing halted, and with the stillness, God’s presence enfolded me. “Hands to work, hearts to God,” the Shaker saying came alive. In communion with God I was praying wordlessly through my work, my hands, my eyes. The up and down motion centered me. Stitching the beads stitched me to God.

Portions of this Post is excerpted from Martha Jane Petersen’s  new memoir Imaging My Inner Fire: Finding My Path through Creating Art.  A fabric artist, writer and retired Presbyterian minister, she lives with her husband in the beautiful mountains of western North Carolina.

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