Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 163

Wisdom Council: Guest Post from Roy DeLeon

Time for another guest post from one of our amazing Wisdom Council members!  This week we have Roy DeLeon sharing his reflections with us on being a monk in the world.  I first met Roy at St. Placid Priory about ten years ago, where we are both Benedictine oblates. Roy is also a yoga teacher with a true monk's heart. We collaborated on a retreat several years ago on praying the Hours through yoga. Read on for Roy's reflections:

Open Heart in Hell

A Buddhist teacher said, “The practice is about keeping the heart open in hell.” Somehow, this statement stuck with me. As a yoga instructor, I tell my students that the arms and hands are part of the heart chakra. Then I suggest that the arms and hands are messengers of the heart. In anger, our hands turn into fists. But before that happens, the heart, the same size as our fist, tightens, hardens, and shuts down. The breath shortens. The blood thickens. Oxygen supply to the brain slows down. Clear and compassionate thinking gasps for air. Violence grabs the chance to wreak havoc.

But Jesus looks at us with Love. With an open heart. His arms spread, as he did on the cross. Then once the noise dies down, once the heart softens and opens, his voice comes home again. And I hear the sweet words, ‘I Am here.’

That is my go-to image when I feel a storm threaten. But what do you do when you are blindsided, surprised by events you least expect? It’s never too late to remember to open the heart to avoid further damage and prevent future suffering.

So how does one practice opening the heart? There are several yoga postures where you can do the Jesus-on-the-cross arm pose. You can do it while standing, or in tree pose (one foot pressed against the inner thigh) and meditating on the image of Jesus nailed on the tree. The warrior pose too, with one foot in front of the other, can be modified by spreading the arms and reciting ‘My heart is ready. I shall not fear.’

This seated meditation practice can prepare you before you enter a space of conflict: Seated quietly, breathing smoothly, hands flat on the chest, on the exhale, open the arms as you softly say ‘Ye/shu/a,’ lengthening each syllable. Another chant is ‘Ma/ra/na/tha.’

For a heart-opening restorative pose (after a difficult or tense conversation, for example), tightly roll a blanket or a towel, place it on the floor, then lie down on it with the blanket under your spine. Make sure your head is supported and your neck is not strained. Spread your arms on the floor and surrender your shoulders and hips to gravity. Focus on lengthening the exhale as you say ‘hahhhhh.’

As a monk in the world, one of my commitments as an oblate of St Benedict is ‘continuous conversion of the heart.’ I think it’s similar to the practice of keeping the heart open in hell. Gives a twist to the phrase ‘See you in hell,’ doesn’t it? I imagine the Divine One saying it, for the psalmist said ‘even in hell, there you are.’

And as an artist, I am blessed to have been given the opportunity to share my love of praying with the body through my book, workshops, blog posts and YouTube/Vimeo postings.

Be ready. Stay open.

Roy has a number of wonderful body prayer videos available to view here>>

Wisdom Council: Guest Post from Cheryl Macpherson

I am delighted to introduce our next Wisdom Council member to you, Cheryl Macpherson.  Cheryl and I met about ten years ago when we were both in the same spiritual direction formation program, the Pacific Jubilee Program.  I remember being impressed by Cheryl's quiet strength and wisdom during that time and was delighted to later reconnect when she participated in the online class Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist.  Now she brings her gifts as monk, artist, and spiritual director as co-facilitator of this class along with Stacy Wills,  another Wisdom Council member.  Read on for Cheryl's reflections:

Christine’s invitation to write a guest post about my way of being a monk in the world and an artist in everyday life has taken me on a pilgrimage tracing connections and following threads that have been woven into the pattern of my life.  They are the warp and weft of my Monkish tendencies and creative inclinations.

Many of my early memories involve time spent out doors in the stunning natural beauty of New Zealand.  I always felt my heart open and my spirit respond to some mysterious then unnamed goodness when out in nature. I remember singing songs which welled up from someplace deep within and having conversations with this mysterious other when walking alone. These days it is a joy to gather with a group of ‘Sacred Web’ women once a month to sing songs created by Carolyn McDade. Through her music, songs and singing she helps us deepen human consciousness and understand ourselves as part of a living planet. This singing offers a way to both lament all that is being lost to us and sing songs of hope. My heart is opened in both new and old familiar ways. I also recognise that the poems which bubble up from the same well as those early songs are another colour of this thread of creativity winding its way into the tapestry.

My father was an avid photographer and took great pride in awards won in the local camera club competitions. I trace my own love of photography to his influence and the Box Brownie that I received as a gift. One of my first connections with the Abbey was through an image sent to Christine who then asked permission to post it. You just never know where a thread will lead! These days contemplative photography is a daily practice. Receiving images through my camera lens is a process that keeps me focused on being here now and really seeing the world. Not just the conventionally beautiful but the whole cycle of life in all its manifestations.  Practicing Visio Divina with images that call to me helps to deepen the process of exploring what they have to teach me.

One way I live as my monk self in the world today is by simply being present to creation in the way that I was as a child bringing with me a rekindled sense of wonder and reverence. Being, allows me to slow down, breathe deeply and sink into the place where I am. Anne Lamott would say, “just be where your butts are and breathe” This simple way of being really present and letting life touch me somehow leads me closer to my heart, the heart of creation and the source of all that is. Listening, paying attention with my whole being and loving with my whole heart the place I find myself is not easy. I often fall down and have to begin again which is part of the monk’s journey. Sometimes though I find that I am graced with an exquisite awareness of the sacredness of every living thing and a realisation of my tiny place in the whole web of life. I am drawn to the connection between the visible and invisible worlds which the Celts saw as interwoven. One of my favourite prayers from J Philip Newell’s Celtic Psalter “Sounds of the Eternal” begins “In the gift of this new day, in the gift of the present moment, in the gift of time and eternity intertwined let me be thankful let me be attentive let me be open to what has never happened before”  “Each moment contains a hundred messages from God” Rumi said. Listening with the ears and seeing with the eyes of the heart makes all the difference.

For me living into a life of monk and artist of everyday life has a lot to do with deeply listening to my heart and becoming more real. Kind of like the Velveteen Rabbit allowing myself to be loved into life. It is about being open to receive the ongoing, often painful gift of becoming a more whole and fully alive human being.  Having a sense of humour is essential. These lines from poet David Whyte’s poem “What To Remember When Waking” speak to me of living from the inside out in ways that witness to the ‘Holy mystery who is Wholly  Love.’ ….“To be human/is to become visible/while carrying/what is hidden/as a gift to others.”

Silence and solitude are nourishing for me. As an introvert I need to make sure that I have time apart after lots of social interaction but in quite another way surrendering and opening to the ground of being in meditation or prayer bring me home. A daily practice of Centering Prayer morning and evening mark the transitions into and out of the day. Communities of support like the Abbey, having my own spiritual guide and a faith community are some of the ways I receive encouragement  and  feedback on the way.

For 13 years I’ve been privileged to walk along side and learn with others who are exploring their own spiritual paths.  As a monk in the world I welcome them, offer hospitality and a safe space for sharing their sacred stories. Each one reverenced as an expression of divine grace. Listening with them and opening prayerfully in unknowing to guidance from Holy Wisdom is joy full work.  I feel a deep connection to the long line of those who have been anam cara/ soul friends over the centuries.

This poem written while participating in the “Way the Monk, Path of the Artist” course continues to express my intention today.

I'm going to start living like a monk.

Rising early from the soft warmth of my bed

to join the birds in their full-throated morning melodies of praise and joy.

Letting go of my need to guard time.

Living in tune with the rhythm of each new day.

Present now.

Following breath.

Staying awake.

Listening deep within.

Risking surrender to refining love.

With each breath, each relationship, each encounter with beauty

becoming more real.

Give up your endless searching (a love note from your online Abbess)

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Give up your endless searching

Lay down your map and compass,

and those dog-eared travel guides.

Rest your weary eyes from so much looking,

your tired feet from so much wandering,

your aching heart from so much hoping.

Lay down on the soft green grass

wet with morning dew, and watch as

the tree heavy with pendulous pears

bends her long branches toward you,

offering you perfection in every sweet bite.

Give up the weight of knowing,

for the reverence of quiet attention

and curiosity, for the delight of

juice that runs in generous streams

down your chin.

—Christine Valters Paintner

Dearest Monks and Artists,

July 6th marked a year since John and I stepped onto an ocean liner to cross the Atlantic on our life pilgrimage. We chose this slow crossing intentionally, as a symbol of how we wanted to live this time.  One of the things I have loved most about living first in Vienna and now in Galway, has been the slower pace of life in general in Europe, something that nourishes my monk heart. I spent some time last week reading through my journals of this past year, which was a beautiful way to honor and witness the transitions of this time and the wisdom gleaned.

When we left, people would ask how long we would be gone.  "Somewhere between a year and forever" became my reply, not knowing how things would unfold. After our first year, we are in no rush to return anytime soon.

Again and again, throughout our time of bumping up against foreign customs and challenging our preconceived ideas, the wisdom offered has been to release the seeking.  This time of living overseas is not a grand quest, but an invitation to a deepened way of being in the world.  I am not here to discover something missing from my life, but to recognize the fullness of things as they already are. I went on a retreat in Austria last August, near the start of this adventure and the gift I received was these words: "Drink freely from the life you have been given."  Every revelation has followed from this initial one.

For many years, work with ancestry and family systems has been an essential spiritual practice for me, bringing more inner freedom than I ever could have imagined.  It was at the heart of the call to move to Vienna, where I experienced so much healing in relationship to my father.  I was able to break the patterns of withholding and cycles of despair that extend back for generations in my family.  I came to receive my father's blessing and the blessing of grandmothers and grandfathers.  Vienna, it turned out, was a portal rather than final destination.

We should only go on pilgrimage if we want to be changed.  If we are not changed, we have simply embarked on a vacation, demanding nothing of us.  We do not return the same.  The challenge is that we can not know the ways we will be changed, which can be terrifying if we like life to be predictable and in our control. We do not know ultimately what it is we are looking for, so we must lay down even the seeking, and let the journey itself shape us.

"The monk is not just someone who wishes to be a monk.  It requires a breakthrough, an initiation, a diksa, a new birth." —Raimundo Panikkar

My word for this year is "breakthrough" and I am discovering that rather than the thunderous revelation the word might suggest, I am experiencing a slow and quiet revolution where this monk's path of yielding is taking firmer root in my heart. Exploring the beauty of Ireland's landscapes and ancient monastic ruins feels like a kind of initiation into something I am yet unable to name.  I am experiencing a new clarity of my call in this world, and the paradox is that I do not have words for it.

Conversion is one of the great Benedictine principles.  The commitment daily to practice the path demands of us great courage, to have faith in what is unseen, to yield to a greater force in lives than our own sheer will.  To know the discipline of showing up to life matters, and the recognition that I have never arrived.  To be a monk in the world is to allow this great "quest" I am on to reveal that there is no "quest" at all, only a great softening, following the threads, being formed slowly by the landscape, trusting what it is I most love, and releasing the burden of whether I am worthy to say yes, yes, yes.

How is it with you on your own great life pilgrimage? 

Have you laid down the quest in favor of the quiet revelations waiting for you, right in this moment?

With great and growing love,

Christine

Wisdom Council: Guest Post from Melissa Layer

I first met Melissa Layer in person at a workshop I was leading at St. Placid Priory, as she lives in the beautiful Northwest as well. She took several online courses, including the very first one I ever taught on Benedictine Spiritual Practices, and then she then participated in the Awakening the Creative Spirit intensive and in monthly supervision groups I was co-leading for soul care practitioners, and later I asked her to assist me in the Sacred Rhythms Writing Retreat last summer.  She is a kindred spirit on many levels.  So I am delighted she is a part of the newly formed Wisdom Council (click over to read her bio).  Read on for her reflections:

“When wiggling through a hole

the world looks different than

when scrubbed clean by the wiggle

and looking back.”

—Mark Nepo

When I read these words in Mark Nepo’s book, Seven Thousand Ways to Listen, I circled them.  I enjoy lectio divina, a Benedictine practice of divine reading of selected scripture and other writings.  I was intrigued that “scrubbed clean” were the particular words that shimmered (as Christine would say!) for me.  Her invitation to me, as a member of the Abbey’s new Wisdom Council, to share my experience of being a monk in the world and an artist in everyday life has been a portal for me to reflect upon the appeal of these words.  They are one way to describe my spiritual journey.

Scrubbed clean.  The first time I went to a Korean women’s spa in Seattle, I decided to experience a full body scrub.  Women soaked in hot pools and lounged in cotton robes, hair tucked beneath cotton mob caps and faces stripped of makeup.  The scrub area was at one end of the large room, designated by a row of waterproof tables.  Korean women stood ready with scrub gloves, plastic buckets and bottles of liquid soap.  We stretched out on the tables, naked as the day we were born.  My hesitancy at being so exposed and vulnerable dissolved beneath the small hands of “Sunny”, the young Korean woman who efficiently scrubbed every square inch and crease of my middle-aged body.  She wrapped my head in a steaming hot towel and periodically sluiced me down with a bucket of warm water.  My resistance swirled down the drain with the soapy water.  I surrendered.  At the end of the hour I arose from the table, pink and glowing.  Scrubbed clean.

There were other times when I received the gift of purifying water and the intentional touch of another’s hands.  These occasions introduced me to sacred ritual and ceremony.  As a child, I experienced humble foot washing in a small country church where the golden pine floors glowed beneath the battered tin basins of warm water.  Children, adults, and elders all crouched there in rays of sunlight, tenderly bathing and drying one another’s feet.  Scrubbed clean.

Part of my adolescent rite of passage was being baptized in the river running through the verdant northeastern Washington valley where I had been raised.  The white folds of my robe rippled in the swirling green current of the Pend Oreille.  I grasped the minister’s thick wrist and allowed his strong arms to take the weight of my blossoming body as he submerged me.  Rising up, fresh and cold and enlivened, I immediately felt the way Spirit had carved a new channel through the vessel of my body.  Scrubbed clean.

As a woman ripening in years, I welcome the gift of reflective wisdom that allows me to understand how Spirit has flowed and molded me.  Scrubbed clean by life with its narrow passageways; wide vistas of heartbreaking gratitude and despair; dark descents; mountain summit ecstasy; spiritual crisis and emergence; miles of winding journeys alone and with others.  There has been the midwifing of others through their dying time; holding the space to find grace in deep grieving; serving as a companion to those that teeter in threshold places of transition, despair and possibility; inhaling the scent of my newborn daughter’s downy head in a rosy sunrise; bathing and anointing the bodies of my parents at their death; gazing into the blue eyes of the anesthesiologist as I counted down from 10, descending like a contemporary Inanna as I sacrificed my left breast to a silver scalpel; fasting, vigiling and surrendering in a red rock canyon during my 4 day solo in a 14 day quest.  These breakings of heart are awe-filled events from which I don’t recover but through which I am uncovered (M. Nepo).

These life experiences are a vibrant creativity that streams through the widening conduit of my being.  There is passionate artistry in my service to others through deep listening, heightened intuition, spontaneity, art, ritual and ceremony, spiritual practices and play.  I bow to a soul-full life of transcendent experiences in both the dream and waking realm, as well as in nature.  The appearance of symbols and synchronicities inform me that the veil between what we perceive and Mystery is not only thin, it is sometimes invisible!

On the summer solstice I stood barefoot in the cold sea.  In my pocket there were treasures of colored sea glass worn to a milky transparency.  I would add them to the bird nest on my altar that also holds old marbles disgorged from deep within the sand.  There is an eagle feather there, discovered after I witnessed a young eagle fledge from the nest on the bluff.  A large rusted spring, uncovered by the relentless tide, reminds me of the symbolic spirals that surface in my conversations and in the sandplay of my clients.  Nature is abundant with her gifts to me.  Owl wings, a talon and dove feathers embellish a fierce driftwood woman who wears castings of my face and one-breasted torso.

The Super Moon tide tugged powerfully at my ankles that night, the sand shifting beneath my feet.  I found the rhythm, felt the one great heartbeat, and joined the dance.  I bent, washed my hands in the sea water, and splashed my face.  Lifting my arms high, I offered my wet palms to Spirit’s dipper of sparkling stars.  Scrubbed clean.  

 

Wisdom Council: Guest Post from Richard Bruxvoort Colligan

Time to hear from another of our amazing Wisdom Council members!  I first met Richard Bruxvoort Colligan through his wife, Trish (another Wisdom Council member) several years ago in my very early time of blogging (under the name Sacred Art of Living - a few of you are still around from those days!)  I fell in love with the music they co-created as River's Voice (which has been featured in several Abbey online retreats), and then got to work with them in person at the Spiritual Directors International conference in San Francisco, and fell in love with both of them even more. I love how they live out their partnership and they each have their own distinct work as well.  Richard has been working for several years on songs around the Psalms (and I am delighted he will be releasing a new album very soon of Taize-style Psalm songs).  Read on for Richard's reflections about being a monk in the world:

Primates, Eunice and the Psalms: Being a Monk in the World

When I was six, I took piano lessons. My teacher once told me a story about a devoted monk who practiced daily his craft of calligraphy. Though I’m sure she intended this to inspire me as a student, I hadn’t the faintest idea what a monk was. My little mind scanned my imagination and grabbed the closest image I could find: a monk-ey.

Yeah, that story didn’t make much sense to me.

For me, being a monk in the world means something stupidly simple: following one’s nature. Which, turns out, means practice. Both the “practice makes perfect” sense– training ourselves in what is most important– and the “practicing medicine” sense– there’s no getting it perfect, it’s just what we do as part of our livelihood.

Following one’s nature seems to come easy for our dog Willow, and for the ox in the Zen koan “Ten Oxherding Pictures.” Newborn babies seem to have no trouble either. Is it just me, or is living true to one’s nature a challenge for most of us?

It’s probably a human thing to struggle with individuality. When we know uniqueness, there is a reverence for every piece of creation’s array and a clarity of personal purpose, yet we fear being self-centered. When we know our sameness with all humanity, there’s a natural humility that opens way to blessed company, yet we fear being like everyone else.

Which is why we practice. Your unequalled Youness is a gift to the world (Who’s Eunice?) and also a pain in the ass. Your Youness brings what’s real to people and allows them to evolve. However they respond to your presence, this practice of being-doing a Unique You is important, and perhaps even  life-or-death essential.

In the midst of what would become known as the Reformation, Martin Luther had a famous response to his critics: “Here I stand. I can do no other.”

Now there’s a guy who knows his Eunice.

Our dog Willow is a curious, loyal and comical canine. She enjoys certain kinds of treats, she likes to be scratched around her neck and is deathly afraid of the vacuum cleaner. She enjoys dancing and has wonderfully expressive eyebrows. She’s really good at being herself, and I don’t think she even thinks about it.

Thomas Merton wrote that a tree gives glory to God by being a tree. Don’t you love being around people who know who they are?

In case it’s helpful in your own story, let me describe the Richard-nature I practice and must do no other.

I love moments of discovery. I am consistently enthralled with music and songwriting. I enjoy laughter, blue, James Taylor, sangria, naps, Star Wars and a good bosc pear. I enjoy movies and popcorn. I’m fond of reading Gretel Ehrlich, Paul Tillich and Thomas Moore. I love sex with my wife. I tend toward introversion and I enjoy being part of a family. Try as I might, I cannot bring myself to like olives, museums and most jazz. My favorite word is “lotion,” and dark chocolate is almost as good as the aforementioned sex.

In attempting to follow my nature, I’ve noticed that one particular activity consistently brings me into alignment with joy, transformation and purpose. Some might call this a spiritual practice.

For the last nine years it has been immersion in the Psalms of the Hebrew Bible. When I am studying, singing and teaching the Psalms, there is nowhere I’d rather be. I’m a joyfully devoted monk-ey.

But being in the Psalms has also wrecked a whole lot of my life. Giving myself to them has been exceedingly difficult at times as my ideas have been dared to expand.

To be a monk in the world is a brave thing. It’s transforming the world.

However you play out your own spiritual practice, it’s for us a riverstream of concentrate to respond to. It help us practice our unique natures, and break through to more of it that is whole-ing our own life as well as the world.

I’m wondering if someday the Psalms will give way to some new thing for me. I’m wondering where your monkey-in-the-world Eunice most desires right now?

I’m grateful for the Abbey as a place of community for us. Here’s to being monks in the world together. *Clink*

Click here to find out more about Richard's work>>

This is what it is like to yield (a love note from your online Abbess)

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To hear Christine read the poem and love note to you, listen below (you do need flashplayer for it to work) or download the file here:

This is what it is like to yield:

to finally feel that place of tightness – your left shoulder,

the crick that has been in your neck for as long as you can remember,

the hard point between your eyes – soften, and all that is left is the

overwhelming desire to dance,

to stop resisting the endless and aching grief over a thousand

small losses, and the one great loss of your own deepest dreams,

to fall into that ocean of tears and

find yourself carried gently to shore,

to feel the soft and trembling belly of your aliveness

turn upward toward the wide sky

as a prayer of supplication

and an act of revelation,

to tumble down on a mossy meadow

blanketed with dandelions and clovers

and the golden evening sunlight

and know yourself at home,

to surrender the striving,

the grasping at what seems so important

in favor of what is

essential and true.

What would it mean to walk away from

all the "to do" lists

and commit to only one thing:

to be.

What would it feel like to yield your

own stubborn willfulness

which has brought you so far in

this world of achievement

and allow the things you could never have

planned for, to unfold?

I must end this poem now,

not with wise words for you to carry away

and ponder, but only this:

a reminder of that fierce and endless longing

for what is soft and supple beating in your own

beautiful heart.

—Christine Valters Paintner

Dearest monks and artists,

One of my favorite principles of the Monk Manifesto is Sabbath.  It can also be so difficult to practice, this commitment to releasing the hold of responsibility on us, of letting go of all that claims our importance and busyness, to simply release and rest into the One who holds us all.  I simultaneously long after its gifts and resist it at every turn.

I am on a time of sabbatical this summer, something I have found to be essential in my own rhythm, and especially in my ability to sustain the level of soul care needed in a community like the Abbey. I have to wrestle with my own internal voices that tell me I could be doing something productive with this time, and remember that Sabbath offers a different kind of productivity altogether.  One that allows the soul to flourish and blossom forth in new ways, unbidden by our plans and agendas.

Left to my own devices, I find myself most drawn to gentle movement – each day brings morning yoga and a swim, an afternoon walk by the beautiful sea, and then the essential nap which sometimes extends for a couple of hours (this is sabbatical, after all).

My husband and I have also been practicing lectio divina together each morning, off and on since last Advent.  It has become such a nourishing practice in our shared contemplative life together.  These last few weeks we have been working through the Song of Songs together in the ancient practice of lectio continua, which is the commitment to reading one book of scripture slowly over time, just a couple of verses at each sitting.  In this way, you immerse yourself in the context of the words, and the larger picture of the text.  You move through them slowly, unhurried, attentive to the story unfolding before you.  The Song of Songs was a central text for medieval monks, like Cistercian Abbott Bernard of Clairvaux, who wrote extensive reflections breaking open the longing found in the text as a reflection of our deep desire for God.  It is a wondrous text to pray with on a summer sabbatical, reminding me of the goodness of sensual delights, and the celebration of the holy wisdom found in embodied life.

Then there is time for journaling and reading without agenda.  For writing poems, which seem to emerge of their own desire and accord, without my forcing them in a particular direction. There is time for dreaming and letting visions for the Abbey and for my own life unfold freely.

All of this for me is an embodied experience of yielding.  Lately I have been very drawn to the word "yield" which inspired the poem above.  I have been experimenting with what yielding feels like, deep in my bones and muscles. One of the gifts of a regular yoga practice – and especially the yin yoga I primarily engage in – is the way it opens me up to a physical experience of yielding.  The idea in yin yoga is to move into a pose and stay there for 3-5 minutes, simply noticing, softening, becoming aware of places of holding and tightness, yielding into the moment.  It can be profoundly challenging to stay with the uncomfortable edges I encounter there.  And it can feel like so much physical grace to feel my body move to a place of deeper ease and openness.

I think "yielding" is at the heart of the monk in the world as well.  Much like in my work with contemplative photography, where I invite readers of my book Eyes of the Heart to consider shifting their attention from "taking" a photo, to "receiving" one – a very subtle shift which can change how we see everything – we are called to yield in each moment to a greater presence at work in our lives.  To surrender our egos and our willfulness for a larger wisdom to move through us.

Yielding is about allowing a holy pause and noticing where you are forcing something in your life and letting that go.  It is about smiling gently at all the inner desires to take or seize or grasp, and with that compassionate gaze, allow each of them to dissolve into this endless embrace, yielding to the greater force at work within us.

What does yielding feel like in your body?  Try this: pause now for just 2 minutes (I promise, the world won't fall apart, and if it does, at least you will be present).  Simply breathe and hold that word gently in your being: yield.  Notice how the sound of it vibrates through you. What would it mean for you to yield your thoughts, your will, the places of tightness and holding in your body.

If you were to create a sabbatical time, what would be the essential components?  Are there ways you can offer yourself a taste of this each week?  Might you extend this to yourself for even an hour?

Listen for the longings that arise and then let me know.

With great and growing love. . .

Christine

Wisdom Council: Guest Post from Stacy Wills

I am delighted to introduce our next member of the Wisdom Council to you: Stacy Wills.  I first met Stacy through the Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist online class.  She continued on with the community for several classes, and I had the pleasure of meeting her (and her delightful husband) in person when I went to Mississippi to lead a workshop for spiritual directors in the arts.  Stacy now brings her monk, artist, and spiritual director gifts in service to the Abbey through co-facilitating the Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist classes (along with Cheryl Macpherson, a another Wisdom Council member).  Read on for Stacy's reflections:

For as long as I can remember, my father called me “Monk.” No one else ever called me that…you know, in the way a nickname will sometimes catch on over time…and while I’m pretty sure it was short for “Monkey” and might have had something to do with the size and shape of my ears, it was meant as a term of endearment, and I took it as such. But I also have to wonder if my father might have been unwittingly prophetic. For although I certainly accepted the moniker as a child, and even internalized it…I now seek, as an adult, to embrace and embody it in the truest and best sense, as one who commits to living life whole-heartedly.

When Christine invited me to write a guest post about what being a monk in the world and an artist in every day life means to me, I said, “Yes, I would love to…BUT…I’m much better with images than words.” So I pondered (a very “monk-ish” thing to do, btw) how I might best express what my life as a monk and artist looks like and concluded that for me…it looks a lot like wandering and wondering…and following breadcrumbs through the proverbial forest. It’s as simple as that, really…I’m a follower of breadcrumbs…and I end up, quite serendipitously it would seem, in some of the most interesting places that way. It has also been my very good fortune to have met some of the most remarkable people, too. I also tend to fill my pockets (metaphorically speaking) along the way with all manner of things that eventually find their place in my life, or in the lives of others.

As a monk and artist, it seems I do a lot of listening…to everything…and I do mean EVERYTHING…because I’m convinced that everything…and everyone…has a voice…has something to say…and wants to be heard.

Being a monk and artist means that I will seek to offer hospitality…to all the “whosoevers” that cross my path, and to hold sacred space for them as they make their own spiritual journeys. It also means extending that same hospitality to myself…especially in the areas of my life that have been “left in storage” as one friend recently put it.

As a monk, I desire to become increasingly aware of the present moment…to see it and accept it as the precious and beautiful gift it is.

In recent years, I have become more and more comfortable with silence and find that I actually crave it, whereas once upon a time, I would have avoided it at all costs. I also find it important to balance time in solitude with time in community.

If I were living in a real monastery, I’m sure I’d be the monk sitting behind the reference desk in the library. I’m a resource person, you see…a connector of dots…a crackerjack web-surfer,  expert “googler” and I LOVE to help people find what it is they’re looking for if I possibly can.

I’m not entirely sure this falls under the monk/artist label, but I also have an unusual appreciation for the absurdities of life, a wry sense of humor and I am known for being given to fits of uncontrollable laughter.

As an artist, I delight in exploring and experimenting with new techniques, mediums and forms of creative expression. I find great joy in introducing others to what I’m learning and seeing creative sparks fanned into flame.

I particularly love sharing the way of the mandala, especially with children, and seeing their eyes gleam with pride as they show me their creations.

For decades I had been cut off from my creative self, until, thankfully, one day the dam burst, and creativity came flooding back in to my life. Art-making has truly become a healing and spiritual path for me, and I currently maintain two blogs to chronicle that journey. (Mandalas and Altered Art)

As a monk and an artist, I am in the habit of finding Beauty in the world, and I’d be delighted to have you join me!

Click here to find out more about Stacy's work>>

The Wild Acre t-shirt Project (support the music of Trish Bruxvoort Colligan)

The lovely and amazing Trish Bruxvoort Colligan (Abbey Wisdom Council member and whose music many of you know through Abbey online classes and her collaboration on Women on the Threshold) is crowdfunding to support bringing her next album to birth which promises to be powerful (I have heard several of the songs).

Please consider supporting a working artist and musician, either through a small donation to her project, or if you are an artist, submitting your ideas for a t-shirt design.  Read on. . .

An invitation from her husband Richard:

Have you heard that Trish Bruxvoort Colligan is recording a new album? Brilliant new songs (no bias from me, her husband) and a sound she’s never gone after before.

The CD is called Wild Acre and I get to develop the coolest t-shirt on earth to go with it. BUT for the process to be really creative and fun, I‘d love your help.

If you’re a visually-minded person, a doodler, graphic artist and/or lover of t-shirt art, consider yourself invited into this project!

* THE WILD ACRE T-SHIRT IDEA *

One way this album is totally different than anything Trish has done before? She’s crowdfunding it. When she did her last solo album a decade ago, there was no such thing. This time around, she’s inviting hundreds of people to be in on it.

The Wild Acre t-shirt will be one of many crowdfunding perks offered to contributers. It will also be the official tour shirt accompanying her concerts in the coming years.

* THE PROCESS *

In a brief, private ceremony last week, Trish has dubbed me royal T-shirt Farmhand for Wild Acre. Together with the assistance of graphic designer Bryce Durbin, one of the most creative people I know, we are ready to go.

I invite you to send me your design ideas. Initial concepts can be scribbles scanned and emailed to me, sent via snailmail, whatever works for you; later, we’ll need a more polished thing, and we can help with that part. Deadline for designs: July 12.

Among the t-shirt concepts we receive, hundreds of Trish’s crowdfunders will vote on their fave, and that winning design will be printed up as the official Wild Acre t-shirt! Consider this not so much a competitive contest as a gallery created by artists doing their thing in the world.

The two runner-up designs will be available as on-demand online products. Because of the coolness.

* WHAT’S IN IT FOR YOU *

First of all, you get to be part of a professional musician’s public face for the coming years. Trish is surrounding herself with a brilliant circle of musicians, designers, co-writers, engineers, spiritual midwives and menu advisors to get this project out to the world. You, my artsy friend, will be part of it. There’s nothing like helping to give birth to something special in the world. Thank you.

There’s also some perkage for you. The winning design will not only be unveiled to the planet on Trish’s crowdfunding site, Wild Acre site and Facebook page, it will be tagged with your name and contact info. You’ll get your creative self introduced to thousands of fresh eyes–including a ton of musicians, artists and business owners– who may be attracted to your style. We’re hoping you’ll benefit from the cross-pollination.

Plus, we’ll also be sending you a Wild Acre Farmhand package: three t-shirts in whatever size you need, an official tour poster, and three copies of the Wild Acre CD.

* DESIGN GUIDANCE *

So, crayon in hand, looking out the window…where to start.

We want your full-on, juiciest creativity, and there are no rules. To prime your imagination, here are some notes about Trish's new music:

* The theme of the record has to do with allowing wildness, creativity, wonder and surprise to be part of one's life. There is so much of life we try hard to cultivate, design and tame, yet there is a large percentage of life that is out of one's control, and that's not a bad thing. Maybe that wildness is even worth guarding, for one’s own self and for those we love.

* True to Trish’s heart, these songs carry stories– some lovely, some gritty, most a mix. The album pays honest attention to the power of narrative, with a reverence for the seasons of life we cannot describe or explain. Her lyrics are thick with references to untamed poets, world culture and naked history.

* The title song has a great line: "Keep a wild acre alive in your love."

* There's nothing specifically religious in the record, although as you might imagine, rich spiritual themes are woven throughout.

* Some song titles: Keep Moving, Where I'm Going, Your Body, Avowel, Soul Awakes, Wild Acre, Falling In, Cracked, Lucky, Paper Wings.

* Trish loves gardening, so anything related to dirt, vegetables, seeds, and organicness is good. In fact, she'll be recording the album in a barn at Seed Savers in Decorah, Iowa.

* The musical arrangements have an acoustic, rootsy center– guitar, piano, violin, small band– kinda Americana, kind folky.

* WHAT DO YOU NEED? *

Getting things together by the July 12th deadline, you might have wonderings. Feel free to contact me at Richard@worldmaking.net.

We’re excited to have your style and energy be part of the music.

Thanks!

Richard Bruxvoort Colligan

T-shirt Farmhand

Richard@worldmaking.net

P.O. Box 190

Strawberry Point, IA 52076

Beside the Sea . . . on the wild and sacred west coast of Ireland. . . (a video and a pilgrimage)

Ireland is calling so many hearts, souls, and bodies to dwell in her landscape.  In my last newsletter I put a small note at the bottom of the calendar that I was planning a Monk in the World pilgrimage to the west coast of Ireland and to drop me a note if you wanted advance notice.  I received many responses, and last Saturday we opened advanced registration for 11 pilgrims to come May 20-28, 2014, and yesterday – just three days later – we have filled those dates!  That is amazing (and please email me if you want to be on the waiting list for next spring.)

We have now added a second pilgrimage for August 26-September 3, 2014 and have already started receiving registrations for those dates as well.

I am thrilled because I have fallen in love with this place – with Galway, Connemara, the Burren, the Aran Islands, and beyond – and am so eager to share Ireland's spiritual gifts with others, and there is so clearly a hunger.

I am thrilled because this longing to become a monk in the world is such a beautiful thing to witness as I see others leaning into its possibilities.  It calls me to deepen into my own path.  Ireland, with her rich and ancient monastic tradition, has much wisdom to offer us, much inspiration and sustenance.

Pause a few moments with a little video I put together with images from our time here along with a song I love (from a singer I love, see below).  Even if you can't join us physically in Ireland, we welcome you to dwell here for a little while in your imagination and see what is stirred in your heart:

One of the things I love most about living in Galway are all the fantastic musicians I keep discovering.  The music scene here is thriving and alive.  Noriana Kennedy is a Galway native.  We saw her perform the other night with Pauline Scanlon, who is a favorite of ours since we saw her in Dingle several years ago on our first trip to Ireland.  Once we got home, I immediately downloaded Noriana's album Ebb n Flow (a regular occurrence for me lately – I am building such a wonderful music collection) and fell in love with her song "Beside the Sea."  Listening to it I could imaging a series of my photos accompanying it, so I asked Noriana's permission to use the song for a little video and she has graciously agreed.

Wisdom Council: Guest Post from Ronna Detrick

I am thrilled to continue this weekly series of summer guest posts from each of the Wisdom Council members, with their reflections on what being a monk in the world and an artist in everyday life means for them, in the context of their own work and ministries.

I first met Ronna Detrick in person as I was in the throes of selling my home in Seattle a year ago and preparing for this great life adventure I am on now.  I had seen Ronna's work and felt a kinship to her spirit, so I am grateful for our chance to talk in-the-flesh, even in the midst of so much transition, because her passion and our conversation inspired me to ask her very soon after to co-create the Women on the Threshold program with me and two other fabulous women.  Ronna's yes was the start of a deepening dance of friendship and collaboration for which I am grateful.  Here is some of her wonderful wisdom about the contemplative and creative life:

Christine graciously asked me to speak about how to be a monk in the world and an artist of everyday life. Here’s my honest answer:

I have no idea!

Making things even more complicated, particular images flood my mind at their mere mention:

The monk: a man in a hooded robe who takes vows of silence, poverty, and then some. Deliberate choices, actions, behaviors, and beliefs that enable him to give his life entirely to God. Devotion and selflessness in spades. And somehow, in the chosen sacrifice, becoming more holy, more pure, more God-like.

The artist: a tortured soul in front of a canvas who rarely engages with polite society. Brooding, dark, and possessed in some way. At the mercy of his/her craft and living in poverty until discovered. Every-once-in-a-while the muse shows up and inspiration strikes…until the inevitable return to lonely solitude.

Of course, there are more romantic notions: The monk who sits in quiet contemplation for hours, able to capture the very voice of God, and drafting sentences and sonnets, poems and prose that enable us to hear the same. The artist who sees beauty at every turn and then, in unencumbered and inspired freedom, makes that accessible to the rest of us.

Whether I go with the first or second set of caricatures, I am hard-pressed to see myself in either. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love to understand and experience such; to live my life completely immersed in my spirituality and my craft; to somehow hear God speak through my discipline and devotion and enable others to hear/see the same through my art.

Here’s the thing: as long as I see either the monk or the artist as someone even slightly out of reach then, in effect, I conveniently shield myself from what it takes to become such. And as long as I can find reasons to not practice the disciplines of the monk or the habits of the artist, I can idealize them both and maybe even pout a little (albeit, humbly) about how the same isn’t true for me; a privilege apparently saved only for the special few.

It doesn’t take very sophisticated reasoning skills to realize that this may, in fact, be why there are so few monks and artists in our world. It is not easy. It can be grueling. It is often thankless, anonymous, and unrewarded. And it’s a life-long vocation, commitment, and way of being.

I realize that for me, more important than the question of how, is that of the why. Why would I want to be a monk in the world and an artist of everyday life? Why would I want to take on the disciplines and practices and day-in, day-out requirements for such a life?

Because being a monk in the world and an artist of everyday life is the closest I can get to God.

Ultimately, even when I feel resistant to admitting it, this is what I most want, long for, and endlessly search for. So if there are ways in which I can more consistently and closely hear God’s voice, I want them. If there are ways in which I can feel the very Spirit of God work through me in creative acts, I want them. And if, in the doing of these things I somehow have the privilege of inviting others closer to the God that they desire then that is gift and grace beyond compare.

And from the why comes the how:

Being a monk in the world and an artist of everyday life happens when I boldly and blatantly acknowledge my desire for God.

I can’t sort-of want to be a monk or an artist, nor can I sort-of want God. This desire is enflamed, alive, and hot. The desire pursues and compels. This desire requires commitment and conviction when ambivalence rears its head; when there are more days than not in which I’d rather choose lukewarm interest over on-fire passion. This desire means that I tirelessly seek new ways of understanding the Divine when well-known creeds, time-worn hymns, and dogged textual interpretation though comfortable, no longer challenge. This desire means that I speak and create in truth-filled, unedited, no-holding-back ways. All of these far easier said than done. No sort-of allowed.

Which takes me right back to where I started. To be a monk and/or an artist is not the glamorous or easy choice. It is one that is impassioned and intentional; made over and over and over again. The why is what matters most.

When I choose – in naming my deepest desire – to be a monk and artist – I am open to any and all ways in which God might show up, might speak, might be made manifest and revealed and real. When I choose – in naming my deepest desire – I can create from a raw and unedited place, less concerned with what others think and completely consumed by the Spirit within who longs to come forth. When I choose – in naming my deepest desire – I remain hungry and thirsty for God.

This is the why. This is the how. This is the challenge. This is the call. And all of these, at least for me, are impossible to ignore (even if I wanted to). Long robes, difficult vows, and tortured souls aside (more likely, included). I press on and fail and re-engage. I doubt and question and wrestle. I swoon and gush and laugh. I listen to and for God. I create because I can’t not.

How to be a monk in the world and an artist of everyday life? Say that you want to. Lead with your longing. And know that wherever desire dwells, God shows up. Ask any monk or artist: that’s what they’re looking and longing for, too. Just like me. And probably just like you.

May it be so.

To learn more about Ronna's wonderful work click here>>