Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 53

Monk in the World Guest Post: Carol Delmonico

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Carol Delmonico's reflection, "The Child's Way."

The More Than Human World is my Abbey. The sense of our sacred interconnectivity is awakened as I contemplate and cultivate reverence for all living beings.

[image error]Our tan 1984 Volvo wagon pulls into the dirt parking lot at Shevlin Park.

It’s early May,1994. My three year old daughter Phoebe is sitting in the backseat, beginning to unbuckle herself from her carseat.
I open the back door and scoop all twenty five pounds of her up in the air and spin her around. She lets out a squeal of delight and I gently place her on the ground beside me.
I reach into my red backpack containing two apples, a water bottle and some extra clothes. I pull out her flowered pink and yellow sunhat, and tie it under her chin.

We are on our Monday morning contemplative adventure in one of our, still, favorite places in the world. Ours is the only vehicle in the parking area.

The light filters through the massive Ponderosa trees that stand quietly where the forest meets this human created clearing.
It’s just shy of eleven and the light in this canyon is almost overhead.
The scent of fresh buds and pine boughs fill the air.

We have this peaceful adventure memorized in our bones, as the sounds of forest meet the vocal silence of two humans.

She and I turn onto the path that leads to Tumalo Creek. The canopy of Ponderosa and Tamarack trees sway in the light breeze, and the blue sky blazes above.
They are the magical guardians guiding our hearts on this deep and quiet amble.

I scoop Phoebe up a second time, to press our noses to the puzzle piece like, burnished reddish-orange, bark of a majestic Ponderosa.
We both take a deep inhale and breathe in, and then another.
The vanilla-y caramel scent wafts through our bodies.
Clinging to the hairs beneath our noses.
I can sense the satisfied sigh we each make without audibly hearing it.

Phoebe slips from my arms to the soft sandy forest floor, and reaches for my left hand. Her small fingers entwine in mine as we meander to the curve in the path that gives us our first clear view of the Creek.

We pause to take in the dappled light waltzing across the rushing water. The wooden walking bridge in the distance. The tall green grasses waving on the edge of water and dry land.
We breath the creek in, the cold energizing scent of clear water, until, almost in unison, our bodies turn right and we meander on.

We follow our feet and find our way back onto the trail that curves as the creek does, the next few turns invisible in the moment.
We pass the wild rose bushes, freshly in bloom, and hear the singing of unseen song sparrows in the dense newly green bushes.

As we reach the next bend the path widens into an open space. To our left is our favorite beach. A sandy, pebbly patch about ten feet wide, a crescent moon shaped curl.

As we get closer and our eyes focus, we pause and stare.
I find my mouth opened in surprised delight! Phoebe’s hand squeezing mine.

The beach and shoreline are filled with hundreds of quarter size translucent baby blue butterflies.

Phoebe's bright blue eyes reach for my hazel green ones. We still haven’t spilled a word.
The marvel of what we behold has meandered to our lips, and with wide toothy grins we step forward to get a closer look.
We pause a short distance from them and each sink into a squat so our eyes are in line with the cloud of blue motion.

Hundreds of them are swirling and twirling just above the water, and hundreds more flutter on the beach.

We breathe, we watch, we become more still.

After a few minutes I notice out of the corner of my eye Phoebe has lifted her left arm up.
It sits there for a minute or two, bare in the late morning light, and then I watch as one sweet beauty of a butterfly floats onto her outstretched hand.
It flaps gently and then grows still.
I can sense my daughter's eyes both on the butterfly and glancing my way to see if I am witnessing what she is.
I nod almost imperceptibly so she knows I am with her.
Our glowing eyes rest gently together on this magnificent living being.

Breathing inter-being in.
Loving for the moment.
Still as we can be.

After what feels like hours but is more likely a few more minutes, the tiny winged creature lifts her spindly legs off Phoebe’s small hand and flies off to join her community flitting above the water's edge.

Phoebe turns towards me, her blue eyes wide and sparkelin. There is both a deep stillness and a faraway dreamy look about her as she rises up to standing and comes over and slips her small body between my legs. Sitting down cross legged on the moist ground she leans back against me.

We are both content to be still.
To contemplate the more than human world for as long as it takes for us to merge our senses and be the butterfly.

Our scapulas becoming wings, our bodies floating above the creeks sandy crescent shore.
For a moment, a day, eternity.

Phoebe is now 30. Together and apart we share this contemplative journey with the more than human world.

Carol Delmonico co-creates guidebooks to bring us back to our interconnected relational selves. She mentors clients using the guidebooks, deep listening, and a multitude of well-being and resilience practices. Carol resides in Central Oregon among the Ponderosa trees and wide open skies. You can learn more about her at WonderupRising.com

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Monk in the World Podcast (Sabbath) ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Sabbath: Day 5 Morning and Evening Prayer

St. Julian and the Cat

Stone by stone the wall grew
until her cell was sealed,
light blocked except for
three small windows –
one for sacrament
another, food and waste
a third to give guidance.

Each day brought dozens to her
praying for their sick and dead,
night became time of solace
and silence, she could not
sleep long in the damp,
pulled wool close around her
as she sighed into the dark,
relief at quiet moments.

Then came mewing,
leaping, pouncing, the cat
left there to catch rats,
at first annoyed at disruption
she soon found wisdom
in his aim and purpose,
grace in his hours of stillness,
how she too was there to hunt
the holy, and rest into being.

Morning prayers became
a mix of chants and purrs
as warm fur nestles into her lap.

Visitors arrive again
to her window, she gives
her most sage advice:

allow yourself to be comforted,
do not be afraid of the night,
and pursue what you long for
with a love that is fierce.

---Christine Valters Paintner, The Wisdom of Wild Grace

Dearest monks and artists,

This week we share Day 5 Morning and Evening Prayer for the Monk in the World Prayer Cycle on the theme of Sabbath. Pray with us and be invited into God’s generous gift of rest. Whether you take a Sabbath hour or day or a sabbatical time, this commitment to stopping and being for a while is a vital source of renewal so we can continue offering our work to the world from a place of surplus and wellspring.

This past year plus has been a time of pandemic and compassionate retreat. Like many of you, I have found incredible solace and wisdom from Julian of Norwich, a 14th century English anchorite who lived during the time of the plague.

As an anchorite she chose to be sealed into a small stone cell on the side of a church in Norwich and be a presence of prayer and compassion to the community. She had long hours in solitude, but also had a window into the church so she could participate in the daily prayers and sacraments, and she also had a window to the outside where pilgrims and seekers could come to ask her wisdom and guidance. She was part hermit and part spiritual director.

These past many months of retreating at home have given me a gift, even in the midst of so much loss and sorrow. I have always loved being at home, but also love to travel, and could often find my attention drifting off to future journeys, instead of presence to the moment (I am very future-oriented anyway, which is why being a monk is such good practice for me!) With the prospect of travel removed for the unknown future, I found myself savoring the quiet, ordinary rhythms of home in new ways. I grew to cherish my sweet dog Sourney and my beloved husband John even more than I already did, as companions in my anchorhold. I started buying more plants to feel myself surrounded by growing things and the act of nurturing them into greater life and greenness. Even our simple meal preparations became more nourishing as the options of eating out were eliminated.

I have also loved teaching online and having connections to this global community of monks on a regular basis. I feel like Julian showing up at her cell window when I open up my Zoom portal to offer some teaching and presence.

This is the gift of the monastic way: a heightened cherishing of the ordinary. St. Benedict wrote in his Rule for communities that the kitchen utensils were just as sacred as the vessels of the altar.

I am thrilled to be offering a Zoom mini-retreat on Thursday, May 13th for the Feast of Julian of Norwich. I will be co-leading with author Mary Sharratt who has written a wonderful book titled Revelations which is about the friendship between Julian and Margery Kempe, a very different kind of mystic and pilgrim in the world. Join us as we explore these two mystical women and their pathways into presence to the holy in our midst.

With great and growing love,

Christine

PS – I was interviewed for Spirit Mornings Catholic Radio on my newest book Sacred Time. You can listen here >>

Image credit: © Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts (prints available here)

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Katharine Weinmann

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I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Katharine Weinmann's reflection "Holy Alchemy"

“Praying. It doesn’t have to be the blue iris,
it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones;
just pay attention, then patch a few words together
and don’t try to make them elaborate…”

~ excerpted from Prayer in Thirst by Mary Oliver

I pray. Not so often in that formal, elaborate, church going way. But when I think of Anne Lamott’s two favourite prayers, “Help me, help me, help me,” and “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I’m devout.

Too, when I sit in the still and quiet morning before sunrise – which comes earlier now – and look out onto the trees, still bare-limbed, but soon full of bursting buds and blossoms. Or when I’m beside Annie on “her” sofa, my hand resting on her head, her front paw resting on my arm. Those count too, I think.

I’ve written about more consciously living my life as prayer since the pandemic, one of its unforeseen gifts. Though when I wrote about getting lost during the medicine walk I took last summer - how I’d managed to manifest into the 3D physical, my interior lostness - I felt shy to admit I’d prayed as I’d been taught, it being part of the preparation for the medicine walk and fasting quest I took the year before. That to offer thanks, to ask for guidance and protection - even as simple as an Anne Lamott “thank you, help me” kind of prayer - at the threshold between one’s urban, more mundane life and the wilder, nature bound, sacred space beyond, brings intention into consciousness and evokes the power of mystery. Too, I chanted on the trail for hundreds of steps, the Buddhist mantra “om mani padme hum,” to keep myself company, and let anyone out there - hidden in the woods - know I was around. My vocal version of a bear bell.

Truth be told, I absolutely believe those prayers helped me get found, safe and sound. Helped me avoid any wildlife encounters beyond bird song, dragonflies, and scat. Like when I realized I’d lost the diamond stud earring, a cherished gift from my husband, and prayed for its return.

Three days had passed before I realized the stud wasn’t in my ear lobe. After retracing all my steps and stops, I took a chance to revisit the gym where I’d played pickleball, where earlier when I’d called to ask if it had been found, I’d been told no as they’d taken down the nets, swept the floors, and installed inflatables for children to play during spring break. Undismayed, I walked, head bent, tracing the room’s periphery, disobeying the “stay away” sign where the inflatable was plugged in. There it was, glittering on the floor, inches away from the socket. How it had not been spotted by anyone plugging in and pulling out that cord for several days, was my answered prayer. Admittedly trivial in the scheme of things, with so much going from bad to worse every day, especially this past year, but for me a vivid, visceral reminder.

When I sheepishly shared my “lost on the Lost Lake Trail medicine walk story” with friends who had served as my quest guides, they said that what shone through was my recognition of prayer and its power. That yes, I had been held safe by an ancient benevolent wisdom found in nature. That I had remembered David Wagoner’s poem telling me to stand still in the forest when I was lost. That I had a cellphone and service. That I had taken the map with emergency contact numbers. That the warden was back from vacation that very day. That she was in that provincial park, given her area of responsibility is all the public spaces spanning hundreds of kilometres to the west. That I hadn’t been stalked by the coyotes that had stalked another woman and her dogs on the same trail that same day, causing the warden’s delay in fetching me while she “rescued” them. That the gunshots I heard fired by hunters were safely beyond. That the sun shone and the breeze blew comfortably. That I had water, food, and time. Yes, I had prepared, and yes, I had been heard.

In that same conversation, we talked about their country with its upcoming presidential election, the pandemic impacts of COVID-19 and racism, about the forest fires burning in three states, leaving death and destruction, orange skies and zero visibility in their wake. I shared feeling the tension of wanting to do something to help, and not knowing what. The next day, I emailed them:

… I realized I have felt “spellbound” by thinking I must do something, and not knowing what TO DO. But I then remembered, I do know how to pray…You wrote to me once with the gift of invocation that I recognize with increasing vividness that I know what I know, that find myself less and less inclined to self-doubt, meekness and hesitation.”

So, yes, I know what I know. I know the power of prayer.
I know too, the making of beauty.
I know the power of prayer and the making of beauty are my offerings for contemplative action.
And this I know is Holy Alchemy for living as a monk in the world.

In her blog and podcast, A Wabi Sabi Life, Katharine Weinmann, MSW shares the beauty in her imperfect, sometimes broken, mostly well-lived and loved life, reminding herself and inviting others to appreciate and allow life to unfold in all its mess and glory, with all its grit and grace.

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Lift Every Voice: Contemplative Writers of Color – May Video Discussion and Book Group Materials Now Available

Join Abbey of the Arts for a monthly conversation on how increasing our diversity of perspectives on contemplative practice can enrich our understanding and experience of the Christian mystical tradition. 

Christine Valters Paintner is joined by author Claudia Love Mair for a series of video conversations. Each month they take up a new book by or about a voice of color. The community is invited to purchase and read the books in advance and participate actively in this journey of deepening, discovery, and transformation. 

Click here to view this month's video discussion along with questions for reflection. Christine and Claudia are joined by the author April Yamasaki. 

In her book  Four Gifts: Seeking Self-Care for Heart, Soul, Mind, and Strength pastor and author April Yamasaki addresses questions about self-care. Drawing on the ancient scriptural command to love God with our heart, soul, mind, and strength, Yamasaki helps readers think about the spiritual dimensions of attending to your own needs, setting priorities, and finding true rest in a fast-paced world..

Join our Lift Every Voice Facebook Group for more engagement and discussion.

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Monk in the World podcast (Work) + Revelations ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Work: Day 4 Morning and Evening Prayer

Dearest monks and artists,

This week we are delighted to share with you the audio podcasts for Day 4 morning and evening prayer of our Monk in the World prayer cycle on the theme of Work. We hope that you are enjoying being able to pray with us in this way!

On May 13th – the feast of Julian of Norwich – I will be leading a Zoom mini-retreat on Julian and Margery Kempe with Mary Sharratt whose new novel Revelations about these two remarkable women was published last month. I am delighted to share this reflection from her on The Via Feminina: Mysticism as a Female Path:

Women have been side-lined and marginalized in every established religion in the world. Even in alternative spiritual movements, male teachers and leaders abuse their authority over their female students and followers. When our institutions and communities fail us, we have no other choice but to look within for the answers. We are not alone in this–we follow in the footsteps of a long line of female seekers and mystics who contemplated the deep mysteries of the soul on a path of inner revelation.

The Cambridge Dictionary defines mysticism as the belief that there is hidden meaning in our existence, that every human being can unite with the divine. The American Dictionary states that mysticism is the belief that it is possible to directly receive truth or achieve communication with the divine through prayer and contemplation.

Medieval Europe saw the rise of female mystics, not all of them cloistered nuns. The beguines started a women’s spirituality movement based on women of diverse backgrounds living and working together without being under the auspices of a religious order or taking permanent vows–they could leave their all-female community whenever they wanted. Not all beguines lived in these communities–some embraced a wandering, mendicant life.

One of the most famous beguines was the mystic Marguerite Porete who wrote a mesmerizing book, The Mirror of Simple Souls. Written not in ecclesiastical Latin but in her own vernacular Old French, her book describes how in deep contemplation we cease to exist as separate beings and merge with God. Her book was declared heretical and Porete was condemned to burn at the stake in 1310. Her Inquisitor denounced her as a pseudo-mulier, a fake woman, whose book was “filled with errors and heresies.” Yet she refused to recant her beliefs or withdraw her book. “They can burn me,” she said defiantly, “but they can never burn the truth.” A contemporary chronicle reported that the crowd was moved to tears to witness how calmly and courageously she faced her execution.

One of the most idiosyncratic mystics of the late Middle Ages was neither nun nor beguine, but a desperate housewife and failed businesswoman from Bishop’s Lynn in Norfolk, England. Margery Kempe (c. 1373 – after 1438) is the subject of my new novel Revelations, to be published in April 2021 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

After her attempts to run her own brewery and horse mill failed, Margery had reached her breaking point. The mother of fourteen children, she had endured many years of what we would now recognize as marital rape. Margery just wanted her husband to leave her alone, but canon law upheld his right to sexual congress without her consent. Solace came in the form of her visceral visions of Christ.

Since divorce wasn’t an option, she traveled to nearby Norwich to seek spiritual counsel from the anchoress Julian of Norwich, one of the greatest mystics of all time.

Forty years before meeting Margery, Julian had a near-death experience in which she received a series of divine visions. She spent the rest of her life unpacking them in her luminous book, Revelations of Divine Love, the first book in English written by a woman. In these pages, Julian bears witness to an unconditionally loving God who is both Mother and Father.

Upon meeting Margery, Julian offered radical counsel. She told Margery to trust her own inner guidance and not worry too much about what people thought about her. And thus, with Julian’s blessing, Margery literally walked away from a soul-destroying marriage and became a globe-trotting pilgrim-preacher and rabble rouser. Her travels took her to Rome, Jerusalem, and Santiago de Compostela, and she had many adventures on her way, including several heresy trials when she returned to England. This in an age where it was a perilous and rare thing for a woman to travel at all, let alone without her husband or male relatives. Little wonder the authorities assumed Margery was up to no good. She preserved her story for posterity in The Book of Margery Kempe, the first autobiography written in English.

Though cloistered Julian and free-roving Margery might seem like polar opposites, they complement each other. Together their lives and work form a Via Feminina, a distinctly female path to the divine.

Julian reveals the path of deep focus and cloistered solitude that nonetheless allowed her to be accessible for seekers in need of her open-hearted counsel. Margery offers inspiration for those of us who seek to live as contemplatives in the full stream of worldly life with all its wonders and perils. Like us today, both women lived in an age of pandemic and social unrest, yet both bore witness to the divine promise that ultimately all shall be well.

The mystic path is open to everyone. All it takes is setting aside time each day for some form of meditation or contemplative practice. We might not emerge as radical visionaries like Julian of Norwich, but this simple act will infuse our lives with a sense of divine presence, a numinosity that will radiate through our every seemingly mundane task so that each meal we prepare, each essay we write, each garden we plant becomes a prayer, an offering.

You can watch the virtual launch of Mary Sharratt’s new book here>>

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Art © David Hollington

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Roger Butts

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Roger Butts's reflection "Thank you, God, for Everything" excerpted from his book, Seeds of Devotion: Weekly Contemplations on Faith.

Give us this day our daily bread. Jesus. The Gospel of Matthew 6:11

It was a Friday night, just after dinner. I was at the hospital. My work was slowing down—most people don’t need to see a hospital chaplain after 7 p.m. unless there is a really powerful reason.

Then my pager went off. A nurse on the fourth floor said to me, “Roger, there is a patient up here, an older woman. She is going to hospice on Saturday, but tonight she is terribly confused and I think she could use a visit.”

“Of course. I’ll be right there.”

I looked at my phone to check the time: in two hours I’d be off. Truth be told, I was ready for the weekend.

As I was about to enter the room, the nurse told me, “She’s been saying the Lord’s Prayer, over and over.”

I gathered myself outside the room, and said a silent little prayer to center myself. I walked in.

She was definitely an old woman, frail and weak, ready to give in to that great mystery. As a hospital chaplain I’ve walked into rooms like this many times. The feeling is palpable, a deep, abiding quiet. Often there is a profound peace, in this case made even greater because the patient was entirely alone, a rarity in such cases. Often, I enter a room full of family and friends, buzzing around, trying to fill the last few moments with memories turned to chatter. This was different.

As I approached, I noticed that the nurse was right. The woman was saying the Lord’s Prayer. I held her hand. Eventually I joined her in reciting it. Her voice was weak so I whispered alongside her. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses.

As we approached the end of the Lord’s Prayer, she noticed my presence. She looked at me through cloudy, peace-filled eyes and smiled gently. “I can’t seem to remember the ending,” she said. “But, oh well. Thank you, God, for everything.”

And with that, she entered a gentle sleep. After a while of holding her hand I simply walked out of the room with a new ending for a prayer that I love.

PRAYER

First, walk gently.

You’re entering into the great mystery.

Sorrow, regret, anger, grief, relief.
You never know what you’ll find.

You may as well walk gently into that room,
which will likely be dark and quiet.

Second, talk gently.
The dead dream.
And the survivors do too.

They are in a fog,
or out to sea,
or in the deep woods.
Pick your image.

But talk gently, that mystery
will one day be you and yours.

Third, act gently.
Your gentleness
will invite whatever needs to happen
to happen.
If at all possible,
make it so the wife/husband/
mother/child
Hardly knows you are there.

Listen gently.
Listen with your eyes
and your ears
and mostly your heart.
The stories will come.
Be there to hear them.
Stories remind the wife
that she still is alive
And is alone and is not alone
all at once.

Be the Spirit
or Jesus
or Muhammad
or the Buddha

Pick your guide and be that person.

Mary. Dorothy Day.
Thomas Merton.
It matters not.

Of course, you are the best option.
So be you, in all of your quirky,
unexpected, beautiful, flawed,
perfect essence.

Amen.

REFLECTION QUESTIONS

How have you accompanied the frail, the weak, the very vulnerable? What did you do? What part of you emerged that was a surprise?

How has another accompanied you in a difficult time? What do you remember and what seemed to help?

Who are your guides and what do they teach you?

Roger Butts is a hospital chaplain in Colorado and the author of Seeds of Devotion: Weekly Contemplations on Faith (GraceLight Press, 2021) Visit him online at ContemplativeLight.org and LiberalChristian.Medium.Com

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Monk in the World podcast (Community) + Writing Into Bloom ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Community: Day 3 Morning and Evening Prayer

For see, the winter is past,
the rains are over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth,
the time of pruning the vines has come,
and the song of the dove is heard in our land.
The fig tree puts forth its figs,
and the vines, in bloom, give forth fragrance.
Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one,
and come!
--Song of Songs 2:11-13

Spring and all its flowers now
joyously break their vow of silence.
It is time for
celebration, not for
lying low.
--Hafiz

Dearest monks and artists,

We have our next morning and evening podcasts available on the theme of community. We are delighted to share these with you and pray together as a global community of monks, artists, and pilgrims. There is something about springtime that sparks in me a longing to connect more deeply with my friends and others. A joy that is kindled I want to share through conversation and presence.

I believe deeply that the seasons have a great deal of spiritual wisdom to offer us if we make space to listen. They teach us of the cycles and seasons of the earth and of our own lives. We are invited into the movements of blossoming, fullness, letting go, and rest, over and over again. Just like the lunar cycles of the moon's waxing and waning, so too does the body of the earth call us into this healing rhythm.

As the northern hemisphere enters the season of blossoming we are called to tend the places of our lives that still long for winter's stillness as well as those places ready to burst forth into the world in a profusion of color. It takes time to see and listen. Around us the world is exploding in a celebration of new life, and we may miss much of it in our seriousness to get the “important things” of life done.

Lynn Ungar has a wonderful poem titled "Camas Lilies" in which she writes: "And you -- what of your rushed and / useful life? Imagine setting it all down -- / papers, plans, appointments, everything, / leaving only a note: "Gone to the fields / to be lovely. Be back when I'm through / with blooming." Spring is a time to set aside some of the plans and open ourselves to our own blooming.

There is a playfulness and spontaneity to the season of spring that invites us to join this joyful abandon. As Hafiz writes, spring is a time for singing forth and celebration. We are called to both listen deeply to the blossoming within ourselves as well as to forget ourselves -- setting aside all of our seriousness about what we are called to do and simply enter the space of being. In this field of possibility we discover new gifts.

On my daily walks in Galway I have seen clusters of crocuses thrusting themselves out from the ground into the brilliant sunlight. The branches of cherry trees begin to hum, preparing to burst forth. Small shoots are ready to press outward, anticipating their explosion into a pink spectacle of petals. And in my presence to this dynamic energy I discover places within me humming and bursting forth. I notice my own deep longings wanting to emerge in vibrant ways.

The fertility of spring speaks of an abundantly creative God who is at the source of the potent life force beating at the heart of the world. Created in God's image, we are called to participate in this generous creativity ourselves. Our own blossoming leads us to share our gifts in service to others.

In the Hebrew scriptures the promise of God's abundance is often conceived of as blossoming in the desert. In that harsh landscape, a flower bursting forth from the dry land is a symbol of divine generosity, fruitfulness, and hope. Hope is a stance of radical openness to the God of newness and possibility. When we hope, we acknowledge that God has an imagination far more expansive than we do.

Take time this week to meditate with gratitude on a flower, appreciating all of its qualities of beauty, how it simply is what it was created to be. Allow yourself to fill with joyful gratitude for the gifts of the earth. Open yourself to experience the fullness of this flower and all of the ways God delights in the beauty of blossoms.

Then shift your focus from the flower to yourself. Take this sense of wonder and awe at the beauty of the flower and imagine how God gazes with delight on the beauty of who you are. What aspects of your being can you imagine God relishing? What are the longings inside of you God is asking you to embrace?

Rest in this awareness of the joy and delight of God in your own beautiful blossoming for several minutes. Notice what new longings it stirs in you.

I gave a 20-minute poetry reading for Paraclete Press on Instagram Live this week and read mostly poems about springtime (you also get a small window into my office and our dog Sourney makes an appearance as well). You can watch the recording of it here. Also my poem “At the End of Time” was published in Spiritus journal. You can read it here. And in other publishing news my book Earth, Our Original Monastery was named a finalist in the Spirituality category for the Association of Catholic Publishers Excellence in Book Publishing awards!

Next Saturday is the Celtic feast of Beltaine which initiates the season of Earth’s fertility. If you’d like to deepen into your soul’s own blossoming through creative writing please join me for a Zoom mini-retreat Writing Into Bloom on May 1st hosted by St. Placid Priory (the Benedictine monastery where I am an Oblate).

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

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Monk in the World Guest Post: Reverend Deb Goldman

I am delighted to share a beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post series. Read on for Reverend Deborah Goldman's poem "I Spread My Wings" written during the recent Abbey of the Arts daylong retreat, On Being Free: The Spirituality of Howard Thurman and Harriet Tubman led by Therese Taylor-Stinson.

It came as a response to our morning reflections on the embodiment of freedom; my noontime walk, during which I listened repeatedly to Nina Simone singing, "I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free;” and to two stirring excerpts from Therese’s upcoming book, Walking the Way of Harriet Tubman: Black Mystic & Freedom Fighter. In this poetic reflection, I make reference to the fact that like Harriet, I have experienced multiple brain injuries; like Nina, I have struggled with mental illness; and like many of my fellow participants, I have lived for decades with chronic illness and a non-conforming identity and spiritual path. I incorporate also words from the poet, Maya Angelou, and Therese’s own words from the introduction to her book. As I continued writing, I had a distinct, embodied experience of Mama Harriet calling to me and taking my hand.

I Spread My Wings
By Deborah Goldman, MA
April 17, 2021

I spread my wings
without inhibition
and allow my walk to dance

Opening up to the great expanse of natural world
I am free
in this moment

I drop my stories now
of disability and impairment
True, yet not whole
And feel the caged bird in my heart
breaking free

Trapped by my own fear and doubt
and limited beliefs
Fighting valiantly
with an undying faith
in myself
in possibility
in a different way

Confined by societal norms
that make no space
for the truth of who I am

I break open the box
and jump out

Mama Harriet calls me to the river
calls me to run barefoot on the earth
calls me to be courageous
and trust in the flow of the water
upstream

She takes my hand
and tells me to use my voice
to speak out
And my ears
to listen
And my good body
to dance
And my creative spirit
to weave together a new vision
of what is possible

She implores me
to use my privileges and freedoms
to free others along the way
To set down my false ego
and needs to be perfect
brilliant
even good enough

None of that matters
when you are setting someone else free

Speak up
she implores me
Be silent no more
Find your own underground railroad
your network
your muse
And if you can’t find it
create it

Listen to the wisdom
of your sisters
and brothers
and non-binary siblings
Listen
Uplift
Encourage
And break through

There is more to you than
your body
your disability
your mind
your thoughts
your beliefs
your identity
your bank account
your successes

Beyond all those illusions
is a spirit
with vast soaring wings
and a wide-open heart
Feel it
now

Infused by her love of poetry, dance, and the natural world, and informed by her experience as an Expressive Therapist and Ritual Artist, Reverend Deb Goldman is known for her warm and grounded presence, her creation of sacred space, her deep listening and genuine outpouring of personalized prayer, and her engaging leadership style. In her role as Soul Care Companion, Deb has dived deeply into the intersection of healing, spirituality, and the arts. She has supported others in finding soulful practices to deepen connection to Self, Source, Others, and the Earth; and tools to facilitate self-expression and discovery of hidden, disenfranchised, and powerful parts of themselves. Through her work as a Life-Cycle Celebrant® and Interspiritual Minister, she has learned about the power of story, of giving voice to and honoring each person’s life journey through milestones, transitions, and periods of struggle, loss, grief, and healing. And in her training as a healthcare chaplain, she has learned to be fully present for the great mystery of life and death, of pain and suffering, eternal love and letting go.

She can be contacted at debinpeace@gmail.com and I live in Arlington, MA in the US.

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A mini-poetry reading from Christine plus other publishing news

Christine Valters Paintner gave a 20-minute poetry reading for Paraclete Press on Instagram Live this week and read mostly poems about springtime (you also get a small window into her office and her dog Sourney makes an appearance as well). You can watch the recording of it here.

Also Christine's poem “At the End of Time” was published in Spiritus journal. You can read it here.

And in other publishing news my book Earth, Our Original Monastery was named a finalist in the Spirituality category for the Association of Catholic Publishers Excellence in Book Publishing awards!

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St. Kevin Holds Open His Hand and Radical Hospitality ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

St Kevin Holds Opens His Hand by Christine Valters Paintner from Abbey of the Arts on Vimeo.

Hospitality: Day 2 Morning and Evening Prayer

St. Kevin Holds Open His Hand

Imagine being like Kevin.
Your grasping fist softens,
fingers uncurl and
palms open, rest upward,
and the blackbird
weaves twigs and straw and bits of string
in the bowl of your hand,
you feel the delicate weight of
speckled blue orbs descend,
and her feathered warmth
settling in.

How many days can you stay,
open,
waiting
for the shell
to fissure and crack,
awaiting the slow emergence
of tiny gaping mouths
and slick wings
that need time to strengthen?

Are you willing to wait and watch?
Not to withdraw your
affections too soon?
Can you fall in love with the
exquisite ache in your arms
knowing the hatching it holds?

Can you stay not knowing
how broad those wings will
become, or how they will fly
awkwardly at first,
then soar above you

until you have become the sky
and all that remains is
your tiny shadow
swooping across the earth.

Dearest monks and artists,

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

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

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

Hospitality is the heart of our work as monks in the world– creating a safe space where we can begin welcoming back in the stranger both outside and within and in the process discover the hidden wholeness of which Thomas Merton wrote. This kind of radical hospitality is also an act of great love. Over the years, I have come to realize, that more than anything else I do, this work of healing is most essential. Abbey of the Arts strives to be a safe place where a diversity of people with a wide range of beliefs and convictions can gather.

This radical hospitality is a lifelong journey. We are always discovering new aspects of our inner world which we reject or resist and need love and care. And in the process of welcoming them in, we perhaps begin to discover that others don't annoy us quite so much. As we grow more intimate with our own places of exile and woundedness, we discover a deep well of compassion for the strangeness of others. As we come to know our own compulsions and places of grasping, we can offer more love to those in our lives struggling with addictions and other places where freedom has been lost.

What would it be like to welcome in that lonely part of yourself and to love him, to trust that she has a place in you? Maybe there is self-judgment and criticism that you try to push away. What would it be like to make space to sit with these difficult parts with compassion and listen to what they really want to tell you? This would be a generous act of loving.

We share this week the audio podcasts for Morning & Evening prayer of Day 2 of our Monk in the World Prayer Cycle which is on the theme of hospitality. Make some time this week to let these prayers carry you to a place of radical welcome within yourself and see how this impacts your hospitality to others. Special thanks as always to Simon de Voil for putting such care into creating these audio resources for us.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Video credit: Poetry Video by Morgan Creative

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