Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 59

Prayer Cycle Podcast + Becoming Fire ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle: Day 4 Morning Prayer from Abbey of the Arts on Vimeo.

Click here to listen to the audio version of the prayer cycle

Day 4 Morning Prayer: Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle

Abba Lot came to Abba Joseph and said:

Father, according as I am able, I keep my little rule, and my little fast, my prayer, meditation and contemplative silence; and, according as I am able, I strive to cleanse my heart of thoughts: now what more should I do?

The elder rose up in reply and stretched out his hands to heaven, and his fingers became like ten lamps of fire.  He said: Why not become fire?

—Desert Fathers

Dearest monks and artists,

I love this story from the Desert Fathers and Mothers above. In the spiritual life we keep our practices, spend time in prayer, seek the sacred in all things, and yet at some point even all this is not enough and we are asked to become fire. Becoming fire means letting our passion for life and beauty ignite us in the world. It means, as St. Ignatius of Loyola wisely said, that we are called to set the whole world on fire with our passion for the holy.

We may find ourselves drawn to creative expression because it taps into what is most vital and alive in us. This burning in our blood seeks expression in the world, whether through art, song, cooking, gardening, our work, relationships, or in our presence to others. Becoming fire means saying yes to life by the very way we live.

St. Ignatius of Loyola spoke of the deepest desires of our heart as planted there by God. We have often been taught to mistrust our desires, to hold them with suspicion. Through the Spiritual Exercises, Ignatius developed a retreat which incorporates ways of praying and a set of tools for distinguishing our truest, deepest desires as those that God wants passionately for us.  The Exercises invite us into a process of listening for what we desire and to discern which desires come from our own ego and will and which come from our sacred Source.  When we are in touch with these deepest desires, we can allow ourselves to become united with the fire that dwells within us.

In recent years we have heard the term “fire in the belly” be claimed for the men’s spirituality movement. It was the title of a book by philosopher Sam Keen inviting men to reclaim the vitality and passion found within. The original source of this metaphor is unknown but perhaps derives from the stoking of a pot-bellied stove.  Do you have a fire in your belly or has it become dampened by life’s demands?  Whether you are male or female, we are each invited to kindle our passion for life and love.  Fire symbolizes what we are most passionate about, what we love most, where we stoke the flames of courage. It is the source of our vitality and energy.

We offer the flame of our kindness to one another when we reach out to someone in need. We kindle the fire of our passion when we show up to the blank page or canvas and allow space for whatever is moving in us to have expression. Most of all, we need people with the fire of commitment to nurturing life in all its forms and seeking justice in all ways possible.

During these days of pandemic, it may at times feel challenging to stoke your inner flame. Consider placing a candle on your altar or in your prayer space and when you light it, offer a prayer that even in the midst of struggle you might become fire.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

*This reflection is adapted from my book Water, Wind, Earth, & Fire. We will be exploring the four elements during Advent through creative practices of writing, nature journaling, and movement. All the content for the Advent retreat will be brand new and the book is recommended as a companion but not required.

Monk in the World Guest Post: Michael Kroth

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Michael Kroth's reflection, "Haiku Drop."

Wind outside my house

Cold breeze, sharp slap bites my cheek

My eyes see nothing

~Michael Kroth, First Haiku, 1-21-19

I wrote my first haiku during a retreat in McCall, Idaho. I began reading The Art of Pausing: Meditations for the Overworked and Overwhelmed, by Judith Valente, Brother Paul Quenon, and Michael Bever that day, and followed their encouragement to write a haiku daily. On May 27, 2019 I finished reading the book – I had been reading one of their haikus, plus its narrative, a day – and by that date I had written 119 haikus. I’ve never looked back, averaging about a haiku a day since. In fact, I immediately began rereading The Art of Pausing on May 28th – one haiku, one day at a time – and the re-reading was as valuable as the first go-round.

I find the practice of reading a haiku each day, and writing one, to be relaxing, focusing, intimate, and a daily connection to what is most important in life. I generally write them in the dark or early light of morning.

Along the way, other friends of mine have also begun the practice. We began meeting once a month and sharing one haiku with each other, discussing the meaning of each, again as The Art of Pausing encouraged.

Since starting, I have learned more about haikus, both by reading and by writing them. I’ve read Matsuo Bash?’s masterpiece, Narrow Road To The Interior, for example. I am currently reading a haiku a day, with its narrative, from a wonderful book called Haiku Mind: 108 Poems To Cultivate Awareness & Open Your Heart, by Patricia Donegan, which features haikus from recent poets and the masters of yore. I now know that a haiku with accompanying prose may be called a haibun.

The practice of writing a haiku a day was valuable enough. Adding a monthly haiku exchange with a small group of friends made it even more meaningful, but adding an anonymous, daily “haiku drop” to the mix has caused this practice to become a powerful part of me.

Each month I print numerous copies of the haiku I share with our little group. It is in the form of a card or a bookmark. The print does not have my name on it. I send it anonymously to an ever-growing, continually evolving mailing list. Some people receive them and easily guess that I am the sender. Most have never met or heard of me. Others might find a bookmark in a book or a card on a pew or either sitting in a display.

Why anonymous giving?

A few years back, I woke one snowy morning to find my sidewalk and driveway had been shoveled. I had not a clue who the Good Samaritan was. The result? I had to be kind to everyone in my neighborhood! Anonymous giving is not only a gift to the recipient, but to all the others who the recipient is likely to treat with a little more kindness.

I now have made it a practice to give something to another person, anonymously, every day. This gives me incredible joy. Usually, the gift is sent in the mail and I wake up knowing that someone will find something special, hand-addressed, and often with a personal but anonymous note of gratitude, in their mailbox. We have lost the art of hand-addressed envelopes.

How do you feel when receiving a personally addressed and written letter in the mail?

I thought so.

Why anonymous giving?

For several years I have felt the need to develop qualities of generosity. Being generous with large amounts money is not possible. I have always admired those who could make something – a piece of art, prayer beads, a shawl – handmade. Yet I have no known artistic or craft skills.

What to do, what to do?

I can’t draw, but I can write. A little.

A friend of mine told me about “art drops”. I had never heard of them before, but apparently, they are popular. Someone creates a piece of art, perhaps a piece as simple as painting a heart on a rock, with a saying underneath, and leaves it somewhere – perhaps in a garden or on a path – for someone to discover and then to keep if they wish.

It’s an anonymous gift, personally crafted, the recipient is unknown, and so is the person giving it.  Love is added to the world.

As I began this haiku practice, I realized that I could modify the “art drop” protocol, such as it informally is, and send haikus anonymously. So I did. And so I do.

Each day someone opens an envelope or finds a card, from me. Hopefully, they smile. They wonder, “Who was thinking about me yesterday? Who cares for me in this difficult world? Who spent just a scootch of time for nothing in return?”

Nothing in return? I think not.

For writing haiku is a daily, personal, spiritual discipline. Sharing one anonymously each day is a gift to myself, to others, and to God.  For me, this is one way I can serve in a very small way as a monk of the world, in the world, and for the world.

To summarize, this practice has evolved from nothing and now it is a daily exercise. It has synergy on so many fronts – it develops friendships and collaboration, it is beneficial for mental, emotional, and spiritual health, which means physical health as well; and that’s just what I receive. Hopefully, the ripples go much further.

I never judge the quality of the haikus I write; my job is to produce one a day by connecting to my larger, legacy practice of contemplative prayer, journaling, and reading each morning. My job is to try to get to the essence of something quite profound, and to express it in seventeen syllables.

In that spirit, I have shared a haiku drop here, front and back, just for you.

Who knows where it came from!!!

Mystical? Mundane?

There’s both in any flower

Or piece of chewing gum.

~Michael Kroth, Yesterday, 2-16-20

References

Basho, M. (1998). The Narrow Road To The Interior (S. Hamill, Trans.). Boulder, CO: Shambhala.

Donegan, P. (2008). Haiku mind: 108 poems to cultivate awareness and open your heart (1st ed.). Boston: Shambala: Distributed in the United States by Random House.

Valente, J., Quenon, P., & Bever, M. (2013). The art of pausing: meditations for the overworked and overwhelmed. Chicago, IL: ACTA Publications.

Michael Kroth has written or co-authored six books. His latest is Profound Living: Essays, Images, and Poetry. He curates the site Profound Living WithMichael Kroth. You can find it here: ProfoundLiving.live. He is Professor of Education in the Adult, Organizational Learning and Leadership program at the University of Idaho – Boise.

Prayer Cycle Podcast + Feather on the Breath of God ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle: Day 3 Evening Prayer from Abbey of the Arts on Vimeo.

Day 3: Evening Prayer Audio Recording

Day 3 Evening Prayer: Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle

The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it,

but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.

So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

—Gospel of St. John 3:8

Dearest monks and artists,

One of my favorite images from St. Hildegard of Bingen, the prolific Benedictine Abbess of the 12th century, is to become like “a feather on the breath of God.” How many of us allow ourselves to be carried on this divine breath, this sacred breeze? Can we allow ourselves to yield fully to this holy direction?

In the Celtic tradition, peregrinatio is a special kind of pilgrimage.  Instead of setting out to journey to a specific place, the ancient Celtic monks would undertake a journey to find their “place of resurrection,” which is the place to which God is calling the wanderer to settle and offer their gifts in service.  The best known example is St. Brendan the Navigator, a sixth century Celtic monk, who left behind all that was safe and secure, and accompanied by twelve other monks set out to sea. The boats used at the time were called coracles and were small vessels made of animal skins stretched across a wooden frame and sealed with pitch.  Brendan and others would set off in a coracle without oars, trusting the wind and current to guide them to arrive where they were being called to go.  They would literally cast themselves adrift at sea for the love of God, following only the direction the wind would take them, prepared to accept whatever the outcome may be.

They travelled without rudder or oar, letting the current of divine love direct them. We often cling to those instruments of direction and control, whether our day planner, our to do list, or our five-year plans.

These journeys were acts of complete trust and faith in the One who guides our journey and accompanies us along the way.  They also speak of a profound act of surrender to the Spirit and a letting go of our own agendas. This kind of journey eventually became known as “white martyrdom” in contrast to the “red martyrdom” of the early Christian church when believers sacrificed their lives for their beliefs.  The white martyrs relinquished their sense of safety and ego to go where God called. In peregrinatio, the journey is initiated by an inner prompting, to leave behind the familiar and go where the Spirit leads. It means becoming a stranger to what is comfortable and secure, and an exile to what is safe.  The story of Abraham in the Book of Genesis is the exemplar of leaving home in response to God’s call, not knowing where the journey would lead.

While you may not want to cast yourself out to sea and leave your journey to the direction of the wind, you can pray with this gift of wind by considering the ways in your own life you are being invited to let go of some of your own goals and direction and begin to listen to the inner promptings of the Spirit.  Praying with wind is an invitation to surrender to a less self-directed and move toward a more Spirit-directed path through life. Wind beckons us to release our grip of control and enter into a life where we are willing to be led to new places.

In this year of pandemic, we are being invited to trust even more deeply that at the source of all is Love. We are being asked to surrender our own goals and needs to deepen into a new way of being which has at its heart the well-being of all that lives and breathes.

Consider placing a feather on your altar to remind yourself each day to release and be carried on that holy breath.

With great and growing love,

Christine

(This reflection is adapted from my book Water, Wind, Earth, & Fire. We will be exploring the four elements during Advent through creative practices of writing, nature journaling, and movement. All the content for the Advent retreat will be brand new and the book is recommended as a companion but not required. More details below.)

PS – I was interviewed this week on the Word Perfect podcast about my life as a writer and poet among other things. Tune in at this link>>

Monk in the World Guest Post: Janeen R. Adil

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Janeen R. Adil's reflection on spiritual direction.

When I received approval from my denomination to work towards authorized ministry, a new and exciting journey began to unfold. Pastors on the committee overseeing the process laid out educational and other requirements; one urged that I find a spiritual director for myself.

"I certainly will!" I told him enthusiastically. And then added, "Umm… What's a spiritual director?"

It was an innocent question. Although I had always been part of one or another mainline Protestant denomination, I'd never heard the term. In fact, it soon became evident that there were a great many things I'd never heard of, most notably a wide variety of spiritual practices and disciplines (and even those terms were new to me!). And the more I learned, the hungrier I got. My own faith traditions simply had not done a good job of holding onto the deep and rich heritage of Christian spirituality.

I discovered then that spiritual direction (companioning) is a holy and ancient part of our faith practices. And soon a next-step opportunity opened, literally in front of me. During a retreat and over lunch, I struck up a conversation with the woman seated across the table. Kathie "happened" to be not only ordained in my denomination but a spiritual director – and she was eager for new directees! It was, as the saying goes, a match made in heaven.

Kathie and I met monthly, and eventually it dawned on me: I myself was being called to this ministry, a call that Kathie would affirm. And so when the time was right (God's time, or kairos), I entered a two-year, intensive, and wonderful program to train as a spiritual director. Our instructors represented distinct denominational backgrounds, as did the students themselves. The overarching stance though was contemplative – with an Ignatian emphasis!

By the time our class officially ended, it was abundantly clear to me: this spiritual direction training would inform the rest of my life. And so it has.

Because of my learning and experiences (both very much ongoing), I can hold a contemplative stance within the world, desiring to be continually present with and to Spirit. Naturally this is true when I am with my directees: together we explore where it is within their lives that God is beckoning. Good, contemplative presence is essential in direction, so that the director may be best employed as a conduit for Spirit's work.

Of course, actively engaging in spiritual direction ministry accounts for only some of my time. Living as a contemplative monk in everyday life means carrying this presence with me, into the world for the sake of the world. What does this look like? A few examples:

* I am an introvert, at times deeply so. I now however find myself empowered to be so much more present with people, including "strangers." Whether this leads to some pleasant small talk or to a more intense conversation, I know something of the power of human connection. We so often move through our days as invisible people; to simply acknowledge someone's existence, then, has the potential to become a mighty gesture.

* I find myself more able to release judgments and to less often see someone as "other." When meeting with a directee, my contemplative stance is to hold myself open, to hold my heart and mind in freedom. This, I feel, is the work of compassion and mercy. It's where I'm called to stand with any person and yes, it's ongoing work! This stance of presence is a choice I must make daily.

* My Ignatian-flavored direction training included teaching on how we continually move towards the Holy and away, back and forth, each and every day. I've found it incredibly helpful to understand these movements, both with my directees and in my own life. When I become aware of thoughts and actions that lead to a sense of dis-ease, these negative feelings alert me that I'm moving away from God. In the same way, moving towards God is characterized by spiritual fruit: I'm conscious of love, joy, peace, and other gifts of Spirit flowing through and in me.

* My sense of wonder, mystery/Mystery, and awe is heightened by the profound privilege of accompanying a fellow spiritual seeker. I often think of Jacob's dream as recorded in Genesis – only I spin the words a bit differently: “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I do know it!” In spiritual direction, we're on holy ground together.

Because each of us represents God's unique and beloved creation, what it means to be present contemplatively takes shape in a variety of forms and paths. In other words, many ways exist for living this life. For me, ministering as a spiritual director is a gift received, and it's how I delight in being a contemplative monk in the world!

Janeen R. Adil is a spiritual director, writer, and teacher; within the United Church of Christ, she is a Minister of Christian Spirituality. Through her freelance business Hungry Soul Ministries, she offers workshops, retreats, and direction. She lives in eastern PA, in a farmhouse built by English/Welsh Quakers over 200 years ago.

 

Prayer Cycle Podcast + Feast of All Saints & Souls ~ A Love Note from the Online Abbess

Click here to listen to the audio podcast.

Dearest monks and artists,

We share this week the morning prayer from Day 3 of our Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle. In Day 3 we explore Earth as the original saints. Thomas Merton wrote that the bass and the mountain, the sea and the trees are the original saints. “To be a saint means to be myself,” and we can learn a great deal about sainthood by being in the presence of creatures and the natural world who cannot be other than who they were created to be.

With us it is more complicated. We get distracted and misaligned with our soul’s gifts and callings because of cultural and family messages about what makes a life worth living. Or we had to stifle a passion of ours early on because others mocked us for it. Or we have become caught up in the treadmill of working hard to get to retirement so we can finally enjoy our lives.

Sainthood isn’t a heroic journey. It is the simplest one of all – to the heart of myself – and also the hardest. The poet David Whyte writes, “why are we the one terrible part of creation privileged to refuse our own flowering?”

Today is the Feast of All Saints (and tomorrow of All Souls). We remember all those who have passed into the Great Night, beyond the veil. The Christian tradition tells us that we are still intimately connected to these ancestors who are a part of the “communion of saints” and the great “cloud of witnesses.”

Saints include those who have been formally canonized or recognized by the institutional church as having lived a life full themselves in service to the divine call and to their communities. But just as much it includes those ancestors who are wise and well and can still offer us their wisdom.

Consider this day going for a walk where you can feel a connection to nature – whether a local park or a woodland trail or by the sea – ask all of creation to reveal to you what it means to live in deep alignment with how they were created by God and call upon the name of a human saint – whether one of the many great mystics like St. Hildegard, Benedict, Teresa, or Francis – or one of your blood-lineage kin who always had wisdom about life to offer to you. You can even call upon an ancestor whose name you do not know, asking for one of the wise and well to offer you guidance. Welcome in their presence and send out prayers and blessings for those who have passed who have not yet reached a state of full healing and wholeness.

In the midst of a global pandemic, I invite you to also extend your prayers out to the world community and pray especially for those who have died of this virus alone in a hospital room and for all their family who have not been able to seek physical comfort in one another because of social isolation. We send our blessings to these holy dead and anyone else who has died this past year especially, that they find their place among the great Communion of Saints. May we hear them dancing beyond the veil.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Monk in the World Guest Post: Barb Morris

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Barb Morris' reflection on the wild flow of the soul.

Parker Dam, the deepest dam in the world, sits on the lower Colorado River, on the border between California and Arizona. Both states siphon hundreds of trillions of gallons of water each year from Lake Havasu, the impoundment created by Parker Dam. California water travels more than two hundred miles west through a complex system of pumping stations, tunnels blasted through mountain ranges, and canals, all the way to Los Angeles. Arizona water travels more than three hundred miles east to Phoenix and Tucson. Colorado River water also irrigates tens of millions of agriculture acres in seven Western states. By the time the Colorado reaches Mexico, it’s virtually dry. Policy-makers at the turn of the last century wanted the Colorado River this way. Their stated goal was to siphon 100% of the river, and they succeeded. As a child growing up in Arizona, I took all of this for granted. These diversions are so embedded in the landscape that I simply didn’t see how the wild Colorado has been tamed to slake the thirst of human culture.

The Deschutes River, near where I live in Bend, Oregon, is similarly domesticated. Dams and irrigation diversions turn this unique spring-fed river ecosystem into an irrigation canal, reversing its natural flows with little concern for the wild organisms who depend on it. Fish and frogs have been sacrificed to meet the desires of humans who want to grow commodities and water their lawns. Many rivers in the West have suffered the same fate.

What do dams, diversions, and the domestication of wild rivers have to do with being a monk in the world?

Imagine your soul as a wild river, and imagine culture as the Army Corps of Engineers. Culture turns us from wild rivers into impounded, channelized canals, worrying more about what others think of us than the dictates of our true selves. Culture gives us rules to follow and promises us that if we follow the rules we’ll be safe.

Unlike rivers, we humans have a choice. We don’t have to placidly submit to being impounded, channelized, and siphoned off by the culture in which we are embedded. We can demolish the dams, block the diversions, and heal ourselves. We can be wild rivers again.

One downside to rewilding ourselves, though, is that perfection and “getting it right” are no longer possible. If there are no rules, there are no benchmarks for perfection. This is scary for those of us who are perfectionists. (But there’s an upside: if there are no rules, there are also no mistakes!)

Can we trust ourselves if we’re free from the constraints of culture’s rules? A wild river follows the dictates of nature and the laws of physics. Our wild soul follows the direction of deeply-held values and deeply-held desires.

Here’s where my metaphor connects to being a Monk in the World. Our unique values and desires arise from that place deep within us where we connect to God, what Parker Palmer calls our “taproot.” That’s mixing my metaphors, so let’s imagine the soul as a spring connected to a deep aquifer called God. Clearing obstacles to the water’s flow from the aquifer to the world’s surface is what monks do. Contemplation, followed by action, is how we stay connected to our Source and let God move through us to a thirsty world. When we practice discernment rooted in Monk in the World disciplines, we can trust ourselves to follow our hearts.

Listen to the words of our own Christine Valters Paintner, from The Soul of a Pilgrim:

“We are brought into the world with what many indigenous cultures call ‘original medicine.’ This means that we are unique creations. We’ve never been in the past and won’t be in the future. No one carries the same combination of gifts, talents, resources, opportunities, and challenges. This unique alchemy is our ‘original medicine.’ St. Ignatius of Loyola, a sixteenth-century mystic, said that the deepest desires of our heart are planted by God.

‘Medicine’ is not just referring to a healing balm or potion. Our unique abilities contain our power to act in the world. They enable us to explore, discover, express, and heal. Our original medicine emerges from our ‘true self.’ Thomas Merton, in New Seeds of Contemplation, describes this concept as our deepest selves when we have stripped away self-deception, self-criticism, self-inflation, masks, expectations, and judgments: ‘For me to be a saint means to be myself. Therefore the problem of sanctity and salvation is in fact the problem of finding out who I am and of discovering my true self. God leaves us free to be whatever we like. We can be ourselves or not, as we please. We are at liberty to be real, or to be unreal. We may be true or false, the choice is ours. We may wear now one mask and now another, and never, if we so desire, appear with our own true face.’”

We live and move and have our being in the heart of a wild God. When you are radically rooted in Monk in the World disciplines, you’ll acquire the discernment to chart your own course. Trust your wild nature, and flow!

Barb Morris is a life coach, writer, and freerange naturalist living in Bend, Oregon with her Episcopal priest husband. You can connect with her at BarbMorris.com.

Prayer Cycle Podcast + Honoring Ancestors ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Listen to the Audio Podcast of Day 2 Evening Prayer Here >>

Dearest monks and artists,

We offer you the audio and video podcast for Day 2 Evening Prayer on the theme of Earth, our original scriptures. In the Celtic way of seeing the world, Earth was one of the two books of revelation alongside the holy text. The seasons beckon to us with their continual unfolding and wisdom about what it means to be fully human in this world and embrace rhythms of flowering, fruitfulness, release, and rest.

Last week I talked about how dawn and dusk are threshold moments in our day and how in the Celtic imagination these times were considered to be doorways to connecting more deeply with the divine and those who have passed on.

Morning and evening prayer is a beautiful practice passed down from our ancestors. When we make time to pause twice each day we join in with all those monasteries and other kinds of faith communities who knew that stopping work to praise the sacred is an essential practice. When we pause we join a lineage of those seeking this kind of regular, intimate connection with God.

Psychologist Carl Jung wrote extensively about the collective unconscious which is this vast pool of ancestral memory within each of us, it is a kind of deposit of ancestral experience lived out over time. He believed it comprises the psychic life of our ancestors right back to the earliest beginnings, nothing is lost, all of the stories, struggles, and wisdom are available to us. Each of us is an unconscious carrier of this ancestral experience and part of our journey is to bring this to consciousness in our lives.

He even believed it comprises our animal ancestry, he creatures we evolved from, which existed longer in time than our human existence. It is the place where archetypes emerge – those symbols and experiences that appear across time and cultures. The stories of our ancestors are woven into the fabric of our very being.

In his book Memories, Dreams, Reflections, Jung wrote:

"I became aware of the fateful links between me and my ancestors. I feel very strongly that I am under the influence of things or questions which were left incomplete or unanswered by my parents and grandparents and more distant ancestors. It often seems as if there were an impersonal karma within a family, which is passed on from parents to children. It has always seemed to me that I had to answer questions which fate had posed to my forefathers, and which had not yet been answered, or as if I had to complete, or perhaps continue, things which previous ages had left unfinished."[1]

We let these lost voices speak through our own lives and perhaps discover our own deepest longings are woven together with theirs. Consider spending some time in your journal holding this image of offering space for the voices of your ancestors to speak. What stories might they tell? What wisdom might they offer? What were the prayers they sang at the moments of the sun’s ascent and descent along the horizon?

The evening of October 31st through the day of November 1st is called Samhain in the old Celtic calendar. It is a time when the veil is believed to be especially thin and we can hear the voices of the ancestors more clearly. November 1st and 2nd are also the feasts of All Saints and All Souls and the time when the northern hemisphere continues to move into greater darkness and mystery. Join Deirdre Ni Chinneide and me for a mini-retreat via Zoom to honor this most special time of year.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

[1] Carl Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections (Vintage Books, 1989) p. 233-234.

Monk in the World Guest Post: Marianne Patrevito

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World  guest post series from the community. Read on for Marianne Patrevito's reflection, "Contemplative Anxiety." 

I consider myself a contemplative. Committing to being a Monk in the World, I lean in towards the practices of the mystics. Centering prayer, lectio divina, solitude and silence feed my soul. I am most alive wandering in the forest near my home, walking through a field, or breathing the air that dances above a large body of water.

 I love to create, especially when I am alone, whether it be painting, collaging, writing, or making a pot of soup. My small space of garden is where I contemplate life. Allowing the dirt to mingle in my fingertips, I work through the most recent events of my days, or chat with God.  Hearing about my daily practices, one would never think that I live with anxiety. Every day. Somedays are better than others, but it’s there. It does not leave. It wraps around me like a “well worn” coat.

Over the years I have argued about it, denied it’s existence and just tried to stuff it away. I’ve even tried to hide from it. Dodging anxiety’s claws, hoping that if my emotional “self “moved fast enough, the worrisome state of mind, would not find me.

Therapy over the years, many years, has been helpful. I’ve learned techniques and language that have been and are quite beneficial and serve a purpose.

Those who struggle with this feeling of nervousness/anxiousness, do so for a variety of reasons. Trauma, DNA, occurrences from our past to name a few. I always urge people to seek professional help, as I have and do. But I also feel strongly that we are responsible for ourselves and our self- care.

Most mornings I begin the day with centering prayer, sacred reading and journaling, which soothe my spirit. I then may journey to the yoga mat, where I just want to ground myself and be “in” my body. Exercise  is essential. Walking daily is my go to and feeds both body and mind.

However, the most important aspect of turning in a new direction was one I just recently discovered.

I needed to befriend my anxiety.

 A difficult concept, but since this was something that never occurred to me, I was willing. I was willing to bring this movement into my space and treat it as another “practice.” 

I have learned, mostly through those who are walking this path with me, is this… the more I try to push anxiety away, the more it gets stronger. Try to not think about something, it will just grow. Anxious thoughts are no exception. My past failed attempts of trying to push the thoughts away and ignore the vibrating feelings that streamed through my body were exhausting.  I knew it was time. Time for a change. In my search for relief, I found the five A’s of Anxiety:

 Awareness, Attention, Acknowledgment, Acceptance and Allowance.

Solitude and silence were the platform for Awareness of anxiety stirring. Previously I would notice something, a worrisome thought, a reaction to the words of another, and try to ignore it. Now, I become Aware…. I do not fight or argue with what’s happening, I just notice.  What’s happening in my mind? In my body? 

Attention….at this point, I will turn my mind to the most outstanding symptom, whether it be shallow breath or feeling of fear. I focus there, remembering to be gentle with me. I take deep breathes as I attend and care for me. I may even place my hand over my heart space to call on my own or God’s loving presence.

Acknowledge…. so often we want to dismiss the parts of ourselves that have unwanted feelings of pain. Here is where I may say, “I’m feeling anxious/worried/angry…” Whatever is most present, whatever my attention is turned toward. I acknowledge that part of me.

Acceptance… in the past, I would argue with the worrisome thoughts, or try to fix them. My practice, and it is still just a practice, is now to accept them. They are a part of me, a part of me that I have wanted to dismiss for so long. I will then move into the final stage, which is….

 Allow.

Marianne Patrevito is a Spiritual Director who loves nature, the creative arts, including painting, collage, cooking and gardening. She is the mother of five adult children and one grandchild. Marianne resides in Hinsdale, Illinois with her husband, Tom.

Prayer Cycle Podcast + Listening at the Threshold ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Listen to the Audio Podcast Here >>

Dearest monks and artists,

I am thrilled to share with you above the video and audio podcasts for Day 2 Morning Prayer. We hope that you are enjoying these resources!

In the Celtic imagination, the hours of dawn and dusk are considered threshold times when the veil between worlds is especially thin. When we show up for morning and evening prayer we open ourselves to an encounter with the Holy One reaching toward us. This encounter is always available, but it is in these sacred moments of Earth's turning when we become more open to receive this gift.

These threshold moments are not just at the turning points of each day from dark to light and back to dark again. They also happen during the year in alignment with the seasons. November 1st is considered to be a time when the doorway between worlds is open even further and is the start of the New Year in the Celtic calendar.

Our western culture doesn't make much room for the honoring of ancestors or valuing what connection to the stories of our past might bring to us. When we uncover the layers of the stories those who have come before us have lived for generations we begin to understand ourselves better. Some of these stories we may know the details of, and some we may have to access and experience in an embodied and intuitive way. These memories live inside of us, waiting for us to give them room in our lives. Making space in our lives to learn our family history, to know some of the struggles and joys of our ancestors, to experience the land they walked on, all gives us a sense of time as generational and how things in our lives are planted for the generations to come.

We have scientific evidence through the work of epigenetics that family wounds are carried unconsciously from generation to generation. The stories and traumas of our grandmothers and grandfathers are our stories. We can help to heal the wounds of the past and in the process heal ourselves by telling those stories again, giving voice to the voiceless, unnamed, secrets and to the celebrations, insights, and wisdom gathered over time. The poet May Sarton wrote in her poem “All Souls”: Now the dead move through all of us still glowing. . . What has been plaited cannot be unplaited. 

Landscape, language, and culture have all shaped the stories we’ve told, the words used to express the most aching sorrow and the most profound joy. Ancestral lands with their trees, rivers, oceans, and undulations have been imprinted on our psychic lives and our soul. Learning some of the language our ancestors spoke or walking in the landscape that shaped them can bring us home to ourselves again.

On Saturday, October 31st I will be joined by Deirdre Ni Chinneide, a wonderful singer and gifted facilitator who lives on Inismor, the largest of the three Aran Islands. Together we will be inviting you into a time of personal reflection and community ritual for honoring those who have walked before us. You will be called to listen at the threshold for the voices of the ancestors. It promises to be a rich meaningful time at this sacred turning point of the year.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Earth Rising Podcast – Touching Sacred Earth: Expressive Art and Spiritual Practice

Christine was interviewed for Earth Rising Podcast on Touching Sacred Earth: Expressive Art and Spiritual Practice.

From the show notes:

Christine Valters Paintner has spent her career and life as a Benedictine oblate exploring the link between the disciplines of making art and having a spiritual practice. We contemplate how these two disciplines provide an access point for relating to the natural world and deepening our relationship to Earth, while activating our imagination and relationship to mystery.

Christine also shares what it can mean to slow down and cultivate a contemplative practice in the midst of our busy lives, including some practical ideas and insights for how to do this. She is also a poet and we end the interview with an offering from her writings.