Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 60

Celtic Spirituality Reflection and Interview

Christine Valters Paintner recently wrote a reflection for A New Eden Ministry on Celtic spirituality and the Incarnation.

"When we awaken to the holy shimmering in each flower, tree, and bird, we suddenly discover that we are woven into a vast community. We find ourselves nourished and supported in ways we didn’t see before. We are called to hold this deepening awareness and trust that we are sustained and called forth by the choirs of creation.

During this Advent season of holy birthing, the Celtic tradition can remind us of the full meaning of the incarnation. Every created thing reveals the divine nature to us. Christ is being born all around us. As we journey toward the feast of Christmas, we might take time to walk our own landscape with eyes open to the wonder of God made visible in the world around us. In a time of worsening climate crisis, the Celtic vision of creation is one that asks us to fall more deeply in love with the world around us."

In addition she was interviewed on Spirit Mornings Catholic Radio about her book The Soul's Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seeking the Sacred.

SpiritCatholicRadio · 11 – 30 – 20 Christine Valters Paintner – Author – The Soul's Slow Ripening

Monk in the World Guest Post: Pat Leyko Connelly

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Pat Leyko Connelly's poem reflection, "When Winter Moves In."

Snow falling so hard

like lace curtains falling from the sky.

“It’s beautiful” I say.

As it blesses the air it passes through and the ground it falls upon!

Those beautiful bright winter days, those are the ones I dream of…with blue sky and brilliant bright sun!

I go for walks and the cold air chills my face and fogs up my glasses!

But it is beautiful, this winter, and is refreshing to my soul and makes me feel alive! This cold wakes me up to this winter wonderland.

Yet now these days seem a bit more grey and cold and damp.

It’s too cold to go out for those glorious winter walks.

It seems as though winter has “moved in” on this February day.

I stay inside curled up and warm with my cup of tea and book by the fire… a contemplatives dream !

I peer out my window now to empty streets of white and grey …no one seems to be “taking a hike” today.

So, I’ll stay in, secluded like a good Monk in her cell, silent and enjoying the quiet, cloaked in the warmth with the hum of the furnace that now sounds like Monk companions chanting .

Counting my blessings and trusting that Seasons do come and go!

After 28 years in Parish Ministry; Music, Religious Education and Retreat Work, Pat Leyko Connelly is now retired with her husband in Weston Vermont. Her new ministry and Spiritual practice has become writing Haiku prayers with photo's and poetry and reflections. She enjoys singing and playing guitar.

Prayer Cycle Podcast + Advent Contemplative Services ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle: Day 5 Morning Prayer from Abbey of the Arts on Vimeo.

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

Day 5 Morning Prayer: Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle

I came here to study hard things – rock mountain and salt sea – and to temper my spirit on their edges.  "Teach me thy ways, O Lord" is, like all prayers, a rash one, and one I cannot but recommend.  These mountains — Mount Baker and the Sisters and Shuksan, the Canadian Coastal Range and the Olympics on the peninsula — are surely the edge of the known and comprehended world….  That they bear their own unimaginable masses and weathers aloft, holding them up in the sky for anyone to see plain, makes them, as Chesterton said of the Eucharist, only the more mysterious by their very visibility and absence of secrecy. 

—Annie Dillard

Dearest monks and artists,

I can remember so clearly that crisp day while I was on retreat at the Columbia River Gorge which marks the border between Oregon and Washington States.  Mount Hood appeared brilliant against the pale blue sky where the day before it had been shrouded in mist.  I was filled with awe and felt connected to the wonder this sight must have inspired in native peoples walking this land long ago, and why this mountain would have been considered sacred.  Mountains have always been places of theophany – an encounter with holiness – such as Moses at Mount Sinai where he received God’s laws and saw God’s face.  Mount Tabor in Israel is where Jesus became transfigured before his disciples.  The Northwest is dotted with these reminders of the majestic nature of the divine.  Mount Rainier and Mount Baker hover magically above the Northwest landscape and evoke a sense of awe those days they are not hidden by our typically grey skies. The days they are revealed are treasured among those who pay attention.

There are more references to mountains and hills in the Bible than to any other geographical feature. Noah’s ark came to rest on a mountain; God tested Abraham on a mountain, Moses receives the Ten Commandments on a mountain.  Jesus goes to a mountain to pray, Mount of Olives, before his crucifixion on a hill. Mountains stretch our imaginations upward in celebration of a transcendent God who creates with such glory and majesty.

In the fifth century, St. Patrick went up the sacred mountain, now called Croagh Patrick and fasted at the summit for forty days.  It is now known as Ireland’s pilgrimage mountain because more than a million people each year come to climb it and connect with the longing for God that carried St Patrick to its summit.  This mountain had already been sacred to ancient Celtic people who celebrated the harvest festival at this site.  The Celts call the places where heaven and earth meet “thin places.”

The metaphor of ascent — climbing the holy mountain – is a dominant one in spiritual language.  There is great challenge in rising higher and higher as the air for breath grows thinner and colder.  Climbing mountains is a physical and spiritual goal.  There is something about the image of ascension, reaching the highest peaks, and then taking in the perspective. We speak of “mountaintop experiences” as those which move us to awe and wonder, memorable moments where we transcended our narrow daily concerns.

As a child, my family would go to the Tyrolean mountains in my father’s native Austria. I remember with such fondness the preparation of gear, putting on the proper socks and boots, packing a rucksack with lunch and drink, and carrying my hiking stick. At each summit we reached, a new medallion would be attached to it.  I loved the collection that spanned my stick and indicated those places to which I had taken the difficult journey.  And as I savored the journey upon my return, I saw in my heart a swelling up that mirrored this grand mountain.  I discovered a powerful rising of hope within me, even larger than any earthly mountain.  A world where we stand in awe of a great and sacred power pulsing through the world, made visible in grand and sacred.

Consider placing a stone on your altar from the geology of where you live. Spend some time in prayer connecting with this stone as symbol for what endures. In these difficult days of pandemic, how might you root yourself more deeply with Earth to find your place of centering and resilience? Remember a time when your heart felt full of hope and perspective. You might remove your shoes and stand on the soil to acknowledge it, like Moses, as holy ground.

To help provide you with some steady ground during this Advent season we are offering you, dear dancing monks, a weekly contemplative prayer service on Mondays. Find out more here. If you want an even deeper dive into the holy birthing Advent calls us to, join us for our online retreat which starts today.

And last, but not least, if you are looking for some Christmas gifts for yourself or loved ones, stop by this post where we have links to support Abbey artists. Kreg Yingst who is creating a series of Mary icons for us is having a sale on his beautiful prints of 20% off until December 3rd. David Hollington is making prints available of his wonderful saint and animal prints. And we are offering signed copies of my two poetry collections plus a chance to order more of our dancing monk icon card sets.

With great and growing love,

Christine  

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Support Abbey Artists and Poets for the Holidays!

Order Saint and Animal Prints from David Hollington

Artist David Hollington was commissioned to create 12 artworks to companion poems inspired by saint and animal stories in Christine's newest poetry collection The Wisdom of Wild Grace. David is making prints available of these artworks in A3 size (297 x 420 mm / 11.69 x 16.54 inches).

Single print cost: £35

Shipping cost: £12.50 to the US / £4 within the UK / £8.50 for any other location

To order: Please email David directly at davidhollington@gmail.com and let him know your choice of print and mailing address. He will send you a Paypal invoice for payment. Please note that due to pandemic-related postal system delays prints being shipped beyond the UK or Ireland may not arrive in time for Christmas.

These are shipped from the UK.

See all 12 individual artworks














Order Mary Icon Prints by Kreg Yingst (Sale until Dec. 3rd)

Block print artist Kreg Yingst is creating 30+ images of Mary to companion the book Christine is writing about Mary's names and titles (the book will be published in spring 2022). He is making beautiful prints of these available for purchase from his Etsy shop with a 20% discount through December 3rd. Use code: PEACE

These are shipped from the U.S.

Ave Maria Suite of Prints on Etsy














Order signed copies of Christine's poetry collections + Dancing Monk Icon Card Sets (Sale until Dec. 3rd)

Abbey of the Arts is having a FLASH SALE on signed copies of Christine's poetry collections (Dreaming of Stones and The Wisdom of Wild Grace) as well as sets of our Dancing Monk Icon Cards.

Order by December 3rd and parcels will ship out on December 4th via post from Ireland.

Visit the Abbey of the Arts Shop

Monk in the World Guest Post: Kathryn Coneway

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Kathryn Coneway's reflection on the contemplative practice of art making during uncertain times.

“Now I am revealing new things to you

Things hidden and unknown to you

Created just now, this very moment.

Of these things you have heard nothing until now.

So that you cannot say, “Oh yes, I knew this.”

-Isaiah 48:6-7

This passage from Isaiah is one of my favorite discoveries from reading “The Artist’s Rule.”

For me, truly entering into the unknown and discovering something along the way is central to creative practice. The creative process is a great place to welcome uncertainty when the rest of life is relatively stable, but what about when life itself is filled with uncertainty?

As we are made more aware of the uncertainty always inherent in life during this pandemic, I reflect on ways my creative practice has been impacted and ways I have had to create new rituals to ground myself and offer tools for contemplation in my community.

The current focus of my work is a series, “Mother Trees,” cut paper designs celebrating voices of nurture and connection to the natural world. The title was inspired by ecologist, Suzanne Simard; she researches connections between trees in the forest and describes the mother trees as the oldest and most connected, the ones who nurture others.

The craft of papercutting lends itself well to contemplative practice. I draw my designs first in pencil in reverse; this part is about beginning with a sketch and then entering the unknown as I work out how elements fit together. Once a design is complete and I begin cutting, I can shift to an active contemplative practice, allowing the movement of my hands and tool to hold me in the moment.

The creation of my work is meditative for me and part of how I live as a monk in the world. Sharing this work and letting it invite others into contemplative spaces and quiet reflection is the second part. With my exhibit venues closed this spring, I missed the chance for connection and service through sharing.

My family suggested I show my art in our yard in some way for neighbors walking by. Hearing this, a friend suggested the form of prayer flags. The graphic nature of the designs lent itself well to creating homemade silk screens that allowed me to reproduce the delicacy of the paper cuts in a manner that worked well for exhibit outside.  I printed the designs on canvas and sewed them together as prayer flags.

A delightful surprise has been the community response to this exhibit. Creating the flags started as something for me, a chance for a sense of completion and sharing in this time of cancellations and uncertainty.  It has offered a great connection with my community, with neighbors nearby and friends who drive by after I shared images and my process through my Instagram account. A neighbor wrote a piece for the local paper, adding images of the pieces in the several stages of the process and giving me a chance to share more of the story behind the work. Several people reached out and requested sets of flags and I created more to sell. It has been lovely to receive photos of them hanging in the homes and yards of others too. I realized that part of sharing the work is welcoming the unanticipated new forms I am invited to explore in my practice. This is true both for ways that my work serves my own contemplative practice and ways I share images to inspire others.

As my family centers closer to home, I reflect on ways the practices of mothering also inform, shape and companion my creative practice. I continue to reflect on ways nature nurtures and sustains us and offers connection and comfort in difficult times.  “Earth, Our Original Monastery” is next on my reading list and feels particularly suited to this time.

Kathryn Coneway is a mixed media visual artist, author, and educator. She focuses her professional work building community around creative practice. Kathryn is a practicing artist, exhibiting in park and nature center settings and most recently in her own front yard. She provides workshops to schools and community groups to foster connections between creative and spiritual practice. Additionally, Kathryn is the director of Shrine Mont Camps Art Camp for the Episcopal Diocese of Virginia.

Kathryn is the author and illustrator of two children’s books including, COLLETTE A Collage Adventure. Kathryn lives in Alexandria, Virginia with her husband and two sons. Learn more about Kathryn and connect with her on her website KathrynConeway.com and on Instagram @kathrynconeway

Prayer Cycle Podcast + Living Fountain ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Earth as Original Monastery: Day 4 Evening Prayer from Abbey of the Arts on Vimeo.

Click here to listen to the Audio Podcast

Day 4 Evening Prayer: Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle

God will guide you continually,

and satisfy your needs in parched places,

and make your bones strong;

and you shall be like a watered garden,

like a spring of water,

whose waters never fail.

—Isaiah 58:11

Dearest monks and artists,

There are many places on this beautiful Earth where springs bubble up from beneath the surface and are considered to be sacred sites of healing.  One such place out in the desert of New Mexico is called Ojo Caliente. Ojo means eye and caliente means hot. Like the eye of the storm, it can be considered to be the eye of healing. It is a place that has been considered sacred for hundreds of years, likely even longer. There in a dry and parched landscape emerges healing waters and people travel long distances to gather there.  They have multiple pools, each with a different mineral content and temperature, recommended to treat various health issues.  I was once traveling through New Mexico and spent the day there with women friends, soaking for hours, feeling my body release and surrender to this gift of water.  It was like being held in a warm and loving embrace, coaxing me out of my places of tension and holding back.

Have you been to one of those places by the sea where there is a hole under the rock along the shore and as a wave comes in, water spouts upward all of a sudden?  Or have you been to see a geyser and reveled in the experience of the living water surging into the air?  I often experience my creative life as a spring or fountain within.  Often it comes like the surprising gift of water in the desert or out through the hard, stony edges of my heart.  In the past, when I would go through these waves of creative energy, I would enter into them but always with a bit of hesitancy.  There was a part of myself that feared it would be over too soon or wondered if I might never be able to rise with that spring again.  This response comes from a place of scarcity, a sense that there might not be enough.  I used to wrestle with what is enough for me. Yet somehow, because I have discovered this spring bursting forth again and again, I no longer live in fear of when this time of abundance will wane.  Perhaps it comes from having lived through enough ebbing and flowing to realize often enough to know that when the creative energy dissipates it means I am being called back inward to rest and renew. I need to go drink my fill again or rest into the healing waters.  And when the surge is rising, I dance in its splendor and joy. I celebrate the fountain that exists at the heart of everything.

Across the landscape of Ireland are nearly three thousand holy wells venerated in Celtic tradition as sacred places where water surges forth.  Living here I am blessed to be able to visit some of them regularly. They continue to be places of pilgrimage where healing liturgies are often held.  Pilgrims leave their offerings, rosaries, and votives in these sacred places.

We find fonts of holy water at the entrance to our churches to bless ourselves and baptismal fonts flowing with holy water to initiate members into the Christian community and invite them, and ourselves, into a spiritual re-birth.  Jesus was baptized to initiate his own mission and he ended his earthly mission by washing the feet of his disciples the night before he was crucified.

Consider placing a bowl of water on your altar to remind yourself of blessing and being blessed. In this season of pandemic, how can you make space for the fountain within you to offer its life-giving water?

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 have a new article on the U.S. Catholic website titled Nourish your inner monk through contemplative creativity

Monk in the World Guest Post: Peg Meisen

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Peg Meisen's reflection on noticing, appreciating, sharing and the value of silence.

My perception of what it means to be a monk in the world is really to be one who is noticing, appreciating, and sharing.  Being a monk in the world involves movement, and growth toward greater freedom. It’s growing into the reality of God’s presence with us. It is like participating in an art expression, a dance or a musical piece. There’s always a new “dance step,” to learn as we go along. Hospitality and care are our companions and teachers along the way. Being a monk in the world is multidimensional and interactive. Silence seems to be the vehicle that transports me to greater growth on this journey. Through a contemplative practice and centering myself, my senses are enhanced.  Somehow I become more merciful, more flexible, more actively involved in living and serving. 

Silence may have different definitions, or facets. What is it? What isn’t it? Is it the absence of noise or more than that? Many times, I have sought silence, saying, “Oh, if only I had a minute to be still….” Yes, life can be busy and noisy. At times, on my quests to carve out a “little piece of peace,” I have arranged to visit the Cenacle Sisters for a day or for a retreat.

One time a sister recommended that I sit by the pond and just watch for a while. She described a beautiful blue heron that spends its time there. Occasionally it shows itself and takes a slow, graceful glide over the pond. She went on to say that if I were patient, I might be lucky and catch a glimpse. I followed the good sister’s lead and sat. Funny thing, I am often depicted by others as patient. Ha! I didn’t feel too patient that day but aimed to try. It seemed like a very noisy experience at first. Though the sky was its bluest, the sound of a plane could be heard as it streaked some white smoky message overhead. Jays and crows cawed and crowed. Ducks quacked. I have to admit that I laughed at it all but was really kind of discouraged. Eventually, after I had let go of the searching, my tension and concerns started to sit back too.

That’s when this beautiful sight appeared.

The noise I had been hearing as I sat there, the ordinary, common and daily noise of life must have continued but seemed to recede or fall away. I only remember silence.  The heron had emerged, gliding with its huge, graceful wings over and across the pond. I don’t remember hearing a sound. Visually, nature had displayed her priceless gems and I was awe struck as the sun glistened on the water. It could have all happened in less than a minute, I can’t say. Time seemed to stop.

When life gets hectic, I go back to that time in memory, to rest, and to remember the importance of getting still and waiting for God.

“Be still and know that I am God.”

Sitting in front of the Blessed Sacrament has also been a healing experience, centering me and strengthening me, often without a way to describe it.  I just know that I am different from having sat in the quiet presence of the Eucharist. 

Nature is noisy for sure. Our lives are full of energy, sound, beautiful sound, and a give and take.  In reality, we can decide to make some changes to make our outside lives quieter. It’s the interior silence, like that of the 17th century Carmelite monk, Brother Lawrence who lived with a devotion to being aware of the presence of God in ordinary life, that is the jewel. Enjoying and, or, appreciating, the ordinary task at hand, opens a way for a personal, creative touch. It dignifies serving and brings joy. Moments, the activities and even objects or tools we use become sacramental. Hearts are heard.

As a person, in the world, I pray to lighten up and be hospitable in letting God work through me, to carry a sanctuary within that allows me to listen to others and serve as a monk in the world, with honesty and humility. I believe that when we embrace what is meant by this verse:  

“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations,”(Ephesians 3:20, The New International Version)

We will be more aware of the diamonds dancing on the waters of our lives and trust more fully in the one who leads the dance.

Peg Meisen is a wife, mother, and grandmother.  She enjoys working as a teacher and spiritual director.  Peg and her husband have been longtime members of a couples spiritually group.  Learning, painting, writing, sharing with family and friends, brings her joy.  She is grateful for the Abbey community and looks forward to the newness of everyday’s adventure, the call to be a monk in the world. 

 

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>>