Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 61

Monk in the World Guest Post: Maria Rodgers O’Rourke

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Maria Rodgers O’Rourke's reflection on Morning Pages.

Morning Pages saved my life. They started with The Artist’s Way and are now central to my “Monk in the World practice.” Here’s my story.

Years ago, as a new wife and mother, mornings meant a deluge of To-Do’s and anxiety. Waking from a dream, after a few tender moments of peace and clarity, my brain chattered away with tasks and regrets. I wanted nothing more than to pull the covers back over my head and shut the world out. Most days I dragged myself up, but many days I was on autopilot, in darkness and despair.

Around this time, a dear friend gave me a copy of The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. One of the central exercises in her guide to “creative recovery” are Morning Pages: three pages, written longhand, first thing after waking. Throughout high school and college, I’d filled journals with precious insights and feelings. Morning Pages are not journals, though – they’re intended to be destroyed. The process offered me a lifeline for the dreaded beginning of the day.

Desperate for relief, I committed to this early morning writing practice. I discovered – in my own dark, quiet house, with my beloveds tucked safely in bed – a deep, nurturing space. The simple act of dumping those painful words on the page cleared my head of judgment, anger, and anxiety. The scratch of my pen across a clean sheet of paper became a sound of solace. The secret pages gave me permission to express dark, scary, shameful, and sad thoughts in a safe, simple way. My desire to hide under the covers gave way to happy anticipation of relief. Morning Pages made way for the good person within me – the one I really want to be – to emerge from the darkness of my internal fault-finding. Over time, with the help of spiritual direction, counseling, Zoloft, and Morning Pages, I pulled out of the hole of depression.

From this foundation of personal healing, my creative recovery as a writer blossomed. On Morning Page days, my writing sessions produced real gems. Rough and honest, my work became truer to my voice. Morning Pages blasted me past writer’s block to produce those important first drafts.

It was hard to destroy the pages after writing them, though. I clung to my words, but didn’t want anyone else reading them, either. To follow through on this part of the process, I knew deep down, was essential to my mental health, and keeping my writing honest. So, I came up with a compromise: I’d write my pages in a dedicated notebook, and when it was full, I’d burn it.

This ritual brings a lovely close to the cycle begun in my early morning sessions. About once a month or so, I tear out the pages and toss them into our blazing fireplace. As the paper bursts into flames, I lift a prayer of release and gratitude. Something like:

I release these words into God’s care. Thank you for all you’ve taught me. May grace transform these pages, to bring love and healing to me, those I love, and all those my creative life serves.

The smoke rises, and my eyes blink back a tear. The quiet is so deep I can hear the paper crumble to black ash. My heart is calm, and a gentle space opens in my soul. The flames burn to embers, and I’m renewed for the next day – and notebook – to come.

My Morning Pages practice continues. Good days begin with scribbling a few pages. On bad days, when I feel restless or confused, it probably means I’ve abandoned the practice. A couple mornings back at the page and the way is clear, again. I return to them when I’m stuck – creatively, personally, spiritually – at all times of the day. And every so often, a blessed evening by the fire comforts my soul. Yes, Morning Pages saved, and continue to save, my life.

Maria Rodgers O’Rourke is a writer, speaker, and editor who also serves nonprofit agencies in communications and storytelling. She’s known for her wisdom, humor, and down-to-earth spirituality. Advice maven and author of two devotional journals, you can find her work at MariaRodgersORourke.com, the HuffPost, and Chicken Soup for the Soul.

St. Columba and His Horse (a new poetry video) ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

St Columba and His Horse – Poem Video from Christine Valters Paintner on Vimeo.

St. Columba and His Horse

The old man hobbles down the road

toward the monastery gate,

rests on a roadside stone,

hears clip-clopping of hooves approach

and his faithful companion arrive.

The horse nuzzles Columba’s shoulder,

shudders all down his white length

eyes glisten round and brown,

great teardrops pool and drop

sounding like rainfall.

Columba rests his forehead

against the horse’s broad skull,

closes his eyes and each imagines

the other, galloping together across

heather and buttercups.

The horse knows his dear friend

will soon be leaving and mourns

this coming loss, his hoof

scrapes the ground, tries to write

a word of goodbye,

then takes wildflowers in his teeth,

extends them to the saint, as if to say

his life was full of beauty and color,

but the petals are already wilting

in the summer sun.

The wisdom of the old sages rings,

“remember you will die” and on another day

this would prompt Columba to celebrate

the gift of a new morning, but today

death is as close as the horse’s warm nostrils,

he knows everything must

come to an end, even this love,

Columba rests there a long while

breathing in scent of fur and fields,

lets his cloak be soaked with tears.

—Christine Valters Paintner, The Wisdom of Wild Grace

Dearest monks and artists,

St. Columba (or St. Columcille as he is known in Ireland) is probably most famous for setting off across the Irish Sea in a small boat to found the Abbey on the island of Iona in Scotland which is still an active community today.

One of the stories about Columba is that he had a much loved horse. On the day that St. Columba was going to die, his horse approached him and knew he was about to lose his dear friend and so the horse begins to weep and they share some time of grief together.

I love this story of Columba’s animal companion expressing his grief so freely. There is much research to indicate the rich emotional lives that animals have and how they experience connection and loss, joy and sadness. This story for me is an icon of the tenderness of God.

There are 30 poems in my new collection The Wisdom of Wild Grace which explore these saint and animal stories. I have loved these stories for many years, this kinship with creatures as a sign of holiness. I know my own companion animals have been tremendous guides and sources of wisdom in my own life, and I find it heartening to know that in the desert, Celtic, and later medieval traditions these stories offered inspiration. Animals have another way of knowing and being which invites us to deepen into our instinctual nature, to learn to trust the wildness within ourselves.

I also love this story in particular because of the grief expressed. Another poem in my collection is about “St. Paul and the Lions” which similarly explores the way that animals can be facilitators of the grieving process. There is much for us to mourn these days – lost lives, lost ways of being, lost dreams, and much more. Allow some time in the coming days to make room for your lament. Holding it back serves no one.

One of the wonderful musicians we work with, Simon de Voil, wrote this song inspired by my poem. He spent several years living and ministering on the island of Iona and has a special connection to St. Columba.

There are actually two versions of this piece – one is the full song which you can hear on our album Earth, Our Original Monastery – and the other is the version above in the poetry video (which also is included on my new poetry album Sound & Stillness).

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Video credit: Luke Morgan at Morgan Creative

 

Earth, Our Original Monastery: Dancing Our Way to the Divine – DVD now available!

Abbey of the Arts presents our newest DVD offering 13 contemplative prayer dances for every-body created by Betsey Beckman and one poem video! All Teaching and Dance-Along videos are filmed outdoors to invite you into the joy of encountering the Divine in nature. Through embodied prayer, celebrate Earth as our original cathedral, scriptures, saints, spiritual director, icon, sacrament and liturgy. Move with the gifts of Air, Fire, Water and Earth. Pray with Saint Gobnait, Saint Francis, and walk with beauty in honor of the Diné Navajo tradition.

The DVD accompanies the CD, Earth, Our Original Monastery: Singing Our Way to the Sacred and the book, Earth, Our Original Monastery: Cultivating Wonder and Gratitude through Intimacy with Nature by Christine Valters Paintner (Ave Maria Press).

These songs and dances also companion our Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle - a 7-day cycle of morning and evening prayer cultivating reverence for the gift of Creation!

Order the DVD






Order the Blu-Ray Version

Monk in the World Guest Post: Bjørn Peterson

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Bjørn Peterson's reflection on hospitality and presence as the fruits of gratitude, awareness, and vulnerability.

They had just walked into Kaffeeklatsch along Lake City Drive in northeast Seattle. I'd been sitting there for about an hour, writing and listening to a podcast on the power of loving-kindness in everyday life. I felt deeply grounded, as if my heart were big enough for the suffering of the world in which I was seated. Perhaps the public solitude I had been practicing that morning prepared me, or something I had heard from the meditation inspired me to act. Whatever it was, Mystery held me as the couple came in through the door, ordered, and sat down three feet from me.

They weren’t a couple that you’d see on the cover of magazines or featured on television. But they were beautifully in love. They moved with a simple, authentic love for one another that captured my attention as a smile rose from my gut. I watched them out of the corner of my eye, trying not to weird them out. But I was smitten. I was in love with their love for one another, and I had to tell them.

So, leaning over, I said, “Pardon my interruption, but I’ve just watched you come in and I have to tell you, you’re beautiful together. I hope that’s not too strange to say, I was just struck by the two of you and wanted to tell you. So that’s all, you’re beautiful, and I hope you have a wonderful day. I’ll leave you alone now.” They said thank you and looked at one another with a deep recognition that only affirmed my original impression. Then, we all went on with our day.

This was not the first time I felt so moved to such an interaction. The truth is, I kind of do this all the time, even though I specifically don’t look for excuses to do it. It’s become a form of integrity for me, even a form of hospitality.

As a monk in the world who seeks solitude, community, and welcome, I have a deep personal awareness of the ways in which inhospitality characterizes so much of our public and shared spaces. And as a person who has lived a somewhat nomadic existence, I also know what it’s like to feel like you have no “where” to practice hospitality. These recognitions have led to the following questions for my contemplative practice: How does a nomad practice hospitality? When a space never quite feels like one’s own, how do we cultivate welcome in the world?

Being fully present to my vocation as an artist has implications for my daily rhythms. As an artist and writer, I am entangled with the power of words – both those given and those withheld. Contemplative practice as an artist means giving form to truth as it wants to be in the world. Sometimes that’s an essay. Sometimes that’s a poem. Sometimes that’s an academic article. But more regularly, it is the mobilization of words that are too often left unsaid because of self-consciousness and fear of rejection.

I have made it a part of my contemplative practice to cultivate presence to the profound nature of the mundane in everyday life and to celebrate its inherent beauty. And, I have committed myself, perhaps even more so, to naming the suffering, heartache, and emptiness that also make up our experience of the world. Lamentation and artistic presence to that which is crushing and soul-sucking is a major focus of my artistic contemplative practice.

But with that commitment to honoring that which hurts is also an embrace of that which delights. My practice is to cultivate full presence to all of human experience.

In the reality of isolation and loneliness, where is welcome and hospitality?

For me, it is at the bus stop when it is 114 degrees or pouring cold rain and I look lovingly at those standing with me and bring humor to the moment of shared suffering. Or it is when I sit in solidarity in violent spaces with those who are marginalized or dehumanized. Or it is at coffee shops when I take the time to tell a couple in love that they're beautiful.

Hospitality and presence do not rely on our material resources alone, although they are important. To me, they are the fruit of gratitude, awareness, and vulnerability. And even as an underemployed, nomadic writer, I have these things to give:

For C, My Kin  

I see you

as I sit with you,

shoulder to shoulder

I care for you in a room

that oscillates from

hostile to hospitable

And I wonder

if you’re ok and

if you can feel my care and

if it helps

even as I know

it’s not enough

And I want to tell you all this

but I don’t want to

make this about me,

so I sit silently

by your side

I sigh quietly with you and

occasionally catch your eye and

I place my hand on your shoulder

and hope it’s ok

But mostly,

I want you to know that

whether you’re ok

or not ok

or really not ok,

I’ll keep sitting with you

and my shoulder will remain

by your shoulder,

and when you feel it there,

know that I am loving you

in the way I know how

But also,

that I will learn

still better ways

to love you

and keep you

in my heart

– Bjørn Peterson

Bjørn uses the mystical and mythic to take his readers and audiences on unexpected journeys to find wisdom and solace in difficult times. His current project, The Way A Bear Dances travels the terrains of justice, parenthood, depression, calling, integrity, and life together in community. Bjørn's writing explores the dynamic geographies of solitude, belonging, identity, and place as he draws inspiration from the landscapes of his Pacific Northwest home and a lifetime of exploration. When not playing outside with his wife Elise and son Magnus, he teaches graduate courses on Transformational Leadership at Seattle University. You can read more and support his work at Patreon.com/BjornPeterson.

Things I Didn’t Know I Loved Poetry Video~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Things I Didn't Know I Loved – Poem Video from Christine Valters Paintner on Vimeo.

Things I Didn’t Know I Loved

(after Nazim Hikmet)

I never knew how much I loved

heavy rain on a Sunday morning

curled in bed with coffee

a Morse code tapping the windows

telling me I have no reason to leave.

I didn’t realize how much I adored

peonies until one May afternoon

I spent four hours photographing

the bouquet you brought me

for no reason on our dining table.

I never knew how much I cherished

the alchemy taking place in kitchens

until I mixed wheat and yeast together,

felt it sticky in my hands,

and from the oven emerged bread.

I didn’t know how much I loved

this sagging body of mine,

until one day the mirror showed

me not scars and marks, but a story

of what it means to endure.

I never knew how much I loved

the forest until I walked so far

and so long my arms were coated

with moss and my life became

a fairy tale written in the snow.

—Christine Valters Paintner, The Wisdom of Wild Grace

Dearest monks and artists,

The poem above is from my forthcoming collection of poems and was inspired by this poem by poet Nazim Hikmet. One of my favorite ways to dive into my own poetry writing is to read other people’s poems and find a line that shimmers for me, much as in the practice of lectio divina, and then use that line as an anchor and inspiration for what I write. If the original line stays in the poem, then of course, credit is always given, although sometimes by the end of the poem, the line has been transformed into something different.

I am delighted to share the next in the series of poetry videos above!

I would venture to say that during this time of global pandemic and various levels of quarantine, we may all have discovered various things that we didn’t realize how much we loved before this all happened. I know for myself, the simple pleasures of daily life have been magnified – going for walks, spending time with John, snuggling with Sourney, cooking nourishing meals, gardening with my herbal planters on my patio, and just sitting in silence – are a few of the things I have come to treasure even more deeply in these challenging days. I am a hermit at heart, I have known that for a very long time, but now is the opportunity to practice it more diligently than I usually am able to.

Here is a short excerpt from the first chapter of my book The Artist’s Rule on silence and solitude:

An essential element of committing to the monastic way is cultivating a place for silence and solitude.  Like the rest at the end of a busy week that comes with Sabbath or the few moments of pause in savasana at the end of a yoga practice, across traditions, the nourishing dimension of silence is honored and uplifted.  Silence is the element which holds everything together.  Entering into silence means to enter into an encounter with the one who ushered us from the great silence, who spoke us into being out of the wide expanse of silent presence.

Silence can be challenging.  Not just because the world we live in conspired to fill each moment with noise – from radios to television to movies to music to urban sounds of traffic and the congestion that comes with people living close together – but there is also a fear of entering into silence.  When we are used to living at a distance from our deep center, caught up in the surface chatter, dropping down into the silent pool of God’s presence can evoke fearfulness.  What might we discover when we pause long enough to really hear?  And yet, as Thomas Merton wrote, we each have a “Vocation to Solitude.”  This vocation means:

to deliver oneself up, to hand oneself over, entrust oneself completely to the silence of a wide landscape of woods and hills, or sea, or desert; to sit still while the sun comes up over that land and fills its silences with light.  To pray and work in the morning and to labour and rest in the afternoon, and to sit still again in meditation in the evening when night falls upon that land and when the silence fills itself with darkness and with stars. This is a true and special vocation. There are a few who are willing to belong completely to such silence, to let it soak into their bones, to breathe nothing but silence, to feed on silence, and to turn to the very substance of their life into a living and vigilant silence. –Thomas Merton

Silence isn’t something we do, although we can still ourselves to receive its gifts.  It is not a personal capacity, although we can cultivate practices of becoming more present.   Meister Eckhart described silence as “The central silence is the purest element of the soul, the soul’s most exalted place, the core, the essence of the soul.”  This is the inner monastery within each of our hearts, a place of absolute stillness.

I echo Merton’s invitations here: Let yourself belong to silence, let it soak into your bones, nourish you, be the air you breathe.  A commitment to silence is at the heart of nurturing a contemplative practice and creative life.  In the silence you will discover the Great Artist from whom you emerged, you will sense the pulse of creative energy through your being so that you slowly grow to recognize that creating is your birthright and that you join your work with this ultimate work.  But the call is nourished by the silence.  We continue to return to this open space to remember who we are.

We will be journeying through this book in community starting tomorrow and through the autumn months (or spring if you are in the southern hemisphere!) Consider joining us for Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist if you long to cultivate your inner monk and artist with support of kindred souls.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Video credit: Luke Morgan at Morgan Creative

Monk in the World Guest Post: Keren Dibbens-Wyatt

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Keren Dibbens–Wyatt's reflection, "Hidden Treasures."

Photo composite icon of Julian of Norwich by R R Wyatt, used with permission.

I have long been nurtured and consoled by the life and writings of the 14th Century English Saint, Julian of Norwich. On what she thought was her deathbed, Julian, aged thirty, received a series of visions. They came whilst gazing on the crucifix brought along by a boy attending the priest who gave her the last rites. She survived her illness and spent the rest of her life meditating on the feast of revelations God had given her, even going so far as to become an anchoress. She took a solemn vow to remain in one small room attached to St Julian’s church from about 1392 to her death some time after 1416. She had a maid bringing her food and taking her laundry and so on through a small window, and also had one tiny window facing into the church through which to receive the eucharist, and one more, covered, window facing the street where she would give spiritual advice to those who asked. But for the most part she was alone with her God and her thoughts.

She spent those long years praying about and thinking on the things God had shown her, and wrote them down, along with her prayerful thoughts. She had most likely already written her first text, but hidden away from the world she wrote a longer one, having had time to dig deeper into her “shewings.” Somehow, a few precious copies of these books survived the Reformation, and give us the earliest book written in English by a woman, The Revelations of Divine Love.

Julian is special to me for many reasons. One is because, like her, I have been called to a life of contemplation. Another is that I have a chronic illness which not only seriously affects everything I do, but which has left me largely unable to leave my home over the last decade and not at all for the last three years. I have felt, many times, like an anchoress myself, stuck indoors, yet given the privilege of mulling over the wonders God has been so gracious as to give me in prayer.

Like Julian, I do not want to keep these things to myself, but want to share them with others, my “evencristens” (fellow Christians) and this desire has led to my own writing of books, one of which, called Recital of Love (releases Sept 8th) partly due to my affection and respect for this woman who died six hundred years ago, is about to enter the world.

In some ways of course, I do not dare compare myself to such a saint. The visions and understandings I have been given are small and yet still overwhelming for an ordinary disabled woman like me. But when God first began showing me things in prayer, it was finding Julian’s writings and those of St Teresa of Avila, that helped me understand what was happening. The word “mystic” is currently having a revival, but twenty years ago when my journey began, no-one I spoke to seemed to know what I was about. When I found these women and this word, everything began to make sense, and I knew in my heart that this powerful tradition of Christian mysticism was flowing through my life.

We are all, of course, capable of learning to attune ourselves to God’s voice, and it is deeply affirming to know that what all the mystics come back with from their sojourns into the heart of God is one sure and certain hope, which is that God is love, and love is God. We always encounter a loving personhood extending mercy and grace. There is no sense of condemnation or of a being who needs appeasement.

This is my own experience too, and out of it have come many wonderful pieces which I believe God has placed on my heart. I receive some of them through the filter of my imagination as pieces of poetic prose. When I began to write them out during my prayer times, and then started collating them, I had no idea that they would become a book. There are journals full of more seeings, shewings and understandings, and my hope is to weave them all into various books and tales. I hope that this work, mostly done shut away from the world, will be a blessing, and help people see that they are indescribably and wonderfully loved by the Three-In-One God who created them.

Here is one of the shorter pieces of the seventy from Recital of Love:

Rose

If you pluck a rose and place it in a vase of daisies, it will be ashamed of its thorns and diminished by its height, so aware of its own differences and overwhelmed by the longing to be the same as those around it, that it will shrink before your very eyes.

For it to bloom and open fully, letting light and colour into every dark fissure of its petals, it must be planted in good soil. For my sunshine-love-light to find its way round every petalled corner and into the hidden crevices that frame beauty in curves of darker hue, it must have love whispered to it daily.

It must be taught to open to the dew, to the rain and the sun alike, to become tender to cheek, snail, and aphid, as well as to shining droplets and warm rays.

Open then, to everything, for all things hold a lesson and all wisdom is precious, and there is no full bloom without the courage to face worms. Each rose must find its true form and colour, its own dear shape and vibrant translucency.

And I will shine here and bloom in your blooming. My rose garden spreads fragrance throughout the world, and nothing else smells so sweetly of heaven.

Selah

Keren Dibbens–Wyatt is a chronically ill writer and artist with a passion for poetry, mysticism, story and colour. Her writing features regularly on spiritual blogs and in literary journals. Her new book, Recital of Love, published by Paraclete Press, is out on September 8, 2020. Keren lives in South East England and is mainly housebound by her illness.

Nocturne (a new poetry video) ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Nocturne – Poem Video from Christine Valters Paintner on Vimeo.

Nocturne

Sometimes I awaken at night

although still in a dream

and the air around me is violet.

Here in the heart of the forest

I am elegance of swan,

fierceness of bear,

sweetness of squirrel,

I am all these things under

night’s generous embrace,

how the moon, a broken dinner plate

has the courage to soar

how my prayers for the world grow

more intense and I wonder

what of this grace will still

be left by morning?

—Christine Valters Paintner, The Wisdom of Wild Grace

Dearest monks and artists,

We continue our series of poetry videos this week with Nocturne. I love the wisdom of night and her invitation into stillness and mystery. I love that the ancient monks would enter into the deep silence of the darkness following Compline, their last prayer service of the day. Night calls us to remember the gifts that dreamtime brings – hints of our souls’ longings, stories that reveal the shape of who we are. Night asks us to embrace the mystery of things, to let go of our need to always be figuring things out. Sometimes we need to rest into the questions.

In the turning wheel of the seasons, we are moving toward longer nights in the northern hemisphere. This is the time of year my soul seems to awaken as I love shorter days, cooler weather, a sun that starts to move in a lower arc across the sky, the golden light of evenings.

It is vital in these difficult times to remember what we cherish and to make time for that. It is essential that we give ourselves the grace of enough rest, enough time to descend into the spaciousness that dreams can offer where we might begin to seed a new vision. When we let go of all the pushing and grasping and reaching, what wants instead to emerge in its own time and shape? This is the way of the monk, to listen to the world’s unfolding, to reverence it.

If you’d like support in cultivating your inner monk and artist, please consider joining us for our 12-week online retreat which starts in a week. I’ll be leading weekly live sessions (all recorded) and there is always an amazing community that gathers.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Video credit: Luke Morgan at Morgan Creative

Monk in the World Guest Post: Karly Michelle Edgar

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Karly Michelle Edgar's reflection, "The Spiritual Practice of ‘Not Rushing’."

I began offering a weekly church service as part of my lifestyle work in an aged care facility when the church that had been coming could no longer continue. The service was squashed in between my other daily activities and every time I finally sat down and began to read the first line of the liturgy I noticed how strong the impulse was to read quickly, rushing through it as I had rushed through the rest of the day. I would remind myself how important this service was for many of our residents, as often this was the only church service they could attend. I would then force myself to pause, breathe, and to read more slowly.

With that breath I could feel how much my body hated rushing. I knew it was why I felt run down at the end of a shift. It wasn’t simply that the job involved a lot of walking, lots of activity, and being emotionally ready for whatever might happen. It was that I felt I should be perpetually rushed no matter what I did.  I always felt there was more that could be done. So I walked faster, wrote notes quicker, and prepared more swiftly in order to try and get more done.

As I reflected on this moment I knew was in danger of being swept back into the world of rushing after I had stepped back from a life of rush due to ill health. A chronic illness tried its hardest to stamp out my habit of rushing through force, but as a deeply ingrained mindset it flung itself back at me like a rubber band. Even though I was aware that along with the increased health I was experiencing, I needed to be careful not to fall back into rushing habits, I was teetering on the edge, toes in the water.

So I began to experiment with ‘not rushing’, no matter what.

It was hard.

Is hard.

I quickly identified that no matter how early, prepared, or on time I am, a feeling of rush and anxiety develops the minute I sit in the driver’s seat of the car. This is a feeling that was given to me by someone else and I hadn’t realized I was still carrying it. It’s not about speed – it’s about feeling rushed even if I have all the time in the world. A feeling that driving is a waste of time and therefore as little time as possible should be allocated to it. But driving takes as long as it will take. It should never be rushed. And yet I felt rushed even when I was driving slowly and with plenty of time.

This highlighted how deeply I carry the expectation of rushing within me. I become aware, once again, of how difficult it is to let it go of rushing at the end of the day. Even if I collapse into ‘not rushing’ when I get home, the hum of rushing stays within my blood stream, racing around perpetuating the feeling of moving even when I am still.

Over a number of years I have been practicing developing my awareness of God’s presence in my everyday life and I could see how quickly rushing leeched this away and so I wondered if ‘not rushing’ could be a spiritual practice. I began by simply trying to become aware of when I slip into rushing and giving myself permission to take the time it actually takes to do the task. Slowly, I am beginning to expand the practice, incorporating it into my artistic practice and hopefully, simply my way of being.

I don’t feel I’m very good at it just yet. It is easy to get swept into ‘rushing’ – the feeling slyly creeps up on me and then all of a sudden I realize I’ve been rushing for the past half hour. But I think I am becoming more aware of at least identifying it is happening, and I am learning to identify it earlier. This doesn’t deny the fact that sometimes we have to move quickly, and sometimes things have to be decided promptly. This is to be expected and not ignored. But this process is not necessarily about the speed at which I am moving, although at times it may be. Rather it is about identifying the internal pressure of expecting myself to rush and slowing down. And then noticing that the benefits are a far greater awareness of what is happening around and within me; of being more present to life around me.

I’m not quite there yet, but I’m practicing.

Karly Michelle Edgar is a mixed media artist currently doing a PhD researching biography in palliative care. She is interested in story, faith, and reflective artwork. Her current ‘One A Week Psalm Project’ explores creativity as spiritual practice. Karly lives with fibromyalgia and lives on Wurundjeri land. You can visit her online at KarlyMichelle.com

Aubade (a new poetry video) ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Aubade – Poem Video from Christine Valters Paintner on Vimeo.

Aubade

The day opens its white page,

spreading herself like so much possibility,

you take your pen, pausing

before you begin so you can hear

the jackdaw caw high above

your tiny shadow and the snowdrop’s

insistent blooming, somewhere

is the knowing glance of badger,

each unafraid to write their stories

on wind and soil and you see they

offer ink for your pen in

a hundred different colors.

—Christine Valters Paintner, The Wisdom of Wild Grace

Dearest monks and artists,

Like many monks and writers, I love morning time for writing. I feel more refreshed and focused while still connected to that dreamtime consciousness before I have had a chance to get corralled into planning mode. It is the time when poems most often arrive to me.

I am thrilled to share a new series of poetry videos created by two local filmmakers in Galway, Luke and Jake Morgan, who also happen to be very talented brothers. These videos are to celebrate my next poetry collection being published by Paraclete Press in October – The Wisdom of Wild Grace. It is a wonderful way to see my poems in new ways and offer you a visual invitation. If you don’t like the visual addition, you can simply close your eyes and hear me reading you each poem. The first video we are sharing is for my poem Aubade (which means a poem written for the dawn or morning). I also have a poem published this week at Bearings Online, click here for “Say Yes to theMuse” (also from the forthcoming collection).

As a writer first and foremost, I have been working on lots of writing projects including the Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle which we shared last week. The audio podcast versions of each morning and evening prayer service will start being released weekly in October.

Looking ahead, in spring 2021, my next book from Ave Maria Press will be published – Sacred Time: Embracing an Intentional Way of Life. This book has been developing in me for many years and looks at the widening rhythms of breath, hours of the day, sabbath rhythms of the week, lunar cycles of the month, seasonal cycle of the year, seasons of a lifetime, ancestral time, and cosmic time as a way to bring more attention and intention to our moments. It is an invitation to embrace Kairos time more often in our lives. I was delighted to have UK artist Alexi Francis create some beautiful illustrations for each chapter. This was the book I focused on primarily during our sabbatical year, so it carries many of the fruits of that time.

The next book I am starting to write now is on Mary and her many names and titles. I have long been fascinated by the fact that Mary is identified with so many images and archetypes – Virgin, Star of the Sea, Mother of Sorrows, Queen of Heaven – and I am writing thirty reflections to invite readers more deeply into each of them. I am also thrilled to be collaborating with U.S. block print artist Kreg Yingst on creating an artwork for each reflection and name I explore. That book will be published by Ave Maria Press in spring 2022.

And of course, I am already at work on a series of poems for a third poetry collection. Right now they all seem to be love poems of various kinds, so that will likely be the overall theme. I am immensely grateful for a rich writing life with so many projects dear to my heart to dive into.

I am so grateful to live a life with time for writing, and time to connect with our amazing global community through all of our various programs and offerings. I am grateful for how many of you love to work through many of my books alone and with others as a way of giving yourself the gift of retreat in the midst of your daily lives. (You can journey through The Artist’s Rule in our online community this fall. A wonderful choice if you want to nourish your inner monk and artist).

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

PS – I led a one-hour webinar this past spring for Paraclete Press on the Celtic idea of thresholds as a way of understanding our current individual and collective transitions. It is now available to rent for $5 at their website.

Video credit: Luke Morgan at Morgan Creative

Monk in the World Guest Post: Heidi Beth Sadler

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Heidi Beth Sadler's reflection, "Urban Monk."

Through the glass windows of the meditation chapel, I watch the Portland fog meander through the evergreens. Except for a sculpture of a crucified Jesus in the arms of his mother, I am completely alone, and I am grateful.

As the Pacific Northwest morning proceeds, the fog gradually dissipates, and I can’t help but notice the power lines zigzagging through the trees. My eyes catch the movement of commuter traffic below, and in the distance, the sign of an adult sex store reminds me I am still in the city. Once again, I feel grateful. In the midst of urban chaos, I have the privilege of seeking this pocket of solitude. For these few moments, I can embrace the contemplative way of the monk.

There’s nothing revolutionary in my saying we are surrounded by noise. Across the world, metro trains, jet streams, and honking cars invade our senses. There are people yelling at cell phones and angry customers berating cashiers. Our eyes are bombarded with flashing signs and traffic lights. This is just a sampling of the noise that greets us the moment we step out our front door.

What about the frenzy in our own homes, the very place where we’re supposed to let down? When I try to take a day off, there’s still the rumble of the dishwasher and the washing machine. There are disasters on television and landscapers outside with power tools. Sometimes the very place I go to escape the turmoil of the world becomes the source.

Unless you live in a rural area, there is noise on every side, and even in physically quiet areas, there is still turmoil inside us. The inner workings of my own mind can be more intrusive than audible voices. As a self-employed musician, I often shun rest and devalue good sleep. I have bills to pay, shows to plan, a novel I’m trying to publish, work frustrations, family illness, artistic disappointment… It feels like the whole world is my responsibility, and when I fail, there’s more mental noise. There are the self-loathing thoughts, the shame and regret of the past. Envy and anger claw at the fabric of my soul, and yet, I deeply long for peace.

In a culture where productivity is king, the art of contemplation takes a back seat. There is no room at the table for the way of the monk. Productivity declares, “There is no time for the simple way.” A life of contemplation, silence, and solitude is for a chosen few. These are the things I tell myself when I look at the to-do list. I can meditate another time. Then again, what if this is exactly when I should seek a quiet place?

When I consider the way of the monk, I see it as anything but passive. A monk is an active seeker of peace. When I hunt for solitude, I am making a decisive action toward beauty. I actively benefit others by choosing to stop and clear out the excess of my inner person. This practice makes me a better artist, a better friend, and a better follower of Christ. This urban solitude, however, can feel daunting. Where do we begin this journey in becoming an urban monk?

I’ve begun to view this practice as an adventure. There are chapels, gardens, parks, and art museums just waiting to be discovered. Your serenity practice could be a weekly visit to a university library, a tea house, or a yoga studio. (I always bring headphones to ward off undesirable disturbances). It might help to start an inventory of quiet places, along with photos of meaningful things you see during your time.

In addition to solitude outings, I try to spend ten minutes a day in stillness, even if it’s just sitting in my parked car listening to nature sounds on my Calm app. Wherever you can go to tune out everything except for the beating of your heart, the breath in your lungs, and the voice of God, your well-being is worth it.

I’m no expert at stillness. I don’t hit a home run every week, but this is a rhythm I’m striving to incorporate into my life. I’m unsure of a lot of things, but I’m convinced that loving my neighbors requires my own willingness to pursue silence amid the skyscrapers and the billboard signs. Intentional silence was the way of people like Fred Rogers and Mother Teresa; I desire that it would be true of me.

My favorite quiet place is the meditation chapel at The Grotto in Northeast Portland, but I’m always on the lookout for new spots where I can sit and simply be. I bless you in discovering your own sacred place. Once you find it, you’ll never want to let it go.

Heidi Beth Sadler is a bohemian violinist in Portland, OR. She and her husband front world folk-rock band Chasing Ebenezer. She also co-hosts The Chasing Ebenezer Show, an art series on Patreon that encourages others to create. She loves fat cats, old episodes of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, and her morning coffee. Learn more about Heidi at TheseBohemianDays.com