Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 63

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

The Wisdom of Wild Grace: A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

The Wisdom of Wild Grace from Christine Valters Paintner on Vimeo.

Dearest monks and artists,

In these dark and difficult days the one thing that continues to offer me solace and strength is time spent in nature, in growing intimacy with Earth and her wisdom. We try to make time during our weekly Sabbath for a walk in the forest and I am blessed to be able to stroll daily by the sea. Inevitably I return feeling more grounded and centered, more certain how important this Earth-cherishing work is.

It has been the dominant theme in my writing this past year as I published Earth, Our Original Monastery this past spring and my second poetry collection, The Wisdom of Wild Grace is being released this October (If you are in the U.S. you can pre-order your copy here). The Christian contemplative tradition, rooted in monasticism, has many gifts to offer us in discerning a way forward. This time of pandemic has asked us to examine our willingness to act in ways that are compassionate to the whole community (and I extend this beyond human to all of Earth) and it has lifted the curtain on systemic oppression which is rooted in a mindset of exploitation of both human and natural resources. All of these things are deeply connected. We desperately need to listen to good science and the urgency with which our lives and patterns of consumption need to change. But accompanying this, we need inner ways to navigate so that we fall more deeply in love with Earth and this fuels our drive to protect and cherish her.

Poetry is an essential part of this. Poetry asks us to slow down, to look at the world in a different way, to receive the gifts being offered at every moment. Poetry moves us into an intuitive space where we rely less on the old patterns of doing and achieving, and rest more fully into new patterns of listening and reverencing.

You can read the Table of Contents for my new poetry collection and read a couple of sample poems at this link. The video above is a book trailer and includes brief excerpts from a series of six poem videos we will be sharing over the next six weeks.

A brief excerpt from the introduction to The Wisdom of Wild Grace:

These poems are invitations.

When I long for expansiveness and connection to something far greater than my own daily concerns and struggles, a walk by the sea or in the forest expands me.

We live in a time when Earth is threatened on so many fronts by human development. Slowly we seem to be awakening to the truth that our personal well-being is intimately woven together with the well-being of all creatures and plants. Many of us might have been taught by our religious traditions that humans have dominion over nature or that animals don’t feel pain or have souls.

The more we cultivate our own intimacy with the wild, the more we open to different truth. Wildness doesn’t mean we have to go out into the forest or travel long ways, the wild is a place within us.

Each poem here is a doorway into this inner wilderness, a call to sit and be present to what we discover beyond the borders of our neatly controlled worlds. Wildness is vulnerable, risky, spacious, and full of possibility. And this is where I invite you to sit and rest awhile dwell with me…

And we currently have a special gift if you order 2 or more items from our Shop (until the end of September)!

I have a short and fun interview over at Impspired (where I’ve had several poems published). Click over if you want to know what my last meal would be, the name of my memoir, and what Sourney thinks of me. ?

I am also delighted that my poem “Original Poetry” is published in the Ogham Stone journal published at University of Limerick. You can download the whole journal here (my poem is on page 107) with lots of other wonderful reading.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Video credit: Luke Morgan at Morgan Creative

Monk in the World Guest Post: Kathleen Deyer Bolduc

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Kathleen Deyer Bolduc's reflection, "Beauty From the Ashes."

I walk around the south pasture of our retreat center grounds, waiting for a photograph to capture my attention. All I can see is the mess behind the barn. I don’t “see” the barn itself—this beautiful, 1880’s barn that we’ve restored for retreats, contemplation, and worship.

The mess overshadows the beauty of this place called Cloudland. The burn pile, which is so big we’re afraid to light it. The sagging, sun-bleached tarp bunched over the overflow from the barn. The tree limb, blown down in a windstorm, crushing a piece of fence.

My heart burns with irritation as my mind says, Ignore the mess. Keep walking. Maybe there’s a photo waiting for you under the boughs of the pine tree.

But no. I’m drawn, like a magnet, toward the mess. I stand in front of the burn pile. Contemplate this, my heart whispers.

I snap the photo and walk back to the prayer room, where Brea, a college student I’m mentoring, awaits me with her own photograph. I am aware of a question swirling in my mind. How much am I willing to share about this mess in my life?

We sit in the quiet for a few minutes, soaking in our images, asking God to illuminate what longs for the light of day.

What needs to be burned away, Lord?

The answer is instantaneous. Let’s start with this broken image of who you are in the world.

Hmm. I pick up each piece of who I am as if it were a piece of wood in this pile. Follower of Jesus. Contemplative. Spiritual Director. Writer. Wife, Mom. Daughter. Friend.

Autism, depression, anxiety and dementia (youngest son, oldest son, middle son, and mother, respectively) make the Mom and Daughter pieces sharp and jagged. It’s hard to be a monk in the world with these kinds of issues piercing my boundaries.

Worry and questions about how I can make things better for those I love not only poke and prod me during the day, but wake me at 4 AM.

Again, I ask, Lord, what needs to be burned away?

I struggle to put it into words to Brea, who is looking at my photo as I talk. There is no holding back. I need to figure this out.

Comparison. No, my family does not look like so-and-so’s family. You know. That family at church that looks so close-knit. It doesn’t look anything like the vision my husband and I had when we started our family 42 years ago.

Control. If there is anything we are powerless over, it’s the mental health of adult children or the gradual cognitive decline of a parent with dementia.

Perfection. That yearning to be the mother whose children can’t wait to spend time with her because she is the perfect companion, listener, and wielder of wisdom.

In my mind I see the biggest logs in this burn pile embellished with these three words: Comparison. Control. Perfection. I imagine setting a match to the pile. The flames starting out small, creeping up the largest branches, before bursting forth in roaring flames. I imagine sitting next to the fire. I feel the flames warming my face. I imagine watching the stars come out, one by one, and the moon rising behind the barn. I imagine the pile burning down to ash, and dousing it with water before retiring for the night. I imagine a night of deep sleep, no anxiety dreams waking me at 4 AM.

And the next day? And the next?

New life looks like this. Walking toward the mess instead of avoiding it. Opening myself to the heat of the flames of grief for those I love. Admitting my powerlessness over autism, depression, anxiety and dementia.

New life looks like starting a new burn pile. Discarding unhealthy habits and ways of being before the pile gets so big I’m afraid to deal with it. It looks like burning that pile on a regular basis and allowing the flames of my grief to warm and soften my body.

New life looks like raking the ashes so that the grass underneath can sprout. The raking looks like meditation and writing, disciplines in which the chaos falls into a mosaic of beauty.

New life looks like standing up and saying This is who I am. I am a follower of Jesus, a contemplative, a writer, a spiritual director. Yes, I am also wife, mother, and daughter. I love those roles, but I am not a fixer. I can sit with these people I love, in God’s presence. I can cry with them and laugh with them. I can wait with them as we open the eyes of our hearts to the Holy that surrounds us at all times.

I imagine my family sitting together in the light of the fire that brings beauty from ashes; the mess no longer overshadowing the beauty that is my family.

Kathleen Deyer Bolduc is the author of The Spiritual Art of Raising Children with Disabilities and Autism & Alleluias. She and her husband are the owners of Cloudland, a contemplative retreat center in southwest Ohio, where she practices spiritual direction and going on daily God hunts. KathleenBolduc.com

Earth Monastery Prayer Cycle ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

We are back after a monthlong break in our email newsletters. It is always good for us to have this sabbatical from our communications, to be able to turn inward a bit more and to give some time and energy to other projects.

We are thrilled to be launching our newest offering – a 7-day Prayer Cycle of morning and evening prayer on the theme of Earth as our monastery. Here is an excerpt from our Introduction:

Abbey of the Arts is a virtual monastery and global community of monks, artists, and pilgrims dispersed all over this beautiful globe. The Abbey was founded by Christine Valters Paintner in 2006 with a vision of supporting people to integrate contemplative practice and creative expression. In 2013 she and her husband John moved to Ireland and he joined her in co-shepherding this community. They are joined by a team of treasured Wisdom Council members who support this work with their own gifts.

We are not affiliated with any particular institution and open our doors to people from any denomination or none at all. We strive to create a place of welcome and hospitality where we might dialogue with one another and grow. Our spirituality is steeped in the rich Christian mystical tradition, and three strands of monasticism: desert, Celtic, and Benedictine, all of which profoundly influences our ways of praying.

We are an open and affirming community and strive to be radically inclusive. We delight in being joined by people like you, who are seeking to be monks in the world and artists of everyday life, seeking kindred spirits, a community committed to contemplative rhythms and creative expression.

Poetry is our nourishment.  Art inspires our souls.  We dance and sing for the joy of it.

Morning and evening prayer nourishes many monastic communities and we have integrated this rhythm of prayer into our live retreat and pilgrimage programs. Our participants expressed a hunger for a prayer cycle that could be used by community members no matter where they were, that reflected our values and emphasis.

We are thrilled to present you with the first week of our Abbey of the Arts Prayer Cycle which takes as its theme Earth as Original Monastery, inspired by Christine’s recent book. Nourishing an earth-cherishing consciousness is central to our vision and practice.

Each day you are invited to morning and evening prayer with the original cathedral, scripture, saints, spiritual directors, icon, sacrament, and liturgy. These prayers bring together the rich tradition of monastic prayer, the wisdom of ancient mystics, songs from our album compilations, embodied prayers to accompany each song, contemporary versions of the psalms, and poetry and blessings.

You are welcome to pray through on your own or with a group. We provide all of the written texts for seven days of morning and evening prayers in this free handout.  Duplication is permitted with attribution. The songs are available to purchase as a CD or mp3 download and the dances are available for purchase on DVD or streaming format.   Your purchases help to support our ability to offer these resources and continue to develop more weeks of the prayer cycle on different themes. This is a free resource but we warmly welcome donations to help us support the continued development of this work as we hope to eventually have four weeks of prayers created on different themes.

We will be creating and posting printable PDF versions of each day’s prayers as well as an audio podcast series coming in October which will guide you through each of the prayers with music. We also plan to create some leader resources for use in groups.

We hope that you will be inspired to create a regular rhythm of prayer in your daily life if you haven’t already and that you will include Abbey of the Arts as part of your experience. We are a global community, it will be beautiful to know we are all praying together for the renewal of Earth.

In addition to the Prayer Cycle, we are opening our Shop for the month of August and September where you can purchase a beautiful postcard book with art by David Hollington created for The Wisdom of Wild Grace. If you are in the U.S. you can also pre-order The Wisdom of Wild Grace – my second poetry collection – directly from me and it will be shipped to you from Paraclete Press in late September. There is a free gift when you order any 2 or more items – Sound & Stillness – which is a brand new album of me reading several of my poems.

Because of the pandemic we had to either postpone or cancel all of our fall 2020 live retreats and pilgrimages, but we have lots of wonderful online offerings available.

If you want to retreat together with kindred spirits in community, consider joining us this coming Saturday, August 15th on the Feast of the Assumption for an online mini-retreat on Mary, Queen of Heaven which I am leading with Betsey Beckman. We will explore Mary’s wisdom for these challenging times, especially how she might support us in calling forth our own inner sovereign.

We also have a 12-week online retreat starting September 7th called Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist, and it is a companion retreat in community to my book The Artist’s Rule. This book is the core of my teaching around the integration between contemplative practice and creative expression and is always a wonderful experience. This will be the first time we are offering with weekly live webinar sessions led by me.

There will also be a repeat of the Writing as a Spiritual Practice mini-retreat I offered in July on September 5th(this second offering has just a few spaces left).

And if you would love to immerse yourself in an online weekend retreat over the Feast of St. Francis where I will draw on wisdom from my recent book and upcoming poetry collection, you are welcome to join us!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

PS – I published the poem “Lost” inspired by this current season of feeling disoriented in difficult days. You can read it at Pendemic.

PPS – I love this time of year in Ireland. We just passed the Celtic feast of Lughnasa (Imbolc in the southern hemisphere). Lughnasa is an ancient festival celebrating the time of harvest.