Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 75

Poetry News from Christine

Christine Valters Paintner's poem "St. Gall and the Bear" has been published in the most recent issue of Crossways which can be read online at this link.

This artwork to the right is by the wonderful UK artist David Hollington who we are commissioning to put several of Christine's poems in a series about saints and animals into visual form. This painting accompanies the published poem above.

Christine has also officially signed a contract with Paraclete Press for her next poetry collection titled The Wisdom of Wild Grace and it includes a section of about 35 of these saint and animal poems. The publication date hasn't yet been determined but will be at least a year off, likely a bit more.

AND you can get Christine's first poetry collection Dreaming of Stones on Kindle at the US Amazon site for just $2.99 at the moment!

Featured Poet: Bonnie Thurston

Last spring we launched a series with poets whose work we love and want to feature and will continue it moving forward.

Our next poet is Bonnie Thurston, whose work facilitates "seeing through" the particular to universals  Read her poetry and discover more about the connections she makes between poetry and the sacred.

Compassion in a Cold Climate

After mild December, sudden cold

scalpeled in sharply, dropped snow,

a bandage covering wounds.

We are all wounded, rent asunder

by our intransigent opinions,

by our palavering politicians

interested in positions of power

but not good, ordinary folk

who keep the engine of state

chugging relentlessly on

with no discernible direction.

The whine of arctic wind,

the sting of sleet on skin

are bracing, enlivening, a tonic

against the tempting enervation

of bad news from every direction

which causes an instinctive

drawing protectively within.

Frigid air makes breathing ragged,

the lungs ache, the eyes water,

makes the body remind the heart

that its hidden hurts are holy

only when they knit private pain

to the world's awful wounds,

when they fan the flame of caring,

when they keep compassion alive.

Themes of Her Work

I try to articulate the timeless in the temporal, the aliveness in everything. My primary "subject" is landscape, rootedness in place conferring identity and stability that facilitates "seeing through" the particular to universals. An admitted Eyore, darkness is a perennial theme, but darkness as unknowing more than evil or threat. Recent poems respond allusively to "current events." I create spare poems (whittle out anything un-necessary) that are consciously alliterative, and recently experiment with a "not sonnet" form: fourteen lines unrhymed lines, maintaining the divisions of their Petrarchan and Shakespearian progenitors.

ad-din'

Beneath the forms,

the eternal essence,

multitudinous variations

reflecting Divine kindness:

the gift of many ways

for many peoples,

all beloved, all desired.

When the wind blows,

grasses of the fields

bow down in ranks.

Flowers are multiform,

but all yearn toward

a singular source of light:

the Face behind the faces.

'Quintessential religion

Poetry and the Sacred

Beyond Word's Horizon

I came to love of God

through literature and languages.

I came by words to the Word,

loved both, though variously,

was brought to shores of silence,

set sail on uncertain tides,

set sail on becalmed seas,

set sail to surrender,

go west into unknowing.

In "Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey." Wordsworth describes nature's "… presence that disturbs me with … joy," just the presence I experienced in home's mountains: "… something far more deeply interfused," the "motion and…spirit, that impels/All thinking things, all objects of all thought,/ And rolls through all things." I was hooked.

Islam suggests God spoke one word: Be. John's Gospel asserts creation sprang from language. "In the beginning was the Word" Who by language invites us to something else, more, other than appearances. Poetry clothes the otherwise invisible. Through it we see what IS (reality) and what might be (possibility). That clothing is my practice. My lectio is Scripture (the ultimate allusive, metaphorical language). Writing is my authentic prayer, an attempt to articulate the glimpsed "beyond" or "other," to honor God's gratuitous, humanizing gift of language and return the gift to its Giver.

Outside Time

Being outside time,

God is not experienced

by increments,

but suddenly

as a match struck

in a dark room

which proves to be

a treasure house,

as lightening bolts

explode the night sky

eclipse lesser, stellar light.

God is not temporal,

not process but Presence,

creation, infinite epiphany.

"Beware the Ides of March"

In lovely foretaste of future,

temperatures soared skyward.

Peachy dawn promised bright days.

Returned birds sang avian duets.

Two robins intently engaged

in awkward, complex sex dance.

But today is shrouded in frost

and winter's watery light.

Three does in winter coats

limp across the icy hill

nibbling at what there is to eat,

bark on the young pear trees

that will not blossom

when spring finally arrives.

About Bonnie Thurston

Bonnie Thurston resigned a Chair and Professorship in New Testament to live quietly in her home state of West Virginia.  Author or editor of 22 theological books, she contributes to scholarly and popular periodicals. [An internationally known Merton Scholar, her doctoral dissertation was one of the first on Merton.] She began writing poetry as a child, published her first poems in college, and is now widely published in the U.S.A. and U.K. Of her six collections of poetry the following are available [from Amazon or directly] from the publishers.

Belonging to Borders (2011) LitPress.org

A Place to Pay Attention (2014) CinnamonPress.com

Practicing Silence: New and Selected Verses (2014) ParacletePress.com

From Darkness to Eastering (2017) IonaBooks.com

A lover of the West Virginia hills, Bonnie is an avid reader, gardener, cook, and classical music lover.

Dreaming of Stones

Christine Valters Paintner's new collection of poems Dreaming of Stones has just been published by Paraclete Press.

The poems in Dreaming of Stones are about what endures: hope and desire, changing seasons, wild places, love, and the wisdom of mystics. Inspired by the poet's time living in Ireland these readings invite you into deeper ways of seeing the world. They have an incantational quality. Drawing on her commitment as a Benedictine oblate, the poems arise out of a practice of sitting in silence and lectio divina, in which life becomes the holy text.

The Soul's Slow Ripening DVD now available!

In Fall 2018 Christine Valters Paintner released her book The Soul's Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seeking the Sacred which has been really well received as a wonderful resource to break open Celtic spirituality for the contemporary seeker.

We followed that book up with our second album, The Soul's Slow Ripening: Songs for Celtic Seekers (available from CDBaby as a digital download or CD), which includes twelve songs from wonderful musician friends to deepen your experience of Celtic tradition and prayer.

We are delighted to announce we now have our DVD available, The Soul's Slow Ripening: Dancing the Sacred on a Celtic Path (available as a DVD or video streaming), with dances and gesture prayers to accompany each of the songs created by Betsey Beckman, one of our wonderful teachers and Wisdom Council members.

And you can find all of the dancing monk icons that artist Marcy Hall created of our Celtic monks and mystics at her Etsy shop (prints available).

At Abbey of the Arts we delight in offering creative resources for the spiritual journey. Reflect, sing, dance, and pray with all of your senses on the Celtic way!

Monk in the World: Hospitality 1 – A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

During this Jubilee year of sabbatical we are revisiting our Monk Manifesto by moving slowly through the Monk in the World retreat materials together every Sunday. Each week will offer new reflections on the theme and every six weeks will introduce a new principle.

Principle Two: I commit to radical acts of hospitality by welcoming the stranger both without and within. I recognize that when I make space inside my heart for the unclaimed parts of myself, I cultivate compassion and the ability to accept those places in others.

"All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ, for him himself will say: I was a stranger and you welcomed me." 

—Rule of St. Benedict 53:1

St. Benedict invites us to welcome in each stranger we encounter as the face of Christ in our lives.  Those people who make us uncomfortable or we dislike are especially included.  I also believe that Benedict meant to extend this hospitality within ourselves and seek out the stranger who knocks within on our hearts – that part of ourselves that has been neglected or shut out.  This inner and outer act of hospitality are intimately connected.  As we grow in compassion for the places within which challenge us, we are able to extend that compassion toward others.  The more we grow intimate with our own places of weakness or unlived longings, the more we can accept these in others.

When people in our lives stir a strong reaction in us, often it is because we are seeing our own shadow side being reflected back to us.  Being curious about our response opens us up to greater interior freedom as we discover the inner places we have neglected.

Monastic spirituality calls us to see everything and everyone – including ourselves – as holy.  The tools of the kitchen are to be regarded as sacred vessels.  The places in our heart where we wrestle are to be embraced with kindness.  The person who irritates us or makes us feel fearful is a window into how God is at work in our lives.  Being a monk in the world means that there are no more divisions between sacred and secular. 

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Art work © Kristin Noelle

Text: "Come," she said truly. "Welcome." It wasn't always easy, depending on the guest. But even in the discomfort it worked on her softening something tight and protected growing a deeper ease.

Notes from the Jubilee: Ancestral Pilgrimage to Latvia

During this sabbatical year I have several ancestral pilgrimages planned and we are traveling back now from the first one to Latvia. A few months ago I asked Olga Tomchin of Genealogy Yenta to help me with some research and she found an article online about an oak tree that was planted in 2017 for my great grandfather. It turns out that he was the first Chief Justice of the Latvian Supreme Court when the independent state was formed after World War I and for their centenary celebration they decided to honor his memory in this way.

My father was born in Riga and I knew his fatherline was Latvian. John and I had even visited Riga ten years ago, a beautiful city. But I didn't know that my great grandfather grew up in the village of Kuldiga, attended law school at Moscow University, and then went on to play such a significant role when Latvia gained freedom for the first time. "The Latvians are looking for you," Olga wrote in her note to me with the article and sure enough it said that they were seeking descendants of Kristaps Valters. I emailed to see if I could come visit and got a swift enthusiastic reply.

We started our trip by going first to Kuldiga, a really beautiful and charming town with many preserved old wooden homes and a gorgeous park and river with waterfall. There we were driven out to the cemetery where my great grandfather is buried, along with his wife, his brother, his father, and other relatives I have yet to place in the tree. I had never been there before and it was really moving to stand in this place of ancestral remembrance for the first time knowing it had been waiting for me. Just down the road is the ruins of his house, all that is left after a fire is the brick and stone foundation on a wide expanse of farmland. He and his father, and father's father were all farmers, perhaps even further back than that. I was able to stand within the old structure and imagine their lives, to look out at their vista.

In the center of town is a beautiful park with a series of moving statues by a Latvian artist. There is also a young oak tree, planted less than two years ago, along with a stone from my great grandfather's house carved with his name into it. Again I was really moved by this potent symbol of his memory and how his contributions continue to flourish.

We then went on to Riga where we were invited to the Supreme Court building and were greeted by the current Chief Justice who was gracious enough to take a few minutes to welcome us, offer gratitude for the memory of my great grandfather, and gift us with some mementos. Rasma Zvejniece (along with translation provided by Iveta Jaudzema who had helped us organize everything) was my original contact and she went through a binder full of research she had done on Kristaps Valters' life, and said how glad she was to finally make a connection to his family. She showed us around the building, we went into the courtroom and I got to sit for a few minutes in the current Chief Justice's chair, and we saw their museum where my great grandfather's memory is perpetuated. I also brought some family photos of him I was grateful to find in my collection to donate for their use.

It has been a powerful week. My father and grandfather fled Latvia in 1944 and they never returned because of Soviet occupation. My great grandfather died later that year after returning to his childhood home of Kuldiga. Growing up my father always identified more strongly with his mother's Austrian side and we visited Vienna often. After that initial finding of the article, I worked with another researcher in Latvia who helped me uncover names and dates for the previous two generations than what I had already known.

There are lots of layers for me still to uncover, much to ponder. I feel like a door has opened within me to this whole Latvian lineage, an invitation from the ancestors to come to know their gifts for me.

I have been doing this ancestral work for many years now and even when I think there is nothing new left to discover, this whole vein of riches is opened. I am sure I will be back to Latvia again soon.

The day after visiting the court an article was published about our trip to the Riga Supreme Court. It is written in Latvian but there are a couple of photos included. This is the original article we found about the oak tree planting (in English).

Monk in the World Guest Post: Cathy Warner

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Cathy Warner's reflection "Two and a Half Horsepower Zen."

A few months ago I ran an extension cord across the backyard, plugged in my mini-wood chipper, dragged downed limbs and small dead trees into a pile, stood in a sunny spot, and fed branches one at a time into the hopper where a whirling blade chipped, shaved, bit, and spit the cedar, rhododendron, and maple into a heap of garden muesli.

Often when gardening or cleaning house, I listen to audiobooks trying to squeeze literature into my chores. The chipper was loud and I didn't want to scavenge for my noise-cancelling headphones, so in the words of James Taylor's "Millworker," it was "me and my machine for the rest of the morning, the rest of the afternoon," and for the next few days since my husband was out of town. Like the millworker in the song, I found that running the chipper wasn't easy or hard. But it also wasn't boring.

The more I used the chipper, the more familiar I became with its operation—straight well-dried branches no more than an inch thick buzzed through easily. Berry canes and green leaves caught in the blade cutting the motor out, and I had to disassemble the feeder, empty it, and start over. Rhododendrons were tricky, too, and I squeezed their forked branches together, feeding with just enough pressure to hear the blade whine and prevent the ends from tumbling in the hopper like the last kernels of un-popped corn.

It was rewarding, making a dent in the nursery graveyard. I didn't begrudge the former owner's mess. He was almost ninety when he moved out and tending half an acre is hard work.

Warmed by the sun, surrounded by living cedars and pine, mulching dead trees, I developed a rhythm as I lifted a branch, fed it to the machine, listened for the cadence of the shredding wheel, and repeated the motions until there was nothing else in the world. Just me, my machine, and the material I fed it—a loop of action and energy—the distinctions between plant, human, and machine hazy and unimportant. I lost track of time and place. I wasn't thinking about how many branches were left in my pile and when I'd have to drag more over. I wasn't thinking about lunch or calling my husband later. I was simply and fully in the present moment.

I don't know how long I was in that frame of non-mind. I only recognized I'd been in it when my ego drifted back into consciousness, and I thought, "Wow, I was really in the zone." As soon as I thought about being in that zone, it evaporated. Thoughts came crashing back like breakers on a beach, a tidal onslaught that wouldn't stop. I thought about how cool my Zen moment was, how it felt like when I am truly able to surrender myself to prayer, eyes closed, holding the hand of my prayer partner, the ticking of her grandfather clock heralding a holy presence waiting to enter at the slightest invitation.

This was the first time I was transported by physical labor and I thought that losing track of time and space must be what happened to my husband all those nights he was late for dinner because of a home improvement project. And I thought about how understanding I would be now that I'd shared his experience. And, since I was blogging about our move to this fixer-upper, I thought that I should blog about the spiritual side of home improvement.

As responses to the wonder of my woodchipping Zen whipped through my mind, my attention to both machine and body waned. The motor screeched as branches tangled and stuck in the hopper. I yanked at them and felt an angry twang and twinge of muscles across my back.

My inattention sidelined me for days as I alternated between ice pack and heating pad, unable to work or even blog. But in those days of moving gingerly and negotiating pain, I often found myself in the Zen-like consciousness both the woodchipper and prayer evoked. I floated in a whittled down world that consisted only of body and breath—a world that contained nothing but the moment and the opportunity to practice stillness within that blessed moment.

Cathy Warner is a writer, editor, teacher, home renovator, and realtor who lives alongside Washington's Hood Canal. Author of two books of poetry Home By Another Road, and Burnt Offerings, her fiction, short memoir, and essays have appeared in dozens of print and online journals. Find her at CathyWarner.com.

Monk in the World: Reflection Questions and Blessing (Silence and Solitude) ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

During this Jubilee year of sabbatical we are revisiting our Monk Manifesto by moving slowly through the Monk in the World retreat materials together every Sunday. Each week will offer new reflections on the theme and every six weeks will introduce a new principle.

Principle One: I commit to finding moments each day for silence and solitude, to make space for another voice to be heard, and to resist a culture of noise and constant stimulation.

Spend some time in quiet reflection on the following questions. You might take out your journal and pen and free-write in response to see what you discover.

What is one thing in your life you could let go of for the next few days to make space for the grace of silence?

In what ways do you experience silence as a presence and fullness in your life rather than the mere absence of noise?

Closing Blessing from Christine

Holy Giver of Silence

Sustain me in these sacred spaces

and embrace me with your presence.

I pause each day to listen to your whisperings

which call me to a deepened way of being.

I enter the quiet and ask for the courage to respond

to what I discover in that tabernacle of time.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Featured Poet: Joel McKerrow

Last spring we launched a series with poets whose work we love and want to feature and will continue it moving forward.

Our next poet is Joel McKerrow whose work is inspired by liminal spaces.  You can watch Joel's poem videos and read more about the connections he makes between poetry and the sacred.

Joel McKerrow- WIND (with Spike Mason). from Joel McKerrow on Vimeo.

Themes of His Work

I have just finished working on a book, a creative non-fiction all about the spiritual journey. Its called WOVEN: A Spirituality for the Dissatisfied and is being published in November. So a lot of my focus has been on taking the stories of my life when everything has crumbled and the doubt has come and the wrestle and the struggle are at their most intense and working out how to articulate these often indescribable moments. How to give voice to the deep longings that stir in those liminal times. This would be a major theme- the liminal, between that which has finished and that which has not yet begun.

Poetry and the Sacred

When I sit down at my table to write. I am never really just writing. I am engaging in ritual. From the pouring of the tea, to the unfolding of my antique writing table, to the moment the words begin to flow, or more often, the moment I drag them out of myself. This is all ritual. It is all a process of slowing down from the chaos of my life and choosing to be present to myself and to the story that wants to come out of me and also to the sacred. It is in this three way intersection of self, story and sacred that I consider the words that come out of me to be nothing but prayer. And if my words are prayer then my poetry is worship. It is an unfolding of myself and a giving of myself. It forces me to be fully truthful and authentic. It forces me to name my inner world even when I'd rather not. It is in the naming and the owning of my reality that I can then find the surrender of this reality through writing it down, giving it over. There is no difference between my prayer and my poetry.

About Joel McKerrow

Joel McKerrow is an award winning writer, speaker, educator, creativity specialist and is one of Australia's most successful performance poets. Based out of Melbourne, Australia he has seven published works of poetry, is the Artist Ambassador for the aid and development organisation 'TEAR Australia', was the third ever Australian representative at the Individual World Poetry Slam Championships and is a co-founder/host of the The Deep Place: On Creativity and Spirituality Podcast. Joel teaches on creativity and spiritual formation all over the world and has just opened up registration to his first ever ONLINE course - A Clearing in the Forest: An online writing course for cultivating artistry and self growth through the creative process.

Work
You can find Joel's writing, videos, music, teaching, etc at:
Website - JoelMckerrow.com
Podcast - TheDeepPlacePodcast.com
Online Course - JoelMcKerrowEducation.com

 

Dreaming of Stones

Christine Valters Paintner's new collection of poems Dreaming of Stones has just been published by Paraclete Press.

The poems in Dreaming of Stones are about what endures: hope and desire, changing seasons, wild places, love, and the wisdom of mystics. Inspired by the poet's time living in Ireland these readings invite you into deeper ways of seeing the world. They have an incantational quality. Drawing on her commitment as a Benedictine oblate, the poems arise out of a practice of sitting in silence and lectio divina, in which life becomes the holy text.

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Monk in the World Suggestions for Practice (Silence and Solitude) ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

During this Jubilee year of sabbatical we are revisiting our Monk Manifesto by moving slowly through the Monk in the World retreat materials together every Sunday. Each week will offer new reflections on the theme and every six weeks will introduce a new principle.

Principle One: I commit to finding moments each day for silence and solitude, to make space for another voice to be heard, and to resist a culture of noise and constant stimulation.

Just for today claim a window of time – even ten minutes is enough to begin – and rest into an experience of stillness. Connect gently with your breath, breathing in the life-sustaining breath of the spirit, breathing out and releasing whatever distracts us from this moment.  As thoughts or anxieties arise, gently release them and return to this moment. The invitation is toward both an outer and inner silence.  Notice the way silence nourishes you and consider ways to give yourself this gift each day.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World Guest Post: Anne Knorr

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Anne Knorr's reflection,"Ebb Tides."

Walking along the rocky shoreline during ebb tide, an eighty-five year old man named Billy Proctor can often be seen in tall black rubber boots looking for treasures washed ashore.  It is a ritual he has observed since childhood and over the years he has collected a myriad of hidden jewels; large aqua-marine glass buoys, chiseled arrow heads, ancient metal jewelry from the "original people" as he calls them, colorful bottles of all shapes and sizes, China dishes, and even a scientifically verified meteorite.   He was one of the most delightful characters I met in the Broughton Islands on my way north to Alaska with my husband aboard our boat, Mystic Dancer.  With an infectious smile and tales a mile long of his life on this rugged piece of land and the surrounding sea, he welcomes travelers passing through the archipelago. He is actually quite a legend in the area having lived on the islands most of his life earning a living by fishing, trapping, and logging.

Hundreds of visitors pass through his quaint museum at Echo Bay and are greeted with a warm welcome and of course a story or two.  His museum includes a replica of a trappers cabin entirely built from one cedar tree.  Inside the main building, neat rows of shelves and glass cases display his wares.  Rays of sunlight shine through paned windows lighting up the countless bottles stacked on a high shelf – amber, deep green, and sea blue.  I was touched by this man's ability to find intriguing cast-offs covered in the muck and sand on the ocean floor and his patience in searching out whatever treasure might appear, each trinket holding the remnant of an unknown story.  The word treasure means, "to have great value," but it also carries with it a sense that it is not easily obtained.

Ebb tides bring out hunters of another kind, as well.  Bear comb the shores in search of clams, crow and bald eagles hover over the mud flats looking for morsels to nourish themselves, and muscles cling to the edges of rocks, their black shells exposed by the receding water.  When I consider the ebb-tide experiences in my life, it is nice to think there is something of value to be discovered in dark and mucky places.  Many of the most important lessons I've learned in life and self-awareness have come as the result of difficult experiences, the one's where I've failed miserably, embarrassed myself, or encountered devastating grief.  After my brother's death, I learned I am more resilient than I realized, that happiness is possible even after an overwhelming loss, and that a reservoir of compassion is available within myself I hadn't known was there.

But like Billy Proctor, I had to walk along the barren shore many mornings without any treasure to be found – accepting the current bleakness in my heart and the random timing of when something of value would wash ashore, all the while knowing the walking and the looking were necessary parts of the process. Words from a verse in the Bible would often play in my mind, I will give you the treasures of darkness and hidden wealth in secret places, like a mantra promising my heart future blessings. My son had a similar ebb-tide insight while studying abroad in Ireland.  He felt completely displaced and terribly homesick, yet he knew he needed to stay where he was.  In the four months he was away I noticed a palatable shift in his demeanor.  He exuded a new confidence in himself that replaced the tentativeness he carried with him to Ireland.  It was as if he'd left home a boy and returned a man.  He had found an inner resource, a solid place to stand amidst the turmoil.  I find wisdom in the rhythms of nature; like the ebb and flow of the ocean tide, the daily rising and falling of the sun, and the revolving seasons, my life is continually moving and transforming too. And somehow that is reassuring.  So now when the ebb tides come into my life again, as they surely will, I'll take my cue from Billy Proctor and patiently comb the terrain with an eye out for the hidden treasure awaiting my discovery.

Anne Knorr is an architect, spiritual director and author of the book Sacred Space at Home that explores the connection between architecture and spirituality. She lives in Boulder, Colorado with her husband Bill and spends several months a year on their boat, Mystic Dancer, exploring the coastal waterways of the Northwest.