Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 81

Monk in the World Guest Post: Michele Chung

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Michele Chung's reflection "Discovering the joy of God."

"I tend to be somewhat melancholy, which means I usually see the glass as half empty rather than half full. When I’m alone, the negative emotions often rise to the surface. This personality trait has been a challenge in my contemplative practices. The more time I spend in solitude and introspection, the easier it is for me to sink into my negativity.

Recently, my exercise app challenged me to laugh 3 times a week, and I became more aware of those moments where things really tickled my heart. When I stopped to pay attention and be mindful during those times of joy, I was surprised to encounter a deep sense of peace and clarity.

I found that it was almost impossible for joy and anxiety to co-exist. Maybe that’s why kids laugh so much more than adults. As we get older, the responsibilities and worries of life creep in, and squeeze out our joy. During those moments of joy and laughter, I forgot about my worries and concerns. My heart felt lighter just because I laughed at a silly joke. Laughter and joy also changed my perspective. I noticed that when I was in distress, laughter will often jolt me out of my downward spiral into negativity. And as I breathe a sigh of relief, the Spirit reminds me that life is not so hopeless and grim after all.

For most of my spiritual life, my image of God was a stern one. God may not be an angry God, but he was definitely serious. The first few years when I started to pray in intercession, I often wept as part of my prayers. I could relate to a suffering Christ, but a Jesus who laughed in joy? He was foreign to me. Nevertheless, as I became more mindful of the joyous events during my day, I became more grateful for the gift of laughter in my life.

I looked up scriptures about joy, and was surprised at how often joy was mentioned. David wrote many psalms about rejoicing and having joy in God’s presence. Apostle Paul encouraged people to rejoice regardless of their circumstances. One theme I see repeatedly was that joy was often connected with God or the presence of God. When Jesus was born, He was the reason that heaven and earth rejoiced. God seemed to be a source of great joy.

If joy is such a major part of who God is, how then do I incorporate rejoicing into my contemplative practices? How does one contemplate the joy of God? The first thing that came to mind was for me to keep a childlike heart. For when I welcomed the simple things in life, and stopped taking myself too seriously, I seemed to laugh a lot more often. When I gave myself more grace, I was more receptive to the divine touches and happy accidents that happened throughout the day.

In God’s presence, there’s fullness of joy. (Ps. 16:11) During my personal worship one night, this verse came to me again. Joy is connected to the presence of God. I started to focus my meditation time simply on who God is. I realized I needed to think differently. Instead of preferring to meditate on the sufferings of Jesus, I needed to also remember our God who is full of joy. In fact, God is One whose presence is filled with joy. Even in the midst of difficult circumstances, God is not surprised nor anxious. His work is finished. Because Jesus has gone through the deep anguish and affliction, we can now share in his joy. Joy is his gift to us.

Although I can still be a tad grey in my attitude, I’m much more intentional in opening my heart to joy. On some days, it means I need to learn to trust in order to focus on joy. At times, I have to protect my childlike heart and not allow cynicism to snuff it out. I’m definitely still a novice at discovering the joy of God. However, little by little, my image of God is changing. Now, I can see Jesus smiling at me in joy."

Michele loves playing with colors and having deep conversations. She lives in Silicon Valley with her husband and a house full of books. You can find more of her writings at SabbathCafeBlog.com. She also shares her art on Instagram: @imagochele.

St. Teresa’s Ecstasy (new poem video) ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

To continue celebrating the upcoming release of my poetry collection Dreaming of Stones, I have another poem video for you this week. This poem, titled St. Teresa’s Ecstasy, was inspired by the statue created by Bernini which depicts a moment she describes in her autobiography of mystical communion.  The poem video also takes its inspiration from this statue.

St. Teresa’s Ecstasy

You must have felt it

once or twice yourself

an early winter morning

as the sun tilts slowly

above the vale of earth

bird wings flap fiercely

slicing the sky as it turns

from lavender to blue

your heart a moth

fluttering in a jar

and for a moment you are

so in love with this world

everything is possible

your skin no longer barrier

but portal to communion

like St. Teresa in her moment

of ecstasy, Seraphim with a

golden spear clearing her out

for love, feet bare, head tilted back,

a moan escapes her lips,

rhapsody, relish, swoon

even when the angel recedes

as her tasks call her back

she can still taste bliss in her

pomegranate mouth

and there are glimpses of paradise

even on rain-soaked days

a sun still gleams

among the half-cut lemons,

the egg yolk, my wedding band.

—Christine Valters Paintner

If you love poetry and want to see it thrive, I would be so grateful if you would consider pre-ordering a copy of Dreaming of Stones and sharing these poem videos with others.  The book will be available in the U.S. March 19th. (Also see below for an opportunity to join me in Seattle for an evening of Celtic song, poetry, and dance on March 17th as well as a Sacred Poetry retreat in Chartres, France this coming June 10-14, 2019!)

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Video © Christine Valters Paintner

Abbey of the Arts Featured Poet: Nita Penfold

We are launching a new series this spring with poets whose work we love and want to feature!

Our next poet is Nita Penfold whose work is currently themed around harvest. You can hear Nita reading her poem "Think of a Time When" below and read more about the connections she makes between poetry and the sacred.

https://abbeyofthearts.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Think-of-a-Time-When-Nita-Penfold.mp3

Think of a Time When

you were truly yourself, that age

before the mask was pulled tight

before the roles were welded like armor to your skin.

Remember the one thing you loved

above all else, that, given perfect freedom,

you could be found doing

when they looked for you to do something else,

something useful; the thing that made

you feel whole and hopeful,

full of something that lifted you out of yourself

but anchored you home

so that you didn't know where that thing began, where you ended,

so much were you in the river of it, the flow

of hand to heart and heart to soul,

that was all of one piece called you.

You know what it is.  Remember it.

Hold it up like a shiny vintage ornament

turn it to and fro.

It is the true gift

just below your conscious thought, itching at you

to touch it once more.

Latch onto that feeling,

let the stillness find you and the wholeness

bubble up from the bottom of your stone well.

What might you do with it now?

©Nita Penfold

From Landing in Oz

Poetry and the Sacred

Poetry is about slowing down and capturing a moment and connecting that moment to something larger than itself, than yourself.  The practice of writing poetry forces me to contemplate the world with a continually new lens that pushes open the boundaries of the sacred. I believe that our spirituality, the essence, the gift, of who we are, is deeply connected with our creativity, the expression of that essence into the world, whatever form it takes.  I see these connections as the inner and outer, the yin and yang, the being and doing of life that spiral me deeper into the sacred as they lead me out of myself.  I have always seen my work as a ministry of empowering others to find their spirit and express it openly in their lives, to guide them to an awareness of their own deep divine core and to give them the invitation, the permission, they need to play, create, and renew through the arts.

Themes of Her Work

Currently, the main theme in my work is harvesting. Since retiring, I have been exploring my life lessons and how these have contributed to my deep spirituality and creativity. I found this inner vegetation growing that I insisted were weeds at the time, but now have yielded magnificent blossoms and healing herbs that help me recognize the Divine in myself and others. My current project, Advice to Pilgrims, is an attempt to capture the parts of my journey that will help others, knowing that I can only describe one example, for no two paths are ever the same.

Oh Great Mystery of Being

Let my small story

connect to your larger one.

May we breathe with one breath.

May we make this day holy together.

©Nita Penfold

From Advice to Pilgrims

Calling

You wake to the honey

light before anyone else, perch

on the long wooden stair top,

wishing to be old enough to

drag the wide-bottomed boat

out alone, to command the creak

of oars, the water’s flash, to

steer to where the Buddha-frogs

nightly chant their steely croak,

where the water spiders stride

across the surface like complacent

miracles, where something calls

to you like the red-winged blackbird

clinging to the high reeds skirting

the lake and you want to purse

your mouth just so

and answer, yes,

yes.

©Nita Penfold

From They Stand Up in Broken Shells

About Nita

Nita Penfold has been writing poetry since the age of eight. She received her Masters in Writing from Lesley University in 1986 and her Doctorate in Ministry from Wisdom University in 2002. She taught spirituality and arts courses in the Worship and Theology Arts Department at Andover Newton Theological School and has led a variety of arts-based workshops for adults, youth, and children through SpiritArts. Her art has been exhibited throughout New England, and her poetry has been widely published for the past 35 years.

She understands the religious vocation as a call from the deepest center of consciousness to step forward into one’s Divine self, into the very center of the existential questions, and to dwell there, seeking and finding, seeking and finding in a one long spiral of growing awareness. To her, ministry then becomes the impulse to come up out of that authentic center with compassion and help others to listen to the call and respond in their own unfolding, which then effects change in the world. She does this ministry through spirituality and the arts in the context of Unitarian Universalist religious education of children, youth and adults and through the medium of poetry and visual arts.

Dr. Penfold is the wife of Nick Page, song-leader and composer, the mother of two daughters, and grandmother of three.

More information on her books and art is available at NitaPenfold.Weebly.com.

ORDER NITA'S BOOKS

Landing in Oz

They Stand Up in Broken Shells

(using the Amazon links above help to support the Abbey scholarship fund at no additional cost to you)

Dreaming of Stones
(available to pre-order)

Christine Valters Paintner's new collection of poems Dreaming of Stones will be published by Paraclete Press this March.

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.

7 pilgrimages you can go on right now (Part 1) ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

There are many ways to practice pilgrimage. You can journey far away to a sacred site, but there are also options within reach of a walk or drive from home, or even within your own imagination. Keep in mind these three essential aspects to create your own pilgrimage experience:

Begin with an intention and prayer or blessing for this time.
Stay open to the ways God might break in through the unexpected.
When you return, spend time in reflection on how this experience has touched you. What new discoveries or invitations did you hear?
Walking is a wonderful way to get out of our heads and into our bodies. If mobility issues prevent this, know that imagining yourself walking to each suggested site can have the same impact. God is present to us in whatever ways we are able to receive the sacred.

Make a local pilgrimage

Chances are you live near a church or perhaps even several churches. You could choose to make a pilgrimage to your local cathedral. Using the three essential aspects, make it a sacred experience by blessing the journey there, paying attention for divine whispers along the way, and then reflecting when you return home. You might look up the church calendar to see if there is an upcoming feast day that feels especially appropriate for your journey and let that shape your prayer.

In a more urban area, plan a walking pilgrimage from one church to another. Research the churches and map out a route. Look up the various saints they are dedicated to and write a note for each of them. Offer a prayer to each saint as you make each stop. Spend 15 minutes in silence at each of the churches. Listen for what is offered to you. Remember that what can feel like interruptions or disruptions to your plans may contain the sparks of an encounter with the divine.

If you live in a rural area, still try this suggestion out, but you may need to drive between sites. Try keeping the car radio off to maintain an atmosphere of quiet reflection.

Begin your pilgrimage by reading the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13–35) as a blessing for this time. Listen along the way for how the holy is being revealed to you.

Make an ancestral pilgrimage

One of my favorite forms of pilgrimage is to journey to ancestral places and experience the landscape of those from my bloodline who traveled the earth before I did. However, sometimes these places are far away and require a lot of time and expense to reach.

If you live near a family cemetery, visit graves of loved ones who have passed away with the intention of making it a pilgrimage. Hold the image of the communion of saints and the Scripture image of being “surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses” (Hebrews 12:1) as you make this journey. Feel yourself surrounded by the love of thousands who have come before you. Offer gratitude for all the ways they endured so that you might live. You could choose to make this pilgrimage during November, which is the month of remembrance of the dead, or on the anniversary of an ancestor’s birth or death.

If you have no ancestral connections close by, visit the local cemetery anyway. Pray for the people there and their families. Feel their connection to this place where you live and all the ways they may have contributed to making it the community that it is.

Make a nature pilgrimage

You might choose to make a pilgrimage to a nearby place in nature. This could be a local park that you love or even your backyard. Locate the closest forest, river, seashore, or mountain, remembering all of the holy landscapes in Scripture such as the Jordan River, the Sea of Galilee, Mount Horeb, or Mount Sinai.

Begin your pilgrimage by reading Psalm 104 and asking for the clarity to hear all of creation joining in an ongoing hymn of praise. As you walk let this be a time of contemplative listening for the more-than-human voices that surround you. Spend time with things that call to you along the way, whether a pinecone in your path, a smooth stone, moss on the trees, or a flower growing. Pay attention to the birds and animals that make this place their home, and call to mind the desert and Celtic saints who saw intimacy with animals as a special sign of holiness. Find a quiet place on your journey to sit for a time in silence and simply receive the gifts being offered to you.

This article also appears in the July 2018 issue of U.S. Catholic (Vol. 83, No. 7, pages 12–17) and on their website.

Please join us for our Lenten online retreat as we journey through my book The Soul of a Pilgrim together in community. Our early registration price ends tomorrow (February 18th!)

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World Guest Post: Elaine Breckenridge

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Elaine Breckenridge's reflection on letting go of climbing and searching.

"In 2007, I climbed a mountain on Inis Mor, one of the Aran Islands off the coast of Ireland.Well, it was really a hill but it might as well have been a mountain. The goal of the climb was to visit a tiny little hermitage perched on top. Called the Teampall Bheanain, it is reputedly the smallest church in Ireland. It dates from about the 7th century.

From the bottom of the holy hill, it looked like a reasonable climb, and so I happily set off. But the going got both rough and tough. It wasn’t about the incline. It was about the rocky soil. There were boulders to dodge or climb over. There were moss covered rocks that were deceptively slippery. There were loose stones making it all too easy to roll an ankle. It was a feat to make it to the top. But when I arrived, the view was worth the trek. There was a lovely view of the countryside below on one side and on the other, a magnificent view of the sea. Sacred cows enjoyed their leisure. It was breathtaking. After I took the picture below, the sun began to set. Streams of light kissed the sea and land. I could understand why monks had a cell there. I could imagine long comfortable hours of solitude not loneliness.

You can’t stay at the summit forever and so I began the descent down. What a disaster that was! Scrambling down the hill was treacherous. Gravity pulled me over those same difficult stones and rocks in even more dangerous ways. It took every bit of mental concentration to control the proper placement of footing in order to remain safe. I understood why a monk would stay up there days at a time. It was in fact difficult to come down from that mountain top!

In the pre-Christian Celtic religion, hills were holy places, thin places that were climbed so that one could be near the sky gods. Climbing then was already an important feature of their spirituality. When Christianity came to Ireland, the earliest missionaries found a people receptive to the notion of God coming from heaven in the birth of a person named Jesus. Christian Celtic preachers and teachers, using their gifts of imagination put flesh and bones on the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation. In his book, A Holy Island Prayer Book, Anglican priest, Ray Simpson describes God bounding down a rocky mountain with a hand reaching out in love to the people waiting below.

Having gone up and down that rocky Irish hill, I can see how that metaphor perfectly illustrates the grace of God. The spiritual life is about receiving God, who with a sense of urgency and joy leaps over boulders and runs down a rocky hill, just in order to be with us. It is not about making an arduous trip up and down a difficult hill. Instead it is waiting with expectant hearts for God to come to us.

Faith often calls us to let go of our climbing and searching so that we can experience God coming into our presence without our effort. Yet, that can be a challenge for a person like me who wants to be active, involved and yes, even in charge of my spiritual journey.

In 2016, I returned to that same holy hill and looked forward to making the ascent again. But nine years later with an arthritic hip, I couldn’t do it. It was disappointing. Then, I remembered Ray Simpson’s lovely metaphor. I sat down, rested and sure enough God’s peace and joy filled my heart. Receptivity brought boundless grace.

Pilgrimages and hikes are certainly thin places. But so too is carving out time for stillness. We don’t always have to climb a hill, or take an exotic journey. It’s comforting to experience this fact, especially when dealing with aging and health issues. Finding a quiet and comfortable space and inviting God to do the rest really does work. If you have not taken that path recently, try it. It will be well worth the journey."

Elaine Breckenridge is a dancing monk and an Episcopal priest currently serving St. John the Baptist Church in Lodi, California. Her passions include incorporating Celtic and Creation Spirituality into traditional liturgical forms, the music of Kristopher E. Lindquist (Kelmusic.com), yoga and living the Abbey of the Arts Monk Manifesto.

Poetry and the Sacred (new videos and featured poet series) ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

In celebration of publishing my new collection of poems, Dreaming of Stones, we are delighted to be working with local video production company Morgan Creative to launch a series of poetry videos.

I have two to share with you today:

First, enjoy this one-minute book trailer they created with gorgeous images from Ireland.

Wings

I wake from a dream,

reach towards day as it hatches,

its tiny beak presses against

the delicate shell of sky.

Today I might learn to fly.

—Christine Valters Paintner, poem appears in Dreaming of Stones: Poems

Dreaming of Stones book trailer from Christine Valters Paintner on Vimeo.

We will be sharing this series of poetry videos every other week through the spring. I love how images have amplified and deepened the meaning of the poems for me. I hope they offer you a holy pause amidst the rush of life.

This first poem video accompanies the title poem of the collection:

Dreaming of Stones – Poem Video from Christine Valters Paintner on Vimeo.

Dreaming of Stones

In the world before waking

I meet a winged one,

feathered, untethered,

who presses in my palm

three precious stones,

like St. Ita in her dream,

but similarities end there,

her with saintliness and certainty,

me asking questions in the dark.

All I know is

I am not crafted from

patience of rock or gravity of earth,

nor flow of river,

I am not otter with

her hours devoted to play.

I am none of these.

At least not yet.

The stones will still be singing

centuries from now,

made smooth by

all kinds of weather.

If I strike them together,

they spark and kindle.

Do I store them as treasures

to secretly admire

on storm-soaked days?

Or wear them as an amulet

around my neck?

When the angel returns to me

in the harsh truth of last morning,

will she ask

what have I endured,

treasured, and sparked?

Will she ask what have I hidden away

and what made visible?

(title poem from Dreaming of Stones, first appeared in Spiritus Journal)

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Abbey of the Arts Featured Poet: Kenneth Steven

We are launching a new series this spring with poets whose work we love and want to feature!

Our first poet is Kenneth Steven whose work is deeply inspired by the island of Iona. You can hear Kenneth reading his poem "Iona" below and read more about the connections he makes between poetry and the sacred.

https://abbeyofthearts.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/Sound-of-Iona-sample.mp3



The Strangest Gift

Sister Mary Teresa gave me a wasps’ nest from the convent garden –

just the startings, the first leaves, a cocoon of whisperings –

made out of thousands of buzzings.

To think that these yellow-black thugs

could make such finery, such parchment,

a whole home telling the story of their days,

written and wrought so perfect

stung me, remembering how I’d thumped them

with thick books, reduced them to squashes on walls,

nothing more than broken bits on carpets.

This little bowl, this bit of beginning

rooted out by the gardener, reminds me

of something bigger I keep choosing to forget

about what beauty is, and where that beauty’s found.

---Kenneth Steven

Poetry and the Sacred

I don't think I understood just what a deep place poetry took me too before I had my writing cabin. This was no luxurious Scandinavian log cabin in the woods: it was a very simple structure hidden among trees at the bottom of my mother's garden. It became my writing place. But what I learned to find there (and it took some time) was what I now call a place of deep writing. I was in the cabin for several hours on my own, often in the cold. I read a great deal and I wrote a great deal. I was taken far beyond myself, into somewhere deep and precious. It was a journey into myself, in all senses.

I began to write in a new way: words poured from the pen very quickly - sometimes a thousand words in an hour. What was important was that that writing - whether poetry or prose - was not self-conscious. I found myself writing things that came from a very deep place. Often I felt I left that cabin space a new and changed person: I had been on an extraordinary journey, and always a deeply spiritual one. I just know that faith and poetry have a kinship within my life. Perhaps I know that most because whenever I return to my spiritual home, the island of Iona, new poems flow from the pen. That pen can seem to have run dry for ever, and once I am back on Iona I find that new words appear on the page.

Themes of His Work

Iona and the Celtic Christian are at the heart of all my work, poetry and prose. But nature has had a vitally important part in my writing too, from the very beginning. But above and beyond these central threads, the pen is ready for new words: I can't really dictate what those words or ideas will be. The more I plan, the more I'm taken by surprise!

Island

I remember what it was like to barefoot that house,

wood rooms bleached by light. Days were new voyages, journeys,

coming home a pouring out of stories and of starfish.

The sun never died completely in the night,

the skies just turned luminous, the wind

tugged at the strings in the grass like a hand

in a harp. I did not sleep, too glad to listen by a window

to the sorrow sounds of the birds

as they swept down in skeins, and rose again, celebrating

all that was summer. I did not sleep, the weight of school

behind and before too great to waste a grain of this.

One four in the morning I went west over the dunes,

broke down running onto three miles of white shell sand, and stood.

A wave curled and silked the shore in a single seamless breath.

I went naked into the water, ran deep into a green

through which I was translucent. I rejoiced

in something I could not name; I celebrated a wonder

too huge to hold. I trailed home, slow and golden,

dried by the sunlight.

---Kenneth Steven

The Stars

From the age of five my sight was smudged as a mole’s;

I wore tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses that were never quite clean,

and the stars looked white and indistinct,

vague pearls in a distant heaven.

On my fifteenth birthday my parents gave me lenses –

little cupped things that drifted into sight across my irises.

Driving home with them that night I suddenly caught sight of something,

got out by the edge of the field and looked,

amazed and disbelieving as if Christ himself had healed my eyes,

for the stars were crackling and sparking

like new-cut diamonds on the velvet of a jeweller’s window,

so near and clear I could have stretched and held them,

carried them home in my own pocket.

That was the gift my parents gave me on my birthday –

the stars.

---Kenneth Steven

About Kenneth

Kenneth Steven grew up in Highland Perthshire in the heart of Scotland, and now lives in Argyll on the country’s west coast; it’s these landscapes that have inspired the lion’s share of both his poetry and prose.

He is best-known as a poet. Fourteen of his collections have been published over the years, and individual poems have appeared in top literary journals across the globe. Much of his poetry is inspired by the wildscape of his native Highland Scotland; much has resulted from his love of the Celtic Christian story whose deepest roots are for him found in the island of Iona off Scotland’s west coast.

He and his partner Kristina and lead Celtic Christian retreats each October on the island of Iona seeking to offer a gentle path through the Celtic Christian story. More about them can be found on the website of the Argyll Hotel on Iona.

Order Kenneth Steven's Books

Island: Collected Poems

Salt and Light: Poems

Iona: Poems

Columba: Poems

Coracle: Poems

A Song Among the Stones: Poems

The Sound of Iona (an audio CD)

Kenneth has also published fiction and nonfiction titles

(using the Amazon links above help to support the Abbey scholarship fund at no additional cost to you)

Dreaming of Stones
(available to pre-order)

Christine Valters Paintner's new collection of poems Dreaming of Stones will be published by Paraclete Press this March.

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.

Love and Radical Hospitality ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Valentine's Day is coming, which for many of us is a holiday that only serves to make us feel inadequate, as all highly commercialized things do. And yet the message of love is worth repeating if we can look beneath the chocolate hearts and flowers and the expectation that we all be in a significant relationship or be lacking.

Hospitality is the heart of our work – creating a safe space where we can begin welcoming back in the stranger within and in the process discover the hidden wholeness of which Thomas Merton wrote. This kind of radical hospitality is also an act of great love. Over the years, I have come to realize, that more than anything else I do, this work of healing is most essential. The Abbey, too, strives to be a safe place where a diversity of people with a wide range of beliefs and convictions can gather. I love that people show up each with their own longings.

Maybe there is a deep loneliness as this holiday of roses and Hallmark approaches. What would it be like to welcome in that lonely part of yourself and to love him, to trust that she has a place in you? Maybe there is self-judgment and criticism that you try to push away. What would it be like to make space to sit with these difficult parts with compassion and listen to what they really want to tell you? This would be a generous act of loving.

This radical hospitality is a lifelong journey. We are always discovering new aspects of our inner world which we reject or resist and need love and care. And in the process of welcoming them in, we perhaps begin to discover that others don't annoy us quite so much. As we grow more intimate with our own places of exile and woundedness, we discover a deep well of compassion for the strangeness of others. As we come to know our own compulsions and places of grasping, we can offer more love to those in our lives struggling with addictions and other places where freedom has been lost.

For the last few years I have signed this love note "With great and growing love”. I started this practice after finding some old letters written by my mother and father to one another in the early days of their marriage. I had forgotten that one of their terms of endearment for one another was "GGL" which stood for "great and growing love." These missives all began and ended with those three letters.

Even though my parents' wounds eventually led them to separation and my father to rejecting much of the love offered to him toward the end of his life, I still treasure this image. I cherish knowing that there was this sense of love abiding between them, growing slowly. Rather than feeling despair or cynicism, I actually feel a great tenderness to know of all the places love plants her seeds.

I love each of you, my dear monks, I don't think the intensity of this work is sustainable without that kind of love. I love your seeking hearts. I love your desire to find a more compassionate way to be in this life and on this earth.

As I continue to offer love to myself through acts of trust in my body's wisdom and welcoming in the less flattering parts of myself, the love grows.

My invitation to you, as Valentine's Day approaches, is to consider whether your love for your own beautiful self grows each day, knowing that there will be days of such self-disdain it might not be possible, and then you welcome in that small and wounded place and discover a hidden fountain of love beneath. Once we begin welcoming in the places we resist, we find that the deep peace of silence can be ours.

This week, let your prayer be "welcome" to every stranger arriving at the inner door and an act of trust in the wholeness that you are.

And know of my love for you, which is always growing.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World Guest Post: Katy Taylor

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Katy Taylor's reflection on presence practices.

Growing up in a family that put a lot of value on work, in combination with being an Enneagram type One, I have had to consciously practice in order to learn to slow down to the pace of nature, of my body, of the seasons… For many years, while I loved how I felt in nature, when resting, at ease, or in meditation, it’s been a big challenge to prioritize this over getting things done right and on time.

Especially when I am caught in a cycle of working, what helps me to return to the holiness and grace of the present moment are what I call presence practices, infused throughout the day. These simple practices mark the rhythm of the day and the seasons, and include somatic awareness and movement, singing, mantra, blessing, gathas (mindfulness verses), and prayer.

In the morning, when I awake, the first thing I do is listen to and move my body. Usually she wants to elongate and reach toes and fingers away from each other, or to gently rock the pelvis forward and back, arching and flattening to bring mobility and fluidity.

Then I say a prayer in bed, with my hands on belly and heart, welcoming myself. I prefer to learn a prayer by heart and to pray it for months or even years so that it gets into my bodysoul (body-heart-mind-soul) in a deeper way, feeling like a home, a refuge for my mind, a channel for my heart. I have a few on rotation now, depending on my mood—an adaptation of two of Marianne Williamson’s morning prayers (from Illuminata), the first stanza of e.e. cummings “i thank you god, for most this amazing day…,” and Thich Nhat Hanh’s Waking Up gatha (mindfulness verse).

I arise slowly, and once out of hearing range from my husband, I sing a morning blessing, depending on the energy of the day—anything from “Morning light calls my body…” to the more rowdy “Do you want to sing open the morning…” (Laurence Cole). Singing voices me, embodies me, helps my soul feel present in / as / with my body.

If it’s moving towards dawn, I’ll sing a song about the interface of light and darkness, and when dawning light arrives, looking out to the sky, I sing “Welcome daytime, welcome light…” (adaptation of a round by Mountain Falls). Sometimes I do a few rounds of bowing, surrendering my life to God in the unfolding of the day. I begin with hands at heart, then reaching up to the heavens, and coming back through the heart, blending heaven and earth as I move down through hands and knees to Child’s pose. Here I rest with my head on the floor, below my heart, taking a few humble breaths, and then reversing the process until I arise, standing as a human being, chalice of God. This practice can also support me during the day.

With my morning practice, a tea gatha from Thich Nhat Hanh blesses my first cup of tea: “This cup of tea in my two hands / mindfulness held completely / my mind and body dwell / in the very here and now.”

Morning practice usually concludes with movement to honor my body’s need for moving expression. In addition to SomaYoga, I have found the many movement practices from Camille Maurine (Meditation Secrets for Women) to be particularly helpful in connecting with my body’s rhythms with all beings. I pulse, reach, roll, elongate, contract, slide, glide, flow, release (and more!), following my bodysoul’s promptings, her desire to be fully alive, allowing sound and adding mantras as needed: “I give breath/life/love; I receive breath/life/love” (Camille). Often a song accompanies me, too: “Trees grow slow” (Laurence Cole), “Steady as a rock” (unknown), or “I am me” (Paul Barton).

In the kitchen, a blessing song or grace over the food I am preparing and eating reminds me of the sacredness of life nourishment becoming my body—“Bless this food, bless my life…” or “May we be happy, may we be loved and well-fed…” or another call to presence.

Throughout the day of work, index cards of practices at my desk remind me, among other things, that “Life loves me,” to breathe consciously, or to say thank you to everything I meet today. Tea always accompanies my work as a healing, calming presence. Singing also supports me—“There is work to be done…” (Sarah Nutting), which also includes a reminder of a “wide heart” or “The only way through is through…” (Diane Baker), with its reminder to take one step at a time or “Í am calling you,” reconnecting me with my deep soul-yearning for God. On breaks, I look out or step out into the season, savoring its invitation to be, to be blessed, to be present, or connect with my husband or a friend. These practices give my work experience living, breathing, singing expression, helping my soul feel presenced, here.

At the end of the work day, a closure gatha based on Thich Nhat Hanh’s Waking Up gatha helps me surrender the work day and embrace my need for rest, pleasure, and relaxation. If I didn’t do a yoga-nidra meditation as a break, I might do it now, or often a walk helps me reconnect, breathing in the air, feeling my feet, taking in the sounds and sights of the neighborhood—and if needed, a gatha like “present moment, wonderful moment” (Thich Nhat Hanh) or another song.

Dusk invites another round of “Light and darkness” (unknown) and the evening song “Welcome darkness…” (Mountain Fall’s original version).

Bedtime includes a gratitude practice, a surrendering the day song, and another Marianne Williamson prayer, learned by heart.

This choice to sing, pray, and bless myself continuously throughout the day calls me back to presence, rewiring my brain to see through God’s eyes instead of my workaholic, speedy ego’s eyes, and brings my whole bodysoul alive. I am blessed.

Katy Taylor is a Holistic Life Coach, SomaYoga Teacher, Vocal Coach and singer, and Interfaith Minister. She helps people practice presence to come home to their bodysoul and find more ease and resilience in their lives. She has a free e-book of practices on her site: https://katytaylor.com/welcoming-the-sacred/.

The Feast of Brigid and Imbolc ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

St. Brigid at the Market

I saw her in the market

backlit in the doorway

from the evening sun,

blue cloak ripples like water

dandelions and primrose in her hand.

Passersby brush past

this moment of light and song

in a rush to get shoes off

and dinner on, just another day

of traffic, bills, and angry bosses.

I stood, mouth open,

holding three lemons,

a pile of sunlight,

a miracle in yellow,

tiny halos

a little girl stops next to me,

giggles, points to the door,

her mother’s yank

drags her back to the world of lists.

I fear I will forget

this supermarket vision late tonight,

reaching for the bowl of lemons

and simply seeing fruit.

–Christine Valters Paintner

Dearest monks and artists,

February 1st-2nd marks a confluence of several feasts and occasions including: the Celtic feast of Imbolc, St. Brigid’s Day, Candlemas, Feast of the Presentation, and Groundhog Day in the northern hemisphere! (Imbolc is August 1st in the southern hemisphere).

Imbolc is a Celtic feast that is cross-quarter day, meaning it is the midway point between the winter solstice and spring equinox. The sun marks the four Quarter Days of the year (the Solstices and Equinoxes) and the midpoints are the cross-quarter days.  In some cultures, like Ireland, February 2nd is the official beginning of spring.

As the days slowly lengthen in the northern hemisphere and the sun makes her way higher in the sky, the ground beneath our feet begins to thaw.  The earth softens and the seeds deep below stir in the darkness.  The word “imbolc” means “in the belly.”  The earth’s belly is beginning to awaken, new life is stirring, seeds are sprouting forth.

In many places the ground is still frozen or covered with snow, but the call now is tend to those very first signs of movement beneath the fertile ground.  What happens when you listen ever so closely in the stillness?  What do you hear beginning to emerge?

St. Brigid is said to bring the first sign of life after the long dark nights of winter. She breathes into the landscape so that it begins to awaken. Snowdrops, the first flowers of spring are one of her symbols.

On the eve of January 31st it is traditional to leave a piece of cloth or ribbon outside the house. It was believed that St Brigid’s spirit traveled across the land and left her curative powers in the brat Bride (Brigid’s Mantle or cloth). It was then used throughout the year as a healing from sickness and protection from harm.

Often in Ireland, I have heard Brigid described as a bridge between the pre-Christian and Christian traditions, between the other world and this one. She bridges the natural and human world. Brigid sees the face of Christ in all persons and creatures, and overcomes the division between rich and poor. Our practice of inner hospitality as monks in the world is essentially about healing all of places we feel fragmented, scattered, and shamed. One of her symbols is her cloak which becomes a symbol of unity. All can dwell under her mantle.

(The prose section was excerpted from our self-study retreat Sacred Seasons)

The poem above is from my first full collection of poems titled Dreaming of Stones being published by Paraclete Press which you can pre-order and is available in March!

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

P.S. Our southern hemisphere dancing monks can find a reflection on Lughnasa at this link>>

Dancing Monk icon of St Brigid  © Marcy Hall at Rabbit Room Arts (prints are available in her Etsy shop)