Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 85

Monk in the World Guest Post: Lorraine Roy

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Lorraine Roy's reflection "Thinking in Circles: A Journey Through the Rings."

Heartwood – Oak   Framed textile, 12×12”

At the moment I’m shutting down my textile studio after a long day. The chaos of my work surface recedes. My thoughts take a quiet stroll through the day’s creative journey, where my eyes and hands led me outward from the warm heart of a tree, and back in again.

I have been a professional artist working with textiles for over 30 years. I also hold a BSc in Horticultural Science. Not surprisingly, my work is inspired by trees and the many ways they connect with each other, other organisms and humans. The biology, mythology, culture and symbolism of trees have given me an infinite source of material to draw upon, gracefully guiding me from one absorbing subject to the next. Lately my generous muse has led me to circles.

The circular motif perfectly mirrors the inter-dependence of forest trees in their natural setting, and reinforces a spiritual interpretation of this remarkable phenomenon. Recently, I finished producing a collection of twelve round wall hangings called Woven Woods, which highlights the science of tree communication.  Circles took hold of my imagination and, in my wish to delve deeper into their mystery, I came upon the idea of working with tree rings. Tree rings are a living journal of a tree’s history: its growth, development and endurance. They record events in the life of a tree by building layer upon layer of fresh cells, leaving the marks of events forever preserved within.I’m intrigued. My new task is to explore a question: what can tree rings teach me?

Wind in the Willow #2   Framed textile, 12×12″

Taking this challenge to the studio, I begin by layering circle upon circle of plain and printed fabrics, and stitch them down. Each new layer represents a fresh phase of the tree’s life. In my mind I situate myself at the heart’s core, and, like a tree, build outward, letting stitches and colours guide me.

Through the rings I imagine tracing my own life path, from youth, to jaded young adult, to my long break from my Roman Catholic roots. I lose myself among the layers, through the various bumps and spots, the tortuous side trips, the dark tunnels, each step leading me further from the heart. Eventually I finish the rounds, and find myself outside the circle, past the bark layer, surrounded by empty space.

I look down at my work, surprised. How did I get here, so far from the heart?

Mother Oak   Framed textile, 16×16″

As I examine my emotions, I am suddenly reminded of my many failed attempts at communing with real trees. I’ve studied various techniques on how to approach them, imagining the power of their radiating energy, hoping to experience a warm response. Nothing works. I am always on the outside, cold, rejected. Perhaps I am taking the wrong approach. I wonder – instead of expecting energy to radiate outward from the tree, why don’t I allow it to draw me in? Is it possible to follow the rings back in as I have come?

Curious and excited, I seek out a grand white oak and press my arms around her fragrant being. I let go of expectations and allow myself to fall. The difference is magical. In this moment I stand at a labyrinth’s entrance, sensing the power of her heartwood. I am guided inside, drawn up into the branches, and pulled downward into the roots. At last, the right way to approach a tree. And perhaps this is the finest message of all: she has always been there for me.

Call of the Heart   Fabric wall hanging   36”

We move through our lives unconsciously collecting, storing and sometimes burying our own memories. We add layer upon layer of life experience and distraction, moving around and away from our center. We need to be vigilant because at any moment, we can be offered the gift of return. I examine my own life trajectory – one that took me far from my roots, physically and spiritually. The centre is slowly, miraculously, calling me back, and I am listening. It will likely take a few more curves and tunnels to recover, uncover, the span of my life, but a true strong heart awaits. All I need to do is let myself go.

 

 

Lorraine Roy has a BSc in Agriculture, majoring in Horticulture. She has been a full time professional artist working with textiles for over 30 years. In her work she focuses on trees and the myriad connections they have with each other and with other organisms and humans. She lives and works in Dundas, Ontario, Canada. Connect with her online at www.LroyArt.com

Celtic Conversations with Kayce Stevens Hughlett

I am delighted to introduce a new podcast series, Celtic Conversations, inspired by my new book The Soul's Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seeking the Sacred and my time living in Ireland. I am hosting a series of conversations with authors, artists, and guides about Celtic spirituality. So find a cozy space and pour yourself a cup of tea. (Also available at Soundcloud, Stitcher and iTunes).

My guest today is Kayce Stevens Hughlett and we had a delightful conversation about discovering oneself through travel, how it is never too late to journey, the divine presence in the elements, the wildness of Ireland, the land as container and threshold place, ancestral healing, and her new memoir.

Kayce Stevens Hughlett is a tender, a healer, an author, and an artist of being alive who believes in everyday magic and that complex issues often call for simple practices. Breath. Body. A single step. She began her working life as an accountant for a multi-national firm and later transitioned into the more apt fit of healer when life’s harsh circumstances sent her searching for answers and solace on a less-linear path. Kayce’s official titles include: Licensed Mental Health Counselor, Spiritual Director, Life Coach, Speaker/Facilitator, and co-creator of SoulStrolling® ~ a movement for mindfulness in motion, at home or abroad. She is the author of three books, including her new body-mind-spirit travel memoir, SoulStroller: experiencing the weight, whispers, & wings of the world.

 

Kayce shared this blessing to begin our time together:

I see a time of seven generations when all the colors of mankind will gather under the sacred Tree of Life and the whole Earth will become one circle again. –Crazy Horse

*Opening music track is an excerpt from Simon DeVoil's song "Water" on his album Heart Medicine (used with kind permission)

Orchard and Forest ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest Monks, artists, and pilgrims,

I have been going back through the Abbey archives and found this sweet post written almost six years ago when John and I were living in Vienna and making plans to move to Ireland. It was a very sweet and vulnerable time of our lives. So I am offering these words to you once again, several years on, from a different place in my life:

John and I have made the discernment to move to the west coast of Ireland at the end of December and so this threshold time left here in Vienna has become a profound opportunity for retreat, turning inward, savoring our experience of these days, and sharing with one another the dreams being birthed within us.

We have taken on a shared rhythm of life that has become deeply nourishing and such a gift.  Part of that rhythm is a time of praying lectio divina together each morning.  We are praying texts from the prophet Isaiah, letting them work on us, and then having a conversation about what we are discovering.

Last Friday the phrase "the orchard (shall) be regarded as a forest" (Isaiah 29:17-24) shimmered for me.  Pears and woods have been calling to me this autumn season. In my recent rereading the story of the Handless Maiden, I was so touched by her solitary journey through the forest to come upon the pear orchard and imagining those pears heavy with sweetness bending down to nourish her. Here in the scriptures orchards and forests were again dwelling together in the poetry of the text.  Images rose up in my prayer: ripeness, lush, sweet, fruitfulness, greenness, savoring, the beautiful vineyards of Vienna which nestle against the woods, the cultivation of orchards and vineyards to bear fruit, the wildness of forests as a space beyond the confines of cultural expectations.

As I listened for the invitation, I saw how orchard and forest together form a symbol for the monastic life.  They invite us into the balance between creating rhythm and structure through the cultivation of fruit and the orderliness of orchards, and the freedom and instinctual power we find in the heart of the woods.  In east Indian culture, the forest was considered "beyond the pale," which means beyond the rules that normally restrict us.  The ancient monks fled to the desert and off to the wilderness to find this place "beyond the pale" of established society.  But they brought with them scriptures and shared wisdom which offered the trellis of support for their practice.  The two together is what allowed them to flourish.

I am called to the wild edge of the sea in Ireland because it shimmers for me as a place to explore what being a monk "beyond the pale" might mean.  I want to live in this holy landscape and see what it teaches me about the dance between rhythm, Rule, wildness, and dancing freedom.

I am reflecting on the incredibly rich movements I have experienced, both inner and outer, and how these are calling me to move into the coming year.  To think that a year ago our "plan" was to come to Austria for only the summer to study German and explore the possibilities for a future move.

I am listening for a word to guide me in the coming year.  Clearly pears and viriditas are shimmering for me.  My word this past year was "savor" which has been very meaningful.  The root of the word savor is the same as the root of wisdom.  I have been reminded again and again to slow down and linger over these incredible moments I have been given.  To savor life's moments.

So much of my life I have lived with the subtle fear of not having enough – enough food, enough money, enough love, and the fear of not being enough.

I think these fears for many of us are at the root of the compulsions we grasp at to fill ourselves, to seek satisfaction.

But of course, we are only left hungering again, or numb to life's grace.  The achievements, the feasting, the toys, the seeking after love, all leave us empty.

It is only when we remember that the branch of the pear tree is already bending herself to us so no reaching is necessary that we are satisfied.

But even more than that.

When we realize that everything, everywhere, including ourselves, is already suffused with the greening life force of the one who sustains us.  And all we have to do is breathe that in and know ourselves sustained, suffused, spread through with the love we so desperately seek.  This has been the gift of this first leg on my pilgrimage.  To know this not just with the mind, or even the heart, but a fully embodied knowing so there is no gap between knowing and the truth of it.

And even more than that, this heavy ripening fruit which exceeds all measure, must be given away, offered freely with no fear of depletion.  Not in a self-sacrificing kind of way, but one which honors my own gifts and real physical and emotional limits, and makes no apologies for radical self-care of my body vessel, time when I dip back into this suffusion of love and grace which of course is already there.  It is our forgetting that exhausts us.  The monk in the world practices remembering this sacred rhythm of inward and outward extension again and again.

What the pear is offering to me is a deep trust that I am suffused already with what the poet Rilke called "a paradise of light" and through cultivating my own growing sweetness, I bear fruit which must be offered to others.

Each of us has a particular kind of heavy sweetness to give to the world.  The kind that overflows naturally when we experience ourselves as nourished.

May you cultivate sweet fruit and sweeter wildness and offer it freely, no holding back.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World Guest Post: Barb Morris

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Barb Morris' reflection on the Hospital of the Soul.

This is a story of following hunches, nudges, and breadcrumbs dropped by the Holy Spirit.

I found El Hospital del Alma on a cold, rainy day on the Camino. El Hospital del Alma, “Hospital of the Soul,” is in Castrojeriz, along the Camino de Santiago, on the vast, interior Spanish plateau called the Meseta. The Camino Francés begins in the beauty of Navarra and Rioja among the Pyrenees, rolling hills, rivers, and vineyards. The Camino ends in the beauty of Galicia, with its mountain ranges, deep green fields, and rainbows. In between is the Meseta – arid, flat, monotonous, and seemingly endless.

The two weeks in May that we spent walking across the Meseta were unusually cold and wet.

El Hospital del Alma was a welcome refuge at the end of a long, wet slog of a day along muddy paths and rocky roads. Finding it was an accident. Most pilgrims walk through Castrojeriz unaware of El Hospital del Alma’s existence. After our usual post-walk showering and laundry routine, we went in search of our usual post-walk beer and tapas. I don’t remember now why we departed from the main route through Castrojeriz. Then, there it was – The Hospital of the Soul. I knew immediately that I needed this place, especially the sunroom with its glass ceiling, warm wood stove, quiet music, and soft furniture. The artist owner provided strawberries, cookies, and tea. Other pilgrims soaked in the gift of this house with its brightly painted rooms, bookshelves, colorful fabrics, and photographs.

And its warmth. Oh, its warmth.

My journal entry for that day reads, in part, “I have found my life’s work on day 16 of my Camino. This is surprising to me .… I’m constantly astounded these days – by how much I walk, by the beauty around me, by my strength …. I felt a total, complete soul hit the moment I walked in here …. My 'job' is to create a space like this – art, photography, poetry, books, funky simple beauty – to open it to people who need it. Who crave it like I am craving it. This makes no intellectual sense.”

As a step in following my soul’s irrational guidance, I now offer regular Hospital del Alma opportunities. I provide tea and cookies as retreatants arrive and settle in. We open our time with community Lectio Divina. (I use Abbess Christine’s book Lectio Divina as a guide.) After Lectio, some participants choose silence while others stay and talk. Then we come together for facilitated conversation about a specific topic, usually an outgrowth of Lectio. A simple soup and bread lunch ends our time together.

I continue to be surprised by our Hospital of the Soul. Here’s one example. Last month, rather than picking a piece of poetry or scripture based on a hunch or yearning as I usually do, I went “hard-core monastic” and used the gospel appointed for the day from the Episcopal Church’s daily lectionary readings. I consulted a reliable source, Forward Day by Day, for the reading, which was Matthew’s account of the feeding of the five-thousand (Matthew 14: 13 – 21).

One of our regular participants is a practicing Quaker. Another has a profound discomfort with organized religion. All of us have some qualms about church. There was a little unease in the room when I announced the text.

In Matthew’s account of this story, Jesus has just heard that Herod has beheaded John, and he goes away to a deserted place. The crowd, “about five thousand men, plus women and children,” gets wind of Jesus’ whereabouts, and they follow. What does Jesus do? I imagine him wiping away his tears and indulging in a sigh of exasperation before he gets to work. As Matthew puts it, Jesus “had compassion on them and cured their sick.” He teaches and heals. And then he feeds the people. Or, rather, he tells his disciples to feed the people.

When our group listens deeply to a text in the container of Lectio, we typically hear different things. Last month, however, we all heard variations on the same theme. We are, here in the United States, living with a government doing brutal things. We were just beginning to learn of our president’s policy to separate children from their parents at our southern border. Our take-away, to a woman, was that in the face of evil acts, our task is to stay faithful to our calling – to teach, heal, and feed. To choose compassion and generosity, over and over again, just as Jesus did. Like Jesus, we wanted to withdraw to a deserted place. And, following Jesus, we will instead respond to the needs of a hurting world, trusting in the sufficiency and mercy of God.

Here’s another surprise. Forward Day by Day had the wrong gospel listed that day. They were a week early with Matthew’s feeding of the five thousand. It’s the only time I’ve known the editors to make an error.

The reading was incorrect, and the reading was perfect for us.

My husband’s desire to walk the Camino led me to El Hospital del Alma, which led to gatherings of women seeking a healing space for themselves and others, which led to deep reading in community Lectio.  Holy breadcrumbs, followed faithfully, lead to healing and wholeness for us as individuals and for the world in which we live.

Barb Morris is a life coach, teacher, and retreat facilitator living in Bend, Oregon with her Episcopal priest husband. They walked the Camino de Santiago in 2014, and the trails of Central Oregon as often as they can. Connect with her at www.barbmorris.com.

Celtic Conversations with Pius Murray

I am delighted to introduce a new podcast series, Celtic Conversations, inspired by my new book – The Soul's Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seeking the Sacred – and my time living in Ireland. I am hosting a series of conversations with authors, artists, and guides about Celtic spirituality. So find a cozy space and pour yourself a cup of tea.

My guest today is Pius Murray and we had a delightful conversation about a more embodied way of being, presence in the landscape, the story of St. Colman and his time as a hermit, Pilgrim Paths Ireland, slowing down to see ("all rushing is violence"), rituals he leads on his spiritual walks, the gifts of poetry, transitional spaces and thresholds, and cultivating awareness of wow moments.

Pius Murray N.T., B.A., H.D.E.(Hons.), LL.B.(Hons.), Diploma in Celtic Spirituality has his own guided walks business, Walk With Pius . He is a founder member of Pilgrim Paths Ireland and a member of the Burren Ecotourism Network . He is a member of the Burrenbeo Trust and a Burren Conservation Volunteer.


He organises and leads walks, especially Inspirational Walks which enable walkers to connect with nature and with the spirituality of the landscape in the Burren and on Inisheer, for visitors of all nationalities, students of all levels and a variety of associations and organisations. Pius lives in Corofin, County Clare with his wife and family.

Pius shared this beautiful blessing to begin our time together:

I arise today

Through the strength of heaven;

Light of the sun,

Radiance of the moon,

Splendor of fire,

Speed of lightning,

Swiftness of the wind,

Depth of the sea,

Stability of the earth,

Firmness of the rock.

I will this day.

—St. Patrick's Breastplate Prayer (excerpt)

*Opening music track is an excerpt from Simon DeVoil's song "Water" on his album Heart Medicine (used with kind permission)

Join us for Honoring Saints and Ancestors (an online retreat) ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Inheritance

I take down the generic

white jug from the shelf,

the one made with ten thousand

others in a factory in Taiwan.

I wish it were the Meissen porcelain one

with the blue onion pattern that survived

two world wars, but not my need

for funds to finish graduate school.

I long, too, for the cut crystal bowl,

etched with delicate flowers

in which you served ripe, sweet berries

but was later sold to pay for books.

Or the silver set with your initials

engraved on the handles, I imagine

a stranger now running her fingers along

the grooves those letters make.

I only held onto the coffee cups from which

you sipped your Kaffee in the afternoons,

a slow pause in the day, your eyes looking

far into the distance.

—Christine Valters Paintner (first published in Skylight 47)

Dearest Monks, artists, and pilgrims,

The photo is of me as a young girl sitting with my father on a bench in the Austrian Alps, taking a break from one of the many hikes we took together in the summers.  I have shared some of my journey with him here before – his layers of addiction, his inability to offer unconditional love, his narrowness of vision.  This is a part of my inheritance that I continue to name and own.  His grief and despair flow through me, rising and falling like the tide, and I make space for them within me.

Joy and wonder are there too.  I hold the objects that belonged to him like a talisman pressed into my palm, pointing me in the direction of a wide landscape of unlived possibility. I follow this compass for him and for all of my ancestors who were bound by fear and a rejection of their deepest longings.  I live into my own delight for his healing and for my own.

My father died 22 years ago.  Several summers ago I journeyed to Latvia, the land of his birth, a place he had to flee at age twelve, not knowing he would never return again.  There I encountered the vulnerable little boy he once was. A boy who walked barefoot along the edges of the Baltic Sea, whose heart must once have been as wide as the ocean and raced with excitement in his chest in wonder at the beauty of it all.  And I discovered he is still very much alive, running across hot summer sand, relishing the cool breeze through his damp hair, arms spread wide, eyes closed, turning slowly.  In quiet moments I turn with him, revolving around a stillpoint within, and I hear him whispering that he is free, that I am free.

If you want to make time and space for remembrance of those who have walked before you, please join us for our online retreat Honoring Saints and Ancestors (starts tomorrow!)

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Monk in the World Guest Post: Jamie Marich

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read of for Jamie Marich's reflection "Jerusalem."

I can fit the old city

In the palm of my hand

From where I stand

On the Mt. of Olives

Oh, Jerusalem—

The vision of what

Spirituality could be

And yet religion divides you

Religion causes war

Religion tears people to shreds

Because everyone believes

Their word to be the holiest

Yet as I hold Jerusalem

In the palm of my hand

I know that the Holy of Holies

Lives inside of me

All of this beauty will not last

And if the last war destroys the last building

True holiness remains

In the hearts of those left to bear witness

During my first trip to Israel in June 2018, I had the privilege of meeting two individuals who shared key insights with me. The first was Alexandra Cohen, a Jewish woman I met through common friends of ours in a yoga community to which we both belong. Alexandra (Arti) is a teacher and a writer who lives in Israel. In a riveting conversation that took place on a Saturday night in Haifa, she shared this magnificent reflection about the Holy of Holies as something that exists within us. Her teaching on the Holy of Holies corresponds with a core truth of yoga, specifically emphasized in the lineage in which we study. As she observes in her teaching, so much of the conflict and bloodshed is about where the external expression of the Holy calls home.

Is bloodshed and conflict among peoples inevitable unless we recognize that the Divine is within us? Does fear drive us to do insane things to each other because we somehow fear that we’re missing out on something? Something magical, mystical, special, and chosen? As I travelled to Jerusalem and toured through the sacred city the following day, the questions prompted by Alexandra’s insights stirred within me. I hope that my new friend continues to share her ideas on this with the world because in them, I believe, exists a pathway to greater peace and enlightenment.

The next evening at sunset, a Palestinian taxi driver named “Jimmy” offered to take me up to the Mt. of Olives, the famous place where Jesus prayed on Holy Thursday before he was arrested. Jimmy told me, “It’s the best view in all of Jerusalem. You can really hold the whole city in the palm of your hand.” And when I got out of the cab to take in the view shown in my pictures, I was amazed. I extended my hand and discovered that the entirety of the Old City rested on my palm. I was so glad I accepted this offer to take in the view. Experiencing Jerusalem in the palm of my hand is an experience I can never forget. As I engaged in that practice, I savored a wild sense of integration about what Jimmy taught me and what Alexandra taught me. I am a Catholic-Christian by heritage and in meeting both Israeli and Palestinian people on my journey, so many of the dots about my spiritual journey connected. What I learned was so overwhelming I found it difficult to put into an essay or any more substantive discourse. I hope that this poem and these pictures offer you a glimpse into my internal process of engaging with the Holy Land, its complexities, its perils, and its wonders. How you engage with Jerusalem may teach you more about yourself than you ever realized.

Jamie Marich, Ph.D., LPCC-S, LICDC-CS, REAT, RMT travels internationally speaking on topics related to EMDR therapy, trauma, addiction, expressive arts and mindfulness while maintaining a private practice in her home base of Warren, OH. She is the developer of the Dancing Mindfulness practice (www.dancingmindfulness.com). Jamie is the author of four books, including the popular EMDR Made Simple. She is co-author with Dr. Stephen Dansiger on her most recent book, EMDR Therapy and Mindfulness for Trauma Focused Care.

Celtic Conversations with Jenny Beale

I am delighted to introduce a new podcast series, Celtic Conversations, inspired by my new book The Soul's Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seeking the Sacred and my time living in Ireland. I am hosting a series of conversations with authors, artists, and guides about Celtic spirituality. So find a cozy space and pour yourself a cup of tea. (Also available at Soundcloud, Stitcher and iTunes).

My guest today is Jenny Beale and we had a delightful conversation about finding Celtic spirituality in New Zealand, St. Brigit of Kildare and her goddess tradition, the story of Brigit and her cloak, sacredness of the landscape, the four Celtic festivals, the inspiration behind building Brigit's Garden, the gifts of winter, and the saging process.

Jenny Beale has always found inspiration in the natural world and is particularly interested in the intersection between Celtic spirituality and nature. Fifteen years ago she founded Brigit’s Garden in the West of Ireland, a Celtic-themed garden celebrating the Brigit tradition. Brigit’s Garden is a place of tranquillity, closeness to nature and environmental education, and welcomes pilgrimage and other groups from all over the world.

Jenny shared this beautiful traditional blessing to begin our time together:

May the road rise with you

may the wind be always at your back

may the sun shine warm upon your face

and the rain fall softly on your fields

until we meet you may God hold you in the hollow of God's hand.

*Opening music track is an excerpt from Simon DeVoil's song "Water" on his album Heart Medicine (used with kind permission)

Remembering Those Who Walked Before Us ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

We are approaching the Celtic feast of Samhain, the great doorway into the dark half of the year in the northern hemisphere and a time when the veil is considered especially thin. This is my favorite time of year, when I feel the most energized and my heart comes alive to the wisdom of those who have walked before me. I share with you a short excerpt from our upcoming Honoring Saints and Ancestors online retreat:

Psychologist Carl Jung wrote extensively about the collective unconscious which is this vast pool of ancestral memory within each of us, it is a kind of deposit of ancestral experience. He believed it comprises the psychic life of our ancestors right back to the earliest beginnings, nothing is lost, all of the stories, struggles, and wisdom are available to us. Each of us is an unconscious carrier of this ancestral experience and part of our journey is to bring this to consciousness in our lives.

He even believed it comprises our animal ancestry which existed longer in time than our human existence. It is the place where archetypes emerge – those symbols and experiences that appear across time and cultures. The stories of our ancestors are woven into the fabric of our very being. As the poet May Sarton writes: “Now the dead move through all of us still glowing. . . What has been plaited cannot be unplaited . . .  and memory makes kings and queens of us.”

Jung wrote:

I became aware of the fateful links between me and my ancestors. I feel very strongly that I am under the influence of things or questions which were left incomplete or unanswered by my parents and grandparents and more distant ancestors. It often seems as if there were an impersonal karma within a family, which is passed on from parents to children. It has always seemed to me that I had to answer questions which fate had posed to my forefathers, and which had not yet been answered, or as if I had to complete, or perhaps continue, things which previous ages had left unfinished.

The invitation for this season ahead is to remember and honor these stories which live inside of us, many of them unfinished or incomplete. We let the “lost human voices speak through us” and perhaps discover our own deepest longings are woven together with theirs. Consider spending some time in your journal holding this image of offering space for the lost human voices of your ancestors to speak. What stories might they tell? What wisdom might they offer?

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World Guest Post: Kathryn Coneway

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Kathryn Coneway's reflection on being a monk and artist.

I want to start living like a monk…

quiet, listening

feeling patterns – from the drum of heartbeat

to the timber of voice

and the cadence of speech

Waking early becomes less a chore

and more a sacred rhythm

The dog’s eager animal companionship

guides me to a friend for the journey

to move, to begin, to be aware

in the pre-dawn hours.

A moving into the world

rather than away –

taking with me an inner rhythm –

my touchstones, breathing,

pausing to see the patterns,

points of connection.

I am going to start living like an artist…

Well, yes,

but maybe out loud

this time,

a bit less hidden

Remembering

I am

following

an ancient path.

Tapping into the old way,

into wisdom.

Deep and worn smooth

by the touch of hands,

High touch,

seeking connection

The art of living, making,

and learning

to frame my practice

Art is a way to newness

around each bend

openness to begin

and to see where the practice leads,

to invite others on the journey

to share vision.

I want to start living like a mystic…

full of wonder, curiosity, awe

to let dreams weave between

black branches

and to stand tall

and in contrast

like that white-barked tree

I want to come out of hiding

without feeling I must DO

something to earn my place

My place is reverence,

attention,

eye contact,

soft voices,

space for now to happen,

to be discovered anew.

I wrote this poem several years ago, the first time I read The Artist’s Rule.  I was in a time of transition, having just closed an art studio I ran for the previous seven years and looking to make more time for my artist self and my own creative practice.  Part of my self reflection during this time was realizing how well I framed space for others to do creative work and to share and how much I also needed to find a way to frame that space for my own practice.

The identities of monk, artist and mystic spoke to me then and continue to do so.  My journey as an artist continues to evolve but today it includes more time for my own creative practice as well as work in community with leading groups in exploring the sacred space created through shared creative practice.

My personal mission statement for my work is as follows and grows out of pieces of the identities of monk, artist and mystic in my poem:

A studio is a sacred space – a space to explore and form relationships with materials, with others and with a deeper sense of self.  The act of making quiets the mind, invites us to be fully present and opens us up to connections.  Moments of connection spark curiosity, wonder, gratitude, and the urge to share what we discover.  Sometimes we leave traces in images and objects we make; other times are more fleeting and leave their mark in new ways of seeing, empathy for another or a feeling of groundedness and connection to something greater. Community helps hold and tend this space – a creative and spiritual home for solitude as well as shared experience.

Kathryn is most energized by how community forms around creative practice.  A practicing artist, she focuses on collages inspired by time spent in nature and on creating color wheels as a contemplative practice.  Through her business, Art at the Center, she conducts teacher training and workshops for community groups on artistic practice. She is the author of two children’s books and creates miniature labyrinths for Art-o-mat, a program that converts retired cigarette machines into art vending machines. A role dear to her heart is directing art camp at Shrine Mont Camps for the Episcopal Diocese of Virginia.  More of Kathryn’s art and writing can be found on her website, www.kathrynconeway.com