Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 90

Monk in the World Guest Post: Julia Casciola

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Julia Casciola's reflection, "Feather on the Breath of God."

The monk archetype has long been my comfort zone; I have been a lover of silence, solitude, beauty, nature, prayer and listening, while working in the world and being a mother. It has also been a dream of mine to create a small green monastery in the mountains near where I live.

But it has changed; I cannot say that I am living as a monk-in-the-world. It feels instead as though my inner monk has been subsumed into something more unknown, more risk-bearing, and more surrendered at this time.

The word monarchos (meaning "single" – the root of the word monk) feels at the centre of things. I take it to mean singleness of heart and attention (more than single in the sense of physical solitude), but in both senses there has been a shift for me. From a solo and at times a shared path, to an invitation to communion. There is a sense of having gone as far as I can on my own, and of being drawn into a collective emergence, despite myself. Collective not only as individuals in partnership and collaboration, but in true meeting, innocent and transparent . . . and what may then flower between us, beyond what we can know on our own and by our own will.

Another dissolving is the "old" masculine residue in the monk archetype for me. The ways and practices of the monk-in-the-world are still there, focused and supportive, but they are being merged in a deeper movement that is willing to risk everything for personal and collective emergence. There is increased willingness to not know, to move in the dark, to be without a script, to grow by subtraction, and to have no defined outcome or reward.

I wish I could say what is emerging and that I am courageous. I could come up with names such as the Beloved but they are not my immediate experience. Right now I am simply a feather on the breath of God, now floating, now falling, now tossed and twirled, now born.

Julia lives in Cape Town, South Africa. She is a nature and mountain-lover, a wordsmith for a more beautiful world, and makes art pieces of the sacred feminine.

 

Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist starts tomorrow! ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

With our Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist online retreat starting tomorrow, I offer you these lovely and wise words from Sister Macrina Wiederkehr, who so generously wrote the preface to my book The Artist’s Rule:

“When Benedict of Nursia abandoned his studies in Rome, he found his way to a cave in the hills of Subiaco. This cave would become his sacro speco (sacred space), for it was there that Benedict devoted three years of his life to search for God. Out of his deep listening in the cave of solitude was born one of the most loved rules of all ages—The Rule of St. Benedict.

The Artist’s Rule has the potential of becoming your own sacro speco. Just as Benedict spent three years of solitude in a cave, this inspiring work invites you to spend twelve weeks in the cave of your heart, nurturing your creative soul and sitting at the feet of your inner monk.

The monk, a universal archetype of the search for the divine, represents everything in you that leans toward the sacred, all that reaches for what is eternal. The monk represents everything within you that is drawn to seek with unwavering love, to wait for the Holy One with reverential awe, to praise, bow and adore.

The artist speaks to that part of you which yearns for beauty and creativity. Your inner artist invites you to participate in the great work of healing the world by lifting out of your senses creative images, words and actions that inspire others to live lives of wonder and surprise.

Christine Paintner’s joyous spirit and love for the monastic way shines through her teaching as she describes the various ways the tools of the monk can become tools for the artist. The Benedictine vows of stability, conversion, and obedience can become a staff of support, leading you to a greater faithfulness to your creative soul.

Both the monk and the artist have fundamental voices that are needed for the transformation of our world.

Although many writers have tried to help us open the door to our creativity, The Artist’s Rule seems unique in revealing to us a special kinship between the monk and the artist. The threads of monastic wisdom woven through these pages can serve as an 'endowment fund.' Dip into this sacred reservoir when you need the discipline to align your heart’s desires with your actions.

Having had the good fortune of being a participant in Christine’s online course, 'Way of the Monk; Path of the Artist,' I know experientially that the artist and monk cannot be hurried. An artist who hurries has lost his original integrity. A monk who hurries has lost a little of her soul. Both monk and artist are teachers of the contemplative way.

This jewel of a book will help you tap the eternal in your deep soul.  Let the monk and the artist, who have always been your silent companions, lead you to your inner monastery and to your inner art studio. Christine will be your trustworthy guide.”

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 to our Monk in the World Guest Post series from the community. Read for Elaine Breckenridge's reflection on the Refuge Practice.

“The Spirit will bring the selves of the self into a unity around the center of the indwelling Christ. The New Self will be a kind of inner community based on the principle of love in which there is room for everyone.”

-Martin Smith, A Season for the Spirit, Cowley Publications,1991

Thanks to Martin Smith, Thomas Merton, Richard Rohr, Christine Valters Paintner; I have thought about the selves of the self for some time now, longing to experience healing of an inner split I carry within. Thinking has not got me very far. Contemplative prayer using creative visualization and dream work have been my lifelines in my ongoing healing process.

Recently, I have found a new spiritual practice that is supporting my recovery, using an adaptation of the Buddhist Refuge Practice. Following the teachings of Lama Yeshe and Lama Zopa Rinpoche, I met someone who invited me to try a very simple version of it. The heart of the Buddhist practice is calling on the divine, (Buddha) teachings (Dharma) and the community (Sangha). I have adapted the practice by calling upon my selves of the self and the communion of saints. Below, I share my first experience of praying in this way.

As I prepared myself to enter into stillness, in my imagination I found myself entering the chamber of my heart thru Newgrange, the Irish passage tomb. I visited that place a decade ago but the profundity of that experience has been imprinted on my brain. It is an easy place to both recall and return to.

On passing through the corridor I found myself in the pitch black burial chamber until a simulation of the winter solstice light shot through the darkness illuminating myself as well as the room. There in the room, I had the experience of meeting the many selves of myself and Jesus. Though the little “i”, my false self, resisted what was happening, grace invited my surrender and I found myself engaged in a beautiful circle dance with community of my selves and the communion of saints. I was reminded of the beautiful mural of the Dancing Saints on the walls of St. Gregory’s Church of Nyssa in San Francisco  pictured here.

Shortly after having this experience of contemplative prayer, I wrote the following poem so that I would both remember and carry it my heart.

Enter the cave of longing,

a burial chamber and birth canal

where dampness and darkness

give birth to new life.

Held close in the spaciousness of silence

light shoots through the corridor of my heart,

spilling and splashing

over, around and within me

outing my golden shadow.

She comes. The little child asking me to play.

“Play?” I ask. “I’ll do some research and get back to you.”

(What the hell do I know about playing?)

“No, don’t leave!” she says, stomping her foot. “I will show you.”

Hmm…“and a little child shall lead them?”

With hands up, I surrender.

She takes them and we twirl together

swirling like two spinning tops.

Faster and faster, until we break apart–just

in time for Jesus to appear, to take one of our hands into his.

Others appear, beckoned by his invitation,

taking our empty hands.

I look into the eyes of the would-be mother hen

“Really Jesus?” I protest. “Them? No!”

I stomp my foot because I see them–

Yeah, the parts of myself who I’d rather not see let alone be seen with.

But we’re caught by the love of she who would gather us under her wings.

The False Self, the child, the banished ones all hold hands.

And we move. Awkwardly. Stepping on each other’s toes,

noticing that Jesus has once again done his disappearing act.

Who will deliver us from this folly?

Right on cue, we are joined by my mentors, teachers, priests, healers,

lovers, poets, artists, friends and family, the True Self at the center.

I’ve found a place of refuge

Where I breathe Spirit’s breath

and the selves of the self, my committee of critics

are pulled into the circle dance of love and celebration

with angels and archangels and the whole Communion of Saints.

We are one!

The refugee has found a home

In the lovely gift of Refuge Practice.

This adaptation of Refuge Practice has offered me hope and a new tool to use in my spiritual practice. Where will it lead? I am not sure. But the journey involves Jesus, companions who love me, dancing, and Ireland. It is a compelling inner community to return to again and again; a community in which “there is room for everyone.”

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.

Pentecost and Holy Surprise ~ A Love Note from your Online Abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

"What is serious to men is often very trivial in the sight of God. What in God might appear to us as 'play' is perhaps what He Himself takes most seriously. At any rate the Lord plays and diverts Himself in the garden of His creation, and if we could let go of our own obsession with what we think is the meaning of it all, we might be able to hear His call and follow Him in His mysterious, cosmic dance."  ~ Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation

We live in the midst of chaotic times. As crises continue to build, we may find ourselves confused or fearful. We may want to gather in the upper room of our lives with our closest friends and close the door on a troubled world just like the disciples. Yet chaos always calls for creative response, it always beckons us to open to holy surprise.

Today is the feast of Pentecost, that glorious final day of the season of resurrection. The Apostles were together experiencing bewilderment over how to move forward when the Holy Spirit flows among them and breathes courage into their hearts. If we have stayed committed to our pilgrimage this far then we may still wonder why we have journeyed so long and still are full of fear and unknowing.

It says that those who witnessed this event were "amazed and perplexed." Some were confused, others cynical. Peter reminds the crowds of the words the prophet Joel declared, that all will be called to dreams and visions, all will need to be attentive to signs and wonders.

The story of Pentecost asks us a question: How do I let my expectations and cynicism close my heart to the new voice rising like a fierce wind?

In Benedictine tradition, conversion is a central spiritual practice. Conversion for me essentially means making a commitment to always be surprised by God. Conversion is the recognition that we are all on a journey and always changing. God is always offering us something new within us. Conversion is a commitment to total inner transformation and a free response to the ways God is calling us and to new images of God. Eugene Peterson describes it this way: "What we must never be encouraged to do, although all of us are guilty of it over and over, is to force Scripture to fit our experience. Our experience is too small; it's like trying to put the ocean into a thimble. What we want is to fit into the world revealed by Scripture, to swim in its vast ocean."

Several years ago I was going through an intense period of discernment. I had finished graduate school and found that my desires were no longer in alignment with the path I had initially imagined for myself. I spent long periods of time in silence and solitude, engaging all of the essential techniques for discernment I had learned in my studies and previous practice. I was taking this very seriously because this was my life path I was pondering. Then one night I had a dream about koala bears trying to get a map out of my hands so they could play with me. In my reflection time that followed I discovered a playful God who was calling me to take myself and my discernment far less seriously than I had been. I love to laugh but in my longing to discover the next path, I had forgotten what Merton reminds us in the opening quote: how playfulness is woven into the heart of the universe, how sometimes what God takes most seriously is what we easily dismiss.

Pentecost demands that we listen with a willing heart, and that we open ourselves to ongoing radical transformation. We discover that the pilgrimage does not end here, instead we are called to a new one of sharing our gifts with the world. Soul work is always challenging and calls us beyond our comfort zone. Prayer isn't about baptizing the status quo, but entering into dynamic relationship with the God who always makes things new. Scripture challenges our ingrained patterns of belief, our habitual attitudes and behavior. Conversion is about maintaining what the Buddhists call "Beginner's Mind." St. Benedict speaks to this in his Rule with the call to always begin again.

To be fully human and alive is to know the tension of our dustiness, our mortality, to be called to a profoundly healthy humility where we acknowledge that we can know very little of the magnificence of the divine Source of all. The Spirit descends on those gathered together in a small room and breaks the doors wide open. We are reminded that practicing resurrection is not for ourselves alone, but on behalf of a wider community. Not only for those with whom we attend church services, but beyond to the ones who sit at the furthest margins of our awareness. Pentecost is a story of the courage that comes from breaking established boundaries.

We may limit our vision through cynicism, but equally through certainty or cleverness. Sometimes we fear doubt so much that we allow it to make our thoughts rigid, we choose certainties and then never make space for the Spirit to break those open or apart. The things we feel sure that God does not care about may be precisely the source of healing for a broken world.

Life isn't about knowing with more and more certainty. This is the invitation of our creative practice as well, to move more deeply into the mystery of things. I find that the older I get, the less sure I am about anything and the richer my life becomes as I make space for unknowing, expansiveness, and possibilities far beyond my capacity for imagining. If when Pentecost arrives you do not find yourself perplexed or amazed, consider releasing the tight grip of your certain thoughts and make space for holy surprise.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

New poems published and more!

I am delighted that my poem "Cosmos" above appears in the newest issue of Tiferet Journal (I have permission to include it here but worth subscribing for the whole thing.)
My poem "St. Dearbhla's Eyes" is out in the newest issue of Stinging Fly  (a literary journal in Ireland)
My poem "St. Kevin Holds Open His Hand" will be in the next issue of Skylight 47  being launched next Thursday at Over the Edge here in Galway City!
My poem "God Among the Pots and Pans (after St. Teresa of Avila)" is in the newest issue of Presence: A Journal of Catholic Poetry
I also have an article on pilgrimage in the July issue of U.S Catholic magazine which offers 7 ideas for pilgrimages you can do from home.
And last but not least, I am excited for my 11th book to be published this fall by Ave Maria Press: The Soul's Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seeking the Sacred (can be pre-ordered at Amazon and B&N)

To read more of my poems online you can visit my About page and scroll down to find some links there. My first collection of poems, Dreaming of Stones, will be published by Paraclete Press in 2019.

Monk in the World Guest Post: Bianca Esquivel

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Bianca Esquivel's reflection on prayer and work.

"Prayer is work and work can become prayer." ~  St. Benedict

When I was a child, I would observe my mother in the act of various homemaking duties. Whether washing dishes, cooking, sweeping, or driving my brother and me to school, she always seemed to be at peace. She would be in silence and would be so focused on each task. In my naivete, and because we were always laughing and chatty, I would think that maybe she was upset. I would ask her and she would respond, "Oh no, I'm not upset. I'm meditating. I'm praying." She taught me that to wash dishes was a privilege because it meant we had just enjoyed a great meal. To cook meant that we had the blessing of food and community. To my mother, prayer is alive in everything, if we make it so.

As I grew, I learned in a deeper way what this meant, through conversations with my mother and through my own practice. My mother taught me mindfulness and the sacrament of the present moment, influencing me at such a young age by her very own example. These memories are etched in my heart and not a day passes where I don't thank God (and my mother) for all I have learned.

I am an adult now, embracing 30 years old next summer. My mother's teaching of the Benedictine way became my own and has fused with every part of who I am, especially because of the very nature of the work positions I have been called to hold. I've served as a chaplain resident in a hospital and as a programs director for a nonprofit serving those who are incarcerated or formerly incarcerated. Presently, I serve in the field of organ donation, journeying with families who choose to save lives in the midst of their pain and grief. To me, all these experiences are truly life-giving and are much more than "work". They are sacred opportunities I have been given to serve others and to grow in love, living through the mysteries of this "one wild and precious life" (Mary Oliver).

I am often asked how I am able to "do" the work I have done and currently do. The truth is that I often feel as if I'm having an out-of-body experience. I don't think I do anything, other than engage my best self and get out of the way so that I can be an instrument for peace and love. I use breath, journaling, and other little moments I can find to create a sense of ritual, to pause before I am with a family or anyone I meet who is grieving, struggling, angry. When I sanitize my hands before entering and upon leaving a hospital room, I use that time as a cleansing prayer of gratitude, for strength and mercy. When I make notes about the encounters I've had, I process and debrief internally. I practice walking meditation and delight in my time in nature each day.

Sometimes hospitals can feel rushed and chaotic. Eventually, events settle and most often, hospitals become places of waiting. This is hard for families and staff. I've learned to lean into the waiting, the "thin veil" of life and all that encompasses a life that is lived. This takes work and is a practice. In the doings, I am given the courage to BE. I am reminded to create intentionality, to hold onto it, to celebrate and fully live each moment. These graces humble me and give me such awe, helping me thrive in the midst of all that is around. Being present does not mean forgetting the past or ignoring the possible outcomes. It means surrendering to the experience in this very present time. Living with this attention and awareness in my work (and a lot of time is invested in my work) helps me continue to practice what my mother showed me all those years ago. I strive each day to have gratitude be the foundation of every moment so that anything I'm doing or going through has the potential to be transformed into something greater. This practice is a very real part of who I am and who I am becoming. It is part of me when I eat mindfully, when I exercise or dance or meet my yoga mat, when I write or create, when I shower, when I drive. It is a part of everything I do and how I live.

And of course, there are moments when I don't practice this as well as I would like. As with a sitting meditation, I return to it the next chance I get. I want to be a forever pray-er. I feel my heart opening, my spirit expanding, and am grateful.

Bianca Esquivel lives, works, and plays in Austin, Texas. She currently serves as an In-House Coordinator for Texas Organ Sharing Alliance. She has studied at The American University of Paris, Oblate School of Theology, and completed her Clinical Pastoral Education in San Antonio, Texas. This summer, she was a pilgrim journeying along part of the Camino de Santiago with Heartbeat Journeys and 15 other pilgrims from around the world, and also was a pilgrim in France. She is working on completing her spiritual direction certification. She celebrates life through many hobbies and passions, including reading, writing, volunteering, traveling/being a pilgrim, paper/fiber arts, holistic wellness, hiking, movement (aspiring triathlete, yoga, dance), being in nature, gardening, astronomy, studying languages, eating/living vegan, and learning to play the ukulele. You can find her on instagram @fashioned_for_joy and at www.fashionedforjoy.wordpress.com.

Feast of St. Brendan the Navigator ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

Tuesday, May 16this the Feast of St. Brendan, one of my favorite of the Irish saints. His story embodies the journey of the pilgrim. Here is an excerpt from my book Illuminating the Way: Embracing the Wisdom of Monks and Mystics.

Help me to journey beyond the familiar

and into the unknown.

Give me the faith to leave old ways

and break fresh ground with You.

Christ of the mysteries, I trust You

to be stronger than each storm within me.

I will trust in the darkness and know

that my times, even now, are in Your hand.

Tune my spirit to the music of heaven,

and somehow, make my obedience count for You.

—The Prayer of St. Brendan (attributed to Brendan)

I was not that familiar with Brendan the Navigator until I moved to Ireland. Officially, he would be known as Brendan of Clonfert, and there is a Cathedral in Clonfert, Ireland bearing his name and a site said to be his grave where I have visited.

The “Navigator” or “Voyager” is his more commonly known title because his life was defined by his seven year long journey across the sea to find the Island Promised to the Saints. He would have visited the island of Inismor off the coast of County Galway to receive a blessing from St. Enda before embarking on his journey, so I relish knowing I have walked and sailed on some of the same landscape as he.

He hears the call to search for this mythical island and it is revealed in a dream, an angel says he will be with him and guide him there. He brings along a group of fellow monks for community, and searches for seven years sailing in circles, visiting many of the islands again and again. Each year he celebrates Easter Mass on the back of a whale. Each year he visits the island of the birds, where white-feathered creatures sing the Psalms with his monks. Only when his eyes are opened, does he see that this paradise he seeks is right with him.

There is, of course, the actual narrative of a physical voyage. Tim Severin, a modern sailor in the 1970’s, re-created the voyage Brendan took, rebuilding the same boat, and landed in places like Iceland and Greenland. There have been suggestions that Brendan was perhaps the first to land in North America. This is the outward geography of the journey.

There is also a deeper, archetypal layer to this journey, which resonates with our own inner pilgrim – the part of ourselves drawn to make long voyages in search of something for which we long. This is the inward geography of the journey, and one where we may physically only travel a few feet or miles but the soul moves in astronomical measure.

The Navigatio, as the text of Brendan’s voyage is known in Latin, is a story of a soul rooted deeply in a monastic tradition and culture, as well as the liturgical cycles and rhythms, in early medieval Ireland. Each of the various parts of their journey take place in 40 and 50 day increments to reflect the liturgical seasons and the rhythms of fasting. They arrive to landfall to celebrate the major feasts and always accompanied by the singing of the Divine Office and chanting of the psalms. Time is not linear on this journey. Brendan and his monks move in circles, spiraling again and again to familiar places from new perspectives.

This journey is an allegory of spiritual transformation and the soul’s seeking to live and respond to the world from an experience of inner transfiguration with themes of Brendan’s waiting, anticipation, striving, searching, and seeing from a deeper perspective. The heart of the voyage asks us, what needs to change for the Land Promised to the Saints to be recognized? What is the way required through both illuminated and shadowy interior landscapes? Are we able to stay present through moments of solace, ease, and joy, as well as the anxiety, fear, and sometimes terror that comes when we let go of all that is familiar to follow our heart’s calling? Can we see the difficult journey as a passage of initiation?

There is a great deal of waiting in this journey, so much unknowing. There are whole seasons when they feel impatient and confused about why they can’t find the place they are seeking so diligently. Yet it is the very journey through the shadows that is required to make the desired discovery. Brendan doesn’t arrive to the promised land he seeks until he has made the arduous journey within.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World Guest Post: Frank Faine

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Frank Faine's reflection God's invitations.

There she sat in a bright pink flowered dress, with a beige knit hat, thinning white hair underneath.  Pulling over a chair beside her in the day room of her assisted living facility, I spotted the vacant smile of many of the Alzheimer’s patients I spend my days visiting as a hospice chaplain.

Making direct eye contact I introduced myself to Gertie in simple words to tell her who I was and why I had come. I then went on to explain I had spoken to Rachel, her daughter, who thought her mother would appreciate talking to someone who might possibly connect Gertie with her Jewish faith and tradition during this season of life.

“I come from a Jewish background too," I said in a pleasant and reassuring voice.  Then I asked, “Would it be all right if we talked some about being Jewish when I visit?”

I watched Gertie’s face slowly brighten like the sun coming from behind a cloud as her eyes met mine in recognition.

“Yes I would like that," she replied in a warm quiet tone.

These simple words, her gaze suddenly became holy ground for me.  A moment of God’s chesed, loving-kindness, unexpected grace, I’ve continued to ponder.

If my experience of twenty-five plus years as a chaplain, pastor and spiritual guide to folks with chronic and terminal illness has taught me anything, they have schooled me in the many ways to hold space for such folks.  I have struggled, learning mostly by trial and error on how to be welcoming by getting out of the way.  Often this meant opening my heart to embrace their illnesses and disabilities, along with their individual situations or circumstances, all the while holding myself, my personal identity in careful check.

Yet this encounter with Gertie began to reveal such hospitality may be incomplete.  While I want to believe both my desire and my experience are sufficient for creating welcoming spaces with intention and compassion, something in Gertie’s quiet reply suggests otherwise.  Her words stirred questions, unsettled my certainty.

Could they be an invitation, God’s way to beckon me to cross a threshold into a deeper sense of hospitality, one rooted in who I am, rather than my skills or my professional role as a chaplain?   I wondered are they a summons to “take off my shoes” as God directed Moses as he stepped closer to behold God’s presence in the midst of the Burning Bush?  As Moses drops his sandals, he uncovers his feet in an act of vulnerability and welcome to his true self, the one rooted in God revealed in that very moment.

As I continued to ponder this invitation in Gertie’s words alongside Moses shedding of his shoes as acts of hospitality, I also found myself struck by the timing of my visit with her.  I don’t believe it was coincidental we had our conversation on that late August morning, just barely weeks before Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur—the Jewish New Year and the Day of Atonement.  During these High Holy Day Jews everywhere enter a time for renewal and repentance of—Teshuvah— a return to the true self, the one founded on God’s lovingkindness to each and all of us.  This Teshuvah calls us to embrace God’s eternal welcome to us, as we practice that same welcome to each other.

Gertie’s warm and quiet affirmation of our shared Jewish faith and heritage also confronted me with my tendency to ignore, downplay, or even push into the shadows this essential part of who I am. Here, too, I must acknowledge again this very Jesus I’ve embraced, I seek to follow was himself, first and foremost a Jew.  His mission was to proclaim God’s chesed and shalom—God’s lovingkindness and peace in their fullness to all people, then and now. This message, the very Gospel which I seek to incarnate into my life and ministry rests on Biblical and Rabbinic Judaism—the wisdom of Torah and Talmud—which birthed and raised me

I’m now beginning to recognize this invitation to a deeper inner hospitality in Gertie’s gaze and words; this is Teshuvah, a return, welcoming more openly my Jewish faith and tradition as a core part of my true self.  As my naked feet feel the warm soil, I remember again these words from Mark Nepo, a poet and teacher who also comes from a Jewish background, “The soil of life in which we grow speaks in a different language then we are taught in school…Truth and love and he spirit of eternity are rarely foreseeable, and clarity of being rarely comes through words."  (The Book of Awakening, page 274)

Here, too, as I take the risk with these same naked feet to tread onto such sacred ground hallowed by inner hospitality and Teshuvah, St Benedict whispers, “Frank as you welcome Gertie, you welcome yourself." In that moment we hear, as Moses did, God’s eternal I AM, and together Gertie and I may listen again to our true selves boldly speak.

And we rejoice.

Frank Faine is a hospice chaplain, spiritual guide, and labyrinth facilitator and writer living in Orlando, FL   In addition he leads groups and retreats on men’s spirituality. Frank is also completing a forthcoming poetic memoir entitled “A Fierce Tenderness: A Gay Man’s Journey into the Authentic Masculine”. He can be reached at frank@fierceandtendergayman.org

Falling in Love with the Monastic Way ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks and artists,

With our online retreat Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist starting later this month, I offer you an excerpt from the introduction to The Artist’s Rule which shares a bit of my story of how I came to this work of bringing the contemplative and creative paths together:

“You may be coming to this book as an artist or writer seeking spiritual practices to help ground and support your creative expression. Or you may be someone who is already familiar with the treasures of monastic tradition, but are looking for another window onto this way of life. Perhaps you have intuitively known the connections between contemplative practice and creative expressions, and this book will feel like coming home.

In a sea of titles about monastic spirituality and about creativity, this book offers a fresh lens on both by breaking open monastic practices as valuable ways to encourage and sustain a creative life. What I have discovered in my own journey is that the contemplative path allows my creativity to flourish in ways it never did before I embraced monastic practice in my life. This book is for anyone who longs for ways to integrate their spiritual path and creative longings more deeply.

Discovering the monastic way has been one of the great joys of my life. Years ago I thought the life of monks had nothing substantial to offer me in the world beyond the monastery walls. Ironically, while growing up in New York City, one of my favorite museums was The Cloisters, a branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art on the north end of Manhattan overlooking the Hudson River. It was created from elements of five different medieval French monasteries. I loved wandering the cool stone hallways, gazing at the pages of illuminated manuscripts, admiring the unicorn tapestries, sitting in the peace and refreshment of the medieval garden. I was not aware of it consciously at the time, but the aesthetic dimension of monasticism had captured my heart long before I knew about the contemplative wisdom and rhythms of prayer that would one day become my spiritual home.

While I was in graduate school, I became enamored with Hildegard of Bingen, the twelfth-century Benedictine abbess who was an artist, visionary, musician, theologian, preacher, spiritual director, and healer. Her sheer creative breadth captivated me. I felt a kinship to her expansive spirit. She could be a wisdom guide for me across time. I grew curious about the context of her life and what supported her creative flourishing. As the abbess of a Benedictine community, she was, of course, deeply immersed in monastic life and practices, and so my interest in her life became the doorway into my own passion for Benedictine spirituality. Benedict’s Rule, written 1500 years ago, offers balanced and profound wisdom for living a contemplative, spirit-centered life even in today’s complex world.

Through Hildegard’s guidance, I discovered that the way of the monk is deeply connected to my path as an artist and writer. Monks have been the great preservers of literary tradition, saving many sacred texts from destruction and loss during the Middle Ages and illuminating manuscripts with gorgeous art. They have offered their gifts in the service of creating beautiful spaces of sanctuary. Monasticism has given us the great tradition of chant to immerse us in the continuous cascade of praying the Liturgy of the Hours. These ways of being in the world have been cultivated over hundreds of years of practice and offer us tremendous wisdom about what it means to live a meaningful, vital, and creative life.

When my husband and I moved to Seattle after graduate school and knew it would be home for a while, I made the journey toward becoming a Benedictine oblate. An oblate is a layperson or clerical member who makes a commitment to the prayer life and spirituality of a particular monastery and to live out the Benedictine way in her or his everyday life. St. Placid Priory is a community of sisters about an hour from where I live. The sisters and my fellow oblates offer me tremendous support in living contemplatively in the world. I have a deep love of Benedictine tradition, as well as the gifts of Celtic and desert monasticism. The monastic way is my primary path through the world and the foundation of my work in spiritual formation, direction, and teaching.”

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Monk in the World Guest Post: Carmen Brown

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Carmen Brown's reflection on welcoming the Inner Critic.

Christine Valters Paintner’s reflections and writings both challenge and soothe me like no other. This emotional juxtaposition often compels me to take the painful first step on a contemplative pilgrimage into self-discovery and love.  After reading Paintner’s reflection about welcoming all parts of ourselves as sacred, I realized that I had not been especially hospitable to my Inner Critic. I wondered if it was even possible for this tormenting, depleting voice of criticism to have any redeeming value. This part of me was the loudest voice—the most familiar yet unwelcomed.  She started shouting on the day of my abuse at age 4 and has continued on for the next 43 years.

One day, I decided to tangibly characterize her.  I sketched her out in my art journal and gave her a name.  Around her picture, I wrote out the hurtful words and phrases she daily breathed into my wounded soul.  I put down my pen and looked at her.  Taking in letter after letter of the words that broke my heart, tears began to fall down my cheeks and compassion filled my heart—for her.  I cautioned myself:

 This cannot be happening. I am not supposed to love her; I am trying to destroy and silence her.

And, there it was. The Divine truth that set me free: destruction brings death; acceptance brings healing.

You see, until then, I had never fully realized that by hating her I was empowering her because a spiritual being cannot peaceably exist without love, acceptance, and harmony—especially within oneself. Paintner beautifully summarizes this yielded truth, “The heart of hospitality is to welcome in that which is most unknown, most strange, most discomforting, as the very face of the divine into our lives."

In Matthew 22, Jesus instructs us to, “love your neighbor as yourself.”  How can I love others if I not only do not love but despise parts of myself? And, perhaps more importantly, how is this lack of selves-acceptance affecting my journey as a monk in the world with my brothers and sisters to whom I am called to welcome as Christ?

As I walk with these contemplative questions on my healing journey, I continue to write poetry to help me process the complexities and layers of trauma with my Healer.  In those moments of creation with the Holy Spirit, I find strength and encouragement.  I offer my wounded self in exchange for His peace in sacred moments of Divine alchemy that only He could fashion.  The following poem reminds me of the importance of those moments and the promise of His transformative powers.  And, most importantly, to persevere through the pains of labor in exchange for the divine gift of welcomed wholeness.

Recoil

Sometimes, I forget

Become carefree, open

Dare I say – happy,

Fulfilled, loved, and safe.

Then, you remind me.

The you(s) always come,

Unexpectantly,

Like a bullet

Piercing a hopeful heart

On a wedding day.  Or

A broken soul slaughtering

The innocence as he implodes through

The Parisian countryside.

Joie De Vivre.

Those moments.

That moment where bliss

Is dampened by a dark, heavy blanket that

You know too well, but

Tried to forget

Again.

Those moments where consistency

Becomes inconsistent.

And, spirals me once again

Under the covers

Of hellish ruminations

Of which, Herculean strength cannot

Lift the load.

Furrowed deeply in my mind,

Each moment planting the toxic

Seeds in the garden of my

Discontent.

Tended.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Closing the aperture

Another centimeter. Just

When the baby

Was about to be born.

Carmen L. Brown 2017

Carmen L. Brown is an associate professor of English at a community college in Knoxville, TN.  Additionally, she is a beholder of all things herbs.  This passion led her to create Carmen’s Herbs, Balms and Salves, a small farmer’s market business of organically-crafted herbal skincare focused on the Creator and the awareness of self-nurturing practices.  She can be reached at cbrown9673@aol.com and carmensherbsbalmsandsalves@aol.com