"I am going to start living like a monk..."

These photos and poems were inspired by two books I am praying with these days.  One suggested taking photos of the texture of your day and what you surround yourself with. Since I am recovering from foot surgery and it's been cold, I sit near the fire and hear these clocks ticking which, when I am aware of it, helps me to be in the moment and still myself.  The other recommended starting with, "I am going to start living like a monk," and just write your thoughts on that and then compose a poem from those thoughts.

Daily hours, daily rhythms,

gardens and cloisters, robes and tonsures 

these I associate with being a monk.

What, then, does it mean for me live like a monk?

Prayer.

My life saturated, punctuated with prayer.

Choosing God’s way, even when I don’t like it.

Compassion, service, obedience to Your will.

Ora et labora.

Rhythmical...peaceful—hah!

What monastery is always peaceful?—

Disagreements, appointments, crises;

different people with different ways of doing things.

Finances, storms, illness, death.

Peace is a goal, a gift—gained and lost

—and regained over a lifetime.

But eventually, deep down, in spite of troubles and trials,

a peaceful river flows,

streams of God.

And, increasingly, peace and prayer are woven

into the fabric of mind and heart.

The light of Christ brightens and underlays

even the dark night.

And growth happens.

Compassion, wisdom, 

fostered by obedience to the rhythmical flow, 

worn paths creating openings for Christ 

in the soul of a monk.

Trust grows,

trust in God’s guidance;

not always doubting my choices, His love;

peace about that even.

A sense of vocation,

living God’s call—or many callings.

Being in the moment, 

sensing the peaceful, eternal quality of each moment.

Seeing beneath the surface,

in touch with the Divine.

Order, simplicity—

even in this complex, chaotic life!

Letting go, receiving;

more rhythms to embrace.

Greeting others with a smile.

Offering the encouraging word, the helping hand;

sharing silence with grief.

Listening, always listening

to God, to the wind, to others

to my own heart

to what is beneath, unspoken

An ideal?  A goal—

"the upward calling of God in Christ Jesus.”

This, for me, is living like a monk.

One Word, Not Multiple Resolutions, for the New Year

A few years ago I read about choosing one word for the New Year as a focus rather than making a bunch of resolutions likely forgotten or broken.  The word may represent a growing edge, a way of becoming, a challenge, an encouragement, a signpost.  So that's what I've done for the past few years.  Problem is, I never did much beyond thinking about the word vaguely throughout the year and wondering why it didn't seem to make much difference in my life.

This year, rather than just choose a word that floats nebulously in the background all year, I've decided to more intentionally ingest and ponder it, allowing it to permeate and nourish me, rather like Lectio Divina, so I've started with art prayer journaling and two word clouds of synonyms created at wordle.com.

Choosing the word is more an intuitive, heart activity rather than a logical, mind-based one, though there is a logic to the word.  Rather than think hard about it, I think about my intention to have a word, then wait for one to come to me that seems right.  Fidelity came to me a month or so ago, and it's very appropriate, which was especially obvious after reviewing my journal entries for 2014, a yearly practice.

While there are multiple facets of fidelity to explore, my first and deep desire is for greater fidelity in my relationship with God.  To be:

• faithful in spending intentional, focused time with Him each day
• loyal to His will for me
• steadfast in loving others as He commands
• solid in my belief in His compassionate love and mercy for me
• devoted to Father, Son and Holy Spirit

Solid, true blue letters on a rock gives me a good image to carry.   Just the process of looking up synonyms and considering their nuances broadens and enhances my understanding of fidelity.  It's a good start.

Senses in Photos

In preparation for a retreat I am co-leading this April, I am finally diving into the many art prayer and therapy type books I have.  One had an exercise in which you take photos representing the senses, so I did that from my window seat yesterday in the afternoon sunlight.  I find photography can help me to be in the moment, see something familiar in a new way and appreciate the beauty around me.

Touch - I can imagine touching those prickly pinecones that seem to touch the sky

Hearing - the wind in the trees, the trees growing

Sight - my eyes and the camera catch the blur of motion and color of Catnip's tail

Smell - the warm woolly smell of the lamb

Taste - I remember Catnip licking my chin last night with her scratchy tongue

Knowing - the book adds a sixth sense of knowing;
I know beyond there is more than just what I see with my eyes.
This is one I feel I could ponder a while...

 I'm adding this because I like it.  I never saw this spot as an altar before, though it is often where I pray,
but seeing it in a photo makes me realize that it is a home altar.
I am even in the picture!

Headstands and Perspective

The apostles said to the Lord, "Increase our faith."

The Lord replied,

"If you have faith the size of a mustard seed,

you would say to this mulberry tree,

'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.

Luke 17:5-6

I participated in mass this Sunday at Mt. Irenaeus, a lovely rural Franciscan retreat center near my daughter’s upstate New York college. I was struck by Fr. Dan’s interesting take on the gospel reading from Luke 17 about having faith the size of a mustard seed and saying to the mulberry bush to be uprooted and planted in the sea. He saw it as a metaphor for being open to God who uproots us from our normal way of looking at life and turns us upside down on our heads, as it were, so that we see things from a new perspective.

I had been praying and thinking about this same idea of perspective on the way up to Houghton. Often lately I look at my life and think, "Oh brother, what a mess I am. I don't know what I want to do with my life once my kids are gone. What's wrong with me?" But instead I could think, "Well, I don't know what I want to do with myself once my kids are gone, but I know what I'm to do now, and with God's guidance, what I'm to be doing next will emerge." The situation doesn't changed, but my way of looking at it does. My attitude towards life is colored by my perspective. Do I look at situations the normal way, which for me often tends to the negative, or do I follow St. Francis in being a Holy Fool who stands on my head and see things from a new perspective?

“Any scene can be more freshly and clearly seen when it is seen upside down.” G.K. Chesterton

(photo: Chapel at Mt. Irenaeus)

Evening Quiet

One night this week I took a walk with my dog in the moonlight. Heading down the hill, the three-quarter moon framed by the trees bordering the road shone ahead through the clouds in the east. There is nothing like the moon and the clouds as the clouds alternately veil and reveal the moon. Beautiful, mystical, haunting. I strolled down the road enjoying the moon and clouds, the warm fall evening, the quiet and peace. My moon shadow and Romeo’s accompanied us back up the hill.

I had another evening like this the earlier in the week. After dropping my daughter off at her dance classes in Lewisburg, I drove to the library to pass the two hours, but didn’t feel like facing the large space and florescent lights; I felt like something quieter, more solitary, natural. So I went to the park on Fairground Road and sat in my car in the twilight watching the mallards and other ducks who live there and listening to quiet jazz on the public radio station. I just sat and observed the ducks waddling back and forth, quacking at one another, flying to and from the creek, wading in the rain puddles in the parking lot.

I was amused to see the ducks walk among the flock, quacking at one another. Were they greeting friends, scolding foes, remarking on the events of the day? Do ducks have duck friends? Do they spend their time with the same ducks all the time or just randomly group and regroup in the flock? One duck stood and groomed himself, running his smooth orange bill over and over his smooth gray chest, rubbing his smooth green head over and over his smooth brown back. He looked well-groomed to me but apparently he didn’t think so as he did this repeatedly. I've never taken time to watch a duck at his grooming ritual before.

I took a walk around the little park, noticing how the ponds and stream shone in the twilight reflecting the trees and evening clouds. Perhaps the reflection was how the heron who flew in spotted the place he would spend this night.

Gradually the ducks slowed down for the night as the light faded. One and then another would settle to the ground, and though it was hard to see distinctly in the light, some appeared to turn their heads over their backs and tuck them under their wings. Occasionally a few late evening ducks would saunter into a group of settled ducks, quacking and disturbing them so some of them too would stand up and join in. Eventually they all settled down again and grew quiet.

What a peaceful, refreshing way to spend the evening, being with the ducks as the day came to an end.