The Work of Love
My soul is rising through the anger and fear, up to the love that holds everyone so dear…… Snatam Kaur Whenever I drop inside for guidance about how to be and what to do about the state of the world, I get the same messages. Over and over again I hear, Stay close to God, and, Do your work. I’m jolted each time. It’s like being yanked back to center. It’s both embarrassing and comforting, and, it feels completely right. But why jolted and yanked? Because, as much as I might understand and comply with the pulse of my life, I continue to stray from my soul’s assignment sometimes. I continue to be seduced by conditioned ways of thinking and traditional ideas about relationships and forms for social change. Why embarrassing? Because, you’d think by now I would have fully embraced my soul’s mission here. I’m still reticent to share from the depths of my being that which is true beyond measure. Simply stated, that would be how much I love the world and all the beings in it. Part of me still wants to fit in to the over-personalized, competitive, soul-denying culture in which each of us struggles to survive. It’s a lot better than it used to be, but there’s still a ways to go. And yes, comforting and completely right. I’ve been following the rungs of the ladder of love and devotion all my life. It’s just that in the early years I didn’t know it, and now I occasionally lose my way. The comfort of the reminders from Deep Intuition strengthen my resolve. My perspective has grown and deepened as Spirit cleverly and often breathtakingly reveals itself to me. I’m now facing into an acceleration of intent and mission, the upping of the ante if you will . My sense is that God, the All, the Oneness, wants more of me. It wants me to trust in a deeper way. It’s taking me into new territory. I strongly sense this, and it’s compelling. The push comes from within. Luckily, Love is in charge, not me. My task is to fine tune my ability to follow inner guidance. Learn to take exceptional care of myself so that I’m always available when called upon to do the work of Love. Listen carefully and notice opportunities to contribute to the sweetening of the atmosphere for the beings I encounter. Resist cultural seductions and set aside conditioned concerns, knowing they are false and unnecessary. Know that true change comes with being with the way things are. Explore what comes without capitulating to anger and fear. Let myself be held by Love. As synchronicity would have it, last night, after an afternoon of writing all of the above, I clicked on a conversation on batgap.com between host, Rick Archer, and Terry Patten. Terry spoke eloquently about how to bring heart to the center of social activism. He’s put out a call with his new book, for “spiritual people” and anyone else to fully grasp the us-ness of the global crisis, and to recognize the immediacy of the moment and engage with others in heart based conversation and action in the political arena. In other words, set aside anger and fear, and lead with love. Have a strong spiritual practice and register people to vote! Then, as if that wasn’t enough, this morning, I came upon an audio of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. preaching to his people about the power of love and how to love your enemies. It’s the sermon he gave on November 15, 1957 from which has been extrapolated the famous phrase, Darkness...
Read More“For Strong Women” – How I Got Here
When I was coming of age as a feminist thinker, I was part of an enormous wave of women moving into higher consciousness. One of my greatest discoveries during this time — the nineteen seventies and eighties — was the poetry of Marge Piercy. I was recently reminded of this when I was searching for material to use in a workshop I was leading for women about spirituality. One of Marge Piercy’s most powerful and timeless poems is “For Strong Women.” It speaks volumes about how it is for us as women. It’s still deeply inspiring. You’ll find it in her book called The Moon is Always Female. A strong woman is a woman who is straining A strong woman is a woman standing on tiptoe and lifting a barbell while trying to sing “Boris Godunov.” A strong woman is a woman at work cleaning out the cesspool of the ages, and while she shovels, she talks about how she doesn’t mind crying, it opens the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up develops the stomach muscles, and she goes on shoveling with tears in her nose. A strong woman is a woman in whose head a voice is repeating, I told you so, ugly, bad girl, bitch, nag, shrill, witch, ballbuster, nobody will ever love you back, why aren’t you feminine, why aren’t you soft, why aren’t you quiet, why aren’t you dead? A strong woman is a woman determined to do something others are determined not be done. She is pushing up on the bottom of a lead coffin lid. She is trying to raise a manhole cover with her head, she is trying to butt her way through a steel wall. Her head hurts. People waiting for the hole to be made say, hurry, you’re so strong. A strong woman is a woman bleeding inside. A strong woman is a woman making herself strong every morning while her teeth loosen and her back throbs. Every baby, a tooth, midwives used to say, and now every battle a scar. A strong woman is a mass of scar tissue that aches when it rains and wounds that bleed when you bump them and memories that get up in the night and pace in boots to and fro. A strong woman is a woman who craves love like oxygen or she turns blue choking. A strong woman is a woman who loves strongly and weeps strongly and is strongly terrified and has strong needs. A strong woman is strong in words, in action, in connection, in feeling; she is not strong as a stone but as a wolf suckling her young. Strength is not in her, but she enacts it as the wind fills a sail. What comforts her is others loving her equally for the strength and for the weakness from which it issues, lightning from a cloud. Lightning stuns. In rain, the clouds disperse. Only water of connection remains, flowing through us. Strong is what we make each other. Until we are all strong together, a strong woman is a woman strongly afraid.– Marge Piercy Stay strong...
Read MoreMother Moon Supermoon
Mother Moon is drifting high Silent in the starry sky Feel the shadow of her eye Moon is on the rise. — Mother Moon chant* The full moon tonight is called a supermoon. Evidently, there will be two of them in this first month of our very new year. It’s heartening because it feels like the heralding of a turn for the better. 2017 has been tough for a lot of us and we could use some relief from the chaos and destructiveness of our world. Mother Moon’s power is subtle yet strong. It’s beautiful. She lights the night sky like a giant lamp, pulls on the oceans to create tides, and calls to us to awaken to ourselves. She influences the healthy growth of plants according to many gardeners. I have a personal relationship with the moon. I love her and look to her to help me through difficult times. She reassures me and reminds me that everything will be alright and to stay present with the way things are. She sits up there in the heavens looking beautiful and wise, and sometimes that’s enough. Many of my interactions with her have been spontaneous and surprising. They are always uplifting and empowering. There was the day I was feeling sorry for myself and feeling like no one understood where I was coming from no matter how much I explained myself. I strolled along feeling a little sad and lonely. It was morning in the wilderness a number of years ago, and the moon was on her way to setting in the day bright sky. It can be a little startling to see the moon in daylight, and I hadn’t realized she was there. I just happened to glance upwards. Moon shrugged her lunar shoulders and communicated gently and matter of factly. “I’m the only moon,” she said, “and it’s okay.” Oh. My God. Thank you, I responded, breathlessly. Thank you so much. So obviously right on. I certainly wouldn’t dream of wanting the moon to be different from the way she is. I adore her uniqueness, so perhaps I could appreciate my own as well. No reason to feel bad because you’re the only one like you. In other words, it’s okay to be just me and not necessarily understood by anyone else. My loneliness and sadness faded. Mother Moon’s message to me that morning was visceral. It bypassed my mind and went straight to my heart. It instilled the kind of knowing that resides in the tissues of the body and floats along in a sea of humility. It feels so true and right that all you can do is relax into the truth of it. There’s nothing intellectual about it and so it requires hardly any thinking. It is experienced as a gift. Tonight we will be treated to a full moon, a supermoon. May you be graced by the power and promise of Mother Moon. I wish you good tidings and a Happy New Year full of love and peace. *an arrangement of my Mother Moon chant was recorded by Sound Circle and can be purchased here....
Read MoreMorning Practice
Every morning heart and habit take me to a chair in my study where I can relax and simply be with whatever is arising in the moment. It’s a time of peace and opening, even or maybe especially when my mind is roiled by problems it thinks it needs to solve. Once the candles on my altar have been lit and I’ve taken a few slow easy deep breaths, I am usually able to sink into just being there. A large cup of nettle leaf tea, a string of prayer beads, and my journal are my only companions. Sometimes my body hurts with one or another of its myriad stresses and strains. I’ve learned that if I move a little and stretch before sitting down, I can find relief and balance. Sitting becomes easier then. It’s my very own morning yoga, a series of movements from my dance training, physical therapy exercises, and a bit of study of yogic asanas. I do what feels right in the moment and what I have learned works well for my muscles and joints. Added to this is the awareness that the sun is rising into a new day. A central practice for me is what I’ve come to call meditative writing. It’s a form of journal writing and is always a part of my morning practice. I write in a medium sized notebook with blank pages (no lines). It’s a well-made bound book, the kind ostensibly used by Ernest Hemingway and other famous writers. I love the feel of it, and the unlined pages give me the freedom to record whatever comes to me in whatever way I like. I note the day, date, and time. If it happens to be the birthday of someone close to me, I note that and send them a silent wish for happiness. If I’m engaged with a formal mantra sadhana, I note the number of the day of that. There’s a flow to it all and to any writing that follows. Any subject, thought, or feeling is eligible for the page. I’ve learned not to edit or censor what comes, but simply to write it down. Even if it’s upsetting. Even if I’m not sure what it means. Even if it seems like it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Meditative writing gives voice to an intuitive stream of consciousness, a heart stream if you will. It isn’t served by the rational, analytic side of my brain. It comes from more of a whole body brain, the place that occasionally produces songs and poems. The intuitive stream of consciousness is in touch with timeless realms of existence. It is actively receptive and open, which allows it to form questions and receive answers that might not otherwise be accessible. It advises gently and wisely and occasionally firmly. It opens to a deep joy of being, even when it makes me cry. Pauses occur where I am dropped more deeply into meditation. Breath slows or asserts itself boldly; there are fewer thoughts. I’ve learned to go with the flow of this, letting go into nothingness, relaxing and resting, letting the natural rhythm of the stream guide my mind. Eventually I “come back” to the sitting and the writing. Or, I sense that I’m done for that time and I get up and go on with my day. In these challenging times, it’s easy to feel scattered, ungrounded, disconnected, and overwhelmed. A morning practice strengthens and aligns you from within and can have a powerful corrective impact on your state of mind and ability to function. It can empower...
Read MoreThe Love That Binds
If We Die You shall know, my sons, shall know why we leave the song unsung, the book unread, the work undone to rest beneath the sod. Mourn no more, my sons, no more why the lies and smears were framed, the tears we shed, the hurt we bore to all shall be proclaimed. Earth shall smile, my sons, shall smile and green above our resting place, the killing end, the world rejoice in brotherhood and peace. Work and build, my sons, and build a monument to love and joy, to humor, worth, to faith we kept for you, my sons, for you. —Ethel Rosenberg Ossining, N.Y January 24, 1953 I was eight and a half years old when Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were executed by the U.S. government on June 19, 1953. I remember being at a hootenanny fundraiser sometime around that time. The visual memory is shrouded, but my emotional memory is clear, almost too clear. It was the moment my child consciousness took in that Michael and Robert, the two young Rosenberg sons had become orphans (adopted later by the Meeropol family), and that everyone in the room that day was living through a terrifying time. I felt shockingly sadder in my young self than I’d ever felt before or knew was possible. I got an email the other day from Jennifer Meeropol, granddaughter of Ethel Rosenberg, for the Rosenberg Fund for Children. She asked for support for her father and uncle who are petitioning President Obama to exonerate their mother. I froze, couldn’t move, and couldn’t sign the petition. The sadness and horror, now over sixty years old rose up to block me. I felt incapacitated and unsafe, and too scared to put my name on their appeal to Obama. I did sign a couple of days later, the delay no doubt caused by the nauseating undercurrent of threat that we’re living with now that triggered my traumatic reaction. More and more, the current times seem to parallel the anti-communist hysteria of the nineteen fifties, albeit with different personnel, formats and prejudices. The thugs and bullies coming into power seem a lot like the ones from prior days, as does the mean-spiritedness. It’s discouraging to say the least, but it’s also a wake up call. How am I going to be in these new times? What can I do that will help to turn the tide in the direction of peace? I don’t have money to give, so my actions, which include signing all kinds of petitions, have to be more creative. I want to make myself available more than ever to help build “a monument to love and joy,” as Ethel Rosenberg so exquisitely and poignantly put it. I will do everything I can to strengthen and fortify my heart so that I can withstand whatever is in store for us. I pledge now to spend the rest of my life in this service, and to do it with the love that binds me to this...
Read MoreSadness Has Its Place
There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love.” — Martin Luther King, Jr. I read Leonard Pitts Jr. this morning, which I do whenever the Daily Camera reprints his column. I’m usually inspired by his beautifully crafted essays, and this one was no exception. But… it is incredibly and powerfully sad. Synchronistically, what he wrote matched my mood, particularly the feeling of overwhelm about how much not good stuff is happening in this country. How really is it that the white cop who shot the black man in the back eight times was not convicted? I find daunting the prospect of having to be more activist than I’m prepared to be. Are we really going to have Trump for president? People are writing to the electors who are set to meet in a week to decide our fate as a nation. Can I do it? Do I have the stamina to write all those letters? Is signing all the petitions I’m signing doing any good? Can I find the strength to be active and effective while burdened by a pervasive fog of sadness about the world situation? I don’t know. I really don’t. Part of me wants to escape and stay hidden in the hillsides of my beautiful Boulder. However, the old but still young activist in me wants to get going and do the right thing, start moving mountains like we did in the sixties. Get loud and proud and relentless. Channel righteousness into social change. Stand for good. Etc. etc. and like that. I have to honor the sadness first. That’s the only way I’ll be able to do anything. I’ve learned over this longish lifetime that emotions rule. I ignore them at my peril. They are the electrical signals that eventually show me the correct action to take, and the correct timing. If I’m deeply sad, which I am, I need to inquire within, ask myself what is going on and listen carefully to the answers I’m getting from inside. If I’m tired like Pitts, and I definitely am, I need to face into that and look for ways to contribute that don’t endanger my own wellbeing. I need to remind myself that it’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to be sad. I do have every confidence that we will get through this dark period. Why? Because I have lived through numerous dark periods before, and because no matter what’s happening, life keeps going. I’m learning to accept what I have been taught, namely that whatever happens happens. Understanding this deceptively simple phrase includes knowing that I can’t know most of what’s going on most of the time, and that being too attached to what I think is going on is always unhelpful. I need to cultivate discernment. I’m not going to find my way in these strange times by being judgmental. Love is the basis for the deep disappointment and sadness I feel, just like the quotation from MLK says. I thank Leonard Pitts for putting it at the top of his column. When I sit with my sad feelings, breathe and wait, maybe sing and write, what always shows up is the deep love I feel for the world and for people, the earth and all living beings. I look to that love to show me the...
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