I would wish to put a pic here, but have not obtained permission. Please click on this link to view pic... Cosmic Dream by Tina Salvesen
Suzanne Guthrie, Episcopal Chaplin at Cornell University has been staying with us this past week over the school break. She presided over the Mass with us yesterday. Her reading of the gospel had me totally entralled.
You know how sometimes you can read something over and over again until it becomes so rote you stop paying attention? Maybe you pick up a new perspective based on where your life happens to be at this time. This is especially true when reading scripture. One of my all-time favorite scriptures from the Christian texts of the Bible is the first 18 verses of the first chapter of the Gospel of John.
Yesterday at the reading of the gospel, Suzanne substituted
one word throughout, and it wrapped me around a deeper understanding of the passage than I'd ever had before. Slow, contemplative reading will give it life beyond the mere words.
in the beginning was the dream,
and the dream was with God,
and the dream was God.
the dream was in the beginning with God.
all things came into being through the dream,
and without the dream not one thing came into being.
what has come into being in the dream was life,
and the life was the dream of all people.
the dream shines in the darkness,
and the darkness did not overcome it.
there was one sent from God, whose name was john.
a witness to testify to the dream,
so that all might believe.
the dream which enlightens everyone,
was coming into the world.
the dream was in the world,
and the world came into being through the dream;
yet the world did not know the dream.
the dream came to what was its own,
and the people did not accept the dream.
but who received the dream,
who believed in the dream,
became children of God.
and the dream became flesh and lived among us,
full of grace and truth.
from the dream's fullness we have all received,
grace upon grace.
the law indeed was given through Moses;
grace and truth came through the dream.
no one has ever seen God.
it is the dream,
close to God's heart,
who has made God known.
Just think. You and I and all created beings are an answer to God's dream. There is only unity.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Secrets and Shame -- Advent Lesson #2
What do I want to say? It's always hard for me to write when I haven't written for over a week or more.
I've been doing some "considering" again...
I've been thinking about shame.
One of my sisters asked me why it was I could post in a public forum about my most recent struggle with depression and not tell the ones to which I'm closest with, live with and have a relationship with.
I paused and thought for moment, sinking down into myself willing to look at whatever it was....
It was shame. And I explained how writing it in a forum that was removed from the personal and direct was an effort to push past my comfort level and the shame I was feeling about it all. So I "put it out there," "said it."
I think subconsciously I knew one or more sisters may read my blog, and therefore would find out about it that way. But writing it in a blog was less of a risk for me, less scary, than saying something directly and getting immediate feedback.
Shame -- responding through fear -- was dictating when, how much, with whom, and in what format I would share the information. (Sidebar: Although I did not do it this time around, I'm an advocate for going the direct way whenever possible!)
One thing I do wish to be clear about is that the issue was not that my community of sisters wouldn't be compassionate and supportive, but that I was too ashamed and scared to risk checking it out. And most likely no matter what my sisters said to reassure me, there would be a part of me that doesn't trust that it's for real. Because it's hard for me to comprehend how someone could be compassionate and supportive of me when I'm feeling shame about who I am, my very being.
In the worst of depression I become the Queen of Projections! For example, I believe no one wants to be around a depressive, so surely others don't want to be around me when I'm depressed. Another example: I believe because I grapple with depression in my life that I'm a burden or not a viable member of community (or society for that matter). And I fear others will think the same way, as well. "What if that's true?!" (In the pit of depression it's not exactly a reality one wants to face.) So you can see how depression sort of skews rational thinking and blocks out wisdom, truth and light!
There was a real part of me that wanted to share my struggle with my sisters, but there was a bigger shameful part of me that just wanted to keep it to myself and do my best to hide it.
So...all of this hiding because of shame has lead me to think about Mary, the mother of Jesus. (And, about my own birthmother.) Although Mary could not 'conceive' of the idea of what the angel Gabriel was saying, her response was one of openness and willingness: "Be it as you have said." Society's response was: This is a shame! (to be pregnant out of wedlock).
For those who don't know yet, I was given up for adoption. Five years ago when I, by chance, had the opportunity to reunite with my birth family, my maternal grandmother told me my mother's pregnancy was a shameful thing, especially during the early 60's, and that's why they decided to keep the reality of my life a secret to their graves.
Somewhere along the way (maybe since before my birth) I've internalized the message that my very existence is something to be ashamed about. Intellectually and rationally I know that's not true. It doesn't make believing it in my gut any easier.
Shame is a powerful weapon. It's used to repress and oppress others. It breeds secrets and mistrust. It encourages judgments rather than compassion. It's a monster that takes on a life of its own, and has long-reaching effects. It separates us from the Divine, and from the Divine in each other.
So as I approach, yet another, birthday (Dec 18th), here's Advent Lesson #2. It's a thought to ponder and consider along beside me:
Can you imagine if Mary and Joseph (because of shame) had decided to keep the reality of Jesus' birth a secret?
I've been doing some "considering" again...
I've been thinking about shame.
One of my sisters asked me why it was I could post in a public forum about my most recent struggle with depression and not tell the ones to which I'm closest with, live with and have a relationship with.
I paused and thought for moment, sinking down into myself willing to look at whatever it was....
It was shame. And I explained how writing it in a forum that was removed from the personal and direct was an effort to push past my comfort level and the shame I was feeling about it all. So I "put it out there," "said it."
I think subconsciously I knew one or more sisters may read my blog, and therefore would find out about it that way. But writing it in a blog was less of a risk for me, less scary, than saying something directly and getting immediate feedback.
Shame -- responding through fear -- was dictating when, how much, with whom, and in what format I would share the information. (Sidebar: Although I did not do it this time around, I'm an advocate for going the direct way whenever possible!)
One thing I do wish to be clear about is that the issue was not that my community of sisters wouldn't be compassionate and supportive, but that I was too ashamed and scared to risk checking it out. And most likely no matter what my sisters said to reassure me, there would be a part of me that doesn't trust that it's for real. Because it's hard for me to comprehend how someone could be compassionate and supportive of me when I'm feeling shame about who I am, my very being.
In the worst of depression I become the Queen of Projections! For example, I believe no one wants to be around a depressive, so surely others don't want to be around me when I'm depressed. Another example: I believe because I grapple with depression in my life that I'm a burden or not a viable member of community (or society for that matter). And I fear others will think the same way, as well. "What if that's true?!" (In the pit of depression it's not exactly a reality one wants to face.) So you can see how depression sort of skews rational thinking and blocks out wisdom, truth and light!
There was a real part of me that wanted to share my struggle with my sisters, but there was a bigger shameful part of me that just wanted to keep it to myself and do my best to hide it.
So...all of this hiding because of shame has lead me to think about Mary, the mother of Jesus. (And, about my own birthmother.) Although Mary could not 'conceive' of the idea of what the angel Gabriel was saying, her response was one of openness and willingness: "Be it as you have said." Society's response was: This is a shame! (to be pregnant out of wedlock).
For those who don't know yet, I was given up for adoption. Five years ago when I, by chance, had the opportunity to reunite with my birth family, my maternal grandmother told me my mother's pregnancy was a shameful thing, especially during the early 60's, and that's why they decided to keep the reality of my life a secret to their graves.
Somewhere along the way (maybe since before my birth) I've internalized the message that my very existence is something to be ashamed about. Intellectually and rationally I know that's not true. It doesn't make believing it in my gut any easier.
Shame is a powerful weapon. It's used to repress and oppress others. It breeds secrets and mistrust. It encourages judgments rather than compassion. It's a monster that takes on a life of its own, and has long-reaching effects. It separates us from the Divine, and from the Divine in each other.
So as I approach, yet another, birthday (Dec 18th), here's Advent Lesson #2. It's a thought to ponder and consider along beside me:
Can you imagine if Mary and Joseph (because of shame) had decided to keep the reality of Jesus' birth a secret?
Monday, November 28, 2005
Missing the Present - Advent Lesson #1
I got a call this morning to sub for the 2nd grade teacher. Part of that time included "chapel" with the 1st graders. I was put on the spot and asked to talk about Advent! Ugh!!! What do I say to a bunch of 6- and 7-yr-olds?! I had to think of something, quick. "It's Advent. You know, that time on the church calendar that leads up to Christmas....uh..."
For a moment, I was a deer standing in front of the headlights. I'm one of these people that knows the answer to a question until you ask it of me.
But somehow the Spirit came through. Thank God!
We ended up talking about expectations, waiting and preparing. The children had on their minds mostly visions of Christmas morning with toys and presents under a Christmas tree.
I've had a lot of mind lately, as well, as I've been thinking ahead to next year when I could potentially be taking life vows. In fact, I've already started "preparing" for the day in my own mind. (This would also be known as daydreaming!)
But there's a problem with expectations, waiting, and preparing for some future event to happen. Sometimes I get so caught up in what's to come that I'm oblivious to today. My spiritual director has a wonderful way of calling me back: "Whoa!" she'll say, "You're really out there. Rein it in a bit!"
So today's Advent lesson to myself: I can only do my best expecting, waiting and preparing by being fully present in the moment before me.
For a moment, I was a deer standing in front of the headlights. I'm one of these people that knows the answer to a question until you ask it of me.
But somehow the Spirit came through. Thank God!
We ended up talking about expectations, waiting and preparing. The children had on their minds mostly visions of Christmas morning with toys and presents under a Christmas tree.
I've had a lot of mind lately, as well, as I've been thinking ahead to next year when I could potentially be taking life vows. In fact, I've already started "preparing" for the day in my own mind. (This would also be known as daydreaming!)
But there's a problem with expectations, waiting, and preparing for some future event to happen. Sometimes I get so caught up in what's to come that I'm oblivious to today. My spiritual director has a wonderful way of calling me back: "Whoa!" she'll say, "You're really out there. Rein it in a bit!"
So today's Advent lesson to myself: I can only do my best expecting, waiting and preparing by being fully present in the moment before me.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Three for Three -- Death and Life
I've sat down three different times to try and type out this blog entry. Maybe this time I'll be able to finish it and click on the publish button...
I've now witnessed Simon instinctively go after and kill three animals.
The first time was this past Spring, when I let Simon out the side door and a chipmunk was unfortunate enough to be on the porch. Chipmunk's are fast. Simon was faster. When we first rescued Simon off the road 15 months ago and I was researching about Weimaraners, I learned their breed is the 2nd fastest -- the first, being greyhound. Also they were specifically bred as large game hunting/retrieving dogs, then later developed to ferret out small animals/rodents on farms. It's a very refined, special breed of dog that has only been in the US since the early 1900's.
"Weims" have become well-known due to the work of photographer William Wegman. But this is not a breed of dog for a family that lives in an apartment or even lives in a house with a backyard. They need lots of space outdoors to run. They're known as "leaners" and are very attached to their owners. They don't do well left alone -- indoors or out -- apart from their owner.
However, they are quite adorable. Simon makes an impression on everyone who meets him, especially the children of the school. He's very tolerant of small kids coming up to him and petting him (although right now he's too young to stand still for very long). He has become a wonderful animal companion to our community. We've worked hard training him not to charge the ducks in an act of playfulness, and he gets along with our cat Smoochie.
The second animal I saw Simon kill was just two weeks ago upon my arrival home after being away for a week. When I've been away for especially long periods of time, Simon usually is so excited to see me, his tail goes in circles and wags so fast his whole rear flank does the Elvis shake. This time, within minutes of arriving home, and after already greeting him, as I was unloading my baggage from the car, he came bounding up to me tail wagging, then went prancing over to the porch, then back over to me, and back over to the porch again. Then I saw it...
...a baby 'possum. I never heard a sound. And I don't think he was out of sight for more than a minute or two. It must have been crossing the driveway or just in the field nearby. The kill was swift and silent, around the neck. I watched as she lie on the ground struggling for life, lifting her head. I looked her in the eyes and offered compassion. I was sorry that Simon's instincts and desire to bring me a gift cost her life. But, then, not wanting to upset or confuse Simon, I praised him and quickly herded him indoors. I buried her right where Simon dropped her underneath a wooden planter box.
Yesterday was the third and hardest one of all to witness.
Here's how it transpired:
For an Outdoor Adventure Club activity, I had come up with an idea for the students to "plant" trash as part of an ecology experiment to see what will breakdown in the earth. First we went to their classroom and dug through their garbage can. The day's pickings were good: foil packaging that once contained chips, a juice box, aluminum can, plastic water bottle, paper, and kleenex. Next we went to the cafeteria and got one of the styrofoam trays their lunch is served on, a plastic fork, and a straw. Finally, we stopped off at my house (the sister's convent in front of the school) to get some newspaper and "compost" matter -- egg shells, banana peel, etc.
Since we were on our way outdoors with our bag of goodies and shovel in hand, I decided to let Simon come along as well. So me, three students and Simon all burst out the door and exuberantly headed down the slope that leads to the playing field and woods. Simon took off running as he so loves to do. The children were ahead of me and already down the slope when I heard screaming: "NO, SIMON! NO!" I hurried to see what was happening.
Simon had Avila (one of our newest ducks - about 3 months old) in his mouth. I gave him the serious command to drop her. He obeyed immediately. I scolded him; he tucked his tail and head and curled his body. Avila took off running toward the pen. I thought maybe she was going to be okay. But she collapsed. The children were very upset. I took off my sweatshirt, picked her up and carried her into the house, yelling at the top of lungs for Sr. Catherine Grace. She and Sr. Heléna Marie stayed with her as she died and I went back out to the kids.
It was a graphic lesson those children saw about the cycle of life and death, and how genetic instinctual programming kicks in and works in animals. I took them away to a hill nearby where the sun was shining. They cried and shared stories of pets they'd lost. It was interesting to see how one grief led to the remembrance of another. I made space for them to share them all. And we each shared what we thought death was all about. I shared how many native cultures believe that the body is only like a house in which the spirit of an animal lives inside. And although Avila's body was no longer able to function, her spirit was still present. I once had a compassionate priest say, "Death is what happens when the body can no longer support life." That is what I believe. It's such a different view than seeing death as an ending to life.
In the end the students wanted to see Avila's body and bury her. So I made that happen. One of the girls had to walk away as I was putting the body in the ground. But I called her back and had her join us in what her classmate had so wisely suggested doing, which is burying her with our hands and not with the shovel. Yes, I had to dig the hole with the shovel, but this young boy wanted us to fill the dirt back in with our hands. So we all began putting the soil back on top of Avila's former body. Then the two girls took off to go to their classroom to get crayons, returned, wrote Avila's name on a rock and placed it on the ground.
I spoke to each student's parent when they were picked up. I think they're going to be just fine. Amazing how well they handled the situation. One of girls wants to be a vet when she grows up.
I was afraid for awhile that the sisters would be upset at me and Simon for what happened. But they all seem to understand that if we're going to have animals on our farm, and allow them to roam free, then there will be perils. Avila was still too young and small to defend herself against Simon. The other ducks are quite capable of handling themselves now and can fly. And Simon was only doing what Simon was bred and raised to do and has been in his genetic encoded for centuries.
I took his mug shot this morning. I was going to post it with a criminal number plate below it, in my own trying to process and sort through nature's ways. But I get one look at his truly innocent-looking adorable face and I see him for what he is...
...Simon Peter bar Jonah Harry Houdini Thunder Dog the Wonder Dog the Best Dog Ever!
I've now witnessed Simon instinctively go after and kill three animals.
The first time was this past Spring, when I let Simon out the side door and a chipmunk was unfortunate enough to be on the porch. Chipmunk's are fast. Simon was faster. When we first rescued Simon off the road 15 months ago and I was researching about Weimaraners, I learned their breed is the 2nd fastest -- the first, being greyhound. Also they were specifically bred as large game hunting/retrieving dogs, then later developed to ferret out small animals/rodents on farms. It's a very refined, special breed of dog that has only been in the US since the early 1900's.
"Weims" have become well-known due to the work of photographer William Wegman. But this is not a breed of dog for a family that lives in an apartment or even lives in a house with a backyard. They need lots of space outdoors to run. They're known as "leaners" and are very attached to their owners. They don't do well left alone -- indoors or out -- apart from their owner.
However, they are quite adorable. Simon makes an impression on everyone who meets him, especially the children of the school. He's very tolerant of small kids coming up to him and petting him (although right now he's too young to stand still for very long). He has become a wonderful animal companion to our community. We've worked hard training him not to charge the ducks in an act of playfulness, and he gets along with our cat Smoochie.
The second animal I saw Simon kill was just two weeks ago upon my arrival home after being away for a week. When I've been away for especially long periods of time, Simon usually is so excited to see me, his tail goes in circles and wags so fast his whole rear flank does the Elvis shake. This time, within minutes of arriving home, and after already greeting him, as I was unloading my baggage from the car, he came bounding up to me tail wagging, then went prancing over to the porch, then back over to me, and back over to the porch again. Then I saw it...
...a baby 'possum. I never heard a sound. And I don't think he was out of sight for more than a minute or two. It must have been crossing the driveway or just in the field nearby. The kill was swift and silent, around the neck. I watched as she lie on the ground struggling for life, lifting her head. I looked her in the eyes and offered compassion. I was sorry that Simon's instincts and desire to bring me a gift cost her life. But, then, not wanting to upset or confuse Simon, I praised him and quickly herded him indoors. I buried her right where Simon dropped her underneath a wooden planter box.
Yesterday was the third and hardest one of all to witness.
Here's how it transpired:
For an Outdoor Adventure Club activity, I had come up with an idea for the students to "plant" trash as part of an ecology experiment to see what will breakdown in the earth. First we went to their classroom and dug through their garbage can. The day's pickings were good: foil packaging that once contained chips, a juice box, aluminum can, plastic water bottle, paper, and kleenex. Next we went to the cafeteria and got one of the styrofoam trays their lunch is served on, a plastic fork, and a straw. Finally, we stopped off at my house (the sister's convent in front of the school) to get some newspaper and "compost" matter -- egg shells, banana peel, etc.
Since we were on our way outdoors with our bag of goodies and shovel in hand, I decided to let Simon come along as well. So me, three students and Simon all burst out the door and exuberantly headed down the slope that leads to the playing field and woods. Simon took off running as he so loves to do. The children were ahead of me and already down the slope when I heard screaming: "NO, SIMON! NO!" I hurried to see what was happening.
Simon had Avila (one of our newest ducks - about 3 months old) in his mouth. I gave him the serious command to drop her. He obeyed immediately. I scolded him; he tucked his tail and head and curled his body. Avila took off running toward the pen. I thought maybe she was going to be okay. But she collapsed. The children were very upset. I took off my sweatshirt, picked her up and carried her into the house, yelling at the top of lungs for Sr. Catherine Grace. She and Sr. Heléna Marie stayed with her as she died and I went back out to the kids.
It was a graphic lesson those children saw about the cycle of life and death, and how genetic instinctual programming kicks in and works in animals. I took them away to a hill nearby where the sun was shining. They cried and shared stories of pets they'd lost. It was interesting to see how one grief led to the remembrance of another. I made space for them to share them all. And we each shared what we thought death was all about. I shared how many native cultures believe that the body is only like a house in which the spirit of an animal lives inside. And although Avila's body was no longer able to function, her spirit was still present. I once had a compassionate priest say, "Death is what happens when the body can no longer support life." That is what I believe. It's such a different view than seeing death as an ending to life.
In the end the students wanted to see Avila's body and bury her. So I made that happen. One of the girls had to walk away as I was putting the body in the ground. But I called her back and had her join us in what her classmate had so wisely suggested doing, which is burying her with our hands and not with the shovel. Yes, I had to dig the hole with the shovel, but this young boy wanted us to fill the dirt back in with our hands. So we all began putting the soil back on top of Avila's former body. Then the two girls took off to go to their classroom to get crayons, returned, wrote Avila's name on a rock and placed it on the ground.
I spoke to each student's parent when they were picked up. I think they're going to be just fine. Amazing how well they handled the situation. One of girls wants to be a vet when she grows up.
I was afraid for awhile that the sisters would be upset at me and Simon for what happened. But they all seem to understand that if we're going to have animals on our farm, and allow them to roam free, then there will be perils. Avila was still too young and small to defend herself against Simon. The other ducks are quite capable of handling themselves now and can fly. And Simon was only doing what Simon was bred and raised to do and has been in his genetic encoded for centuries.
I took his mug shot this morning. I was going to post it with a criminal number plate below it, in my own trying to process and sort through nature's ways. But I get one look at his truly innocent-looking adorable face and I see him for what he is...
...Simon Peter bar Jonah Harry Houdini Thunder Dog the Wonder Dog the Best Dog Ever!
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The Lesson of the Leaves
Only a few remain. Clinging to the ends of branches in the blowing winds. I wonder what keeps the stragglers hanging on while the others have long since let go. Mostly what I see as I drive the streets and highways now are the bare branches pointing up to the sky. The rest of the leaves have mostly all fallen to the ground. I've always been a bit spell-bound by this process. I even wrote a poem about it ten years ago:
I'm goin' through an uneasy-feeling
time with things
a-changin'.
Don't wan't them to change too fast
as the leaves on the ground
quickly change from red to brown,
but as the ones
left
on the trees
grace~
fully changin,
kind of slow
and gently,
at peace.
And when the time comes, not struggling
to hang on,
but going
with
the
bre
e
z
e
!Wednesday, November 09, 2005
The Fall Cycle
It's been over a month since my last post. I have many excuses: I got caught up in a bit of work-aholism (a great avoidance technique of mine), I was away at a conference for five days, I was away on rest (a topic for my next posting), and since I've been back I've been spending my time in one community meeting after another.
But there's a bigger underlying issue that's more difficult for me to express here. You know, because, maybe, sisters have images to uphold or something. And I only want to post if I can write honestly and openly, otherwise I don't have much to say.
I've been struggling with something I don't even much want my sisters to know about. So I do my best to hide it and pretend as much as possible on the surface that everything's okay. It works for awhile. Well, maybe not for as long as I'd like to be able to keep up the façade. It happens every Fall. I've become consciously aware of it in the past few years with the help of brilliant medical doctors. And I try not to give it much energy or fuel in the knowing of it now.
Yet as I have also learned to gently tune into my body's own rhythms and cadences, I feel it so well now...the chemical shifting...depression. It affects 10% of the population, mostly women and heredity does play a role.
In my bones, I sense that the reason it affects me this time of year is because this was the last trimester I was in my birthmother's womb; and I now know facts surrounding my birth. One, that she was sent far away from Salinas, CA, to New Orleans, LA, to have me and give me away. Two, that she wanted to keep me. I believe that every Fall I am chemically re-experiencing her depression and feelings of loss.
But even in the knowing of this, things still get muddled in the day to day living out of my life and my thoughts get confused and I feel at times lost and hopeless when everything on the surface looks really all right.
So I called my doctor. She had me increase the dosage of medication I'm taking. (I wasn't so pleased about this because it's main side-effect is weight gain; and I've managed to work off 20 pounds from last year's go-around with it.) I'll see her on Friday. She'll talk to me about ways we'll meet the depression head on during the next few months. It's a frustrating situation to live in sometimes. But, this is the life of someone who experiences chronic, cyclical depression. And when I'm willing to take the medications much as a diabetic is willing to take insulin, then I don't have to deal with the adverse effects of depression that I'd otherwise experience: lack of or inability to sleep, lack of appetite, mood swings, isolating myself, feeling hopeless.
And frankly, there's too many good things going on in my life right now! Visions for the future. Directions and goals being set and ready to be carried out. A lot of internal healing and growth that's been happening. This year the depressive cycle really doesn't match everything else that's going on inside or outside my monastice and active life. I want to keep my focus on these things which nourish me and give me life, and...I'll follow the doctor's orders.
But there's a bigger underlying issue that's more difficult for me to express here. You know, because, maybe, sisters have images to uphold or something. And I only want to post if I can write honestly and openly, otherwise I don't have much to say.
I've been struggling with something I don't even much want my sisters to know about. So I do my best to hide it and pretend as much as possible on the surface that everything's okay. It works for awhile. Well, maybe not for as long as I'd like to be able to keep up the façade. It happens every Fall. I've become consciously aware of it in the past few years with the help of brilliant medical doctors. And I try not to give it much energy or fuel in the knowing of it now.
Yet as I have also learned to gently tune into my body's own rhythms and cadences, I feel it so well now...the chemical shifting...depression. It affects 10% of the population, mostly women and heredity does play a role.
In my bones, I sense that the reason it affects me this time of year is because this was the last trimester I was in my birthmother's womb; and I now know facts surrounding my birth. One, that she was sent far away from Salinas, CA, to New Orleans, LA, to have me and give me away. Two, that she wanted to keep me. I believe that every Fall I am chemically re-experiencing her depression and feelings of loss.
But even in the knowing of this, things still get muddled in the day to day living out of my life and my thoughts get confused and I feel at times lost and hopeless when everything on the surface looks really all right.
So I called my doctor. She had me increase the dosage of medication I'm taking. (I wasn't so pleased about this because it's main side-effect is weight gain; and I've managed to work off 20 pounds from last year's go-around with it.) I'll see her on Friday. She'll talk to me about ways we'll meet the depression head on during the next few months. It's a frustrating situation to live in sometimes. But, this is the life of someone who experiences chronic, cyclical depression. And when I'm willing to take the medications much as a diabetic is willing to take insulin, then I don't have to deal with the adverse effects of depression that I'd otherwise experience: lack of or inability to sleep, lack of appetite, mood swings, isolating myself, feeling hopeless.
And frankly, there's too many good things going on in my life right now! Visions for the future. Directions and goals being set and ready to be carried out. A lot of internal healing and growth that's been happening. This year the depressive cycle really doesn't match everything else that's going on inside or outside my monastice and active life. I want to keep my focus on these things which nourish me and give me life, and...I'll follow the doctor's orders.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
I'm not Powerless...Neither are You
There's something on my mind I need to write about. It has to do with when others are hurting and I feel powerless to help or change their situation. Do others feel this way sometimes?
I believe so, especially when confronted with a natural disaster or crisis that hits close to home, such as an illness or like the hurricane Katrina devastation. So many were left affected by that storm. For example, the children. I have an on-line friend (I've never met her in person) through an adoption triad support group list. It's a list from the home I was originally adopted out of, in New Orleans, in 1964. I joined the list five years ago when I was thinking about searching for my birth family (that's a whole other long story for another blog). My friend is a teacher at a school in a Louisiana Parish city an hour or so north of New Orleans. She has been writing to me about the children "survivors" the Red Cross brought into her community. Some of these children not only lost their homes but lost their parents as well. She wrote to me the other day:
"The kids at school are so restless. They want to go home, and some of them have no home or school to go too. I can't find enough words to help them out. I find myself getting frustrated, and I can only imagine how they feel. There are so many new problems to deal with. I don't think any of us anticipated the changes that would come about with devastation such as this. The classrooms are so crowded, not enough textbooks, supplies are so limited, and the children are so frustrated because they are multi-levels. The kids from public schools in New Orleans are among the lowest level in our State. Whereas our Parish, is one of the highest level school systems in the State. I think the younger children are more at an advantage than the older children. They can at least blend in a little more, and try to catch up a little easier. My heart just hurts for these kids."
I'm glad my friend writes to me personally and lets me know a real day-to-day recovery side of the story that otherwise would be lost in the greater scheme of world news these days. Here is a story of the heart, for the heart. And my heart is moved when I read what my friend writes. Yet I'm in NY, how can I possibly give of my presence and time? And, I'm a nun with no personal monies of my own significance to give towards supplies. I feel powerless to effect any sort of change in those children's lives, that they're needing right now. It's frustrating for me, and I'm just waiting for someone to say, "you can always pray."
That may be fine for you, but it is not enough for me that I only pray for these children. My friend shared with me her frustrations and her aching heart, not so I'd do anything about it, just because she needed to share her aching heart. But my own heart of compassion just won't seem to let me read it and sit on it and do nothing about it.
The world is so big. And we cannot even seem to take care of our own children. We are over in some foreign country fighting a war over oil instead of looking at our consumption of fossil fuel and using our God given creativity to come up with new ways of living so we don't have to depend on so much on those fossil fuels. I'm angry because we could be using the money we're spending over in Iraq to be taking care of our displace New Orleans children and families. President Bush gave those families $2,000 debit cards. Did he seriously think that was going to begin to get them back on their feet? They still have no homes to go back to, no jobs....nothing!
AND.....we have children who have suffered horrendous loses of home, some have lost their parents, they've lost their way of life as they knew it and they have been relocated to another community, put in a school where textbooks and supplies run short and the academic levels suddenly show the inequalities of which they've been treated in the educational system.
Where is the space for these children to grieve their loses? Where are the supplies these children need? These children should not have to be going to school frustrated every day without having supplies. Haven't they lost enough? What is wrong with this nation? Where has our compassion gone?
I may feel powerless, but I'm not powerless. I can empower myself to share this story with others locally and connect those with resources to those without. I can allow my prayer to strengthen me into action. Otherwise, my prayer and god are a powerless prayer and god.
I believe so, especially when confronted with a natural disaster or crisis that hits close to home, such as an illness or like the hurricane Katrina devastation. So many were left affected by that storm. For example, the children. I have an on-line friend (I've never met her in person) through an adoption triad support group list. It's a list from the home I was originally adopted out of, in New Orleans, in 1964. I joined the list five years ago when I was thinking about searching for my birth family (that's a whole other long story for another blog). My friend is a teacher at a school in a Louisiana Parish city an hour or so north of New Orleans. She has been writing to me about the children "survivors" the Red Cross brought into her community. Some of these children not only lost their homes but lost their parents as well. She wrote to me the other day:
"The kids at school are so restless. They want to go home, and some of them have no home or school to go too. I can't find enough words to help them out. I find myself getting frustrated, and I can only imagine how they feel. There are so many new problems to deal with. I don't think any of us anticipated the changes that would come about with devastation such as this. The classrooms are so crowded, not enough textbooks, supplies are so limited, and the children are so frustrated because they are multi-levels. The kids from public schools in New Orleans are among the lowest level in our State. Whereas our Parish, is one of the highest level school systems in the State. I think the younger children are more at an advantage than the older children. They can at least blend in a little more, and try to catch up a little easier. My heart just hurts for these kids."
I'm glad my friend writes to me personally and lets me know a real day-to-day recovery side of the story that otherwise would be lost in the greater scheme of world news these days. Here is a story of the heart, for the heart. And my heart is moved when I read what my friend writes. Yet I'm in NY, how can I possibly give of my presence and time? And, I'm a nun with no personal monies of my own significance to give towards supplies. I feel powerless to effect any sort of change in those children's lives, that they're needing right now. It's frustrating for me, and I'm just waiting for someone to say, "you can always pray."
That may be fine for you, but it is not enough for me that I only pray for these children. My friend shared with me her frustrations and her aching heart, not so I'd do anything about it, just because she needed to share her aching heart. But my own heart of compassion just won't seem to let me read it and sit on it and do nothing about it.
The world is so big. And we cannot even seem to take care of our own children. We are over in some foreign country fighting a war over oil instead of looking at our consumption of fossil fuel and using our God given creativity to come up with new ways of living so we don't have to depend on so much on those fossil fuels. I'm angry because we could be using the money we're spending over in Iraq to be taking care of our displace New Orleans children and families. President Bush gave those families $2,000 debit cards. Did he seriously think that was going to begin to get them back on their feet? They still have no homes to go back to, no jobs....nothing!
AND.....we have children who have suffered horrendous loses of home, some have lost their parents, they've lost their way of life as they knew it and they have been relocated to another community, put in a school where textbooks and supplies run short and the academic levels suddenly show the inequalities of which they've been treated in the educational system.
Where is the space for these children to grieve their loses? Where are the supplies these children need? These children should not have to be going to school frustrated every day without having supplies. Haven't they lost enough? What is wrong with this nation? Where has our compassion gone?
I may feel powerless, but I'm not powerless. I can empower myself to share this story with others locally and connect those with resources to those without. I can allow my prayer to strengthen me into action. Otherwise, my prayer and god are a powerless prayer and god.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Apathy or Ache?
Last Wednesday, International Peace Day, I was invited to speak to students and faculty at a very large public high school in Ridgefield, CT. E., a senior at the school who made the arrangements, is what her mother calls an "old soul." She had arranged a room upstairs and across from the cafeteria. Students could get their food then come into the room and join us for an open forum and discussion about peace. She had asked friends to come, and made announcements at the school. I'm not sure what other advertising there was. Less than 1% of the student population showed up.
From the cars and local shops, I observed that Ridgefield, CT is an upper class suburban township. I googled the high school and found the following statistics: has an enrollment of about 1424 (grades 9-12); is 93% white; and only 2% of the students are receiving free or reduced-price lunches. Let me tell you, that public school was NICE!
Enter a nun in habit, ready to open a discussion about what the Earth can teach us about peace. There are four lunch periods, each 45 minutes long. The first period, one student showed up. A young man, whom E. actually didn't know. I was standing in the hallway and he asked why. Apparently I peaked his interest with my topic (the Earth teaching us about peace), so he decided to stay. But halfway through he challenged me. He said he did not believe peace was possible in our lifetime, or ever. It would take a change of consciousness that he did not believe was possible for humans to make. The second lunch period, no students showed up. The third lunch period, no students showed up at first, then with only 15 minutes until the end three came and two teachers (so I gave the cliff notes version). The fourth lunch period, four of E.'s friends came and three parents, one being E.'s mom. E. had mentioned that when she asked one of her friends to come to the talk she'd told her, "Why bother? It's a waste of time. There will never be peace."
So what was this? I asked myself. A school filled with teens headed toward adulthood and college. Obviously most of them (according to the statistics 98%) not having to worry about their basic needs being met and most likely having much more than they could possibly need or want. Yet they haven't the time or care to waste in talking about world peace. It looked like apathy to me. Why should they care? Look at all they had. They didn't have to worry about anything, about whether their town well was being drained dry by the Coca-Cola Bottling Company, or whether their drinking water was being polluted by the milling factory making their clothes, or whether some foreign government was trying to force their way into their homes and lives.
But Sr. Catherine Grace had a different idea. She thought perhaps what they were displaying more than apathy, was ache. Ache because there's a deep, inherent part inside of them that somehow knows that everything their parents are pushing them to do and succeed and have is somehow disconnected and killing a part of themselves as it kills the Earth.
I shared this with the few students who did come to talk about peace. And I'll write it here as clear as I'm able. (I don't have a board in which to draw a picture.) It's my belief that one of the reasons we don't have peace today is because humans have removed themselves from the processes of the Earth. The Earth is ONE process which INCLUDES the human being. And humans aren't the end of that process or necessarily at the top of that process. Because we have disconnected ourselves from that process, we developed a sense of entitlement and possession when it comes to the Earth, its resources and, at times, other people. Thus we use the Earth and we use people and when we're through with them, they're dispensable.
If we, as humans, were able to make a major consciousness shift and re-connect...."re-member" that we are a part of the Earth processes, then we would be unable to treat the Earth and our brothers and sisters the way we do now. Because we would understand that so as we treat them, we are treating ourselves.
From the cars and local shops, I observed that Ridgefield, CT is an upper class suburban township. I googled the high school and found the following statistics: has an enrollment of about 1424 (grades 9-12); is 93% white; and only 2% of the students are receiving free or reduced-price lunches. Let me tell you, that public school was NICE!
Enter a nun in habit, ready to open a discussion about what the Earth can teach us about peace. There are four lunch periods, each 45 minutes long. The first period, one student showed up. A young man, whom E. actually didn't know. I was standing in the hallway and he asked why. Apparently I peaked his interest with my topic (the Earth teaching us about peace), so he decided to stay. But halfway through he challenged me. He said he did not believe peace was possible in our lifetime, or ever. It would take a change of consciousness that he did not believe was possible for humans to make. The second lunch period, no students showed up. The third lunch period, no students showed up at first, then with only 15 minutes until the end three came and two teachers (so I gave the cliff notes version). The fourth lunch period, four of E.'s friends came and three parents, one being E.'s mom. E. had mentioned that when she asked one of her friends to come to the talk she'd told her, "Why bother? It's a waste of time. There will never be peace."
So what was this? I asked myself. A school filled with teens headed toward adulthood and college. Obviously most of them (according to the statistics 98%) not having to worry about their basic needs being met and most likely having much more than they could possibly need or want. Yet they haven't the time or care to waste in talking about world peace. It looked like apathy to me. Why should they care? Look at all they had. They didn't have to worry about anything, about whether their town well was being drained dry by the Coca-Cola Bottling Company, or whether their drinking water was being polluted by the milling factory making their clothes, or whether some foreign government was trying to force their way into their homes and lives.
But Sr. Catherine Grace had a different idea. She thought perhaps what they were displaying more than apathy, was ache. Ache because there's a deep, inherent part inside of them that somehow knows that everything their parents are pushing them to do and succeed and have is somehow disconnected and killing a part of themselves as it kills the Earth.
I shared this with the few students who did come to talk about peace. And I'll write it here as clear as I'm able. (I don't have a board in which to draw a picture.) It's my belief that one of the reasons we don't have peace today is because humans have removed themselves from the processes of the Earth. The Earth is ONE process which INCLUDES the human being. And humans aren't the end of that process or necessarily at the top of that process. Because we have disconnected ourselves from that process, we developed a sense of entitlement and possession when it comes to the Earth, its resources and, at times, other people. Thus we use the Earth and we use people and when we're through with them, they're dispensable.
If we, as humans, were able to make a major consciousness shift and re-connect...."re-member" that we are a part of the Earth processes, then we would be unable to treat the Earth and our brothers and sisters the way we do now. Because we would understand that so as we treat them, we are treating ourselves.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Compline chorus
I'm a bit uneasy tonight. Rita is bearing down on the Texas/Louisiana coast, headed straight for an area my older brother lives. He lives in Jasper, just north of Beaumont. I'm worried about the tornadoes that will be spawned.
Whereas the Gulf Coast has been dealing with nature's force and destruction the past two months, tonight I was blessed to experience what I call "the healing side of nature." As we were singing Compline, we had some voices of nature join us. During the chanting of the Psalms an owl added a few hoots, and at the close of the office we heard the coyotes yipping and howling. There was something calming in hearing the sounds of nature join our chorus. Reminding me of the deep connection and interconnectedness we have with all creation.
Whereas the Gulf Coast has been dealing with nature's force and destruction the past two months, tonight I was blessed to experience what I call "the healing side of nature." As we were singing Compline, we had some voices of nature join us. During the chanting of the Psalms an owl added a few hoots, and at the close of the office we heard the coyotes yipping and howling. There was something calming in hearing the sounds of nature join our chorus. Reminding me of the deep connection and interconnectedness we have with all creation.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Can you imagine...Compassion?
In response to a friend about 'demons' in society I wrote in an email today: The demons were our government refusing to treat our brothers and sisters in crisis with compassion. Can you imagine Christ (seeing our brothers and sisters drowning, hungry, thristing, loosing all from a storm that wiped them out on Monday) flying over in a helicopter on Wednesday and saying, "I'll send help by Friday?"
Monday, September 05, 2005
Only One Color -- Skin Deep
There was a lady in line behind me yesterday at the grocery store asking how long it took to get one of the saver cards. She was from out of town. I told her she could let the cashier know she was from out of town and ask for a courtesy scan. Because of the "color of her skin," I started to ask where she was from, but didn't ask. Was afraid to hear the words, "New Orleans." Afraid I'd start crying right there in the store. I wish I had listened to my heart more than my head. I was getting one of those Spirit tugs I sometimes get.
This morning, reading the paper, I finally gave into the tears. Went to the chapel and had a good sit down cry about the atrocities in New Orleans, the apparent racism that still plagues our country, the inequalities in our own homeland. The death tolls are going to be astounding and, I believe when the numbers start to come in, numbing. I hope that Americans across the country are shaking their heads in disbelief and wondering how could that be in this day and age, in the year 2005, in the 21st century. It should not have happened. It was preventable with planning. It was a foreseeable disaster. An evacuation plan should have been in place 20 years ago. But the poor and especially the poor minorities in our country are not treated equally. And it is something Americans are to be ashamed of.
Here is something I learned at Genesis Farm. It was like a laser hitting me between the eyes the day I learned this. It was so incredible. I was sitting in my chair listening to Dr. Larry Edwards explain about skin pigment. I may get the facts a bit skewed until I'm able to get my hands on the Sci-Am. Articles, but the gist is that we all (everyone of us) have the exact same kind of and same amount of skin pigment in our bodies. What is different is where it lies -- whether closer to the top or further down. And that is what causes the gradation of colors.
Now, really think about that for a minute. Are you getting it? There's only ONE pigment. It's the same composition of chemicals no matter what skin color we are on the outside. There's only ONE COLOR. The difference is where the pigment is lying in our skin, and that difference is due to an evolutionary process that occurred millions of years ago as our ancestral species either remained near the equator or migrated away. I think if we could really get it in our heads and in our hearts that we are only one color, expressed in a diversity of shades (as the earth so abundantly exemplifies in all her glory), maybe...just maybe...one day we'll stop treating our brothers and sisters as something other than our brothers and sisters.
This morning, reading the paper, I finally gave into the tears. Went to the chapel and had a good sit down cry about the atrocities in New Orleans, the apparent racism that still plagues our country, the inequalities in our own homeland. The death tolls are going to be astounding and, I believe when the numbers start to come in, numbing. I hope that Americans across the country are shaking their heads in disbelief and wondering how could that be in this day and age, in the year 2005, in the 21st century. It should not have happened. It was preventable with planning. It was a foreseeable disaster. An evacuation plan should have been in place 20 years ago. But the poor and especially the poor minorities in our country are not treated equally. And it is something Americans are to be ashamed of.
Here is something I learned at Genesis Farm. It was like a laser hitting me between the eyes the day I learned this. It was so incredible. I was sitting in my chair listening to Dr. Larry Edwards explain about skin pigment. I may get the facts a bit skewed until I'm able to get my hands on the Sci-Am. Articles, but the gist is that we all (everyone of us) have the exact same kind of and same amount of skin pigment in our bodies. What is different is where it lies -- whether closer to the top or further down. And that is what causes the gradation of colors.
Now, really think about that for a minute. Are you getting it? There's only ONE pigment. It's the same composition of chemicals no matter what skin color we are on the outside. There's only ONE COLOR. The difference is where the pigment is lying in our skin, and that difference is due to an evolutionary process that occurred millions of years ago as our ancestral species either remained near the equator or migrated away. I think if we could really get it in our heads and in our hearts that we are only one color, expressed in a diversity of shades (as the earth so abundantly exemplifies in all her glory), maybe...just maybe...one day we'll stop treating our brothers and sisters as something other than our brothers and sisters.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Greetings Blogger World
I'm stepping out into the blogger world. This is my first post. I arrived home a few hours ago after spending three weeks at Genesis Farm in Blairstown, NJ immersed in a program called "Exploring a New Cosmology." It was intense and wonderful. But the events in New Orleans, the city of my birth, have left me a bit anguished and I'm quite enraged at the lack of response by our federal government.
