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.
Monday, November 28, 2005
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.
