Found my way here this morning...
So much has happened. Miracles everywhere.
I've got a new blog in place...for better or worse.
Maryat60.blogspot.com
It's different.
But I've decided to link the two, study the two, a bit more, in hopes that I will come to understand who I am a bit more...and to give others something to be amused by.
Nearly a Nun...
Really looked it over, you know. Was pretty much planning to try it out for real. But then, as I studied, I realized that the Church does not recognize nuns/sister/monks too much. It's not a sacrament to consecrate oneself to God through a particular discipline. It's just a lay person saying they are going to behave a certain way, and the Church gets to decide is that behavior suits their needs. It serves a purpose, but the Church does not affirm it with a blessing of Sacrament. The only reason for me to become a nun would be to satisfy some part of my own ego on some level. So I've pretty much set that idea aside. For others, I can see that as a sold way to belong to God.
But to a woman who was a pastor once, who has been called reverend (for better or worse), who has been in charge and worked to get things done in a particular fashion...well, I have not yet reached the level of humility that allows me to forgive the Church for not loving all men and women as daughters and sons of God.
I have, however, given back my commission to God. One could call that progress. I recognize that, however broken the Church might be in its theological understanding of women, it's not my job, or place, or call, to fix it. I have no interest in being a martyr to something that will require more than a woman to change things. But I can do good work, as I am. With this body...and be happy about it. I resign from the political temptations of my understanding of social justice, and opt for serving as I am able to serve...and being at peace with it. Accepting it as my cross to bear, like a woman who cannot have children...to bear my burden with dignity and creativity. Living in love.
And working unceasingly to not be jealous of those who are allowed to do the work.
Sigh.
Progess.
Right?
Progress.
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Friday, September 19, 2014
is anybody out there?
Written back in March...
Seems time to shut this down...and I don't know how. Spiritually off now in places I am not yet prepared to describe. I've been feeling a lot of discontent inside the people I've encountered...and I don't know what to do with it. I understand that we each must walk our own path, and I am so grateful for people who did not try to push me along the way, but I'm not sure I am helpful to some people. I just realized someone new called me about spiritual direction...and I have not yet returned the call. That is not like me.
I am lost inside my own thoughts...and I'm not certain I am thinking at all. There is this conversation with God that seems to be unceasing, and yet really has no words in it anymore...and I'm not really comfortable with that.
I have always asked God to make me a healer. Since I was a little girl. In the last 20 years, I have asked for wisdom. I think God has given me a bit of both. I asked God for a teacher, and I was given several wonderful ones. Everything I have asked for, God has given me. I have not always asked for good things, so I am much more careful with my asking. I recognize I need to pray more, so to know what things are best for me to ask for.
I write in this way here because it is just too scary to presume to write differently right now.
I am praying for the courage to go deeper into this life I am just beginning to find. I may have to find a different way to communicate...but I recognize it is essential for catalogue this spiritual journey with the hope that however far I might get, someone will go further. Be braver, be younger when they begin, have greater insight...and write more clearly.
I step out into the night and risk everything
asking God
to just not walk away
to not let me walk away
to heal more
so that I can draw close
and He can draw close
and I can be more
helpful
to the lost
even while I am lost...
*******************************
Now it is September. NPR is reporting about Catalonia wanting independence from Spain, on the heels of a failed election in Scotland calling for the same thing. Previously, there was a story about how Democracy doesn't necessarily improve the lives of the poor. And a story about a United States IPO of AliBaba...however it might be spelled.
I have thoughts on all of that...but the safer response is to connect to the basic human condition and the unceasing struggle between dependence, independence and interdependence. I have been more than a bit annoyed with the current priest I have been working with, and not surprisingly, he has probably helped me the most. I do better when there's a war...or a battle. You know what you want during a war. Peace time, is more fuzzy. Perhaps that is why men consistently choose to wage war. At least you feel...in control...with your personal heart. When lines are drawn, we kind of look good. When we are calmer...we maybe don't know what to do with ourselves.
It is really hard...at least for me...to do "nothing."
I've spent the year saying no to almost everything. As a result, I've gone shopping a lot...and I have so much crap in my house now that I just look at it and cry. I replaced the addiction of doing with the addiction of buying. This is a much bigger mess than working. I'm not sure the priest's advice was the best. Suffice to say, as I read about the mystics, I know that well-meaning priests have done the same to really great women...so it doesn't bother me too much. It's part of the trial, I think, to learn to discern what is good advice and what is not...and perhaps what needs to be learned or refined is much subtler than I can imagine before learning the lesson.
Kind of like the time I had a priest, red-faced, scream at me (like a nun did once when I was in 4th grade)...and while I gave in to his tantrum in the beginning minutes and let him hurt me, I did find my way to recognize that he was in trouble and what was immediately happening was not about me. It's hard to figure that out when you really care about someone.
I am toying with the idea of writing a book about all my encounters with priests, and what I learned from them. I am praying about whether or not it would be helpful to others. I would not do it just to do it.
But it has been made clearer to me about how to put together the next thing, and it is connected to ideas I began forming 30 years ago...and to which my biological mother spoke about with me before she died.
I kind of think about Zwingli...and his attempts to "wipe out" the Catholic stain from his country by white-washing the church walls. I argued in a paper for my Church History class that you could take away the visual stimulations of the story of God in the Churches (which is how I understood the paintings of the Saints...I never connected them to some kind of papal control of the Church), take away the beautiful art...and man will pray in his pew and create his own art in his head. You cannot take away God...the real ideas of God.
Take away a child's toys and he will create play with boxes and dirt. Take away the boxes and dirt and he will create play with his fingers.
So that's how I have begun to see my assignment to "do nothing." There have been moments of real stillness. And I have learned much from them. But I am a busy person by nature...I simply don't want to do what other people tell me, most often because they have told me to do it.
And there is the revelation. In conversation yesterday, I feel I can most identify with Paul, rather than Peter, these days. And it is here where I meditate.
I must close now. More of a report, than an clean offer of insight here. But I thought I'd add a few words as I move into the next place.
Seems time to shut this down...and I don't know how. Spiritually off now in places I am not yet prepared to describe. I've been feeling a lot of discontent inside the people I've encountered...and I don't know what to do with it. I understand that we each must walk our own path, and I am so grateful for people who did not try to push me along the way, but I'm not sure I am helpful to some people. I just realized someone new called me about spiritual direction...and I have not yet returned the call. That is not like me.
I am lost inside my own thoughts...and I'm not certain I am thinking at all. There is this conversation with God that seems to be unceasing, and yet really has no words in it anymore...and I'm not really comfortable with that.
I have always asked God to make me a healer. Since I was a little girl. In the last 20 years, I have asked for wisdom. I think God has given me a bit of both. I asked God for a teacher, and I was given several wonderful ones. Everything I have asked for, God has given me. I have not always asked for good things, so I am much more careful with my asking. I recognize I need to pray more, so to know what things are best for me to ask for.
I write in this way here because it is just too scary to presume to write differently right now.
I am praying for the courage to go deeper into this life I am just beginning to find. I may have to find a different way to communicate...but I recognize it is essential for catalogue this spiritual journey with the hope that however far I might get, someone will go further. Be braver, be younger when they begin, have greater insight...and write more clearly.
I step out into the night and risk everything
asking God
to just not walk away
to not let me walk away
to heal more
so that I can draw close
and He can draw close
and I can be more
helpful
to the lost
even while I am lost...
*******************************
Now it is September. NPR is reporting about Catalonia wanting independence from Spain, on the heels of a failed election in Scotland calling for the same thing. Previously, there was a story about how Democracy doesn't necessarily improve the lives of the poor. And a story about a United States IPO of AliBaba...however it might be spelled.
I have thoughts on all of that...but the safer response is to connect to the basic human condition and the unceasing struggle between dependence, independence and interdependence. I have been more than a bit annoyed with the current priest I have been working with, and not surprisingly, he has probably helped me the most. I do better when there's a war...or a battle. You know what you want during a war. Peace time, is more fuzzy. Perhaps that is why men consistently choose to wage war. At least you feel...in control...with your personal heart. When lines are drawn, we kind of look good. When we are calmer...we maybe don't know what to do with ourselves.
It is really hard...at least for me...to do "nothing."
I've spent the year saying no to almost everything. As a result, I've gone shopping a lot...and I have so much crap in my house now that I just look at it and cry. I replaced the addiction of doing with the addiction of buying. This is a much bigger mess than working. I'm not sure the priest's advice was the best. Suffice to say, as I read about the mystics, I know that well-meaning priests have done the same to really great women...so it doesn't bother me too much. It's part of the trial, I think, to learn to discern what is good advice and what is not...and perhaps what needs to be learned or refined is much subtler than I can imagine before learning the lesson.
Kind of like the time I had a priest, red-faced, scream at me (like a nun did once when I was in 4th grade)...and while I gave in to his tantrum in the beginning minutes and let him hurt me, I did find my way to recognize that he was in trouble and what was immediately happening was not about me. It's hard to figure that out when you really care about someone.
I am toying with the idea of writing a book about all my encounters with priests, and what I learned from them. I am praying about whether or not it would be helpful to others. I would not do it just to do it.
But it has been made clearer to me about how to put together the next thing, and it is connected to ideas I began forming 30 years ago...and to which my biological mother spoke about with me before she died.
I kind of think about Zwingli...and his attempts to "wipe out" the Catholic stain from his country by white-washing the church walls. I argued in a paper for my Church History class that you could take away the visual stimulations of the story of God in the Churches (which is how I understood the paintings of the Saints...I never connected them to some kind of papal control of the Church), take away the beautiful art...and man will pray in his pew and create his own art in his head. You cannot take away God...the real ideas of God.
Take away a child's toys and he will create play with boxes and dirt. Take away the boxes and dirt and he will create play with his fingers.
So that's how I have begun to see my assignment to "do nothing." There have been moments of real stillness. And I have learned much from them. But I am a busy person by nature...I simply don't want to do what other people tell me, most often because they have told me to do it.
And there is the revelation. In conversation yesterday, I feel I can most identify with Paul, rather than Peter, these days. And it is here where I meditate.
I must close now. More of a report, than an clean offer of insight here. But I thought I'd add a few words as I move into the next place.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Something brilliant
I was surprised
when I realized
that I can close my eyes
and work my way back
day by day
to the beginning of March
before the beginning of Lent
To the day when the last retreat began.
I ran
into thoughts of security
and thoughts of fear
drawing always and forever near
to the life I asked God for
when I was seventeen
or fourteen
or maybe even seven
years
months
days...
Let me become real
Let me belong to you
only
You keep me safe
when the rest of the world
tries to kill me
I walked
into the dream
that became real
even when I fell
made mistakes
took the blows
from life
deserved
and undeserved
and got up
never fighting
with my fists.
Words
were my weapons.
I can kill
or make love
without touching you.
I can tell what you want
and what you need...
but I never allow my mind to understand
it's just too scary
to know the things I know
because I had to know
to survive
back then
before I learned to run.
Now
it's all so different
like I've arrived for the first time
on this planet called earth
where humans live
well, some humans live,
in love
and help each other
and care for each other
and really mean it
So there's that picture
of Divine Mercy
"Jesus, I trust in you"
it says
Near the bed
where I used to sleep
helping the nuns
care for the girls
who knew even less
about love
and more
about making love
than me.
"Jesus I trust in you."
I kind of realized
as I stared at the picture
in the 8x10 ninety nine cent frame
and some part of me
knew
it was important
the words were
important.
And some part of me understood
before
I understood
Jesus
I
Trust
In
You...
Now
that I took away my mask
in the presence of the Holy One
and He did not discard me
or
call me a liar
or worse
a dreamer
I asked
"What do I do
with the hole in me?
The one that was left
when the truth I believed
I no longer believed.
What do I do with the hole
in my heart?"
And He said,
"Let it be."
I said
"It hurts to be empty."
He said
"Let it be."
Mother Mary,
come to me
speaking words of wisdom:
let it be.
And she came,
after He came.
Loved my soul...
and the most
amazing
thing...
I left Him love me.
Simply by
letting it be.
I really wanted to write something brilliant
But this is the best I've got for you:
Let it be.
Cindy
March 24, 2014.
the eve of the anniversary of my aunt's death
and the Annunciation.
Do think that why I wrote?
Yeah.
God said, "write"
so I did.
I really miss her. My aunt.
But...you know, she saved my life.
Kept my heart beating
until I learned how to
let it beat
all on its own.
How about that?
I went from
Let it be
To
Let it be...at.
Maybe it was all about the heart
to begin with.
That heart
wounded by the weapon of love
pierced by doubt
and love poured out
blood and water...
I asked for birth
And I was born
of blood and water
because
I saw a picture
that said
"Jesus, I trust in you."
Something brilliant.
Scathingly brilliant.
Let it be.
when I realized
that I can close my eyes
and work my way back
day by day
to the beginning of March
before the beginning of Lent
To the day when the last retreat began.
I ran
into thoughts of security
and thoughts of fear
drawing always and forever near
to the life I asked God for
when I was seventeen
or fourteen
or maybe even seven
years
months
days...
Let me become real
Let me belong to you
only
You keep me safe
when the rest of the world
tries to kill me
I walked
into the dream
that became real
even when I fell
made mistakes
took the blows
from life
deserved
and undeserved
and got up
never fighting
with my fists.
Words
were my weapons.
I can kill
or make love
without touching you.
I can tell what you want
and what you need...
but I never allow my mind to understand
it's just too scary
to know the things I know
because I had to know
to survive
back then
before I learned to run.
Now
it's all so different
like I've arrived for the first time
on this planet called earth
where humans live
well, some humans live,
in love
and help each other
and care for each other
and really mean it
So there's that picture
of Divine Mercy
"Jesus, I trust in you"
it says
Near the bed
where I used to sleep
helping the nuns
care for the girls
who knew even less
about love
and more
about making love
than me.
"Jesus I trust in you."
I kind of realized
as I stared at the picture
in the 8x10 ninety nine cent frame
and some part of me
knew
it was important
the words were
important.
And some part of me understood
before
I understood
Jesus
I
Trust
In
You...
Now
that I took away my mask
in the presence of the Holy One
and He did not discard me
or
call me a liar
or worse
a dreamer
I asked
"What do I do
with the hole in me?
The one that was left
when the truth I believed
I no longer believed.
What do I do with the hole
in my heart?"
And He said,
"Let it be."
I said
"It hurts to be empty."
He said
"Let it be."
Mother Mary,
come to me
speaking words of wisdom:
let it be.
And she came,
after He came.
Loved my soul...
and the most
amazing
thing...
I left Him love me.
Simply by
letting it be.
I really wanted to write something brilliant
But this is the best I've got for you:
Let it be.
Cindy
March 24, 2014.
the eve of the anniversary of my aunt's death
and the Annunciation.
Do think that why I wrote?
Yeah.
God said, "write"
so I did.
I really miss her. My aunt.
But...you know, she saved my life.
Kept my heart beating
until I learned how to
let it beat
all on its own.
How about that?
I went from
Let it be
To
Let it be...at.
Maybe it was all about the heart
to begin with.
That heart
wounded by the weapon of love
pierced by doubt
and love poured out
blood and water...
I asked for birth
And I was born
of blood and water
because
I saw a picture
that said
"Jesus, I trust in you."
Something brilliant.
Scathingly brilliant.
Let it be.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Sheep and Goats...
Just reading the post about the Six Flags ride, the Texas Giant roller coaster, and how the German maker of the ride blames the amusement park for the death of a woman because "an employee saw that the bar was too high over this woman's lap as the ride began, but did not push the emergency stop button."
Blame is important in a word where money rules. The one who is blamed pays the price for the mistake. Because we are a cold people who want retribution for offenses committed against us. We want our pound of flesh in dollar bills.
Someone has to pay. All the time.
Someone will always pay.
Even an innocent will pay for the evils done against others.
If it's convenient.
We have a death penalty because some of us still believe "an eye for an eye" is a reasonable solution to evil. We still have wars, because forgiving a debt, or negotiating a compromise, is just too damn hard.
And besides, war is always profitable...for the lucky ones who don't fight in it.
Bankers will always have their John Doe's to manipulate and exploit, and convince them that "trickle-down economics" really works because...well, rich people are really generous.
There is no escape from this hell...except death. And maybe, not even then.
On Monday, I was on a high from the retreat...feeling that "in spite of all the sufferings we have endured in this world, we are still joyous people." That in the end, good will survive.
And that lasted for...almost a week.
And the devil got tired of me being a regular Pollyanna. He threw me back into "reality."
I got into a kind of bickering with a friend from high school while perusing Facebook. (Perhaps I should have given up FB for Lent after all...) A literary discussion began with a post about "Cosmos" and I responded with excitement about Carl Sagan, in which I was told some other guy was running it, and then she made a crack about the Catholic Church holding back knowledge. I defended it saying the university began because of the Catholic Church. And it went on...and then one of my first boyfriends, who unfriended me years ago because I posted things about God made a comment about how Copernicus was pardoned by the Church in 1993...and that was proof that the Church was holding us back...that oh how smart we would be if the Church did not exist.
Seriously?
A reasonably brilliant man is going to offer that as a retort. Oh, Billy, looks what too many drugs have done to you! You have forgotten how to argue. You were always so much smarter than me...and I really thought you didn't screw up your life as much as I did mine...and you throw a comment like that around? But then FB has not always inspired intelligent dialogue...
But I woke this morning feeling so sad about that encounter. Two people that I loved and admired...so angry at God. And I thought about my daughter, who may never to want a relationship with me ever again...all because of God. Or because I believe in God.
I can't say with some kind of scientific explanation that God exists. I have always laughed inside when I see the Thomas Aquinas chart of the four (or is it five) ways of proving God's existence. Seriously? But he was almost as smart as Paul when he was trying to teach a new idea to the "enlightened" masses. Almost as smart...but football fields away from him still.
Since the enlightenment, believing in God has become more a great personal risk than a public one. Intelligent people just know that believing in God is not rational.
I agree. Believing in God is not rational. No argument. But I am convinced that greater things are at work here, and not every brilliant thing comes from the mind. The mind, though, it the only tool we humans have of recognizing the Other...or any other, for that matter. Without the mind, any conception or understanding of anything would simply not exist. At this time, our mind cans "go this far and no farther."
As a primitive scholar of mathematics, my mind can recognize that we can, even now, mathematically conceive of things we cannot see. We can, in our heads, see the "perfect circle" yet no human being can physically create one. We can conceive of the idea of infinity though we can not "prove" it. We can even imagine that someday, we will be able to prove everything that exists under the sun...to what I might respond; "and your point is...what?" To have power over everything? To become immortal? To never get sick?
But can any of this knowledge bring happiness, joy, or love? Satisfaction perhaps. "Yes, I am almost a god, if such a thing existed." But would that make someone happy?
Can knowing exactly how the universe works keep the person you love alive, or loving you? Can you create a child that will be perfectly obedient, and grow up safely and happily in this world? Can violence be erased with an equation?
Perhaps we should just all become robotic creatures, following the "three laws" Isaac Asimov suggested. Or we could live in that totalitarian world suggested by Madeleine L'Engle. So many have created "perfect worlds" for us to hope for...and all the good stories...they come back to the one truly only important thing: love.
If I have all knowledge, rule the universe, own everything...and have not love, I am a clanging cymbal...without meaning. Or direction.
Do I believe in heaven? Is it "for real"? I believe in it. I can't prove it. I can't tell you Uncle Joe will be there. I can't say we will have "bodies"...and I certainly can't say I might be aware of "who made it and who didn't." I think it's all well beyond that...because that's what I imagine. I imagine a place where love and infinity unite...and what that looks like, if it "looks" at all, I can't say. But I accept your images of it. If it really is a place for only sheep and not goats.
Jesus used those terms because the people of that time understood what it meant. Sheep follow a master. Goats do their own thing. I have no clue which ones are happier. I have no clue if sheep and goats ever realize they have a shepherd. I don't think they care. They just want to be fed and not eaten by wolves.
I wept yesterday, watching a Fr. Robert Barron video on "The New Evangelization". The big questions about if God exists pale in comparison to the suffering in this world, the lack of a moral compass for so many people, the proliferation of a society that is completely self-absorbed and mostly miserable.
The need to be right far outweighs the their own hunger to be loved. Pride will send us all to hell. The very ego that permits and "idea" of God or Other, is the same ego that screams "It's all mine. To hell with everyone else."
The Chinese understanding of heaven and hell, I have written about it often, lies in your head. The large round table, with the giant chopsticks, and a bowl of food right in front of you. But you cannot eat it unless someone else feeds you. To see the food, and be hungry, and want to eat, and to not let the other, far away, feed you, is hell. To let the one across the table, feed you, and you feed him...that is heaven.
I think the concept of God encourages heaven. The idea of Jesus teaches that the only way to survive in this world is to forgive one another...every moment of every day...and that He is that scapegoat, that Sin Eater, who makes it possible to get out silly heads out of the victim, blame, "someone must pay for this" living hell.
And if there is a heaven, it doesn't include our selfishness, envy, greed, avarice...and all the other deadly...life killing...attitudes.
To get to heaven, you have to live a good life here. As good as you can. And forgive everyone. And not think you are the only one who got it right.
And I suppose it's true, that only people who don't get everything they want now, think about heaven. People who are put into a position of despair that most human effort cannot relieve, They think about God, when evil happens, or death, or an illness. And sometimes they go right into guilt: oh, why didn't I realize earlier, forgive earlier, love earlier? And they get stuck there. Everyone wants a reason for their suffering. Oh, I smoked, ate too much, drank too much, played too much golf...or whatever...we play that game, that illusion that we could have changed things if we had made other choices...and the whisperings of God begin to be heard.
It's not all over.
Losing a leg is not the end.
The death of a child is not the end.
Cancer does not have to defeat you.
Losing your job is only for this moment.
There are other moments ahead.
If you learn to juggle, if you can't let go, then juggle...
Your arms are not big enough to hold all the things
You think you want...
so finally, eventually, you will let go
of all of them
And you suddenly awake
to the realization
You didn't need any of them...or that.
At some point, you will let go of all of it...
and if you are kind to yourself
You will laugh
when you realize
everything you thought you needed
you already had.
From your very first thought
God was already there...
Saying
You don't have to do it alone.
Let heaven begin now.
Enjoy life
by realizing hardship is unavoidable
In the beginning you didn't care
when it was a struggle to walk, or talk, or sing
or ride a bike. If you had a bike to ride.
It's the same now.
It's always going to be a struggle.
Til your last breath.
So why not just love?
You don't need strong muscles for that
or legs, or even eyes...
you can even be in a coma
and still love
and be loved.
You can even die
and still love
and be loved.
Because love never dies.
Because love always grows.
And that..
for me...
is proof...
of God.
Q.E.D.
Love, Cindy
Blame is important in a word where money rules. The one who is blamed pays the price for the mistake. Because we are a cold people who want retribution for offenses committed against us. We want our pound of flesh in dollar bills.
Someone has to pay. All the time.
Someone will always pay.
Even an innocent will pay for the evils done against others.
If it's convenient.
We have a death penalty because some of us still believe "an eye for an eye" is a reasonable solution to evil. We still have wars, because forgiving a debt, or negotiating a compromise, is just too damn hard.
And besides, war is always profitable...for the lucky ones who don't fight in it.
Bankers will always have their John Doe's to manipulate and exploit, and convince them that "trickle-down economics" really works because...well, rich people are really generous.
There is no escape from this hell...except death. And maybe, not even then.
On Monday, I was on a high from the retreat...feeling that "in spite of all the sufferings we have endured in this world, we are still joyous people." That in the end, good will survive.
And that lasted for...almost a week.
And the devil got tired of me being a regular Pollyanna. He threw me back into "reality."
I got into a kind of bickering with a friend from high school while perusing Facebook. (Perhaps I should have given up FB for Lent after all...) A literary discussion began with a post about "Cosmos" and I responded with excitement about Carl Sagan, in which I was told some other guy was running it, and then she made a crack about the Catholic Church holding back knowledge. I defended it saying the university began because of the Catholic Church. And it went on...and then one of my first boyfriends, who unfriended me years ago because I posted things about God made a comment about how Copernicus was pardoned by the Church in 1993...and that was proof that the Church was holding us back...that oh how smart we would be if the Church did not exist.
Seriously?
A reasonably brilliant man is going to offer that as a retort. Oh, Billy, looks what too many drugs have done to you! You have forgotten how to argue. You were always so much smarter than me...and I really thought you didn't screw up your life as much as I did mine...and you throw a comment like that around? But then FB has not always inspired intelligent dialogue...
But I woke this morning feeling so sad about that encounter. Two people that I loved and admired...so angry at God. And I thought about my daughter, who may never to want a relationship with me ever again...all because of God. Or because I believe in God.
I can't say with some kind of scientific explanation that God exists. I have always laughed inside when I see the Thomas Aquinas chart of the four (or is it five) ways of proving God's existence. Seriously? But he was almost as smart as Paul when he was trying to teach a new idea to the "enlightened" masses. Almost as smart...but football fields away from him still.
Since the enlightenment, believing in God has become more a great personal risk than a public one. Intelligent people just know that believing in God is not rational.
I agree. Believing in God is not rational. No argument. But I am convinced that greater things are at work here, and not every brilliant thing comes from the mind. The mind, though, it the only tool we humans have of recognizing the Other...or any other, for that matter. Without the mind, any conception or understanding of anything would simply not exist. At this time, our mind cans "go this far and no farther."
As a primitive scholar of mathematics, my mind can recognize that we can, even now, mathematically conceive of things we cannot see. We can, in our heads, see the "perfect circle" yet no human being can physically create one. We can conceive of the idea of infinity though we can not "prove" it. We can even imagine that someday, we will be able to prove everything that exists under the sun...to what I might respond; "and your point is...what?" To have power over everything? To become immortal? To never get sick?
But can any of this knowledge bring happiness, joy, or love? Satisfaction perhaps. "Yes, I am almost a god, if such a thing existed." But would that make someone happy?
Can knowing exactly how the universe works keep the person you love alive, or loving you? Can you create a child that will be perfectly obedient, and grow up safely and happily in this world? Can violence be erased with an equation?
Perhaps we should just all become robotic creatures, following the "three laws" Isaac Asimov suggested. Or we could live in that totalitarian world suggested by Madeleine L'Engle. So many have created "perfect worlds" for us to hope for...and all the good stories...they come back to the one truly only important thing: love.
If I have all knowledge, rule the universe, own everything...and have not love, I am a clanging cymbal...without meaning. Or direction.
Do I believe in heaven? Is it "for real"? I believe in it. I can't prove it. I can't tell you Uncle Joe will be there. I can't say we will have "bodies"...and I certainly can't say I might be aware of "who made it and who didn't." I think it's all well beyond that...because that's what I imagine. I imagine a place where love and infinity unite...and what that looks like, if it "looks" at all, I can't say. But I accept your images of it. If it really is a place for only sheep and not goats.
Jesus used those terms because the people of that time understood what it meant. Sheep follow a master. Goats do their own thing. I have no clue which ones are happier. I have no clue if sheep and goats ever realize they have a shepherd. I don't think they care. They just want to be fed and not eaten by wolves.
I wept yesterday, watching a Fr. Robert Barron video on "The New Evangelization". The big questions about if God exists pale in comparison to the suffering in this world, the lack of a moral compass for so many people, the proliferation of a society that is completely self-absorbed and mostly miserable.
The need to be right far outweighs the their own hunger to be loved. Pride will send us all to hell. The very ego that permits and "idea" of God or Other, is the same ego that screams "It's all mine. To hell with everyone else."
The Chinese understanding of heaven and hell, I have written about it often, lies in your head. The large round table, with the giant chopsticks, and a bowl of food right in front of you. But you cannot eat it unless someone else feeds you. To see the food, and be hungry, and want to eat, and to not let the other, far away, feed you, is hell. To let the one across the table, feed you, and you feed him...that is heaven.
I think the concept of God encourages heaven. The idea of Jesus teaches that the only way to survive in this world is to forgive one another...every moment of every day...and that He is that scapegoat, that Sin Eater, who makes it possible to get out silly heads out of the victim, blame, "someone must pay for this" living hell.
And if there is a heaven, it doesn't include our selfishness, envy, greed, avarice...and all the other deadly...life killing...attitudes.
To get to heaven, you have to live a good life here. As good as you can. And forgive everyone. And not think you are the only one who got it right.
And I suppose it's true, that only people who don't get everything they want now, think about heaven. People who are put into a position of despair that most human effort cannot relieve, They think about God, when evil happens, or death, or an illness. And sometimes they go right into guilt: oh, why didn't I realize earlier, forgive earlier, love earlier? And they get stuck there. Everyone wants a reason for their suffering. Oh, I smoked, ate too much, drank too much, played too much golf...or whatever...we play that game, that illusion that we could have changed things if we had made other choices...and the whisperings of God begin to be heard.
It's not all over.
Losing a leg is not the end.
The death of a child is not the end.
Cancer does not have to defeat you.
Losing your job is only for this moment.
There are other moments ahead.
If you learn to juggle, if you can't let go, then juggle...
Your arms are not big enough to hold all the things
You think you want...
so finally, eventually, you will let go
of all of them
And you suddenly awake
to the realization
You didn't need any of them...or that.
At some point, you will let go of all of it...
and if you are kind to yourself
You will laugh
when you realize
everything you thought you needed
you already had.
From your very first thought
God was already there...
Saying
You don't have to do it alone.
Let heaven begin now.
Enjoy life
by realizing hardship is unavoidable
In the beginning you didn't care
when it was a struggle to walk, or talk, or sing
or ride a bike. If you had a bike to ride.
It's the same now.
It's always going to be a struggle.
Til your last breath.
So why not just love?
You don't need strong muscles for that
or legs, or even eyes...
you can even be in a coma
and still love
and be loved.
You can even die
and still love
and be loved.
Because love never dies.
Because love always grows.
And that..
for me...
is proof...
of God.
Q.E.D.
Love, Cindy
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Bench-warming
homelessness
wandering
self-absorbed
not going to sit still
glad to have the chance to drive seventy miles an hour during the early stages of inclement weather, a place to go, a reason to do something
because doing nothing just hurts...
I was given a little miracle yesterday, behaving less than exemplary...and crying out, like the persistent woman with the judge.
"Give me something. I need something."
But what, I had no clue.
And the patient one, the calm one...
Found an answer of sorts
Because
My heart stopped hurting
for just a moment.
Like striking a match, but not as bright
Like a shine of light so small as a grain of sand
was just enough
to ease the pain
of emptiness
"Get used to emptiness"
"But I don't want to,
I want to be full"
And then
Without know
Or thinking
There it was
An answered prayer
"Give me emptiness"
and there it was
No one told me it was going to hurt
No one warned me
about the cost
of emptiness.
Never knew how full I was
of myself
until it wasn't there.
Not really humility yet
Just...nothing.
I recall an old Star Trek episode from the 60s:
McCoy: "It's hard to believe that a man could die of loneliness."
Back then, maybe, they didn't know that was true.
Even a tormentor is better than emptiness
And emptiness, true emptiness is the only real hell.
Ice. So cold that nothing happens. Ever.
That is emptiness.
Dante understood.
So bench-warming was not an appealing thought.
My name is Cynthia Mary. I am a great warrior. I do not sit. Ever.
"Be still and know that I am God."
I know You are God.
Now let me be.
Busy.
"Be still and know that I am God."
Do you want to argue with me?
Still implies nothing. Nothing implies death.
Uncreating would even be something compared to nothing.
In the Swamps of Sadness,
The great turtle, Moira,
had been alone so long
That Nothing seemed like a good idea.
(cf. The Never-Ending Story)
I don't want Nothing.
I don't want to sit
And I don't want to wait.
The priest bossed me around this morning.
Told me which cup to use, speaking in a bossy voice
"No one talks to me like that." I retorted.
"But you. I'll let you (and what I don't say is, "you belong to God")
And I will bend to the one who has given up everything
to do the best thing.
That one, I will trust, even in small things.
So, if that is true...
I have to listen to the one who said, "Sit."
And I realize how afraid I am of Nothing.
How hell, for me, is not doing.
To sit, and let someone wash my feet...
is one level of hell.
To just sit, without even waiting...
is fine, if I choose to do it.
Because I also choose when to stop.
And then, it dawns on me---oh, stupid, dense, slow me...
That my prayer life has only just begun.
To submit to love, to let it happen to me...
is terrifying.
To think I matter, simply because I exist
I matter, even if I don't do anything...
this is beyond impossible to grasp.
Now...look at the day...and there it is staring at me. While I write, I have unconsciously turned on Turner Classic Movies...and the movie is "Wait Until Dark"...a play I worked on in high school.
Audrey Hepburn plays a blind woman being led down a particular path by evil men...and she has just realized she has been tricked...so she begins to shatter any available light to save her from the "bad people." In the dark, she knows how to survive. Those who do not know how to survive in the dark will be beaten by it.
Those who do not know how to be still will be beaten by stillness.
So now I have to sit. So I can learn how to sit.
"When will I be a real girl?" I ask God.
"Soon," God says. "Soon."
"Be still and know that I am God."
wandering
self-absorbed
not going to sit still
glad to have the chance to drive seventy miles an hour during the early stages of inclement weather, a place to go, a reason to do something
because doing nothing just hurts...
I was given a little miracle yesterday, behaving less than exemplary...and crying out, like the persistent woman with the judge.
"Give me something. I need something."
But what, I had no clue.
And the patient one, the calm one...
Found an answer of sorts
Because
My heart stopped hurting
for just a moment.
Like striking a match, but not as bright
Like a shine of light so small as a grain of sand
was just enough
to ease the pain
of emptiness
"Get used to emptiness"
"But I don't want to,
I want to be full"
And then
Without know
Or thinking
There it was
An answered prayer
"Give me emptiness"
and there it was
No one told me it was going to hurt
No one warned me
about the cost
of emptiness.
Never knew how full I was
of myself
until it wasn't there.
Not really humility yet
Just...nothing.
I recall an old Star Trek episode from the 60s:
McCoy: "It's hard to believe that a man could die of loneliness."
Back then, maybe, they didn't know that was true.
Even a tormentor is better than emptiness
And emptiness, true emptiness is the only real hell.
Ice. So cold that nothing happens. Ever.
That is emptiness.
Dante understood.
So bench-warming was not an appealing thought.
My name is Cynthia Mary. I am a great warrior. I do not sit. Ever.
"Be still and know that I am God."
I know You are God.
Now let me be.
Busy.
"Be still and know that I am God."
Do you want to argue with me?
Still implies nothing. Nothing implies death.
Uncreating would even be something compared to nothing.
In the Swamps of Sadness,
The great turtle, Moira,
had been alone so long
That Nothing seemed like a good idea.
(cf. The Never-Ending Story)
I don't want Nothing.
I don't want to sit
And I don't want to wait.
The priest bossed me around this morning.
Told me which cup to use, speaking in a bossy voice
"No one talks to me like that." I retorted.
"But you. I'll let you (and what I don't say is, "you belong to God")
And I will bend to the one who has given up everything
to do the best thing.
That one, I will trust, even in small things.
So, if that is true...
I have to listen to the one who said, "Sit."
And I realize how afraid I am of Nothing.
How hell, for me, is not doing.
To sit, and let someone wash my feet...
is one level of hell.
To just sit, without even waiting...
is fine, if I choose to do it.
Because I also choose when to stop.
And then, it dawns on me---oh, stupid, dense, slow me...
That my prayer life has only just begun.
To submit to love, to let it happen to me...
is terrifying.
To think I matter, simply because I exist
I matter, even if I don't do anything...
this is beyond impossible to grasp.
Now...look at the day...and there it is staring at me. While I write, I have unconsciously turned on Turner Classic Movies...and the movie is "Wait Until Dark"...a play I worked on in high school.
Audrey Hepburn plays a blind woman being led down a particular path by evil men...and she has just realized she has been tricked...so she begins to shatter any available light to save her from the "bad people." In the dark, she knows how to survive. Those who do not know how to survive in the dark will be beaten by it.
Those who do not know how to be still will be beaten by stillness.
So now I have to sit. So I can learn how to sit.
"When will I be a real girl?" I ask God.
"Soon," God says. "Soon."
"Be still and know that I am God."
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Seeing your Shadow
I haven't posted in a long time. I've written, but I've not been able to post. For some reason, I need to write this one. Then I may move on to something else.
The priest said to me on Friday, "You're free." and I suppose he believes it. The trick for me is to believe it, and accept it, too.
I have prayed over and over to God to heal me, to make me a healer, to help me become the very best I can be...and all of that seems revolve around my idea that I need to be a priest...or that I want to be a priest. Wants and needs can be the same things, but not always. But I recall the pure hatred from the nuns who didn't care or understand me on any level. I asked the wrong questions, I asked too many questions...and I was always, always, always bored. The priests always took an interest in me, made me feel valued, like I really existed. If I truly loved God, then I must be a good person: a priest...and never ever a nun.
So the journey was sometimes terrifying and tragic...and it was fairly clear from the beginning, I had no one on my side. It is difficult to write about because...I am beginning to assimilate that, after 50 years, I think I have real people there with me...and like Pinocchio, I am at long last a "real boy"...or in my case a "real girl"...although that still sounds so strange, because I still have in my head very unkind images of "real girls." Only a few have offered kindness to me...most were hateful and catty and jealous, concerned with shampoos and boys...I thought of them as hens clucking in the distance, dismissing them of having no value to me. But then...I didn't realize what had happened to me...and now, after 50 years, I know.
It's not pretty. Not the kind of thing one writes about even...and I am not yet clever enough to weave the truth into some cautionary tale of fiction...though I wish that I could.
I recall, somewhere around the age of 13 or 14, after reading the book, "Go Ask Alice" that I had kind of a choice finally, I actually thought about, wrote about, becoming crazy...because reality back then was just so horrible. I thought about it. I had within me, the power to abandon the world through my mind, if I chose to do so...and knowing I could do it scared me to death.
Perhaps that was the point when I went to God in prayer and kind of gave up: I told God the world was evil and there was no escape, so I said, "use me as you wish, I will go into hell for you, because I love you that much." (Over the years, I have known others, usually women, who have made that prayer, too...let me correct that: in my readings, I have read of women who have offered themselves in this way. These women were deeply wounded by the world. I wonder if the brain finds that idea as yet one more survival technique: I cannot escape hell, so I am going to try to make hell disappear by crusading against it) Not an unusual prayer.
Factor in my Clearwater blue eyes and pleasant face, blessed with a voice that can calm even a firestorm, and that makes me a reasonable candidate for becoming a healer. That is, once I rid myself...or should I say, with God's help, survived and forgave all the evil that came my way...and that I offered out of hurt to too many gentle souls. I had been born with the power to create and destroy, to build up and to tear down...which is true of every one of us. But we cannot build up without the story...nor do we tear down without it.
In fact, I have come to understand that the story of who we are is what separates us from the animals. The story of us is the soul of us, the spirit of us is what we send out and gather in. Good and bad. Building up and tearing down. None of it means anything unless we tell the story.
I've searched in many places for help in telling my story. Many places. I recall the moments I reached out. Sometimes I was seen, sometimes I was seen and ignored, and sometimes I was completely invisible. (Now think about this for a minute: we do this everyday, all day long. We see what we choose to see, and we ignore the rest. It is a terrible reality of our humanity, which is why we must always adopt a state of forgiveness in our hearts, not just for those who wound us, but for ourselves, because we wound others when we choose to not see...some part of you knows that is true. It has to be forgiven, not ignored or dismissed...or it will haunt you later. The devil will bring it up to you in those last days, and you must be prepared)
I am seeing it all so much more clearly now. I have a calmness I did not know before. Perhaps the priest is right, I am free.
I saw my shadow...and it doesn't frighten me anymore.
As a scientist, I can never actually say to another scientist: God exists. It would waste his time and mine. But there are greater things in this universe, in this "being alive" that we have not yet even begun to understand. All of truth is accessible though, if you are willing to step out of thinking about it. Like Peter walking on the water. Yes, he began to sink the moment he began to think about it...those of us who are contemplatives, if we dare to analyze our consolations, they become something less...because we try to put them in the box of the human mind. We pay a price to tell our stories, but it is still a necessary way to help others along the path...if they want to follow the path.
In this last month, I finally faced my shadow. I went into the cave, like Luke Skywalker, carrying only what I had with me, and the only battle I had was with myself. Yoda said Luke failed in the cave. He killed his shadow. But the shadow was part of him, so he killed part of himself.
It's not that we have to kill off part of who we are to have that "happy life"...it is that we have to see it, to know what it is, and to manage it. That was the lesson that took me forever to learn. And I hated looking at my shadow, because I realize that my shadow was the one who was raising my daughter most of the time...and separating me from her, telling me I had no right to be her mother. I have recently stood as an observer and recognized it for what it was. And I have had to forgive myself for what I was not; and recognize that, for her to heal, she will have to choose to do the work herself. I really can't help. I can see it, because I recall when my son was born, I began to tell my shadow to go to hell. Because I made a little progress, I thought I was "all better." Alas, I had barely begun.
I'm coming up on the first anniversary of my husband's death. (It has just started to rain on the skylight now). We were divorced almost 18 years when he died, but when he died, I felt a pain I have never felt before. I loved him deeply, he was the most perfect person for me...and I was the most perfect person for him...but we both lived too much in our shadows and the love that united us was not strong enough to keep us together. I wanted that to heal...and now it never will. So with the great vigor of someone with nothing to lose, nothing to wait for, I began in earnest to undo the knots in my heart. If I must stay, then let it be an adventure and not a prison!
A long year it has been. I often remember standing on that little hill, near Cochita Lake, where Bob died...looking out into the clear cold sky...finally asking, why did you leave me? I waited and now you are gone forever and I'm stuck here, you son of a bitch...and the thousand thoughts that followed. The perfect family never happened. I always believed in the perfect family...the one I didn't have but was going to make.
So, looking back at the year...my daughter, who does not speak to me unless required to, looks more beautiful than ever. She is healthier than ever. She has a long way to go, but I suspect she will always find what she seeks. I don't get to choose what she looks for, but I pray that when her life winds down, she will be content in her heart. My son is well on his way to good things, with his own list of challenges, making sense of his life. They both have their stories to tell...to write.
For me, it was a big deal, too see my shadow and tell it to "go to hell." That really didn't work, because it is part of me. What I had to do was tell it to "shut up." It was so skilled in knowing how to own me and try to destroy any good in my life. I did not realize how much it had taken control of my life until this last month. Oh, how surprised I was...and what amused me perhaps more, was the surprise on "woman walking with me"s face. I don't know if that was for my benefit, or if I had just done a great job conning her along the way.
Many people have tried to help. I never stopped asking. Each had their own theories...but I could not let go until I understood some part of it, enough of it to finally say "enough!"
Now...for a quarter at the St Vincent de Paul thrift shop, I find for a quarter "The Dolores Passion of Jesus Christ" on CD by Catherine Emmerich...and I began to listen to it...carefully. Slowly. This was no accident. In the Garden of Gethsemane, how the devil attacks Jesus...not the confusing beautiful images of the Mel Gipson movie, but the words, all of them...and I think about it.
What I have always understood was that our salvation is contingent on what we choose to believe, accept as real. On my storyboard, Jesus stands at the "gates" asking, "well, are you coming in?" and we have, even in those last moments, the opportunity to choose...and I always understood that was a big deal. When I meet with people close to death, I often hear, "What if Jesus doesn't want me?" and I have always had a comforting response...knowing the struggle inside...and suddenly, I have come to understand that we each have our Garden of Gethsemane, where we will sweat drops of blood when we look back at who we were, the story we told, what we embraced and what we didn't...and that voice of Satan, that shadow, make his final play for our souls...reminding us of every little thing we left undone, did poorly, ignored, abandoned, hurt...
The devil shows us our shadow and tells us that's all we are: shadows. But we are not shadows. We are lights. We have the ability to shine even in the darkness...even when the winds blow. We are lights...and lights always have shadows. But the shadow is not the light.
John of the Cross, was said to have told his brothers to stop telling him about all the good he had done in his life, that only God's grace would bring him into heaven. And that is the truth. It is not giving you permission to stop doing all the good you can in this world, but the truth is, no matter how much good you do, it will never be enough. There will always be more to do. So relying on your own work will only take you to the gate.
Knowing who you really are, and who you really belong to, what you were created for...these are the things that matter...and you can only face your shadow when you have the light with you, and inside you.
There is no need to be afraid any longer.
Winter is over...you are free.
Love, Cindy
The priest said to me on Friday, "You're free." and I suppose he believes it. The trick for me is to believe it, and accept it, too.
I have prayed over and over to God to heal me, to make me a healer, to help me become the very best I can be...and all of that seems revolve around my idea that I need to be a priest...or that I want to be a priest. Wants and needs can be the same things, but not always. But I recall the pure hatred from the nuns who didn't care or understand me on any level. I asked the wrong questions, I asked too many questions...and I was always, always, always bored. The priests always took an interest in me, made me feel valued, like I really existed. If I truly loved God, then I must be a good person: a priest...and never ever a nun.
So the journey was sometimes terrifying and tragic...and it was fairly clear from the beginning, I had no one on my side. It is difficult to write about because...I am beginning to assimilate that, after 50 years, I think I have real people there with me...and like Pinocchio, I am at long last a "real boy"...or in my case a "real girl"...although that still sounds so strange, because I still have in my head very unkind images of "real girls." Only a few have offered kindness to me...most were hateful and catty and jealous, concerned with shampoos and boys...I thought of them as hens clucking in the distance, dismissing them of having no value to me. But then...I didn't realize what had happened to me...and now, after 50 years, I know.
It's not pretty. Not the kind of thing one writes about even...and I am not yet clever enough to weave the truth into some cautionary tale of fiction...though I wish that I could.
I recall, somewhere around the age of 13 or 14, after reading the book, "Go Ask Alice" that I had kind of a choice finally, I actually thought about, wrote about, becoming crazy...because reality back then was just so horrible. I thought about it. I had within me, the power to abandon the world through my mind, if I chose to do so...and knowing I could do it scared me to death.
Perhaps that was the point when I went to God in prayer and kind of gave up: I told God the world was evil and there was no escape, so I said, "use me as you wish, I will go into hell for you, because I love you that much." (Over the years, I have known others, usually women, who have made that prayer, too...let me correct that: in my readings, I have read of women who have offered themselves in this way. These women were deeply wounded by the world. I wonder if the brain finds that idea as yet one more survival technique: I cannot escape hell, so I am going to try to make hell disappear by crusading against it) Not an unusual prayer.
Factor in my Clearwater blue eyes and pleasant face, blessed with a voice that can calm even a firestorm, and that makes me a reasonable candidate for becoming a healer. That is, once I rid myself...or should I say, with God's help, survived and forgave all the evil that came my way...and that I offered out of hurt to too many gentle souls. I had been born with the power to create and destroy, to build up and to tear down...which is true of every one of us. But we cannot build up without the story...nor do we tear down without it.
In fact, I have come to understand that the story of who we are is what separates us from the animals. The story of us is the soul of us, the spirit of us is what we send out and gather in. Good and bad. Building up and tearing down. None of it means anything unless we tell the story.
I've searched in many places for help in telling my story. Many places. I recall the moments I reached out. Sometimes I was seen, sometimes I was seen and ignored, and sometimes I was completely invisible. (Now think about this for a minute: we do this everyday, all day long. We see what we choose to see, and we ignore the rest. It is a terrible reality of our humanity, which is why we must always adopt a state of forgiveness in our hearts, not just for those who wound us, but for ourselves, because we wound others when we choose to not see...some part of you knows that is true. It has to be forgiven, not ignored or dismissed...or it will haunt you later. The devil will bring it up to you in those last days, and you must be prepared)
I am seeing it all so much more clearly now. I have a calmness I did not know before. Perhaps the priest is right, I am free.
I saw my shadow...and it doesn't frighten me anymore.
As a scientist, I can never actually say to another scientist: God exists. It would waste his time and mine. But there are greater things in this universe, in this "being alive" that we have not yet even begun to understand. All of truth is accessible though, if you are willing to step out of thinking about it. Like Peter walking on the water. Yes, he began to sink the moment he began to think about it...those of us who are contemplatives, if we dare to analyze our consolations, they become something less...because we try to put them in the box of the human mind. We pay a price to tell our stories, but it is still a necessary way to help others along the path...if they want to follow the path.
In this last month, I finally faced my shadow. I went into the cave, like Luke Skywalker, carrying only what I had with me, and the only battle I had was with myself. Yoda said Luke failed in the cave. He killed his shadow. But the shadow was part of him, so he killed part of himself.
It's not that we have to kill off part of who we are to have that "happy life"...it is that we have to see it, to know what it is, and to manage it. That was the lesson that took me forever to learn. And I hated looking at my shadow, because I realize that my shadow was the one who was raising my daughter most of the time...and separating me from her, telling me I had no right to be her mother. I have recently stood as an observer and recognized it for what it was. And I have had to forgive myself for what I was not; and recognize that, for her to heal, she will have to choose to do the work herself. I really can't help. I can see it, because I recall when my son was born, I began to tell my shadow to go to hell. Because I made a little progress, I thought I was "all better." Alas, I had barely begun.
I'm coming up on the first anniversary of my husband's death. (It has just started to rain on the skylight now). We were divorced almost 18 years when he died, but when he died, I felt a pain I have never felt before. I loved him deeply, he was the most perfect person for me...and I was the most perfect person for him...but we both lived too much in our shadows and the love that united us was not strong enough to keep us together. I wanted that to heal...and now it never will. So with the great vigor of someone with nothing to lose, nothing to wait for, I began in earnest to undo the knots in my heart. If I must stay, then let it be an adventure and not a prison!
A long year it has been. I often remember standing on that little hill, near Cochita Lake, where Bob died...looking out into the clear cold sky...finally asking, why did you leave me? I waited and now you are gone forever and I'm stuck here, you son of a bitch...and the thousand thoughts that followed. The perfect family never happened. I always believed in the perfect family...the one I didn't have but was going to make.
So, looking back at the year...my daughter, who does not speak to me unless required to, looks more beautiful than ever. She is healthier than ever. She has a long way to go, but I suspect she will always find what she seeks. I don't get to choose what she looks for, but I pray that when her life winds down, she will be content in her heart. My son is well on his way to good things, with his own list of challenges, making sense of his life. They both have their stories to tell...to write.
For me, it was a big deal, too see my shadow and tell it to "go to hell." That really didn't work, because it is part of me. What I had to do was tell it to "shut up." It was so skilled in knowing how to own me and try to destroy any good in my life. I did not realize how much it had taken control of my life until this last month. Oh, how surprised I was...and what amused me perhaps more, was the surprise on "woman walking with me"s face. I don't know if that was for my benefit, or if I had just done a great job conning her along the way.
Many people have tried to help. I never stopped asking. Each had their own theories...but I could not let go until I understood some part of it, enough of it to finally say "enough!"
Now...for a quarter at the St Vincent de Paul thrift shop, I find for a quarter "The Dolores Passion of Jesus Christ" on CD by Catherine Emmerich...and I began to listen to it...carefully. Slowly. This was no accident. In the Garden of Gethsemane, how the devil attacks Jesus...not the confusing beautiful images of the Mel Gipson movie, but the words, all of them...and I think about it.
What I have always understood was that our salvation is contingent on what we choose to believe, accept as real. On my storyboard, Jesus stands at the "gates" asking, "well, are you coming in?" and we have, even in those last moments, the opportunity to choose...and I always understood that was a big deal. When I meet with people close to death, I often hear, "What if Jesus doesn't want me?" and I have always had a comforting response...knowing the struggle inside...and suddenly, I have come to understand that we each have our Garden of Gethsemane, where we will sweat drops of blood when we look back at who we were, the story we told, what we embraced and what we didn't...and that voice of Satan, that shadow, make his final play for our souls...reminding us of every little thing we left undone, did poorly, ignored, abandoned, hurt...
The devil shows us our shadow and tells us that's all we are: shadows. But we are not shadows. We are lights. We have the ability to shine even in the darkness...even when the winds blow. We are lights...and lights always have shadows. But the shadow is not the light.
John of the Cross, was said to have told his brothers to stop telling him about all the good he had done in his life, that only God's grace would bring him into heaven. And that is the truth. It is not giving you permission to stop doing all the good you can in this world, but the truth is, no matter how much good you do, it will never be enough. There will always be more to do. So relying on your own work will only take you to the gate.
Knowing who you really are, and who you really belong to, what you were created for...these are the things that matter...and you can only face your shadow when you have the light with you, and inside you.
There is no need to be afraid any longer.
Winter is over...you are free.
Love, Cindy
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Epiphany
My epiphany for January 2014:
Did you really think I would write it down here?
Let the 2014 Hunger Game Begin...
Did you really think I would write it down here?
Let the 2014 Hunger Game Begin...
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