I feel like the most insecure person on the planet. Yet I have no doubt, that most people feel the same way...it's that we all just get better as disguising it...accepting it, befriending it, letting go of letting it bother us.
As I was working my way through a meditation yesterday, reflecting on it now, I realize again how complex we are, how simple we are...and how deeply connected we are. I realized again the 'idea' of God...and how important it is to us human beings that we have an idea of God.
Reading Marin Buber this morning, I found myself in a passage reflecting on the Hasadim....which I wonder if Jesus had access to...because I kept finding myself thinking, if Jesus was reading these things, absorbing them...it is easier to see how He came up with the "I am" sayings in the Gospel of John. I could just feel Him taking these stories...and taking them deeper...so that we might identify more clearly with the Divine and thus, perhaps, behave in a like manner.
Buber tells a story about prayer, in which the word "Father" is used instead of the word God. When praying before we go to sleep, how do we address the divine?
"Protect us, Lord, as we stay awake. Watch over us as we sleep. That awake, we may keep watch with Christ, and asleep, rest in His peace." I love those last words before "shutting down." Yet I look at those words again:
Protect us, Father, as we stay awake. Watch over us as we sleep. That awake, we may keep watch with our (brother, sister, wife, child) and asleep rest in [their] peace.
Not going to argue here about the political correctness of the above statement, but it suggests to me, an examination of what we ask for, and what we believe.
My question during the meditation was always, "What do you see?" For me, the word "see" was colloquial...encompassing all the senses. And then I said it, "In Catholicism, we are asked to use ALL our senses in our prayer life." And by saying that to the woman, I was consecrated to those words: using all of my senses in my prayer life.
And without completely understanding it, all the personal internal bitching I had done because I felt so uncomfortable with certain aspects of my own work...I was called again into a real communion with God, which includes all of my sisters and brothers...and all of our quirks and confusions and our gifts and graces.
Nothing ever really runs smoothly, or linearly. I had someone tell me, that, in our sitting together, she had her "answer" in the first 15 minutes. I speak of that because, it was certainly not me that was particularly wise or insightful...but the activity of being in communion with another released an unknown [terror] in us both...[and not the same terror, of course!]
We do what we do, but we do not know what we do. This works for good and for bad, depending always on what we see.
The little parable about the new town: if you see goodness, you will find goodness there. If you see terror, you will find terror there. It's still the same town. How you live there depends on what you see. To hell with facts and science, they don't matter if you cannot see...
Poor blind Bartimaeus! Yet his faith saved him.
You assume I love you because it is what you want to see. That can be a good thing and that can be a bad thing, depending on what you see. I cannot change your perception and you must respond faithfully to what you see. I am simply here, offering a form of love...the love that was given to me by God. How you choose to receive that love...is entirely your story.
I can cloud a gift from you by my unforgiveness. I can look for treachery and manipulation and find it. I can search for a motive and offer a biological interpretation to keep my from engaging a potential good gift from God, but I cannot make you do anything you do not want to do.
So I ask you again: What do you see?
And that...is your life.
Love, Cindy
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
We hardly knew you...
Will you remember me
When I have crossed over
To the land
Of milk and honey?
Will you come and sit
At my grave
And remind me again
Of how much you
Loved me?
As the years pass,
Will you turn me
Into a saint,
Or a villain,
Blaming me or
Thanking me
For being
Part of your life?
When I am gone
I have no chance left
to tell you
that I loved you
but that
you never
really knew
who I was
or what mattered to me.
When I am gone
no matter
what I write
or how
Still...
the only one who knows me
is
God.
And that is of little comfort
as I am stuck here
right now
Trying to
manifest my love for God
without
pissing you off.
The world is so wounded
in need of love
Yet seems to kill it
at every turn...
because it's never
the love
that matters...
it is the
"how we love"
that we
judge
condemn
mollify
worship...
And if my idea of love
Doesn't fit
into your box...
you throw it away
like yesterday's trash...
How did we become so cruel
as to vilify
a love
that we don't understand?
Even now
we nail love to a cross
place it on display
so others can mock it
deconstruct it
reconstruct it
into our own image...
claiming
this is what she meant.
And love,
which is pure God
pure creation
knows what is real
and what is not
yet cries
because we
have tried
to kill it
to kill Him
all over again...
with our rules
and our prejudices
and our wounds
we don't want healed.
We want to be right.
Yet love survives
in spite of our foolishness
Love wins
even when
we choose death
Love always wins.
Love, Cindy
copyright 2013
(I don't know how to make the c in a circle)
When I have crossed over
To the land
Of milk and honey?
Will you come and sit
At my grave
And remind me again
Of how much you
Loved me?
As the years pass,
Will you turn me
Into a saint,
Or a villain,
Blaming me or
Thanking me
For being
Part of your life?
When I am gone
I have no chance left
to tell you
that I loved you
but that
you never
really knew
who I was
or what mattered to me.
When I am gone
no matter
what I write
or how
Still...
the only one who knows me
is
God.
And that is of little comfort
as I am stuck here
right now
Trying to
manifest my love for God
without
pissing you off.
The world is so wounded
in need of love
Yet seems to kill it
at every turn...
because it's never
the love
that matters...
it is the
"how we love"
that we
judge
condemn
mollify
worship...
And if my idea of love
Doesn't fit
into your box...
you throw it away
like yesterday's trash...
How did we become so cruel
as to vilify
a love
that we don't understand?
Even now
we nail love to a cross
place it on display
so others can mock it
deconstruct it
reconstruct it
into our own image...
claiming
this is what she meant.
And love,
which is pure God
pure creation
knows what is real
and what is not
yet cries
because we
have tried
to kill it
to kill Him
all over again...
with our rules
and our prejudices
and our wounds
we don't want healed.
We want to be right.
Yet love survives
in spite of our foolishness
Love wins
even when
we choose death
Love always wins.
Love, Cindy
copyright 2013
(I don't know how to make the c in a circle)
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Lux Aeterna
I really don't know what that means, but I am listening to it on Pandora...and it is just so...incredibly pleasant and calming. While making coffee and cleaning the kitchen, I listened to NPR, which only affirmed in my head we are all so selfish and uncaring...and greedy...as a group. All of that "deregulation" that began in the 80s with Reagan (forgive me if I have got that wrong, that was when I began aware of the hungry dogs ready to take advantage of the poor. I was told of such things before then, but I refused to believe that people would be so mean, to step on others in order to get ahead...) Whatever the sources, all I hear and see now is such an abuse of power. And the chilling truth is, I am part of the problem.
I want to water my grass. I want my air-conditioning. I want clean water to drink. The scary story in the Dallas area right now is the large pipe that broke in the mid-cities. A pipe that was designed to last 50 years broke down at 30. One could argue someone used cheap materials to build it, but the comment I clung to was "corrosive materials" destroyed the pipe from the inside. That kind of makes me want to ask, "What is in the water we are drinking?" No one really drinks it anymore. No one trusts it. I saw a video on FB of a child getting a drink of water from a hose and everyone was laughing. I looked in horror at what might be going into that child's body. Another video of a child and a dog playing tug of war with a plastic bag. I shuddered to think that the dog might get a piece of plastic lodged in his throat and die. But everyone was laughing. Another story on NPR about Thomas Edison, who really wasn't such a nice guy. Decided to battle Westinghouse for the A/C vs D/C superiority with a test of electrocuting a "bad" elephant.
And then I could bring up the news I caught last night.
The music on Pandora is infinitely more soul satisfying than listening to what human beings are doing to each other and to this world. I ponder the question: Is it reasonable for me to go to music when the world is being violated on every level by selfish people...including me: with my coffee, my filtered water, my electronic light, cool air and satellite sent preprogrammed music?
I had a poster once:
Sometimes I sits and thinks.
Sometimes I just sits.
In my garage: a bumper sticker on my freezer reminds me every time I get out of my car:
The secret of life is to live it.
There has not been a moment in history that was not horrific and barbaric in some way. Something is always trying to kill you, steal from you, destroy your bliss, oppress you...some who are aware of this remain bitter...and become mean and greedy...grabbing their piece of the pie and damning anyone who gets too close. But there are others who have learned how to live...outside reality...and into a super-reality.
Yesterday, my day included watching parts of "The Godfather," one of the "date movies" of my youth, Bill Moyers "Genesis" part one, TED Talks on perception and illusion, reading bits about the Peloponnesian War. It began with a trip to the library, and checking out "The Iron Lady" with Meryl Streep. One priest told me, when he went to see it, that it reminded him of me. I thought of that yesterday, as I wandered through the library I had not visited in a long time.
I went because I needed an egg taco from Aparicio's. I bought tortillas...oh so fresh! And then went to the resale shop and bought a granny quilt for 99 cents. I decided to drive through the "old neighborhood, and passed my church, now a school, and remembered the day I sat on my car and had my first vision of Christ dying on the cross. And I remembered how the minister there gave me a key to the church, so that I could come a pray anytime I wanted to. I looked at how so much had changed and how much stayed the same. Such a sweet old neighborhood with tiny beautiful houses. And then the library. I looked around, glad to see people there. Saw two old friends. One was planning to retire after 25 years of library service. Still as beautiful as ever. I thought back then, how I wanted a job there and didn't get it. And I was so depressed...I decided to go back to school and get a math degree, and then a master's degree...and all the interesting jobs I had...and I wondered, if I had just gotten that library job, I'd probably be celebrating my 25th anniversary there...and Bob would have been satisfied that I was making money...and maybe we'd still be married.
When I left the library...and looked at the streets ahead of me, I realized I had to go to the place where Bob had grown up...and say good bye there. Remember...and let go. Just as I did last spring when I drove to Navarro Junior College under a different pretense...and looked at the plane...and the planetarium...and the auditorium, where Bob had his first concert...mostly Beethoven. Young people were on stage singing...and I thought about the father of my children.
I drove through the old neighborhood, where the 4th of July parties were huge and Bob would make omelets for everyone on the block. I looked at the great greenness of the street. I looked at the house that used to have the pyrocanthra bush that pierced Bob's eye. The ditch where he would take his infrared pictures of the old pipe he fell off of...and had to get stitches. I said thank you and good bye to it all.
Why did I care? And how did I not know how much I had loved him?
So seeing the movie "The Iron Lady" which seemed all about how, despite all the incredible things this woman had done, her most important relationship was with her husband. The movie was about telling him goodbye.
God, you are so funny. HA!
Is it really true God exists? As illogical as it appears, how can God not exist? He seems to be messing with me every damn day.
I kept going with the input into my brain. Genesis, the politics of the Iron Lady, why people go to war, the great big picture...and the teeny tiny one that is my life. Then to process, I cleaned and cooked and gardened. And I thought a lot about the conversation I had with the priest the day before.
Yes. It seems I am motivated to write when I have the conversations I most want to have. I do love my priests. They are the only ones who make me feel...real. Not a freak. God have mercy on them, I know I am a challenge.
The dawn is looking pretty out there, green leaves looking a bit golden as they are greeted by the sun. The choral music resonates in my bones. I cannot make the world be nice...play nice. I can, however, accept the tasks placed before me. And know that the past...will resolve itself outside of my hands. Even my past.
The priest reminded me to ask the right questions. Some questions go nowhere. Why is not so important as what. What am I going to do next?
I just googled "lux aeterna"
Eternal light.
oh...
God, you are such a delightful lover.
Surprise me again.
Love, Cindy
I was telling him about my
I want to water my grass. I want my air-conditioning. I want clean water to drink. The scary story in the Dallas area right now is the large pipe that broke in the mid-cities. A pipe that was designed to last 50 years broke down at 30. One could argue someone used cheap materials to build it, but the comment I clung to was "corrosive materials" destroyed the pipe from the inside. That kind of makes me want to ask, "What is in the water we are drinking?" No one really drinks it anymore. No one trusts it. I saw a video on FB of a child getting a drink of water from a hose and everyone was laughing. I looked in horror at what might be going into that child's body. Another video of a child and a dog playing tug of war with a plastic bag. I shuddered to think that the dog might get a piece of plastic lodged in his throat and die. But everyone was laughing. Another story on NPR about Thomas Edison, who really wasn't such a nice guy. Decided to battle Westinghouse for the A/C vs D/C superiority with a test of electrocuting a "bad" elephant.
And then I could bring up the news I caught last night.
The music on Pandora is infinitely more soul satisfying than listening to what human beings are doing to each other and to this world. I ponder the question: Is it reasonable for me to go to music when the world is being violated on every level by selfish people...including me: with my coffee, my filtered water, my electronic light, cool air and satellite sent preprogrammed music?
I had a poster once:
Sometimes I sits and thinks.
Sometimes I just sits.
In my garage: a bumper sticker on my freezer reminds me every time I get out of my car:
The secret of life is to live it.
There has not been a moment in history that was not horrific and barbaric in some way. Something is always trying to kill you, steal from you, destroy your bliss, oppress you...some who are aware of this remain bitter...and become mean and greedy...grabbing their piece of the pie and damning anyone who gets too close. But there are others who have learned how to live...outside reality...and into a super-reality.
Yesterday, my day included watching parts of "The Godfather," one of the "date movies" of my youth, Bill Moyers "Genesis" part one, TED Talks on perception and illusion, reading bits about the Peloponnesian War. It began with a trip to the library, and checking out "The Iron Lady" with Meryl Streep. One priest told me, when he went to see it, that it reminded him of me. I thought of that yesterday, as I wandered through the library I had not visited in a long time.
I went because I needed an egg taco from Aparicio's. I bought tortillas...oh so fresh! And then went to the resale shop and bought a granny quilt for 99 cents. I decided to drive through the "old neighborhood, and passed my church, now a school, and remembered the day I sat on my car and had my first vision of Christ dying on the cross. And I remembered how the minister there gave me a key to the church, so that I could come a pray anytime I wanted to. I looked at how so much had changed and how much stayed the same. Such a sweet old neighborhood with tiny beautiful houses. And then the library. I looked around, glad to see people there. Saw two old friends. One was planning to retire after 25 years of library service. Still as beautiful as ever. I thought back then, how I wanted a job there and didn't get it. And I was so depressed...I decided to go back to school and get a math degree, and then a master's degree...and all the interesting jobs I had...and I wondered, if I had just gotten that library job, I'd probably be celebrating my 25th anniversary there...and Bob would have been satisfied that I was making money...and maybe we'd still be married.
When I left the library...and looked at the streets ahead of me, I realized I had to go to the place where Bob had grown up...and say good bye there. Remember...and let go. Just as I did last spring when I drove to Navarro Junior College under a different pretense...and looked at the plane...and the planetarium...and the auditorium, where Bob had his first concert...mostly Beethoven. Young people were on stage singing...and I thought about the father of my children.
I drove through the old neighborhood, where the 4th of July parties were huge and Bob would make omelets for everyone on the block. I looked at the great greenness of the street. I looked at the house that used to have the pyrocanthra bush that pierced Bob's eye. The ditch where he would take his infrared pictures of the old pipe he fell off of...and had to get stitches. I said thank you and good bye to it all.
Why did I care? And how did I not know how much I had loved him?
So seeing the movie "The Iron Lady" which seemed all about how, despite all the incredible things this woman had done, her most important relationship was with her husband. The movie was about telling him goodbye.
God, you are so funny. HA!
Is it really true God exists? As illogical as it appears, how can God not exist? He seems to be messing with me every damn day.
I kept going with the input into my brain. Genesis, the politics of the Iron Lady, why people go to war, the great big picture...and the teeny tiny one that is my life. Then to process, I cleaned and cooked and gardened. And I thought a lot about the conversation I had with the priest the day before.
Yes. It seems I am motivated to write when I have the conversations I most want to have. I do love my priests. They are the only ones who make me feel...real. Not a freak. God have mercy on them, I know I am a challenge.
The dawn is looking pretty out there, green leaves looking a bit golden as they are greeted by the sun. The choral music resonates in my bones. I cannot make the world be nice...play nice. I can, however, accept the tasks placed before me. And know that the past...will resolve itself outside of my hands. Even my past.
The priest reminded me to ask the right questions. Some questions go nowhere. Why is not so important as what. What am I going to do next?
I just googled "lux aeterna"
Eternal light.
oh...
God, you are such a delightful lover.
Surprise me again.
Love, Cindy
I was telling him about my
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