May 29. Thursday - Aung San Suu Kyi

The Great Turning by Jim Rose-Foreman 2007

When I sat down to write today I came up with four possible topics that had been swimming around in my head for the last few days. Three of these topics are up close and personal so to speak and the fourth seems like it is a million miles away. But I just can't stop thinking about this distant issue. It is not only on my mind, it is in my heart. So that' where I am going to go. We'll see where it takes us.

This is the story of Aung San Suu Kyi, Burmese prisoner of conscience and leader of the pro-democracy movement in Burma. Last week she was moved again from house arrest to prison where she is being tried unjustly for allegedly violating the rules of her house arrest. I have been thinking of her and what her life and struggle means to all of us.

I am sure you have heard the recent news of her arrest after a US citizen swam across the lake avoiding government security and came to her home to deliver the message he claims comes from God, namely that she was in danger of being killed by terrorists. I also read that he gave her The Book of Mormon. She allowed him to stay 2 nights due to his exhaustion after the swim. For this she was taken into custody by the military government forces and moved to prison.

I did a little research on the net to refresh my memory on the events of this amazing woman's life. Her father was a Burmese freedom fighter who was assassinated in 1947 when she was just two years old. She grew up in Rangoon and then graduated from college in India. She went on to graduate school in political science in the UK where she married and had two sons. In 1988 she returned to Burma to care for her aging mother and was pulled into the pro-democracy movement as their spokesperson. Initially this was probably due to the popularity of her father who was still remembered by the Burmese people. But soon it was discovered that Aung San Suu Kyi was an intelligent, articulate and passionate champion of democracy in her own right.

In 1990 the Burmese military government unwisely called for an election. The National League for Democracy won a decisive victory with the very popular Aung San Suu Kyi as the candidate for Prime Minister. After the election the military regime refused to give up power and she was arrested and placed in house arrest. She has been either in house arrest or in prison for 13 of the last 19 years.

During her first arrest she was awarded the Sakarrov Prize for Freedom of Thought in 1990 and the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991. For all of these years of detention Aung San Suu Kyi has not been able to talk with reporters or have any visitors except as infrequently approved by her captors. She lives with her two maids and receives visits only from her doctor. Recently her health has deteriorated with signs of dehydration and weakness. Her supporters are very concerned over these serious health problems.

Aung San Suu Kyi is a practitioner of Theravadan Buddhism. She was very influenced by the non-violent reform movement of Mahatma Gandhi in India and of course more generally by the concepts of Buddhism. Despite being hidden away she remains the inspiration of the pro-democracy movement in Burma as well as of many people working for justice around the world. This woman is an amazing model of selflessness. The military government has offered to free her if she would leave the country. She refuses. She used the 1.3 million dollar Nobel Peace Prize money to set up a health care and education fund for Burmese children. Incidentally in my research I learned that because of government underfunding, the quality of health care for the people of Burma is among the worst in the world.

This woman has dedicated her life to the freedom and well-being of her people. Now it looks like she may be imprisoned again for up to five years. Given her poor health and the reportedly horrendous conditions of the Insein Prison, she could die there. Aung San Suu Kyi has sacrificed dearly. Her husband died of cancer at age 53 in 1999. They were only allowed to see each other five times in the last 10 years of his life. Her sons who live in the UK are not allowed to see their mother at all. It's easy to admire her. Just thinking about her courage and perseverance makes my heart softer.

I wonder if she ever thinks about how her life could have been, if she ever regrets her choices. Of course I don't have any way of knowing, but it seems that people who have made big sacrifices for the good of others seem to know that their little life is part of something so much bigger than they are. I wonder what I can learn from her. How can I go beyond admiration. It is hard to remember, when in the throes of heroine worship, that my small life too is part of a bigger picture. I will probably never be called on to do what she has done. But I think we are all called upon to do something - to speak out for people who cannot speak for themselves or to put ourselves on the line in some way.

Yesterday I went to the board meeting of The Carroll Electric Company with about 150 other people to protest the use of herbicides. This small action seems pretty inconsequential in the big scheme of things. But that's not true. It isn't inconsequential at all. There are millions of people around the world working in big and little ways, doing whatever needs to be done to accomplish what Joanna Macy calls, "The Great Turning".

To educate yourself about the power of individual and collective contribution I would recommend a mind expanding book by Paul Hawken entitled, Blessed Unrest: How the Largest Movement in the World Came into Being and WHY NO ONE SAW IT COMING. A quote from the book jacket tells our story.

The dawn of the twenty-first century has witnessed two remarkable developments in our history: the appearance of systemic problems that are genuinely global in scope, and the growth of a worldwide movement that is determined to heal the wounds of the earth with the force of passion, dedication and collective intelligence and wisdom. Across the planet groups ranging from ad hoc neighborhood associations to well-funded international organizations are confronting issues like the destruction of the environment, the abuses of free-market fundamentalism, social justice and the loss of indigenous cultures. They share no orthodoxy or unifying ideology; they follow no single charismatic leader; they remain supple enough to coalesce easily into larger networks to achieve their goals. While they are mostly unrecognized by politicians and the media, they are bringing about what may some day be judged the single most profound transformation of human society.

That's us!

Aung San Suu Kyi is not just an individual. She represents all of us across the planet who are working toward a world of justice and peace. We need to support her in any way we can. If you click on her name it will take you to a petition asking for her immediate release. We also need to support each other in making our smaller contributions. I am going to think about how I can do that. It is good that I can care deeply for this amazing woman far away in Burma. But I also want to care as much and offer my heartful support and join people who are working toward freedom and justice in smaller ways right here and now in my own sphere of life. Isn't it funny? When I started writing I thought I had chosen the topic that was farthest from home but here it ends up right on my lap.

(Note: Aung San Suu Kyi is the woman at the left hand bottom corner of Jim's painting. Do you recognize the others?)

May 25, Monday

Sometimes when we are walking through the woods Liza will disappear for a few minutes. Then just when I notice that she's gone, she appears again, high-stepping, with what can only be seen as a big grin on her face. She has found a prize, something so good she can't quite believe it. Usually it is a giant bone like the foreleg of a deer sometimes complete with hair and hoof as well as an odor that clearly enhances its value to Liza. She prances around for a while with it sticking out a foot on each side of her mouth, stops to gnaw on it a bit and then goes off to bury it, treasure for another day.

Today the concept that I unearthed in the thicket of my mind seems something like one of Liza's deer bones. When I found it I recognized it right away as an extraordinary idea for me - a big deal. I've been strutting around with it for a while now. This essay is part of that I am sure. I'll gnaw on it a bit, enjoy it but then I suspect I'll need to let it be, even bury it awhile hoping to come back to it often. Liza probably will never get much sustenance from her deer bones. I realize too that an idea cannot give me spiritual nourishment. I know I have to eat of the mystery of God, not just chew on the bones of ideas. Partaking of God's mystery in meditation, prayer and contemplation is my bread. But every once in a while God seems to leave me a bone.

As always this idea is not one that is new. It has been around for a very long time. Like Liza and her bone, it is just new to me. My current revelation is that transforming the ego is not transcending it. And it is good not to get them confused. The former is the goal of psychotherapy; the later is a gift from God. After reading Centering Prayer and Inner Awakening by Cynthia Bourgeault where she discusses why transcendence gets confused with transformation, I want to prance around and shout, "I get it! I get it!" Developing a more healthy ego, transformation, seems to put us in a better position to be open to the mystery that is a new way of being, transcendence. But there have been plenty of very "good" and egoically balanced people who have not transcended their ego to a place of spiritual awakening. Likewise there have been many saints and spiritual masters who's ordinary self remained a bit crazy.

I have so often been stymied by the apparent contradictions of a life like that of the late Tibetan Buddhist master Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche. Some called his excesses of drink and bodily pleasures part of his "crazy wisdom". But I could never quite buy that. What I can buy is that the "little self" or ego of Trungpa Rinpoche or anyone for that matter, does not have to be perfected for him to live from a place where he knows without a doubt that the "little self" is not who he is. We hear so often that it now seems trite the understanding that "We are All One". I believe Trungpa Rinpoche lived in this place. It seems like a contradiction but it is not unless we confuse transcendence with transformation.

If it doesn't mean being a near-perfect human being, then what does it mean to transcend the ego, to be enlightened? It certainly doesn't mean to have no "small self" since we could not live a human life without some identification with ourselves as a separate individual -that's ego. I guess that transcendence means, as it sounds , being "above it all", being able to look from another place, from a higher vantage point and see that the small self is not who we really are, in fact that we are really so much more. From that time on the transcended person will never again misread the picture. This is not a person who had a glimpse of Oneness as many have, but a person who lives in that place all the time.

This new way of seeing things could be compared to the experience of a person who lived on the space station for several months. She would probably never again mistake this small planet for the Universe as we on the ground so often do. She would understand on a cellular level that her spot on the Earth is turning toward the sun each morning , that the Earth is circling the sun and that the sky is not above her at all, in fact there is no above and below. She would know unequivocally that "up, "down", "night", "day" and other basic "facts" are not reality. She would have the bigger picture as her deep understanding of the physical Universe. Transcending the ego, going beyond the small self, must be like this, a life altering change in the way we see not just the physical Universe but in our ground of being, in the way we perceive all that is, on every level of existence. The person who sees from this higher view point is as Jesus is said to have taught his followers, "in this world but not of it".

From reading of the lives of spiritual seekers and from my own limited experience, it seems to me that we can do a lot to transform our small self. Thich Nhat Hanh calls this work "tending the garden". We can water the seeds of happiness, kindness and compassion and not water the seeds of anger, hatred and greed. This is our psychological work done through psychotherapy or self-help. But doesn't that just make for a healthier garden or ego? It's necessary work but not what ultimately pushes us over the cliff into permanent forever transcendence - that push comes from God. Or at least that is how it looks to me right now. Now I need to remember that I am just chewing on an old bone, no matter how tasty. It is definitely time to bury it for another day. Like Liza I will probably forget where I buried it. Then one day I will find it again and chew some more.

May 21, Thursday

There came a time maybe 15 years ago when I gave up on changing the world. Up until that time I spent a lot of my energy figuring out what was wrong with the world and trying to make it right, or even just a little more right. It's OK that I made that transition because the world has gone on changing without my help. I needed to back off because I could see that I had the wrong approach. I was deeply stuck in the world of "duality" as the Buddhist's call it, the world of "I'm right and you're wrong", of either-or and of self righteousness. I wasn't alone there. I had lots of company.

One instance of insight that stands out in my memory was when I was working with a group to bring attention to the abuses of the prison system in Colorado. Our group put so much pressure on the Colorado State Prison officials that the warden of one of the prisons agreed to talk with us at our meeting. I can remember grilling him with an attitude of superiority. He answered, I'm sure as he was trained, in measured tones of civility while justifying egregious prison practices. I can remember hating this man that night.

The next day, as I was checking all the local papers for their coverage of the event, I saw in the Canyon City News a picture of this warden with his arm around his beautiful daughter on her high school graduation day. She was looking up at him with obvious love as he beamed down at her with pride. I was shocked to remember that this was another human being not just the cruel warden that I hated the night before. At least that one time I questioned my own over simplification of the situation which resembled a story of comic book villains and heroes more than the complex reality of life.

It seems that this world and her problems are vast, unknowable and maybe, though I hate saying it, unsolvable. Isn't it better to just concentrate on your own inner development, to learn to be more fully human so that you might have a positive effect on your own small cirlce of influence? Is it really necessary to get into the big issues or those which seem far from home?

This may be one of those life-long questions for me. At this point I generally don't put my energy into problems far from home or that do not directly involve me or those I love. You may rightly ask, what is not close to home on our small planet and what problem of injustice does not involve us all? I know! I know! But it's so overwhelming, let's not go there. For self-protection I keep control over my compassion. Do you think for a minute that we could weep for every murder victim on the evening news, every woman raped, every child who is beaten, every river polluted, every forest that is decimated or every species that is gone forever? It only stands to reason that we have to draw limits. Or does It? I don't pretend to know the answer.

I only know that yesterday, when I wasn't expecting it, while reading a web-site with the innocuous name Episcopal Cafe, my heart broke open in pain. I read the appeal of Gary Foxcroft who is working in Nigeria where thousands of children have been branded witches by followers of some of the Christian churches. These children are tortured and ostracized and sometimes murdered by their families who blame them for every bad thing that happens in the community. The video documenting this atrocity shows a Nigerian priest stating that he thinks there are 2.3 million child witches in Nigeria. He says that each child must be killed or the witch exorcised. He charges the usually impoverished parents large sums of money, to carry this out.

I guess it was the sheer craziness of it that got to me. As if it is not enough that we have the more perhaps understandable problems of over-population, famine, climate change and all the environmental disasters, even international and civil wars - now there is this horror that is just that, horror, killing and torturing children. Stepping Stones based in the UK is the main organization working to end this child witch hunt. For now I will make a contribution and write a letter to the Nigerian government reminding them that the whole world is watching, etc, etc. I will try to keep track of the issue to see if there are other ways I can help. I think it would also be good to write to the administrations of mainstream US churches and remind them of their responsibility since this witch hunt is being done in the name of Christ and the Christian Church which has proselytized heavily in Nigera where 35% of the population identify themselves as Christian. Somehow it has happened all over again, Christianity taken to the extremes of hell. We in this country cannot point fingers at the Nigerians without looking at our own Christian witch hunts past and present.

For me the lesson is that I cannot protect my heart when it's ready to be opened. What opens my heart may not be the same thing that opens yours. The natural instincts of our hearts to open to others may be what finally saves us. On the other hand, the natural instinct to protect our hearts must be honored too. But the older I get the more I remember that the end of the world for all of us is death. At this point it seems preferable to die of a bleeding heart rather than to die of a hardened heart. Or is it all the same? No duality here either?

May 19, Tuesday

This morning I worked in the garden first thing so I'd be done by noon before the sun got too. hot. Now it's 2:00 PM and I'm just getting to my writing. On days like these I often think of a story that Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese Buddhist teacher, tells about a woman who enjoyed his poetry very much. When she saw him working in the garden she said something like this, " Thay (meaning teacher), why do you waste your time planting lettuce when you could use your time so much better for writing beautiful poems?" After reflecting on her question he answered, "If I do not plant lettuce seeds like this, I cannot write poems like that." He often uses this little story to illustrate his teaching, "This is like this because that is like that."

As with most of this gentle master's teaching, it seems very simple at first. On deeper reflection we see that it is very profound. This teaching can be applied to almost every situation from reasons that a child may act out inappropriately to the deep roots of wars around the globe. "This is like this because that is like that." This is the lesson that many people wanted to ignore after the 9-11 tragedy. It is the lesson of global warming, the disappearance of species, the drug epidemic and every social problem. The trick of course is that you must have the courage and the opportunity to look deeply enough to see the roots of the problem and then address those root causes. If more people were able to do this deep looking we might not have a "war on drugs" or even a once a year "Earth Day". Of course solving the huge problems of our world cannot be done by one person or even a few people. We need many, many people looking deeply and sharing what they see.

But think about it. If you are in the age group of 20 to 50 years or have family members in this group, you know that for the most part the lives of these people are crazy. There is no time to think deeply and hardly any time to think at all. I'm going to use my daughter-in-law Ana as an example. I hope she doesn't mind. She's so busy that she'll never read this anyway. Ana is an absolutely beautiful human being. She is responsible, capable, intelligent as well as loving and good. She is married to Kelly, Jim's son and they are about to have (any minute) their third child, Charlotte, who will join Shayna who is 6 and Lucas, who is 3. Ana works full time at a successful ad agency in downtown Atlanta. They live about 45 minutes from her work. Kelly teaches high school. His mom takes care of the kids while they are at work. One of the parents has to drop them off and pick them up after work each day. Do you have any idea how busy Ana's life is? It's truly crazy!

There was a period a couple of years ago when she was hospitalized twelve times in a year with chest pain. She had every cardiac test imaginable and finally was diagnosed with stress related chest pain. This is not uncommon. Millions of young women particularly do not have a minute of truly quiet time - no time to process what is happening in their lives let alone what is happening on the rest of the planet. No time to plant lettuce or write poetry and of course no time to look deeply into anything. This is not just an individual tragedy, it is a tragedy of much larger proportions.

Here's another example. Two young mother's who had been bringing their families to the open and affirming Episcopal church have decided to start going instead to "The Brand New Church" - one of those new mega-churches of the conservative evangelical right. They are making the move, they say, because the kids want to be with their friends from school many of whom go to this other church. These mom's say they just don't have the time or energy to address the issues with the kids. In telling me of this situation, a gay member of our church said, "They don't realize that those kids are going to be getting things from that new church that they may not want them to get." He meant homophobia for one thing of course. Wonder if those mom's have even had a quiet moment to sit down and contemplate this decision. Perhaps it would take more than a moment to look into the decision and identify what is really important in choosing a community where your children will learn some of their deepest values.

Living with intention takes time and support. Meditation and true support of each other are so needed in the world right now yet it is almost radical to suggest them as necessary skills to be taught to our children. If meditation and contemplation were taught in our public schools imagine what a different nation this would be. This might be too subversive for acceptance at this time but gardening in school is an idea whose time may have come. A garden is a place where, just as in meditation, a child can learn to look deeply and slow to the rhythm of the natural world. One example of a successful school garden is The Edible Schoolyard Project in Berkley, CA where for 13 years they have had a schoolyard garden at Martin Luther King Middle School. Wendy Johnson speaks of her involvement as a founder of this project in her book Gardening at the Dragon's Gate - at work in the wild and cultivated world. She is an amazing woman, a brilliant writer and a passionate gardener. Her book is a masterpiece of writing and of soul. She writes of the school garden:

Beauty counts here, but not always in an orderly, sequential fashion. Zig-zag loops of butter lettuce, a sun-shaped bed of winter wheat with ten long rays of ripening grain grows in the blue haze of Hopi corn, and bloodred 'Empress' tulips push up through wet ground at the edge of the known world. When the students of Edible Schoolyard leave their garden at the end of the day the land expels a long exhalation of relief and then waits all night long, with one eye half open, for the children of paradise to return.

Can you imagine being a child in such a garden and not being deeply affected by it? That brings me back to the same place I was when I started this beautiful Spring day. I woke up and thought, "Ah, the garden, it's a good place to start." Tomorrow I am wishing for some children to come along so that I can entice them to the garden with the taste and feel and beauty of the first sweet, juicy, red strawberries. Who knows what this radical experience may bring.

May 17, Sunday

Last Thursday when the neighbor's dogs attacked our dog Liza for the fourth time, I exploded in rage. I can't ever remember getting that angry, that quickly and acting it out physically as I did to protect Liza. Its like someone else took me over. I was possessed by my anger. During the dog fight I screamed, "No!" over and over. When it was over I screamed at my neighbor who owns the dogs and stood watching the event, "This is just not right!" My rage was not so much at the dogs or even the irresponsibility of their owner, my rage was at the injustice of it. It's just not right!

That cry has been such a theme in my life, from my early recognition of racism, then sexism, then war, nuclear weapons, the treatment of prisoners, of gay, lesbian and transgendered people, of animals - of each other and the Earth. It's just not right! Eventually I did learn that raging against injustice is helpful for a while, but its not a good place to get stuck.

Our little neighborhood conflict is like a microcosm of the world. Jim got so upset seeing that I could have been hurt and Liza was hurt again, that when our neighbor called to check on Liza, Jim said, "If I see your dogs running loose again, I'm going to shoot them." How crazy is that! Jim doesn't even own a gun. I don't think he has ever fired one. When I asked him about it later, he explained, "Well, that's how angry I felt. I felt like I'd like to buy a gun and shoot those dogs." I won't go into the whole story, but these dogs have hurt Liza badly, she's had sutures, weeks of dressing changes and 2 times a day antibiotics. She had to wear one of those lamp shade things they use to keep dogs from chewing on the wound. We're talking about this happening three other times. Liza has suffered a lot. I can definitely relate to Jim's desire to make it stop. By explanation I need to say that living in Arkansas in the woods means you pretty much forgo the luxury of law enforcement. There are no dog control laws here . We're on our own with this one.

So we've got this anger that has a good portion of righteous indignation and genuine fear for our loved dog. The second day after the event, after rehearsing the entire thing in my head, ad nauseum, I noticed a softening around the edges of my anger. I thought, "Maybe they don't understand what we've been through with this and how hard it has been on Liza." In other words, I started to try to put myself in their shoes, if only just a bit. I began to think about the possibility of dialogue. It was that day that the song from the video by Noa and Mira Awad, "We Can Work it Out" went through my head continually for hours. I reasoned, if these two women, one a Palestinian and the other an Israeli Jew, can speak so eloquently and model dialogue between opposing sides in this complicated and deadly conflict, then of course we can work things out with the neighbors about our dog problems. This should be simple, right?

The third day, which was yesterday, I did Spring cleaning in my studio. As I worked physically, my mind was working hard on trying to design the perfect approach for reconciliation with our neighbors. I formed a plan. Last night I shared my idea with Jim. I would send them an e-mail giving the link to the video by Noa and Mira Awad. I would say something like this, "If these people can speak about working it out, surely we can too. If you'd like to talk, please let us know and we'll set up a time."

I really thought Jim would like my idea. I was kind of attached to it myself. He didn't go for it. He said that he thought we should give them a bit more time to contact us and let us know what they are going to do to address the problem. I was disappointed in his response. That song was still rambling through my head. (I do have a problem with my brain's eject button when it comes to songs sometimes). After a while I remembered that the video is not just a song but has insightful comments from two women who have lived in a world of conflict all of their lives. I went back and listened to them.

Noa says, "The Christian concept of turning the other cheek is a beautiful concept, but is almost impossible to do. First you need to recover...explode a little bit, scream. Only then can you relax and try to find the solution."
Then she outlines what this solution might look like:
1.) Apologize to each other, admit where you have been wrong, where you have caused harm.
2.) Recognize the other's rights.
3.) Share what you have.

I see that any attempt to simply smooth things over will not succeed. Real reconciliation is work, it requires engagement. It requires that both parties acknowledge the importance of the work and put their hearts into it. The third step - to "share what you have" is an on-going commitment to enact the solution. This too requires work. So truthfully, we could say that it is easier to just avoid these people, to never again walk Liza by their house to the mailbox, to not speak to them or only speak in civil greeting while harboring anger against them. Or Jim could buy a gun and shoot the dogs if they are running loose. Who knows where that would go.

As always in life there are many choices some more skillful than others and some more work. The blessing lies in being able to contemplate the choices and choose with mindfulness rather than ignorance. Perhaps this is what the Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hahn would speak of as "looking deeply" into what we are experiencing. Life is so perfect when she gives us just the lesson we didn't want to learn today.

May 15, Friday

It wasn't even an hour after I finished my last blog piece on the Divine Feminine that Kali showed up. You might remember that Kali is the fierce, dark aspect of The Divine Mother. I hadn't even mentioned her in my blog piece and she was pissed. So pissed that she sent two attack dogs to show me that I also have Kali energy. This was their fourth attack on Liza and I just could not stand by and watch again. I'm still reeling, trying to sort it out. I'm OK and Liza, my beautiful Border Collie (see our photo) is pretty much OK with two puncture wounds on her back from sharp teeth.
Here is as much as I can tell you right now.

Dog Fight

SCREAM,
KICK,
PUNCH, PUNCH
KICK,KICK,KICK
ROARRRRRRRRR,
KICK,
FALL DOWN,
SCREAM,
PUNCH,
ROARRRR...ROARRRR......ROARRRR....,
GET UP,
WALK AWAY,
SCREAM,
PUNCH THE AIR,
CRY.

May 14, Thursday

"Sacred Feminine", multimedia by James Rose-Foreman 05-09

In my family of origin, the worst possible sin was pretentiousness. Mom, who died four years ago, just popped into my head to say, "That word is too highfalutin." (one of her favorite words). She goes on to advise, "How about, "The worst sin is snootiness?" I agree. Its a good word. It brings our attention to the nose which is an important factor. You see, according to Mom, you can't ever "look down your nose" at anyone. That means "don't walk around with your nose up in the air". Being humble, even falsely humble, is the greatest virtue in this worldview.

I won't forget the time Mom's younger sister, Lucille, who was probably 19 at the time, was telling us all her dreams - how wonderful her life was going to be after she got married. One of her dreams, which at my age of 5 or 6 seemed very romantic, was that they would have a canopy over their bed. How perfect! After Aunt Lucille left, Mom told me with an air of knowing satisfaction, "The only "can 'o pee" she'll have will be the one under her bed." The message was clear - don't try to be more important than you are, because if you do, eventually you'll just look like a fool. I have to admit on a deep level there is a lot of truth to her wisdom. On another level it limits what a girl wants to even try.

This is all to explain why I'm so uncomfortable with my husband's new painting and why it intrigues me so much at the same time. Jim Foreman, my dear, sweet husband, is a painter. One morning just after a shower I was sitting on our bed folding laundry, I guess much like women all over the world. The sun was shining through the window unto my face and hair. Jim took a photo, exclaiming about the beauty of the light and the moment. He does this kind of thing often - running to get his camera to capture some fleeting instant of pure beauty. This time, as he does occasionally, he took the photo and started working it around in his head and then on Photo Shop , designing his next painting.

The image ended up to be in moonlight rather than sunlight and my portrait was set in the lower right hand corner of a giant, dark woods with black, naked tree trunks and branches - all back-lit by the bright, white light of the moon. The light is eerie. The portrait of me is not perfect but the likeness is there. He entitled it "Sacred Feminine" and then he entered it in our local Harrison Art League Spring Art Show.

All this time I was pretty uncomfortable with my portrait on the painting. It seemed just too much to be shown on a painting called "Sacred Feminine", especially at my age of 63, when I am not even classically beautiful. I am a very ordinary woman. The show opening was last Friday evening at the historic Hotel Seville in Harrison. When we walked in several of the women artists came up to me, telling me how lovely the painting is. The judge called the painting "mysterious" and gave it third place.
The only gay man I know in Harrison said, with a bit of a laugh, that he thought the painting was scary. I continued to feel uncomfortable. In the first place, I reasoned, I don't really understand what the "Sacred Feminine" is. And if it is sacred wasn't this painting just aiming a bit too high for comfort? The fall is sure to come.

Its not that I haven't read my share of writings that lament the loss of the Sacred Feminine. But to tell you the truth I never thought it had much to do with me personally until this painting came along. Now I have to rethink it. I have frequently lamented the exclusive "maleness" of God in our culture. Its true, the God of judgement, wrath and vengeance has caused us a lot of trouble. In their book, Divine Feminine: Exploring the Feminine Face of God Throughout the World, Andrew Harvey and Anne Baring write:

The Grail of the Feminine is urging us to open our minds to a new vision of reality, a revelation of all cosmic life as unity...to be born a human being is not to be born into a fallen, flawed world of sin and illusion, cut off from the divine; it is to be born into a world lit by in invisible radiance, ensouled by Divine Presence, graced and sustained by incandescent light and love.

One of the most universal symbols of the Divine Feminine throughout all the Earth and all cultures is the Great Mother. Of Her these authors write, "The Divine Mother
is asking us to trust and protect life, to work with her in all we do, opening our understanding to the knowledge that we are not separate from herself but an expression of her being."

If this is true, then even I, in all humility, am an expression of the Divine Feminine, as is Jim's beautiful artist's heart, as are you, whoever you are. She is everywhere. Her aspects are: wisdom, justice, beauty, harmony and compassion. It is not of course that the Divine Masculine is less or is not needed. As we've all heard so many times; what we seek, what the Earth so urgently needs, is not a switch to the Feminine but a new balance between the Masculine and Feminine. It requires that women and men who can embody some aspect of this divinity need to step out and take their place in teaching, leading or simply modeling another way of being - the softer way, the way of peace and brother-sisterhood. It's like we're all out here in the black, scary forest with the Moon (another universal image of the Goddess) shining on our faces, soaking up the feminine energy of the Divine. But women do not just sit, we act. It is women who do much of the work of the world. We need men as our allies; and there is a lot of work to be done to clean up this mess!
Mom would understand that.

May 12, Tuesday

Never Never

Empty like a milk bottle, gleaming on the front stoop,
ready for the milkman to replace with the full white one,
sweating and heavy.

Empty like a river empties into the sea,
never empty at all, just never the same.

Empty like my mind, for a fraction of a second,
before thoughts and feelings come
flooding in to join Lady Fear.

She never left with the others.
Never empty, never nothing, never never.

edelle rose, 05-12-09

May 10 Sunday

This morning in our Sunday discussion group at church, it really hit me how each of us sees this world, reality, through a different lens, from a different mindset or perspective. Our group watches a video lecture by Dominic Crossen about the historical life of Jesus. It is of course presented from a very rational perspective but with the obvious intention of improving the world through better understanding. Then we start to discuss what we heard. Each person speaks from their particular level or lens of understanding. Some people continue the intellectual, rational approach, they stay completely in their head, obviously enjoying the intellectual exercise. Some people go back to their childhood belief system of Jesus taking great comfort in their faith undisturbed by historical interpretations. Some see the life and teachings of Jesus as a model for social ministries today, as a way to make the world a better place. Still others see the life of Jesus as a template to use on the path to inner transformation or enlightenment.

You get the picture. We're all sitting around the table - one person says something, another person answers, then a third chimes in. We all think we are talking about the same thing. We all just heard the same lecture and that's what we're discussing. One person will take the rational route back to the ancient Roman Empire, then may come a response from the mythic belief system, "Jesus died for my sins". Another comment comes from someone seeing the story in terms of Jungian archetypes. Talk about the tower of Babel! Yet most of the time everyone comes away feeling nurtured and heard. It works because there is a genuine affection between members of the group irregardless of their different ways of seeing things. Amazing really.

It gets a little harder for sure when we don't know the other person. I need to write a letter to the board of the local electric company to express my opposition to their practice of spraying herbicides on the "right of way" land under electric wires. I know how I see reality. They are putting dangerous chemicals into the soil and water, threatenig the health of humans and animals all for the convenience of avoiding manual weed cutting.

But how do the people at the electric company see it? Could I tap into their reality for a minute and would that help? Sort of sounds like the now trivialized adage "walk a mile in my shoes". But I think the concept is vitally important. What if I first tried to write their response letter. It would probably speak of their valiant service to the customers of Newton County, providing electricity with the least possible interruption through even the most horrendous weather. There would be stories of those who even risk their lives to serve us. Clear electric lines are their priority. If I am going to write a letter they will attend to, I must recognize the value of their service not just launch into my anger and what I see that is wrong.

This is pretty basic communication skills. But living from that place creates a whole other world. This is the world where the Dali Lama can empathize with the Chinese, where the Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh can work to heal the war-induced psychological wounds of American Vietnam vets and where relatives of murder victims can oppose the death penalty. This is the world where I listen with an open heart to the person whose reality doesn't match mine.

But then what? This is not just an intellectual exercise. It gets really tough. For instance, take a look at this article on the KKK in last week's Newsweek, "Rebranding Hate in the Age of Obama". Its a report on the rise of hate groups in this country and how they are using a softer image to pull people in. The first line is: "Its not about hate, its about love. Love of white people." These people have a certain level of consciousness - they see reality from their point of view - which is often called mythic. Its a world based on fear and "us" and "them". Theirs is a scary world. The good news is that most of human society has evolved beyond this view.

Seeing where a person is coming from is not the same as agreeing that their world view is correct. What makes it radical is the act of seeing this person, however confused, as a fellow human being at some stage on the path of evolution to God. We're all fellow travelers for sure. We can honor that and still have a strictly enforced "no guns" policy on the train, for those who need it.

If you can, please listen to this song and commentary. It will make your day, or week or life!

May 8 Friday

Recently I discovered that it is possible for me to return to my Christian roots after many years struggling and growing in the foreign soil of Buddhism. It all began in January of this year when I read a book review of Kathleen Norris' book Acedia. Acedia, a kind of spiritual sloth, resonated with me. Then, without looking for it, I came across the book at the library. Ironically, it seems that reading about acedia and especially Norris' battle with it, lifted me up out of my own spiritual doldrums. I went on to read some of her other books and then followed her recommendations which led to Joan Chittister and on to Cynthia Bourgeault and Jim Marion. I am finding a whole world of people following the Wisdom path of Jesus. This is an ancient path with as much depth as any path in Eastern religions as far as I can see.

At the same time my friend and spiritual advisor, Therese Fitzgerald pointed me to a book by Robert A. Johnson, Balancing Heaven and Earth. His is a profound story of his own transformative spiritual journey from a Jungian perspective. Jim and I both read this book. During this same time we found an Episcopal church near us where some people are doing Jungian dream work and a small group of people are looking at the teachings of Jesus from a transformative perspective. This is nothing less than amazing here in Northwest Arkansas. So it seems everything is fitting together. I can't tell you in this short space how rich I feel at this moment. I feel guided in a way that I never have before. If you know me, you know that is not the kind of thing I say very often.

So I am ready to take the next step. I want to meet some of these teachers, get a deeper understanding and deepen my practice. Cynthia Bourgeault is the obvious choice for me since her book Wisdom Jesus has been pivotal in shaping my new practice of Centering Prayer and lectio devina. I Googled looking for a retreat with her and found one in Minnesota, a perfect place. I am originally from Minnesota and have many aunts and uncles there to visit and most importantly that is where my son Pat lives with my only grandchild Kadyn who will be 18 months in July the month of the retreat. How perfect!

The web site info stated that the retreat will be led by Cynthia and a man who I had not heard of. So I Googled his name and was shocked when the first site on the list
was from a group called SNAP, an advocacy group for childhood sexual abuse victims of priests. It said: "Despite being a convicted, admitted and defrocked child molesting Episcopal minister,... leads religious retreats at three Episcopal retreat centers." The abuse apparently took place ten years ago in Texas and he was sentenced to ten years of probation. The site disturbingly reported that he denies full responsibility for the abuse saying it was " a sad misunderstanding."

I discovered the information about six weeks ago and haven't gone any farther with it. In order to look at it all and make a decision about the retreat, I will have to look at some stuff I really don't want to look at. I have my own history of childhood sexual abuse by a man I loved and trusted. God, I have looked at this so many times through the years, do I really need to go there again? I think so. The spiral path of life has come around again. Each time is peeling back another layer of protection, of scar tissue, exposing my true inner softness. How to begin. Perhaps I'll try to e-mail Cynthis Bourgeault and ask her, "What's up with this?"

At the same time I want to start to think of forgiveness. What does it mean? I know it doesn't mean forgetting - but it must mean softening. The opportunities to forgive come around again with the spiral dance of life. Maybe this time.

Wednesday, May 6

Jim and I spent a couple of hours in the meadow yesterday still picking up tree limbs and branches after the devastating ice storm in January. There is a lot of work left just to clear the meadow to be mowed. The county workers came down our dirt road earlier this week, cutting all the hanging limbs and then chipping the downed trees and branches on the roadside. The local paper from Jasper said this service was funded by FEMA. Strange since over the years I have come to distrust that federal agency, but today I am grateful for the cleanup help. For the last 3 months, driving the 1 1/2 miles of dirt road out to Highway 7 has been depressing. Seeing 30 to 40% of the trees either fallen or broken in half like a snapped pencil is difficult. I am still in mourning for the loss of these beautiful trees.

Spring has helped of course. The new leaves and underbrush cover the naked bodies. Sadly, the largest dogwood near our home lays prostrate, roots pulled from the earth. Yet she opened in glorious white blossom in chorus with her upright sisters. I rejoiced with Thomas Merton's words, "the pale flowers of the dogwood outside my window are Saints". The tree is now covered with Spring green leaves. I wonder how long she can last. Looking out at the woods today, I see that Nature is healing from the storm. She is going on, though wounded. Each day the dead are more incorporated into the living.

Reading an article by Derrick Jensen in this month's Orion magazine, I started to wonder if there is a point (surely there is) when the Earth Our Mother, can't go on anymore, when she is too wounded. I have to confess that I have taken cover from this ultimate question by keeping myself busy being Green, trying to bring my own bags to the grocery store, to limit trips to town, to buy organic when possible. To this the author of the article responds:

If someone were rampaging through your home, killing those you love one by one (and for that matter, en masse), would the question burning a hole in your heart be: how should I live my life right now? I can't speak for you but the question I'd be asking is this: how do I disarm or dispatch these psychopaths? How do I stop them using any means necessary?

He then states the obvious, "If you have no planet, nobody can ask questions." You'd think perhaps that he's calling for armed insurrection of the masses against corporate and government greed. Maybe he is. But I don't think so. I am hoping that Orion will put the article on their site later this month so more people can read it and it can spur a discussion. It's provocative. He ends by asking:

What question would I ask instead? What if, instead of asking "How shall I live my life?" people were to ask the land where they live, the land that supports them, "What can and must I do to become your ally, to help protect you from this culture? What can we do together to stop this culture from killing you? If you ask that question and listen, the land will tell you what it needs. And then the only real question is: are you willing to do it?

That is of course the question. His words encourage me to take more time to listen, to not assume that I know what the Earth needs, to get out of my head and into my heart where the conversation can happen, to get out of my chair and into the woods, to look closely at the trees and streams and our neighbor the beautiful Buffalo River. Then the real work is doing what is called for. Some brave local folks here in Newton County are working to stop Carroll Electric Company from using herbicide along their "right of way" land especially in the National Forest that comprises 2/3 of the land in our county. I'm going to look into joining them. The land and especially the Earth water is shouting to be clear of these toxic chemicals. I can hear that plea already.

Yesterday there was a moment at about 2:30 PM when I was standing in the kitchen and suddenly realized that it was brighter. Sunshine was beaming through the sky lights. I ran outside and lifted my arms in praise to the sun and shouted "Thank you!" Yes, I really did this. I'm desperate for light. Within 5 minutes the sunshine was gone again replaced by a grey, heavy, dripping sky. It is grey again today. There has been over a week of this. Usually I am in love with all the weather whatever comes. But I have to admit, this is getting to me. I just want to curl on the couch and read.

Fortunately I can do that. What a blessing! I am currently reading Putting on the Mind of Christ: The Inner Work of Christian Spirituality by Jim Marion. The link has a good review of the book. It's fascinating and helps me make sense of the craziness of our world now as well as understand my own needs in spiritual development. He writes so clearly that I can sense the man writing the words having very little ego involved in the writing. He seems to simply want to convey to others something that is very important to him.

At the same time I started an on-line class with Spirituality and Practice on the poetry of Rumi, the ecstatic Sufi poet who wrote 700 years ago and is now the most widely read poet in the West. The poems of course are exquisite. This week's theme is repentance - always a tricky subject in this culture anyway, probably everywhere. The instructors point out that in Sufism repentance may have a different meaning than we are accustomed to. So I had to think of what repentance means to me. Basically for me it goes something like this: it means being sorry for something you have done that hurt another, then admitting it with remorse as well as making some amends if possible and revising your way of acting to avoid hurting someone in this way again. Our dictionary defines "repent" as "To feel remorse or self-reproach for what one has done or failed to do."

The Sufi understanding, and I am sure enlightened understanding in all true Spiritual paths goes much deeper. The authors of this class refer to repentance as "taking responsibility of self". they go on to say, "Repentance is a process of returning from forgetfulness to remembrance of our true selves." In order to repent, the teaching goes, we must develop honesty and sincerity. "Honesty melts away our sense of self-importance and opens us up to receive wisdom and guidance...Sincerity takes away our pretending and game-playing and enriches our lives with meaningfulness." Here is Rumi's poem on the subject:

By the mercy of God, Paradise has eight doors
one of those doors is the door of repentance, child.
All the others are sometimes open, sometimes shut;
but the door of repentance is never closed.
Come seize the opportunity! The door is open;
carry your baggage there at once.

In the e-course there is one of these poems to work with each day for 21 days. I am excited about it and as always wonder if I can keep up with myself. I need to ground all of this with work in the garden and making lentil soup and playing Scrabble with Jim and walking Liza in the woods. Sunshine should bring some balance soon.

Sunday May 3

Jim and I have started going to the local Episcopal Church. I have been longing for a spiritual community. After having a Buddhist practice for almost 20 years, now feels like the time for me to go back to my own Spiritual culture, to take what I have learned in Buddhism and return to Christianity, the religion of my family. It's hard to expalin. But that is what we are doing. We enjoy the adult education discussions at St John's. They are often lively interchanges but seldom heated. Today however there was one moment, a short time actually, when I felt intimidated by another member of the group. He was driving questions at me one after another, forcefully. He's a large man and very self-assured. My experience of this was that I shut down. I couldn't think. Was intimidation his goal or just a well-worn unconscious pattern of winning his arguments? I can't say. Rather than look at this man, I think it would be fine to look at myself. Why did his verbal grilling cause me to shut down?

This has happened, of course, a number of times in the past. The first instance that comes to mind was when I was a Sophomore in college. With a combination of fear, dread and disbelief, I had just declared pre-med as my major. I was the only female pre-med student at my small Lutheran college. I felt like a fraud - that any moment I could be exposed as not smart enough for the path I had so boldly chosen. Afterall my parents were both working class people who hadn't even finished grade school. Who did I think I was?

One day in an auditorium lecture hall, the old, hard-nosed chemistry professor, Dr. Swenson, locked onto me for some unknown reason. Over and over he pounded questions at me. Not the usual analytical chemistry question - these were specific for me, one of the only females in the class and the only woman pre-med major. He walked over directly in front of my chair and loudly demanded: "What is the chemical compound of baking powder? What is the reaction of baking powder and water? When you are baking in the kitchen, Miss Beauregard, are you just a lady or are you a chemist?", he shouted. I sat speechless - unable to think - wanting only to run out of that room and over to the elementary education classes where I probably belonged. That was in 1965, almost 45 years ago. But this morning when Frank grilled me on my anti-racism statements, I was again back in that college auditorium seat, ready to run. So what goes on for me here? I didn't want to clam up. Others took up the discussion recognizing that I needed help. That was fine.

But for my own growth and maybe for some other women as well, I'd like to look at this. What happens and how can I change my response to be more empowering? I can do what I have done most of my life from the time I changed my pre-med major to education. I can avoid people and situations where I will be challenged. I can stick with my own kind, so to speak, and avoid discussions with old cowboys like Frank, or any other forceful person who disagrees with me. But now at this ripe old age of 63, I'd like to get past that, to be able to discuss important issues with strong-minded people who see things another way.

In this case Frank was pounding out questions, "Have you ever had your home broken into or been mugged or lived with a whole group of people who are different from you?" He didn't simply ask these questions, he was like an intense prosecuting at tourney. I felt like his real words were "You stupid, pious, ignorant, woman!" I see myself as good, kind, intelligent and informed. This inner picture of myself was being forcefully questioned. It wasn't me that was being threatened, of course, but my "idea" of me. How can I get past this holding tight to my idea of me - so tight that I get frozen when someone challenges this idea?

The answer that comes readily is silence. Not silence in the discussion but daily intentional silence in my life - a time for sitting in the Presence of God. In silence the "idea" of me slips away, or at least all the edges blur. I wonder if in prayer and meditation I can get comfortable with my nakedness (selflessness), or if in the words and after the example of Christ, I can "lay down my life in order to save it". I trust there will be more opportunities to see how I'm doing with this. Perhaps when unfairly attacked I can maintain my balance realizing that the True me is safe from all attack and the ideas I have of who I am may be attacked but that isn't really who I am anyway. One would hope.

May2 - Saturday
Another rainy day and cold here in Newton County Arkansas. The forecast says at least 5 more days of this. Ugh!

Today the rain didn't matter at all because I sat all day at the Newton County Library, one of my favorite places, tending the Used Book Sale from 9:30 AM to 2:00 PM. I brought all kinds of things to occupy myself including my journal and my drawing pad and cell phone. But I never got to any of those. The time flew by.
First I spent and hour or so perusing the books. I found about 15 books that lured me in with the price of 6 for 5 bucks. Who could resist? I found a worn copy of May Sarton's Journal of Solitude. I immediately dug into it, but didn't get far before the book shoppers came in. The whole experience was kind of an indulgence of my long-time fantasy of running a bookstore coffee shop. I even got to serve a piece of my banana bread to one guy who stayed around to shop and talk. He is camped down in Murray, one of Newton County's remotest spots, which is something a city dweller can't quite envision I suspect. He is living with a friend in a tent (remember the 10 days of rain?). He says he is loving it. They are here to investigate the possibilities of starting an intentional community. Not sure what the goal of this community would be, but I suspect it has something to do with group safety as the dominant culture collapses. Seemed like a nice guy - but surprised me with his derision of Buddhists, vegans and feminists. I didn't point out that I would fit the bill on all counts. His point seemed to be that these people were more pretentious about their values than a straight-out professed capitalist. He said those Buddhists, vegans and feminists would make you work to serve them if times get bad and they have the money or own the land. Essentially his point is capitalistic greed is deeper than Spiritual values. I'd like to think not. Here's a man who has done a lot of thinking about what he wants and doesn't want in his life. But it seems he's done this thinking in isolation mostly. And as a result he is another divider rather than a uniter. He wants to blame someone for his dissatisfaction with the way things are. It was good for me to hear him and I plan to think about the ways that I do that too - the ways that I am a divider and not a uniter. Anyway, I gave him the rest of the loaf of banana bread since he is living in a tent and can't bake anything. It was vegan banana bread by the way.
I had good talks with several folks today including Mickie, another introverted and beautiful woman that I would love to know better. Predictably our talk was about solitude and how we try to get this need met even though we are both married. Her husband Mike works long hours and Mickie is alone in her jewelery studio. It is good. My husband, Jim is home all the time as I am. So I get space in my studio or the garden. It works. We both agreed with May Sarton who wrote after a long visit from a friend, (remember I am stealing glimpses in her book between conversations):

I am here alone for the first time in weeks to take up my "real" life again at last. That is what is strange - that friends, even passionate love, are not my real life unless there is time alone in which to explore and to discover what is happening or has to happen. Without the interruptions nourishing and maddening, this life would become arid. Yet I taste it fully only when I am alone here and 'the house and I resume our old conversations.

Anyway, before I knew it, it was 2:30 and time to go home. Now I have 15 or so new (old) books to incorporate into the household. I am fundamentally against putting books in boxes as some people do. Again, I'll have to look to see if there are some of our books that can go on to other homes.

May Day

Today is Friday May 1. I just finished rearranging my altar. I'm very happy with it right now. All I'd like is another stem of flowers for the Mary vase. Wonder, can I keep it up? I'll try.
Last night I searched the Internet for a picture of Christ that I can identifiy with. Its hard. Most are too masculine, not recognizing the Divine Feminine in Christ. But then, I found just the perfect picture. Christ meditating in a garden, sitting in the lotus position. No artist credit given. I printed it in 5 x 7 format, put it in a frame and now the picture is the center of my altar. The wonders of the computer still fill me with amazement.
This picture seems to put everything in order. My small alabaster Buddha sits to the left and a white porcelain Mary in prayer with a vase behind her in on the right with 2 stalks of pale purple irises that I picked this morning in the rain. That's where I'd like another stalk of flowers. Some day the pink yarrow that I bought yesterday can go in there, or soon the blaze red roses from the herb garden. They are about to pop open today. Just need a little sun for encouragement.
In front of the Christ picture are two very small framed pictures of my parents - one is on their wedding day and another 2 fold has one of my dad working at his lathe and one of him holding me outside when I was about 5 months old. On either side of the Christ picture is a blue tall candle. On the far left, near the Buddha statue is my mindfulness bell. Finally in front of Mary is a glass paper weight with small multicolored strips of fabric embedded in the clear glass. This is something from my childhood home - something that has fascinated me since before I can remember. Under the paper weight is the Christmas letter from my friend Marion Stokes who asked me to pray for her son Rob who is facing life-threatening kidney disease and need for a transplant. I intend to put prayer petitions under this paper weight. The whole altar arrangement is on a piece of white lace curtain that was my mom's and is on top of my cedar chest in my writing studio. I am pleased.

The open window behind the altar looks out to the verdant woods which changes hour by hour. The green of spring oak, hickory and ash fills nearly the entire view with tiny bits of grey sky peeking through and slashes of straight, charcoal grey trunks and branches interrupting the green sea of leaves. In the right foreground a few branches of maple close to the studio poke into the picture, already showing tiny leaf veins of red color and providing perspective to the farther off forest trees.
I imagine that its kind of like living next to the ocean which entirely fills your view with the blues, greens and greys of water. Here, I live in an ocean of trees. In winter they drop their leaves and I am able to see a little farther, to place myself among the distant hills in each direction. Today, May 1, I am already closed in, completely surrounded by trees in all directions. Sometimes when I walk out to the road, I stand a few minutes looking up and down the hill giving my eyes what it seems they long for, the chance to look off in the distance for just a few minutes before I turn back home to woods again.