May you be blessed with good friends.
May you learn to be a good friend to yourself.
May you be able to journey to that place in your soul where
there is great love, warmth, feeling, and forgiveness.
May this change you.
May it transfigure that which is negative, distant, or cold
in you.
May you be brought into real passion, kinship, and
affinity of belonging.
May you treasure your friends.
May you be good to them and my you be there for them;
may they bring you all the blessings, challenges, truth
and light you need for your journey.
May you never be isolated.
May you always be in the nest of belonging with your
anam cara.
~~by John O'Donohue in ANAM CARA: A Book of Celtic Wisdom
Anam cara is Gaelic for "Soul Friend."
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
I went Thursday to get a second set of mammograms as recommended by the Breast Center because the radiologist saw some abnormalities which may be of concern. Dr Pope reviewed the mammogram films with me which showed a vast number of calcified cells in my breasts. They were the size of white pepper sprinkled on a whitish-grayish background of what I was told were mammary glands and other breast tissues.
One reason so many of the speckles showed up on the films is that the technology is now digital, more sensitive and explicit than when I had a mammogram two or three years ago. Nowadays they can see things in the breast tissues that were not visible before; but it is still not any way as specific as putting each of those cells under a microscope to determine their particular nature and significance.
The calcified cells may or may not be cancer cells which have died and calcified. Dr. Pope is going to advocate with Blue Cross Blue Shield, my insurance coverer, for my having an MRI, a $2000 test. With with an MRI the various tissues in the breast can be seen in color. This helps determine their pattern in the breast, particularly if those cells are lining up in the ducts.
Pope warned me that BCBS will fight this tooth and nail, not wanting the test done until pre-surgery or post-biopsy. The issue here is that the calcified cells I have are in the entire breast, both of them. According to Dr. Pope, there is no way to needle biopsy every one of them, even if I was a pin cushion; and there is no guarantee that if just some of them are biopsied, they will represent the condition underlying all of them.
Calcifications can be a normal. Lots of women have them, including the gentle-handed woman who did my mammograms. There is, if I understood Dr. Pope despite my slight state of shock, about a 5 % chance that the calcifications in my breasts represent cancer.
I talked with Stanley on the phone immediately after getting my test results. I asked him if he would still love me if I lost both my breasts. He said, "Oh sure! I have had a long time to enjoy them." A long time indeed--- I have been with him since I was 21-years-old.
In Friends Midweek Worship on Wednesday, I kept getting visions of God as a woman, a nurturing mother. I could picture in my mind some to the first images of the divine which were not of the crucified Christ, but of a lactating Holy Mother Mary holding Jesus on her lap, sometimes nursing him, sometimes with Jesus point to her nursing breast.
Many of these images were destroyed when the icons of what is now the Eastern Orthodox Church, were demolished. I am not recalling the year the Roman Catholic Church came into ascendancy over Constantinople; but when it did, the Eastern Orthodox, broke away, not accepting the office of the papacy and not wanting to give up their spiritual art and devotion to Theotokos, Mary the Mother of God---- an image of the feminine divine.
In worship, my mind was enveloped in bosomy images and gave me a warm, secure feeling that radiated outward from my heart. I sensed my soul as the eye of a storm. Deep inside, I knew I had a core place, an eternal pilot light, if you will, that is strong, clear and life-giving, like love and courage itself.
If you, like me, are into the theology of lactation, here some articles to reflect upon and enjoy: "God's Love and Mother's Milk" >>
http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=3513
"Theotokos Milk Giver Icon" >>
http://www.stjohndc.org/Russian/theotokos/e_9601_milk_giver.htm
One reason so many of the speckles showed up on the films is that the technology is now digital, more sensitive and explicit than when I had a mammogram two or three years ago. Nowadays they can see things in the breast tissues that were not visible before; but it is still not any way as specific as putting each of those cells under a microscope to determine their particular nature and significance.
The calcified cells may or may not be cancer cells which have died and calcified. Dr. Pope is going to advocate with Blue Cross Blue Shield, my insurance coverer, for my having an MRI, a $2000 test. With with an MRI the various tissues in the breast can be seen in color. This helps determine their pattern in the breast, particularly if those cells are lining up in the ducts.
Pope warned me that BCBS will fight this tooth and nail, not wanting the test done until pre-surgery or post-biopsy. The issue here is that the calcified cells I have are in the entire breast, both of them. According to Dr. Pope, there is no way to needle biopsy every one of them, even if I was a pin cushion; and there is no guarantee that if just some of them are biopsied, they will represent the condition underlying all of them.
Calcifications can be a normal. Lots of women have them, including the gentle-handed woman who did my mammograms. There is, if I understood Dr. Pope despite my slight state of shock, about a 5 % chance that the calcifications in my breasts represent cancer.
I talked with Stanley on the phone immediately after getting my test results. I asked him if he would still love me if I lost both my breasts. He said, "Oh sure! I have had a long time to enjoy them." A long time indeed--- I have been with him since I was 21-years-old.
In Friends Midweek Worship on Wednesday, I kept getting visions of God as a woman, a nurturing mother. I could picture in my mind some to the first images of the divine which were not of the crucified Christ, but of a lactating Holy Mother Mary holding Jesus on her lap, sometimes nursing him, sometimes with Jesus point to her nursing breast.
Many of these images were destroyed when the icons of what is now the Eastern Orthodox Church, were demolished. I am not recalling the year the Roman Catholic Church came into ascendancy over Constantinople; but when it did, the Eastern Orthodox, broke away, not accepting the office of the papacy and not wanting to give up their spiritual art and devotion to Theotokos, Mary the Mother of God---- an image of the feminine divine.
In worship, my mind was enveloped in bosomy images and gave me a warm, secure feeling that radiated outward from my heart. I sensed my soul as the eye of a storm. Deep inside, I knew I had a core place, an eternal pilot light, if you will, that is strong, clear and life-giving, like love and courage itself.
If you, like me, are into the theology of lactation, here some articles to reflect upon and enjoy: "God's Love and Mother's Milk" >>
http://www.religion-online.
"Theotokos Milk Giver Icon" >>
http://www.stjohndc.org/Russian/theotokos/e_9601_milk_giver.htm
Monday, December 22, 2008
Catbird, Caged Bird: Sing!
On the Sundays before and after Christmas, Fayetteville Friends Meeting is having a program that, on the surface, appears decidedly non-Christmas-y. It is a two part "Worship Sharing," a heart-to-heart Friends' dialog, about the intersection of Holocaust horrors and other human-made atrocities, poetry and prayer. We ask ourselves, "Why did God not intervene in the Holocaust or answer the prayers of those being tortured and murdered? What is prayer? And who or what is God? Can the art of creating poetry or any art, tell us something about the nature of God?"
As a springboard for our discussion, we read (through tears) three Holocaust poems by William Heyen. Here is one:
I became further fixated on the subject of "God and evil," as a 16-year-old when I read Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl, a psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor. Then, in yet another twist of irony (or fate), I fell in love with and married a man who is Jewish and therefore understandably purturbed by the Holocaust. Stanley grew up in the late 1940s and early 1950s in a southside Chicago, a Jewish neighborhood where he encountered survivors who not only bore tattooed camp numbers on their arms, but tattooed traumas on their brains and nervous systems, some more resilient than others.
Theodicy is defined as "a defense of God's goodness and omnipotence in the face of the existence of evil." Like the word " theodicy" itself, I cannot read this definition or read any argument in defense of a God who could stop evil but won't, without odd voices popping up in my head. In my mind's ear, I hear Homer Simpson asking, "Could God create a burrito so hot that he, himself, could not eat it?"
The two leaders of the Worship Sharing, both with the first name, "Peter," are, in some ways, an unlikely duo. One is a self proclaimed "Agnostic-Jewish-Quaker," a retired, 80-year-old, Professor of English and author; the other is retired United Methodist minister, in the midst of a "midlife surge," who is open to other vocations (but not another spiritual path than his beloved Christianity).
The two Peters are not giving us any answers, of course, to this thorny question.They can only show us how they have, like Jacob, wrestled with God, got scarred, but kept on facing all that is thrown at them by life, not flinching, but living to tell the story of What was encountered. Besides, getting pat answers or creedal statements are not the purpose of Worship Sharing. Our goal there is to encounter one another and be guided by the Inner Light in such a way that we live better lives, ones in harmony with Friends Testimonies: simplicity, peace, community and equality.
In Meeting for Worship on Sunday, I had the repetative thought, "None of us will ever answer the theodicy riddle." But then I heard bird trilling in the winter chill outside our meeting space window, and it came to me that another poet, Maya Angelou, came pretty close.
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
As a springboard for our discussion, we read (through tears) three Holocaust poems by William Heyen. Here is one:
- Catbird
- Another thick book of testimonies—
- I knew I could not remember them all.
- It was as though the survivors
- were moving past me in a line,
- & I were choosing among them:
- that way to oblivion, this way
- into a poem with my rhythmic baton.
- But this spring morning a catbird sang
- outside my door while I was reading,
while Rabbi Solomon H. remembered his son, - a nine-year-old who had,
- Solomon tells us,
- half the book of Psalms by heart.
- When he was taken to be murdered,
- he was saying the Psalms from memory.
- Just before being gassed, the boy said,
- "I am still going to pray to God.
- Maybe at the last moment we will still be saved,'
- & I looked up,
- &, as catbirds will, this one
- kept singing like crazy, its song
- losing track of its beginning,
- never the melodies of final meanings,
- but going on as though nothing
- within its own singing
- could ever not remember
- everything.
- Friends are addressing, in part, theodicy a word I can never read without a kind of dyslexia. I read it as "idiocy." Immediately, I experience the irony of mixing the two, theodicy with idiocy. It is a bit idiotic, I suppose, to try to understand the impossible and ineffable, especially as it relates to something as painful and perplexing as human evil.
I became further fixated on the subject of "God and evil," as a 16-year-old when I read Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl, a psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor. Then, in yet another twist of irony (or fate), I fell in love with and married a man who is Jewish and therefore understandably purturbed by the Holocaust. Stanley grew up in the late 1940s and early 1950s in a southside Chicago, a Jewish neighborhood where he encountered survivors who not only bore tattooed camp numbers on their arms, but tattooed traumas on their brains and nervous systems, some more resilient than others.
Theodicy is defined as "a defense of God's goodness and omnipotence in the face of the existence of evil." Like the word " theodicy" itself, I cannot read this definition or read any argument in defense of a God who could stop evil but won't, without odd voices popping up in my head. In my mind's ear, I hear Homer Simpson asking, "Could God create a burrito so hot that he, himself, could not eat it?"
The two leaders of the Worship Sharing, both with the first name, "Peter," are, in some ways, an unlikely duo. One is a self proclaimed "Agnostic-Jewish-Quaker," a retired, 80-year-old, Professor of English and author; the other is retired United Methodist minister, in the midst of a "midlife surge," who is open to other vocations (but not another spiritual path than his beloved Christianity).
The two Peters are not giving us any answers, of course, to this thorny question.They can only show us how they have, like Jacob, wrestled with God, got scarred, but kept on facing all that is thrown at them by life, not flinching, but living to tell the story of What was encountered. Besides, getting pat answers or creedal statements are not the purpose of Worship Sharing. Our goal there is to encounter one another and be guided by the Inner Light in such a way that we live better lives, ones in harmony with Friends Testimonies: simplicity, peace, community and equality.
In Meeting for Worship on Sunday, I had the repetative thought, "None of us will ever answer the theodicy riddle." But then I heard bird trilling in the winter chill outside our meeting space window, and it came to me that another poet, Maya Angelou, came pretty close.
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Courage to Face Tragedy
My dear friend just wrote me that his niece and nephew found their mother on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood, stabbed in her throat. Paramedics and doctors could not save her. She died at the hospital yesterday.
I picture shock waves of pain, fury and regret searing her loved ones, stabbing them too. So with all my being, I pray now and will continue to pray for their healing from this dark event, this tragic ending of a mother who was loved and cherished.
I pray for us all. May we have the courage and the grace to catch glimmers of hope through the window of peace, despite the anguish which inevitably touches our lives at some time, in some way. May we experience the tenderness of the One who is compassion itself.
As a small antidote to this scary, cold time of trauma, I sent my friend, who in many ways is the central healer in his family, this blessing: "For Courage" by John O'Donohue.
FOR COURAGE
When the light around you lessens
And your thoughts darken until
Your body feels fear turn
Cold as stone inside,
When you find yourself bereft
Of any belief in yourself
And all you unknowingly
Leaned on has fallen,
When one voice commands
Your whole heart,
And it is raven dark,
Steady yourself and see
That it is your own thinking
That darkens the world,
Search and you will find
A diamond-thought of light,
Know that you are not alone
And that darkness has a purpose;
Gradually it will school your eyes
To find the one gift your life requires
Hidden within this night-corner.
Invoke the learning
Of every suffering
You have suffered.
Close your eyes.
Gather all the kindling
About your heart
To create one spark.
That is all you need
To nourish the flame
That will cleanse the dark
Of its weight of festered fear.
A new confidence will come alive
To urge you toward higher ground
Where your imagination
Will learn to engage difficulty
As its most rewarding threshold!
I picture shock waves of pain, fury and regret searing her loved ones, stabbing them too. So with all my being, I pray now and will continue to pray for their healing from this dark event, this tragic ending of a mother who was loved and cherished.
I pray for us all. May we have the courage and the grace to catch glimmers of hope through the window of peace, despite the anguish which inevitably touches our lives at some time, in some way. May we experience the tenderness of the One who is compassion itself.
As a small antidote to this scary, cold time of trauma, I sent my friend, who in many ways is the central healer in his family, this blessing: "For Courage" by John O'Donohue.
FOR COURAGE
When the light around you lessens
And your thoughts darken until
Your body feels fear turn
Cold as stone inside,
When you find yourself bereft
Of any belief in yourself
And all you unknowingly
Leaned on has fallen,
When one voice commands
Your whole heart,
And it is raven dark,
Steady yourself and see
That it is your own thinking
That darkens the world,
Search and you will find
A diamond-thought of light,
Know that you are not alone
And that darkness has a purpose;
Gradually it will school your eyes
To find the one gift your life requires
Hidden within this night-corner.
Invoke the learning
Of every suffering
You have suffered.
Close your eyes.
Gather all the kindling
About your heart
To create one spark.
That is all you need
To nourish the flame
That will cleanse the dark
Of its weight of festered fear.
A new confidence will come alive
To urge you toward higher ground
Where your imagination
Will learn to engage difficulty
As its most rewarding threshold!
Friday, December 12, 2008
Books I Am Reading Now
The Wise Heart: a guide to the universal teachings of Buddhist psychology, by Jack Kornfield
Beloved Disciple: the misunderstood legacy of Mary Magdalene the woman closest to Jesus, by Robin Griffith-Jones
Lost Christianities: the battles for scripture and faiths we never knew, by Bart D. Ehrman
The Wisdom Jesus: transforming heart and mind--a new perspective on Christ and his message, by Cynthia Bourgeault
Beloved Disciple: the misunderstood legacy of Mary Magdalene the woman closest to Jesus, by Robin Griffith-Jones
Lost Christianities: the battles for scripture and faiths we never knew, by Bart D. Ehrman
The Wisdom Jesus: transforming heart and mind--a new perspective on Christ and his message, by Cynthia Bourgeault
Monday, December 8, 2008
Act of Blessing: not for sissies
I have two Spiritual Friends, David and Susan, with whom I meet once a week for prayer and religious and spiritual study. Lately they have been encouraging me to not just be thankful for the good things that happen to me, but the awful ones, too. I think to myself, "That is a tall order, Friends! Sounds like the guy who said, 'Bless those who curse you.' That's crazy! Impossible!" Yet I know in my heart of hearts, David and Susan are right. Blessing the all of life, not just the wonderful, easy parts is the only true path to peace.
Not only are my Spiritual Friends pushing me in the direction of acceptance and gratitude, I got an email from an on-line Joan Chittister study course this morning giving me the same hard message. Guess I can run, but not hide, from this ancient wisdom.
Bless Everything
— from Joan Chittister in Listen With the Heart
Not only are my Spiritual Friends pushing me in the direction of acceptance and gratitude, I got an email from an on-line Joan Chittister study course this morning giving me the same hard message. Guess I can run, but not hide, from this ancient wisdom.
Bless Everything
— from Joan Chittister in Listen With the Heart
As long as I can remember, we have blessed the Christmas tree each year. And we bless the women as they enter our community and those who are breathing their last in it.
And now the community has begun the practice of holding prayer vigils at sites of recent homicides in our city to bless that violent place with new peace.In fact, we bless everything in sight. Why? Because blessings are the life breath of those who believe in the sacredness of space and place, all things and life.
Blessing is an ancient custom which, perhaps, could profit a people who live under schedules that leave us breathless and unsatisfied, who are surrounded by technology that promises more than it gives, who find themselves in such unrelenting pursuit of the good life that it so easily blurs the good in the present life.
Blessings are the visible demonstration of faith in the goodness of the God whose blessings are often invisible.
God bless you.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Strange and Tender
Since last year about this time, when I became more wholeheartedly, unreservedly Quaker, my life and psyche have turned upside down, inside out. Everything seems strange and new. One tender teacher during this transformative period has been John O'Donohue, a Celtic Christian poet and scholar who died recently. Still his words reverberate within me particularly in the silence of Friends Meeting. It is from his book of blessings that I drew the title of this blog, Bless the Space Between Us.
Here is the O'Donohue blessing which most addresses my soul's longing: "On Meeting a Stranger," the stranger in this case being myself, loved ones and friends, and that ineffable One, G*d.
Here is the O'Donohue blessing which most addresses my soul's longing: "On Meeting a Stranger," the stranger in this case being myself, loved ones and friends, and that ineffable One, G*d.
On Meeting a Stranger
With respect
And reverence
That the unknown
Between us
Might flower
Into discovery
And lead us
Beyond
The familiar field
Blind with the weed
Of weariness
And the old walls
Of habit.
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