A Shabbas Table: "The Floating Monastory"

(Top image is of St Catherine holding the Church-as-a-ship, next one of the Church-ship as a healing light/lamp...which will make more sense later)

A couple posts ago, shared a qoute about trusting God "even for the weather". And also how it was the gift of rain that helped calm something when was at a stress highpoint this week. Well, the stress is still going on honestly...between all these doctors visits, and being dizzy all the time and barely able to swallow, and not being able to rest or feel "at home" becuase of all the noise here (at night too), not to mention the chemical sensitivity going through the roof more and more from all the fumes, and the exhausting dance of having to open and close the windows all day long...well i've been seriously about to lose it. But the experience Wednesday with the rain has really stayed with me as a comfort, a rope to hold in a sense. Keep remembering how something about the rain "softened the edges" of things somehow. And how i'd heared so strongly "notice this" (notice how the rain had made such a difference). It had made me think then of the "not a desert but an ocean" image that keeps coming up a lot. And i've found myself going back to it again and again through the stress of late, something keeps beckoning.

One image thats really stood out lately is what is called the "floating monastory". This is an ancient Celtic custom that i'd recently read about when was exploring St Brenden before. To set the scene before going into it, in the early days of Christianity there was a growing tradition of the "desert" monastics... which began in the Middle East and made its way over into Europe. Its what has still influenced monastic life greatly today. But it was not the only path there, i am just more and more convinced of that. I look back to Biblical times and see plently of desert images... Christ in the Desert, God in the Burning Bush, Elijah in his desert cave. But there are also plently of very deep water images. Baptism itself, Christ calming the waters, Noah's ark, Jonah and the whale, Rebekka at the well, and so many more i'm sure. More and more i am convinced that the desert is not the only path/image for living a life more "set apart" life....there is also the ocean.

The thing is, the desert is a traditional place for soldier training and the early desert monastics saw their going apart as a sort of spiritual warfare. Warfare and battling is really bound in with the archetype of the desert it seems...the desert even battles with our own bodies, making us become more rigorous just to survive in it. Such perfect training for a soldier or a hero really, for toughening up for battle (physically or spiritually). And it sure was fitting for our most ultimate Hero (Hero to say the least), Our Lord, who frequently went to the desert of fast and pray. But.... what about Mary? She too had a sacred role to play and the desert was not her training ground for it.

And so ....what about her daughters? Men and women are not just "the same" after all, a woman is not typically designed to be hero or soldier but rather a nurturer and "keeper". And so while the desert is the perfect place for preparing the courage and rigor and toughening up one needs as a soldier... i feel it makes less sense for helping create the softness and openess and such needed so badly for a nurturer. What feels to provide that more strongly isnt the desert but the ocean as the image. Well, this has been explored a bit before...

But this new image that came acrosss recently was this Celtic idea of the "floating monastory". While those in the Middle East tended to off into the desert when there was the need for a spiritual pilgrimage or an especially prayerful and set apart life, those in the Celtic world tended towards the sea (such as St Brendon's sea voyage, of course, but also many others). The boat then became the monastery, the ocean in the place of the desert. And i dont know too much about these "floating monasteries" yet (couldnt find much) but the image itself really feels to really hold something. Becuase the Church herself has been traditionally seen as a ship....and a ship needs the ocean, not the desert. So this feels to be a very powerful image.

About the Church as ship, from here:

As those outside of Noah's Ark were destroyed, the ship became a perfect early symbol of the Church. In the same vein, the main part of a church's interior, the place where the people worship, is called a "nave," from the Latin "navis" -- ship.

and here:

The image of the Church as a boat in which the faithful find refuge from the sea of the world is extremely commonplace in medieval iconography. The architecture of the church building itself is meant to recall an image of a boat; the "nave" (from the Latin "navis" meaning "ship") is often constructed so that the roof resembles an upside-down ship's keel.

And there were some further thoughts in this vein back here.

Anyway, ive just been very drawn to this image of the floating monastery lately. The ship rather than the traditional "cell". Perhaps becuase my life seems to reflect the former more it seems, so far anyaway, so maybe i should just accept it. My little ship here (this little vintage trailer) will be moving yet again now. I knew when i moved here it was temporary and all that, knew the highway's fumes couldnt be lived by for long with the chemical sensitivity and all. But i did so enjoy the wilderness part of being here (how ironic, living on such a noisy-fume-y highway yet still being able to walk up the hill to such deep wilderness that was so dear). I had no idea though just how quickly that move would need to happen until all the new noise happened, along with the continuing impact of the fumes of course. But really, i'd have had to move eventually becuase of the fumes anyway, all this did was speed it up, so i shouldnt be complaining.

Have found someplace to move to, but its more in the city, which i was really trying to avoid. But i'm trying to trust its been found for a reason...and i'm gratfeul for it. Its offroad from the main street so there wont as much traffic fumes as here, and the neighbors (as far as i know anyway) seem quieter at least... so i'll be moving next week or so, and we'll see. This wont be where i "land" though, i can see that already, becuase its too close to neighbors. When someone has chemical sensitivity they need to be far from neighbors (unless those neighbors share or respect your sensitivity, which is rare)...becuase if not then eventually there's usually conflict due to their fumes making you ill. I know that now, though it took me awhile to admit it....its simply the reality. So i either need to somehow have a miracle happen of having land away from city and neighbor fumes to finally ground and be at home (blissful sigh, smile)....or i need to truly embrace this image of my home-cloister here as a ship, simply being led by Him even if not grounded in the traditional way. Or maybe both, that would be heaven. Will have to see what unfolds.

At any rate, the ship image has been such a healing one lately. Its grounding comes not from an owned and claimed spot of earth, but rather from a sacred life in itself, from here:

A way of life - a floating monastery:

The journey was guided and shaped by the rules, not of navigation alone, but of the monastery from which Brendan started out - feasts, festivals, fasts and psalms.

When he left his original more traditional monastory walls, he built them on the ship really.... through "feasts, festival, fasts and psalms". Such food for thought.

And the ship image goes further too , from here:

The ship (bark or barque, barchetta) was an ancient Christian symbol. Its is the Church tossed on the sea of disbelief, worldliness, and persecution but finally reaching safe harbor with its cargo of human souls. Part of the imagery comes from the ark saving Noah's family during the Flood (1 Peter 3:20-21). Jesus protecting the Peter's boat and the apostles on the stormy Sea of Galilee (Mark 4:35-41) (is another.... And it is also symolic of) a means of conveyance between this world and the next. In Christian tradition, in which earthly life was seen as a pilgrimage, the ship of the church transports the faithful through the seas of the world to the heavenly home.

Through ths ship image, home really becomes simply...God. He is leading ones little ship. I am just finding more and more healing in this image.

Well, prayers for all that is happening would be so cherished if anyone is willing....for physical healing, for peace and quiet, for a calm and successful move, but most of all for a deepening trust.

A Very Blessed Shabbat all, and a wonderfully healing Sabbath : )

(Images from here and here)

A Healing Table: Exploring the "Morning Offering"

I was out again the other evening with the owls again, thinking... well, i'm a "night owl" anyway and tend to feel more joyful and alive when the sun winds down. So Vespers, i think i really can embrace that. Maybe already do in part.... watching the sunset, lighting the candle, that stuff already happens. It wouldnt be a stretch to add the evening prayer on a regular basis and timely dinner so that that sunset can be watched following an after dinner walk. Not a stretch really, and it seems to be slowly happening. But now Morning prayer...well, i'm not exactly a morning person, don't seem to get my "bearings" till later often, i just have to kind of cost on automatic pilot awhile. But something has given me real inspiration for reorienting the mornings, really making concrete the "Morning Offering". Its from Et Tu again (wow has her journey here been inspiring), from here:

"Some of the most amazing, powerful insights I've ever heard on this subject (of seeking God always, Even first thing in the morning) came from a book I recently finished called He Leadeth Me by Fr. Walter Ciszek. (From it:)

'The simple soul who each day makes a morning offering of "all the prayers, works, joys and suffering of this day" -- and who then acts upon it by accepting unquestioningly and responding lovingly to all the situations of that day as truly sent by God -- has perceived with an almost childlike faith the profound truth about the will of God.

To predict what God's will is going to be, to rationalize about what his will must be, is at once a work of human folly and yet the subtlest of all temptations. The plain and simple truth is that his will is what he actually wills to send us each day, in the way of circumstances, places, people, and problems. [...]

The answer lies in understanding that it is these things -- and these things alone, here and now, at this moment -- that truly constitute the will of God.'

I am a sort of living testament to this concept. I can't tell you how many times I've been engrossed in some great spiritual book, only to be interrupted by some unexpected chaos with the kids. And my immediate reaction is to think, "Would you kids be quiet! I'm trying to seek God's will here!" sighing that if only I wasn't so bogged down with my household responsibilities that I could really start getting in tune with God. If only I didn't have to change this diaper and deal with that temper tantrum and clear all those dishes off the table I could get closer to finding out what it is that God wills for me!

It's been quite stunning, then, for me to realize that changing that diaper and dealing with the temper tantrum and clearing those dishes are God's will. These are the situations that God puts in front of me every day. If I see them through my eyes alone, holding out for God to reveal to me that "his" will is all about me writing that bestselling book or the lottery win (that just so happen to be big fantasies of mine), I grumble through the mundane tasks of my day. And when I do this, when I apathetically plop a dish into the sink or huff and puff about having to sweep the kitchen floor for the second time today, I am essentially saying, "I will not serve." I'm refusing to accept that these humdrum tasks just might be the answers to all my questions about what God wants me to do.

But to see all these diapers and temper tantrums and dishes through God's eyes, to humbly go about my day executing each task with love, appreciating every moment and every little thing around me as a precious gift, is to know and serve God, to do his will. I don't need to analyze it beyond that. I have my answer.

Fr. Ciszek says it best:

'To seek to discover some other and nobler "will of God" in the abstract that better fits our notion of what his will should be...was our temptation [in Russia], just as it is the temptation faced by everyone who suddenly discovers that life is not what he expected it to be. The answer lies in understanding that it is these things -- and these things alone, here and now, at this moment -- that truly constitute the will of God...The trouble is that like all great truths it seems too simple.

Its very simplicity renders it almost impossible of human achievement, for our poor human nature is too easily distracted. The very circumstances of our lives -- so constant and so humdrum and routine, and yet the things that truly constitute the will of God for us each day -- are also the very things that serve to distract us, precisely because we are so involved with them. [...]

And yet to grasp this divine truth, as simple as it sounds, and work at it, to face each moment of every day in the light of its inspiration...is to come to know at last true joy and peace of heart, secure in the knowledge we are attempting always and in everything to do God's will, the only purpose for which we exist, the end for which alone we were created. There is no greater security a man could ask, no greater serenity a man could know.'

WOW. This is another one i just keep reading over and over...becuase there is such deep truth there, you can feel it.

Its funny, i had a dream last night that i'm remembering now. In real life i have this really cute light blue jacket, one that makes me feel "like me" and that My Prince really loves to see too. In the dream, i had been at a gathering in a little book store, taken off my jacket, and somehow it got lost. The owners of the bookstore (a couple) tried helping me look for it. After looking fruitlessly awhile the wife stopped and said "You know, i've been waiting for the right time to give this jacket (she pointed to a closet it was in) to someone. Its an aerial jacket, antique, grey, really warm..." I didnt hear all she said becuase the thought of replacing my light blue jacket, the one that felt like "me", was unthinkable. I was about to say so when something stopped me, and i just couldnt say it. Instead i thanked her for the grey jacket, said i'd be happy to accept it if we didnt find the blue one, but that i'd like to look awhile more for the blue one first. And so we did, and then i went off on my own and looked too, a stressful wild goose chase becuase that blue jacket was just nowhere to be found. Neither was its matching scarf either.

When i woke up i realized that that grey jacket was a gift. A gift i resisted becuase it felt too much like a uniform, like something that wasnt showing "me" as an individual like the blue jacket does but rather just one of many, like one cloud in a sky. Its funny because in my head i really love that thought of a uniform, to me its like being an ancient Old Testament scribe copying the Law with joy and beauty, or like being the maker of a sacred icon (icons are "written" like copying a manuscript, rather that being an individual creation...its just another way of being true to the ancient (not the corrupted as it had become by New Testament times) way of the scribe. Yet in the dream i resisted.

I realized later how in the dream i had been wearing a sweater the same color of the lost jacket...so i hadnt lost the core of me really, the core that God had given to form and guide ( i believe He does this for each of us, gives us different natures and burning desires and the like for a reason, to guide each person in the way He would chooose). And yet losing the blue jacket did mean something, it meant exchanging trying to stand out as an individual into wearing a uniform jacket instead, a uniform, an ancient antique uniform at that, feeling like the uniform of our ancestors as well, a uniform of...an aviator. Reminding that we are all on a journey, on pilgrimage here, "aviators". Anyway, something about this dream feels connected to this draw to praying the hours. Praying the hours is a uniform. And despite the long time draw i've been resisting it... for the very same reasons i resisted donning the grey jacket in the dream. Still uncovering those reasons. But most of all praying for their healing...

Added later: This poem from Laure of Sometimes...it holds the blessing of the Morning Offering so deeply. From here...

when waking
is no longer a choice
and dreams
no longer speak
nocturnal,
let the damp
earth
be the washing bowl
and the swollen grass,
the cloth
set before you.

in His hands,
even the dawn
humbles itself
to give
what it can
to serve you.

(Images adapted from a picture found here)

A Healing Table: Prayer as Natural Rhythm

In the last post was mentioned the "candlelight" experiment at Et Tu, and how it made her realize the gift of embracing natural rhythms. Since this is something i so long for in my own life, i was very interested to see how this unfolded there. She didnt end up giving up artificial light, but she did embrace the deeper gift of the candlelight, that of Vespers. What a perfect beginning....in more ancient days it was the sunsetting/moonrising that actually began the new day.

What i really liked was the realization that a daily rhythm of prayer, for example praying the Liturgy of Hours (its so amazing to know that each day others are praying this too, and that those before us have as well), helps us live with a natural rhythm. But it is much more. From here, here, and here:

"every evening at Vespers I will keep the ancient tradition of that being the prayer said at the lighting of the lamps: I will light candles, and though I will continue to keep the lights on as needed, I will use the lit candles as a symbolic gesture that the day has ended (no work tasks; except for dinner, dinner cleanup, and bath in her case)....Every day around sunset, a few minutes before I light the Vespers candles, I make a conscious decision about what will and will not get done. I finish the tasks I'm able to, and get the others to a stopping point for tomorrow."

"These days, leisurely breakfast time ends and high-energy activity time begins with Lauds (Morning Prayer) at 9:30; high-energy activity time ends and naptime/desk work begins with the Office of Readings at 2:00; and I do one final sweep to get any lingering projects to a stopping point before the whole workday comes to a close with Vespers (Evening Prayer) at 6:00. Do I always have everything done by the time prayer time rolls around? Nope...But, I have realized, such is a life of balance...The reason that pre-electricity generations spoke of a life of peaceful rhythm and natural balance is because, for example, a housewife living in 1890 couldn't do laundry at 10:00 at night if she didn't get to it during the day; that by virtue of having built-in hard stops like sunset and community-centered activities, they were forced to sacrifice a lot of the things they wanted to get done and simply rest. Mimicking this life as best I can, by allowing my day to be broken into times of work and times of rest by forces larger than myself, has indeed forced me to sacrifice a lot of the things I'd like to get done. And it has given me a life of balance.

I suppose it might technically be possible to achieve such a nice rhythm by using something other than prayer to provide hard stops; but, for me, I doubt that anything else would work. ...By anchoring my days around God by joining in with the universal prayer of the Church, by letting the rhythm of the Liturgy of the Hours be the guiding rhythm of my life, three times a day I am reminded that I only have one real to-do list, and it is short; that the little sacrifices I make to achieve balance are minuscule in the grand scheme of things; that my time is not my own anyway."

"Because of my commitment to pray the Liturgy of the Hours, every few hours I have been forced to stop everything, to snap out of my mental downward spiral, and pray. Reading the ancient Psalms, often anguished cries to God in times of great upheaval and tragedy, reminds me of how very small my troubles are in the grand scheme of things."

I am so drawn to this! And i 've been trying to pray the hours online but just can't seem to get into it that way, i need something in my hand. But its more than that too, its that the only complete offices that are online use newer Bible translations, which just drive me nuts, that zaps all the depth and poetry out. There are some nice Medieval sites that have the older more poetic Bible translations for the basic prayers (like this one does)...but not the complete daily office. And when looking for the book form.... well it's the same problem there it seems. But maybe i'm just missing it. I would love so much if anyone has any advice here...where to get a copy (if there is one) of the Liturgy of Hours that uses the original (not the revised) King James, or even better the Douay-Rheims...

(Images from here and here , respectively)

A Practical Table: Natural Rhythms as a Path to Peacefulness

My Prince (finace) and i have gotten into a recent habit...exchanging "habits" as gifts. For Christmas for example he gave the gift of commiting to be becoming neater (becuase he knew that was something i wanted) and i gave him the gift of commiting to find ways to live on less (becuase i knew that was something he wanted). And its been so nice to see both of those habit gifts unfolding over time. But then came his birthday recently, and i have commited to learning to have dinner at a decent hour, something he really wants...his ideal is to have dinner, as a general rule anyway, at 6. And i have to say this one has been much harder, to say the least. I tend to be a real night owl/later riser, and breakfast can honestly get eaten when some other folks are eating their lunch. So dinner at 6? It just almost never seems to happen.

Yet when it does, it is so relaxing! When it does, the rest of the evening is just so peaceful and relaxed and i wonder why i don't do this everyday. When it happens a nice walk gets taken after dinner, and when coming back in the door there is this feeling that the day is done, that a whole peaceful night stretches ahead now, for reading, for games, for talking, for...peacefulness. Something about having dinner at its natural time gives that feeling, that "day is done" feeling that i otherwise find so elusive. And now that i've made this commitment to having dinner at a good hour, well it has to head in that direction now anyway. So why should something so beautuful be so hard to get in the habit of doing?

Then today i came across this post at Et Tu and long to point a big arrow over to it, saying "what she said". She was explaining how her husband wanted to try living without artificial light, and so they tried using candlelight at night. She became frustrated when the things she normally did at night (like dishes and laundry) were so hard to do this way, and frustrated that the candlelight was making her sleepy earlier as well. She was telling her husband all this...when on came the lightbulb (or rather the candlelight, smile):

"Look," I replied. "The only way we could possibly do a couple nights without artificial light would be...oh." Something dawned on me as I spoke. The only way we could get by on sunlight and candles alone would be to completely, totally rethink our expectations for what we could accomplish; to have all major work completed and cleaned up by sunset; to attempt only quiet activities like reading or sewing or family time in the evening hours...to live like our grandparents lived. We'd have no choice but to slash our to-do lists and our expectations of what we could get done in a day. We'd have to get up early and work purposefully and diligently to get the most out of the fleeting daylight. Feelings of panic and rush would be futile since we'd live with a clear sense that we cannot create more working hours than the light allows, that the sun is going to set when it sets, and there's only so much we can do. Life would have a distinct daily and seasonal rhythm.

It would be pretty peaceful...

Life before modern technology was full of hard stops: the work day ended at sunset -- if you didn't finish laundry during the day there was no going back outside to the washboard at 9:00 at night; the work day began at dawn -- if you got breakfast on the table an hour late that was precious time cut out of you and your family's very finite workday; even finances had hard stops -- when you spent your last dollar there were no tempting "0% interest for six months!" credit card offers waiting in your mailbox. And with a life full of hard stops, even the most disorganized, scattered people must have been forced to have some kind of routine, and to limit their to-do lists. Even people as inept at time management as I am must have been gently reminded to get to a stopping point and wind down their projects each day as the sunlight began its slow retreat from the sky.

When I considered also that in many times and places people lived in small villages where the community undertook activities together -- e.g. the men all went out to work the fields at the same time, the women did the washing and cooking in a community area at the same time -- I started to think that maybe one of the reasons so many people feel scattered and overwhelmed these days is because we're just not meant to have to create our own schedules. Humans are used to powerful forces beyond their control like the availability of light or the momentum of community activities structuring their days."

I keep reading this over and over...becuase it feels so true. Becuase when we think about it, GOD gave us our natural rhythms, as a precious gift. And what do we do, we try and override them. More and more i am longing to embrace them instead. Its part of that draw to "iconic" living too, living thats like making an icon...when one makes an icon one is following a well worn sacred path rather than creating anew, and that following surrounds a person, holds them, guides them, moves them ...and comforts them too when it comes down to it. Its limits are actually....a precious gift.

Back to the focus at hand here, i know this habit of eating dinner at a good hour may not necessarily ground overnight. This morning i was up at an early hour, and dinner at 6 could very well happen today. But not so even just a few nights ago when i was up till dawn. Old habits might die hard....but more and more i am feeling it will be deeply worth it.

Needless to say, i'm praying for help on this one : )

(Images from Natural Rhythms by Rob Plattel )

A Pilgrim's Table: Precious Places, Timeless Tales

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
--Wendell Berry

Well, tomarrow morning bright and early we're off...off to the wide wild prarie (make that the rolling fields of rural Oregon ) in an exploratory move. Been finding hearts in things all over the place lately...or as Britt Arnhild would call it, the prints from God's walking stick. Its helping me feel more hopeful about the journey : )

Well, the heart is still very turned towards pilgrimage, so thought i'd share a bit more that's been gathered there. First, more on the Biblical roots, from here:

"Psalm 38:13 "Hear my prayer, O Lord, and my supplication: give ear to my tears. Be not silent: for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner as all my fathers were."

The word "pilgrim" comes from the Latin "peregrinus," meaning "foreigner" or "stranger," and in the deepest sense, that is what (we) are: a people whose home is not this world, but the Heavenly Jerusalem, toward which our lives move us. But in that journey to share in St. John's vision, we often make smaller journeys, or "pilgrimages" -- that is, journeys made to sacred places for the purpose of veneration, to ask help from or thank God and His Saints, to fulfill a vow, or to make penance.

Our Hebrew forebears were commanded by God to make a pilgrimage to the Temple:

Deuteronomy 16:16-17
Three times in a year shall all thy males appear before the Lord thy God in the place which he shall choose: in the feast of unleavened bread, in the feast of weeks, and in the feast of tabernacles. No one shall appear with his hands empty before the Lord: But every one shall offer according to what he hath, according to the blessing of the Lord his God, which he shall give him.

They called these pilgrimages on Pesach (the Feast of Unleavened Bread, or Passover), Shavu'ot (the Feast of Weeks, or Pentecost), and Sukkot (Feast of Tabernacles, or Festival of Ingathering) "re'iyah," and on their way they would sing their Pilgrim Songs -- Psalms 119-133, known also as the "Songs of Degrees" ("canticum graduum" to us Latins). Extra-Scripturally, they made pilgrimages to the tomb of Rachel, and to places like Mt. Carmel, sacred to Israel long before Elias there proved that YHWH is God when the fire from Heaven consumed his offering after the unfaithful made their vain appeals to Baal to consume theirs (III Kings 18). But these pilgrimages that weren't a matter of divine command were still in the spirit of Scripture, where memory is seen as important. Witness the making of a memorial out of stones in Josue (Joshua):

Josue 4:1-9
And when they were passed over, the Lord said to Josue: Choose twelve men, one of every tribe: And command them to take out of the midst of the Jordan, where the feet of the priests stood, twelve very hard stones, which you shall set in the place of the camp, where you shall pitch your tents this night. And Josue called twelve men, whom he had chosen out of the children of Israel, one out of every tribe, And he said to them: Go before the ark of the Lord your God to the midst of the Jordan, and carry from thence every man a stone on your shoulders, according to the number of the children of Israel, That it may be a sign among you and when your children shall ask you tomorrow, saying: What mean these stones? You shall answer them: The waters of the Jordan ran off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord, when it passed over the same: therefore were these stones set for a monument of the children of Israel for ever. The children of Israel therefore did as Josue commanded them, carrying out of the channel of the Jordan twelve stones, as the Lord had commanded him, according to the number of the children of Israel, unto the place wherein they camped, and there they set them. And Josue put other twelve stones in the midst of the channel of the Jordan, where the priests stood that carried the ark of the covenant: and they are there until this present day.

We of Israel still mark out sacred spaces and make pilgrimages to them, like our Old Covenant ancestors, but with this difference: we are not bound to journey. The Old Covenant is fulfilled, and we are not Muslims for whom pilgrimage (hajj) is considered a sacred duty. Instead, we go on pilgrimage in the spirit of Josue and of the Gospels -- to remember, and for the purposes of denying ourselves, taking up our crosses, and leaving behind our daily lives to follow Him:

Matthew 16:24-25
Then Jesus said to His disciples: If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me. For he that will save his life, shall lose it: and he that shall lose his life for My sake, shall find it.

We might journey in a spirit of penance, fasting and giving alms along the way. We might do so joyously, in thanksgiving for blessings received, or in a spirit of supplication for blessings desired. Or we might do so simply to be blessed by being in the presence of holy relics or by walking on ground hallowed by Our Lord or the Saints. Whatever our more particular purposes, leaving behind what is comfortable to us and visiting a strange place is a way to get out of a "spiritual rut" and step outside our normal routines which can sometimes keep us distracted or focused on the wrong things -- or perhaps focused too much on otherwise good things. When made with the right attitude, pilgrimage is a way to "lose" our lives for His sake. "
And i've been drawn lately to how the tradition of pilgrimage was kept in (pre-communist) Orthodox Russia, how it really grew into such a beautiful art. Particularly as shown through Catherine Doherty's writings...

From "My Russian Yesterdays" (via here) :

"'At home in Russia we would begin preparing for a pilgrimage by praying and then reading up on the shrine we would be going to. We let friends and neighbors know that we would be glad to carry their intentions with us on the pilgrimage if they would write them down.

"We arranged for our pilgrim's garb which, for women, was a simple shift. Men wore plain trousers and shirt. In a linen bag we carried a loaf of rye bread and some salt, and we took a gourd of water. We started out by participating in Mass and receiving the Eucharist and having a light breakfast. Before departing, we all knelt and asked God's blessing on the pilgrimage, and invoked the angel Raphael (who the Old Testament says was Tobias' guide). The leader sprinkled us with holy water and we were off. We walked barefoot. On the way we prayed aloud together and sang hymns. In between praying and singing there was a great silence in which each talked with God in his own way.

"At noon the leader would call a halt, either by a clean river or a village where we would refill our gourds, wash our tired, hot feet, face, and hands. Pray and sit down to a lunch of rye bread, salt, and water. And did it taste good! An hour's rest, then a prayer and blessing with holy water, and off for the next lap.

"At dusk we planned to be near a village, where we broke ranks. With a reminder to be ready early and on the road, we made our ways to villagers' homes, knocked on a door, said we were pilgrims, and begged for food and a night's lodging in the name of God. Invariably we would be asked in, and we would bow low before the holy images and the crucifix that adorned each home. People shared their food with us, even if it was only bread and tea. We often slept in sweet-smelling haylofts.

"At sunup we rose, washed, ate a piece of bread, and said a grateful farewell to our hosts who gave us their intentions to bring to the shrine, and were off again. The days passed in walking, praying, begging, resting, and walking and praying again. Then one day came the joy of seeing in the distance the spires of the holy shrine. We knew it would be like this when it came time for us to die in the Lord, after a long, tiresome journey of life.

"We would spend days at the shrine, living in the pilgrim hostels of a monastery. We would go to Mass and other common prayers at the shrine and nearby churches. It was like being in a hallway to heaven. We would bring back a supply of holy oil, holy water, sacred images and medals for those at home.

"Then we returned, the same way we came. We arrived home sunburned, healthy, leaner — and filled to the brim in soul."

And (via here) from "Not Without Parables":

"Some of the wonderful experiences I had as a child are connected with the stories of the holy pilgrims who passed through the Russia of old on their way to and from shrines. My mother and father welcomed these men and women very hospitably when they knocked on our door and asked for food and shelter for the night. It was a blessing to harbor these saintly people.
I remember one pilgrim who rested with us. She was a babushka. In Russian that means a grandmother, an elderly person.

She arrived at suppertime on an overcast November evening. Her face was full of wrinkles, yet somehow they were laughing wrinkles, pleasant wrinkles. She had the bluest, merriest eyes and she smiled a dazzling smile.

We fed her, made her comfortable and after supper everyone gathered to listen to her tales. The fire in the wood stove crackled as if it were singing a little ditty, very pleased with itself. As usual, I was sitting on the floor at the feet of the pilgrim.

She made a large sign of the cross before she started talking. She told us how she had put her house in order before setting out on her pilgrimage. Her son, having recently married, had brought his bride home. She felt that the young people should have some time to themselves, and that this was a good chance to go on pilgrimage. She took her loaf of bread, her package of salt and her gourd of water and off she went, light of heart, with a soul full of joy and a mind full of prayer. For the next two months she travelled slowly, reverently, prayerfully, never hurrying, from one shrine to another.

Late one rainy October day she was glad to find a lonely log cabin at the edge of a forest. The next village was quite far away and she was tired. Humbly, she knocked at the door. It seemed to her that a low voice inside bade her enter. Enter she did.

She looked around for the holy icons that were to be found in those days in every home, even the humblest; they were always in the east corner. Sure enough, they were there. Then, as is the custom of my people, she blessed herself three times, bowed low before the icons in honor of the most Holy Trinity, and then looked around to greet whoever was there. "Peace be to this house," she said, using the greeting commanded by the Lord (Lk 10:5).

The only person she saw was an old man lying in a bed, looking very, very sick. He didn't seem to know she was there. She wondered who it was who had bidden her to enter, but she soon forgot as she busied herself with the fire which was low. The old man looked as if he had been unattended for a long time. She soon realized he had a fever and she began nursing him.
There was much to do. There weren't many provisions but in the barn she found a cow that also needed tending and a few hungry chickens. It wasn't long before she had the place shipshape and the man was getting better.

Finally he was up and about. He was still weak, but much better, and grateful to her, though he said very little. As she got to know him, she confessed that she began to stand in awe of him. She couldn't explain to herself exactly why; she just did. She especially liked the way he broke the bread at mealtime and handed her a piece, how he poured the tea and always handed her the full mug. There was a certain majesty about the way he made those simple gestures. It reminded her of something—but she couldn't remember what. Eventually she began to think of going on her way. One evening, she told the man she would be leaving in the morning.

The next morning, when she arose, she found the place in perfect order. The kettle was on the stove, boiling for her tea. The porridge was simmering quietly nearby. The table was set—but for only one person! There was no sign of the man. She went out into the barn and to her astonishment found no cow and no chickens. She returned to the house to have her breakfast, wondering, and a bit perturbed.

She spied the bible which the man had read from so often. It was open and her eyes fell on the words, "I was sick and you nursed me. Whatsoever you do to the least of my brethren, you do to me" (Mt 25:36,40).

She began to tremble with great awe. She fell on her face before the holy icons. She blessed herself many times. Then, since there was nothing else for her to do, she continued on her pilgrimage to the next holy place. But she confessed to us that ever since that experience her feet had wings, or so it seemed to her. She seldom was tired, and her heart sang and sang with great joy, a joy that never left her.

After telling her story, she fell silent. I looked at her face. The blue eyes under the dark eyebrows and lashes were as young as a little girl's, even though they were in a face full of laughing wrinkles. It truly seemed as if her youth had been renewed like the eagle's.

Ah, the stories that the pilgrims tell! "

Mutual prayers : )

(Images from He Gently Calls Us and Holy Cards For Your Inspiration)

A Musing Table: "Pilgrim...Simply Another Word for Beloved"

"Give me my scallop-shell of quiet.
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of Salvation,
My gown of glory (hope's true gage),
And then I'll take my pilgrimage.
–Sir Walter Raleigh

Used to really resist the thought that we were strangers here on earth, pilgrims really, whose "true home" was in heaven. Not that i didn’t long for heaven, but that it felt kind of mean to discount this lovely earthly home we have while we are here. Now i'm not so sure. Not that we should discount our earthly home at all, but more that there is something just so central to this heavenly longing. Something so special in fact that we should nurture it all we can. Keep thinking of that parable of heaven being like the leaven in bread. Our earthly home is perhaps like the bread....and our heavenly longing just might lead us more deeply to the leaven, even while we are here.

So enter the area of pilgrimage. Have just been really fascinated lately with this, and the Medieval traditions there are especially moving (see here, here). In the earlier part of the middle ages, even cloistered nuns were known to take pilgrimages to well loved sacred places, and even anchoresses sometimes as well (though presumably shorter journies). In both cases though, the journey was seen as kind of an extension of living a sacred life rather than a distraction from it...such a healing perspective.

Folks from all walks of Medieval life loved the area of pilgrimage, and blessed St Helena of course was the ultimate pilgrim... a dream led her to pilgrimage to Jerusalem to find the one true cross itself...talk about a deeply sacred blessing! But other pilgrims didn’t come away empty handed either, at the very least they received these little pewter buttons to put in their pilgrim’s hat at each sacred place they pilgrimaged to, each shrine's button having upon it a lovely symbol for that shrine, it having been blessed beforehand (just like their pilgrims walking staff and purse and such had been blessed beforehand too, such a lovely tradition!). A bit about this, combined from here and here:

Once at their destinations, pilgrims did as pilgrims do now in leaving votive offerings, such as coins, jewels, and tokens shaped like parts of the body that had been healed or that were in need of healing. In the same way we collect Saints' medals and Holy Cards from shrines, they collected pilgrim "signs" or "badges" which were pinned or sewed on to pilgrim hats. These badges were usually made of pewter, and their design differed according to the place or Saint venerated.

The cross betokened the crusader (though one could also take the cross when his pilgrimage included fighting in the Crusades, for they were carried in the battling of the crusades as well) , bearing the colour of it the nation to which he belonged, the English white, the French red, the Flemish green. The most famous pilgrim badge was (and still is) that worn by travellers to Compostela, Spain (known as "jacquaires"). There, pilgrims would collect scallop-shaped signs in honor of St. James, whose symbol is the cockleshell.

The pilgrim to Jerusalem had two crossed leaves of palm (hence the name "palmer" as another word for pilgrim ). Pilgrims to Rome (known as "romeos") would wear signs shaped like keys or the heads of SS. Peter and Paul, or a badge bearing the image found on St. Veronica's veil, or the keys or the vernicle (this last also might mean Genoa where there was a rival shrine of St. Veronica's veil). Canterbury's pilgrims would wear a bell-shaped badge, or one bearing the likeness of St. Thomas Beckett, or a leaden ampulla filled with water from a well near the tomb tinctured with an infinitesimal drop of the martyr's blood . For those pilgramaging to St. Catherine's tomb on Mount Sinai, the symbol was the wheel. Pilgrims to Walsingham had buttons with the virgin and child; those to Amiens, had a symbol of the head of St. John the Baptist, etc. Then there was the horn of St. Hubert, the comb of St. Blaise, the axe of St. Olave, and so on.

And these little touchstones helped anchor the pilgrimage in a solid way, a way to better "keep" the inner gifts the pilgrimage had offered. And it isn’t the item itself but more the feeling it helps anchor...a stone gathered on ones journey could do the same, or so many things really, the point is that things get “anchored” somehow. It reminds me of that scene in Hinds Feet on High Places where the woman’s stones gathered on her faith journey (gathered at her key experiences during) were turned into the gems of her crown. And they also they somehow remind me of St Julian of Norwich’s image of the hazelnut:

One translation came accross:

“In this vision he showed me a little thing, the size of a hazelnut, and it
was round as a ball. I looked at it with the eye of my understanding and
thought "What may this be?" And it was generally answered thus: "It is all that is made." I marvelled how it might last, for it seemed it might suddenly have sunk into nothing because of its littleness. And I was answered in my understanding: "It lasts and ever shall, because God loves it."

Another translation:

"And in this the Lord showed me something small, no bigger than a hazelnut, lying in the palm of my hand. . .In this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it, the second is that God loves it, the third is that God preserves it."–St Julian of Norwich

Also reminds me of the “purple ball” of the abbess St Lioba (St Boniface’s kinswoman), from here:

“Her life tells, among others, this story: 'She had a dream in which one night she saw a purple thread issuing from her mouth. It seemed to her that when she took hold of it with her hand and tried to draw it out there was no end to it. . . When her hand was full of thread and it still issued from her mouth she rolled it round and round and made a ball of it .' An old and prophetic nun was asked about the meaning of the dream and explained that it referred to Lioba's wise counsels spoken from her heart. 'Furthermore, the ball which she made by rolling it round and round signifies the mystery of the divine teaching, which is set in motion by the words and deeds of those who give instruction and which turns earthwards through active works and heavenwards through contemplation, at one time swinging downwards through compassion for one's neighbour, again swinging upwards through the love of God.'"

And so, whatever anchoring form may result, its the inner gifts really that are treasured the most by the pilgrim...the healings received, the forgiveness, the change of heart, the change of direction. When one is on pilgrimage they are "being walked" rather than leading themselves, they are simply following the road that countless pilgrims before them have made. And it is ~so~ much easier then to let go of self, to release wrong habits, to let the wind of the Spirit blow through ones heart, to open to....well, the heavenly.

Since i've been drawn to this pilgrimage stuff lately, wasn’t too surprised it showed up in a dream last night. But it was about cookies of all things, lol. I had been craving cookies in real life yesterday, and my fiance brought some nice store bought ones (mistyped as nest, hmmm). When we ate them by breaking off pieces at a time, we somehow made a perfect shaped little heart with the last piece, have no idea how that happened, but it left us with a really nice feeling. And i realized later that it wasn’t just the cookies i was craving really, but the thought of actually making them. There is something so special i feel about making cookies, something so moving somehow. This post is my absolute favorite for sharing that wonderful "cookie making" feeling. From it:

"My Mother loves to bake, it is one of the things she does best. As far back as I can remember the kitchen counter had a plate or two of cookies on it. When I recall my childhood home a sweet aroma instantly fills the air...

When my Mother bakes cookies she did it without thinking, certainly like prayer, it was her therapy. She would wake up early, and before going to morning Mass she would crack the eggs, cream the butter with the sugar, add the vanilla...with the recipe in her head. My Mother's hands steady and swift made cookies for those she loved, for those who would come to visit, for those who needed cheering up, for those at the rest home, for the neighbors and anyone who asked her for help. Yes making cookies was her way of giving communion to those of us in need...."

I just love this image! Anyway, back to the the dream, my fiance had wanted cookies and asked if i would bake some. And we went on what turned out to be a little pilgrimage of sorts to get the mix (yes lol a mix...there was a certain special mix in the dream that made the most delicious cookies, better than any other). They didn’t have the mix at the store and so this led us to the home of a woman who tended to have this mix. Turns out she didn’t have it now, but she had something else now, something that was such an amazing gift, an unusual picture on the wall of a young girl and her parents. It was quite a sacred image. The girl is dressed in this kind of dark rose pink, a simple tunic dress. She has on this pilgrim's (ie pilgrimage) hat with this kind of subtle ship on the top. She is looking out excitedly over the horizon, you can just feel her joyful longing for a journey. And her parents are lovingly at her side (one on either side), and it feels like kind of a blessing is being given by them. Her parents are her parents, yet they also feel like Jesus and Mary. And the girl is the girl, yet she also feels like each one of us. I am just glued to this picture in the dream.

When i woke up, something had changed...it wasn’t till later in the day that i realized what. Even though i am drawn to pilgrimage, to journeying (hey, how could a wendy birde not be?), there has also been a real ache there, like journeying meant being abandoned....and a feeling like being here on earth away from heaven meant being abandoned too. Consciously, i don’t think this way exactly, but deep down that’s been a fear. And this dream kind of changed that, hard to explain. But it was something about seeing that sacred image. The girl there, she wasn’t being abandoned but rather blessed. Deep down she was ready for the journey....and her loving parents blessed her way. Perhaps we too have so deeply needed our earthly journey...and have been blessed on our way more than we will ever know. I keep thinking of birds. It is because they have been raised in their nice cozy nest that they long deep down later to fly. They don’t fly because they are being abandoned really, but rather because they have been so beloved....that nesting, that being so loved, has allowed the desire for the journey to eventually come forth. Roots enable wings. And if our roots are in our heavenly home, perhaps we find some very special wings indeed in our earthly pilgrimage. And then (please God) enter when the time is right into an even deeper homecoming heavenward.

Kind of changes the feeling of things....reminding that our passing away is also a homecoming, and also that our earthly life is also a sacred pilgrimage. One savors the moments of a pilgrimage, and one treasures the gifts. And these gifts, they come home with you. Our earthly gifts, the ones kept where all true treasure is, "pondered in the heart", i feel will come with us heavenward.The focus on inner gifts doesn’t necessarily mean the outer part of life doesn’t count, for sometimes it is in doing outer things (cleaning, crafting, etc) that the inner can take root, creating the true "fruit", the gifts of the Spirit. And too, something about making these gifts more tangible somehow through our experiences or our symbols (much like the symbols on the pilgrim’s cap) helps them take root as well...its like that leaven perhaps in the heaven parable.

This goes back to the whole hands thing too...active type hands but also more reflective peaceful hands as well, both are such healing ways to help the gifts of the Spirit take root. For our own simple lives, either active or reflective, i am realizing can bring us to a place of pilgrimage. When we are going about our domestic duties, or our reflective and contemplative focuses as well, it is like pilgrimaging really. Because once we get going we are not “leading" anymore, we are instead following that well worn path, that path where it is so much easier to "move beyond self", to let the Spirit move us instead. In doing these things that we can quietly simply do, these archetypal things that have been done by our ancestors before us, we are held, we are led, we are walking on a humbly sacred path...a place of pilgrimage.

More than ever, i truly believe the domestic can be the monastic. And that the monastic includes not only the precious gift of the home-as-abbey, but also this amazing gift of life-as-pilgrimage...

(First image source is unknown (its that wonderful mystery artist) ; and the last two images arefrom Corey Amaro of Tongue in Cheek (here and here)

A Hopeful Table: Home as Pilgrimage

"A roof to keep out the rain. Four walls to keep out the wind. Floors to keep out the cold. Yes, but home is more than that...(the) warmth of loving hearts, light from happy eyes, kindness, loyalty, comradeship. Home is first school...Where money is not so important as loving-kindness. Where even the teakettle sings from happiness. That is home." ~ Ernestine Schumann-Heink

Have been praying on a rather big decision recently, about where we will finally settle. I consider myself basically an Oregonian at this point, even though i was born in another state and have also been living recently in yet another state (not to mention the time previously in my twenties lived in Europe and on the east coast). And my finace lives right here in the Northwest, but at this point he still spends half the year working up in Alaska. His Mother lives in yet another state, my Mother in still yet another, with my brothers divided between even more states. Doesnt exactly lead to a naturally settled place does it? I feel pulled in so many directions here.

But in another timely co-in-see-dance today, came accross an offering that soothes something, from here:

"From the beginning of my little window seat's life, my daughters have enjoyed it with me:

They love window seats as much as I do. My girls have enjoyed visiting friends in Texas whose daughter has a beautiful windowseat in her bedroom. The look on my girls' faces when they saw it assured me that they believed in fairy tales and that Sleeping Beauty or Rapunzel's tower was indeed on the other side of that window.

And that's exactly where windows and books take us.

What can be more revealing than a physical window whose welcoming presence reflects the windows of our mind. Then, upon closer inspection, we realize that the transparent pane that separates reality from our ideals is but a shaft of light. A shaft of light that takes our mundane lives and turns them into something richer, sweeter and more imaginative. A shaft of light that takes the dreariness of our earthly lives and widens our thoughts to encompass more space:

"Of all the features of the house at Rocky Ridge---and it bore many marks of Almanzo's inventive mind---perhaps the most pleasing to Laura were the spacious windows, for they opened her view to the world she had loved as a child. The four great windows of the parlor framed 'landscapes of forest and meadow and hills curving against the sky.' The curtains hung straight, the glass was always uncovered.

"' I don't want curtains over my pictures,' Laura would say. 'They're never the same for two hours together, and I like to watch them changing.'

"In the kitchen was a window with a special purpose. 'She hates kneading bread,' Rose said. 'All her life she has hated it, and baked twice a week. So the window is there. She forgets the kneading in looking at the sheep pasture. She has windows everywhere,' Rose added, 'not only in her house, but in her mind.' " ---Laura by Donald Zochert

This shaft of light changes flowers into fairies, window seats into boats, little girls into princesses, books into maps, blogs into backyard fences, rooms into towers, and houses into homes. What a wonderful world a window can represent, if we look at it through the eyes of faith instead of our just our eyes."

This really calmed something inside, and i so needed that today. I can't quite explain it, why this soothed so much. But its knowing that my little kitchen window i have here in this sweet trailer, that it comes with me when i move...becuase our homes are also a part of our "pilgrimaging". Somehow, being reminded of that today has really "settled" something in the upheaval, becuase that little window has seen me through so much (see here , here, here for example) , and still is a very key part of both my home and my day. But its much much more than this....its that the INNER windows will come along as well when moving happens. Becuase i have realized lately that wood is not the only thing that builds a home. Its also the the inspiring words and images we gather (even online), the prayers we say, the daily rhythms we follow, the habits we develop, our stories, our art, our faith. This stuff is every bit a part of building our home as its solid walls, this stuff is a home's deeper "windows" so to speak. And windows are every bit as critical as a foundation. We need roots in our homes, but we also need wings there.

I've been drawn to looking at stained glass windows too lately. The great Cathedrals of old, i suspect they were designed to be like a ship in shape and feeling, to remind us that as we are in our precious earthly home here that we are also on a sacred journey, in a ship that is on pilgramage, being led by Our Father. The heart of a Cathedral is its nave, the central approach to the high altar, and even the word nave is from the Latin navis, meaning ship. And looking out through a Cathedral's stained glass windows, it brings that journeying reminder deeply home as well. A reminder of heavenly light, the even richer colors and shapes and joy that await, that we can but glimpse now. We sure do need the roots of a grounded life, but also the wings of remembering our heavenly home.

Sacred Icons are another amazing window here, they are the Eastern Orthodox equivalent of the art and windows of the Great Cathedrals and the like, both are "windows for the soul". And "to the soul" too....for a bit of the heavenly is a true part of our souls, we are created in His image....and we so deeply need the wings of that reminder sometimes...not that we are God but that we are His children...remembering that, it does something pretty substantial to a person.

I think i've spent far too much of my life making light of the gift of windows and wings. When i was young we were always moving around, so in my great longing for the roots that were missing i discounted the gift of wings that truely were there. There was the windows and wings of the faith that my Mother (and her parents and their parents, on down the line) had given me, which it sadly took me walking away from for awhile to see the treasure there and return to. There was the treasure also of a kind of inward contemplative nature which i have sometimes learned to bury as the world (including the modern Christian world) practically screams that its the "productive" things that matter most. In a post on hands some time back for example, beautifully artistic as it was, something idealized there was rather disturbing to me:

"Ma often would spend the evenings after all her chores were done, not sitting and staring, but mending... Even in a quiet moment, when one could sit and watch the fire (heaven forbid), she used her hands to make progress on her housework or a project. "

After reading that, the next night i was listening to story hour on the radio (yay NPR), and instead of "busying my hands" during it (though sometimes that is exactly what i do, and really enjoy), this time i was simply looking out the window. And suddenly i was seeing things i'd never seen before, shapes in trees, plays of light, new plants....things i would have continued to miss if i hadn't been simply "sitting and staring" sometimes. It's just so amazing how when we are going along busily we have our eyes open but can't really see sometimes. It doesnt have to be that way, maybe we can go about our activity more contemplatively ( i know i sure long to)...but often we have tunnel vision of "how much we can get done" there instead, missing the journey . And so it really does take being more "unproductive" at times to help us actually see things. Its like how being a homemaker it takes being there daily, resting in our homes too, and just slowly doing "nothing" sometimes and looking around, for ideas to hit about improving things. I've experienced that again and again, where i will try so hard to research a solution for something, work at it, but surprisingly often its when i step back and simply "woolgather" as some might say, that the solution hits "out of the blue".

Reminds me of a favorite qoute, from Wanderlust by Rebecca Solnit:

"The multiplication of technologies in the name of efficiency is actually eradicating free time by making it possible to maximize the time and place for production and minimize the unstructured travel time in between. New timesaving technologies make most workers more productive, not more free, in a world that seems to be accelerating around them. Too, the rhetoric of efficiency around these technologies suggests that what cannot be quantified cannot be valued--that that vast array of pleasures which fall into the catagory of doing nothing in particular, of wool gatthering, cloud-gazing, window shopping, are nothing but voids to be filled by something more definite, more productive, or faster paced. ...The indeterminancy of a ramble, on which much may be discovered, is being replaced by the determinate shortest distance to be traversed with all posible speed, as well as by the electronic transmissions that make real travel less necessary. As a member of the self employed whose time saved by technologoes can be lavished on day dreams and meanders, i know these things have their uses, and use them--a truck, a computer, a modem---myself, but i fear their false urgency, their call call to speed, their insistance that travel is less important than arrival."

Truly, our being receptive is every bit as important as our being active, our rest just as important as our exertion, our stillness just as important as our busyness, our windows as important as our foundation, our wings as important as our roots.

It's funny how so often it takes being at my little kitchen window here to get reminded. Standing there as the domestic duties of the day call me to it, but also simply looking out over the horizon there too, just being at the helm of this little "ship"....well, it reminds me that windows and wings are just as much at the heart of things as their more favored sisters of rootedness and productivity. It's time the sisters smiled accross the wonderful bridge they make together isn't it? And maybe its time to realize that even as home is our place of nesting , it is also our place of pilgrimage. Funny how that works....what would a bird be without either its nest or its wings : ) ?

A phrase has been in my head today, that of being "peacefully constructive" (inspired in part by some thoughts here). I just really like that, so much nicer than the tunnel vision of that word "productive". For we construct by far more than what we produce, we construct with both our active and contemplative lives. And both of those things seem to meet so beautifully being there at that little kitchen window by the sink and stove. Maybe that's part of why it draws so much...

(Images from here, here and here)

A Musing Table: Readying for a "Great Recession" ?

That we are in a recession is of no doubt, and from what i've heared it's just going to get worse. Hopefully it will not turn into a depression like it did in the 30's, we may not get as bad as all that....but it still doesnt look like it's going to be anything to sneeze at. Most everyone i talk to is already seriously feeling a pinch, and i know i am. For a whole series of articles and links on this recession we are in, best to go to Maggie's blog (formerly of Hillbilly Housewife), as she does such an amazing job of looking at this and there are several posts on this there.

What keeps coming to mind in this corner is an irony...i don't know about others out there, but i've always found myself drawn to difficult like times like the Ice Age and the 1930's....not because of the world's upheaval then in itself but becuase of the type of lives it led to. Why can times of such struggle draw so much, even hold so much light?

In the old blog i was exploring the Ice Age in that vein. According to some creationists (those who don't buy all that"survival of the fittest" nonsense), the Ice Age is really the period that followed the Great Flood (the Book of Job is actually an Ice Age book, dinasaurs are even mentioned there; for more resources see here too). The earth was healing from a great upheaval, not exactly a time of happy go lucky prosperity. They had just seen the dark side of the power of God and that's bound to be sobering, to say the least.

But something happens after trauma like that. For one, any strong feeling of the presence of God, even when He's behind things like the flood, is healing i think...becuase it shows us He truly IS here with us. Just knowing that so strongly, deep down it comforts. Having lived so close to the flood, there would be no way to escape that deep knowing of the power of God, and that definitely colors their lives i think. Second is a common bond over having been through such trauma, or rather by knowing those who came so close before you had. This does something to many people, a gentling can happen, when you know life is fragile and people are fragile you are more gentle with each other. (Some go the opposite way into dog eat dog of course, but that still doesnt take away the other side of things, the gentling that can happen). And third, life can more often get down to essence in times like these it seems, one can more easily simplify to what matters most. And what matters most is not material things, is not pride, is not social standing, is not having produced the most, is not any of that. What matters most i feel is prayer and faith, and family, and kindness, and beauty and order, and warmth and nourishment, and following our natural rhythms, and joy.

So enter the 1930's. I see this time as somewhat similar to the Ice Age. I know that sounds so odd, but there you go : ) These folks had just come through another huge "power of God" experience (its hard not to feel God's hand when your world changes so very drastically). It was another time of paring down to essence, to what matters most. For the Depression era we have a lot to go on in looking back, for the Ice Age we have to infer more through artifacts. But one thing does really jump out: One of the striking things about both the Ice Age and the Depression i think was that having culture (story, art, manners etc) and beauty and joy was a huge part of that coming down to essence. These things are not the icing like some believe but rather are truly essential to the human soul. And with the gentling part, in the Depression era there were those whose hearts opened by living through this and reached out to one another; and there were also those of the "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" mentality who saw folks as needing to be independent and not needing the help of others, harshly judging those who really did need help.

And this stuff came home recently. There is a really blissful sounding article here that i got all excited about reading becuase it reminded me so tangibly of that coming down to essence. From it:

My parents recall the depression years as the years BEFORE frozen convenience foods and box mixes, expansive super market selections of fresh fruits and vegetables available out of season, fast food restaurants, television and the internet. Ice, baked goods, milk, and produce were usually delivered to homes by horse drawn carts. Without freezers, families survived long winters through industrious back yard gardening and home canning. Moms baked most of the breads, rolls and pastries themselves and occasionally indulged in "purchased baked goods" which came delivered to their home.

Food, prepared from simple basic ingredients from scratch, kept mom at home spending a good portion of each day preparing the family foods. (As for other things,) with money in short supply in most households....they lived by the motto: "Use it Up, wear it out, make it do, or do without"...

The then- depression era children often have many fond memories of making their fun without a lot of money. For fun pasttimes, families organized old-fashioned ice cream socials, often held in schools and churches. Other neighborly get-togethers encompassed everything from quilting parties and spelling bees to dances, and weekly musical get-togethers in homes with real instruments including saxophone, trombones, accordians, piano, drums, and guitars. Children thrived on neighborhood ball games, board games, and imaginative play; and contrived doll houses and clubhouses from discarded cartons from the appliance stores. Contrast the old-fashioned games with today's annoying and noisy Nintendo and electronic games that depend more on spending money than imagination...

Some family amusements were seasonal in nature. My parents remember winter time treats of "snow candy". While the children filled pie tins with clean snow, Grandma boiled down the maple syrup until it would pour in a sticky, thread-like stream over the gathered snow for a sweet and sticky treat. My father in law recalls making homemade ice cream in the old hand cranked ice cream crocks anytime of year for entertainment. Cider making during apple harvest from the bruised or wormy apples could be a popular rural community event. Homemade root beer and soda made from commercial syrups, bottled and corked at home made a popular pasttime and tasty beverage.

Other families might spend their free time picking wild huckleberries, blackberries, blueberries and strawberries in season from rural hillsides to make tasty jellies, jams, and drinks to be enjoyed for the rest of the year. Yes, with a little ingenuity, people made themselves many delicious goodies just by using mother nature's gifts and very little cash. Contrast these virtually free events with today's frequent visits to Starbucks and neighborhood ice cream shops which require more cash than diligence and effort...

Radio drama theater serial programs amused families who had finished their chores and the evening meal to gather around the radio to listen to their favorite programs. Radio programming often greeted the new day with religious devotionals followed by a schedule of breakfast club variety shows, moving on to more music and talk hosted by Arthur Godfrey. Afternoon radio shows events included old time soap operas, just as television does today. The depression is remembered for popular children's programs such as The Lone Ranger, Captain Tim Healy Stamp Club of the Air, and others. Contrast families gathered around the radio with today's children hooked into a walkman or an MP3 or watching MTV to listen to the popular music of today produced by rock stars with lifestyles we can only pray our children choose not to emulate.

Yes, the Depression years posed an extended time where people learned to live with hardships, simple home cooked meals, uncertainties, and living without. Most Americans say they never want to see the Depression years return. Compare Depression era living with today's lifestyle of busy schedules dominated by soccer leagues, convenience and fast foods, ready made clothing, consumer debt, life dependent on the internet, and other extravagances and indulgences! Given the choice, my preference is to rely on the old-fashioned merits of home cooked meals served around the dinner table, gratefulness for what I do have, and home centered values and family activities such as reading, hiking, gardening, and attending church and community activites... (I hope folks can) be inspired by those who had everything but money and consider what part of "depression style living" belongs to your family's lifestyle and ambitions."

Now this is the kind of stuff that deeply inspires me, and i thought it would inspire my partner too since he's mega into simple living. So i was surprised when i gave it to him to read and he kind of sighed thoughtfully and afterwards we talked. He agreed this is great stuff to focus on, but reminded me that during the depression this was only part of the picture: what life was like for those in the middle, those who were often more rural-ish living as well, or who at least had gardens and some basic do-from-scratch skills. And that wasnt the case for everyone, those who had led very urban lives (among others) were especially crushed during the depression. The soup lines in city streets, the horror of what happened after the dustbowl (read Grapes of Wrath), and even the door to door begging, not to mention the suicides...this was real stuff, it happened. To gloss over that is just plain wrong. It made me remember what my own grandmother went through during the Depression, how they cherished even rotting fruit when they had it becuase they were truly literally hungry so often back then. This is real stuff.

And its made me realize there is a crossroads at our looking back at times like this. Looking back is important, to not learn from those who came before us is really missing something precious. But there is more than one way to look back. We can look to those in this time who had manifest compassion for those who were suffering (one example here); or we can look to those in this time who focused instead heavily on "pride" and "independence", who judged those who were struggling more than they. In reading some folks' thoughts on this era, i found that to some the depression is looked up to as a time when noone wanted "handouts" (as if admitting (let alone asking for) help is crime number one); a time when even when one was poor, still wealth was supposed to remain a real goal deep down (forget about realigning one's priorities there); and a time when keeping one's pride was top priority. Reading that sort of thing rather alarmed me, not so much hearing it but rather from looking around and feeling that that sort of individualism and materialsm is just where we are heading more and more. It's NOT the only way folks were during the Depression, we also have wonderful folks to look back on there who instead lived simply and compassionately; so the trend of the more rugged individualism folks there being idealized instead, it scares me frankly. Becuase here we are, heading into our own recession right now, and it looks like a doozy. And really, its not so much our recession itself that scares me the most, but rather how we will be with one another through it. I think we rather desparately need to shift into a more compassionate and helpful and less materialistic way of being before it's too late.

This is part of why i get so drawn to the holy poverty stuff (see here, here, here). It is one way i think to come down to essence without losing your compassion. Been wanting to explore this a bit more, becuase i think its a greatly misunderstood thing. Was talking about this with someone just recently and the person jumped to a conclusion of holy poverty meaning going around in filth and tossing away things like manners and culture and beauty. Nothing i could say could erase that astoundingly off the mark picture from her mind so i just gave up. Though its older than this, the Franciscans are the ones who coined the phrase holy poverty, and holy it is. St Francis spoke in allegory there too, refering to "Lady Poverty"...and she's just that, a lady, meant to have all the refinement that a true lady has, but in a sacred oriented rather than materialistic way. Plan to post more on that sometime later.

Back to this recession stuff, i know there is the practical side. Seeing that it was those who had do-it-from scratch skills and the space to garden and such, that these were the folks who fared best through the Great Depression...well that's no small lesson. Learning to cook from scratch and make other things from scratch, learning to get creative and to simply make due, things like this are going to be more and more important as our recession deepens. Frugal living with a capitol F. But its more than this i think that will be needed...for what we need just as much i feel is a change of attitude. Part of that attitiude is what some have already embraced...the realizing that being poor does not have to mean a worse standard of living. Can't help but notice that even with monks and nuns etc who take a vow of poverty, most will still definitely have certain things: like good meals, clean serene surroundings, beauty, peace and quiet, song, a flower on the table....these are things we need for our very humanness, and things that poverty does not necessarily have to take away. And the article mentioned above, it too gave some wonderful examples of how poverty brought back into the fore the true pleasures and gifts of honest and simple living, such excellent stuff.

But the other side of the attitude shift needed i feel has been slower coming, and that is a shift away from the judgement that needing help is wrong, that those who struggle are to blame for not being "resourceful" and "independent" enough. Truly, often it is far from that simplistic. And no, i'm not talking about those running scams or drinking their life away, i'm talking about those who honestly need a helping hand... and there are more in this catagory i believe than some people seem to think. We were told to bear one another's burdens, not to make those carrying a heavy burden feel two inches tall becuase they are not being "prosperous" enough.

Sometimes one's situation really can become more difficult than it was for those in the linked to article above, and also more difficult than the nun/monk's example mentioned above as well. Those are examples of a poverty that can be made into something beautiful...but there are other situations where those basic needs for peace and quiet or even more physical needs , well they really are missing. And that needs help, not judgement. I just really pray we can heal our attitudes around this area of help, before this recession may deepen. A change of habit in how we spend and live is a real part of readying for what may lie ahead. But so, i feel, is a change of heart....

(First two images from here , last one from here)