Rendered Nearly Speechless

I feel like I’ve been asleep for two months. No words would come. Hard as I tried to bring some.

At church, Pastor Scott has been taking us through “a Lenten Journey” for the past weeks. I didn’t grow up in a denomination that observed Lent, so it has been enlightening to learn how the story of Christ’s “40 days” of fasting and prayer in the wilderness “became” the 40 days of Lent. Pastor Scott likens it to Joseph Campbell’s ”Hero’s Journey” in myth. Stories of Odysseus and other “classical” journey stories. As Pastor Scott and I were talking, one evening not so long ago, I said, “It’s a “coming out” story.” He said, “Yes, exactly.”

 The truth is seen, the truth is engaged, the truth wrecks the world as one knows it and leaves it in ruin. But in the midst of ruin rises a new world. (A new way of being.)

A fiction is cooking from this entry. This has been on my mind for weeks. Somehow the movement from light through the dark to light again? Amazingly boring said in those words. But inside me? It feels terribly original. I haven’t yet put a word on the page.

Coloring Page 1

An experiment in posting a scanned coloring.

Happy New Year

I’m making no resolutions because I’ll only break them. I am however holding in mind and heart a desire for some changes to come this year, knowing that such changes will only happen if I take steps to make them happen. This desire is a balled up mass that I’m mentally passing back and forth in my hands. Within this mass are words naming several of these desires, some barely legible and vague, some in large, bold font:

Read More

Think More

Write More

Love More

Share More

Move More

Here’s to 2008, and to making choicy choices.

Ah, Here it Comes

The tug came late yesterday afternoon.

This [was] the weekend of the 15th annual Krist Kindl Markt at church. The Olde World atmosphere of Kristkindl Markt [brings you] Authentic German meals, beverage and treats served continuously. A German Market with gifts, food, and ornaments. Vendors selling one-of-a-kind gifts and decorations. Gingerbread house-making adventure for kids. Continuous, live entertainment.

As part of this celebration, our little church choir (with whom I sing tenor) sings a compilation of carols. Late yesterday afternoon, we came to “White Christmas,” our director said, “Now choir, let’s sing the verse in unison, and let’s just improvise harmony on the chorus.” As we improvised, the notes we “invented” between us to make some lovely christmassy chords blended up to create some sonorous vibration that began to hum deep down inside me. I welled up. Lost my voice for a few moments. Just for me, a moment spent at the wellspring of the universe.

Then we sang “Up on the Housetop.” And I was back. Now, I’m ready to pull the decorations out of the attic.

It Comes From the Most Unexpected Places…

Christmas.

I’ve been waiting to feel it.  The thing that internally tells me the season is here. If I were to try to name the feeling? Yearning to deeply feel connected to the universe? Somehow it looks wrapped up in shiny paper and ribbon wrapped by me as gifts to those near me, it smells like pine and burning wax (not necessarily heavily scented with cinnamon or bayberry, though the hint of such scents are there), it tastes like brazil nuts freshly cracked with a nickle-plated toothy nutcracker that looks like a pair of pliers, it feels like Mom’s heart beating on my head as she hugs me. It sounds like a Christmas song sung by Bing Crosby, or by Jane Siberry. Whatever it is, it isn’t here yet. The feeling is signalled by a “tug.”

At CCCUCC our new pastor, Scott Howell, started his new “post” this past weekend. I’ll sum his sermon up here by saying this: God will appear in the season unexpectedly, as he always does. In some way we cannot imagine.

I’ll let you know how God appears to me this year. When the “tug” comes I’ll do my best to report. I’m looking forward to it.

Thanksgiving, upon us

As much as I believe Gratitude is one true tenant of faith, I struggle to carry that attitude inside me, every moment. Not to quote scripture, necessarily, but I’m reminded of a bit of some chapter and verse that says, something to the effect of Pray without ceasing. And I try to hold gratitude in my heart unceasingly as a prayer. I try to hold gratitude for the moment I’m in. I try to not let that thought be in words like Thank You God. I try to hold it in some emotional center. Gratitude as an essence of my being. Not as if some named entity needs to be praised, or thanked, but more as a sensation of amazement and appreciation to be privy to see the things I see, to feel the things I feel. To see the light (and more often than not, the humor) in the darkest matter that may come our way. Somehow to hold that grateful essence for the sheer existence I’m presented with. With how the world works, with how I move through a day. 

These lame words don’t come close to approximating the depth of these feelings.

Some days I’m better at it than others, holding gratitude. Often, in the chaos a day can present, many times, I fail. I slip into some transactional mode where I get angry, where I say things I shouldn’t, or that I would rather not say. Hurtful things. Moments where I’m not holding out for the best interests of those around me.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. I can be better. I can be more. I’m thankful to be here, experiencing. Let me set my intention. Let my eyes be open, let me help when I can. Let me be ever more cognizant. Let me be a beneficial presence. Let me be me.

Growing.

A Period

There’s something wonderful and frightening about this. A photo of one of the Jenny Holzer’s benches Danny’s looking at in the photo below.

Vacation

Danny and I are on a little break, taking a little more than a week off to visit friends and family. This weekend we’re in Minneapolis staying, once again, at Chambers Here’s a pic of the tub in our room.

Autumn is definitely in the air, here. Yesterday was around 60 degrees, but sunny. We didn’t work too hard at site seeing. Except for Crash, we’ve all lived here for a time. Went to the Walker Art Center and Sculpture Garden for a while yesterday afternoon we hadn’t been there for years. The shrubs and trees have grown now to where one can meander around and find sculptures like surprises in the openings between the shrubs. Here are a couple:

We’re meeting downstairs for brunch in a little while and to map out the rest of our day.

Just Before Waking

This morning, I dreamt…

I was at a family reunion, in an unfamiliar yard with a house. Warm, sunny, cool breezes. I had never been there before. Yet I had. I knew my way around. I knew the folks there carrying paper plates around long tables set with piles of picnic food piled family style on checked table cloths. Family. Friends, too. No one in particular, everyone in general. It was like a scene in a movie about a family reunion. 

I spent the “afternoon” moving around with the folks there, eating, conversing, though I can’t remember any particular individual, nor any particular thing we said. Just family reunion talk. Catching up talk. “What have you been doing for the last twenty years?”

Then I noticed my son there with his wife. He and she were moving comfortably among the family, too. Eating, playing games. At one point, he was playing a yard game with his cousins. I can’t say what game was being played. He was throwing something underhanded, gesticulating in an actorly, exagerated way. He was making a show of it. Folks were laughing.

Toward dusk, at some point, they were getting ready to leave. They walked toward me. It was like I could tell he knew me. It was like I couldn’t tell whether or not he knew. I wanted to tell him I was his father. But couldn’t? Didn’t. I shook his hand. I said goodbye. As they started to walk away, his wife turned back and hugged me. As she did, he hugged me, too. In our embrace he whispered, “Why did you leave me?”

Eyes welling, I searched for something to say, my mind a flurry of words of sorrow, apology, defense, guilt, shame, entreaty. No words came. He whispered, “I’ve been writing to you for so long.” And suddenly I knew all the vague, seemingly-directed-to-me, things I’ve read in his blog actually were directed to me. I woke up.

The feeling I felt upon waking…happy isn’t the right word for it, oddly comforted comes close… has remained throughout the day.

52 years, today!

And what have I wreaked upon the world?