Google It: The Poem

Godot comes up
followed by
love
morning
death
in that order.
Sighing,
I try "waiting to."
Exhale, Google says
and then
says it's an action word
(so I've heard).
Waiting for Godot.
Vladimir and Estragon
were waiting for
a guy who never came.
Again, I google
"waiting for."

Sacred Opposites

Sometimes spirituality is found in approaches to life that are the opposite of what you normally do.  It’s like planting an unknown seed or going to a meadow instead of to your garden.  It’s baking cherry pie instead of brownies.  It’s kneeling to pray instead of sitting in meditation. 

I’m thinking about my normal day.  I’m mobility challenged and so my day can seem quite limited.  I normally wake up before 6 and dial into a growth discussion group which meets everyday at 6 a.m.  I get up after that, brush teeth and wash face.  I go downstairs and start my Keurig coffee pot, let the dog out of her crate, play ball with her until one of us gets tired of it, feed her and let her outside.  While she’s outside, I toast some frozen waffles, coat them with fruit and yogurt and make my cup of coffee. I let the dog back in and I sit on the sofa sideways, say “Good morning, God,” and turn on the news, watching while I eat.  To summarize: I then do a gratitude journal, read something inspiring, and set my daily intention.  Then I try to accomplish my intention which usually includes some physical activity, at least one phone call or meeting to assure human interaction, and an activity that requires going somewhere—to the pharmacy, to the bank, to meet someone for coffee, or attendance at a support meeting.  

That’s a pretty standard day.  In that day I experience security and comfort, order, and some fulfillment.  I don’t experience much of what I would call spirituality.  Let’s turn that day upside down.  I wake up and don’t dial into an experience with others; instead, I get in touch with my own feelings which might mean awareness of loneliness and vulnerability (sigh).  Then I get up earlier than usual, have tea instead of coffee (I leave the dog’s schedule the same since it’s not her spiritual journey), go for a a savory egg sandwich instead of a sweet waffle and yogurt, and step outside with my tea and sandwich instead of turning on the news.  It’s really cold so stepping outside means putting on boots, coat and gloves.  Already  I’m seeing what could be spiritual opportunities.  Frost on my breath meeting steam from the tea.  That’s loaded with potential spiritual stuff for me.  I’m uncomfortably awake.  There are giant trees without leaves.  I notice that it’s winter.  There could be snow.  The dog will be excited that I’m outside with her.  Nature and animal.  That could be a god banquet.  

Note:  this doesn’t sound comfortable, safe, or even fun.  It sounds awful.  That’s why I don’t normally do it.  I wonder though if spirituality comes in discomfort more than comfort. What do you think?  Roxie

Sacred Offerings

“I’m spiritual, not religious” has become the mantra of baby boomers.  Did you ever wonder what that means?  It could mean they’ve embraced the quiet space of Buddhism or it could mean they like to sleep in on Sunday.  Whatever the specificity of each person’s definition of “spiritual,” it seem to have one commonality:  I’m doin’ my own thing when it comes to god stuff.

My spirituality seems to be a “road less taken,” but a road nevertheless.  While encouraging me to embrace my unique spiritual self, it also shows the ways unique spirituality criss crosses with other unique spiritualities, the kind of sacred offering that Teilhard de Jardin described as making up the evolution of the God who, in his belief, was not fully realized until all of creation had become realized. Complicated but it makes shocking sense.  What if the God is evolving based on how the universe and all of us collectively evolve!

In the spirit of de Jardin’s theology, then, our task is to live out our own natural spirituality.  What is that?  That’s your challenge--to become more aware of that very thing.  That unique spirituality might be rooted in ancient texts for some of you, in intellectual understandings for others, in the awe you experience watching the morning fog rise, or even in the teachings of your church. 

The best way I can describe it is:  Spirituality comes within those things that call to you.  Noticing what words, songs, sayings, memes or facebook postings, movies, podcasts, natural beauty, or life experiences stay with you, haunt you, keep coming back to you, speak to you—these are the yeast of your spiritual nature. Roxie

There is a Crack in Everything

I was listening to the "daily musing" of Manuel Astruc and I was struck by his way of simplifying complex issues.  Today's topic was "leadership" which he pared down to "helping others help others."

It's not that I don't like that idea.  Part of me wanted to say:  I surrender.  Go Manuel!  But, I couldn't because for me that doesn't quite fit.

I have a primal belief that from our imperfection rises what "sacred offerings" there are.  Maybe what really troubles me about Manuel's definition is the elimination of the reality that each human lives within.  My definition of leadership goes more like this:

Ring the bell that still can ring
Forget the sacred offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.  --Leonard Cohen

Each of us rings the bell we have.  I'm 73, for example, and severely hampered by arthritis and plaque growth in my back.  Pain is my "crack in everything."  What's my bell?  I can bring myself to each arena available to me.  Hence, I play bridge online with my brother and son as a way to connect with them and love them.  I take an online class with my best friend and we speak weekly by phone about what we are learning.  I still teach at a local college.  I ring the bell that still can ring.

Manuel is making a "sacred offering" although he doesn't call it that.  As a person who has and does change my life constantly, a mentor-teacher whom I admire more than most, there's no doubt that he brings a concept of excellence that his many followers online and in person will strive for. Go Manuel!

The difference is that I don't really believe in excellence.  For me, Leonard Cohen has it right.  Ring the bell that still can ring . . . There is a crack in everything.  I'm so glad.  

Poetry in Motion

So, I write poetry.  I tend to scribble it in the margins of books and never share it with anyone.  I've decided that 2018 is to be a year of writing, including the poetry.

First, a disclaimer.  My poetry is grim. I just don't write on a day that I'm feeling in sync with creation or spirituality.  Poetry comes from my very physical presence on the planet and my view of life as it is unfolding and has unfolded.

POEM 1

Code Blue

Little girl in blue
excited to play with the big boys.

Then
like fire to a kitten
beaten
singed
heart-broken
crushed.

Code blue for all time
She. Is.
Jane Doe on a gurney in the ER.

Evening, Morning and the First Day

So, in order to get myself out of my head, out of the media, out of political crap, I call to mind creation myth.  In Genesis 1:3-5, the writer speaks of evening, morning and the first day.  It's the moment in that creation story when the big bang is happening and it all begins.

I always walk or sit outside in the evening at this time of year because I know that which I experience as God albeit nature, Universal Intelligence, the Big Due or Allah is present.  The weariness and worries, the sacred shit of the day pauses in that moment between day and night.  The light is golden through the trees, coming at me sideways.

"That moment brings me home to myself and whenever I'm home, the god is there.

 Speaking of god, I went to a new church last weekend and the minister sat with the children on the floor.  She said: God has many names.  What name do you want to call God today?"  A little girl said, "Rainbow."  The church members without hesitation began to pray:  "Our Rainbow who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name . . . ." I knew I was home in that church and God (aka Rainbow) was there.

These are desperate times in the world and that means desperation lives in human hearts as well. Sometimes we have to unpack all the trappings and go back to the center, to the first moment to find ourselves.  Wordsworth writes: "The world is too much with us."  If it was too much with Wordsworth who only had his feet and a few books to infiltrate his soul, imagine how much it is with  us who are plugged in to a never-ending tsunami of digital diversions.

In the evening and early morning, unplugged, I remember my place in creation.  I come home to the first day.  Roxie

Political Violation and the Night Sky

So, Muhammad Ali Jr. and his mother were detained by the TSA for an hour and 45 minutes when they tried to get back into the US after a vacation in Jamaica.  Both are US citizens with US passports.  Both, when asked their religion, stated they are Muslim.  And then the detention began.

Does anyone remember the separation of Church and State in the US Constitution?  Did anyone note that they should have the rights of citizens?  Did anyone care that they weren't even returning from one of the seven deadly middle eastern sins, oops, I mean countries on the "do not enter" list? I have watched with increasing horror the unconstitutional, uncivilized and uncouth behavior of Donald Trump and his lackeys.  I have taken in the unabashed bigotry shown in the treatment of Muslims, Latinos, and women.  I have seen the prejudice that not only is extended towards any group that's not white male but also in the intentional dismantling of the many accomplishments of the previous president who happens to be black and have a Muslim-sounding name.

Detaining Ali Jr. and his mom was the last straw for me.  It tells me that even if the courts ban Trump's actions, his rhetoric is so strong that it causes minimum wage workers way down the chain of command to carry out his rhetorical wishes as if they were laws. Like despots before him, yelling loud and often enough at the populace is a way that he might get that populace to do the dirty work of promoting one mad man at the expense of all groups that don't fit his profile or do his bidding (or who fit the profile and do his bidding but slip up and show that they don't really like him).

I don't know why that was the last straw.  Maybe because it violated so many fundamental rights granted to US citizens that I can't even wrap my mind around it.  But there are so many other violations as well.  Violation of the freedom of the press.  Violation of scientific research. Violation of credibility in misrepresenting credentials from a prestigious university (lying, in other words). Violation of women's rights in words and actions.  My hope has been that the separation of the executive branch from the judicial and legislative ones would contain the vicious agenda of Trump. Watching security people carry out his wishes and ignore law and conscience tipped the scale for me.

We're a young country, barely an adolescent compared to the middle eastern countries we're targeting. Like many a young punk, we're carried away by our own importance and refusing to heed the advice of our elders (European allies, for example). Trump's brash hubris reminds me of Gwendolyn Brook's poem "We Real Cool."  It speaks of seven young men who think they're "real cool" and so they leave school and hang out drinking and doing whatever the heck they want.  The poem ends with "We die soon."  The US is has thought itself "real cool" in becoming a "player" at such a young age as nations go.  At some point, we had to hit a wall of stupidity brought on by our youth--that moment when youthful exuberance leaves behind the guidance of wisdom and embraces its own ignorance as if it were the holy grail. We're in that moment.

Deep breath.  I went out to look at the night sky. The stars and planets were in their places.  Orion's belt and the Big Dipper hold firm.  I felt the presence of a higher good.  I remembered how small we are in the big scheme of thing.

Praying for peace on earth and well being for all.  Praying.  Roxie