MEETINGSWITHMIRACLE.COM

Are We There Yet?

2011-12-01T21:02:07Z

    I've been thinking (still) about the coming of the Kingdom. I can't get past the fact that Christians place emphasis on it in the frequently recited Lord's Prayer; yet the only reading I've seen that outlines a new world order along the lines I envision comes from a Native American writer. He begins his essay with an acknowledgement of these challenging times on planet earth and explains that these days have long been prophesied by indigenous cultures.
    To create a new world of peace and harmony, he maintains all members of the human family must first acknowledge that they are one human family and that by nature mankind is not adversarial.  There is no debating that an end of warfare and the preparation for war will bring peace; but I've found (among those who claim to want peace) a separate belief in an inherently hostile human spirit. In other words, they believe there will always be war; because mankind creates war. This of course, is the sticking point:  How can there be peace on earth if so many believe in the inherent hostility of others?
    This got me thinking about what I am contributing to the discussion. I don't believe mankind is by nature hostile. I believe we're all about self-preservation; but just haven't quite figured out how to support the peaceful coexistence of so many. Of course, it must begin with a means to control greed which is (if not part of mankind's inherent nature) certainly a major cause of injustice. I think the Kingdom we were born to create is not only harmonious; but incredibly beautiful. When it manifests, the natural gifts (the bounty of the earth) will flourish in order to sustain all life on earth and man will fulfill his role as facilitator (as opposed to destroyer) of the natural order and cycle of life.
    With my thoughts aligned to the creation of a whole earth, a place where all God's creatures are respected, provided for and nurtured -- I wondered what, if anything, I might be doing that could be counter productive to the outcome I desire. And it occurred to me that I have spent a great deal of time being angry about corporate greed and environmental degradation, social injustice and racial prejudice. And I realized that in the world where God's Kingdom has manifested, there will be no place for my anger.
    It may be true (as I believe) that Americans have been duped by their government. But perhaps the best I can do to help create a better world is to end the rage I have felt over the chicanery, criminality, duplicity and injustice I've witnessed. To some that might seem like benign acceptance of the world economic and political situation which also seems like the "wrong" answer. I am certain we must each contribute by committing to the probability of positive change. How else will there be enough hope in the world?  The hope for better times will itself bring awareness of what must be overcome and perhaps I'll learn to wait with joy.

The Spiritualists and the Scientists Are in Agreement

2011-10-13T19:16:30Z

    Prophesies foretold of this era we're in, a time when science meets spirituality and those that doubt will be shown proof of the existence of a force commonly termed God. There would undoubtedly be more rejoicing if the average reader could understand the proof offered in the physicists' arguments. I think the delay in experiencing the epiphany can only be attributed to the difficulty of understanding quantum physics. Recently I finished Fred Alan Wolf's Taking the Quantum Leap. This was quite an accomplishment since I'd never enrolled in Physics for Girls which was offered as part of my high school curriculum.
    I can't say I found the book to be any easy read. The concepts are cumbersome; but the conclusions are cause for celebration.  Why? Because they bring the reader into agreement with ancient spiritual beliefs.   Most importantly, science tells us that our perception changes our reality. And that there are invisible energy fields around each of us that define our worldview. So that by changing our perception we reach for a new identity, a new sense of self, or a new lifestyle. Ancient oriential spirituality agrees by asserting the individual is reality and that the God force resides within. In God or within the human all things are possible.
    All this brings me to why I commend those marching on Wall Street and now around the country. They are the consciousness raisers reminding us that truth, justice, and integrity are possible within government. They are helping us wake up and remember who we are and why we are here. It takes a lot of energy to move creation, so I am glad their numbers are growing. Even if I am unable to join them physically, I think I've caught their wavelength. And my perception is that they have already succeed in their efforts. I feel this because I believe the better world we all want to live in has already been created.  No healthy human being wants to see another go hungry. Or shiver helpless in the cold. Or fail to achieve their full potential. And so I believe that the dis-ease of greed, corruption and thoughtless disregard for the welfare of others has already been cured. The old ways of this earth will fall away as the people of this world reach for a better existence. It's out there. We simply must all believe in it and reach for it together. One, two, three.... GO!

I DON'T KNOW THE WORDS

2011-09-30T22:31:23Z

I was talking to a Native American elder a few weeks ago. She told me that this is the time for the old songs to be remembered.  Ancient prophesies speak of an age when mankind must make a choice between living a materialistic life or one that holds a sacred reverence for all life. We're there it seems, and if anyone doubts that; perhaps they aren't paying attention to the state of the world.

I listened to her explanation of the awakening that is taking place in the hearts and souls of women worldwide. It seems they are starting to hear the old songs. And they are chanting them as they walk around lakes and roam the banks of rivers. Some are canoeing across wider bodies of water; but all are praying over the water. Every living thing needs water to survive. Yet much of the earth's has been rendered unfit for use: humans can't drink it and the fish refuse to live in it.

There is a spot in the forest preserve set on a ridge overlooking a little river that flows through town on it's way to the Mississippi.  I often stop there as I ride my bike along the trail. The past few days of rain have raised the water level and the storms have brought along sediment that has turned the river more brown than blue. It's a dying river, I know; but I don't know ancient songs or the language in which they were sung.  So I stood there wondering whether the water spirits might be bilingual.

My native heritage is sketchy; but my call to the land is clear and strong. As I thought about how I might go about learning the songs of the elders and sing them to help heal the earth, I remembered reading that the healing powers of the medicine men had been ineffective in curing the diseases brought to the continent by European colonizers. And so I wondered whether the old ways would be effective in cleaning up the environmental mess white mind had wrecked on the world.

That afternoon, my in box was full of appeals to contribute to worthy causes. The tea party wants to dismantle the Environmental Protection Agency and give away public lands to corporate interests. The only way to stop them is to maintain a democratic majority in the Senate.  The message was clear: send money!

And there in the span of a few short hours, I contemplated the different actions I could take to help heal Mother Earth. I could pray using my own words and trust the Holy Spirit to honor my intention. Or I could send money to an organization with a dedicated staff and honorable mission and hope their efforts are successful. What assurance did I have that either action would be effective? How certain am I that some action must be taken? How can I feel confident that the words I am speaking are contributing to the cause?

FORGIVE AND FORGET

2011-09-13T18:02:35Z

Last Sunday, when the newspaper banners blared NEVER FORGET, the minister preached Forgiveness. I was glad that his message was short and sweet. Glad that because he had preached it; I could write about 9/11 with an introduction that might be more palatable to those who still see America as invincible.

All week, the papers were full of individual recollections: How lives had been changed that day, How we as a nation would never be same. Yet, I think our behavior as a nation hasn't changed since then. As citizens in the world's greatest democracy, most of us are still slugging along in our everyday lives; many more of us struggling to make ends meet.  And I am wondering whether any of us have begun to pay more attention to the actions of our government: direct and indirect, covert or overt that would foster the kind of ill-will and resentment toward our country that precipitated the attacks? None of these reflections could diminish grief over the loss of loved ones, or the respect due our nation's heros who rise from among us during a time of crisis. Still, I think it's fair to ask whether we are any closer as a people to having a clue as to why religious fanatics would make us their target. Not that their actions should be justified or excused; but that they could be understood in terms of compassion for the suffering of the disenfranchised who share the perspective of seeing the mighty U.S. as the cause of their suffering.

Whether that perspective rings true (and I believe there are lengthy and valid arguments on both sides of the question), it bears consideration because it is a fact that Americans live in fear of terrorist threats from "enemies" whereas people who have only true friends would have nothing to fear.

Last Sunday, the choir sang A Canticle of Hope. It was a hymn of worship and praise to "the God who restores." It made me question the length of the restoration. Undoubtedly, much of America would like things to go back to the way they were before the towers fell. So many folks see this day as the "day the trouble began". It is their reference point and their rage against the terrorists prevents them from recognizing actions or events that lead up to that day. Native American people might hope for restoration that went a little further. I think this gives us a lot to contemplate as a nation and I believe the sooner we balance our pride against some of the less-than-noble actions our country has undertaken, the closer we will come to living in a peaceful world.

In case you are curious, the Bible passages read last Sunday are found in Matthew. Chapter 18 versus 21-35.  There Jesus teaches that if you have been wronged, you should forgive not just up to 7 times, but 70 times 7.

Defining Perfection

2011-08-31T20:47:25Z

    Last week-end Northern Illinois was blessed with perfect weather. Cloudless sky, fresh breezes and temps in the mid 70's. The windows were wide open and the air was off. I could have moved a cot to the screen porch and camped out along side the house. There was nothing more to be asked of Mother Nature unless you were living on the east coast. I watch the news. I read the paper. I knew about Irene's anticipated arrival and the anguish I felt for those living in the path of danger almost kept me from enjoying several days of glorious sunshine and great biking weather.
    Recovering co-dependents might understand where I am going with this. They may also identify with the almost guilty feeling of being happy when others are at risk. Peddling along the river I was thinking about the disadvantage of living in this technological era:  having to struggle with too much information. Without news reports and global communications systems, I would have been able to enjoy the butterflies dancing above wild flowers in the meadow as I cruised along a path through the forest preserve. Instead, I was worrying about the storm and the lives in peril in another part of my country. The usual prayers started running through my head ("Lord, let them be safe") at the same time my rational self said "are you kidding, they're not safe, there is a life-threatening storm bearing down on millions of Americans some of whom have no where to go to get to safety." I kept peddling and I stopped worrying. Not instantly, but with great effort I forced myself to think only of the light of God.
    What point would there have been in giving in to consternation. What would have been gained by becoming absorbed in the negative energy of the storm itself. How was I going to receive the grace I needed to live my life to the fullest if I kept worrying about impending global disasters, the fall of the national and world economies, children at risk and the fate of the world. My little world was just fine.
    As it turns out the damage wasn't as bad as expected; although, unfortunately, not everyone made it through the storm. Would things have been better if I'd prayed harder or if everyone stopped what they were doing and joined in prayer. Will we ever know, in this age of super technology we seem to be so enamored of, how to keep the world's children safe from harm, well-fed and well-protected.

World Peace and Prayer Day

2011-06-28T17:48:22Z

        Chief Avrol Looking Horse stood in front of the blazing fire and explained that we were connected to all the sacred fires around the world; and I had a silly thought about a scene in a Harry Potter episode where Harry learns that he can jump into the fire and travel anywhere.
       I should explain that "we" was a gathering of over 200 people who had congregated on the summer solstice at the confluence of the Mississippi and Minnesota rivers a historic meeting site for the Dakota people. The land is considered sacred to indigenous people who also believe that June 21 is a day that should be spent in worship. Traditionally, the sun dance is held on the summer solstice. It is seen as a time for renewal, a time to honor Mother Earth, to give thanks for Her blessings.
       Taking part in the ceremonies that were held that day brought me great peace.
I believed in what I was doing as much as anyone who believes in prayer hopes their prayers are worthy of being heard and answered. But as the fire burned at the center of our gathering, my eyes were drawn to the suspension tower holding wire cables transporting electricity throughout the grid. The paradox between the obvious display of the force and energy created by man as opposed to the invisibility of spiritual power transmitted through the fire or thought of man seemed apparent to me. And I wondered about the effectiveness of our prayers at the same time I felt the urgency of them.

       Surely, in earlier times people who prayed had worries and fears about their life. They wondered whether the buffalo would be found, if the hunt would be successful, if mother nature would be kind, if their children would be well.  Regardless of how technologically advanced a culture may perceive itself to be, it would seem that the nature of prayer throughout the ages hasn't and won't change. As human beings we ask our creator to grant our desires for comfort and security as well as the blessing of having our basic needs for food and shelter well provided.  And yet, I believe the prayers said during this solstice were different from the ones prayed by people who stood on turtle island hundreds of years ago. Back then it is doubtful that they worried about pollution and environmental destruction. Their prayers for renewal of Mother Earth more likely acknowledged her power - the giving and taking and sustaining of life itself as opposed to the destructive forces of mankind that have so substantially interfered with the general course of nature.
       I don't know how many people stood around sacred fires that burned around the globe that day. I only know that I listened to a woman explain the necessity of healing mother earth like this: The hole in the ozone layer is analogous to an opening in the aura of a human being. The sacred sites around the globe are the same as internal human energy fields known as chakras; thus prayers for healing at the sacred sites (places from which energy is transmitted) will help our planet heal. While thinking of the human body and the earth itself as energy fields is undoubtedly a big leap for the part of America that relates to energy in terms of electrical sockets and transmission grids, I accept the philosophy with ease. I also think the terminal tower standing behind the sacred fire that burned throughout the four-day event, was a paradoxical reminder of the tangible and intangible sources of energy currently surrounding each of us. The energy transmitted through the power grids may make life more convenient for us, but it is the strength and substance of Mother Earth that creates the bounty that sustains us.
       Just as Christ brought the teachings of the Judeo Christain beliefs to world, there have been teachers in native tradition. One of the most revered is the White Buffalo Calf Woman. Long ago She brought the sacred pipe to Her people. She taught the elders and medicine men how to pray with it and She taught the women sacred ceremonies to help them raise their children and care for Mother Earth.  Her prophesies tell of a time of great turmoil when it will be important for the races of humanity to unite in order to prevent chaos and destruction.  As the 19th generational holder of the sacred pipe brought to his people, Chief Avrol Looking Horse is entrusted not only with the physical keeping of the pipe, but also with the duties associated with a healer, a medicine man whose people have a great tradition of recognizing the goodness and bounty of Mother Earth.  What a challenge to share messages of hope, healing and renewal during these troubled times; especially when a metal suspension tower -- a tribute to the force and some would argue destructive nature of mankind -- stands over a sacred fire.
        I enjoyed the experience of gathering with like-minded souls praying for renewal and for healing of Mother Earth. Even though many would consider the beliefs and behavior primitive, I believe many in the modern world may have forgotten the essence of who we are, that we have been born on Mother Earth, are part of her and rely upon her for sustenance. So perhaps we should pray as though every day were as significant as the solstice; because, it might be!

(Note: the photo was taken after the ceremonies were complete and the ceremonial fire extinguished).

The End of What?

2011-05-24T20:11:54Z

    We studied Revelations in Sunday School the day after the world was supposed to end. The readings and conversation turned quickly to the phrase "Thy Kingdom Come" and I thought that was interesting because lately I've been thinking about what kind of Kingdom praying Christians are asking for.  Perhaps being caught up in rapture and ascending to heaven is what it's all about for many of them; and if that is the case, I would think the prayers would be more along the lines of "take me to Heaven, bring me to you." Instead, the Lord's Prayer implores God's will be done "on Earth as it is in Heaven."  Certainly, we can assume that it's all going well up there. What then do we suppose will happen when God's will is brought to earth? It seems just as important to ask (on behalf of all zealous Christians and type A personalities) just what we are to do to help assure it gets here.  In other words, what are we asking for and shouldn't we be doing more than asking?

    I imagine God's Kingdom to be a peaceful one. But I was surprised to learn that a small gathering of American Christians believe the way to peace is through war. One woman speaking her version of the Bible informed me that "God leads his people to war and is on their side in battle."  I told her I thought the battle scenes took place in the Old Testament and that the New was all about Jesus' admonition to turn the other cheek and love one another.  Even in Christian churches, I am having a tough time finding people who want to understand what fueled the animosity against the U.S. that lead to 9/11. I want to understand why such hatred exists and I want the leaders of the nation I call home to understand the same. After that I want the government to take action to effectuate change and then I want my countrymen to embrace forgiveness and reconciliation.  But mostly I want people to think about peace and wonder as I do whether we Americans can call ourselves a predominantly Christian nation at the same time we staff and supply military bases worldwide.  How can the occupation of another territory promote peace? What right, rhyme or reason is there for this show of aggression? After over 2000 years of fighting battles, I think supporters of Christianity should have picked up on the idea that peace doesn't come at the end of a war regardless of what country you are fighting for.

    As far as the coming of the end of the world, I have read some of the teachings of those who have studied the Mayan calendar forecasting an "end" on 12/21/2012.  They indicate that what many interpret as an end of the world is really the end of an era much the same way the phases of the moon are currently acknowledged. In other words, the position of our solar system within the Milky Way is shifting. This shift is the beginning of a new era. It is interesting that entering this New Age (so many think of in conjunction with the Age of Aquarius) has been interpreted to mean and end to the world; when in reality it could only mean an end to a way of life, a way of thinking of being that itself has to die out in order for the world to be revitalized and continue to support life as we know it.

     By all accounts nothing much happened globally on the 21st of May that would indicate a big energetic shift. But after reflecting on the teachings of Revelations, I experienced an epiphany -- my own little end of an era. I saw that it was time for me to put an end to my frustration over living in a world so full of war and yes, hatred in the name of honoring an individual's God and Country. I also realized that getting ticked off at governments that allow nuke plants to be constructed on fault lines and corporate interests to destroy ecosystems wasn't going to cause the ideal Kingdom to arrive any quicker.  That so many have chosen to dishonor the blessings of mother earth by greedily misappropriating the wealth of her natural resources to the detriment of so many of her other children is a situation that isn't going to be over because thoughts of it enrage me.  My personal revelation that I should no longer be angry over war, and pollution and corruption made me realize that each of us on any given day can be caught up in our own rapture by allowing our thoughts to be guided by the Kingdom we want to see on earth. In my ideal world there is peace and compassion and forgiveness, the kind that lets us start each day knowing we are all equals and equally responsible for bringing the Kingdom. What does yours look like?

What Kind of Kingdom?

2011-05-11T21:47:00Z

Do you recite the Lord’s Prayer mouthing “thy Kingdom come” without thinking about what it might look like if it were here? I’ve been contemplating it lately especially after seeing crowds cheering the death of Osama bin Laden. Would they consider their actions part of God’s will: that He would want his children to celebrate vengeance and violence?

I am not the first to argue that violence creates more violence and hate breeds hate; but I am wondering how America which proclaims itself to be a primarily Christian nation can stand and cheer the violent death of an unarmed human being. There was rejoicing in the streets at the same time it was understood that bin Laden’s death would undoubtedly result in more terrorist attacks around the globe.

It is one thing to stand up for freedom. Defending yourself in a life-threatening situation or killing to eat in order to survive are inherently accepted survival methods. But when will we as a culture move beyond the “eye for an eye” theology of the Old Testament and into the “turn the other cheek” ideals of the New? From where I’m standing, the Kingdom looks like a place where people try to understand one another and work toward a goal of mutual respect. So when the towers fell, why didn’t we as a nation ask ourselves what we’d done to initiate such contempt? Why wasn’t our rage directed toward the apparent incompetence of appointed officials who ignored the warning signs of an attack? And most importantly why haven’t we as a Christian nation stood up to violence and met it with love and compassion as our teacher instructed us? Instead many have turned to hating Muslims – in many cases proclaiming theirs to be a violent religion; at the same time turning a blind eye to acts of aggression by American's who call themselves Christian. This isn’t what my Kingdom looks like. In it there is forgiveness, understanding and peace and no one celebrates the violent death of another.

America, America

2011-04-07T16:55:00Z

Teaching is something I truly enjoy and I was happy to be at the front of a classroom with my favorite subject at hand. Early in the lecture one of my students raised her hand before pointing out that Illinois was the most corrupt state in the Union. “It’s true,” she enthused, “they did a study on it and it’s us. We’re the most corrupt in the nation.” Having just returned to my home state after a decades-long absence, I hadn’t read or heard about that particular report. For reasons of my own, I didn’t doubt her remarks; but in light of them how could I stand behind the lectern and continue my lecture on American Government? What did I have to offer this generation of young Americans so full of cynicism that the mere mention of America’s great democracy made them chuckle?

I was standing behind idealism and I didn’t waiver because ideals are something to stand up for. We were reading parts of the Constitution aloud in class, something I enjoy because who (at the undergraduate level) reads it on their own? And I tried to put some historical context around the passages, hoping to allow the students to see what I’d come to believe: It is a pretty inspirational piece of writing. Not perfect, but acknowledging its imperfection in a process for modification. Not bad, considering the scope of its intention.

But the students brought me back to the present and there was nothing I could do but agree with them: We've made a mess of it. I’m grateful that they were willing to accept my use of the pronoun “we”. I thought I’d have to spend part of a future lecture discussing how political apathy contributed to the corrupt nature of the current system. But they were right on it. Seems that even an apathetic generation is able to accept responsibility for the outcome of their indifference. Good for them.

The teaching gig was temporary. I never had the chance to continue the discussion with them. But I wanted to. I wanted to tell them that what we have is an ideal that hasn’t been upheld. I wanted to share with them the joy I feel because the ideal is present among us. The system is far from perfect. But perfection is arguably not attainable. It is beauty that is willingly pursued. We all acknowledge goodness, truth, and justice. They are ideals to be sought after and it is our objective to reach them perhaps simultaneously knowing they can't be had. But we don’t quit because we haven’t reached the goal. We keep going even when we know someone’s turned out the lights and we can’t see well in the dark. It’s during this darkness that we resolve to slow down, think it through, and hold on to the ideals, because without them we would truly be lost.

DEMOCRACY IN AMERICA?

2011-02-19T21:43:00Z

The world watched Egypt stake its claim to democracy and, for the most part, cheered. Ripple effects are being felt throughout the Middle East and at first blush I’m proud to be an American living under a form of government so many want to emulate.

I know I am fortunate to have been born here. I count my blessings and cherish my freedom. But, still, I want more. I want to feel as though there is majority rule in my country. I want to believe that the choices being made about the nation’s resources are aligned with our values. Mine in particular, but I’m guessing yours are o.k. too, because I can’t imagine anyone reading this would make a choice between a hungry child or an ailing elder or a sick individual and another stockpiled nuclear weapon that was different from mine.

I know the difference between a democracy and a republic and I am frustrated by the press and populace that want to put America’s democracy on a pedestal. First of all we’re a republic. Secondly, a democracy includes principles of social equality that are seriously absent in many of our communities.

Our elected officials have irresponsibly led us to the brink of financial disaster, our health care system is a mess, we can’t afford to give everyone the education they want and we’ve trashed our natural environment. It may be true that we’ve no one to blame but ourselves; but when was the last time your elected official’s vote represented your values?

Home for the Holidays

2010-12-23T22:33:00Z

Some people love this time of year. Others love when it’s over. Some people fall in love during this season. Others sing Blue Christmas along with Elvis. Most people proclaim they hate the crass commercialization of the holy days; and then fall in line at the mall. I’m fairly certain true believers – those that think December 25 marks the actual day of the Christ child’s birth are a minority. But who wants to pass up a chance to have fun, feast and get together with family?

I like a good celebration. Stories of hope and renewal, new birth, new life, and the return of the light inspire me. Perhaps like some, I’ve struggled over the years to find the true meaning of Christmas. World peace eludes us. Inner peace can get lost in holiday turmoil. Sometimes I long for solitude. Other times I want to get lost in the crowd. Finding the right balance isn’t easy for me, and I gather I’m not alone in this search because so much has been written about the stress of the Holidays and how tough this season of joy can be.

This week, my local paper ran an article on how to beat the blues during the Holiday season. The author interviewed a man with a master’s degree in psychology and over 30 years experience in psychotherapy. A sidebar listed the 12 pitfalls of Christmas in relation to getting the blues. Coming in at number 5 was loneliness, followed by number 6, family togetherness. Interesting placement, I thought. Side by side, one extreme to the other – it almost seems they should cancel each other out. And yet, there they were putting a smile on my face and getting me thinking about Christmases past.

In my younger years, I belonged to more than one extended family. Trying to be in two places at once, staying long enough to keep anybody happy, and having too little time alone with my true love was an annual dilemma. There was definitely too much family togetherness during those years. Hot, crowded rooms, loud voices, and clouds of cigarette smoke made for many murky memories. Then, one year, my true love and I weren’t able to make it home for the holidays. There weren’t enough vacation days to allow for travel and celebration. So we stayed at our place, just the two of us.

Art supplies were my wish list and after I opened them, I spent Christmas morning playing with new watercolors. He spent his with a new book in his hands and he steadily turned the pages, putting it down only to stoke the fire in the fireplace or refill a coffee mug. We left the house in late afternoon for dinner with friends. We brought wine and a hostess gift. When dinner was over, we gratefully conceded when our hosts asked us to stack the dishes and stay out of the kitchen. It was a no-stress holiday, and I remember it fondly.

Much later in life, I was leaning more toward number 5 than 6. I was living in the south and I didn’t want to face the cold or pack heavy winter clothes. I was single and money was tight. I put up a tree in my apartment, spent time with friends and was relieved to be able to avoid the hassles of long-distance holiday travel. It seemed like the best plan until Christmas morning. I was snug on my couch, lights twinkling before me, fire crackling in front of me and I suddenly missed the chaos family togetherness brought to the holidays. So I called home for a reality check and I wasn’t disappointed.

My mother’s twin sister had had a spat with her husband. She was staying at mom’s house with her cats. (Mom has a dog). My sister and her husband separated before the holidays and she was living at mom’s house with her large Labrador puppy -- a breed some consider hyperactive. My creative aunt has a talent for making extravagant holiday bows. Each gift she gives is a work of art. When I called home and explained to mom that I was feeling a little blue, thinking maybe I’d made a mistake in not coming home for the holidays, she laughed loudly into the phone. “Honey,” she said, “you picked a good year not to come home. Imagine your Aunt’s 23 packages laid out on the living room floor awaiting their final holiday touches (the bows were in mind). Then see your sister coming through the front door with that dog that is really a pony in disguise. Can you picture the look on your Aunt’s face as the dog bounds over the bows, the cats scatter to the back rooms and all 5 animals begin barking and meowing at the same time?”

Mom was making a few strange noises herself. She stopped chortling long enough to tell me to “Sit on your couch in your quiet home and sip your tea. This place is a mad house and if I could, I’d run away and spend the day with you!”

Happy Holidays!

SHE WOULD HAVE BEEN SWEET SIXTEEN THIS YEAR

2010-08-21T18:33:00Z

SHE WOULD HAVE BEEN SWEET SIXTEEN THIS YEAR

I went to the farm in Wisconsin where She was born to celebrate Her birthday. I’ve been going there for over 15 years and it still amazes me that no matter what is going on in my life, I feel great peace when I go to the place She lived.

            In the early years of Her birth dozens of folks showed up to celebrate. This year there were just a handful of familiar faces. I imagine what brings them is the same sense of gratitude that draws me back as often as I can get there to pay my respects.

            Having been raised in the white world causes me to question my commitment to my annual pilgrimage. How sane is this inexplicable connection I feel to a big brown beast that passed on over five years ago? These days I’m able to dismiss that question and others like it that rise to stir my self-doubt with a smile. No claim to sanity here; only allegiance to the Great Mystery of it all.

            I sat again on the farm where She lived and stared at bison in a pasture while the sun beat down on me and the flies swarmed around me. What is it about their magic that brings meaning and insight into otherwise ordinary sights and sounds around me? I stood in the field She once walked and drew strength to face the challenges before me.

            Ancient stories from the mouths of Elders weren’t told to me in my youth. In my late middle age I read about Primitive Mythology, the Masks of God and thank Joseph Campbell for his masterpiece that teaches me. I learn about elementary ideas and ethnic ideas and innate influences and take hold of beliefs I can embrace as truths, they too bring me comfort. And I know I will return again and again to the place where my inner world began to open to me.

GO WITH THE FLOW?

2010-08-09T21:23:00Z

I’d planned a day-long float trip on the Wisconsin River a wide waterway known for its steady gentle current and sandy bottom. I was taking the trip with a less-experienced paddler; but that was no problem because we knew there would be no rapids, no waterfalls, no boulders midstream and no need for helmets. Having just returned to the heartland after several years in the mountains of western North Carolina, I was still adjusting to the terrain. Flat land and slow moving water meant a relaxing afternoon cruise downstream with plenty of time for swims from sandy banks and a picnic on a mid-river island. A day where I could put into practice some of the good advice I’d heard so often: “Take it Easy, Go with the flow. Remember, “Don’t push the River, It flows by itself.”

            We drove to the outfitters, handed over the plastic and signed the release. It was a short ride to the boat landing. We loaded the canoe and strapped in our gear before I had a chance to look at the water. The river (wide and shallow at this point) looked like a lake. The wind had picked up. The sky was cloudy. The waves across the water were tipped with white caps. I realized I couldn’t tell which direction was downstream so I turned to our guide who pointed into the breeze. I looked into his eyes for a hint of laughter. There wasn’t any.

            He gave us some good advice: “Head straight across and once you get to the other side stick to the shoreline, stay out of the wind and you’ll be able to float with the current.” I nodded my head too full of doubt to respond. The refund policy on the rented canoe was limited to rain-outs. I took a deep breath, grabbed hold of the gunnels, stepped in and shoved off. It had been nearly a decade since I’d had a paddle in my hands, but with that first stroke I remembered how to lean forward and pull back from my waist to make up for the fact that I don’t have much strength in my arms. I put as much reach into each stroke as I could manage and paddled even though I was certain we were being blown further upriver faster than we were getting across. As we neared mid-stream, I noticed we were the only boat on the water and there was nothing but woods along both banks.

            We felt lucky. In a little over two hours from home, we’d found what we felt was a beautiful, isolated, unspoiled section of the river. The clouds cleared and the sun came out. We’d chosen to go on a week-day because we wanted to avoid the crowds. And we did. On the ten mile trip, we met about the same number of people. Being out there mostly alone was very relaxing. Except, of course, we couldn’t just float down the river. We fought the headwind across the water and turned downstream before pulling up our paddles. Then, we seemed to be standing still. Our trip was supposed to last three hours. With the wind in our face, it could easily take six. At one point the battle against the wind was so intense I regretted not having a flashlight along – thinking we might still be on the water far from our resort destination until after the sun went down. Long after my arms started to ache, the wind was still whipping up the water stirring up who knows what as well as old tunes. “I’m older now, but I’m still running against the wind.”

NOT EVEN NATIVE

2010-08-02T22:03:00Z

“What are you doing here -- You’re not even native!” Said the man standing before me. Long black braids framed his face which reflected an angry scowl.

            I had set up my table and was busy stacking books and laying out my business cards on top of it. “Well…” I stumbled, “I wrote a book…”

            “You don’t belong here,” he insisted.   He was truly trying to run me off, and as I backed away from his anger, another man appeared at my elbow defending my right to remain at the Pow-Wow. I already had permission from the organizer to join the other vendors in the space beyond the dancers’ ring.

            A Pow-Wow is a gathering of native peoples. It is an almost ancient rite, a ceremonial coming together in celebration. It is a way to honor Spirit through dance and performance of ritual. It is a way to connect with kindred souls. Some say it is a place for learning and sharing beliefs and traditions. I was also there to share an experience.

            It was an experience so profound it changed my way of life. My way of thinking. What I believed in. It took me off course; but put me on a path. It shook me awake and turned me inside out. It happened on a farm where a White Buffalo lived. Many considered Her to be a sacred being. But the first time I saw Her, She was a curiosity to me. The white man who owned Her had no idea why thousands of people were showing up at his farm to pay homage to Her. Nearly 15 years from the time I first saw Her, I am still growing in understanding of who She was and what She represents.

            Her story is described in the Legend of the White Buffalo Calf Woman. It is an ancient tale; yet, it has captivated me in these modern times. The magic of mythology is that it directs us to those images primal symbols within that cause us to feel connected to something much bigger than ourselves. Once the connection is made, the reunion that coming home to the true place of spirit can begin.

            Part of Her legend includes a prophesy about an era when the races of humanity will unite. It will be a time of great peace on the planet. Of forgiveness and understanding, harmony, unity and above all a respect for the traditional ways of the American Indian. These ways honor our mother earth and revere her as the source and provider of all our earthly needs. These days, it appears more obvious than ever that it is time to renew a commitment to honor Mother Earth. Her goodness has been so taken advantage of. If she is to heal, it will certainly require a commitment from all of her children to do what’s right for her.

            So then, how can any of her children spend any more time squabbling among themselves? Who’s right, who is to blame, who is more native, who is the better child and who is more entitled? These are questions that must be set aside when it comes to answering the most important question: What needs to be done for her?

            Later, at the Pow Wow, the head man came by my table. He stood in front of me and explained that every religion has its zealots. In a compassionate voice he reassured me that Spirit knows intent. Spirit guides intent. And later I realized Spirit just may have directed that angry man to lash out at me in order for me to defend my own right to stand my own ground and tell my own story.

HOW CAN I BE JOYFUL?

2010-07-02T22:08:24Z

I woke to a symphony of songbirds performing outside my bedroom wall. When I looked through the window, the sky was clear blue. Across the street is a forest preserve that welcomes me onto its shady pathways whenever I choose to enter. A canopy of mature hardwoods arches over a woodsy wonderland. The trail ends at a meadow bursting with color. Daisies, black-eyed susans, queen anne’s lace. I can name so few of the many flowers gracing the hilltop shimmering in the sunshine. All this and more inspired a spontaneous Facebook post about being joyful. And then I saw the news - another video on the situation in the Gulf of Mexico.

Crude oil is pouring into once blue waters. Corporate greed coupled with consumer ignorance created a catastrophe. People’s livelihoods, living conditions and lifestyles have been laid waste. Animals drenched in oil are dying. An entire ecosystem is failing. Fingers are being pointed. People are angry. People are sad. Rightfully so.

Are you standing with the outraged? It is solid ground for who advocates the right of an international corporation to disregard basic standards of safety in order to maximize profits? I refuse to join the camp calling for consumers to claim their culpability. I want safe bike paths and public buses that run on time. I didn’t sign up for this mess. Yet, I am surely mourning it. Sometimes I think collectively we’ve been sleeping. Living not fully awake seems to be the only logical explanation for behaving as though there's no need to revere our earthly home.

Lately though, I confess I've dreaming. In my dreams I imagine a master plan formed from a picture much larger than I can see. I am at most a fleck of light in this infinite tapestry. Yet, if I claim that speck of cosmic energy as mine and become angry or upset, have negative feelings or emotional eruptions, am I adding dark spaces to a colorful picture? Would my contribution to the master plan (whether perceived as a perfect picture or a stunning symphony) be off color or out of tune with the harmony being created on the other side?

The other side of what, some readers may wonder. And I’d answer with a smile as I try to explain how I believe that this physical world we’re living in is only our imaginary home. The real world is an invisible arena. It’s the eternal reality, the one waiting for us when we leave this classroom called life. Some call it heaven. The fate of the earth is determined there. In my imagination I hold onto an image of a more perfect reality that could be created here. It will reflect the beauty, peace, compassion and love of the other side. If we’re living through the cacophony of individual musicians tuning up in preparation for the great concerto, have faith that they will produce a masterpiece. Have faith that all is not lost. Know better times are coming like you know the noise before the symphony is preparation for the well-rehearsed performance. Know this and take a walk in the woods.

THE BOOK BEAT

2010-03-11T18:10:00Z

I WAS HAPPY TO BE A GUEST ON THE CARRBORO BOOK BEAT CHATTING WITH AUDREY LAYDEN AND PAUL NAGY WCOM 103.5.

YOUR CHOSEN STORY

2010-03-11T17:50:00Z

YOUR CHOSEN STORY

In Transformations of Myth Through Time, Joseph Campbell writes about his idam – his chosen deity. He says the deity itself has no existence. It is simply a picture to put in your mind. It achieves life if you make it your deity. Then it becomes the guide of your life. His personal idam was Pancaksara the deity of reading and scripture. He said he choose it because he’d learned everything he knew from reading.

After I read about this deity I thought I should adopt it too. Because, as I mentioned earlier, I love finding a good book with a story that’s going to teach me a bit more about human nature. But the image I saw of this deity “coming to illumination through reading scriptures” didn’t speak to me. And then I remembered why.

Years ago, I went to see a buffalo that had been born white. In the Native American tradition, a White Buffalo is considered sacred. There is a legend, the Legend of the White Buffalo Calf Woman, that explains why this is so.

The buffalo I went to see had been born on a farm in Janesville, Wisconsin. Her owners were very gracious. Even though they didn’t understand the reason for Her sacred stature, they let visitors come and see Her. Many of their guests prayed to Her. They left offerings. They cried when they saw Her. Then they claimed that their lives changed after seeing Her. They knew they felt changed by seeing Her.

What was She all about? Part of the Great Mystery, I’m sure. Because it’s a mystery, it’s probably best not to try to explain it. Just enjoy the stories. Enjoy the magic. And so I did. For many years I went back to the farm to see Her. Even after she died, I went back to the farm to remember how wonderful seeing Her there had been.

Once when I was there, I started thinking about all the books I’d read and how hard I’d worked to get an education that would bring me my personal version of the American Dream. I hadn’t found fulfillment in the part of the dream I was living. I was longing for something I couldn’t name. But I knew intuitively that it had something to do with putting the books aside and getting out into nature. Hiking, biking, canoeing -- doing the things I used to do before I started my quest for the big job in the big city.

And so I left the big job in the city and headed for the hills. Literally.

I know there is wisdom to be found in nature. In the birdsong or the whistle of the wind through the woods. I guess by Joseph Campbell’s definition Miracle, the White Buffalo would be my Idam – except Miracle, the sacred White Buffalo I saw, really did exist. Doesn’t that make Her an even bigger mystery?

It’s almost springtime. I’m going outside to learn.

FINDING YOUR STORY

2010-03-08T14:36:00Z

FINDING YOUR STORY

I reached into the open bookcase. I couldn’t read the title on the binding, but I could see the particular book I wanted. I pulled it off the shelf and laid it in the crook of my arm. It was Joseph Campbell's Transformations of Myth Through Time. I hadn’t gotten further than the first page before I found this gem: "Getting into harmony and tune with the universe and staying there is the principal function of mythology." At last, a simple explanation for my fascination with myths and legends.

Being out of “harmony and tune with the universe” is not a pleasant feeling. It’s when your life seems to be running you and you find yourself making decisions based on what you think you should do. It’s when the concept of believing in yourself and knowing what you were meant to do has not yet risen within you. It’s when religion doesn’t work and faith isn’t happening and nothing, absolutely nothing, in life makes any sense.

At such a point in my life, I was grateful to find a story that pulled me out of that funk. Who hasn’t been comforted by a good story? The one I was thankful to come across is the Legend of the White Buffalo Calf Woman. I read it after I went to visit a buffalo that had been born white. A White Buffalo is a sacred symbol to Native American people. Knowing the Legend makes it possible to understand why Native people consider the animal holy. I wasn’t raised in the Native American tradition; yet this story spoke to me like none other.

In Native American belief, the birth of a White Buffalo symbolizes a time for unity among races. For individuals it’s a call to reconnect with traditional faith practices. Reading the legend, I was reminded of my love for the earth and the role I had to play in society. And reading Campbell’s work leads me to greater understanding of the role stories have played for people in all societies. He does much more than tell good stories, he calls to mind the reasons we’re going to agree what the best ones are. A classic will move us as individuals when it emphasizes elements all of us --members of the world society -- have in common.

I hadn’t planned on book shopping the day I and a couple of friends rode out to the Light Center in Black Mountain, North Carolina. We were going to the meditation dome before going out for lunch. On the way upstairs, I stopped by the bookcase and pulled open the glass door. And there it was nestled between dozens of others – just the read I needed to find.

Anyone else have a story about finding a good story at just the right time?

HEARTSICK OVER HAITI

2010-01-13T16:21:00Z

The first news of the day was tough to take. Tragedy has once again come to the impoverished nation of Haiti. By now everyone following the news knows it is the poorest country in the western hemisphere and that 80% of its people live in poverty.

What might not be remembered are the news reports from 2008 when the Haitian people were making cookies with dirt and oil and water. As food prices around the world began to rise, those were the only ingredients some caregivers could obtain to mix up and feed their children.

In the spring of 2000 I visited Haiti and witnessed living conditions beyond the imagination of most Americans. Aside from the natural beauty of the Caribbean nation, the inspiring thing about being there was the warmth and friendliness of the Haitian people despite their daily shortages of food and water.

The tiny nation has a history of revolution and rebellion making it also one of the most politically unstable nations in the world. That, of course, contributes to its material poverty; but also speaks of the spiritual strength of a nation whose people will continue to fight for their collective rights.

In Reflections on a Haitian Pilgrimage I wrote about the difficulty I was having coming to terms with the disparities of this world. As tears filled my eyes watching the news this morning, my mind raced to come up with an explanation for the seemingly unending suffering of the Haitian people. I realize it may seem absurd to be looking for a silver lining in this dark cloud of catastrophe, but in taking this approach I am finding hope that Haiti will receive the humanitarian aid it has long-suffered a need for.

Plant a Garden

2009-10-29T15:29:00Z

I moved into my apartment 8 years ago. A renter once again, I decided I would not plant a garden. It would be silly to spend time, energy and money making things grow in the yard when I'd be moving again - soon. I'd just left a home where I'd spent thousands of hours and hundreds of dollars creating several lovely gardens. Then I sold it all. I knew I would never put that much effort into something I'd have to leave behind again. After all, I'd only be there a short while.

That short while flew by. Each year I fell more in love with the quiet, peaceful neighborhood. I took long walks admiring other people's gardens. I had no desire to move. And after eight years passed, I couldn't resist putting in a few fall bulbs in anticipation of a colorful spring. I learned then what many people already know: plant a garden wherever you go. You never know how long you'll stay and if you have to leave someone else will enjoy the flowers. Next time I won't waste time thinking there will be a better time or place to plant a garden.