Pain transformed, not transmitted

"Resurrection is not woundedness denied, forgotten, or even totally healed. It is always woundedness transformed.  You still carry your scars forever, as both message and trophy.  They still 'hurt' in a way, which keeps you mindful and humble, but they no longer allow you to hurt other people.  Pain transformed is no longer pain transmitted."

-- Richard Rohr, Immortal Diamond

With an all-embracing love

"Love all God's creation, the whole 
and every grain of sand in it.  
Love every leaf, every ray of God's light.  
Love the animals, love the plants, 
love everything.  

If you love everything, you will perceive 
the divine mystery in things.  

Once you perceive it, you will begin 
to understand it better every day, 
and you will come at last 
to love the whole world 
with an all-embracing love."

-- Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

Something to reflect upon

My husband is an engineer; an exceedingly logical, practical, no nonsense sort of individual, and a man of enormous integrity. Yes, this is all good -- but, as with all good things, there is a catch.  It took me years to realize how deeply he could feel things -- and he still... well, it's not that he has trouble expressing emotion; it's more that he's not convinced that emotion is something that needs to be or even should be expressed.

And I entered this, my second marriage, some 28 years ago, after a difficult childhood and ten years of marriage to a man whose "I love you's" were usually said as he was on the way out the door to a liaison with another woman.  So even if this husband had been capable of saying "the L word" I'm not sure I could have trusted it anyway. Which could explain why I chose a logical, practical, no nonsense individual of irreproachable integrity.  Trust was the most important thing, and I no longer trusted easy words of love.

Which doesn't mean I didn't long to hear them. Or long for romantic gestures.  So last night, when he sort of casually mentioned that if we were to revisit our marriage, he would do a more traditionally romantic proposal, down on one knee, with a ring (instead of asking, in a phone call, "would you consider marrying me?") I was sort of stopped in my tracks.  And found myself wondering how I would have behaved differently, these last 28 years, if I had known that he loved me (because it turned out he did, and still does); that I wasn't (as I'd always assumed and expected) his conscious, logical, practical choice for a mate at a time in his life when he was ready to settle down.

I mean, I felt honored -- and still do.  But I never quite felt loved -- at least, not for the first 20 years or so.  And -- being a person of faith -- I came to view (or possibly channel) that longing for love as a longing for God, for the unconditional love that comes from understanding that we are part of a divine and universal circle of love.  And the longing helped make me who I am today.

So I'm reflecting on all that, and I invite you this morning also to take a moment and reflect: How would you be different, if you knew, right to the core of your being that you were loved?  What would that feel like, to know yourself totally, wholly loved? What choices might you make or have made differently?  Would you be/have been stronger, more assertive?  Would you be/have been kinder, more accepting?

And -- even if we never received that from a partner or spouse -- how would we be different if we fully understood, to the core of our being, how deeply, intensely, wholly, unconditionally loved we are by God?

Because we are.

Precarious perch

Richard Rohr, in his latest book, Immortal Diamond, offers some very powerful messages about how "church," over the years, has gotten Jesus' message wrong. 

It's not so much an attack as a call to return to center: it's clear he believes humanity is poised on the brink of new possibility; that we have constantly renewing opportunities to realize the unity of spirit that God intended for us.

Like this heron, many of us have chosen some curious resting places in this time of transition; I know for me it's been a precarious balancing act, holding true all I learned in my Presbyterian and Anglican traditions with all I've learned from my reading  and meditation.  I wish I felt this serene and steady... and as hopeful as Rohr seems to be...

For the troubled hearts

A friend asked yesterday if I'd been out of town -- because she noticed I'd been posting Rumi poems all week, which I often do when I'm on the road. But no, I haven't been away.  I've been processing.  A dear friend had a heart attack on Monday.  He survived -- in fact, he's doing well: he's young, and fit, lives a healthy active life... He'll be fine.  So why have I been struggling with the blog?

It's not that it's a wake-up call, exactly.  It's more than my coping mechanisms are feeling overwhelmed: this is merely the latest in "a series of unfortunate events," most of which have not directly affected me.  But each has been a reminder of vulnerability,  of the unpredictability of life.  And every time I tried to write about that, it started to sound like whining -- and so I'd retreat into Rumi.  Rumi is my safe place.  It's kind of like nesting: I wrap the words around me and breathe, trying to still the anxious protective urges fluttering within; trying to find them a way to express themselves without getting too irrational.

But even though I haven't been blogging, I'm still painting.  And I'm surprised (though perhaps I shouldn't be) to see what emerges. The previous painting was clearly (if totally unintended) a response to the tornado in Oklahoma.  And this one... well... all I can say is -- when I look at it, I see troubled hearts.  So -- for all the troubled hearts in the world: this one's for you.

A picture's worth

Though I stopped submitting photos to contests when my husband was laid off, I still get mailings about them from time to time. This morning I received notice of a contest entitled, simply, "Water," and I immediately thought of this image, which has always been a favorite of mine.

It was shot during the height of the fascination with bottled water, just as people were starting to realize what that huge infusion of plastic could be doing to the environment.  And I get that it's a bit of a period piece, because my husband and I were recently watching a TV show from the same era, and we were astonished by all the bottled water the cast consumed during the show.  Clearly the world -- at least in the Pacific Northwest -- has changed a bit since then.

Which is not to say things are perfect yet: surely bottled water is still being purchased by the caseload.  But I'd like to think we're scaling back, finding better ways to stay hydrated.  I'd also like to think this photograph, in its way, might make people stop and think; might help carry home that message -- in way less than a thousand words.   I know it certainly made ME stop and think at the time.  Amazing, how the camera teaches us to see...

Falcon-Soul

"Some torches, 

even when they burn with spirit,
give off more smoke than light.
 

A wind from the North arrives 

that burnishes grief and opens up the sky.
The soul wants to walk out 

into that cleansing air 

never to come back again.
 

The soul is a stranger here 

trying to find its home 

in that somewhere that is not a where. 

So why keep grazing here on whys?
 

O good falcon-soul, 

you have flown low
foraging around long enough. 

Swing back now toward the voice of your King, and remember, 

the entrance to the Kingdom is inside of you."
 

—Rumi (Translation by Lynn Bauman)