tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32752093099504316932024-03-18T22:02:39.966-07:00Spiritually SpeakingSpirituality southern style from deep in the heartland.Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.comBlogger4169125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-64933505509181760782023-01-11T04:56:00.002-08:002023-01-11T04:56:27.463-08:00Signing Off<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Saying
Goodbye<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“It’s
always important to know when something has reached its end. Closing circles,
shutting doors, finishing chapters, it doesn’t matter what we call it, what
matters is to leave in the past those moments in life that are over.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Paulo
Coelho (The Zahir)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I began
writing this blog in February of 2011, and in these 12 years, I have written
4,168 posts. It’s time to move on. I have loved writing Spiritually Speaking,
and I will continue to write every day. But I have other projects and other
interests that need time and attention. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I want
you to know that I deeply appreciate every single one of you who has read my
words over the years, whether you’ve loved them or hated them. Having notes and
comments from you has fueled my longing to reach out and share my thoughts for the
last twelve years. But now, I want to get on with whatever comes next, and I
know you do too. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I may
gather the best of Spiritually Speaking into a book, probably in the form of a
daily reader. If you want to be on a mailing list for that, or if you want to
receive other essays that I write, please send me your email address and I will
send them to you directly. Mine is <a href="mailto:jmp8465@gmail.com">jmp8465@gmail.com</a>.
Write to me any time and I will answer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For now,
thank you. May your life be blessed with joy and challenges.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-47724838555751156762023-01-10T05:48:00.004-08:002023-01-10T05:48:47.796-08:00Life in the Slow Lane<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Way
Forward<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“All
shall be well when we are free from the will to dominate people or things or
our own souls. Our superficial motives cannot finally destroy us if we are
aware of and attend to the point of real love in the ground of being—even if
that attention be sadly weak and often forgotten.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Helen
Luke (Old Age: Journey into Simplicity, p.89; Bell Tower, NY, 1987)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Watching
the voting process to elect a Speaker of the House last week left a nation wrung
out, without the energy to even be affronted. As we sat in our living rooms and
watched Keven McCarthy lift the speaker’s gavel, we couldn’t even scream at
what has been given away, what has been surrendered to a fractious mob. We’ve
seen worse—January 6<sup>th</sup> was worse—but this came close. It was sad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One of
the things that happens as we grow older is the invisibility factor. At least
in America, we fade into the shadows. But the upside of this is being able to
observe from the distance of invisibility—no one knows you’re there, and no one
cares. As our powers in the world diminish, our powers of observation increase.
Within each older person is a lifetime of experience with the world—its chaos,
its nonsense, its folly, its beauty and holiness. We’ve seen great people come
and go, we’ve witnessed fools with power and ego trample on anyone who gets in
their way. And we’ve experienced the fallout from all of it. But seeing one elected
representative try to shut the mouth of another by force—well, that was new. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One thing
that we know—one thing that everyone at this point should know—is that the will
to dominate others is unsustainable. Even in autocratic dictatorships, the
people can only be forced to surrender for so long, and then the dam breaks. When
a six-year-old walks into a classroom with a 9mm pistol and shoots his teacher,
and nothing changes in the way of gun control, we’ve hit bottom. When a group
of five zealots can force the Speaker of the House to kowtow to their demands—and
he does—then we have no government in service to the citizens of this country.
So, where do we go from here? Good question.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We must
learn to pray and trust. We must summon the energy to vote with 100% of our
eligible voters. And we must understand that all things have a beginning, a middle
and an end. We are not exempt from the laws of nature.When our notions of greatness can no longer be sustained, when
domination is no longer our goal, when we are unwilling to sell our souls to
get what we want—all will be well. Until then…we watch and pray.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-57261862405973051302023-01-09T05:46:00.000-08:002023-01-09T05:46:24.794-08:00Imprints that Made You<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Past
and Present<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“…What
I want to say is<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">that
the past is the past,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">and
the present is what your life is,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">and
you are capable<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">of
choosing what that will be,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">darling
citizen.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Come
to the pond,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">or
the river of your imagination,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">or
the harbor of your longing,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">and put your lips to the world.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And
live<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">your
life.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Mary
Oliver (“Mornings at Blackwater")<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
more I come to understand myself, the more I realize how very much I’ve been
blind to. How patterned we are by when and where we were born, by the family we
were born into, and by the times. When I look at my own family of origin, I
know that they had fewer choices than I, and less education, and yet they were
able to cobble together a life and prosper. They had the puritan values of hard
work and no frills. They accepted the hardships of life as just part of it, and
did the best they could to carry on. They were brave and flawed and operated without
the benefit of depth psychology. Because of their hard work, I was able to go
to college and make a different life for myself—one which they accepted but
didn’t understand or relate to. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mary
Oliver is right, of course, the past is the past and your life is lived in the
present. However, your past has made an indelible imprint on they way you live
in the present. In the famous words of William Faulkner, <i>“The past is never
dead. It’s not even past.” </i>And that is because we carry it into the present
in our very DNA. The image I have is of the line of baby ducks following behind
their mother—or whoever imprinted on their little brains first. We carry a
genetic imprint, a web of neurons that have been trained in a particular way,
and eons of accumulated experience that goes into every choice we make. The
very best we can do is to be aware of our patterns and our family’s patterns,
and be able to recognize them for what they are. When we are aware, then we can
choose. But as long as we refuse to look at how we were programed to be by the
people who gave us life, we will perpetuate those patterns—both good ones and the
bad. That’s where the choice comes in—we can choose to look or not. And we can
choose to act on what we see, or not. Your past informs your present, all the
way back to the primeval waters. You are amazing in scope and breadth. I hope
you know that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-63207721041875764482023-01-08T05:17:00.000-08:002023-01-08T05:17:04.678-08:00Everthing We Need Is Here<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Ebb and the Flow<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Everything
flows.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Heraclitus<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
you think of “flow” what is the first thing that comes to mind? Air, water, a
creek, a river, rain, the ocean tides, the ripples on a lake, the flight
pattern of butterflies, a murmuration of birds, the flow of blood through our
veins and arteries. Through our hearts. Flow brings up images of freedom, lack
of boundaries and limitations. We love the idea of flowing. We love to spend
hours in the flow of ideas, of conversation, the flow of people through a day,
or a year. For most of us, as long as the flow of our lives is unimpeded, we’re
pretty happy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But what
happens when the flow is impeded? Rocks fall into the stream, impenetrable fog occludes
the path forward, our flow is interrupted by a sudden change. What happens when
an unavoidable event requires us to stop and wait, and perhaps, not act at all?
What happens to us when the ideas stop flowing, or the flow of activity is interrupted
by injury or illness? What happens when our flow ebbs and then stops altogether?
We avoid it. We try, like water, to go around it, or over it. Sometimes we
simply forge ahead, blind, uncertain of direction. That usually ends badly, but
we humans are a determined lot; we are compelled by ego to force the flow whether
it’s wise to do so or not. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There
is a Zen saying: <i>“Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and grass
grows by itself,” </i>The ebb may be the most essential part of the flow—the part
where we stop long enough to absorb and integrate, the time we need to connect
the dots, to experience our understanding, our consciousness, expand a little
bit. Ebb is not the enemy; it is a natural part of the flow. Even migratory
birds eventually land.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-59713853008511162412023-01-07T05:59:00.000-08:002023-01-07T05:59:00.680-08:00Saltwater Baptism<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Moving
Rocks<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“…That’s
how it is sometimes—<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">God
comes to your window,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">All
bright light and black wings,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And
you’re just too tired to open it.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Dorianne
Laux (recorded in Heart of the Enneagram, p.64; Library Partners Press, 2018)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Dorianne Laux’s poem
speaks of working too hard in the garden, moving rocks and then being too tired
to record a dream—one that spoke the truth to her. By morning, the dream had
turned to dust. Sounds like she missed her opportunity to hear what God had to
say to her, and, truly, she did miss it that time. But God doesn’t give up on
us so easily. Fortunately, if there is something Spirit wants us to know and we
miss it the first time, She turns up the volume until we can’t help but hear.
That’s how it is sometimes, too.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Some of us toil in the
garden way more than we should. My hand is up. I’m one of those. I move rocks
all the time. When I can’t move rocks, I move furniture, or I rearranged
everything in the house, or I cook more food than ten people could eat. Some of
us use work and busyness to keep from feeling our feelings. It’s the thinking
person’s way of running, numbing out. It works for a while—just like drugs and
alcohol work for a while. But then it doesn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Lots of us simply hit a
wall, we have a close brush with death, or something happens that cracks us
open and the dam bursts. Then everything we’ve been stowing away, stuffing
down, comes flooding out. We are engulfed by feelings, and all we can do is sit
on the ground and cry. And believe it or not, that’s a very good thing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In my experience, that
has usually involved the loss of something precious—a pet, a lover, an unborn
child. Something for which there is no emotional defense, and nothing can blunt.
We humans, for whatever reason, expect ourselves to handle anything and
everything. We think if we aren’t “strong,” we’re weak. If we break down, we’re
a failure at life. It’s not true. Not true at all. There is plenty in this life
to cry about, and tears are an appropriate response to loss, and to heart break.
What is not appropriate is going right back to moving rocks. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Let me speak from
experience—the fastest way through it is through it. Just let her rip, let the
dam break, let the tears flow and flow and flow for as long as they need. If
you can do that, you will eventually stop crying, dry you eyes, and get on with
your life. But you can’t skip that step. Healing sometimes requires emersion in
saltwater—a baptism of tears. God works like that, too.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>In the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-1167536705737770592023-01-06T04:54:00.000-08:002023-01-06T04:54:16.073-08:00The New Year's Retribution<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">January
Tribunal<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“I
always try to lose weight. I don’t go for the brutal training programs, but I
do secretly stop eating carbs, fats, or whatever. Science proves again and
again that all diets work briefly, and pretty much all work the same, with
initial and exhilarating weight loss, then plateau, then weight gain and shame.
The weight we lose almost always finds its way back home, and it invariably
brings friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Anne
Lamott (Almost Everything, p.153; Riverhead Books, NY, 2016)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This is
the time of year that, like migratory birds, we all head back to the gym in
hopes of shedding that extra ten we’ve put on since Thanksgiving ushered in the
season of holiday feasting. Aren’t we funny creatures? We always say, “What the
heck! It’s the holidays! Time to be merry and enjoy all this happy deliciousness!”
It’s even considered rude to not indulge, right! I mean, who does that anyway! I
still have fudge and lemon bars in my refrigerator, glinting their mean hearts
at me every time I open the door. I’ve disposed of everything else, but somehow
my hands simply will not take those out and deposit them in the trash. It must
be because I was abused as a child!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Please!
Let’s make peace with ourselves and the overindulgence of the holidays. Decide
for yourself what is more important for you—goosing your inertia and hauling
your butt back to the gym, or just eating salads for a while and adding 10
extra minutes a day to your walking routine. Or, gasp, living with the extra
weight. As Anne Lamott says, the weight we lose comes home to roost and it’s
likes the warm, soft places on our bodies. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To be sure,
the holidays are feast days, and we look forward to them all year for that reason.
So how can we have our cake and eat is too? The truth is, Americans trend
toward heavy simply because we have an abundant food supply, and unfortunately,
cheap alternative fast food. We eat more calories than we burn—it’s as simple
as that. And, as we age, and especially after we stop growing, our metabolism
can’t keep up with that. It’s slower, and we’re slower. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Other places in the
world, people walk most everywhere they go. They burn the calories they eat, so
they can afford to eat heavier foods—breads and cheese and meat. We, on the
other hand, get into our cars in the garage and drive to wherever we want to
go, park as close to the front door as possible, and maybe even ride on a motorized
shopping cart. We burn 3 calories and have a snack inside that contains 80. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">All that said, the answer
is not to go on a crash diet. The answer is to eat fewer calories and move
more. Our bodies are designed for movement—and it doesn’t matter whether you go
to the gym if you step up your movement game. You can burn calories walking,
dancing, doing Zumba, riding a bicycle, or doing calisthenics. You cannot burn
calories sitting in a chair scrolling through Facebook or watching YouTube
videos. This is a lecture I’m giving myself. Y’all can listen in if you like. As
soon as I finish excoriating myself, I’m going cook breakfast and go for a
walk. Sensible, don’t you think.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>In the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-72527155011283787212023-01-05T05:42:00.000-08:002023-01-05T05:42:31.673-08:00Page Turner<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Reading
and Writing<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Writers
save the world—or at any rate, they saved me and everyone I’m close to. When we
were small, they were our travel guides and companions, great mysteries of life
and family. They were mirrors, mentors, guide dogs. They helped me laugh about
terrifying and isolating things, and made me question my very reason for
existence, as well as my fears, prejudices, and illusions.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Anne
Lamott (Almost Everything, p.98, Riverhead Books, NY, 2018)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I hope
you are a reader—if you’re reading this, you must be. But I hope you are a
reader of great books. I can’t remember when I started reading, but I’m pretty
sure it was by first grade. I had great-aunts who were teachers, who taught my
sister Jerrie to read before she went to kindergarten. While Mother didn’t
regularly read to me, Jerrie did. Right up until she left home, she would read
aloud to me, and I loved listening. Then, I read to my kids until they were
mostly grown. Reading is the single most freeing thing one can do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Anne
Lamott goes on to say in <i>Almost Everything</i> (p.98<i>): “It’s ridiculous how
hard life is. Denial and avoidance are unsuccessful strategies, but truth and
awareness mend. Writing, creation, and stories are food.” </i>Reading not only
tells great stories, but it introduces us to worlds we did not know existed and
informs us of things we would never have imagined. Writing, on the other hand,
introduces us to ourselves. Even if what you write is never read by another
human being, it serves the purpose of introducing you to all the personalities that
exist within you. Journaling is great for this—since it is personal and
private, you can be child, adolescent, middle-aged—whatever you like. And you
don’t even have to write complete sentences. You can express yourself in
doodles and drawings. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Since the spirit in you
is shy, you may want to prepare the space by lighting a candle and maybe even
placing a small vase of flowers on your writing table. Create sacred space but
don’t be afraid to be feral in it. Let your wild-child run and play. Don’t censor,
don’t correct, don’t even pay attention—just “let ‘er rip!” This frees you from
the ego that wants to control everything and do it right. Instead, be like Rumi’s
guest house and “welcome and entertain” all comers—whatever part of you shows
up. Given the freedom to play, your unconscious mind will create its own stories.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">According to Anne Lamott,
reading and writing help us <i>“take the blinders off…so we can look at life
and our lives with care, and curiosity, and attention to detail, which are what
will make us happy and less afraid.”</i> We are as interesting as any character
in any book. We have as much depth and history and longing and love as anyone
else, real, or imagined. It’s helpful to tell the stories of those parts of yourself,
of their independent lives, and their shared lives. There’s a whole cast of
characters in there. It’s time to get acquainted with all of them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>In the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-19157951842096595302023-01-04T05:27:00.000-08:002023-01-04T05:27:01.256-08:00Kneading the Dough<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Being
Bread for One Another<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“For
a long time, I have wanted to write a book about loving. I have wanted to do
this as a continuing question—an inquiry really, because good questions
sometimes carry answers on their backs.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Gunilla
Norris (Becoming Bread, preface p. xi; Bell Tower, NY, 1993)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>From
time to time, I pull this little book off the shelf. Everything about it speaks
to me—the topic, the cover, the process of bread making, and the poetry. The
subtitle is<i>: Meditations on Loving and Transformation</i>. Gunilla Norris
lives in New England and was married for twenty-eight years before her marriage
ended. This little 78-page book, illustrated as simply and beautifully as it is written, by
John Giuliani, a Benedictine monk, is a commentary on how we love, and how we
recover when love is lost. Norris is a psychotherapist who also teaches
meditation and writes books. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
especially like the image conjured by <i>“good questions sometimes carry
answers on their backs.” </i>That is a notion worthy of contemplation, don’t
you think? As a seeker of answers, myself, I do like a well-turned question.
And bread-making as a metaphor for life is universal. As she puts the dough
into the oven, for instance, she writes, <i>“When we are in the fire and there
is no escape possible, we tremble and shrink back. The passage through and into
the heat of life is what we want…and what we dread.” (p.59</i>) Transformation
is a fearful and necessary thing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I believe we are going through
a bit of that right now as we try to come out of the pandemic. We’ve attempted
to resume life as usual, only to find that it is utterly different—transformed by
fire. It is helpful to remember that baking the dough is what transforms it
into nourishing bread. Passing through the fire is essential, but <i>we are</i>
different on the other side. Now begins the adventure of finding out just how
different we are.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Don’t
we all question why life must be both joyful and painful? As Goethe said, <i>“Who
never ate his bread with tears, who never sat weeping on his bed during
care-ridden nights…”</i> One of the things I've noticed about growing older
is that I do less of that. I wonder whether others of my generation do less,
too. Perhaps we have passed through the fire many times and know that life on
the other side is beautiful and delicious, whether painful or not. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’ll
leave you with the words of Simone Weil: <i>“When an apprentice gets hurt, or complains
of being tired, the workmen and peasants have this fine expression: ‘It is the
trade entering his body.’ Each time that we have some pain to go through, we
can say to ourselves quite truly that it is the universe, the order and beauty
of the world, and the obedience of creation of God that are entering our body.”
(Becoming Bread, p.59)</i> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">May you become bread
today.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-55948872544897068042023-01-03T06:12:00.000-08:002023-01-03T06:12:35.048-08:00What are your gifts?<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Finding
and Giving<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Each
of us, as we journey thought life, has the opportunity to find and to give his
or her unique gift. Whether this gift is quiet or small in the eyes of the
world does not matter at all—not at all; it is through the finding and the
giving that we may come to know the joy that lies at the center of both the
dark times and the light.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Helen
M. Luke<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
friend, Garvice sent me a quote by Gilbert K. Chesterton: <i>“Because they take
themselves lightly, angels can fly.”</i> I think it was a gentle nudge from an
equally gentle man that perhaps I might want to lighten up a bit. Lord knows, I’m
no angel. Sometimes I get as dark and heavy as an andiron, and for that I
apologize. When it comes to writing this blog, I just follow my instincts, and sometimes
they lead me down a rabbit hole. Today, I’m going to give “light” a try.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I just
discovered Helen M. Luke and ordered a couple of her books. She was a British Jungian
Analyst who died last October at the age of 86, after having been married to
the same man for 70 years—a feat of some note in and of itself. I like her
point that our gift does not have to be Elon Musk-sized. It can be quiet and
small and seemingly insignificant to the world at large. If it is what we were
meant to do, and/or to be, that’s all that matters.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
important message here is to find your unique gift, and then, since it is a
gift—to give it away. It doesn't have to be “unique” in the sense that no one
else on planet earth has it, only that your expression of it is one of a kind. The
first thing that comes to mind for me is someone who has a beautiful singing
voice. Many people have them, and they are truly a gift meant to be shared. I
have a friend named Dejuana, who makes up song-prayers and blessings
extemporaneously. They just come to her, and she has learned to trust her gift
enough to share it, even with total strangers. They may think she’s a bit
strange, but that’s okay—the gift is hers and it’s meant to be shared, period.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The major
challenge in finding and giving away your gift is trusting that it is, in fact,
your gift. If that’s a beautiful voice, or an ability to entertain people, or a
penchant for humor, it resides within the parameters of social acceptability.
But what if it’s not? Someone who comes to mind is a man named Lonnie Holly,
who lives here in Alabama. He became known as “the Sand Man,” because he made sculptures
from the casting molds used in the steel industry. They are basically fired
sand, and when they were used up the steel-workers just dumped them on the factory grounds. For years, Holly collected them, and went around to
different schools and civic events teaching others how to make sculptures from
them. They were humble materials, and he was humble, too. Now some of his
sculptures are in museums around the world. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Finding
your gift and giving it away may involve a lot of work. It may be rejected by
the world, but if it’s what you have to give, that’s what matters. Give it in
faith. Give it in trust. Think of Vincent Van Gogh—how fortunate are we that
his gift—which was not well received in his time—continues to bless our lives. There
is tremendous joy in finding and using your deep gift, even when it is not
received. There’s even more joy when someone receives your gift with the same
enthusiasm with which you gave it. In fact, feeling joyful is the way to know
it’s your gift. It may break your heart, but it will give you joy at the same
time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-89616649365379531772023-01-02T05:47:00.000-08:002023-01-02T05:47:29.183-08:00Transformative Reflection<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Living
Thoughtfully<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Reflection
does its job without serving as an evaluation or plan. In itself it deepens our
state of being. We become more thoughtful people through reflection, and that transformation
is part of aging.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thomas
Moore (Ageless Soul, p.91; St. Martin’s Essentials, 2017)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One
part of growing older, at least for some, is this business of reflection, or
thinking back on things. It’s different from ruminating in that it is less about
worrying and more about thinking deeply—beneath the obvious, beneath the
surface. When the bulk of one’s life is in the past, and since we simply have
more time to think, we develop the habit of remembering thoughtfully. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When I was younger, I
spent many sleepless nights ruminating, replaying conversations, evaluating my
performance—did I say the right things, was I harsh, did I sound stupid, how<i>
should</i> I have said it, etc. I kept my emotions churned up with worry and embarrassment.
I still do that occasionally, but mostly, I let the lessons of time and
distance inform me. Now that I have more life experience, many of the things
that seemed important in the past, look different in the present. Now, I can
think about them without being overwhelmed by emotion. It’s one of the many
boons of aging.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thomas Moore writes<i>, “Reflection
fosters being rather than doing, and aging has to do with who you are more than
what you do.”</i> We have the option of filling the precious minutes and hours
of our human lifetime with doing if we choose, and we can live without reflection,
but life will seem less potent and meaningful if we do. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Today, many people are
not interested in living a thoughtful life, or so it seems. It’s easy to get so
caught up in the busy, busy, business of doing that we simply don’t have time
to think about much of anything. We may come to a place of profound fatigue
when we simply can’t keep going. In that case, we may stop long enough to evaluate
what we’re doing and why, but rarely do we give serious consideration to
stopping, or even slowing down. It’s the American way to keep pushing, keep going,
until the body that conveys our soul is worn out. Then, we may be forced to
reflect. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thoughtful reflection allows
us, like Thoreau at Walden Pond, <i>“to live deep and suck out all the marrow
of life…”</i> When we reflect on our life thus far, we may realize the things
that seemed terrible were not so bad, and the things that seemed good were even
better. We may glean some light from what seemed only darkness. Reflection
gives us opportunity to understand that the people who raised us were just human
beings, not masters of the universe who should have had more expertise than
they did. They can be forgiven for their mistakes just as we can forgive
ourselves for ours. The point of view that deep reflection brings is softer, less
anxious, less judgmental, and more compassionate. And, truly, this world needs
compassion more than anything.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-82028810892250798232023-01-01T06:12:00.002-08:002023-01-01T06:15:14.869-08:00New Year's Day<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">January
1, 2023<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“The
year’s end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the
wisdom that experience can instill in us.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Hal
Borland<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">So…we start the cycle over,
the year, the month. This is the day after the celebrations, fireworks, and
auld lang syne. So far, I’ve steadfastly refused to say, “Happy New Year!”
because it sounds so cliché, and because I have difficulty summoning up an
authentic belief in it. So, today I’m going to try to maintain an attitude of, “Hopeful
New Year” instead. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I think
it’s truthful to say that everyone wants 2023 to be a better year than we've had for a while. Here’s a
quote that speaks to that possibility. It’s by J.P. Morgan<i>: “The first step
towards getting somewhere [new] is to decide you’re not going to stay where you
are.”</i> Clearly, we all subscribe to that. We know in our heart of hearts <i>that
“a house divided against itself cannot stand.” (Matt. 12:25)</i> Now we must
feel as well as know. We must let that reality sink deeply into our psyche and come
to rest in our hearts.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Gilbert
K. Chesterton said it best: <i>“The object of a New Year is not that we should have a
new year. It is that we should have a new soul…”</i> Today is a day like any
other in a month like any other. The only grand possibility is that we
ourselves have changed. When our hearts open and we welcome in our brothers and
sisters, no matter who they are or where they came from or what they look like, we will have the
change of heart that supports a Happy New Year. We have the wisdom. We have the
experience. What we need now is the will power to start over.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-70469311863087767902022-12-31T05:40:00.000-08:002022-12-31T05:40:08.629-08:00Take off your shoes.<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Down
to Earth<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Earth’s
crammed with heaven…but only he who sees takes off his shoes.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Elizabeth
Barrett Browning<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When we
find someone who’s easy to be with, practical, and reasonable, we say they are “down
to earth.” It means that they aren’t pretentious, they aren’t showy or
demanding. Most of us like down to earth people. They aren’t trying to prove
something or pretend to be something they aren’t. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another
phrase we use to describe people is “salt of the earth.” It’s Biblical and
means, they’re good people, the kind who would give you the shirt off their
backs if you needed it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
might also describe someone as “earthy,” meaning they have their feet on the
ground, they aren’t given to flights of fancy, nor do they have an overactive
imagination. Earthy people are “real” to us, authentic and reliable. They live
in the “real world.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>All
these good earthy ways of being in the world involve the body—being present in
your body and not just walking around in your head, engrossed in your thoughts.
When we keep body and mind together, we are better able to navigate the world successfully.
It’s a Western tradition to live in our heads and treat our bodies as simply a vehicle
for our brain. We typically become aware of our bodies when they give our brain
a problem. They hurt, or they feel sick. In other words, when they demand
attention that disturbs our train of thought. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m
speaking for myself, of course. I tend to dwell on the aches and pains that my body
puts out, only because they keep me from doing the things I want to do with my
brain. I wonder if you’re that way too. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Today
is New Year’s Eve. We are on the cusp of yet another year under the shadow of
pandemic—year number 3. It’s time to pay attention to our bodies. I hear people
say, “Well, it’s not all that bad to have Covid—it’s like a cold.” As if that
is a reason to ignore the vaccinations and boosters. I guess they don’t mind
being sick and prefer that to getting a shot. But here’s the truth: while covid
is circulating, there will continue to be new variants because that’s how
viruses operate. And some of those variants may be deadly. So, unless we really
like to be sick, perhaps we should consider the greater good and get a booster
shot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Be earthy.
Pay as much attention to the health of your body as you do to your wardrobe,
your cell phone, and your social media accounts. All of us need to get down-to-earth
about Covid and do our best to eradicate it in the coming year—beginning tomorrow. Let's take off our shoes and enjoy the heaven of being alive together.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-34495308465398628562022-12-30T05:38:00.000-08:002022-12-30T05:38:16.268-08:00Looking Ahead<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Next
Year<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Stripped
of causes and plans<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">and
things to strive for,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I
have discovered everything<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I
would need or ask for<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">is
right here—<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">in
flawed abundance.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Mark
Nepo (from “The Way Under the Way”)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Entering
a new year is always filled with determined plans. January almost qualifies as
a season in the calendar—January: Clean out the closets, haul stuff to Goodwill,
remove everything out-of-date from the pantry, and please, while you’re in
there repaint the shelves that are still orange from the last owners terrible
color palette. I’ll bet you recognize that season. In the cold, grey of
January, when going outside is hardly an option, we take on projects we’ve been
putting off since—well, since last January. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This time
I’m approaching the coming year with an open mind, no expectations, no
resolutions. Just a mix of trepidation and anticipation. It’s almost as taboo
as mentioning the name of Voldemort to bring up 20…you know, the next year after
this one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
pandemic has taught us lessons that we didn’t really want to learn, and one of
them is: Don’t make plans. We are not in control of our lives (we never were,
to be honest) and we cannot twist fate in our direction. All we seem able to do
is take care of ourselves, mask up when the counts are rising, carry on as though
things were normal, and keep plenty of Tylenol, cough syrup, and decongestants in
the medicine cabinet. Drink vitamin C like it’s your lifeline to the future, get
a bit of exercise every day (outdoors if possible), and don’t pack yourself into
small spaces with a crowd of people you don’t know. It’s a low bar.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oh, and
don’t lose hope—it’s what has gotten us this far, and it will carry us on. I
have learned that the inside of my house is pretty darn great and inviting friends
in small numbers to my dinner table suffices as a social life. I won’t tempt
fate—not yet. But neither will I lose faith. In the big scheme of things, this
is a blip, and we happen to be the ones alive to chronicle it. It’s not the
plague, it’s not Ebola, it’s not polio—it’s just a pain in the butt with a long
recovery. When we cross the threshold into next year, we will still be who we
are—the fortunate folks who have survived the pandemic of the 2020’s—it’s one for
the history books, and we were there. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So, for
the end of this year, and for the beginning of next, put on a hopeful face and
lean in. We’re stronger than we think. And, we have everything we need in
flawed abundance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-10529649526476540702022-12-29T04:50:00.000-08:002022-12-29T04:50:16.981-08:00Wabi-Sabi<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflcvaPxlviufUGsyinZmc0Ao5UIAL6sevzTSUDZPXGRe_kElsWA6NjsScAqBqRqIjRbZtPm_yS0fx7sUG9cdJXp8BsBUoI2xb3xSiXA4G7k016SZHxqf4Vr0i7VJDMTLwmKU8eAIDTHw9U27Egu0xRVWJJjw5MTf0ey-x4v0X_YEUZpux6FjeKe_N/s2474/20221229_054954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2474" data-original-width="2252" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflcvaPxlviufUGsyinZmc0Ao5UIAL6sevzTSUDZPXGRe_kElsWA6NjsScAqBqRqIjRbZtPm_yS0fx7sUG9cdJXp8BsBUoI2xb3xSiXA4G7k016SZHxqf4Vr0i7VJDMTLwmKU8eAIDTHw9U27Egu0xRVWJJjw5MTf0ey-x4v0X_YEUZpux6FjeKe_N/s320/20221229_054954.jpg" width="291" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />Beauty
in Imperfection<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Wabi-Sabi
is the Japanese aesthetic in which imperfection, age, brokenness, and a
run-down appearance are considered beautiful.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thomas
Moore (Ageless Soul, p.2; St. Martin’s Essentials, NY, 2017)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was
introduced to this term, Wabi-Sabi, recently at my cousin’s house. It was the
title of a photography book by a friend of ours, Susan Logan and her husband,
Bill. The photographs are of things in various stages of disrepair—perhaps a little
rusty, some chipped paint, broken branches and so forth. Wabi-Sabi’s meaning is
that beauty exists all around us, even in decaying or broken things, if we have
eyes to see it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of
course, this aesthetic was obvious in the “shabby-chic” trend of a few years
ago, in which peeling paint, distressed furniture and “repurposed” anything was
the craze. Its message is that not only is there is beauty in imperfection, but
that it is the imperfection that makes the piece interesting and attractive. Sometimes
we say, “It has character!” An example of this is in the photograph above, which
consists of an empty Scotch bottle, a small bunch of dried pods, and a
mid-century Hull duck planter with a chipped beak. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Unbeknownst
to me, I have subscribed to this aesthetic for as long as I can remember! I
have a collection of broken things, or things that were broken when they came
to me, and I repaired them with lots of super glue and love. I like things that
survive despite their presumed destruction—which says more about me than it does
about the item. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
humans are Wabi-Sabi. We are oh-so imperfect, blemished, sometimes broken, but beyond
all that, beautiful. Have you ever met someone who is old, grey, wrinkled but
still radiates a vitality that is gorgeous to behold? I have. And to be honest,
all of us are beautifully imperfect to greater and lesser degrees. I know
people who are profoundly impaired in body and mind, yet still communicate
depth and intelligence and that spark of life that is simply irresistible. I’ll
bet your do, too. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When we
find beauty only in perfection, we are doomed to spend our days searching for
what rarely exists. But if we choose to be conscious of beauty in everything,
we will never be disappointed. I hope you find some Wabi-Sabi today. If you
have eyes to see it, you will! Go look in the mirror!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-31997330204223380992022-12-28T05:10:00.000-08:002022-12-28T05:10:27.713-08:00Celebrate Our Differences<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Moments
of Unity<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Let
us live for the grace beneath all we want,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Let
us see it in everything and everyone,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Till
we admit to the mystery<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">That
when I look deeply enough into you,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I
find me, and when you dare to hear my fear<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In
the recess of your heart, you recognize it<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As
your secret which you thought<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">No
one else knew…”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Mark
Nepo (from “Earth Prayer”)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What do
you live for? What is the most nurturing thing that you experience in your
life? The fact that we’re grown-up doesn't mean that we don’t need to be
nurtured. Sometimes we have to provide it for ourselves, and that’s okay, too, as
long as we recognize it’s a need and not simply a luxury to be lopped off when
we’re busy. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
humans need contact with others, even if we are introverted and shy. Most introverts
can tolerate long stretches of aloneness, but after a while, we need
conversation, connection, and affection. Typically, introverts don’t
waste time on small talk—since most of us aren’t very good at it anyway,
especially in social settings. After a few rounds of “how are you” and “doing
well, thank you,” we tend to lapse into one-word responses and then go sit in a
corner and just listen to the banter around us. I’m always surprised at how
much extroverted people can talk without saying anything of substance. Introverts
just skip that and jump straight to the meat of the matter—usually by asking a
question that stops the conversation all together. There’s a delicate balance to be
found, comparable to walking a tightrope. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
problem is that what nourishes us is good, honest conversation. The way we connect
with others of our species is to dive deeply into their thought processes and
speak honestly about ours. And sometimes, we go too far. Sometimes we make
other people, especially socially adept extroverts who are accustomed to
filling the space around them with words without revealing much about themselves.
Sometimes we breech boundaries by asking questions that are too personal or
insensitive. We are intense in a world where intensity is not welcome. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Extroverts,
on the other hand, talk a lot because they sometimes have to say it to know it.
They listen to themselves to know what they think. In explaining something,
they begin to understand their own opinions and beliefs. It seems like a
backward process to me, but that's because all my processing is done
internally. Introverts go inside to think through and sort things out—and then
they come out and explain. When we learn to appreciate these differences in
each other, we are better able to tolerate them. In fact, though we travel
different routes, we may arrive at the same destination or conclusion. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When we appreciate our differences rather than complain about them, or refuse to
accept them, we grow good, strong, supportive relationships. Realizing that we
are the same in many ways, we learn to love those differences. As Mark Nepo so
beautifully puts it:<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Oh,
let us embrace<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">the
unexpected moment of unity<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">as
the atom of God…<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Let
us have the courage<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">to
hold each other when we break<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">and
worship what unfolds.” (from “Earth Prayer”)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In
the Spirit,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Jane</span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-47768703542498672112022-12-27T04:20:00.000-08:002022-12-27T04:20:15.317-08:00Letters and Journals<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Will
They Know You?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“My
children will be privy to the full palette of my emotions and maybe understand
why I felt as I did…Perhaps they will notice variations in my handwriting or
the choice of pen and feel different energies coming through.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Candy
Leonard (Sociologist and Quantitative Research Consultant on Gender, Health,
Pop-Culture, and the Baby Boom Generation)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had a
conversation last night with my adult children about whether or not one should
burn or shred one’s personal letters and journals before one dies so that adult
children cannot read them. The conversation started because my daughter in law
said her mother requested that hers be burned and that no one read them. We
talked about my sons’ great-grandmother, the undisputed matriarch of their
father’s clan. Boxes of letters were found in her the attic after her death. The
letters revealed a part of her life that no one knew about, and contained
letters from authors and poets, her psychiatrist, her husband, and many others.
She was an interesting woman, ahead of her time, and my sons were happy to have
the opportunity to know more about her in a very personal way. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There
are two schools of thought on this topic. On the one hand, you risk hurting your
children by revealing things that will make them unhappy or embarrassed. This
is compounded by the fact that you won’t be there to answer questions they may
have. On the other hand, it may give them an opportunity to know more about
what you thought about things that simply never came up in conversation. How you
felt about your life, what doubts you had, what you struggled with, and what
had meaning for you. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When my
mother was approaching the end of her life, I was in my early sixties. I had so
many questions, but when I asked her, she would simply tell me that she didn’t
remember, because it was so long ago. I felt I never really knew her. I didn’t know
her private thoughts, personal goals, expectations. And I wanted to know her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">From my perspective, it’s
important to truly know your parents, not just the role they played in your
life, but what they were like outside that role. It’s important because it
helps you to know yourself better—why you think and feel the way you do. Our
parents shape our view of the world, they move us toward or away from people
and things for their own reasons, which we as children don’t understand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I have
a few old letters written to me by my grandmothers. Even though they reveal nothing
of great importance, when I read them, I can hear their voices and see them as I
knew them. I am reminded of the lives they led, the things that interested them
and occupied their time. The words on the page, written in their scribbly handwriting,
evoke sensory memories in me—how I loved the smell of the freshly cut grass from
Popa’s electric lawn mower; how Mama slapped her leg and laughed in amusement
at something I said. They conjure memories of dancing with my sister to Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Goodness,
Gracious, Great Balls of Fire” in Mama’s dinning room. Memories
of watching Popa mix up the food on his plate and dip his cornbread in the juices.
Even though none of that is in the letters, it all comes flooding back when I
read them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People
feel differently about this, and everyone has the right to their own opinions
and choices. As for me, even if I’m not there to answer their questions, I want
my sons to know who their mother was—what she thought, what she loved and
hated. I think it’s a good idea to let your children know your wishes for the
disposition of your personal belongings after you’re gone, and to ask them whether
they want them or not before you destroy them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To me, there’s
no greater gift than to reveal your truth to your children, who love you most.
It may even help them to understand themselves better. Certainly, it will
enlighten them as to where certain ideas and beliefs originated. It’s food for
thought, anyway. I wonder what you plan to do with your journals and personal
correspondence? Keep or destroy?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-24194856224982217882022-12-26T05:29:00.001-08:002022-12-26T05:29:25.844-08:00The Awesome Events in Everyday Life<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ordinary
Spirituality<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“…I
search for spirit in the tangled emotions, the impossible relationships, and
the endless failures that come along in most lives. This is the opposite of
spirituality as escape; it is an appreciation for the spirituality to be found
in the depths of experience, in the never-ending efforts to make sense of life,
and in the ordeals that can be seen as spiritual initiations rather than
failures to achieve a self.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thomas
Moore (The Soul’s Religion, p.xvii; Perennial, Harper Collins, 2002)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Too
often we think of spirituality as being housed in religious establishments—whether
it’s a church, temple, ashram, or meditation center. We think of spirituality as
retreat from the world—for an hour or a week. Coming together to read scripture,
sing, and pray in community is an important tool in living a spiritual life—but
it’s only one ingredient. If one’s spirituality doesn’t extend into everyday
occurrences, it becomes an intellectual exercise. It doesn’t help you to live in
harmony or deepen your connection to the sacred.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When we
review our whole life, with the understanding that there’s a pattern of
spiritual development, we begin to comprehend it’s true nature. We can examine each
event—even the painful ones—and know that spirit was moving in them all along. Over
the course of a lifetime, year after year, we are arranged and rearranged by
spirit for maximum exposure to life’s lessons. The goal is to push us forward in maturity. When we miss the lesson, when we get distracted by other things,
spirit deals us a more dramatic card. She knows all the ways to focus our
attention, believe me, and will not hesitate to use them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People come
and go, relationships come and go, jobs come and go, roles come and go, and
through it all, we either learn the lessons or repeat the same ones over and
over. If you doubt this, look for patterns in your own relationships with
friends, family, and lovers. Is there anything that seems to happen repeatedly?
If you take a closer look, you may see the underlying challenge—learning to
trust, learning to listen to your own wisdom, learning how to speak yourself clearly,
learning how to set boundaries, and how to respect other people’s boundaries. These
relational challenges are not merely distractions, they’re opportunities to
grow emotionally and spiritually. In dealing with them in healthy ways, we grow
in our sense of self, our sense of security. They <i>are</i> life, not aberrations.
We are meant to go into them, not run away from them, and not numb them out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Barbara
Brown Taylor wrote a book titled <i>An Altar in the World,</i> which describes
her own process of coming to understand that spirituality is not a Sabbath practice
only. It is practiced every day in every circumstance, or it’s simply a
superficial song and dance. Once you come to understand that everything that
happens in your life is guided by your soul, the whole world opens up, and your life
comes alive with significance. Your spirit calls to you in the
ordinary events of everyday life and when you realize it there is no end to the
awe and amazement you will experience. I guarantee it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-19561548711922380512022-12-25T05:12:00.000-08:002022-12-25T05:12:16.615-08:00Christmas, 2022<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Christ Child<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“[Jesus]
wanted us to raise up our lives a considerable notch: from unconscious,
moralistic self-interest to a highly civilized and spiritually sophisticated
life based on love and community. Unconscious living is like lettuce without oil,
plants instead of salad, cold nutrition instead of warm dining. Jesus brings
the oil of a soulful and spiritually elevated awareness to ordinary life, which
otherwise tends to be full of unnecessary prejudice and aggression.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thomas
Moore (The Soul of Christmas, p.20; Franciscan Media, 2016)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Good
Christmas morning to you. Today we celebrate the birth of Jesus—the anointed
one, the messiah. In churches and homes around the world, presents will be
opened, prayers of gratitude said, eggnog drunk, and toasts lifted to family
and friends. Jesus’ message of two thousand years ago has not changed—love God,
love one another. We want to follow his selfless way of life, but we fall
short. We love each other, and still engage in self-serving behaviors. We want
to be of service but find those who need our service difficult to be with, and sometimes
unappreciative. We lose our tempers, pitch fits, lay on the horn, curse—oh,
yeah, we’re not so much like sweet baby Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Being
human is not easy. Being Christian is dang-near impossible if you happen to be
human. Going through the motions, saying the right words, enacting the
traditional rituals and sacraments is not what Jesus taught. He commanded us to
love our enemy, treat our neighbor as ourselves. He taught that if someone needs
a coat, give him yours, and then take his burden and carry it an extra mile—even
if he's foreign, fallen, and of a different race. And, people, it’s cold
outside! Who’s going to give away their coat in this weather!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We are still mammals, possessing
all the traits that go with being territorial and aggressive towards outsiders.
The only way to be more like the baby whose birth we celebrate today is to
become conscious—to do what Thomas Moore suggests in the quote above: <i>“raise
up our lives a considerable notch.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We will not rise above our current state <i>of “moralistic self-interest”</i>
so long as we remain unconscious that we even have it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Here's the deal—we’re all
imperfect, we’re selfish, we’re inclined to take care of our own. But the
Christ child knows this about us and loves us anyway. <b>That is</b> <b>his</b> <b>example!</b> So what
if someone says dumb stuff, love them anyway. So what is someone is snarky and
cold and hateful? You don’t have to respond in kind. Forgive them. Understand
that they are hurting inside in a way that maybe they can’t even name, and just
let it go. We’re all human. And so was Jesus, so enjoy his birthday and try to
be kind to one another. Celebrate love in all its forms and appreciate the
people who love you in spite of your flaws. Merry Christmas, y’all. Make it a
good one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-5078548149583700262022-12-24T05:40:00.000-08:002022-12-24T05:40:46.123-08:00Christmas Eve, 2022<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Christmas
Birthday<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“The
two most important days in your life are the day you were born, and the day you
find out why.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Mark
Twain<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Baby Jesus
was born as innocent and unknowing as any other baby. He had no idea why he was
here or what would happen in his lifetime. He didn’t know that his teachings would
still resonate in the 21<sup>st</sup> century, that wars would be fought in his
name, that an international church would be established around the idea of him
as messiah, or that billions of people would come together every year to
celebrate his birth. He was just a baby—completely dependent on the mother who
gave him life. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We are
all born equally innocent and unknowing. We are given life, and the rest us up
to us. Now, I happen to be a believer in both Jesus and fate, so I like to
think every soul has a mission here in the earth school. The problem is that we
have to figure out what our mission is on our own. Just as Jesus did, we follow
our own instincts and the norms of our culture until we begin to ask questions.
Then we experience a rebirth. We ask, Why am I here? What do I want to do with
my life? What am I good at? What calls to me? What makes me happy? Suzy Kassem
wrote a poem about it called, <i>“Coming Forth Into the Light.”</i> The first
verse is: <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“I was born the day<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I thought:<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">What is?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">What was?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">What if?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Over
the course of a lifetime, if we’re lucky, there will be many rebirths, and many
questions and many fits and starts. Transformation will occur each time we shuck
off one identity-skin and grow another. In the words of Suzy Kassem,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 387.0pt; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“I was transformed the day<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">My ego shattered,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And all the superficial, material<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Things that mattered<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">To me before<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Suddenly ceased<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">To matter.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Unlike
butterflies who emerge from a cocoon only once, spread their wings and take
flight, we will go through many metamorphoses—change our wings, change our
names, change our doings in the world. The cycle of life plays out in us many
times. And each transformation gets us closer to the original plan for our
purpose, our mission. Eventually, if we keep looking, keep asking questions, we
discover who we were born to be.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“I really came into being<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The day I no longer cared about<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">What the world thought of me<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Only on my thoughts for<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Changing the world.” (Suzy Kassam)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That is
our purpose, no matter who we are, no matter when we were born, or where. We’re
here to change the world for the better—just like Jesus. We do that by being
the very best “Me” we can be. I hope the Christ-light is shining on you today. And
I hope your light is shining on me, and on everyone else.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-21765556868590526552022-12-23T05:25:00.000-08:002022-12-23T05:25:26.819-08:00Holy Festival of Christmas<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Traditions
and Rituals<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“The
rituals of Christmas are truly rituals, part of the holy festival…Ritual is
something you do with your body. There are some actions, objects, and sounds
involved…Especially for children and family members, nothing could be more nutritious
for their souls than to engage in rituals that delight.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thomas
Moore (The Soul of Christmas, p.74-75; Franciscan Media, 2016)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Some of
us have a long list of Christmas traditions and rituals that must be done in a
certain order. We may not think of them as rituals, but they are when done with
care. When my sons were young, the selection of the Christmas tree was a big
deal. We either went to a tree farm and cut one, or we went to the Boy Scouts
tree sale and bought one. Chosen with care, taking everyone’s wishes into
consideration, and of course, the price of the tree, we scoured the field for
the perfect one. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once
the tree was in the stand, no easy feat, lights were strung and ornaments hung,
some made by small, kindergarten hands, some bought, all collected over their
childhood years and meaningful to each of us. There were years when most of the
ornaments hung in the lowest branches because that was as high as one of boys
could reach. Putting the star or the angel on top was the final act. Then the
stories of Christmas trees past became a focus—like the time Ralphie, the white
cat, climbed into the tree and retrieved all the bird ornaments. We came home
to shredded feathers and wire feet everywhere. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then we
set out the crudely carved nativity, handed down from grandmother and
great-grandmother, and always missing at least one figure. We could never decide
out how to hang the angel over the barn, so she usually simply laid on the roof—a
fallen angel, I suppose. A fitting guardian for this household<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Today,
since I have no small children or grandchildren, my Christmas ritual consists
of plugging in white lights on the Ficus tree and cooking for days—lemon bread
and apple cake and cookies—for friends and my own small tribe. It’s a rite of
passage, I think. Even with all the memories, the traditions of Christmas are
not strong in me. I enjoy most a small dinner, a fire in the fireplace, and the
company of people I love. Good conversation is the best gift I can receive. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
you are involved with setting the scene for Christmas, be aware that you are
engaged in a sacred task. The Christmas house is liminal space; temporary,
transitory, beautiful, and rich in sensory stimulation. The scents and sights provide
pleasure and comfort. One of my favorite things growing up was the aroma of
Russian Tea—a concoction of tea and juices with whole mulling spices of cinnamon,
allspice, and clove. The whole house is enveloped in the heavenly scents that
just make your heart happy. Here’s my mother’s recipe: <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Russian
Tea<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">2
family sized Tea Bags (black tea; I use decaf)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">1
qt boiling water<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">2
c. sugar (for simple syrup)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">1
qt. pineapple juice<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Juice
of 6 lemons<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">1
qt. of orange juice<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">3
cups water<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Small
bag of spices (1 cinnamon stick, 5-6 whole cloves, 3-4 whole allspice, & I
sometimes throw in a vanilla bean)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Pour
boiling water over tea bags and let steep for 10 min, then drain. Mix sugar and
water and let boil for 5 minutes. Add lemon, orange and pineapple juices and
mix with tea. Serve hot. Serves 20 (I let it steep on the lowest setting on the
stove to allow the spices to become aromatic. You can halve the recipe or keep
in fridge for up to a week, heating only what is needed.)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Whatever
rituals you enact, do them with great love and pleasure. They are sacred
blessings of gratitude for this year, and blessings for the next.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-51290920016964066082022-12-22T11:48:00.000-08:002022-12-22T11:48:03.752-08:00Misty Watercolor Memories<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Memories
of Christmas<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Memories<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Light
the corners of my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Misty
watercolor memories<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Of
the way we were…”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Jonathan
David Buck (“The Way We Were”)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People
of a certain age will remember this song from the movie of the same name,
starring Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford. The song was first recorded by
Streisand in 1973, which was a year for dreamy movies and dreamier songs. It
came up in my waking this morning and has continued to play in my head. As
always, I wonder what that’s all about.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I think
this season—whether we celebrate Hanukkah or Christmas—is a time of year for
memories. We remember past holidays and who we were with and whether those were
happy times or not. One of my Christmas memories is being asked to marry my
boyfriend and having a tiny diamond ring placed on my hand. I was all of 19, a
sophomore in college. He was 21 and headed to the Air Force after graduation. The
year was 1966, and the Vietnam War was ramping up. That decision to marry so
young and begin a seven-year trek of moving base to base and experiencing life for
the first time outside the green quilt of Appalachia changed the trajectory of
my life. For that I am forever grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another
verse in “The Way We Were” is: <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Can
it be that it was all so simple then?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Or
has time rewritten every line?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">If
we had the chance to do it all again,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Tell
me, would we?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Could
we?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I
look back, I realize how simple life seemed when I was young. How clear and
unambiguous were the questions and decisions, taken in a moment. In our youth,
we don’t have enough life experience to know what’s ahead and that’s a good
thing—if we did, we’d probably hide and cry. When we’re young, we simply jump in
with both feet—we take on whatever comes our way without the slightest doubt
that we can do it. We don’t know that there is so much we don’t know. And that’s
how we accrue life experiences—we run, we fall, we get up and go again. In the
process, we learn the lessons we need to learn. Sometimes they hurt and sometimes
they make us happy. We become more reckless or more cautious. We become more philosophical
or just bitter. We may rejoice in our life or regret it. As for me, I have a
few regrets; but mostly gratitude. I’m grateful to have lived as long as I have,
and I look forward to whatever comes next. I read a quote recently by Mark
Twain that said<i>: “Do not complain about growing old. It is a privilege
denied to many.”</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Here’s
wishing you all a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and blessing of the winter.
Stay warm and make merry—the world needs as much joy as it can bear. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-399521524882956922022-12-21T04:29:00.000-08:002022-12-21T04:29:21.501-08:00Stretch Yourself<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Believe
in Everything<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“I
do not think that I will ever reach a stage when I will say, ‘This is what I
believe. Finished.’ What I believe is alive and open to growth.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Madeleine
L’Engle<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What we
believe seems more important today than in the past—simply because we’ve
crossed a moral threshold that forces us to decide. Albert Einstein famously
said, <i>“I think the most basic question facing humanity is, ‘Is the universe
a friendly place?’”</i> And that comes down to us because we are an inseparable
part of the universe. Do we want to create a friendly place or not?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Spiritual
beliefs are individual and often abstract, even when we subscribe to a
particular coda of religious tenets. We interpret and conceive answers in
individual ways. What, for instance, does it mean <i>to “Honor your father and
mother that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God has given
you.”</i> How do we interpret “honor” and what happens if we don’t? Do we die
young or are we driven away? Does it apply if we have violently abusive
parents? Most religions expect us to simply swallow the commandments without
questioning, but what happens when you have a curious mind? Do you shelve that?
Or is it a God-given gift that’s meant to be used?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Our
beliefs change over time, and questioning is how they grow. Just as we add information
to our pool of knowledge over the course of a lifetime, we also expand our religious
understanding. Why are we born with this capacity if we are not expected to use
it. If our spiritual beliefs are static, if they don’t grow and change, then
they are not alive. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My kids
used to ask me, “Mom, what do you believe in?” and my response was always, “I
believe in everything.” And I do. The world is a magical place, and as deeply
as I believe in anything, I believe in magic. The movement of the universe is
expanding, broadening, reaching outward. It is a model for us—as above, so
below. Expansion. Widening. Taking in all of it and allowing it to inform us of
what is true, what is worthy, and what is sacred. What’s alive in you on this cold,
first-day of winter?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-55252329227595462252022-12-20T05:21:00.000-08:002022-12-20T05:21:56.026-08:00Ring the Bells<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Hail,
Santa Claus<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“He’s
a holy figure, and yet I don’t want to take the fun away from him and make him
into a humorless saint. After all, his jovial spirit and sense of generosity are
precisely what make him holy.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thomas
Moore (The Soul of Christmas, p.118; Franciscan Media, 2016)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Let’s
talk Santa. Thomas Moore has an entire chapter in his Christmas book that’s
titled, “Santa, the Holy One.” In it he reminds us of what has been long
forgotten—that Santa Claus was a saint first. St. Nicholas. There have been books
written about the shamanic nature of Saint Claus—who else could fly through the
sky with a pack of reindeer and somehow drop gifts into every home on planet
Earth? In one night! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Everything about the Santa
story is mythical—he lives, not at the Mall, but at the North Pole, which Moore
describes as<i>, “a special liminal place, a kind of utopian nowhere.” </i>He
has a wife in that mystical place of flying reindeer, and a workshop run by
elves that churns out millions of toys in response to requests from children
all over the world. And, somehow, they all fit into the sleigh. Anyone who’s
ever had a toy chest knows how impossible that is. But Santa’s a magic shaman, so
he can bend matter to make it all fit.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thomas Moore compares
Santa’s nature to Jesus’ nature—kind, light-hearted, generous, and a great
lover of children. We don’t see much of that in the books that made it into the
New Testament, but if you read the Gnostic Gospels, you will meet a different
Jesus—one who sings and dances with his disciples and who turns water into wine
for a wedding in Cana. He laughs a lot—not Ho-ho-ho, but real joyful laughter. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The bells that Santa
wears, the sound associated with his presence, are an accoutrement of his shamanic
heritage, and his spiritual credentials. In high mass, during the processional,
the thurifer swings a censer of frankincense, and bells are rung. We have carillon
bells and gongs and chimes and every sort of bell that is rung to mark the
beginning and end of holy rituals in all religions. Thus, it is with Saint
Claus. His mission is holy, and his sound is that of bells.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So many of our Christmas
traditions have been reduced to the mundane by commercialism—none so much as Santa
Claus. We see him as a fat, jolly, old elf, a jester more than a saint. But, when
we change our understanding of him, when we take him out of the Mall, and put
him squarely into the pantheon of saints, we may appreciate Santa as the holy
figure that he is. He’s a kind and generous saint, a powerful shaman, and a
bringer of good cheer. He comes to visit us in the darkest part of the year when
we need the light of kindness and generosity most. Suffice it to say, Santa
brings the magic of Christmas alive. HO-HO-HO!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-1341024445839317512022-12-19T06:08:00.001-08:002022-12-19T06:09:49.455-08:00Hold up your hands and shout!<p><br /></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Celebrations
of Light<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Celebrate
the best in people. Find the light that shines not on us, but within us, when
we trust enough to let it out.” Dewitt Jones<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Good Hanukkah
to you. I hope your juices are perking up, your spirit on the rise. This week
will bring the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year in terms of
daylight, but the good news is, we then begin to add light to each day
beginning Dec.22nd. These dark, cold days of winter will gradually lift. Light
is good for human beings—which is what Hanukkah, and several other holidays celebrate this time of year. They are thought of as Festivals of Light. During Hanukkah,
for instance, a candle will be lit for each day, and prayers said, special
foods served, gifts exchanged. It celebrates the rededication of the Temple in
Jerusalem in 165 BCE after the Maccabees defeated the Syrians.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We have
celebrated holidays of light—Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanza, Diwali, Chinese
New Year, St. Lucia’s Day, and others—for thousands of years. In the dead of
winter, in the darkest days, people delight in having a reason for lighting the
candles, celebrating in dance and merry-making, beating drums, and singing joyful songs. Because we know that the Winter Solstice marks the day the earth begins
turning, tilting back toward the north and in due course, Spring will come again. The
hours of sunlight will increase, and the sap will rise in all creatures of planet
earth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One
thing humanity manages to do, even in times of war and pandemic, is to celebrate
light. And today, we lean like flowers toward the sun and give thanks for the
warmth. We celebrate the light without, and the light within that leads us to
one another and to the Source of our being. Today—hold out your hands and
receive the light that has shown since the beginning of time. Celebrate. Share.
Rejoice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>In
the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3275209309950431693.post-62678562749020689182022-12-18T05:04:00.000-08:002022-12-18T05:04:16.692-08:00Fall on Your Knees<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Oh,
Holy Night!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Truly
He taught us to Love one another,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">His
law is love and his gospel is peace.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Chains
shall he break, for the slave is our brother,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And
in his name all oppression shall cease.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Placide
Cappeau, Adolphe Adam, John Sullivan Dwight, “Oh Holy Night”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh Holy
Night” was released in 1847, drawn from a poem by Placide Cappeau. This part of
the 3<sup>rd</sup> verse is often not included in English translations because
at the time of its release, we were still importing slaves from Africa, and
didn’t want to be reminded how un-Christian that was. This verse was considered
“controversial” then, and apparently, it still is in America. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Oh Holy Night” has
always been one of my favorite hymns—probably because it’s in C-Major, so I can
sing it, and it captures the whole Nativity story in one song. A human baby’s
birth, heralded by angels on a starry night, long ago. It even mentions the way
the shepherds fell on their knees, and suggests we do the same. When is the
last time you fell on your knees? I can’t remember when I did. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Not that I don’t pray, I
do. I just do it on the run, like I do everything else. If you were to hang out
with me for a few days, you’d hear me speaking to “Lord God” all the time. <i>“Lord
God, why is everything so hard! Can’t you just help me out here.” </i>It’s an
old-lady prayer, I know. Things just get harder to do when you’re old. And, of
course, I’m paying the karmic debt for shaming my mother for being such a wuss
when she couldn’t open a jar or a bag of chips. Now I can’t and I blame it on
the Lord God. I hope he has a sense of humor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When I’m really serious about
a prayer, I implore Liza to ask the “dog-God” for favors—to let me sleep
through the night, to give me a break from this awful cough I’m still having
from whatever non-covid demon of a virus hacked into my lungs. I figure since
Lord God doesn’t listen to my prayers very often, Liza is a better bet to get a
message through. She manages to stay off the “naughty” list for the most part. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Next time I sing Oh Holy
Night, I’m going to insert this verse. Until we have the courage to face our
past, our present and our future will forever be shadowed by it. And besides,
that little baby born so long ago in Bethlehem may like us better if we tell
the truth—that was one of his top ten, wasn’t it? “Thou shall not bear false
witness against your neighbor.” Or against your brother—the slave. The Lord God
is not in the mood to wipe that slate clean without a whole lot of karmic debt being
paid. So, pony up, Sister.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>In the Spirit,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Jane<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Silver Spirithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06569932142503203303noreply@blogger.com0