The experience of place can awaken the inner self and strengthen its connection with the outer world. I invite you to join me in exploring the nature of place through tools such as image and labyrinth.
I have updated the map of Labyrinths I Have Walked to include labyrinths from summer travels to Georgia, Pennsylvania, and New York, along with a couple in the Washington, DC area where I live. The labyrinth at St. Bridget’s Catholic Church in Copake Falls, NY, is particularly beautiful, surrounded by a dry-stone wall and standing stones donated by the Onandaga Nation. I walked it at dawn.
The list counts only permanent outdoor labyrinths, but I also wanted to express my appreciation for the September 11 labyrinth walk for peace and remembrance at Trinity Episcopal Church in Manassas, VA.
I'm not an Episcopalian, but I feel at home in Episcopal and Anglican churches in America and Europe, because they offer an open table -- some more explicitly than others, of course, but I never feel unwelcome at Eucharist. I also have several friends who are Episcopal or Anglican priests. Accordingly, I've followed with great interest the soul-searching that the Episcopal Church has undergone over the past few years, especially as it affected congregations close to me in northern Virginia.
Of all the articles coming out of this week's events at the Episcopal General Convention, the one by Otis Gadding III -- from St. Mark's in Washington, DC -- is to me the most profound and potentially powerful in its description of how theology can evolve through action. His specific topic is the resolution regarding the development of liturgy for blessing same-sex unions and, in states where they are legal, marriages. Redding uses that resolution to explain "inductive theology," a term that's new to me (not being even a wannabe seminarian), and how that was the method that led the early Church to accept fully its mission to the Gentiles. In a nutshell (and I do commend the entire article to you), Peter heeded God's call to move outside his safe, known space into forbidden territory and saw that action bear fruit over time. Only through those fruits was the theology developed that gave the Gentiles their place in the salvation story.
I think Gadding’s article appealed to me so strongly and rang so true, because I have seen this process in action in my own life, without knowing what name to give it. In fact, it was in an Anglican church, St. Andrew's in Moscow, that I saw for the first time an inclusive, liturgical church. People from a dozen denominations and probably a couple of dozen countries worshiped together, but each brought their own uniqueness. I can still picture the Russian woman at the back, keeping to the tradition of standing through the entire service. Samuel Witt, the greeter/usher from Sudan, taught me much about graciousness. ANZAC Day brought together in shared remembrance representatives of countries that had once been enemies. My lack of sight-reading skills were no impediment to joining in the choir for the annual Lessons and Carols service (which usually was more like 9 Lessons and 17 Carols -- a marathon). Through acts large and small, Father Simon Stephens, the chaplain during the last 2 years of my time in Moscow, reached out to the community to make St. Andrew's a welcoming place.
When I came back from Moscow, it was with a sense that this is what the Body of Christ really looks like, in all its multiplicity, and that led me to explore more fully both the nature of and the implications of radical hospitality, which has in turn led me to the Rule of St. Benedict, the writer and beloved teacher Esther de Waal, and beyond. Inductive theology has been working through my own life, taking the actions and experiences that I felt on a very deep level were spiritually true and building connections that not only explain their richness, but point toward what might be the next steps for me.
All of which is to say that perhaps a bit more inductive theology is what’s needed in many churches and religious institutions. Do what the Spirit seems to be calling you to do, and trust that the theological underpinning and other structures to sustain that Spirit-filled action will be revealed in good time.
"What's next?" Enough people have asked me this lately that I feel compelled to summarize my current status, which is -- in a nutshell -- watching and waiting after having reinvented myself as a spiritual activist. Specifically, I have completed the work for a master's degree in Engaged Humanities, concentrating on the psychology of the unconscious and the power of narratives and images to touch the depths and connect with our most fervent aspirations and enduring wounds. I have been networking with others who advocate an interdisciplinary approach -- for example, injecting aesthetics into sustainability discussions or applying the mythological motif of the hero's journey to business scenarios. I expect eventually to find a place where my affinity for technology and my communications skills can bring reconciling, compassionate energy to bear on a key issue, perhaps related to the environment. (I also hold a certificate in Woody Landscape Plants – yes, trees and shrubs.)
So what did I learn in my two years' of study? I count these as the most important points:
Throw open the windows;
Let the breezes blow through.
I may stand with my feet in two realms,
But this house on the border is home.
Even if the wind lifts me,
It cannot carry me away
As I linger on the threshold.
I am currently in Seattle to attend the annual MVP Summit at Microsoft's headquarters. "MVP" here stands for Most Valuable Professional, an award given to people around the world who help others in online discussion forums and user groups. This year's gathering brings together 1500 people, half from North America, half from other continents for a unique opportunity to learn about -- and potentially influence -- the next round of Microsoft products. Hot topics on my list are social networking and collaboration, especially collaboration among people who work for different organizations.
I'm rooming with my friend and fellow Outlook goddess, Diane Poremsky. We got things off to a good start with a visit to the Seattle Art Museum and dinner at my very favorite restaurant, The Brooklyn. I ordered my usual: country salad and a baker's dozen oysters.
(Homily delivered in a shorter version at Universalist National Memorial Church, Washington, DC)
Traditionally, Lent has been that time of the year when people search the rhythm of their lives to discover something suitable that they can do without for six weeks. But what is the real object of giving up chocolate, alcohol, soap operas, Internet games, or something else dear for Lent? Is it to care for body and mind, soul and spirit more purposefully? To make ourselves more holy?
To find the answer, just look toward the end of Lent. What looms there is the crucifixion and the resurrection— in other words, death and new life.
Recently I have had the privilege of studying with Esther de Waal
The dying of the grain of wheat and the growth of the new has to happen to us all, and the ways in which it will happen will be secret, hidden certainly, and quite different for each of us. . . . Without ... separation, which is a small death, the new life cannot spring up. . . . In times of the deepest depression part of the pain of darkness is the feeling that it is utterly pointless and useless, and even worse than useless, that it is destroying, annihilating. Only later, perhaps months later, as the inner darkness starts to lighten do I begin to see that here too the pattern of death and new life is taking shape within. . . . (pp. 73-74)
The purpose of Lenten discipline is to give this pattern of death and rebirth an opportunity to work within and to create space for God to enter. On the one hand, we knock down the idols worshipped with our attention but empty of spiritual meaning. Yet on the other hand, we open ourselves up to failure, to the small daily deaths, because any attempt at discipline — whether it consists of giving up something or adopting a new spiritual practice — eventually comes face to face with temptation. It is not God who leads us into temptation, but ourselves, as we are bold enough to imagine that we can bypass it. What we think to avoid, we inevitably find ourselves confronting.
In that impasse, the only solution is not to exercise effort to become more holy or even more mindful, but simply to be who we are. That true Self that we may begin to see in the mirror of Lenten discipline is the one that comes from God and will return to God. I look again to Esther de Waal, who explains how such self-knowledge, with its recognition of shortcomings as well as gifts, is a necessary step toward transformation:
It is a sign of maturity to rejoice in what I have and not to weep for what I have lost or never had. . . . I must live in this moment, not looking either forward or back, or to right or left, but realizing that unless I am what I am, there cannot be any growth. If I promise myself that life will be better, that I shall be a more agreeable person, that I shall be closer to God on the next stage along the way, then I am failing to live as I am called to live because I go on dreaming of that ideal which does not exist. This past has brought me to this moment and if I begin today anew I can also begin tomorrow anew and the day after that, and so I shall be truly open to change. (pp. 74-75)
Lenten discipline is like an unwanted pebble in your shoe. Eventually, you will come to a place where you can stop, pause, and remove the pebble, but until then, you may be acutely aware of every step. You change your gait, shifting the weight on your foot in a way that you would not ordinarily do, experimenting to see whether there is a sweet spot that makes it more bearable. You become absorbed in the walking, allowing the destination to take care of itself. And so I invite you to walk with God for these 40 days, in whatever way you feel called to do. Accept that deaths — large and small — are fundamental to the growth of new life. Look to those little deaths as a way to understand how God is reaching out to you and seeking your collaboration in your own renewal.
Three chapters from my latest book, Microsoft Outlook 2007 Programming, are now live online at Microsoft's MSDN site for developers:
Maybe when the world seems dull and brown or gray, it's because we're rushing through it so fast that all the colors blur together. If you want to see the bluebirds through the trees, you have to be still.
Let's just say that ikebana -- or kado, the way of the flower -- is something I'd like to pursue more deeply, beyond the paper I'm writing for my Inner Awareness class. This is an attempt to echo the traditional New Year's arrangement, which would normally consist of bamboo, pine, and budding or just barely flowering plum -- three materials that have special significance in the dead of winter. Having no plum, I found that my mahonia had started to put out buds in wonderful cascades. Even though the greens are different textures, they're all roughly the same shade, which makes the composition a bit monotonous. I can see how plum blossoms would really make a difference.
This is also not ikebana, but it is the arrangement that got me started thinking that I'd like to learn more about ikebana:
I love having a class where I can play with plants as part of the process of writing a paper.
Voices like that of the Greek poet Sappho that speak across the millennia affirm that no era has a monopoly on love or sorrow . The implication is that we can listen to those voices and hear echoes of our own. Does it work the other way as well? Can we speak to Sappho of our own trials and joys? Let me try: "A hidden egg the color of hyacinths": in spring, I've seen a child find such a thing and giggle with delight. Dear poet of Lesbos, tell Leda that children here in the future are just as beautiful as Helen -- and just as terrifying in their destinies. "The tortoise lyre": alas, we cannot spare our tortoises for song, for they are too few; we forgot to cherish them. Sappho, can you set aside some stanzas to remind us of such lowly creatures? Ah, thank you, dear, I hear that verse now: "The hearts in the pigeons grew cold / and their wings dropped to their sides": How did you know that we use gigawatts to power our technology, but have allowed our heart-fires to die down? Were you in our mean streets when you wrote: "We in the city feel its sharpness, boldness of a man." Did you feel the pain of alienation? We can read on to your prophecy that we may also "remember a fine small voice" and "remember one day those things we did in our youth, many and beautiful" when the world was new and bright. Dear Sappho, take your "saffron blouse and violet tunic from your chest" and set them in the sky that we might look up not with two arms that "could not hope / to touch the sky" by themselves but with billions, interlocked to lift us toward "beauty and light ... for me the same as desire for the sun."
Quotations are from Barnstone, W. (Trans.) (1988). Sappho and the Greek lyric poets. New York: Schocken.
I've just created a new Meetup group, the DC Metro Labyrinths & Sacred Spaces Exploration Group, to visit labyrinths and other spiritually renewing spaces, especially outdoor spaces, in the Washington, DC, area.
Our first Meetup will be indoors, though, on Tuesday, October 28, at the Washington National Cathedral, which has a monthly labyrinth evening.
In the process of helping my Pacifica Graduate Institute classmates start an email discussion list, I collected some what I've learned over the past decade as a participant in and moderator of several such lists and thought those insights would be worth sharing with a wider audience.
Each list should have a "mission statement" that explains the list's purpose and, by extension, who the potential list members are and what discussion topics are welcome. It doesn't need to be anything elaborate, and it will likely change over time. Such a statement serves two purposes: It provides is a standard against which to measure whether the list is doing well as a whole. It also gives list members a benchmark to help them decide whether a message should be posted to the whole list or sent to an individual.
Many discussion lists have rules that are enforced, sometimes arbitrarily, by a mysterious unseen entity ("the moderator"). If the list's rules and moderation policy are something beyond common sense standards like no spam, no profanity, and no off-topic posts, they should be posted somewhere so that all list members can refer to them easily.
Almost no one reads every word of every message. The chances of your message being read all the way through are inverse proportional to its length. Also, you should not assume that someone understands the context if you refer to some other message, unless you quote the text that you're referring to. Furthermore, if your message requests some response or other action, you might want to put that in the first paragraph, because fewer people will see your request if it appears farther down.
From time to time, someone will send a reply to the list that contains personal material that probably should have gone directly to the original sender. It's embarrassing, but it happens. If you're taking someone to task over their opinion on an issue, for example, think about whether you want that conflict to play out where everyone on the list can watch or whether you want to make it a private conversation. Remember that, when you reply, you can change the To address to reply to an individual, rather than to the entire list.
It can take quite a while for a discussion list to find its collective voice. It's less a matter of making rules than experimenting to see what "fits" – what kinds of messages develop into the kinds of discussions that list members enjoy enough to engage in. The one list in which I've participated for 10 years has been successful, I think, because it found the right balance of subject-matter content (questions, comments, and answers on the topic around which the list was organized) and personal content. We've supported each other through job losses, house moves, divorce, death, serious illness, children with problems, and children getting married – and at the same time, we've ranted and raged with great passion about technical topics.
Finally, Richard Tarnas, author of The Passion of the Western Mind and Cosmos and Psyche, has some very useful things to say about email that, I think, apply particularly to discussion lists. He urges anyone who is serious about their writing to make every email message count: Proofread it, and examine it for feeling tone and possible misinterpretation. That discipline, he says, will make your "important" writing (what you write besides email) come that much easier. In my opinion, such care also shows how much you honor the recipients. In the context of discussion lists, I would add one other thing – consider how your message contributes to the purpose of the list.
I’m finishing up my 5th quarter in Pacific Graduate Institute’s program leading to an M.A. in what they’re now calling “engaged humanities.” The most difficult class this quarter has been “The Psychology of Compassion and Tolerance.” My final discussion post reflects how it has expanded my understanding:
This quote from Marie-Louise von Franz (1978/1980) sums up the meaning of this course for me: “In this world created by the Self we meet all those many to whom we belong, whose hearts we touch” (p. 177). Here is the true goal of individuation: The drive toward wholeness is not a selfishly motivated desire to attain whatever heights our fate might have in store, but the longing to join at the deepest possible level with our eternal companions. I understand now so much better what Jerry Wennstrom said at our residential session, “True individuality is a one-on-one relationship with that mystery.... Marilyn [Jerry’s wife] and I were nothing, and in that nothing, we could be together.” In the ego’s surrender to the Self, we find not only our true selves but all the love in the world.Reference:
I am now halfway done with my M.A. Humanities degree at Pacifica Graduate Institute and figure it's way past time to post synopses of some of the work I've been doing. For the quarter just finished, I did research into cultural misappropriation and drew a mandala representing my process of responding to social justice issues. I also wrote these two final papers:
Joseph Campbell once observed, “Eternity is in love with the forms of time.” In the strange fairy tale “The Juniper Tree,” concrete objects are crucial to the transcendent experience that redeems a little girl from following in her mother’s overly materialistic footsteps.
Because the home is such an integral reflection of the Self and its path to individuation, transition events within a dwelling deserve as much attention as other life events, with rituals of healing, belonging, and celebration. Ritual can also honor domestic space as a collection of rooms where the soul grows, through everyday activities such as family meals. When designing a ritual for home use, begin by framing the purpose of the ritual. Then, find a suitable space and meaningful objects. Call for the participation of whatever deities, spirits, or values are most meaningful to the occasion, in recognition of the unifying story that brings the participants together. As an example, I present the house farewell conducted for my parents before they moved from their home of 51 years into a senior complex.
The secret of breath is so simple. In that natural act, what is outside comes inside, and what is inside goes outside. The transfer sustains life and creates a liminal moment in which anything can happen.
I've been using BookMooch for about a year now and have found it invaluable in making the switch from desktop software guru to mythology & psychology grad student in preparation for whatever comes next. BookMooch works very simply: You post a list of books you want to give away and search or browse other people's inventories to find books that you want to "mooch." The transactions use a point system. The only out-of-pocket cost is the postage required to mail a book to a moocher.
BookMooch founder John Buchman asks in his blog whether the site needs more rules to define acceptable reasons for rejecting a mooch. He cites three recent incidents -- an author who rejected mooches of copies of her new book because she thought the moochers were selling it and two members who rejected mooches for political reasons related to the moocher or the moocher's country. Explaining why he and the other administrators have come up with a short list of acceptable reasons for rejections, John says:
I didn’t want BookMooch to become a free-for-all, where anyone could make up any personal reasons for accepting or rejecting a mooch. That could get nasty.
That's the point where I decided that I needed to respond, and so I've posted this response on the BookMooch discussion forum (or at least I've tried to; I don't see it yet):
John, BookMooch *is* a free-for-all, whether you want it to be or not, and that's what makes it so lovable. One of its most appealing features is that it is a simple concept that requires very few rules because of its overall transparency. The offer of a book and the acceptance of a mooch take place in an environment where both sender and moocher can see each other's transaction history. A sender who engages in a lot of unexplained rejections (or rejections for purely personal reasons) is eventually going to find that they're no longer getting mooches. I believe that the values embodied in the principle of free exchange of ideas will win out over those of repression, without the need to impose any detailed code of conduct.
That said, I would like to offer two action items for you to consider. There's no reason not to try to guide people toward the type of behavior that will further the free exchange of books. Therefore, I like the suggestion that another person made to add a drop-down list of rejection reasons, just as we have a simple drop-down list of ratings for a mooch. The rejection drop-down could include:The Other choice should have a box for entering an explanation, and the explanation should be required. That would end the issue of unexplained rejections.
- I can't afford to pay to ship that book to you
- I can no longer locate that book (which should automatically remove it from inventory)
- Other
I would not put "bad behavior" on the drop-down list, because that's a subjective judgment by one person of another. It deserves more of an explanation than a drop-down list choice would allow.
The second action item would be for you to consider publishing synopses of any instances in which a BookMooch member's account was terminated. The Terms of Service already allow you to do this with or without cause. If you want to highlight what abuse looks like in an objective fashion, providing information on these (hopefully rare) cases, would be one way to do that.
For the record, feel free to read my BookMooch history. I've rejected three mooches -- two because I did a bad job of managing my inventory and couldn't find the books when it came time to send them and one because the moocher had a lot of pending books to send. In the latter instance, I invited the moocher to try again when he'd cleared his backlog. You can see by reading the history details that he later did so. That's what I mean by transparency.
While you're there, maybe you should check out my inventory and mooch some of those old Microsoft Exchange books from me.
If coffee sells as a complexly marketed specialty beverage like wine rather than an anonymous, price-driven commodity like branded supermarket coffee, and if some of the premium paid for those complexly marketed specialty coffees actually makes it back to the pockets of subsistence growers rather than staying in the hands of marketers and dealers, then specialty coffee becomes part of a self-regulating, market-oriented solution to the rural poverty that haunts many parts of the tropics.
Right now, my biggest quandary is about decaffeinated coffee. One of the ways I manage to drink coffee all day without getting the jitters is that I mix regular and decaffeinated beans. I visited a coffee plantation in Costa Rica about six years ago and was shocked to learn that the decaf coffee they sold on site was actually shipped to Germany to be decaffeinated and then shipped back to the plantation to be sold to tourists. What extra economic “inputs” go into the making of my decaf coffee? This may be more of an environmental issue of which process is the least harmful than it is a social justice issue, but it illustrates the complexity of the consumer’s dilemmas.
What’s next? Well, it’s winter, so maybe it’s a good time to think about buying fruits and vegetables appropriate to the season, rather than eating strawberries from South America. Parsnips, anyone?
I am excited about attending the Story Field Conference later this month in Colorado. One question I will have in mind is: Do we already know our shared stories?
Pull up a chair, and let's talk about it.
The epic of Gilgamesh is the oldest known. Recently made more accessible in a fresh version by Stephen Mitchell, it tells the story of an arrogant king who takes advantage of his subjects, despoils nature, and offends the gods. When his best friend dies under a god's curse, Gilgamesh seeks the secret of eternal life, hears the story of a flood that almost destroyed humankind, and finally finds, then loses a plant said to have the power of restoring youth. The story in Mitchell's version ends with Gilgamesh arriving home and describing the wonders of his great city.
The ending is disappointing. It doesn't answer the key question: Does Gilgamesh grow up and change his ways?
Did facing up to his friend's death and wandering in the wilderness in search of eternal life bring about some great alteration in Gilgamesh's behavior? The verses don't say explicitly. Some subtle clues suggest that, on his return, he at least has the potential for humility (sadly lacking in his early life) and a more neighborly attitude toward both his subjects and the gods.
Clue #1 is how Gilgamesh reaches the "island of the blessed" where dwell his ancestor Utnapishtim and his wife, who survived the great flood. (I picture them being played in the film version by Billy Crystal and Carol Kane, reprising their roles as Miracle Max and his wife in The Princess Bride.) Gilgamesh glides down a river, uses dozens of poles to push a boat across a stagnant sea, then stands up and holds a robe so that the boat can sail the last distance. In other words, first he coasts -- which is what he's been doing all his life, and then he uses his own brawn -- still in keeping with how he has always lived.
However, the other shore cannot be gained by Gilgamesh's own effort; he must allow the wind to glide the boat to its landing. In the Sumerian pantheon, the wind god is Enlil, the same god who decreed that Gilgamesh's friend, Enkidu, must die. Gilgamesh stands as a mast. A mast would come from a tree, and trees were prized in Mesopotamia as spoils of war (Roberts, 2006). (Earlier in the text, after slaying a monster, Gilgamesh celebrates his victory by chopping down all the trees in the forest that the monster was guarding.) Standing in the boat, Gilgamesh offers himself to the wind, to Enlil, as a conquered state might offer trees as tribute. When he arrives at the home of Utnapishtim, he is no longer keen to do battle, but is ready to listen to his ancient ancestor reveal the secrets of the gods. A man of action, not of words, in his early life, Gilgamesh is showing signs of change.
Clue #2 is how Gilgamesh loses the magic youth-restoring plant. He lays it down while he bathes in a pool at the end of a day's traveling, and a snake smells it and carries it away, shedding its skin to show that it has been transformed (or will be, once it eats the plant). Bathing in a pool of water is also a symbol of transformation, much older than Jesus' baptism at the hands of John the Baptist. Gilgamesh is truly frustrated and sad when he dries off and realizes that his journey to the edge of the world has been in vain. But in my imagination, I can see him watching the snake's theft and deciding to do nothing about it. After all, he was having second thoughts about this "secret of youth" idea. How long would the youth last? When it wore off, would he look his actual age? Or would he still be younger, just not exactly youthful? If he ate the herb many times, would he finally turn to dust when the last dose wore off? Once the pool has revived him, he may decide that the magic plant isn't the solution after all.
Clue #3 is that, at the gates of Uruk, Gilgamesh praises the beauty of Ishtar's temple, rather than railing at her, as he did earlier in the story after she propositioned him. He is no longer angry at the gods, but I don't think he feels subservient to them either. I can imagine him sprucing up the temples, as Book I of the epic describes, not as an offering, but just as one good neighbor would help out another.
This change toward a less insular and more constructive attitude is supported by the text in Book XII, which Mitchell does not include in his translation. The additional material includes the story of the huluppa tree, which Gilgamesh cuts down for Ishtar, to make her a bed and a throne. Yes, he's still cutting down trees, but for a purpose, not in an emotional frenzy. Maybe he and Ishtar have both found that they need someone to talk to.
Whether Gilgamesh becomes a great and wise king, I can't say, but I do see him as a changed man, more ready to listen, perhaps ready to give up bluster and arrogance for a more neighborly relationship with both the gods and his own people. As Book I relates, he finally shows some concern "for the welfare of the people and the sacred land." He has at least the potential to grow further.
References:
Mitchell, S. (2004). Gilgamesh: A new English version. New York: Free Press.
Roberts, J. (2006, July). "Centering the world": Trees as tribute in the ancient Near East. Transoxiana: Journal Libre de Estudios Orientales, 11. http://www.transoxiana.org/11/roberts-near_east_trees.html
