Tag — Soulstories
Sacred Life Sunday: Light Keeping
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| Polyphonic Spree, Light and Day |
I struggle to live in the moment. So often I am casting my gaze back in regret and longing, or throwing myself forward in to future worries. I know it’s healthiest for me to live mostly in the Now. But to the Now I feel foreign born, and like an adopted child returning to the place of her birth, I must work a little harder to feel at home on what is truly my native land.
I notice this most when Summer fades to Fall, and the days begin to shorten. I start missing the Light even before she is gone. Start longing for her while she is yet by my side. And in doing so I waste the last long rays of her presence.
This then is my attempt to stay with her, to stay present as long as she is still here. To remain alert to her companionship. To “…follow the day and reach for the sun.”Later when she is gone, these images may hold her near to me a little longer yet, until she gently moves my hand from her hers, pats my shoulder, and tells me to lean into the next season until she returns.
How do you stay present to the edge of this season? What will you need to transition into the next?
favorite things: child of my heart
He comes to me in my dreams, this child of my heart, separated now seas and ages.
Sometimes the dreams are all absurdity. Last night in my somnolence he came to me with a new love. I asked after her: what captivated? what called? His serious reply: “She taught me the word “Huntington’s.” Ah, what meaning in that then? Pizza for dinner, perhaps.
Othertimes they are wrought with meaning — Jungian symbols all in a row. He is lost in the woods. And what are these clamps there on his shoulders, at his gut? What is written on this new scroll? Are we falling or flying?
When he feels far from me, this child of choice, I wear this ’round my neck. A charm passed to me from my soulsister, long ago when I was the age he is now. Touch it with one finger there at the hollow of my throat. For safety. For comfort. For joy. Hoping to only connect.
A talisman then, swinging there over my heart.
In this photo post: Favorite things, culled from a vagabond’s backpack while on furlough from Denmark in the States, and posed on a swing which has held three generations.
Would you like to Unravel? Sign up for Susannah Conway’sphotography and journaling ecourse.
Soaring Lessons
Did you know you could fly?
Yes you, with the middle-aged greys springing out of your ponytail…
You with the quarter-life crisis and the world as your oyster…
You with Junior High staring at you from the business end of a double barrel…
You can soar, if only you will bend your knees and leap into the great unknown.
True, the next day, you may fly in a metal tube for 9hours with your broken ankle in temporary cast, and ice from the airplane galley packed around your leg. But you will know in your core that for those clear sparkling moments you were Icarus triumphant. And, when you are old, you will remember those glorious seconds aloft with clarity; while the throb in your bones will be but a faint memory, calling to mind not a fall, but a flight.
“In life you will come to a great chasm. Jump.” -J.Conrad
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bravery practice
Oh my, I am trying so hard to be brave. Here I am with my guitar at the Soulsister’s house on Hartsine Island. (I do so dislike having my picture taken — and now I have to take them of myself!) And here I am in the podcast, chatting and SINGING in front of you! (Be brave!)
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What makes you feel afraid? Where are you practicing bravery? Do tell!
In this post: Reflections of a vagabond in a borrowed guitar at a rented house. Would you like to Unravel? Sign up for Susannah Conway’s photography and journaling ecourse.
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth
There are surfaces in our lives which we pass by every day. The sheen of a coffee cup, the gleam of some stainless steel appliance, the window made a mirror by darkness. We pass them by, unseen and unnoticed. Yet they capture us and throw us back into the world.
If no one sees that reflected bit of us — your nose caught in the shine of the toothbrush holder, your fingers tapping out a rhythm on the guitar, the curve of your hip in the shower knob — does it make a sight? Does it make a sound?
I’ve been struggling this year with knowing that I am enough. Not when I’m fully actualized; not when I’ve achieved Nirvana; not when I’ve been transformed…but now, right now, I am enough. Even in illness. Even in shortcomings. Even in the ever-present, ever-niggling experience of not-knowing. Enough.
In every reflective surface, every unexpected mirror, the world captures my image and throws it back at me.
She chants: “Be here now.”
She bears witness: “You ARE here now.”
She testifies: “You, just as you are, are enough.”
Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? I do. Even to my very self.
This is for Susannah Conway’s Unravelling ecourse. If this inspires you, please consider taking the course. In this post: Reflections in a tub fixture with a lavender filter, black & white, the original photo, and colour saturation.
What’s Your Dream World?: in which she rants about Very Minor Things, and also toys with escapism.
Since I didn’t have to prep my cold cut platters, I went into the sanctuary for the second half of the services and immediately started crying. I do that at lot at church. I think it has something to do with processing the deep loss of Leaving Church after so many decades of dedication. (We only go once in a while now, to give the kids a taste in case they like it and to take Communion which is all rite-and-ritual and kinda pagany–I do love it so!)
Anyway, this Sunday I realized that while I’m sure I still have a nice deep well of Leaving Church sorrow, I was also tearing up because I am so damn depleted from this expat living thing. I just want to buy a coke with ice in less than 15 minutes; buy clothes that don’t look like pregnancy-smocks with leggings; and for godsake be able to pick up paper cups on a Sunday! The closer we get to our sabbatical, the more on-edge I become. It reminds me of how we used to completely max out on being parents about 45 minutes before the babysitter arrived.
The toughest thing about living here–other than the vitamin D depletion– is a leathal cocktail of one part too-small adult-friends community + two parts ”family time” with the children. Recently the small community has shrunk even more, and the kids have had approximately one million days off from school. Yeah, it’s a deadly combination.
In past month I’ve said goodbye to:
-our BFF Family, who moved to Portland, OR.
-my favorite soulsister/artist in CPH.
-a pastoral collegue who actually “gets” me.
-the only other American family in the kid’s folkskole.
-6 of the kid’s friends. (There’s 2 left.)
I’m trying hard to see the benefits of this expansive web of friendship that now lies all over the world. But my deep communitarian roots are showing, and all this bon voyaging is wearing at me until “I feel thin and stretched, like butter spread over too much bread.” (Frodo, I believe.)
On the other hand, I am longing for solitude right now. Paul is Stateside for week doing the Microsurf thing, and I’m at home alone with the girls. Today when I got to church my enjoyable pal Joel asked me how I was. I sighed and absentmindedly said,
“My children never stop talking.”
This literally cracked him up. He’s child-free and apparently not accustomed to parents saying unflattering things about their beloved offspring. And yet, the sorry truth of it is that Eden and Cate talk non-stop: in English, in Danish, and I swear in some sort of alien language they learned from Dr. Who. And that’s when they haven’t had sugar. Post-Sunday School Cupcakes, this is what Cate did under her breathe the whole way home on the bus today:
“It’s chilly outside. Chilly Willy. That’s a good name for a penguin. Chilly Will was a Penguin. Chillywillychwillywillypenguinchillyoustside for penguinsnamedchillywillychilly…”
And she’s the quiet one.
So rather than whine and rant any further, let me just say this about that…
In my dream world I live the life of a hermit, on a deserted beach where the temperature is a constant 83 and breezy. Even tho I am all solitary and sh*t, I get to go out to lunch for big salads 3 days a week with my soulsisters…and there is a guitarist who lives outside my door with his band and they play amazing songs on demand. Oh, and there’s a bathtub with super soft bamboo towels. And superfast internet. And conjugal visits. Yeah, that sounds about right.
Where do you escape when life wears you down? What’s your dream world? Do tell…
Soultribe Practitioners Interview: Kelly Bean and Third Saturdays
“I think my most important job is to make space for people to be who they are and tell their own stories…My role is to cultivate relationship, cultivate curiosity, [and] create a sense of sacred space.” -Kelly Bean, Soultribe Cultivator
How do I love Kelly Bean? Let me count the ways! First, she’s a redhead (big points.) Second he has the totally adorable name. (more brownie points.) But most importantly, Kelly Bean is as gentle as she is wise, with more patience than anyone I know, and has a habit of waiting and listening until the solution arrives. (Unlike some redheads we know. Hi. Me.)
There’s nothing like learning from a pro, and at 20-plus years of nurturing the same Soultribe (it’s a record!) Kelly can really give us insight into how to keep something going through the ups, downs and seasons of life.
This is a long, but excellent interview and features a unique shared-leadership model called Leadership by Triad which I’ve never heard of anyone else using. Plus there’s loads of stuff in here for those of you who are in the process of a church break-up, or who are Leaving Church. And don’t miss the bit where she lays out some of the common pitfalls Soultribes trip into, and how to avoid them. I recommend you print this out and pop it in your bag. You’ll want to underline and highlight this winsome goodness, I promise.
Kelly generously gave us her time to write up this interview, so she could encourage and guide you. In the spirit of our on-going Sacred Commerce experiment, please let me know if you’d like to send Kelly a thank-you gift from your Etsy or other shop. (My email is moi at magpie-girl dot com.)
And now without further ado my Soulsister, Kelly Bean, and the Soultribe at Third Saturdays.
Background: Could you tell us what kind of Soultribe you belong to: What do you call it? How often do you meet? How long have you been together as a group?
My soultribe is called Third Saturday.We are a community of people following in the way of Jesus. Our gatherings vary in size from 15-30 -which includes 6 kids ranging in ages 1 to 13. We meet twice a month for sure and sometimes more frequently.
I began to host this group over 22 years ago. I remember my daughter (who is now 23 years old) was just beginning to crawl when we first started. I can still see her playing in the center of the circle of friends, although now she is a mother herself. Over time I have become the ‘official’ cultivator of this community (thanks Rachelle for the great title, “cultivator.”) I’d venture to say that most of the current participants have been attending for seven to ten years.
Group Content: What does your typical evening together look like? [Read more →]
Ask Magpie: Musical Influences
(The singing on this fast and dirty podcast is much louder than the speaking. Be prepared to turn down the volume! Consider your self warned.)
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I am young. Young enough to hold my father’s hand. The church is a little dim, the wood of the pews being so dark, the carpet such a deep red. Our pastor—part-grandfather, part-judge— is on the dais, his robes resplendently white, the gold of his stole glinting. He moves like an alchemist at the altar using, words, and rites, and gestures to turn ordinary things into talismans.
There is an electric organ, badly played, and an upright piano. We sing choruses before the liturgy, simple songs newly written by hippies with guitars picks. My father loves these simple songs, just a few phrase on repeat until they sink into your soul. He raises his hands to the sky, a stand out amongst the stiffness.
“Jesus, I just want to Thank You.
Jesus, I just want to Thay-ank You.
Jesus, I just want to Thank You.
Thank you for being so good.”
We unhinge our jaws. We loose our tongues. We the ordinary people of the everyday – we take on the task of angels. We sing.
Now comes the hymns, both awkward and resplendent with age. An elderly woman with a thin, high voice warbles enthusiastically behind me. We are staid people, we Lutherans, and no inclined to showmanship. But some hymns are robust:
“Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore thee,
casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
cherubim and seraphim falling down before thee,
which wert, and art, and evermore shalt be.”
My mother’s hands rest on the hymnal. Her lacquered nails are bright against the brown nougahyde cover. They are long and cool and smooth. I love to stroke them when there is no singing and the service lingers on. I do not care for the spoken words: long scripture passage read aloud, the drone of the sermon. But the songs, the psalms, the hymnody-these charm me. I am utterly in their thrall. Spellbound. The Latin is like an incantation. We make our confession in a magic tongue:
”Kyrie, Kyrie Eleison, Eleison…”
Finally, it is time to chant my favorite part of the liturgy, and we turn to the Nunc Dimittis, Simeon’s Song.
“Lord lettest now Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy Word.
For mine eyes have seen Thy Salvation, which Thou hast prepared before
the face of all people.
A Light to lighten the gentiles, and the glory of Thy people Israel.
We praise Thee. We bless Thee. We worship Thee.
We glorify Thee. We give thanks to Thee for Thy great glory.
Amen.”
Years later, when decades of rock and roll have filled my ears and the chants of my childhood have long been set aside, a tragedy comes to our door. Our first child is still born, a little boy a not much longer than my husband’s hand, which holds him on my chest. The diagnosis came before the birth. No abdominal wall. No chest wall. A spine bent and misshapen. We have had time to prepare, and my heart rushes back to those long Sundays in the dim red womb of the chapel. My tongue finds the old songs. We baptize our son in the way of my childhood, the long-established liturgy our guide in this unknown and frightening terrain. Simeon, we name him. Once more we sing the song…
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My thanks to Jamie Ridler of Starshyne Productions for submitting “How has music influenced you?” as an Ask Magpie question.
Now it’s your turn! How has music influenced you over your lifetime? Tell us in the comments, or add the link to your post.
Ask Magpie is featured (some) Wednesdays and depends on your inquiring mind. “Ask me a question, I’ll tell you no lies!” Thanks for being here.
Top 9 for 2009
Do you ever feel a little brittle? Are there times when your wisdom seems weak and your intuition is on the fritz?
We all have moments when we feel a bit too buffeted about by the storms of life, when our souls get a little bruised. In those moments it is good to have a pool of guidance and inspiration to dip into.
A few years ago one of my favorite good-souls, Bob Carlton, invited people to gather their best posts-of-the-year together and post them all up over at his blog, The Corner. Every year since, I have committed to this practice, finding the things that have fed me the most from deep within my internal sense of authority and wisdom. Gathering them up in a single place gives me one-stop shopping on those days when my soul is running on empty. It is a fixed reference point when I feel lost in the world.
So here are the posts from 2008 that will carry me through 2009. What your your top nine? Put a linke to your round up in the comments below. I’m sure we’d all love to visit.
heart,
rachelle
A Story About A Love (by Cate, age 8)
The Care and Keeping of Sacred Stories
Solstice, Stonehenge, Solitude
*8 Things I Know Now
Jen Lemen is having a play-a-long over at her place and I’d thought I’d join in. For more *8 Things click here.
1. It’s okay to nap.
2. I can quiet down my negative voices.
3. Beauty is a worthy value.
4. You can participate in your own unique and powerful life.
5. Nothing is more terrifying, and more worth it, then choosing love.
6. You will never regret the tradition of having a morning cuddle with your children.
7. I am reslient as hell.
8. If you are called into the wilderness, you can not avoid it, even if you hear wolves.
