Operators are Standing By

I pray every day, and though my prayers don't conform to any recognizable religious format, they are nevertheless sincere. Once upon a time I avoided the word "prayer" like the plague. Indeed, based on what came up when I googled that word, prayer is a heavy, awful thing that made me feel oppressed and frightened. Yikes! Reading some of that stuff made me feel like I couldn't breathe. My goodness! No wonder people shrink away from any mention of the process.

As far as I'm concerned, prayer is not particularly religious. Instead, for me at least, prayer is a dialogue between me and Mystery. Here I am, creature of earth, of definite shape, corporeal, manifest, following the arrow of time through my life, and yet, through prayer, I can relate to the unformed potential of the brilliant light of the unknown. Cool, eh?

I like praying. It's a part of my relationship with God, God being (to me) not the sociopath of the Torah, nor is God well represented by the deities of any of the great dramatic pantheons of myth, but rather is best described as the mystery of the way in which, as Aristotle said, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. You know what I'm talking about? When I listen to a string quartet playing Mozart, for instance, that sound can become way more than notes on a page, stringed instruments and human beings. It's not always more than that, or at least sometimes I can't sense the divine in music, but sometimes, listening to music or gazing at art, or a sunset or feeling my love for someone, or cooking or experiencing the drama of weather (or any other thing) becomes way more than meteorology, pigment, music, or kinship. To me, that Way More Thing is God. And yeah it is a mystery, utterly unknowable, unshaped, not manifested, completely transcendent yet utterly immanent, too. It is miraculous to me that I can be in relationship to the Way More Thing.

A lot of the sites that came up when I googled "prayer" have sections devoted to making prayer "more effective." So that's an interesting concept, eh? I wonder what they mean by that. Any ideas?

I'm thinking about this today because someone I know has asked me to share thoughts about prayer. Also, a long time ago a blog brother asked me if I could think of another word for prayer. I tried, but I can't think of a better word. These days I love the word 'prayer' - it's soft and graceful, like a light breeze, like a whisper.

I find the topic endlessly fascinating and could continue writing at length, but I will spare you. After all it's Monday morning following (in the U.S.) a long holiday weekend.

Happy Monday to all. Onwards and upwards to December.

The graceful art of letting go

I love living in a landscape that experiences four very distinct and dramatic seasons. Though I loved living in San Francisco, and the natives there swear they can easily see the differences in the seasons, the turning of the year was never obvious to me. In San Francisco you might be cold enough in August to wear a winter coat, or build a roaring fire. In January on a nice day you might decide go to the beach. I found that disparity of weather with season so disorienting. I know, I know - I should have been content with the temperate climate, should have taken my seasonal cues from the decrease and increase of daylight, the position of the sun in the sky, etc. I tried, but was unsuccessful at becoming a real Californian, mostly because I was so confounded by the weather.

I'll be the first to admit I do not enjoy the hottest days of summer or the most bitter cold of winter (there are only a few of those here in the midatlantic). That said, most of the year I love the seasons and weather, especially during our lengthy fall and spring.

Watching the leaves turn color and drop to the ground reminds me that nothing lasts forever, that life is all about transformations, comings and goings. I've been keeping an eye on the beautiful ginko tree by Maury School as it changed from green to gold to empty during November. The drama of that big change reminds me that a life well lived includes the art of letting go. Clinging - to anything - goes against the natural order of things in this amazing, beautiful, frightening, spectacular world. And yet we humans continue to try to cling, no matter what. At least, I have that tendency. What is up with that?

Thinking these thoughts is what inspired me to take the above pic of Tonka, the vigorous household dog, seated as he was on a bed of fallen ginko leaves from the tree in the slide show below. Tonka is not my dog but he's lovely, photogenic, and doesn't mind having his image digitally recorded. Jake is gone, but the truth is, I like photographing dogs. Onwards and upwards, indeed.

Mystic Fire

Within, without the cosmos wide am I;
In joyful sweep I loose forth and draw back all.
A birthless deathless Spirit that moves and is still
Ever abides within to hear my call.

I who create on earth my joys and doles
To fulfil my matchless quest in all my play,
I veil my face of truth with golden hues
And see the serpent night and python day.

A Consciousness Bliss I feel in each breath;
I am the self amorous child of the Sun.
At will I break and build my symbol sheath
And freely enjoy the world's unshadowed fun.

- Sri Chinmoy

By the Book

In the morning we drank coffee and read the papers while watching the Macy's parade on TV. Around 10:00 we rolled up our sleeves, washed our hands carefully, and started cooking. As opposed to the usual sturm und drang somehow we remained cheerful and mellow, even at the peak of kitchen activity. I remained mindful of my need to control everything when cooking, and Manuel kept his cool even when I forgot and nitpicked.

The family arrived mid-afternoon, boisterous and cheerful. There were no squabbles among the kids, no family drama amongst the adults. The food was delicious and after dinner, those who didn't cook cleaned up. Later on, some neighbors stopped by for a glass of wine and a second dessert. And then I watched Notting Hill, the Hugh Grant film du jour.

So really it could not have been more perfect, a Thanksgiving just like that Norman Rockwell painting.

The source of all celebration comes from within, from a welcoming frame of mind that miraculously every one of us shared yesterday. The perfection of the festivities helped me see it's not about the food, not even so much about who you spend the holiday with, but rather has everything to do with the way in which each individual encounters the energy of the day, how each person synchs that energy with his or her personal expectations. I believe I would have been just as content to eat brown rice and veggies while watching movies on my own. My holiday frame of mind has shifted from hostile to welcoming; I have experienced a true change of heart. The way I celebrate, even the company with whom I share my celebration, is not the key to a happily observed holiday.

My grudge against Thanksgiving is over, I am healed. Thanks, God. Thank you so much!

Calm before Chaos

In years past, the way I celebrated Thanksgiving was quietly, at home alone. It was an anti-celebration, actually. My tradition was to make brown rice and veggies, and watch Hugh Grant movies all day long.

This year I have been liberated from my solitary T-day festivities because my roommate's family will all be here. They are a lively group, oh yeah! I could have hunkered down in my room or worked or volunteered for the day at National Geographic, but instead, surprisingly, I decided to join in and take part. I'm even doing a minimal amount of cooking (a simple and very very very buttery "stuffing" and an apple/pear crisp).

The jury is still out on whether or not I'll be able to eat turkey. It has never agreed with my digestive system, even when I was a kid. Magnifying my turkey phobia were the years I worked for Whole Foods, when I spent the last three days before Thanksgiving either in a refrigerated truck, slinging turkeys to runners who delivered them to the people who had ordered them, or dealing face-to-face with exhausted, cranky and occasionally abusive customers. Last minute grocery shopping does not bring out the best in people, believe me. In fact, during my years at Whole Foods, I learned how to say Kill them all in seven languages so that I could, at any moment, turn to the person working next to me and say "Kill. Them. All." in their native language. Delivering these words never failed to improve the mood, not of the customers but certainly for those of us working.

The sharp, distinct memory of all those raw turkeys has faded over time, thank God. This year what I'm afraid I'll be thinking about, when the turkey comes out of the oven, is that video of Sarah Palin with the guy behind her beheading the turkey in the "processing" machine, its legs wiggling as it is murdered. Yikes. If that comes into my mind I might steer around the turkey, have a second serving of green bean casserole instead. Wouldn't you?

Don't know how much time I'll have tomorrow, so in case I don't get around to the blog world, may I wish all those who celebrate it a great Thanksgiving? And to all the rest of you, have a wonderful Thursday!

Go to the Light

Big ole pot is part of the garden at Dumbarton Oaks. Tut calls it a "grudge pot." Love that!

When I all of a sudden left the community and practice of witchcraft, at first I was in shock. Similar to the experience of many people who leave cult-like groups, my departure was like a cold drink tossed in the face. It was like waking up. After many years I could suddenly see clearly what I'd been involved with. I was ashamed and frankly horrified to think about my behavior, stunned to realize what I had been practicing. Yikes!

My colleagues and teachers called me "Little Missy" when I first became involved with Reclaiming because I was so mild mannered, and wore such lovely rose-colored glasses. In fact one of my initiators challenged me to read the (great) book, Getting in Touch with Your Inner Bitch with cartoons by Nicole Hollander. The book is hilarious, especially if not taken literally.

I took on that challenge with a passion. My inner bitch became empowered and then ran rampant over the Little Missy part of me. Actually my inner bitch ran rampant over every part of me. I was not nice.

After I got out, gradually I came to realize how badly I had behaved. It was then that I started apologizing to pretty much everyone I could think of. I made phone calls, wrote cards, sent emails. Lots of calls, cards and emails, LOTS. The process was healing as well as grounding. Just the fact that I could sincerely and honestly say I was sorry helped bring me back to myself.

Some of the recipients forgave me, others never responded, which was fine. Apologies that arise from sincere regret are liberating, no matter how they are received. Apologies that arise from a sense of guilt or from a sense of "should" or because they are expected, tend to bind the two people involved and are not healing, at least that's my experience.

I'm thinking about this today because I'm about to write another card of apology to someone whose feelings I hurt very deeply. I would have done it sooner, but I didn't have her address. I'm looking forward to sitting down with pen and card. I've had a lot of practice apologizing so maybe that's why I enjoy the process so much.

Good deeds strengthen the soul. I can still be bitchy (like when I snapped at one of THEM a few weeks ago) but mostly these days I aim for kindness, sometimes hitting and sometimes missing. It's a much nicer way to live, it really is. Have a wonderful Tuesday!

From my house to your house

I've been listening to the man in the moon the last few nights, listening very carefully, trying my best to translate what he wants to convey. I've paid so much attention to full moons, but never thought to open my psychic center to the crescent moon - until now, anyway.

One suggestion that came through loud and clear is that it's about time to do a blogger gift sweepstakes. I have been the recipient of several blogger give-a-ways. It is SO MUCH FUN to get a package in the mail with a surprise inside from an esteemed blogfellow.

So, if you would like to be included in the Man in the Moon sweepstakes, let me know. I'll put all the names in a hat on Thanksgiving and pick one at random. What am I giving away? Not sure yet. Maybe one of my pics, lovingly hand-matted of course. Maybe a book from my library, maybe something else. Are you in? Let me know.

The man in the moon is so different than Luna, the character I associate with the full moon. Last night he seemed to be whispering something specifically to Venus, who was radiant and beautiful, close by in the evening sky. It was almost as if they were cracking jokes back and forth. I don't think of Luna as playful, but the man in moon seems to be. Wow. Sadly I was unable to capture a pic of this lively conversation. I tried, but was unable to get anything except blurry streaks. Oh well. Happy Monday, y'all!!