Sunday, 22 November 2015

Let me keep my distance...

     Let me keep my distance, always, from those
     who think they have the answers.
     Let me keep company always with those who say
    "Look!" and laugh in astonishment,
     and bow their heads.”

― Mary Oliver, Evidence: Poems, Richard Long art

Tuesday, 17 November 2015

If Only

If only I could battle through the crowd of condemning voices and touch the hem of His robe...His love changes everything.

Saturday, 3 October 2015

I'm too alone in the world, yet not alone enough...

            I'm too alone in the world, yet not alone enough
            to make each hour holy.
            I'm too small in the world, yet not small enough
            to be simply in your presence, like a thing--
            just as it is.
            I want to know my own will
            and to move with it.
            And I want, in the hushed moments
            when the nameless draws near,
            to be among the wise ones--
            or alone.
            I want to mirror your immensity.
            I want never to be too weak or too old
            to bear the heavy, lurching image of you.
            I want to unfold.
            Let no place in me hold itself closed,
            for where I am closed, I am false.
            I want to stay clear in your sight.
            I would describe myself
            like a landscape I've studied
            at length, in detail;
            like a word I'm coming to understand;
            like a pitcher I pour from at mealtime;
            like my mother's face;
            like a ship that carried me
            when the waters raged. 
          -Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)

Sunday, 27 September 2015

Labor, Birth and Why it Should Never Stop

#1 After being forced to lie on my left side all day every day, I had had enough. I got out of bed one cold January morning and drove my very pregnant self to the public library. Somewhere between the Iliad and the Odyssey, my water broke. So I drove my very pregnant self to the hospital. A solid 8 hours later, Jackson was born.

#2. I ignored the contractions I was having because it was 7 weeks too early. It's false labor, I thought, surely. However, after 6 hours, when the contractions became more intense and regular, I thought perhaps a visit to the hospital is in order.

One stop in the ER and the Dr. on duty flipped the heck out and yelled at me for not calling my OB earlier. It’s not nice to yell at a pregnant woman; not nice at all. Panic escalated when the Er doc discovered that my baby was footling breach. Not only was he trying to make an appearance too soon, he was going about it the wrong way. And it hurt like a mother.

The operating room was quickly prepared and I was wheeled in immediately. The first incisions were made quickly. It was only at this moment that I discovered that I was allergic to the medication in the epidural. So I started vomiting on the operating table. Have you ever thrown up while lying down, strapped to a table? It’s not nice. For the next 24 hours I convulsed and threw up until there was nothing left to throw up.

After being in labor, having an emergency C-section, throwing up for 24 hours straight, rupturing the internal stitches because of said convulsing, I finally got to see Dylan.

They trapped him in a plastic, clear box that was mostly an interstate of wires and tubes. Somewhere in there was my little boy, bruised black and blue from the traumatic birth, barely breathing. Then they whisked him away by screaming ambulance to the Children’s Hospital Neonatal intensive care unit, 30 miles away from me.

So there I was. No baby and in the most pain I’ve ever been in my entire life. I couldn’t take strong pain killers because I knew my premature baby would need breast milk to get stronger and I didn’t want to transfer a morphine addiction on to him. Five days later I was released from the hospital, still unable to move and having to be transported via wheelchair. But I was finally able to see my baby.

Dylan spent 17 days in intensive care.

#3 From start to finish, less than one hour. I was sitting on the couch getting ready to watch the 10 p.m. episode of Law and Order. That’s when Evangeline decided to make an entrance. Not one to attract attention and drama, she refused to wait for the doctor to arrive, the nurses to be wearing gloves or the birthing table to be ready. She flew out like she commanded the world.

The nurse caught her with one glove half on, dangling from her hand. The Dr. never made it. Just for fun, we turned on the TV in the room only to catch the closing credits of Law and Order. I sat on the bed, my lipstick still perfect, barely sweating and holding the most beautiful girl in the world.

Two boys and girl was plenty; ideal really. So I scheduled a tubal ligation for the next day to prevent further pregnancy. That night, I had the most vivid dream that I should not go through with this planned procedure. So without a good explanation I called my Dr. and canceled the surgery. So…

#4 and #5 Twins. Surprise! I made one thing clear to my OB: No C-section ever, not after Dylan. I wanted to have twins naturally after a C-section. She agreed, under the stipulation that at the slightest indication of distress, I had to go to the OR immediately for a C-section. I agreed. Of course, I didn’t realize that this was a medical anomaly. So there were all manner of doctors in the delivery room. It was standing room only with residents and curious doctor-types scribbling furiously in their notebooks. I stopped counting at 17 people I had never laid eyes on before. Awkward.

Labor induced. Epidural painfully injected. No pain felt despite the wicked contraction levels. We played cards. They wheeled me to the delivery room. I pushed. A baby came out. That whole Jacob and Esau story where Jacob clutches Esau’s heal on the way out…that threw me a bit because I thought twins would come out together, like a package deal. Nope.

Wait. The contractions start again. Eleven minutes of pushing and Ethan makes his appearance. It was by far the most painless birthing experience I’ve ever had. Of course, they made up for that in the years to come. Have you nursed twins simultaneously? It’s acrobatic.

We love to share our birth stories. We love to recall that moment that we, as moms, were changed for the better. But it doesn’t have to stop there and it’s not limited to mothers.

It is imperative that we keep giving birth because in the birthing process is the summons to become and create someone new. It’s the pain and travail of releasing something on the earth that has yet to be seen that is the product of the creative union of our spirit and soul with the Divine.

Just because we may not be birthing children, it doesn’t mean we stop giving life.
To give birth isn't limited to the physical. It’s birthing a song, a poem, a painting, a concept, a philosophy, an idea. These small births give life to someone else, who drink it in as soul nourishment and inspiration.

We are created to give life. That’s what women do. We, created in the image of God who created, are made to create on unseen, universal levels. Our role is not limited to the birth of human beings, but to continue to open realms of creativity and thought, of exquisite beauty and curiosity, of compassion and strength, of symmetry and connected-ness.

Life makes us tired and we forget that we are strong enough. In the face of aggressive intimidation we cower and stop producing. We shut down the flow of life and light and only exist and maintain. Out of fear, we no longer express our gifts and the gifts themselves become to us a burden; a hope deferred. But we need you to produce what only you can. The world needs you, your family needs you and you need you to continue giving birth to that which is alive inside.

We were created to withstand untold levels of physical pain. However, this labor is not painful, it's restful. We create and manifest beauty because He lavishes it upon is in His presence. We will only know this intrinsic reconciliation if we sit at His feet in deep contemplation and rhythm, feeling the breath and living water rushing into us, overflowing, saturating. That labor is rest.

When we sit entwined with the Divine Union, we too have the mind of Christ. That is our birth, our transformation and renewing. It is the Mystical Union of Christ in us, and all in God. The beauty and mystery of the Godhead lives in us and in Him we live and move and have our being.

The extraordinary is a birth story waiting to be told. We are ever moving, ever creating, ever birthing.

"We are celebrating the feast of the Eternal Birth which God the Father has borne and never ceases to bear in all eternity... But if it takes not place in me, what avails it? Everything lies in this, that it should take place in me."

Monday, 14 September 2015

The Revealing

When lilies bloom radiant in parched fields of death,
When water flows from proud granite walls,

When footsteps leave no prints on the earth,
And clouds maintain a rider,

When sons and daughters prophecy and dream;
These are the days of the mature sons, the awaited ones.

These are the days of the revealing,
of vision restored and DNA pure;
the long awaited reckoning on earth.

Mazes of Contemplation

"The sea speaks...never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of contemplation." Kate Chopin, The Awakening.

Saturday, 5 September 2015


Ascending and Descending
Transcendent Immersion, uncontested
Angelic footprints,
the Godhead DNA.

Elevated by force through the wide, open door
Sustained by the Infinite's light and sound
Electrons blinking, hiding
turning into nothing
turning toward eternity

Atoms splitting, cheering, compensating
driven by honor, consciousness, remembrance.

Simplicity and complexity on Jacob's ladder climb,
Ascend to the heavens mature walking sons
Descend to the masses you pure shining ones.

Wednesday, 2 September 2015

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Monday, 31 August 2015

I'm on a plane flying from from Seattle to Atlanta. I'm seated next to a Japanese man who sits compactly and efficiently in his seat. He's reading a book in Japanese. He pulls a snack from his hounds tooth suit coat pocket discreetly. The crinkling wrapper is the only sound he makes. He nods off every now and then but his black felt fedora never leaves his head.

My soul is weepy today, almost panicked. I have a window seat so I can stare aimlessly at the white expanse and let these new emotions climb their way to the surface. Somewhere between the guilt of having an unused gift and the fear of stepping out, there is a new me emerging. But, it is in fact not new, because I was there all along, a cocoon in the darkness.

The light breaking in is truth. It's not truth as I've observed it, translated or interpreted it. It's Truth whispered. I've blindly clutched at it but today I can sense the time is near. I begin to hyperventilate a little and take shallow breaths.

Shallow-that's been my understanding. Knowing a reflection, a shimmering hologram of truth. But I sense the invitation is here, to go beyond the shallow to the deep, dark depths of the "Immeasurable Deep". This is it, this my my gift. Happy birthday to me, happy 43.

When I was younger, I only spoke in reverberation, not original creation. I echoed my contemporaries and fellow bloggers, circling each other like a covered wagon, repeating the same battle cry.

But now, at this point in my life, I don't want followers or subscribers, notoriety or notifications. I want to join the expanse of stars in the celestial sky that silently speak to each other, confidently knowing what was once unknown. Discovery is made for my benefit, not theirs; for they, in fact, were never lost.

There are now tears in my eyes as the scales begin to fall in the gentle way of the Father. His way is not the steel, cold blade of a nutcracker against the hard shell of a golden walnut. Rather, it's the quiet unveiling, removing the blindfold to view a surprise gift awaiting. Permission has been granted and I am about to become. I don't know what this next stage of my life holds, but peace dabs my eyes and breathes life into the spaces numbed by time. I feel that familiar internal dissonance begin to untangle its grip from my double helix DNA. There is an arising happening, a re-birth, a re-awakening.A summons to become.

My Japanese friend has fallen asleep reading his book. It falls from his grip and crashes to the floor. He awakes with a start.

Saturday, 18 July 2015

DNA Rising

Twisted mass of chorded strands, rooted
Identity, calling; spoken
Fused life force
longing to be free
whispered rumblings of captivity’s freedom.
Entwined to another; forgotten
Purified blood flows deeply
Light and voice; a spiritual resin
Designed to resurrect amnesia.

Tuesday, 16 June 2015

The Kind Judgement

Tell a story, tell your story. But what is that?
In  Imago Dei is my story and I’m just beginning to hear

My ears are only leaning into the unspoken, unseen
Mine is not mine by ours and His

And yet, the surrender is the beginning
The beginning is my ending

Tears of renewal of wasted time; wasted land
One-dimensional wasteland

Ruled by natural law and Aristotle
But the circle is unbroken and the light is dawning

The circle is realized and the arising has begun.
There never was a darkness, only a veil.

There never was striving; only rest
Time redeemed is the cry
Request granted.

Leaves of grass eternal
Eden evermore.