Although all creation is sacred (God's body, so says Sallie McFague), the East Inlet Trail in the Kawuneeche Valley of Rocky Mountain National Park is especially sacred to me. I have hiked this trail since 1988, and no matter how far I get on it, I always have a powerful experience of the Sacred - of God. Always - without exception. And without exception, the experience is different/unexpected every time.
Once while praying in the First Meadow a huge bull moose appeared - he was too big to be real! I was speechless (and camera-less), and stood in reverence of Grandfather Moose. Years later his grandson taught me that I was capable of a pre-dawn vertical rock scramble in order to avoid being gored by angry teenage moose! Wildflowers and chipmunks have ministered to me, as has Old Baldy, my favorite mountain. And on my 50th birthday whilst resting on the rock shelf (offering thanks for my life and wondering how I was going to hike out with a blown knee), a hummingbird appeared and hovered in front of me - close enough to touch! As I hiked out that day, the hummingbird reappeared each time I felt I could not go on - God with wings!
My sacred experiences on this trail motivate me to hike just before dawn (before the crowds descend on the trail). Although families hiking in Rocky bring me hope, they do not necessarily add to my experience of silence, solitude and the Sacred. I would have been on the trail today pre-dawn, had it not been for a tough negotiation session with my knees. In light of my recent fall (and their memory of the 50th birthday hike), they came to the table with a list of demands: Mindful walking (slow and steady), no pain meds pre-hike (so I can't do too much), no set destination (turn back when needed), and leave after sunrise (to avoid a vertical rock scramble, or slipping in the dark). Since their demands were fair, I accepted their terms, and they agreed to the hike.
The hike was glorious! I may have set a record for the slowest trek to the First Meadow, but each careful step reassured my knees and allowed me to see more than I usually see. I sat in my thoughtful spot and offered thanks for Chapel of Garioch and her anniversary, and Boise First and kick-off Sunday. I prayed my list of intercessions, and gazed at the beauty of the meadow. Then it was time to leave - mostly downhill (my knee's version of hell). Along the way a doe and her fawn gave me encouragement. But as I reached the turnoff to Adams Falls, I had to sit down.
It was then that I heard a young child peppering his dad with questions. Soon I was face-to-face with a very precocious five-year-old dressed in a Batman tee shirt. He: "Hi lady. What are you doing?"
Me: "Resting." He: "I'm tired, too, so I'll rest with you."
He sat down next to me, shook my hand and told me his name was Lucas, that he was five-years-old and that he and his dad had just come from Adams Falls. They were waiting for his mom and auntie, who he hoped had not been eaten by mountain lions or gotten lost on the trail. I was able to reassure him on both counts, and said I'd keep an eye out for them as I hiked out. He asked me where I had been, and so I told him stories of the First Meadow. He insisted his dad take him to the lady's meadow (sorry dad), and with another handshake, we parted company. As I started the steep descent, I noticed that despite the pain, I was smiling. Lucas had touched my heart.
The end of the trail was near when I sat down one last time to comfort my knees. As I rested I heard a familiar voice shouting, "Dad, look - we found the lady!" Before I knew it, Lucas was sitting next to me on the rock, telling me about his trip to the meadow while snuggling just a bit. I felt wrapped in love and compassion! After awhile his dad smiled, and told Lucas it was time to leave. "No," he said, "I want to stay with the lady, and we can all go out together." I thanked Lucas for the offer, and told him it was ok to go - I walk very slowly, and didn't want to hold them up. He offered to walk slowly with me! Soon mom and auntie appeared (looking exhausted) and wondering if I was the lady who told Lucas about the meadow - sorry mom. Finally Lucas hugged me and said goodbye - saying he hoped to see me again, maybe in the meadow. He promised to look for me every time he came here for a walk. I wished him a happy and blessed life, thanked him, and told him I would look for him, too. As he walked away with his dad, he turned around and waved, then took his dad's hand as they disappeared from sight. I sat there still enveloped in love, and smiling at the sight of God as a five-year-old wearing a Batman tee shirt.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Flow like water...
It is time to say goodbye to Clear Creek and Golden. I took my walk early today, as it is Farmer's Market day, which makes the path very busy. Dragonflies met me as I left the hotel, and beckoned me on my journey.
I didn't come here specifically looking for lessons, but I'm learning that an open heart notices and welcomes lessons whenever they come. The past has been on my mind (since I am visiting a place that is historically important to me). As I sat at the first bench watching the water flow over the rocks, I though about how fluid time is - the past with its regrets and nostalgia (which is a powerful drug), and the future with its fears and opportunities. It is so easy to focus attention on both ends of the time spectrum, missing the only time that actually exists - now. Reflecting on the past is good when it allows insights to surface that bring healing and wiser living - as long as the reflection doesn't become an exercise in self abuse. These few days have involved no small amount of reflecting on past choices and their consequences. Understanding those choices and compassionately forgiving myself has been a very healing step.
I watched the water flow over the rocks. It comes over the first set of rocks with great force and purpose, and most of the water continues straight downstream. But not all of the water makes it free the first few times, as the position of other rocks causes some of the water to circle back to re-enter the momentum of the forward movement again...and again...and again...and again...
...I smiled as I watched this cycle repeat itself countless times. I guess I'm not the only part of creation that needs some practice before catching the momentum to make it downstream! Smiles and laughter, and compassion, replaced the negative self-talk that runs on a feedback loop in my head. Flow like water - you will get there in time. If you circle back, another opportunity will be there to move forward. Flow like water...
I remembered my quarter so I could feed my chicken friends one last time and wish them a happy chicken day. I gazed up at the "M" on Lookout Mountain and decided that this time "M" stood for magnificent - which life truly is. I looked over at the front range, back at the mesas and Castle Rock, and headed back to the hotel for one last breakfast on the terrace overlooking the creek. Flow like water...
The strength and stability of the mountains...the fluidity of the water...the dance of the dragonflies. How blest I am to be in school with such good teachers.
Time to head up to the high country, and perhaps more lessons in life in the Spirit.
With love and joy,
Kim
I didn't come here specifically looking for lessons, but I'm learning that an open heart notices and welcomes lessons whenever they come. The past has been on my mind (since I am visiting a place that is historically important to me). As I sat at the first bench watching the water flow over the rocks, I though about how fluid time is - the past with its regrets and nostalgia (which is a powerful drug), and the future with its fears and opportunities. It is so easy to focus attention on both ends of the time spectrum, missing the only time that actually exists - now. Reflecting on the past is good when it allows insights to surface that bring healing and wiser living - as long as the reflection doesn't become an exercise in self abuse. These few days have involved no small amount of reflecting on past choices and their consequences. Understanding those choices and compassionately forgiving myself has been a very healing step.
I watched the water flow over the rocks. It comes over the first set of rocks with great force and purpose, and most of the water continues straight downstream. But not all of the water makes it free the first few times, as the position of other rocks causes some of the water to circle back to re-enter the momentum of the forward movement again...and again...and again...and again...
...I smiled as I watched this cycle repeat itself countless times. I guess I'm not the only part of creation that needs some practice before catching the momentum to make it downstream! Smiles and laughter, and compassion, replaced the negative self-talk that runs on a feedback loop in my head. Flow like water - you will get there in time. If you circle back, another opportunity will be there to move forward. Flow like water...
I remembered my quarter so I could feed my chicken friends one last time and wish them a happy chicken day. I gazed up at the "M" on Lookout Mountain and decided that this time "M" stood for magnificent - which life truly is. I looked over at the front range, back at the mesas and Castle Rock, and headed back to the hotel for one last breakfast on the terrace overlooking the creek. Flow like water...
The strength and stability of the mountains...the fluidity of the water...the dance of the dragonflies. How blest I am to be in school with such good teachers.
Time to head up to the high country, and perhaps more lessons in life in the Spirit.
With love and joy,
Kim
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Meeting God on the Path
Twenty-five cents buys a handful of chicken feed and minutes of joy for the feathered residents of the Clear Creek History Park. Each chicken looks unique, and I enjoy resting my bones while watching them live in their historically accurate chicken enclosure. I'm fascinated by how different each chicken is - especially the ones that look like they are either wearing fancy feathered hats (or sat under the blow dryer too long). None of them look particularly robust - perhaps that adds to the historical accuracy.
The chickens are one of the last stops on my morning walk along Clear Creek - a walk that has varied little over the decades. After breakfast I leave the hotel, walking down Washington Avenue until I cross Clear Creek. I then slowly walked down the path, being greeted by dog walkers, power walkers, Moms jogging while pushing strollers, college students walking to class, and bicyclists on their way to the bike trails. People almost always make eye contact, smile and speak (unlike where I was for study leave - Pittsburgh - where everyone looks the other way). There are just enough benches strategically placed along Clear Creek to make my morning walk pleasurable. I have favorite places to pause and elevate my knee, whilst gazing at the water and mountains. Each bench allows for a slightly different view - sometimes it is water plus Lookout Mountain, other times it is water plus North or South Table Mesa. Occasionally I get Castle Rock in the view (I avoid looking at the Coors plant). Always I see trees and water. And leaves - cottonwood leaves - littering the ground like a golden carpet. Autumn is here.
I love these benches - they give me a place to rest and reflect before starting on the next push to the next bench. When I get up to Rocky on Saturday and head out on my very favorite trail, there will be no benches waiting for me on that journey. Instead, there are rocks and logs in all the right places, which should provide enough rest to get me all the way to the First Meadow on the East Inlet Trail, and right to my precious "thoughtful spot" - my most sacred prayer space.
I also pray whilst resting on the benches along Clear Creek - I breathe with the water, mountains and falling leaves. And I'm not alone in praying along this Creek, as each morning I see an (easily) 90+ year old physically frail saint who slowly shuffles along the path - looking like she or he lives in that liminal space between this world and the next. Slowly she or he walks, rosary in hand, soaking in every moment - pausing to watch the golden squirrel, or a leaf falling from a tree - or the smile on a child's face. This person takes it all in - every second - and offers back prayer and appreciation. God walking along Clear Creek, savoring creation.
I almost didn't come away for vacation - I was scheduled to go home to Scotland during this time, but circumstances made that trip all but impossible. In the end, I decided to come to this home for a little while, and rest and re-set. Today while walking along Clear Creek, I realized that vacations are a bit like the benches along this path - they provide a place to rest and recollect, so that you can push on through the next hard stretch of the journey.
I make the most of those rest breaks along Clear Creek - soaking in the beauty, resting the knee, appreciating God's presence. May I do the same with this vacation time.
Letting Creation nourish me,
Kim
The chickens are one of the last stops on my morning walk along Clear Creek - a walk that has varied little over the decades. After breakfast I leave the hotel, walking down Washington Avenue until I cross Clear Creek. I then slowly walked down the path, being greeted by dog walkers, power walkers, Moms jogging while pushing strollers, college students walking to class, and bicyclists on their way to the bike trails. People almost always make eye contact, smile and speak (unlike where I was for study leave - Pittsburgh - where everyone looks the other way). There are just enough benches strategically placed along Clear Creek to make my morning walk pleasurable. I have favorite places to pause and elevate my knee, whilst gazing at the water and mountains. Each bench allows for a slightly different view - sometimes it is water plus Lookout Mountain, other times it is water plus North or South Table Mesa. Occasionally I get Castle Rock in the view (I avoid looking at the Coors plant). Always I see trees and water. And leaves - cottonwood leaves - littering the ground like a golden carpet. Autumn is here.
I love these benches - they give me a place to rest and reflect before starting on the next push to the next bench. When I get up to Rocky on Saturday and head out on my very favorite trail, there will be no benches waiting for me on that journey. Instead, there are rocks and logs in all the right places, which should provide enough rest to get me all the way to the First Meadow on the East Inlet Trail, and right to my precious "thoughtful spot" - my most sacred prayer space.
I also pray whilst resting on the benches along Clear Creek - I breathe with the water, mountains and falling leaves. And I'm not alone in praying along this Creek, as each morning I see an (easily) 90+ year old physically frail saint who slowly shuffles along the path - looking like she or he lives in that liminal space between this world and the next. Slowly she or he walks, rosary in hand, soaking in every moment - pausing to watch the golden squirrel, or a leaf falling from a tree - or the smile on a child's face. This person takes it all in - every second - and offers back prayer and appreciation. God walking along Clear Creek, savoring creation.
I almost didn't come away for vacation - I was scheduled to go home to Scotland during this time, but circumstances made that trip all but impossible. In the end, I decided to come to this home for a little while, and rest and re-set. Today while walking along Clear Creek, I realized that vacations are a bit like the benches along this path - they provide a place to rest and recollect, so that you can push on through the next hard stretch of the journey.
I make the most of those rest breaks along Clear Creek - soaking in the beauty, resting the knee, appreciating God's presence. May I do the same with this vacation time.
Letting Creation nourish me,
Kim
Monday, August 26, 2013
Baked, Parched and Cracked Open - With Feathers and Cross in Hand
Wandering in the desert, spiritual or otherwise, is an experience different from life on the mountain - and I am definitely a mountain person. Gone are the lush forests, creeks and wildflowers that are present below the treeline. I have a favorite mountain trail that I have hiked so many times that I can retrace almost every step in my mind - virtual hiking provides the occasional distraction from the desert landscape.
Stark - barren - inhospitable - dry - this spiritual desert was not my first choice. But here I am, and here is the desert, so this past month we've been getting acquainted. I now spend less time fighting it and trying to turn it into the mountains, and more time accepting that it is desert time - so be it! Less struggle, greater appreciation for the subtle beauty even in this terrain - and a willingness to accept it as gift.
I am learning to read the signs of God's presence in the desert - learning to recognize God's fingerprints in this previously alien landscape. I am not one to ask God for signs, having remembered the story of Gideon and the fleece from Sunday School, and my teacher's admonition that Gideon was weak for asking for a sign. She said that we must show God what strong little Christians we are by not asking for proofs of God presence and guidance (a note to all Sunday School teachers - not the best use of the Gideon story). But signs can be incredibly encouraging, especially when one is feeling baked, parched, and cracked open.
How many feathers crossed my path before I noticed that first one? I'm not sure. The first one I noticed was on the ground outside of the house front door - right where I was going to put my foot. I stopped, noticed the beauty of the feather, and went on my way. Later that day there was a feather waiting outside the church door - again, beautiful. The next day I sat outside in the sun in order to make some vitamin D, closing my eyes for a few minutes of rest. When I opened them, there was a baby quail feather resting between my feet. The gifting of feathers continued every day for two weeks - and with each feather, my awareness of God's loving presence was renewed. Such a small sign became such a large source of comfort and sense of hope!
And then Saturday God hit it out of the park! Back in '90s I affiliated with a Benedictine community in NY - the Community of the Holy Cross. I had gone there for retreats since seminary, but waited until then to feel comfortable enough to let the Rule of St. Benedict guide my life. I made a commitment to be an Associate of this Order at one of their daily worship services - it was beautiful! And as a symbol of my commitment to live as a Benedictine, the community gave me a simple ebony cross that was placed around my neck - a cross I cherished, because it was a symbol of my connection to God, the community and all Benedictines.
In 2007 while doing a blessing of the ground (prior to a home being built on it), the cross went missing. I know I was wearing it for the blessing, and vaguely remembered taking it off in my car (which I still drive today). But when I picked my things up to take them out of the car, there was no cross. I tore my car apart looking for that cross, even going back to the place where the blessing took place in the hope of finding the cross lying on the ground. But I had no luck - it was well and truly gone...
...until Saturday (almost 6 years later). It was in my car all along - all but hidden from sight. Seeing it again brought back a flood of memories and a great sense of joy and connection. Although I now live on the other side of the country, I felt an immediate and prayerful connection to that community - and all communities that have been part of my life - and proudly wore that cross for worship this Sunday past. I had a profound sense of these communities all being one - no separation - all the Body of Christ.
And so with feathers and a simple cross and all that it stands for, I continue my journey through the desert. I thank God for these reminders that I do not journey alone, but that God and faithful communities, past and present, journey with me. May my "forty days" bring me to a place of greater wholeness, strength and vision.
Walking on,
Kim
Stark - barren - inhospitable - dry - this spiritual desert was not my first choice. But here I am, and here is the desert, so this past month we've been getting acquainted. I now spend less time fighting it and trying to turn it into the mountains, and more time accepting that it is desert time - so be it! Less struggle, greater appreciation for the subtle beauty even in this terrain - and a willingness to accept it as gift.
I am learning to read the signs of God's presence in the desert - learning to recognize God's fingerprints in this previously alien landscape. I am not one to ask God for signs, having remembered the story of Gideon and the fleece from Sunday School, and my teacher's admonition that Gideon was weak for asking for a sign. She said that we must show God what strong little Christians we are by not asking for proofs of God presence and guidance (a note to all Sunday School teachers - not the best use of the Gideon story). But signs can be incredibly encouraging, especially when one is feeling baked, parched, and cracked open.
How many feathers crossed my path before I noticed that first one? I'm not sure. The first one I noticed was on the ground outside of the house front door - right where I was going to put my foot. I stopped, noticed the beauty of the feather, and went on my way. Later that day there was a feather waiting outside the church door - again, beautiful. The next day I sat outside in the sun in order to make some vitamin D, closing my eyes for a few minutes of rest. When I opened them, there was a baby quail feather resting between my feet. The gifting of feathers continued every day for two weeks - and with each feather, my awareness of God's loving presence was renewed. Such a small sign became such a large source of comfort and sense of hope!
And then Saturday God hit it out of the park! Back in '90s I affiliated with a Benedictine community in NY - the Community of the Holy Cross. I had gone there for retreats since seminary, but waited until then to feel comfortable enough to let the Rule of St. Benedict guide my life. I made a commitment to be an Associate of this Order at one of their daily worship services - it was beautiful! And as a symbol of my commitment to live as a Benedictine, the community gave me a simple ebony cross that was placed around my neck - a cross I cherished, because it was a symbol of my connection to God, the community and all Benedictines.
In 2007 while doing a blessing of the ground (prior to a home being built on it), the cross went missing. I know I was wearing it for the blessing, and vaguely remembered taking it off in my car (which I still drive today). But when I picked my things up to take them out of the car, there was no cross. I tore my car apart looking for that cross, even going back to the place where the blessing took place in the hope of finding the cross lying on the ground. But I had no luck - it was well and truly gone...
...until Saturday (almost 6 years later). It was in my car all along - all but hidden from sight. Seeing it again brought back a flood of memories and a great sense of joy and connection. Although I now live on the other side of the country, I felt an immediate and prayerful connection to that community - and all communities that have been part of my life - and proudly wore that cross for worship this Sunday past. I had a profound sense of these communities all being one - no separation - all the Body of Christ.
And so with feathers and a simple cross and all that it stands for, I continue my journey through the desert. I thank God for these reminders that I do not journey alone, but that God and faithful communities, past and present, journey with me. May my "forty days" bring me to a place of greater wholeness, strength and vision.
Walking on,
Kim
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Relief or Cure?
I have found it important to have structure during this time of being a "caterfly" - this time of being and becoming. I'm weaving more (very good medicine). I'm trying to coax my body into becoming stronger (not a great lover of exercise, but am learning to tolerate it). And I'm keeping a set time for prayer every morning and evening (this I love). In the evening I read a devotional/scripture, and sit with God - often saying nothing. Then I close with intercessions, and expressions of gratitude. In the morning I read a devotional/scripture, and sit with God - often saying nothing. I also set my intentions for the day (forcing myself to write them out so I can reflect on them in a deliberate way), offer thanks and intercessions, and offer the day to God.
Some days pass without any great or small "aha" moments. But they are rare. Usually, something attracts my attention. Sometimes it comes from the devotional; sometimes from scripture. Sometimes while sitting in silence a thought or memory will present itself in that "pay attention!" way that inspirited things often do. I have come to discover that the very act of sitting each day, no matter what, morning and night, is the most important part of this process of discipline and prayer.
Some "aha" moments pass quickly. Others stay, put down roots, and generate a whole new chapter of this transformative journey. July 24th brought one of those put down roots moments, as I read the following from my favorite devotional and felt my heart and mind click into sync:
The ancients tell the story of the distressed person who came to the Holy One for help. "Do you really want a cure?" the Holy One asked. "If I did not, would I bother to come to you?" the disciple answered. "Oh yes," the master said. "Most people do." And the disciple said, incredulously, "But what for then?" And the Holy One answered, "Well, not for a cure. That's painful. They come for relief." (Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict: A Spirituality for the 21st Century, p 203).
Relief or cure? Which do I seek?
Which do you seek?
Kim
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Spiral Staircases and Elevators
I am a thinker. I like to ponder ideas, issues and events, weigh options, and formulate responses. It is my nature to enter into an idea or issue and take its spiral staircase deeper (and deeper) into fresh or refreshed understandings and relationships. I think this is why I am drawn to the sayings of Jesus, because they invite me to go ever deeper in my awareness and understanding, and into relationship with the Rabbi.
Tibetan Buddhists know the power of short sayings to focus and train the mind, and deepen understanding. In fact, they have devoted an entire practice to this approach, called Lojong. A reasonably ancient practice, it involves systematic meditation on 59 slogans (sayings), with the goal being a greater understanding of one's perspective (thoughts, attitudes and motivations), which then can lead to freedom from the thought patterns that lead to suffering (and I'm all for freedom from suffering)!
At first glance, some of the slogans appear very basic and self explanatory - Slogan 13, for example, is "Be grateful to everyone." Nice. But I notice that when I try to put it into practice, the slogans have the same "bite" as the sayings of Jesus (everyone - really?). Slogan 21 is problematic - "Always maintain only a joyful mind" (always - only?). Slogan 34 is definitely one to live by - "Don't transfer the ox's load to the cow - Take responsibility for yourself" (I am responsible for my life and my choices, which means no blame game - especially when it feels justified). Slogan 42 is a challenge - "Whichever of the two occurs, be patient" (hmmm...I will sit with that one for some time, because I'm not entirely sure what it means). And one of my least favorites is Slogan 49 - "Always meditate on whatever provokes resentment." Ouch.
Thinking is good, and I celebrate this gift of reason and reflection! But one trap for thinkers like me is that we tend to stay in this cognitive mode and spend lots of time running up and down the spiral staircase, and thereby ignore other forms of knowing that come not from mental aerobics, but from the intuitive heart space - a very powerful kind of knowing. This knowing can feel more like an elevator than a seventy story spiral staircase descent/ascent. Both are needed (both/and, not either/or), but when one is better practiced (thinking, in my case), it tends to become the default response in the system.
Yesterday a dear colleague presented me with a slogan that helped break through the spiral madness of analysis that traps my brain in a perpetual feedback loop, and immediately vented a great deal of personal suffering - elevating both my mood and perspective. The saying she offered me contained only three words, but it simultaneously caused me to laugh, cry, and breathe deeply. Thank you, dear colleague, for what is now my Slogan 60:
"Can't logic crazy."
Indeed!
Smiling,
Kim
Tibetan Buddhists know the power of short sayings to focus and train the mind, and deepen understanding. In fact, they have devoted an entire practice to this approach, called Lojong. A reasonably ancient practice, it involves systematic meditation on 59 slogans (sayings), with the goal being a greater understanding of one's perspective (thoughts, attitudes and motivations), which then can lead to freedom from the thought patterns that lead to suffering (and I'm all for freedom from suffering)!
At first glance, some of the slogans appear very basic and self explanatory - Slogan 13, for example, is "Be grateful to everyone." Nice. But I notice that when I try to put it into practice, the slogans have the same "bite" as the sayings of Jesus (everyone - really?). Slogan 21 is problematic - "Always maintain only a joyful mind" (always - only?). Slogan 34 is definitely one to live by - "Don't transfer the ox's load to the cow - Take responsibility for yourself" (I am responsible for my life and my choices, which means no blame game - especially when it feels justified). Slogan 42 is a challenge - "Whichever of the two occurs, be patient" (hmmm...I will sit with that one for some time, because I'm not entirely sure what it means). And one of my least favorites is Slogan 49 - "Always meditate on whatever provokes resentment." Ouch.
Thinking is good, and I celebrate this gift of reason and reflection! But one trap for thinkers like me is that we tend to stay in this cognitive mode and spend lots of time running up and down the spiral staircase, and thereby ignore other forms of knowing that come not from mental aerobics, but from the intuitive heart space - a very powerful kind of knowing. This knowing can feel more like an elevator than a seventy story spiral staircase descent/ascent. Both are needed (both/and, not either/or), but when one is better practiced (thinking, in my case), it tends to become the default response in the system.
Yesterday a dear colleague presented me with a slogan that helped break through the spiral madness of analysis that traps my brain in a perpetual feedback loop, and immediately vented a great deal of personal suffering - elevating both my mood and perspective. The saying she offered me contained only three words, but it simultaneously caused me to laugh, cry, and breathe deeply. Thank you, dear colleague, for what is now my Slogan 60:
"Can't logic crazy."
Indeed!
Smiling,
Kim
Thursday, June 27, 2013
A Long Car Trip - or Life as a Caterfly
How often God hears my plaintive cry of "are we there yet? What a long trip this is!" The challenge of being a caterfly is that all the familiar comforts of caterpillarhood no longer satisfy, but the butterfly wings are not yet ready for flight. What was is gone, and what is becoming isn't here yet.
All there is is now - the caterfly's reality. There is nothing for this morphing creature to do but settle into the liquidity of change and notice what works - what helps - what brings life - and embrace it. What causes the beauty to emerge - the wings to grow and strengthen - what brings lightness of soul?
Memories of life as a caterpillar are strong - sometimes overwhelming. And although I have a growing longing for the flowers and flight, the familiarity of leaf-munching and terra firma is etched deep in my soul. Although I don't yet understand why, I know that I need the experience of the leaves and the earth in order to fly. I need my caterpillarness in order to realize my butterfly self. Both/and - not either/or. I can't be one without the other. And so in the meantime, it is life as a caterfly.
Change - even good change - is hard. I offer thanks for the wisdom that has been shared with me in a hundred different ways, all telling me to notice what brings life and let those experiences nourish me -
- and learn to love being a caterfly.
Transformation happens in its own time. Right now, I want to learn to enjoy the ride.
With wonder,
Kim
All there is is now - the caterfly's reality. There is nothing for this morphing creature to do but settle into the liquidity of change and notice what works - what helps - what brings life - and embrace it. What causes the beauty to emerge - the wings to grow and strengthen - what brings lightness of soul?
Memories of life as a caterpillar are strong - sometimes overwhelming. And although I have a growing longing for the flowers and flight, the familiarity of leaf-munching and terra firma is etched deep in my soul. Although I don't yet understand why, I know that I need the experience of the leaves and the earth in order to fly. I need my caterpillarness in order to realize my butterfly self. Both/and - not either/or. I can't be one without the other. And so in the meantime, it is life as a caterfly.
Change - even good change - is hard. I offer thanks for the wisdom that has been shared with me in a hundred different ways, all telling me to notice what brings life and let those experiences nourish me -
- and learn to love being a caterfly.
Transformation happens in its own time. Right now, I want to learn to enjoy the ride.
With wonder,
Kim
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