Review: Black Swan

Film award season is upon us, and all the Oscar-worthy movies are vying for our attention.  For myself, I only spend the money on a movie if I really want to see it.  The lure of it being a potential award-winner isn't strong enough to tempt me into the theatre.  Story, subject matter, sometimes a particular actor are what drive me to buy a ticket.  The King's Speech, for example, seemed to be made just for me!  (see review on an earlier post)

That said, I'd been intrigued by the psychological thriller Black Swan, but on the fence about going because I'd heard it billed as a "horror" film, which is not at all my cup of tea.  However, a friend and co-worker, who is himself a dancer, asked me to join him and I was excited at the prospect of seeing a film about the dancing world with someone who knows it from the inside out!

My first reaction at the end of the movie was a huge exhale and a wow... okay, I may've cried a bit too.  But it was intense!  And I was startled by a lot of the action.  I would not call it a horror film at all, though there is a surprising amount of blood.  It certainly is a psychological thriller, no doubt.  The downward spiral of ballerina Nina's sanity as she prepares for the role of a lifetime still has me wondering what, if anything, was real.  Yet, the best way to describe this film, I think, is a tragedy in the nature of Euripides or even Shakespeare.

Nina (played by an absolutely stellar Natalie Portman) is a dancer in a NYC Balanchine-esque company.  She is technically perfect in her movements, but her lack of connection in the moment has thus far kept her from stepping out in one of the principal ballet roles.  Artistic director Thomas (Vincent Cassel) has a new vision for the ballet Swan Lake and needs a prima ballerina to dance both the delicate, trembling White Swan and the lustier, seductive Black Swan.  He has no doubts about Nina's ability to play the pristine embodiment of perfection, but of her darker mirror-image he frankly tells her he is not as certain.

Nina wants the role badly enough to convince Thomas that there is a spark of sensuality in her and when the cast list goes up, she gets the plum roles.  One would think that is where all the stress begins, but the screenplay cleverly gives hints of her precarious mental state from the very beginning.  Glimpses of the new girl in the company (Mila Kunis) just out of sight... a smothering mother (Barbara Hershey) living her own forestalled dance career through her daughter... an entire world played out in girlish shades of pink and white... scratches and hangnails from compulsive itching and picking... at first it seems rather normal.  We all have our own bad habits and day-to-day stresses, but little by little we are given snatches of darker impulses.

• She steals a lipstick out of the dressing room of the prima ballerina she supplanted (Winona Ryder).
• A suggestion from Thomas to get in touch (literally!) with her sexual side leads to risky sexual encounters.
• Her itching and picking become visions of ripping off her own skin and pulling out quills from her own body.
• She turns on her clingy mother in a rage.
• Every waking moment becomes a paranoia-filled dream that leads to murder.

Or does it?

We find out later in the film that the lipstick isn't the only thing she's stolen from Beth (Ryder).  That living in the insular world of dance with her mother she lives a repressed and stunted existence.  That being a perfectionist opens herself to jealousy and suspicion, which sets the stage for her descent into madness.  By the end of the film neither Nina nor the audience knows what's real and what's not.  Honestly, I'm still not convinced in my own mind that the ending is all it seems to be.  (I'm resisting the urge to tell too much of the ending - it really should be experienced without knowing too much in advance!)

The Golden Globe Awards were handed out this past weekend, and Natalie Portman was named Best Actress in a Drama, and I think the award well-deserved.  She was in every scene and brought the audience with her along for this tragic roller-coaster ride.  I couldn't wait for the movie to be over to ask my friend how convincing she was as a ballerina.  He agreed to me that she did a credible job of it.  Granted, much of her dancing was shot from the waist up, but there is still a posture that requires the bottom half to work as hard as the top half even if you don't see it.  I imagine a probable Oscar nomination, and a very possible win for her.

Milas Kunis was the enigmatic and alluring Lily, a free-spirit that plays like a bad-girl of dance.  Her natural sensuality both makes Nina paranoid and intrigued by her.

Barbara Hershey was the erstwhile dancer in the corps de ballet who gave up her career to have Nina.  She gave up her own future as a dancer to live every moment for her daughter and her dance career.  Even as old as Nina is (mid-20s, I imagine), we see Mom clipping her daughter's nails, taking out her earrings and practically tucking her in to bed each night as she winds the music box that plays the theme from Swan Lake, as if listening to it as she goes to bed each night will ensure Nina one day dances the role of the Swan Queen.

Vincent Cassel plays Thomas, the artistic director with the daring vision of the White Swan and the Black Swan as two sides of the same coin.  I've seen it written that the role is "Balanchine-lite," an imitation of what has been reported as the management style of the great choreographer who would pit dancers against each other and replace older dancers with younger ones.

Winona Ryder's role as Beth the displaced prima ballerina is small, but pivotal.  While Ms. Ryder doesn't actually dance in the film, the audience is given to believe that in Beth's heyday she was the Maria Callas of ballet, a dancer who felt each role to its utmost and danced in the moment.  Her example is what Nina is striving to achieve, but has not yet been able to understand.

One other interesting acting note is that the gentleman who plays David, the Prince in Swan Lake, ultimately fell in love with Natalie Portman, even though his character isn't interested in her in the movie.  His name, Benjamin Millepied, is apropos... a thousand feet!

This is the first film I've watched directed by Darren Aronofsky, so I have nothing with which to compare his work, but I would interested to see another of his films.

A couple of caveats: this film is rated R for strong sexual content, disturbing violent images, language and some drug use.  I remember hearing that the movie was rated R, but honestly didn't pay attention to it until I was confronted with said sexual and disturbing images (the language and drug use frankly pale in comparison).  I'm not really a prude, but I wasn't prepared for for such visceral sex scenes, and some of the bloody scenes (not necessarily violent though) made me wince and look away.  They're appropriate to the film, but depending on who you're with it might feel a bit on the awkward side.  Just go into it being prepared!

All in all, this is a really good film.  It's weird to say that I "like" it, as it's difficult to find anyone or anything to like in it; but I certainly didn't "dislike" Black Swan at all.  It's never boring and keeps the audience on the edge of their seats the entire 108 minutes of screen time.  Even at that, though, I'm not ready to see it again anytime -- but I have a feeling it will stay with me a long time!

Above picture: Natalie Portman as Nina in Black Swan, a film by Fox Searchlight Pictures, Protozoa Pictures, Phoenix Pictures, in association with Cross Creek Pictures.  Distributed by 20th Century Fox

Cultivating Kindness - Part II

So I lamented LAST year that people seem to be losing their sense of civility and kindness.  What can I do THIS year to combat this?  What can anyone do?

Obviously, I can't speak for anyone else.  So... I must work to civilize my own corner of the world.  It's a big job even in the few square miles I inhabit... not, of course, including the millions of megabytes out there in cyberspace!  It may take me awhile, so I hope to revisit this topic every once in awhile, reporting on the one (or more) ideas I have to add a little grace and kindness to life.

My first task is to write more thank-you notes.  Not emails.  Not just a phone call (though it may start here).  An honest-to-goodness, handwritten on nice stationery or card, mailed with a stamp note.  This was something I used to do on a regular basis, but like everyone else I've let it fall by the wayside letting an email (if that!) do the job.

Gosh, who doesn't love to get a letter in the mail?  Our boxes are filled up with bills and ads and all kinds of junk mail... when a special envelope with our name written on the front surprises us doesn't our heart beat a little faster?  Aren't we curious to see who sent us this personal missive?  Isn't it wonderful to read that our gift or kindness has been returned in this intimate way?

I was reminded of this, strangely enough, when reading my newsfeed on Facebook.  NPR posted a link to this story on its website: Perfect Thank You Notes: Heartfelt and Handwritten.  It was definitely a wake-up call!  So like John Kralik I'm going to strive to write one thank-you note a day.  I went out a bought a box of pretty cards and I'll stop at the post office on Monday to get stamps - all I need is my pen and my writing cap, and I'm set!

I have a lot for which to be grateful, especially after the holiday season - time to get writing!

Review: The King's Speech

Yesterday Mom & I had a girls' movie day out.  We'd both been hearing lots of buzz about the new film The King's Speech, starring Colin Firth as Britain's King George VI and Geoffrey Rush, the Australian elocutionist-actor who helped him to overcome his stammer.  The buzz is all true!

To say merely that the film is worthy is an understatement.  The acting, the photography & cinematography, the costuming, the score, the direction all come together to make what could have been a rather pedestrian "feel-good" movie into something really quite extraordinary.

This is a seemingly quiet film with filled surprisingly big moments.

Briefly, the story starts in the years just prior to WWII.  King George V (played by Michael Gambon, of Harry Potter fame) is on the throne and concerned about the succession after his death.  His eldest son Prince Edward (played with uncanny good looks by Guy Pearce) is handsome and charming and has the look of a potentially beloved sovereign, but he is weak and completely besotted with a woman unsuited to be his queen and consort.  Next in line to the throne after his brother is Prince Albert (Colin Firth), called "Bertie" by his family.  He is handsome and athletic, but shy and reserved with a stammer that is nearly incapacitating.  The king strongly encourages Prince Albert to speak in public with disastrous results.  It is the role of a royal, however, to do his duty and many avenues were sought to help him correct his "defect," with little to no success.

The prince had given up hope of ever finding a "cure," until his wife, the Duchess of York (winningly played by Helena Bonham-Carter) found the unorthodox Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush).  Naturally, Albert resists Logue's exercises and forced intimacy, but as the need for him to speak more and more looms, he finally gives in and slowly finds success.  It is still a hard road for him, however, and he relapses in critical moments.  First the king dies and his brother succeeds him.  But Edward, now King Edward VIII, is determined to wed the American divorcée Wallis Simpson and is soon forced by the government and the church to abdicate in favor of Albert, who becomes King George VI.  The abdication is not popular, and the new king struggles with a role he had hoped never to attain.  When war with Germany is ultimately declared, it is up to His Majesty to be a strong leader for the country (if in name only).  His address to the nation is his ultimate test!

It was hard not to be reminded of another tour de force royal performance.  Helen Mirren as Queen Elizabeth II was brilliant in showing emotion repressed.  Here Colin Firth must also portray a British monarch's "stiff upper lip," but this is a much more emotional story.  Perhaps with The Queen, the emotion has been repressed over a lifetime that it has become habit.  Perhaps Princess Elizabeth (adorably played by Freya Wilson) and Princess Margaret (an also cute Ramona Marquez) grew up secure in their parents' love, with Lilibet brought up knowing her place in the line of succession.  Prince Albert did not have such security.  He was often sickly, abused and teased, forced to use his right hand over his natural left-handed tendencies.  He had to learn to keep a good face in public, but he seemingly was a good father who loved his girls, he loved and trusted his wife and learned to become good friends with Logue.  I've also read that through the war years he also had a trusted friendship with Winston Churchill (played almost too much as a caricature by Timothy Spall, also of Harry Potter fame).  By all accounts here, he was wary of intimacy, but once he let someone in he was the warmest of companions.  I hope that was true and not just dramatic license.  I would be eager to know if Her Majesty has seen the film and feels it to be accurate at all.

This film is chock full of the best of Britain's acting roster:

Colin Firth does British reserve like no one else.  He is known the world over for a definitive Mr. Darcy, the epitome of English elite.  Here he shows the audience that being King and being human are not mutally exclusive.  All the big moments in the film are his, deservedly so.  I was particularly moved by the scene where he breaks down in front of his new queen, confiding how inadequate he feels to be king.  And the last scene, his big wartime speech to the nation, is as tense as any Hitchcock movie!  Oscar-worthy, no doubt.

Geoffrey Rush's portrayal of Lionel Logue is not unlike some of his other brash, unconventional characters; but he's just as likeable here, with a sense of fun simmering below the surface that you long for Albert to throw caution to the wind and join him for the ride!

Helena Bonham-Carter as Elizabeth, Duchess of York was a welcome change from her usual kooky roles.  Here she is a warm wife, loving mother and quiet but influential force of nature.  She should try this more often!

Michael Gambon is rather known for his crusty roles, and he doesn't disappoint here.  As George V he rules confidently, even in the face of changing technology and society.  He hoped Albert would be king all along, I think, and perhaps that is why he pushed him so hard.  Gambon always commands every scene he's in, and even if there is no Dumbledore twinkle in his eyes, he still conveys a hopeful pride and affection for his son.

It was a joy to see Claire Bloom as the stately Queen Mary, Sir Derek Jacobi as fussy Archibishop Cosmo Lang, the beautiful Jennifer Ehle as Myrtle Logue, David Bamber as a theatre director (that's 3 P&P alums!) and Anthony Andrews as Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin.

Guy Pearce, as I mentioned above, was dashing as King Edward VIII (later the Duke of Windsor), and Eve Best as Wallis Simpson made the most of a small but pivotal role.  Mom & I both felt she really looked the part! (there was a nice shot of a reproduction piece of one of her many jewels)

When I was younger we had a book called Littlest Princesses: The Intimate Story of HRH Princess Elizabeth & HRH Princess Margaret As Told By Their Governess.  When I saw young Freya Wilson and Ramona Marquez as the two young princesses, I thought of that book at once!  I must see if I can find it at Mom & Dad's, as I was so very fond of it!

I'm always glad to see Timothy Spall in the credits of any movie.  His portrayal of Churchill was a little over the top, and he looked more Hitchcock than Churchill.  And yet, the voice was right if the expression was a bit too dour and his stature a bit on the short side.  The Prime Minister was a dynamic personality, and Spall's portrayal certainly conveyed that.


The screenplay itself was very good, though I believe it was the acting that made it outstanding.  The direction, photography and cinematography looked both of another time and yet very crisply current.  The score added much as well, particularly in that last tense speech scene.  The costuming looked period without being fussy.  I did feel a bit badly for the ladies though, as the 1930s wasn't the most stunningly flattering of periods for fashion!  lol!


All in all, I was swept away by this film, and unlike some films my emotions ran the gamut.  I laughed, I cried, I smiled, I cheered (inwardly, of course - this is the Royal Family we're talking about!)... I was simply won over by it.




Picture credit: Colin Firth as King George VI in The King's Speech, Bedlam Productions/The Weinstein Company.
The King's Speech Official Site

Cultivating Kindness - Part One

I've been thinking about this topic for sometime, and I apologize if it ends up being all over the map when it comes to putting my thoughts down in some coherent form.  This past holiday weekend has been wonderful, and I am reminded even more on such days how grateful I am to have a loving, generous family.  In this gratitude, especially as the end of the year looms, I can't help but ponder why it's so difficult for people to be nice to one another during other times of the year.

Of course, I realize that everyone has his or her trials and burdens; and they can be very difficult to overcome.  I do not make light of that at all.  I have certainly undergone my own trials in this life; and yet... I hope that those burdens or stresses have not allowed me to take my frustration out on others by being rude or hateful or judgmental.  I'm not perfect, and I know that I am bound to have hurt someone's feelings along the way, though it was never my intent.  (I'm really sorry, by the way!)

I am wondering more about our society as a whole allowing incivility and stinginess to prevail over being well-mannered and generous.  When did that get to be okay?  It's demeaning on every level, and no one likes being humiliated.  Not only is it often allowed, it is also accepted... many people believing somehow that they are deserving of such scorn!  How did that happen?

Now I know that when it comes to the psyche there are a lot more issues than having your pigtails tugged in school by a boy who kind of likes you.  Bullying is very real and devastating , and done both by family members and classmates.  As a society we are outraged when we hear of such treatment, especially when it forces the person being bullied to feel they have no other way out but suicide or even homicide.  We only have to watch the myriad of "It Gets Better" videos to know such loss of life touches us.

But there is a subtler kind of intimidation that goes on that is completely condoned... or at least ignored.  We are bombarded by such images and messages each and every day.  Take, for instance, the news... it doesn't matter if it's one of the cable news channels or the local stations, the viewer is subjected to sneering pundits and obnoxious ambulance chasers masquerading as "investigative" reporters.  They purport to be giving us newsworthy information or informing us about the "issues."  I find it to be neither.  Rather we are subjected to intrusive and sometimes ridiculous questioning of individuals taken unaware at their homes and places of business with "Do you still beat your wife" kind of interrogations.  Whether or not the individual is "guilty" of some crime is irrelevant, so long as they are taken by surprise with such tactics.  Honestly, would anyone look innocent with a microphone shoved in one's face and badgered with such questions??  As for the cable news talking heads... what they offer is not news -- it is opinion.  Everyone, of course, has a right to one.  Just don't tell me what I should think - please give me both sides of the issue and let me make up my own mind, thank-you-very-much.

Did I mention I've all but given up watching the news on television?

And TV personalities are not the only ones who foster this offensive dialog (monologue?).  Our public servants are just as bad, hurling insults and using scare tactics to earn our votes - we only have to look at one campaign ad to see how a race is going to be run.  Each side always complains the other side is mud-slinging, but from where I'm sitting it looks like they're both down there wallowing in it.

I could go on giving more examples... the paparazzi... reality television... even Facebook and other internet sites!  Somehow the perception is that it's okay to do or say whatever you want, even if it's hurtful and intrusive or even somewhat dangerous to other people.  It's easy to put the blame on all these things too... these inanimate, faceless institutions.  But Facebook isn't the problem... getting a picture of a celebrity isn't the problem... it's the manner in which those who do these things conduct themselves... without integrity, without concern for the feelings of others, maybe even for one's own feelings?

As I mentioned above, this topic is something I've been considering for some time.  I'm not on a soapbox here, though it may sound like it.  I just want to understand how we got to this place, and why it's okay with people.  Should we let it go?  Can we re-learn civility?  Is being kind a weakness?

How do we cultivate kindness?

New and Improved!

Welcome to the new and improved look of Aibreán's Musings!  It was looking a little stale, and I felt a bit the same way about writing in general, and blogging in particular.  Look for a new blog post soon - maybe even tomorrow!

Preparing the Vessel

So obviously I have not written much here as of late.  Topics arise and I consider posting some thoughts all the time, but then I quickly feel them not worth the effort and abandon them, leaving my blog dated and somewhat barren.

The last six months have not been uneventful, however.  I traveled quite a bit – Portland, OR… Napa Valley, CA… Harsen’s Island, MI… Buffalo, NY… Woodstock, IL – and enjoyed each trip to its fullest.  In between those times, though, were some dramatic and scary events – a car accident that could’ve been much worse than it was, and the sudden – shocking – death of a close friend, pretty much right in front of my eyes.  Coupled with that I’d pushed aside the more difficult feelings regarding having cancer and what that meant for me long-term emotionally.  I knew I would have to deal with it eventually, but put it off  as long as I could, just grateful that the cancer was caught extremely early, and my ordeal soon over (NOTE: Ovarian cancer is one of the deadliest of the gynecological cancers – most women are not diagnosed until Stage 3 or 4.  Mine was caught at Stage 1 – a miracle in itself!).

Now, I don’t want to give anyone the impression that my outlook on life was anything less than hopeful. I have not been in a deep, incapacitating depression – BUT I’ve felt listless and unmotivated. My creativity has been left simmering too long on the stove to evaporate into thin air… my needs for physical activity and occupation are iffy at best. Yes, I recognize that there is some mild depression going on for certain, and I decided I couldn’t let it linger. Time to meet it head on and send it packing!

I talked with my doctor about it. I talked with my pastor about it. And I came to the conclusion that the yearning for a spiritual retreat was something I could no longer put off either – I needed to do it sooner rather than later.


My thought was to head to Saint Meinrad, the great Benedictine house in southern Indiana. Perhaps someday I will make it there still, but after discussion about my options near-by with my pastor, as well as with another friend (former pastoral associate) from church, I was pointed in the direction of the Sisters of Saint Francis in Oldenberg, IN. I could not have made a better choice.


I was greeted with a warm hug by the dearest lady imaginable – a doting auntie with depths of wisdom and sage advice. She took me around the retreat center like it was a home, and that I was truly an honored guest. My room was spare, but large – and even though it was simply appointed there was hospitality within its walls. The slim twin bed called to me, and after settling in (I unpacked, which I rarely do when I travel) I took a brief, refreshing nap.


That evening I took myself off to dinner (great pizza – and a treat for Sister… Graeter’s ice cream in a cup!) and then the grocery store for a few supplies. I read a bit, looked at my current writing project and turned in VERY early. During the evening, though, I took time to think about what I had been really feeling the past few months and how I wanted to approach my talks with Sister.


Earlier in the week I had talked with another friend who admitted she had been neglecting her spiritual vessel, and it needed filling. That image stayed with me… but I didn’t exactly feel empty. I have been feeding my spiritual self to some extent, though with little effect it seemed. So if I wasn’t empty, what was I? I continued to keep the image of the vessel before me all week, but it was full and I’d continued to fill it.


However, it came to me that I was like a crystal vase with flowers in it.


But the water wasn’t fresh, and the flowers a bit past their prime.


Perhaps the vase had its water replenished, but it was never fully emptied out and given completely fresh water, so that the liquid under the faded beauty above had become stagnant and brackish. I realized that the flowers and cloudy water that were me needed to go – my vessel needed a thorough spiritual scrubbing and fresh, clear water to fill it!


So Sister and I talked at length how I might go about doing that. Almost instantly a poem came to mind to her and she quickly looked through her bookshelf to find one that seemed to have a spot near her regular workspace. The poem is by Rabindranath Tagore from the collection: Gitanjali (“Song Offerings”)…

I

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.


This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.


At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.


Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.


Published by Macmillian Company – NY 1915 with introduction by W.B. Yeats


It truly struck a chord with me and reminded me a lot of some Rilke poems I love from Book of Hours – the intimate discourse with God that I yearn for but struggle to achieve. Perhaps I just try too hard. I spend a lot of time talking to God, but precious little time listening… or frankly, just being with God.


Being vs. Doing – that’s the other thing I struggle with constantly. There’s a difference between taking a few moments just being present, and taking time being idle. Just Being gives one the okay not to think, not to do, anything. Being Idle brings with it feelings of guilt that my garage needs its own deep clean, or the laundry is piling up or the ceiling needs painting – thinking of so many things I should be doing I get overwhelmed with what to do first and not get anything done.


God doesn’t care if my garage is a mess. Really, He doesn’t!


But I do… and I will straighten it up at some point. But I will make time just to Be as well.


And that’s what I did on Saturday. I had my talk with Sister then spent the next two and a half hours roaming the convent grounds, just being… no agenda… no duties… all worries and concerns left behind me for the rest of the weekend. I took some pictures, walked down to the farm, trod the labyrinth (a little different than the usual Chartres-style I’m more familiar with), walked a bit through town… I came back and had a light lunch and looked through a huge labyrinth tome that Sister loaned to me, went back to my room and napped and day-dreamed, then spent a good hour or two writing down impressions and ideas for myself about how to fill my vessel.


Occasionally my neighbor on the floor would spontaneously burst out into song in the next room – such a joyful noise! I need to learn to be less inhibited and do the same…


For dinner I decided to walk a block down the street and eat at the Perle Strassen Pub – yummy made-from-scratch food that you don’t often find anymore – and an obvious neighborhood favorite. Once I returned to the retreat center I met up with Sister again to talk about my day, and I had lots to show her… she enjoyed the day’s pictures that I downloaded on to my laptop, I shared a second of Tagore’s poems that also spoke to me, I read a bit of my novel Maid & Hood to her then showed her a bit of my writings about our discussion. It was a good day, and I felt bursting with energy to share my creativity with her!


After our talk I headed back to my room and did some pleasure-reading and again turned in early, completely forgetting that daylight savings time was ending – so I went to bed even earlier than I thought!


I attended mass in the Franciscan chapel on Sunday. One of the brothers who lives in the rectory across the street celebrated mass, and he was jolly and bursting with enthusiasm! I also enjoyed the sisters’ tone chime choir that played during the Preparation of the Gifts. We were also joined by a group of students from a nearby university on retreat (their group was called Kairos -- in Christian retreat terms meaning “God’s time” – something else for me to ponder!), so that brought a youthful energy to a community that is mostly retired, senior-age nuns. (Though not that the sisters don’t have their own vigor, believe me!)


After mass I had the opportunity to have coffee (well, juice for me) with a sister who has been a pastoral associate at my home parish, but has been quite ill the past few years. It was a blessing to see her, and see how much better she is doing! I took another little walk in the cemetery after that, looking for the grave of a sister who was the aunt of a family friend. I quickly found it, said a brief prayer then headed back to the retreat house to meet up with Sister to have some lunch, sitting with a lively group of nuns who had many topics of conversation going.


By then it was time to start packing up. I stripped the bed and remade it with fresh sheets, blessing the person who would next sleep there, packed my suitcase and carted it all down to the car. Once that was all done I sought out Sister for one last chat (and to settle up, of course!). We prayed together, enjoying the sunshine streaming into her office as we sat there. She encouraged me to return, which I will… hopefully in the spring… so I can take stock of how I’ve been implementing my Fresh Clean Water Act within me.


I tried to keep some vestige of peace on the drive home, leaving off the radio and CD player in favor of witnessing the beauty of God’s creation along the way. Because, of course, as soon as I returned to my daily routine the next day there was very little of that serenity to be found! I’m still working at Being this week – and my Water needs to be dumped again already… yet, at least now I’m aware of it needing to be done. I watered my actual plants today, and I’m trying to remember as I physically nurture those houseplants that I need to take my fifteen minutes to nurture myself as well.

Pondering Wintersongs and Other Musical Notes

The entire month of December is filled with music... sacred chorales... cheesy sentimental songs... ancient madrigals... old-fashioned carols... incessant muzak... all these and more. Music sets the tone for our various holiday celebrations, whether that festival is religious, secular, cultural or somewhere in between. I've spent most of the past several weeks listening to Sting's new recording, If On A Winter's Night..., which has been a decidedly different and thought-provoking change of pace from the months preparing for the Christmas liturgies at my parish where I sing as a cantor and choir member.

This recording isn't strictly a Christmas CD. In fact, I would venture to say the use of the word Christmas in various songs is purely incidental. Yet, there is a sense of spirituality that is unmistakable, a hushed, sometimes haunting tone that transports the listener to a crisp, white plane of solitude where each step crunches underfoot as we make our way toward that comforting warmth of hearth and home.

I've always been a huge fan of Sting's and eagerly enjoy his forays into unexpected musical disciplines. On this particular recording there are traces of celtic, eastern, jazz, bluegrass and baroque, just to name a few. By the inexperienced or the amateur, a mixture of these styles might sound forced or precious; but in the hands of a masterful, intelligent musician as Sting -- as well as the group he gathered around him, out of their initial improvising and experimenting has come a sound that is both evocative and natural. I hestitate to call it fusion. This is a sound all its own -- where the celtic harp and the jazzy trumpet play in perfect harmony with one another, and the Appalachian fiddle and classical cello are truly kindred cousins.

The fact that this recording is largely acoustic also adds a dimension to the atmosphere of the music. Naturally in this day and age there is production on each of the songs, and some of that has been done in recording studios all around the globe, but the core essence of this music is those several artists Sting invited to his Italian villa last February to make music and explore his lyrical winterscape.

This month PBS also aired a concert from Durham Cathedral in the north eastern province of York in England where Sting and his friends performed most of this album live. I was more than a little envious of those people in the audience. Sting rarely needs to tour anymore, so a one-time concert like this is truly a gift. In a way it's a shame, since the opportunity to experience thoughtful, professional musicians in a live space without a lot of non-musical equipment is becoming less and less the norm. Digital instruments and spectacular light displays certainly have their place, and I've attended my share of over-the-top exciting concerts; but this is music as it's been made over all the centuries, despite the pretty atmospheric lighting and occasional amps and microphones.

I had a similar experience at a Loreena McKennitt concert several years ago. Yes, the show was a production with plenty of intimate staging and professional soundboard mixing off stage; however, what set this concert apart (as I believe the Durham Catherdral concert also shares) is that those gathered on stage were not just making music... they were making music together. There is a huge difference, believe me. Any two people can get on stage and make a pleasing, harmonious sound at the same time, but when they work together, allowing the ebb and flow of sound is when it's elevated to something more than just pretty noise.

And anyone that is in an audience and has the opportunity to experience that knows what I'm talking about and can feel that unity -- because in playing with one another the artists really allow us to play with them too. There is something primal in music, and Sting's If On A Winter's Night... touches something of that in us, I think.

More Poetry

Since I shared the poem "Bruised" in my last post, I thought I would add the other published poem I wrote. This piece was also a submission to a poetry contest that was accepted in an anthology: A Celebration of Poets - Showcase Edition, published in 1998 by The Poetry Guild.

To Eros

As you lie asleep, oblivious to my hungry eyes,
I gaze on you --
jealous of the Moon's light
stroking your lithe body with her gentle touch.

Your skin gleams whitely.
I would think you sculpted of cool marble,
if not for the regular rhythm of your breast
filling with its living breath.

A serenely slumbering Eros
before Psyche has lifted her lamp.

Do I venture a caress?
Or, is to touch you to break the spell --
and I, like the bride of Love, to flee in shame?

Trembling at your nearness, I check my urging --
loath to arouse your peaceful repose;
yet, barely able to quiet my own turbulent ardor.

Quivering, I close my eyes to shut out the sight of you --
Psyche has avoided discovery this night;
yet, can she resist further temptation?

Autumn Poetry

Bruised

I feel the wintering air beckon insistently as each day passes.
The skies seem darkening, even as the sun puts out its watery rays;
And I look, almost vainly, for the light in my own heart to warm me instead.
Leaves crunch under my feet -- some escape as my pace quickens with the snap of the wind.
The colors are nearly past their furious prime,
But I stoop to collect the precious few that demand discovery.

Perfectly shaped maples, blushing gold to russet --
A challenge to find a perfect specimen on this crisp day.
Instead a multi-hued oak leaf draws me again and again;
And its sanguine shades strike a resonant chord.
Bruised and purpling, rich colors play across the surface,
Rendering it both wounded and angry at once.
Fragile to the touch, the relentlessly cool, sere air has buffeted it to brittleness,
Leaving it vulnerable to the slightest injury.

Yet, its rage is reflected in the smoldering shades of autumn.
Fierce and wild, unexpressed emotion longs to loose its fury into the air --
My thoughts echo that pain;
And my own fragility is perilously close to the skin.
Which emotion will win out in the end?
Can I express both and still remain in control?
Can I express either?

As tears sting my face, I wend my way home.
A home that is no longer my home.
The future is as murky as the evening gloaming,
And I search again for that one last ray of light.
I remember the leaf in my hand, so carefully held to avoid destruction.
It will never be again, but the tree will produce many others in due season.
Can I take comfort that the cycle goes on?

By Lisa C. Whitaker
Autumn 1996

As noted by the date above, I wrote this some time ago during an unsettling time in my life. Each turn of the year brings its own challenges and uncertainties, but those emotions I felt that day are fortunately banished. Nevertheless, since autumn is here again I thought I would share this particular poem as it evokes the colors of fall. It was originally published in one of those poetry contest anthologies at the time, of which I have an elusive copy stashed somewhere in my office. I'm not certain how discerning the editors of these books are, but it's lovely to be able to say I'm a published poet!

Leaf picture above found online and credited to Michael G. O'Callaghan

I saw a hawk this morning. That may not sound all that extraordinary. People see hawks every day, I suppose, as they circle the skies high up where they’re merely a dark smudge against the bright blue canopy of the heavens. I see those lazy spiraling birds as well; but today I saw a hawk. I mean I saw him on the rooftop of my little garret. Nor is this the first time he has paid me a visit, up close and personal.

I say “he,” and yes I do identify with him on that sort of level. The actual bird may in fact be a female or a male. I’m not an ornithologist or even an avid bird-watcher, other than enjoying the sweet songbirds eating from my birdfeeder or splashing in my birdbath by the door. I call him “he” because to me these rare visits have become a physical manifestation of Saint Peregrine. There are, of course, several classification of hawks – the peregrine is also called the “duck hawk” – and I know that this particular caller is not an actual peregrine. Yet, he has come to me, as I mentioned above, on more than one occasion when I needed reassurance for myself or for others.

First, I should explain who Saint Peregrine is. He was once Pellegrino Laziosi, an Italian of the Servite Order (Friar Order Servants of Mary) who lived between 1260 and 1345. From Wikipedia:

One of the special penances he decided on was to stand whenever it was not
necessary to sit. It is said that St. Peregrine did not sit for thirty years,
which caused him to develop varicose veins and then cancer on his leg and foot.
The sores became painful and doctors prepared to amputate his foot, but the
night before the surgery was scheduled to take place Peregrine dragged himself
to the foot of a crucifix and spent many hours in prayer. When he fell asleep he
received a vision of Christ touching his foot. In the morning his foot was
completely healed. He is therefore considered the patron saint of those
suffering from cancer, AIDS and other chronic diseases.

It was during those months I was dealing with ovarian cancer that I discovered Saint Peregrine and learned to rely on his presence in my spiritual life. One day some five years ago while I was enduring those eighteen weeks of chemo, I drove to my parents’ house (which I often did and still do). As I was pulling into the drive of their suburban home I noticed something sitting on top of the car in the driveway next door. Imagine my surprise to discover that it was a hawk placidly perched on the roof! I had only recently learned of Saint Peregrine, and as I drove in the creature seemed to make eye contact with me in a way that told me he was more than a mere bird of prey waiting for his next dinner. His gaze was reassuring, as if to tell me he was at hand should I need him. My mother told me the next day that she had been told in a dream that night that I was going to be all right. And I am – five years as a survivor and counting!

That same year the hawk visited me at my own home too. I was walking out the front door to get into my car, and again he was sitting nearby – this time in the tree of my neighbor across the drive, no more than five yards away. He watched me intently, neither spooked nor threatening. I spoke to him this time, thanking him for his presence. Again he seemed to look at me with an intelligence in his eyes that I found comforting. I happened to have a camera with me and took his picture, but unsurprisingly his image was indistinct when I downloaded it. His physical presence that day would have to be enough.

On occasion he returns to remind me of his protection. I haven’t encountered him quite as closely, but at least in a proximity that tells me in my own mind that he is present and watching over me. When I saw him today I was already in my car as he flew low over the yard to the eaves, and I wondered what he was trying to tell me… I have a family friend with a rare form of cancer who we have all be praying for… the death of Patrick Swayze yesterday is also on my mind, and his death echoes that of Farrah Fawcett several months ago… September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness month, and of course October is Breast Cancer Awareness month… cancer has touched many of us so intimately… I’m glad I have Saint Peregrine and my hawk on my side.

I saw a hawk this morning.

If you have a loved one who is dealing with cancer and would like a Saint Peregrine medal or prayers for him or her, please email me or leave me a message.

If you’d like to know more about Saint Peregrine: http://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=237

If you’d like to know more about patron saints: http://www.catholic.org/saints/faq.php

If you’d like to know more about peregrines: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peregrine_Falcon

Peregrine picture found online and credited to Chris Brocklebank

Feasting on the Word

In beginning the search for my little spiritual snack, it didn’t take me very long to hit upon something to tell me I was on the right path!

I opened my volume of The Cloister Walk (Kathleen Norris) the other night and in just a few sentences I was reminded of a term I’d seen recently and meant to pursue, but of course Life gets in the way as it usually does and I’d forgotten all about it.

Or did I?

Ms. Norris wrote of using the monastic ritual of Lectio Divina as one of the disciplines she used. Those words leapt out of the page at me, almost like the aroma of strongly brewed coffee downstairs when you’re first waking up that tells your brain to sit up and take notice. I admit I didn’t get much further in my reading at first – I wanted to savor the scent, the flavor and the quiet moment of clarity that comes with sipping on that first cup of morning java.

It seems, in fact, that I’ve been using a modified version of the lectio divina to write some of these later blogs. What is it, you ask? In its most basic terms someone who practices this form of prayer reads a scriptural passage and reflects on it; but there is a bit more to it.

I checked out several sites to see if the description was consistent, and in form it was – I’ll get to that in a minute. For those who have studied Latin or etymology, the term lectio divina is fairly easy to translate, or at least get a sense of what it means. Divine reading is the easiest translation – which is slightly different from sacred reading, by the way. The whole purpose of this discipline is not to look for deeper meaning in scripture necessarily, but to look for a deeper communion with God – the Divine – and perhaps even that divinity within ourselves.

But the translation I found at Wikipedia (who doesn’t love Wiki, really?) is what really got the wheels turning:

Lectio Divina has been likened to "Feasting on the Word." The four parts are first taking a bite (Lectio), then chewing on it (Meditatio). Next is the opportunity to savor the essence of it (Oratio). Finally, the Word is digested and made a part of the body (Contemplatio).

Seriously, how much harder do I have to be hit on the head to get the drift here? LOL!

I won’t go in to full detail of lectio divina -- if you want to know more, check out the link below. It’s interesting that Pope Benedict has recently said that “this practice will bring to the Church - I am convinced of it - a new spiritual springtime." It seems to me that blogging might be an effective tool for it, whether or not it is meant to be read by other people. I think more people write their thoughts out in their blogs than they would have in a private journal alone in this day and age.

Yet, the goal is to meet with the Divine on a more intimate, personal level, and blogging can be a very public forum. However, as a writer I know that I do my best “thinking” on paper – er… screen. It only makes sense for me to use this as part of the discipline to an extent.

That said… I think I will keep my modified version of the lectio divina for public after all – and by that, I mean reading these spiritual books like The Cloister Walk and use the method of this discipline to pose my questions and general revelations of faith aloud.

“Feasting on the Word” with the Divine I’ll keep to a candlelit dinner between just us two. ;-)

Lectio Divina on Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lectio_divina

PS: I should also mention that this blog is not solely a blog about spiritual matters. While it’s an important piece of my life – and right now I’m on a bit of a quest – I’m just as likely to write about getting stuck in the elevator or being annoyed about a rude person in the grocery aisle (don’t EVEN get me started! LOL!)

Looking for a Spiritual Snack

Well, it seems like the best way for me to be consistent in blogging is to stick to pondering my bigger questions. Don't mind me, I'm just looking for a little spiritual snack!

We had a really wonderful, dynamic priest celebrate mass for us today while our pastor was out for a little R&R. That is not to say that our pastor and associate pastor are not wonderful, thought-provoking gentlemen... but sometimes it's a good thing to have a new voice come and shake us out of our complacency. I hope Fr. John has the opportunity to fill in again sometime soon!

So what does that have to do with anything? Father's homily this morning got me to thinking about my own needs for spiritual nourishment. I think of myself of a Christ-filled person, someone who tries to reflect the Light in and around her. Yet, I realized this morning that my reserves are a little low. Rather than replenishing my storeroom of sacredness I've been using it up without thought to what might happen if I didn't tend to it properly. "I've got plenty to spare," I tell myself. "God will provide..."

Well, yes... God WILL provide. However, it's really not fair to make Him do all the work in the relationship. I talk to God every day, of course. Several times a day, even. But it's that kind of superficial conversation that you have with a slight acquaintance, not the kind of deep, intimate dialogue that you have with a belovèd in the middle of the night when it's just you two in the moonlight.

So I'm a bit peckish for a soul-full morsel to feed this rumbling in my heart...

I've got a few resources to begin with -- a dear friend sent my the loveliest rosary as a surprise gift. It's made of roses and smells so intoxicating when I pull it out that it may just get me to use it more often, if only to drink in that aroma along with the serenity that praying brings with it!

But I feel I need to do a little reading too. I've had a booklet I've been meaning to read and blog about (like the Rolheiser booklets from previous posts) for awhile now, and I may get to that soon. However, I've had Kathleen Norris' The Cloister Walk on my bookshelf for some time and have yet to crack it open even the teeniest bit. So, I think I will begin with that. I'm hoping it will inspire a desire to write about it as I go along, or even as a review at the end. We'll see...

In the meantime, praying and reading is good food regardless of their potential for tasty blog posts!

You Lift Me Up... not so much...!

I've now been stuck here 25 minutes...

Where, do you ask? The airport? In traffic? A pit of quicksand, perhaps? Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid.

I'm sitting on the floor of the elevator at work waiting for the technicians to get the doors unstuck. Yes, I'm languishing in the elevator.

I'm not even perilously stuck between two floors! This morning at 9:30am I walked into the House Left Elevator, laden with laptop bag, purse, mail and other sundries, and hit the button for the third floor. Yet, there was no reassuring whir of the conveyance waiting to take me above... just the awful-sounding grate of a mechanical failure keeping the inner doors from shutting completely. The blank, unlit buttons only mocked my frustration as I attempted to get the outer doors to reopen. They are well and truly stuck.

After trying everything within my power to get them open or the elevator moving, I decided it was time to get someone to come to my aid. I knew there were at least two co-workers in the lobby. Do I try to get their attention with the alarm button? Or just use the Emergency button to call campus security? It's not really an emergency. I'm not injured. And while I'm annoyed, I'm not particularly in distress. I try the alarm button first, which sounds LOUD in the elevator. It has the piercing jangle of an old-fashioned school bell, and I think surely someone would rush over and let me know they're out there... nothing. I try again... still nothing. I try a fancy tat-too of sorts... nothing... nada. So, I pull out my cell phone. Still no need to bother security. NO SERVICE! The stupid contraption (ie: the elevator) is encased in concrete and the signal cannot penetrate the thick slab!

Defeated at my attempts to keep the problem in-house, I press the button that opens the phone line to the security office and someone responds at last! And then I also finally hear the custodial staff outside the elevator asking what happened. I first tell my tale to the officer who dispatches someone to the building, meanwhile word had finally gotten out around the office that I am stuck and Facilities and the elevator repair company are also called.

So, I stand for awhile longer, thinking that since it's just the doors they should be able to reset them pretty easily -- and for a moment that would seem to be so. They start to move, but then disappointingly stick at the same place. I decide I might be here for more than a few moments and sit -- and eventually pull out my notebook to start recording my thoughts.

For a few moments I ponder the meaning of life... is life like an elevator and am I stuck in between the floors of Heaven and Hell? Is the elevator some sort of Purgatory?

I briefly wonder if I can use these thoughts as fodder for a novel, but decide it's trite and quickly abandon all further pondering of the subject.

I see the bagel I bought for breakfast across the elevator. Should I eat it now? Keep it for later in case I'm imprisoned in this stupid steel cage all day? And then I realize I left my juice in the car! Rats! Now I'm thirsty and if I'm in here all day that juice is going to be nasty by five o'clock -- or whenever it is that I'm sprung from this thing!

Gradually other coworkers stop by to see if I'm okay. I assure them I'm fine, just bored. Patti manages to get a gossip magazine through the door cracks for me to read.

I start planning out my day in my new cubicle. Finish this blog post on paper to wow everyone later. Read the US Weekly. Perhaps eat a few bites of bagel. Then I wonder if getting my laptop out is worth it. I decide to hold judgement a bit to see if anyone outside gives me a time-table of my incarceration.

The doors shudder a few times and I get my hopes up, but they sound just as awful as before so I go back to writing.

I start thinking worse-case-scenario... I'm on the lobby floor, but there is a floor below me. Is there any chance it will plummet once it resets? Are there any sharp pointy things to pierce the cage at the bottom? Where's the best place to be if I find myself hurtling to the lower bowels of the building?

The door shudders again... this time the doors miraculously open and my saviours (in the form of a campus facility worker and campus security officer) step through to release me from my prison! And the angels sang!

Well, not really... but I'm really trying to salvage some drama from the situation. The only thing that was truly worrisome was that it was getting hot and stuffy in there... was I imaging feeling faint??

Probably. So I'm out. Everyone laughs and we get back to work. Meanwhile I have to schlep my laptop bag, purse mail and other sundries up the backstairs four flights to my office because they're checking on the House Right Elevator too. Panting and hot I finally collapse at my desk to post this. Whew!

Did I mention it was hot and stuffy and I felt faint?

Peregrine's Posse and the Relay for Life

This is my fourth year as captain of Peregrine's Posse - our team walking for the Relay For Life of Wayne Township. As a nearly-five-year cancer survivor this is a cause near and dear to my heart. Below is my letter to family and friends asking for their support again this year:

My dearest family and friends… Yes, it’s that time again. The Relay For Life is little more than a month away and I’m writing to ask for your help once again this year. It seems like every time I turn around I hear someone I know – or a friend or family member of someone I know -- has discovered they have cancer. This disease has touched so many of us; and while great strides have been made in early detection and treatment, cancer still seems to have the upper hand. We can’t let that happen!

Now… I know… it’s a rough time for many of us in this current financial climate. And honestly it’s not easy for me to ask for donations when so many families are giving up extras to stay afloat. Yet, I would ask you to consider how the recession is going to hit the American Cancer Society and its great and worthy programs if we give up or wait it out ‘til the economy looks rosier – women who need mammograms, cancer patients who need rides to their chemo appointments, vital medications… a lot of people who already are struggling for basic needs might be hit even harder…

But I don’t want to be a downer here – the ACS and Relay For Life has done and still does SO much good for those fighting cancer – both patients and their caregivers and families! And it really doesn’t take much to support our efforts at the Relay: Join my team, Peregrine’s Posse.

This is our fourth year participating in the Relay and we can always use more walkers during the 24 hours we’re there! You can sign up here: http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFLFY09GL?pg=entry&fr_id=14356

Make a donation – we’ll take any amount! Even a $5 donation adds up – a few thousand dollars raised at Relay can help save a lot in health care costs in the long run. Purchasing a luminaria is a great affordable way to donate – it’s only $10! To donate or to purchase a luminaria go here: http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFLFY09GL?px=2920142&pg=personal&fr_id=14356&fl=en_US&et=0Ej9qq9syl-5kfGy7feWCg..&s_tafId=259205

This is my participant’s page. Be sure to email to tell me who you want to honor with your luminaria! Come visit our tent during the actual Relay!

We’ll have yummy inexpensive goodies for sale – all proceeds going back to ACS. And there will be plenty of other tents with food, drinks and more for sale! Check out the event page here: http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFLFY09GL?pg=entry&fr_id=14356

As always, your thoughts, prayers and good will go a long way to helping us reach our goals too. Please think of us May 16 – 17 while we’re walking the track for those 24 hours. Cancer doesn’t sleep and neither will we!

Thanks so much for all the support you have given me in the past both during the Relay – and especially during my own battle with cancer. I can never tell you all how much it has meant to me!!

Much love, Lisa.

PS: The best defense against the disease we have right now is early prevention! If you haven’t had an annual check up this year (or in several years!), call and make an appointment today!

PPS: Please feel free to pass this email on to anyone you think might be interested in helping out Peregrine’s Posse and the American Cancer Society’s Relay For Life!!

Lenten Reflection #3 – The Restless Spirit and Cultivating Loneliness

These two reflections are for the Thursday and Friday of the First Week of Lent, and while they seem to go together each one struck me in a different way.

In The Restless Spirit, these few phrases are what I zeroed in on:

“Our culture invites excitement, not silence; activity, not stillness. Thus we find ourselves constantly titillated and over-stimulated in our restlessness.”

Oh, how this is true! Right now in my office (and I’m here alone for the moment) I can hear half a dozen sounds of activity… the A/C, the small fan on my desk, my computer, ambient noise outside the door, just to name a few. There are times when I leave work and don’t even turn on the radio in the car because I’m just so glad for the silence!

What is the need for all the noise and stimulation? I know many, many people who feel the need to have the radio or television on “for company” even when they aren’t listening or watching. I understand why they do it, but I rarely do it myself. I relish those moments of quiet when I’m not bombarded by advertising or stimulating sounds/images vying for my attention.

With all the new devices out there – mobile phones, PDAs, iPhones and the like, we are constantly on alert and ready to react; and I fully admit that I can be a slave to that (as I just noticed my email has three more messages it didn’t have 30 seconds ago!). I need to shut my computer down once in awhile and walk away…

Finding my spiritual center is something I strive for constantly, but find it very difficult to do when there is so much light and noise – I have a difficult time enough quieting my over-active imagination without all that rebounding around me as well.

This quote by N Gordon Cosby (from the preface to O’Connor’s book, Search for Silence) that Rolheiser shares says a lot to me:

“The one journey that ultimately matters is that journey into the place of stillness deep within one’s self. To reach that place is to be home; to fail to reach it is to be forever restless.”

I definitely know that restlessness…

So Rolheiser and I are in accord with the Restless Spirit, but I’m not sure we see eye to eye on Cultivating Loneliness…

In this reflection we are reminded of the life of the philosopher Soren Kierkegaard and his self-imposed loneliness after breaking off an engagement to the woman he loved deeply:

“His reasoning was simple. He felt that what he had to give to the world came more from his own loneliness. He could share deeply because, first of all, he felt deeply. Loneliness gave him depth. Rightly or wrongly, he judged that marriage might in some way deflect or distract him from that depth, painful as it was.”

Rolheiser goes on to say himself: “In loneliness and longing, empathy is born.”

I can see where he’s going with that train of thought… and it’s all well and good for saints, ascetics and philosophers to cultivate such loneliness, but I don’t know that I would suggest the every day person to court loneliness to any extent.

Learning to be by yourself, to rely on yourself, to enjoy your own company are all important aspects to a healthy self-awareness, but for me to cultivate loneliness is to shut oneself off from others. I have met far too many people who do this with sad, sometimes tragic results.

I’m guessing that Rolheiser would say something to the effect that if we can find this loneliness within ourselves, if we can turn away others to turn inward then we would find God there to keep us “company.” If we have Him that is all we need.

Perhaps that is true, but it’s not necessarily a reality. It’s been my experience that if a person is deeply lonely they not only are shut off from other people, they are shut off from themselves as well. If the door to the soul is shut, no one can get in – and while I firmly believe that nothing is impossible with God, I’m guessing that His knocking on that door isn’t going to get a ready answer either? With such a disconnect of feelings, how can a deeply lonely person possibly be empathetic?

So I welcome the reminder to look inward, to find the serenity that is within me that is “home” and a place to be closer to God, but loneliness I will keep at bay and look for other ways to be empathetic…

Lenten Reflection #2 – Listening to Christ’s Heartbeat

Alas… I’d really hoped to be able to blog daily, but I can see this just isn’t going to be practical. So I’ll try to reflect as least once a week on these readings – more if there’s time and inspiration.

So. On to Rolheiser…

I’m meditating on two readings – the one for the First Sunday of Lent and also the Monday of the First Week of Lent. In it Rolheiser describes a passage in John’s gospel where the disciple Jesus loved reclines on his the breast. (John 13:23) Rolheiser says:

“This is an image, a mystical one. Among other things, it is a picture of gentleness. What it shows, however, is not a saccharine piety, a sweetness hard to swallow, but a softness that comes from being at peace, from being so rooted and centered in a love that one can look out at the world without bitterness, anger, jealousy, the sense of being cheated, and the need to blame or compete with others.”

I would add that it is an intimacy not easily found even among people who know each other well. As children we do this, of course. We find comfort in the heartbeat of our mothers and fathers and loved ones, but soon we are taught to put up boundaries. We reject the touch of another – we are repulsed by the “cooties” of our schoolmates; and then as we age and begin to form attachments we are unsettled by our physical reactions to another’s touch and once we gain a certain intimacy we resent and are threatened by our mates touching someone else; eventually perhaps we are even indifferent to their touch – having felt it before we assume there is nothing new to experience in it.

Do we become indifferent to Christ’s touch that way too? What would we hear if we were to remain still and centered and lean on His chest? What mysteries are contained in the regular rhythm of the Son’s heartbeat and the even in-and-out of His breath?

My own inner workings are relaxing as I’m thinking about it, imagining my own head upon His breast… my breath rising and falling with His and my heart adjusting its beat to play in concert with Him.

Even in the midst of a wilderness of humming technology and office conversation, peace is at hand.

Lenten Reflection #1 – The Desert as a Place of Preparation

I’m skipping over the Ash Wednesday reflection as it spoke about why ashes are popular – Rolheiser would tell us because ashes are a symbol that is “blunt, archetypal and speak the language of the soul.” That’s all well and good, of course – I can’t really dispute his thought. However, cynically it’s been said that Ash Wednesday services are popular because one goes expecting to get something – ie: ashes. We all love tangible value added, right? Ooh, we also got a rock to take home this year! lol!

So, to the Thursday after Ash Wednesday reflection… the line that struck me most:

“They (those in Jewish apocalyptic literature) understood this mystically, not literally. In order to be filled by God one must first be emptied.”

It’s a good thought… what should we empty? Negative thoughts? Old resentments? Stress-filled anxiety? All those and more, of course.

In a way it reminds me a bit of what our Jewish brothers and sisters do to prepare for the Passover, cleaning out the cupboards and fridge, sweeping out all the crumbs to make way for new, fresh supplies and using up the dregs that are left. That’s what Mardi Gras – Fat Tuesday – was originally about… using the last of the flour and shortening and eating all that’s left before it goes bad.

Yet, we shouldn’t gorge ourselves on the last of those negative feelings. Acknowledge them yes, but then let them go. They do not nourish us. When we have rid ourselves of the dregs of negativity we can then spend the next 40 days in the wilderness cleaning out our glasses and preparing them to be filled with the Light of Christ on Easter.

Day of Atonement

Well, today -- Ash Wednesday -- begins another season of Lent. I've decided to give Fr. Rolheiser another chance and read and reflect on his Lenten booklet. I'll start that later tonight.

In the meantime I'm stating my Lenten sacrifice here so I can be accountable. I'm giving up fast food french fries for Lent. I don't know if it will be difficult or not, but I do enjoy them way too much!

Advent Relfection #7 - In My Own Words

Well, I really and truly intended on reflecting all throughout the Advent season using Rolheiser's booklet. Getting sick interrupted that and then when I tried to get back to it I just couldn't find any inspiration in his words.

So I decided to go "off book" as we say in the theatre world and just reflect on the season in my own words.

As we all know Advent is a season of waiting... waiting for Christ's coming into the World to save us from our sin. Unfortunately the waiting ends up more like waiting in line at the store, waiting for the Christmas cookies to come out of the oven, waiting for the gifts we ordered from Amazon to be delivered, waiting for the snowplows to clear the roads so we can head to work...

I suppose if we are truly Christ-centered we can find in those moments of waiting an opportunity to be still and have a conversation with God, but when was the last time any one of us stood in the check-out line in Target and talked -- or better yet, listened -- to God?

Praying is usually reserved for bedtime, or more often sitting in the pew at church on Sunday (if we go at all). The rest of our day is filled with busyness... busyness that may seem vitally important at that time, but in reflecting upon the day all that breathless importance really is mostly just like any other day. Is there not a few minutes in the day to have an intimate moment with God? Perhaps after we have waited in line at Starbucks for that floofy coffee drink we can wait a few more moments and sit down to enjoy it and enjoy a chat with Christ at the same time?

While we are waiting for Christ's coming again on Christmas Day perhaps we can let the World wait from time to time while we reacquaint ourselves with Him and strengthen our relationship with Him...

Advent Reflection #6 - Passion and Purity

In this reflection Rolheiser compares the Church's caution and fearfulness of passion versus the World's disdain of purity. He says:

Purity and passion make sense only when they are linked and take their deeper
meaning from each other.

In my family, that translates to "Everything in moderation." Good words to live by!

What I really found curious, though, is that he makes no mention of Christ's passion. Passion is more than just sexual love or lust. Passion is loving something or someone so deeply that you undergo an ordeal that is physical or emotional. Jesus loved us so much that he was willing to suffer on the cross for us. I think that while we wait for His coming as a small "pure" infant during Advent that we should also keep in mind His "passionate" suffering for us during the Easter mysteries.

Credit: Image of Shades of Love - Cherry by Alfred Gockel