I am reading Thomas Merton's biography, The Seven Storey Mountain. Finally, I have come to his decision to return to the Trappist Monastery where he had once made a retreat, at the Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani, in Bardstown Kentucky, after so much mental deliberation and distraction.

Thomas had been confused by one priest stalling his call to the priesthood once he had told him the particulars of his life, for there had been some notable experiences that did not become a priest, like fathering a child while a student at Cambridge.

A line from a graduate school reading of mine states "Transitions are dangerous by their very nature for you are neither here nor there." So, hearing one priest hesitate to welcome him immediately into one order, derailed his movement into the priesthood for years. 

I have a very close friend who has suffered so. I suppose it is not unusual, for transitions are moments of potential confusion. Follow the subtle leading of the Spirit into clarity of mind then leap into the choice we want to make. Leap into freedom of heart, mind and soul. 

Just leap. 

From the First Book of the Odes of Solomon,

Ode 1: 

​The Lord is upon my head like a crown,
and I will not be without him.
The crown of truth was braided for me
and caused your branches to bloom within me.

For it is not a barren crown that never blooms, 
but you blossomed down upon me.
Your fruits are full and overflowing.
They are full of your salvation.

Those fruits given to us by the Lord are to be given first to those most near us. When they are not shared, the sources dries up, sours, diminishes. This can happen when one takes from another. Then one will be at war within oneself. 

​If this has happened to you. Repent. Make penance and pray for healing.

I Looked Up
   by Mary Oliver

I looked up and there it was
among the green branches of the pitchpines--

thick bird,
a ruffle of fire trailing over the shoulders and down the back--

color of copper, iron, bronze--
lighting up the dark branches of the pine.

What misery to be afraid of death.
What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven.

When I made a little sound
it looked at me, then it looked past me.

Then it rose, the wings enormous and opulent,
and, as I said, wreathed in fire.

Yesterday my husband read this poem or I did. We take turns reading a poem aloud each the morning.

He guessed that the thick bird may have been a golden eagle. For Oliver, that is not important rather it is the detailed observation that catches her attention and takes her away from the world to her fear of death just as the bird's wings take it away from her study of it. 

That the enormous, opulent wings wreathed in fire could and did lift that bird, may tell us that God can and will lift us, as we move out of this world.

I sensed that God's love needs to hold or is not love at all. 

September 14, Richard Rohr brought this paragraph from Cynthia Bourgeault's Wisdom Jesus: “Could it be that this earthly realm, not in spite of but because of its very density and jagged edges, offers precisely the conditions for the expression of certain aspects of divine love that could become real in no other way? This world does indeed show forth what love is like in a particularly intense and costly way. But when we look at this process more deeply, we can see that those sharp edges we experience as constriction at the same time call forth some of the most exquisite dimensions of love, which require the condition of finitude in order to make sense—qualities such as steadfastness, tenderness, commitment, forbearance, fidelity, and forgiveness.” Wisdom Jesus p. 99-100

​July 9, 2022 We brought Andrew over for the morning. Jonathan and Andrew played soccer, I filmed some of the play. Andrew had a snack. He asked Jonathan to set up the electric train declaring his love for it. We did a variety of things. What most surprised me was his easy engagement with a photograph of Balloon Fish that came to our house in a calendar.
 
I brought the fish to life speaking directly to Andrew who answered the fish. Holding the photograph largely in front of my face, Andrew and the fish carried on a conversation. I invited Andrew to name me (it), which he seamlessly did. The first few words sounded like Indian names, the final few were lifted from a sentence the fish had just said, “I eat Kelp.” So, I chose that sentence as the nickname of the fish. Andrew felt totally engaged.
 
It was pure delight.
 
The second thing I want to note is this insight: I am spent when a grandchild returns home. The reciprocal gift is found in reflection, when I linger and ponder the most fetching moments of our interaction.
 
This is important. I cannot just give and give. I am not the giving tree. My gifts are reciprocated when I ponder what I have been given--when I hold it as a treasure to return to.
 
The third note is this. Andrew often greets me with this: “I have a surprise for you…” And you know what—every time he does bring me a surprise—for he has changed, grown up just enough to notice.
 
Delightful.

This week I had lots of time to myself. During some of these hours I listened for inner wisdom. 

Out of the blue I thought, rather than wish for acknowledgement from others I have the power to acknowledge myself as a winner, a smart one, one who has survived against great odds--a pretty wonderful person. 
​
When was I taught that believing oneself is worthy, is respectable, is step number one? Surely I have been distracted, have forgotten that I was taught this.

I know that hearing that God loves me is supposed to be powerful. But so many who have said they love me, have done me harm. So, I am not always moved by a statement of love.
 
I can accept my life, the roughness of it, all of it. No matter what comes. 

The evening of my 70th birthday, 8 of us gather in our backyard to celebrate. The weather is mild. The shed doors freshly painted. I feel calm all day, not a calm of resignation but one of hope. 

Jonathan and I arrange chairs in a half circle facing the shed that sits in one corner of the yard. The shed has double doors on two sides. One time this spring we had pretended it was a stage when our oldest grandson, was with us. So, we expand on that idea. I act as MC, welcoming those few present (this is not yet the full end of the pandemic) and introduce Dylan, our 6 year-old grandson. He opens the doors of the shed and steps out, violin in hand, to our applause.

Dylan plays two pieces: Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and Etude by Suzuki. More applause. More bites of cake, and now our son, Benno, with his guitar enters the shed to wait for his introduction. Benno reads a touching tribute to me and my 7 decades of living then sings Emmy Lou Harris' song, The Pearl. 

Our daughter-in-law, Molly repeats that she and her mother have not planned to share in the program of the evening. I easily give them a pass--she has brought baby Abigail, and that is contribution enough!

I introduce the 3rd and what I believe will be the final act, Jonathan, my husband. He offers a deeply touching tribute as well! No song, no dance, but perfect!

To our surprise, the 2 1/2 year-old, Andrew, signals that he also wants to experience the magic of walking out of the shed door to applause. So he does, again and again! 

We end this evening with a dance party, Benno/Molly family to Jazz Police.

A intimate birthday party in our own backyard. God be praised.

We take much of the value system of our society for granted, but we each have responsibility to participate in working to purify our part of the world. In Purity and Danger, Mary Douglas says, "We select from all the stimuli falling on our senses only those that interest us and our interests are governed by a pattern-making tendency, sometimes called a schema." Expected events fit easily into the pattern but each culture is responsible for providing a means to approach ambiguous or anomalous experiences or they will forfeit their confidence. We must have the health and vitality to name what does not fit and define a way to excise it or fold it back into itself. (Pages 45-48)

Two nights later, I watched Dear Comrades! a film about KGB violence against an uprising in a small town in Russia in 1962. As the state turns against the protagonist, she  says, "If I can't believe in communism, what can I believe in?" Confidence in the goodness of the Russian state had to be left behind; it was entirely excised and she was left to reinvent her life.

Since self-publishing my book, Calling Mother Out of Darkness into Light, I have been sending copies to spiritual formation centers and a few individuals who might be interested. 
Well, this past week, one person wrote back. He had read the book, was touched by it and thanked me for it. 
I was honored to have heard from this reader. I wrote back saying, "Thank you for reading Calling Mother Out of Darkness . . . and for affirming the story. There is a lightness to processing life bit by bit, isn't there? 
​
May we find solace as we await the reopening of the world."

Howard Wells edited my book. He tells me that process is all we have. I agree.