Return to the Land of Your Soul

Over the weekend, I returned to Kairos School of Spiritual Formation, for a silent retreat, held on the lovely grounds of the Jesuit Center in Wernersville, Pa. 

photo from Jesuit Center website

Twelve years ago, I arrived here as a student, eager, driven by spiritual longing I couldn't name, hoping for study, depth, friendship, even a vision quest. I experienced all, and so much

more! 



Five years later, I emerged transformed, soul afire, the red bird as my own token symbol of the Holy: a gentle reminder to turn towards what is life giving, embrace mystery and  transformation, know my self with kindness, and discovering connection and how everything somehow belongs. Here, with the deer in the meadows, bird song from every tree, the wide sky filled with stars, amid marble and stained glass of chapel, hallways filled with an equal measure of art and prayer, combined with the intimacy of soul friends, and loving guidance - this place always welcomes me home. 

Weeping Beech Tree at Jesuit Center- my sanctuary when the journey became too intense. Lovely, wise old tree that sheltered me, wept and laughed with me, invited me to climb into her lap like a child. 

Truck of Weeping Beech

farewell cairn 

Three more years of being on staff followed. This allowed me to guide others in their soul journey, to love students and retreatants with the same abundance of love I received here, and to forge deep soul connections across a wide network of instructors, retreatants, students, guides....all fellow pilgrims. 

Now, it's time for a gentle, sweet goodbye, not in a final way, in an 'end of an era' way. So I bless and thank, and carry this place with me as another symbol of safety, like God's womb in the midst of life's upheavals. 

Entrance to the labyrinth- white feathers symbolize the soul's migration-  like snow geese - coming home. 

labyrinth walk by candle light

Paper cranes, picked up from the center of the labyrinth, and written with prayers/hopes for soul and world,
and hung on ribbons around the room.  

I LOVE THIS SONG, shared by the retreat director this weekend, called Return Again. Where ever we wander, however far we stray from what gives us life and depth, we can always return again. I can return to the place of real shelter, the quiet place in my own center, where God abides. Where I am my deepest me, open, authentic, safe and free. 



Return Again

Return again. Return again.
Return to the land of your soul.
Return again. Return again.
Return to the land of your soul.

Return to who you are.
Return to what you are.
Return to where you are.
Born and reborn again.

Return again. Return again.
Return to the land of your soul.     by Shaina Noll 

With love, laughter, hugs, a little fire, a little wine, and a big-hearted impromptu ceremony, my friends and I celebrated our time together here, as friends, as staff, as soul pilgrims journeying together. Using John O'Donahue's poetry, we blessed my moving to a new state; we blessed my friend's new job position. Deep in the heart of this place, we sang and danced to the sound of a wood flute.  

                  And we left each other with this challenge from              

                           Christine Valters Paintner's book, 

                                                  The Soul of the Pilgrim, 

 "What would it be like to move through the world and, no matter where you found yourself, to recognize yourself as fully at home?

Wow, that is challenge! My body isn't always happy with changes of food and environment. Probably because I still make unfair demands of it, when away from home. I regress into old patterns of ignoring or disliking my sensitivities, my introversion and need for space, thus forcing myself to be with people and activities long after I'm drained of energy.  How lovely would it be to move into the world with compassion for myself as well as others, to be so completely authentic, free and self-caring, that I am home in my body and soul, anywhere my feet trod.

  

               Whatever culture I find myself in.

Where ever the coordinates of my place of residence. 

I shall pilgrim on ....always returning to the land of my soul

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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The Truth Is You Can Never Leave Home

Buildings are solid, but 'home' is fluid.  Home flows with the presence of our loved ones. Home is not a building or a place, even if a place remains full of family history, deep roots, tradition. 

Home is  soulful, fluid, expanding, loving, evolving.

 creek running through our new farm

Home is steaming cups of coffee, mellow tea, hot chocolate. It's love and laughter, rolling pretzels, 

competing against siblings and cousins to find the bell on the Christmas tree,

 playing dress up 



                     and hugging.  




     

COUSINS!  Photo by Krista at Higher Focus Studio

Home can be more than one place, because.....                  

   

old place: Oregon View Farm  - photo by Krista Stolzfus from Higher Focus Studio

Home is where the heart is! 

relaxing at our new place

    






 

We are leaving this home and moving to a new one. Yet neither place is truly home. Home is where hearts gather to celebrate holidays, birthdays, life ...mourn loss...support one another. Home is family, and beyond. Home is where the soul finds hope, love, and rest. Home is where we are loved, along with our gifts and flaws.  


You can never go home again, 

             but the truth is you can never leave 

                        home, so it’s all right!  Maya Angelou 

new farm in Virginia

scenery at our new farm in VA

Our family by the barn at the old place: Oregon View Farm    photo by Krista at Higher Focus Studio

Goodbye Oregon View Farm.  It's been lovely!!   HELLO VIRGINIA......

Two Wings to Fly

Rumi quote:  "God turns you from one feeling to another and teaches you by means of opposites, so that you will have two wings to fly-not one."

In closing the farm homestead chapter of my life, I notice how I'd rather feel elation and hope, and not the opposites - overwhelm, exhaustion, despair. My conditioned-to-judge mind wants to label this experience as one way or the other: either it's 'wonderful- a fulfillment of dreams!' or it's 'wow, you are just not doing this well.' Don't our minds always search for peace by labeling? Peace just isn't found in labels. Minds also tell us stuff, disown, ignore our discomfort, wanting to protect us by not pushing our thoughts and emotions to our wilder edges...the very places that need stretching in order to grow or heal. 

I find that I need to sit in silence, in meditation, 

purposely holding the tension of desolation and

elation in my body and mind. It feels like being 

near Ireland's cliffs feeling both the thrill and fear of losing my balance. 

Through staying with my discomfort, even explore my inner edges, I learn how to find equilibrium in the midst of discomfort. I learn to know myself, to know my mind can survive, my soul can find beauty, even when things are out of my control. I don't have to 'like' circumstances, or even feel happy to know peace.

My musings this morning come after reading a chapter in Christine Valters Paintner's book: The Soul of a Pilgrim. And I offer you another beautiful writing, a paraphrase of Psalm 6, by Nan Merrill in her book: Psalms for Praying.

          

                                                             Psalm 6   

O my Beloved, 

continue to enfold me with your love;

Be gracious to me, Heart of my heart,

for I am sad and weary.

Surround me with your healing Light,

that my body, mind, and soul might heal.

How long must I wait, O Love?

I open the door of my heart to You,

my Beloved,

Enter in and imbue me with your steadfast Love.

I shall remember You all my days;

I shall sing praises to You throughout the nights.

I am tired of so many fears;

I cry myself to sleep at night;

grief and feelings of guilt

bedim my eyes with tears;

All my doubts, my fears, are creating walls

so that I know not love.

Depart from me,

you enemies of wholeness,

for the Beloved is aware of my cry;

Love has heard my prayer;

and hastens to answer my call.

Though my fears are running for cover,

yet they shall be transformed

by Love;

All that was in darkness shall come

into the Light. And I will know peace.

An Earthquake in the Heart

How Does Anyone Survive Relocating?  

              It is beastly. It is an earthquake in the heart. 
Thankfully, angels come to help you keep your balance! 

I have never moved before except to get married. Almost 40 years ago the stars in my eyes completely blocked any pain of leaving my childhood home. Since then, my friends and family members have moved. And, I'm sure I didn't pay enough attention. I read about moving in novels, of course. But, thought novelists exaggerate the inner upheaval for dramatic effect.  

I figured the farmer and I were solidly put on this land; we would never move so why pay close attention to something I'd never have to experience?  

In the recent past, a good friend talked about the struggles they had in moving. My compassion was so heartfelt; I prayed daily for them. And still I had no idea what it was like. Humanly, it's impossible to go into the inner landscape of another. The best we can offer is companionship and empathy. And soup. 

Angels brought us soup. I hope to do the same during others' earthquakes. 

Somewhere in my becoming more alive and awake, I signed up for a 'Yes!' to life. I want to be fully present to what is. See, feel and honor exactly what is unfolding in life. Often it takes effort to stay present, not sugar coat, minimize, cover up, suppress or blind myself to life. 

Someone hinted I'm too raw; I drag things out too long. At the time, I waffled between feeling chastised and compassion for him. Another asked me why I'm documenting a 'goodbye to the farm' and 'the last this or that' - why am I looking back so much? She could not do the same as it would be too painful. She speaks some truth. It is painful. 

Grandies play in a newly emptied closet. Note
the flashlight hanging by a bungee cord.

Most of us, including me at times, bulldoze our way through change. Or distract ourselves. Change is so unsettling! I love how children play their way through change. 







Being the queen of post-it notes, of finding beautiful answers long after the question, I wish I'd said, "I don't think of it as looking back, or wallowing. I'm standing firmly in the present moment, in the unfolding. My heart is open, undefended; I'm sorrowing and celebrating.  My family is deeply honoring our life together in this place. Our work on this farm, the 4, almost 5 generations of family here. All the sweat, the hopes, the birthing, the dying, the potato digging, steer wrangling, goat milking, hay bale throwing, and egg gathering. The lost dreams, the anger, joy, beauty and stink.... everything.

Four heads watch the grand piano dismantling! Sometimes
angels wear boots and work pants.

I can't do my celebratory bonfire idea, where we invite everyone who ever set foot on this place and loved it with us, to circle around the fire and sing, cry, reminisce, honor the changes. So Facebook photo albums and this blog become my bonfire. Everyone who ever loved this place is invited to gather with us.  

I'll end with a lovely quote by Parker Palmer:   

I know there are folks who don't want to contemplate the end of life, or any sort of loss, before they get there. For them it drains joy from the present moment.  For me, it's the opposite. Every reminder that there will be a last this and a last that — including a last moment — deepens my gratitude for this moment and helps me "be here now."   (http://www.onbeing.org/blog/parker-palmer-the-last-things-to-give-up/8381)


Yes!  Oh yes. 

Goodbye to the farm!     Stunning photo by Krista Stolzfus from Higher Focus Studio

Was it a Season Like This?

window sill in winter -full of sprouts and cuttings

   

I'm listening to Christmas music while packing up scarecrows and leaf art, eating dinner from paper Easter egg plates, and growing cuttings of lilacs and roses; not even sure what season it is. Moving confuses you; mixes up your life, your sense of time. It is a tyrant worse than a long holiday to-do list.  

Was it a season like this …when everything seemed mixed up...when Christ came?

It’s unseasonably warm here. Makes me feel like planting garden instead of cleaning out the beds and borders in preparation for both winter and moving in the spring.

Moving requires reflection on how you gardened in the past, how you may want to redo things at the new place. It forces your family to reflect too. My grandson, Jude, helped us strip the garden and yard of Nana's treasures – bird baths, statues, and whimsical cement animals- to take to the new house. He picked up shells, rocks to load in the truck. Suddenly, he called with an urgency that made us all turn from our tasks to look at him. His knees and arms were wrapped around our tiny weeping cherry tree; he was grunting with effort gasping at us to help him pull this out!  The little tree, surrounded by Irish moss is part of my cancer survivor garden, and his treasure, since he played under it.  Poignant moments happen daily, in this season of pulling up well entrenched roots and relocating.   

Was it a season like this …not here-not there...when Christ was born?

So many things still hold my heart here. I feel like a pioneer women tucking into the ‘wagon,’ flower seeds gathered from dad’s hibiscus and grandma’s 80year old prim roses. Oh, and I must bring shoots of black raspberries that my grandchildren love!

My insides do not match the Christmas cheer being thrown around everywhere. My soul holds snapshots of sad eyed refuges. My husband and I are choosing to uproot; we are dreaming and happy about the move, yet the goodbye-ing is brutal. How much more so, if war or men with machetes chased us out? 

Was it a season like this …the world a mess, horror upon horror...when Christ was born?

I read social media posts of friend and family celebrations, happy homecomings, gorgeous decorations, while writing this in my journal:    

     Someone is coming to buy our grandson’s toddler bed. Jude's, toddler bed. I want to cry; I can’t watch it go. Granddaughter, Avery writes me notes saying how much she'll miss me after we move. I'm a mess these days. I’m a split personality; one side laughingly eager to live our dreams, the other side overwhelmed with grief.

Hallmark movies always have happy endings.  In reality, Mopsy is still not flying out of the lagoon. His ‘Maybe’ mate left him for a mallard that could fly away with her. I may move and never see him fly.

My mate, my hubby’s shoulder surgery and recovery is delaying our packing up.  Frustration mounts as I try to do too much myself.  Moving, like other stresses, often requires much vulnerability and letting go. Just a few months ago I led a women’s retreat and spoke boldly about learning to accept what is. I even co-wrote a book about having a spacious heart. 

What a fraud! 

My heart is not always open and accepting. Some days it’s curled into a fetal position or shaking a fist, shouting “enough!”  All I can do is observe with compassion, talk to my spiritual director to laugh and cry as together we witness and honor what is presenting in my life.   

This morning, I listened to an ON Being podcast while packing books into boxes. What a fun interview of Martin Sheen, a beautiful soul!  ( http://www.onbeing.org/program/martin-sheen-spirituality-of-imagination/8257)  I was soon laughing with him, with interviewer Krista Tippett, as Sheen quoted Thomas Merton on the birth of Christ: 

 "Into this world, this demented inn, where there is absolutely no room for him at all, Christ comes uninvited."  

Sheen said this is his favorite Christmas quote. With a raspy belly laugh, Sheen adds: "THIS IS CHRISTMAS!! --- Into this world, this demented inn, He comes uninvited. We all think we are seeking, but in reality we’re not."  We choose comfort over stretching. Ease over vulnerability. "This is the deepest spiritual practice - accepting the cup as offered, not as it is altered." When Sheen receives the cup, he always wants to ask, “can I have it less full?  Or with some extra sugar?”

Ah, I recognize myself in him. Into my chaotic world, into this demented chaotic world, Christ comes. Love comes. Hope exists. This truly is the deepest level of spirituality, to love deeply in spite of being human.To be grateful for our humanity, for life. To accept graciously the work and discomfort that is waking up, opening, deepening and change. To risk being vulnerable and human.  

We are all just doing our best to cope, to live as fully as we can. Including me, including you. 

Christ came as a human.  Into a demented inn, a chaotic world.  Chaos comes before new birth, before creation, before transformation. Hope exists. I hold that in my soul, too.           

So, it was a season like this…

Sold our home of 40years -OregonViewFarm

new home in VA!

                         .....when Love came.... 

                     

                      Merry Christmas!!! 

A Hint of Things to Come

Life constantly offers opportunities for us to grow and change, especially before and during times of transition.  Through our very lives, God speaks, providing inspiration for the journey.  If we are youngish and pliable, if our hearts are open, we receive exactly what we need to help us walk through times that scare us.

I find inspiration in the beat of duck wings, the rise of the morning sun, in imagines sent to me through comments of friends, through poems and wise-sayings on email or social media.  All become soul sensing hints of things to come, illuminations of the step right before us ....even as our eyes can’t see much of the journey ahead and our minds tend to worry and fret.

My grandson, Jude, lives in a tiny apartment attached to our house. At three, he really doesn’t understand the lines that divide our living spaces, or that his family won’t live here forever.  His daddy just graduated from college and there is talk of looking for a job and moving to a new place. So, change is coming. 

For months now, unprompted by any adult, Jude found and savored a book called Mouse Moves House. On the day he found it, I thanked the God who prompts and draws us to find the things we need to help move us interiorly in tune with outer change.  At first, the story of moving, terrified the small boy.  He wanted me to read it often; he’d sit enraptured and unsettled. I'd watch the play of emotions moving across his face.  Every time the story ended, he’d loudly proclaim his dislike. Yet, day after day, he’d pick it out again for me to read.  

These days, he loves the words and pictures of Mouse packing his backpack and dropping plates into a big bag, having a cheese snack in the middle of packing up. His mind has adjusted to the scary thought of moving from a home known since birth. 

Good storytelling often moves us forward, opens a reader’s heart toward greater understanding or toward something in life’s horizon.  Add the element of God, of the Divine Mystery (how do those stories and imagines end up right where we’ll find them when we need them?) and you’ve got a hint of how things work:  equilibrium to disequilibrium, and back to equilibrium…on and on in the cycle of life and growth - kissed by Eternal Wisdom, a God holding us in Love always. Whether we’re in the midst of being drawn to concepts or changes beyond our understandings, whether we're dug in and resisting, or flying wild and free, we are equally loved!  As we work our way from the comfort of the known, from the cozy nest, inching toward our edges before slipping into the wild unknown, we are usually filled with doubts, fears and dread.  How little we trust the process, or God’s great holding of us, or the drawing towards growth that results in greater love, spaciousness, and freedom. When we finally take flight, we realize the air under our wings is the same air that lined our cozy nest. The nest, the struggle to launch, the flying, and the very air around us is all part of the Great Holding.

As I prepare for some difficult transitions of my own, I am aware I’m being held. This helps me trust the God who loves Jude- that somehow all will be well – as Jude grows up with or without us sharing the same house.  I feel God’s love whenever I read to Jude, sharing stories of timeless wisdom or in making up my own stories to help Jude understand his world.  Stories have equal meaning to reader and listener.  Here's another favorite of Jude's:  The Egg Book. 

What wonderful, simple wisdom!

Reminds me of Jude's and my conversations as we watch the ducks in our old, unused farm lagoon.

Every day Jude and I count the ducks in our farm lagoon.  Ten this afternoon.

     “Nana, why not fifteen?”

     “Five flew away!”

     “But, I’m so sad. I miss them!”  The small boy’s face looks truly dejected.

     “I miss them too, and yet, I’m happy for them.”

     “Why?”

     “They are FLYING!! Wouldn’t it be awesome to fly? When they were little ducks all alone in their shell, they only knew what the inside of their egg shell looked like. Then they hatched and discovered this awesome lagoon and all their brothers and sisters. They loved it in the lagoon. They learned to paddle and float. They learned to peep and whistle for their momma. They learned to hide under momma’s wings to keep warm. They ate bugs,worms and feed we threw them on the ledge. They tried to catch frogs that popped and croaked on their tiny island.

     But, as they grew up, this wonderful lagoon started feeling small. There wasn’t enough room on the island for everyone to comfortably sleep.  The bigger ducks chased smaller ducks away from their favorite spot under the rushes.

     As they grew bigger, there wasn’t enough room on the ledge for them all to eat. So they started fighting over who got to eat first. Some ducklings got all pecked up and their feathers got pulled out by the bossier ducks.

     And then, they grew bigger still. They heard ducks flying over their heads, in the sky. And what is that wide blue dome above them; what is the sky made of?  They started imagining themselves up there. They started flapping their wings. They tried flying from the island to the ledge.  They wondered what it was like out there in the big, wide world beyond this tiny lagoon.

     One day, five ducks that were fat, sleek and all grown up, flew from the ledge to the island, the island to the ledge and then simply lifted themselves up, up, pumped their wings harder and flew over the lagoon fence. They flew into the wild, blue sky and were very glad they were ducks."

     “Why?”

     “Because they are flying high and seeing the world.”

     “Why?”

     “Because everyone needs to leave home sooner or later, sometimes more than once.”

     “Nana. I yike that.”  I smile and nod.

     “And, I don’t yike it too.”

     “Ah, you got that right, kid.”

We hi-fived, and said farewell - have a great life! -  to the five fly-aways.  

We watched the remaining ten as they pecked and preened. Then we kissed our hands and waved them at the ducks and went on to play baseball in the

pasture above the fenced-in lagoon.

And one final bit of wonderful wisdom:  This image was sent to me by a friend through email. I loved it so much I asked the author/artist, Kristin Noelle, if I may share this on my blog. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Prints can be ordered on Kristin's website:  https://www.etsy.com/shop/TrustTending?page=2