Category: growth into humanity

Finding Sister Visentia and the story of the empty stomach

On By MaryIn Cloister of the Sisters of Mary Magdalene, growth into humanity, vision and perspectiveLeave a comment

When we last saw Sister Visentia she was dangling off the edge of a cliff near the South Branch of the Raritan River. She had been chased over the cliff by a mother bear. As she came to the edge of the cliff, she grabbed onto a vine thinking she would find a way to the bottom – only to see a snarling pack of coyotes below. It was about then that she looked more carefully at the vine that was her life line, and she noticed two things: a luscious strawberry, and some mice gnawing on the vine.  Out Sister Visentia being who she was, she plucked the strawberry with her free hand and deeply savored its sweetness. And the “Family of Bears” blog entry ended there.

 What transpired just as we left the scene is that a young man flying an ultra-light aircraft happened by just at that moment. He noticed Visentia dangling from the vine and took stock of her situation. Just as he flew by, Sister Visentia saw him and recognized the pilot as the young man she had saved from drowning earlier in the summer. She waved and called out to him, but he just flew by. Sister Visentia’s hopes rose and were dashed in the same quick instant. She knew that he saw her dangling there. How could he just fly off and leave her there. He must have recognized her; she certainly recognized and remembered him. How could he forget someone who had saved his life? How could he abandon someone who had saved his life!?!  But he was gone and that was all there was to it. Nothing had changed; she had to remember to focus on the sweetness of the strawberry. She wanted her last thoughts to be ones of joy and appreciation. She really did want that.

 And then she thought she heard the sound of the ultra-light getting louder. She looked out and didn’t see it. But, then she looked down and saw the ultra light flying ridiculously close to the ground. What was he doing? Then she realized he was buzzing the coyotes and chasing them off. And as she looked down she noticed that the ultra-light had only one seat. There he was herding the  pack of coyotes off away from the bottom of the cliff. One problem removed. But it was still a very tall cliff, and the vine was just about at breaking point.

 With the coast clear for a landing, Sister Visentia started to look around in more earnest for a pathway to the bottom. There were a few scrub bushes below her, maybe they would break her fall. Just as a plan began to take shape in her mind, the vine gave way, and the base of the cliff came rushing towards her.

 “Tuck and roll.” Visentia heard a man’s voice call out to her.

 Reflexively she tucked into a fetal position, protecting her face and front and she let herself roll down the face of the cliff. Eventually, after the longest couple of minutes of her life, Visentia felt her tumbling halted by strong, careful hands. She looked up from the ground into the eyes of the man she had saved from drowning only weeks before.

 “Good afternoon, Sister. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Javier de Esperar. I believe that I owe you my thanks for saving my life? I apologize for not thanking you properly earlier, but I – well, I did not think that I was dressed properly for the occasion. But perhaps now our accounts are somewhat in balance?”

 Sister Visentia collected herself. She gathered her thoughts, straightened her limbs and robes, and struggled to stand up, even as she smiled, “Well, indeed. You are quite welcome, and I am most grateful, Javier. I am delighted to see you again. Twice in one summer it seems that I have tested my vows and both times with you.”

 Visentia winced and moaned as she tried to stand up. Javier looked crestfallen. “Sister, I trust these innocent transgressions of your vows should not cause you such grave pain?”

 “Ah, Javier, my new friend, it is not the condition of my vows that are the source of my pain. It is the condition of my arm. I am afraid that I have broken it.”

 Javier looked more carefully at Sister Visentia’s arm, asked her if he might touch it, and then very quickly before she could respond, he took her arm in both his hands and pulled and twisted it in one smooth, if painful, movement. Visentia started, yelped, and then looked relieved. “what?”

 “I am a chiropractor.” Javier responded before she could finish her question. “You dislocated your shoulder in the tumble. It should be fine now. But you may want to baby it a little for the next few days. Sister, may I ask you a question?” and without waiting for her response, Javier continued, “I must admit that I was flying over the area looking to see if I could find you. I indeed wanted to thank you properly for saving my life the other day. When I first saw you, you were not alone. What happened to the other sister who was walking with you? How could she have run off and left you alone with that mother bear chasing you? What is wrong with that woman? Has she no sense of care or community?”

 “Oh Javier, that was Sister Septimus, and I must admit she is her own kind of person. Indeed, she has gone off somewhere. But, Javier, let me tell you a bit of a story that helps me to understand and appreciate Sister Septimus. You are a medical man, so you may appreciate this story. My mother was a philosopher, and she use to tell me this tale often when I was frustrated with my sister when I was much younger.  Mom would remind me: ‘in the earliest days of the creation of humans, not all the body parts  worked together in harmony the way we find them to work in our own times. Each member of the body, each part had its own opinion and ideas of how to function and of how to relate to all the other parts.  Each body part thought it was the most important, that its way of working was the best method, and that its function was the most crucial in keeping the new humans alive and healthy.  A revolt was brewing among them.  The various body parts began to grumble and complain, and finally the focus settled on the stomach as a lazy bag that just sat in their midst and collected and enjoyed the fruits of their persistent, diligent work. They were angry and insulted that they all worked so hard, and the stomach just sat there taking it all in without effort or gratitude.   And so one day all of the other body parts colluded in a revolution. The hands would bring nothing to the mouth, the mouth would take in no food, the teeth refused to chew – they would reign in the stomach and give it nothing but hunger – the first hunger games you might say. But, soon enough, their dedication to punishing the stomach and teaching it the need for discipline and persistence brought starvation and weakness to each of the other body parts – they were wasting away.  Finally they realized that the work of the stomach was nothing insignificant, that indeed the stomach too gave back to the body. As a result, they realized that the work done by the stomach was no small matter, and that the food he consumed was no more than what he gave back to all the parts of the body in the through the digested food which nurtured them all through the blood, and which cleansed them through the intestines and so on.’  At that point in the story my Mom would smile, and remind me that we all have a part to play in the larger body of life. Sometimes that part is clear to see and sometimes it hidden from our view. But we must trust each other and help each other as best we can by living out the best that we can be, each of us being simply our selves, each of us playing our own part – because as Mom also used to say, all the other parts are already taken.”

Javier smiled at the story. “Your Mom was quite a woman.”

“She was indeed. Then, because she was a philosopher and didn’t quite know when to stop, Mom would remind us that tolerance is not enough. It was only when each of the body parts came to understand and celebrate each other in all of their differences and diversity that they call came to flourish.”

“Ah, indeed, she was a wise woman.” Javier concluded.

Watch out for Silver Lamps

On By MaryIn growth into humanity, stories for social changeLeave a comment

Over the course of time any relationship will develop its own package of quirks, oddities and idiosyncrasies. If the relationship is happy and healthy it will grow inside jokes and code words. One of our code words is “silver lamp” and the story of how that came to have its meaning is kind of funny and maybe worth retelling – maybe.

So, way too many years ago when we were just getting to know each other, when we were newly living together, a couple of young beginning professionals, we were in circumstances that we described as “Champaign taste and a beer pocketbook.” It’s an odd reference in itself, since we don’t especially love Champaign; our tastes run more to red wine, maybe cabernet sauvignon or merlot. But, the image is apt enough – we liked nice things, but we were young and new in our professions and so – well we needed to be careful about budgeting.

We had been living in a very (VERY) small one bedroom apartment. The apartment had a hallway that we called the kitchen because that’s where the sink, stove and refrigerator were located – a person could be there and do some cooking, but two people in that space was more than a little tight. There was a living room where all of the living happened, and that was about it. The living room was interesting in its own right though because the building was old, the apartment was on the second floor looking out over the river, and the foundation was sinking ever so slowly and slightly on one side. So, anything set down in one place would be found a few inches away soon enough because of the slope. Cat toys were great because they very fluidly rolled across the floor with no help from us at all. I still miss the quirks of that first apartment. But more space is even nicer.

Because we were indeed careful and plan-full about budgeting we finally saved up enough to move into a condominium. The condo was still one bedroom, but it had a real kitchen (not just a hallway with appliances), and a dining room and living room! The square footage we were going to be furnishing grew exponentially, as did our furnishing needs.

We needed to get a good bit of new furniture, and we were committed to our budget. So, off we went to shop – furniture stores, department stores, all kinds of store. We found most of what we needed/wanted – a dining room table and chairs, comfortable chairs for the living room, proper desks and bookshelves, lots of stuff.  We settled in to our new space, and life was sweet. We were happy. And, then as we actually settled in, we (mostly I) realized that we really did not have a comfortable reading space. We had wonderful chairs and a nice sofa. But the light was just not good. So, after looking, thinking and processing the situation for a good bit (remember two women can process anything for ever).  We had just spent a lot of money. The condominium was starting to look good and was feeling comfortable. All we needed was one more lamp.

So, back to the stores we went – furniture stores, department stores, lighting stores, all kinds of stores. We saw lots of lamps – most of them where just not quite right, and the ones that came close didn’t fit the budget. So we kept looking. And then we discovered Ikea. What a find! Great furniture (well, OK, lots of furniture some of it great) at very reasonable prices. What a find. So, we shopped for a floor lamp. We each had an image of what we were looking for (not necessarily a good thing when you are talking about two women who took 8 months to find the ‘right’ white shirt). So, we looked. We had seen some lamps that we liked quite a lot, but they were a good bit more than we wanted to spend, so we kept looking. Then, there we were back at Ikea. We had already scoured every other store we could envision. So, we scoured the lighting section at Idea and found a lamp that pretty much fit the description of what we were looking for, it was kind of alright. It wasn’t exactly what either of us wanted, but the color was right, the shape was in the right family – white shade, silver pole, white base, simple, clean Scandinavia style. Not quite as upscale as we wanted, but upscale costs and the price was right.

We both stood there looking at it. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know what do you think?

“Well … I asked you first.”

“OK, but I’m not sure. Do you like it?”

“It’s OK, I guess. What do you think?”

“It is the size and color we want. Silver [chrome really, but the color was silver looking] will go with the colors in the sofa.”

“And it’s not expensive.”

“And we need a lamp.”

In all of that conversation, you will notice the lack of enthusiasm. Never a good sign. But there was nothing exactly wrong with the lamp. So we bought it, and brought it home.

Once we got home, I unboxed it, put it together (yes, I am one of the few people in the world who can actually understand and follow Idea directions. And, on the second iteration of assembly I even get things put together correctly.) So, the lamp is now together and in place in our new living room. And it was – well, it was kind of OK. It was just missing a bit  of, well of je-ne-sais-quoi. It shed light well enough, it was quite functional. It just didn’t have that something that makes things right. Once it was put together and in the right place, plugged in, and turned on .. well, it worked. We both looked at it, and while we didn’t hate it, we didn’t love it either. But, we had it, Ikea was a long drive, the price was right, so we decided to live with it. And, as we lived with the silver lamp, we learned to tolerate it. That was my first lesson that tolerance is not good enough. Whenever I am doing diversity work and someone advocates ‘tolerance’ of a group that is different, I remember our tolerance of the silver lamp, and I know that I don’t want to be tolerated, and I don’t want any of my friends to be tolerated.

Back to the lamp.  Well, sooner rather than later, we saved up a bit of money, went out shopping again and found the right lamp, one that really looked good, one that we both really liked. The new lamp was brass, and we came home feeling like we had caught the brass ring on the carrousel. Yes, the new lamp cost a little bit more than the ‘silver lamp’ but if we had saved the money we spent for the silver lamp and just put that on the brass one, we would have saved money in the long run.

So, a ‘silver lamp’ for us is something that looks like a bargain, but winds up being unsatisfactory and costs more in the long run. And, tolerable really isn’t all that acceptable or endurable. Good enough is only good enough if it is great.

Have there been silver lamps in your life? come on, share!!

What are some of the code words that have developed in your relationships?

the dancing centipede and the jealous tortoise

On By MaryIn alchemy, growth into humanity6 Comments

 Once in another time and place, there was a centipede named Ghawazhee who was amazingly good at dancing – dancing with all of her one hundred legs. All the creatures of the forest gathered to watch every time the Ghawazhee danced, and they were all delighted and impressed by the grace, poise, and elegance of her movements. But there was one creature that didn’t like watching Ghawazhee the centipede dance – that was Armaya the tortoise. Armaya was incredibly envious of Ghawazhee’s skill and of the admiration that she received from others.

The more Armaya thought about it, the more he wanted to get Ghawazhee to stop dancing. But, he could not just say he didn’t like her dancing. And he couldn’t challenge her, because she was a far, far better dancer than he would ever be.  So, he devised a plan.

Armaya sat down and wrote a letter to Ghawazhee. He pretended to be an admirer who wanted to learn from her. He wrote: “Oh, great and incomparable Ghawazhee, I am a devoted admirer of your unparalleled dancing. I would be ever grateful if you would help me to understand how you proceed when you dance. Is it that you first lift your left leg number 9 and then your right leg number 18? Or do you begin by first moving your left leg number 3 and then your right leg number 6 followed by your left leg number 13? I await your answer in breathless anticipation. Yours truly, Armaya the tortoise.”

When Ghawazhee the centipede read the letter, she immediately began to think about what  she actually did when she danced. Which leg did she lift first? And which leg next? And you KNOW what happened!

Ghawazhee never danced again! Her imagination and intuition became strangled by her deliberation and analysis.  She lost her connection to what Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi calls flow.

There are so many lessons in this story – about jealousy, about self confidence, about interpersonal influence, about so many things personal and interpersonal.

Respect is the foundation of healthy relationships, we need to honor and cherish each other’s skills, abilities and differences. And balance is the foundation of human flourishing; we need to hone imagination and deliberation, intuition and analysis if creativity is going to flourish!

What else do you read into or take from the story? come on, share a little?

 This story come to you from Jostein Gaarder’s novel, “Sophie’s World: a novel about the history of philosophy”

are you a carrot, and egg, or a coffee bean?

On By MaryIn alchemy, growth into humanity1 Comment

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who lived in Holland Township in New Jersey. This is a very special part of New Jersey that still has the gardens and farms that once made New Jersey the garden state. It is also a part of the world where mothers and daughters talk to each other about matters that are important to them. And they listen to each other as they think things through.

One day young Murina was feeling very sad and frustrate with life. Things were not going so well at school, her friends were not very friendly, and her favorite, most loved pet was ill, her flowers were not growing. Life was just not going her way. She told her mother all of this and said she just didn’t know how she could go on! Every time she thought she had one problem figured out, a new one sprouted up worse than the weeds in their garden. Life was just too much for her.

Well, Murina’s mother was a thoughtful kind of woman who like to help her daughter to think things through by showing her something to think about. So Mama Ideslef gave Murina a hug, and invited her into the kitchen. There, Mama filled three pots with water, and set each of them on the stove with each burner set to high heat. She brought them to a rolling boil (covered  of course to conserve energy). In one pot she put some carrots that she had just harvested from the garden; in the second she place some eggs that Murina had just gathered from the hens; and in the third she place some coffee beans that Papa had just brought home from the Homestead General Store in Upper Black Eddy – fresh roasted and fair trade! They let each pot cook for about 20 minutes.  Both Mama and Murina stood near the stove so that the steam from the boiling pots just caressed their faces – after all, a bit of steam is good for the complexion! Together mother and daughter stood and steamed in silence. It was a nice moment.

Then she turned off the burners, and scooped out the carrots and placed them on a plate, fished out the eggs and put them in a shallow blow, and then ladled out the coffee and put some into two cups.

Mama Ideslef turned to Murina and asked her, “Murina, have a look. what do you see here?”

“Oh, Mama, you know, carrots, eggs and coffee,” she replied.

“Good, Darling. Now what can you tell me about the carrots?”

“Well, they are pretty soft.” Murina said.

“Exactly. Now, let’s have a closer look at the egg. Why don’t you break it open, and tell me what you notice.”

Murina did, she peeled off the shell, and she describe a hard-boiled egg to her mother.

Then, Mama Ideslef asked Murina to have a taste of the coffee. This Murina did with great joy, delighting in the rich flavor of the coffee.

“But, Mama, what is all of this about? Other than distracting me, what does this have to do with my sadness?”

Mama Ideslef’s smiled, and explained that the carrot, the egg and the coffee had each faced the same adversity, the boiling water. But each reacted differently.

The carrot went in strong, hard and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak.

The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened.

The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.

“Which will you become, Murina?” Mama Ideslef asked her daughter. “When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?”

Think of this: Which am I?

Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?

Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my shell look the same, but, on the inside, am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?

Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor. If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you.

When your frustration and trials are their greatest,  how do you handle adversity? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?

In the beginning was the hearing

On By MaryIn alchemy, growth into humanity, social justiceLeave a comment

In the beginning was the hearing.  In the beginning there were consciousness raising groups.  Over time small groups of women came together to tell each other our own stories.

Sooner or later, one woman would begin. Often the beginnings were hesitant and awkward. We were trying to put the pieces of our lives together. We were trying to find and claim shreds and shards and work the chaos into a collage with coherence.

One day a woman came to the group. She sat quietly listening and waiting.  Finally she said: “I hurt … I hurt all over.”  She paused and sat in silence for a moment, and one of us simply said, “Tell us what that is like for you.” She touched herself in various places as if feeling for the hurt before she added “but I don’t know where to begin to cry.” And then she began to tell us her life. She talked on and on. One story, one memory led to another memory and experience. “I remember waking up alone, hungry, no place to go – I must have been too young for school, no mama, no food. I was cold. I was always cold. It was always cold. School was cold. Too afraid to have friends, but they fed us there. They laughed at me there. They call them bullies now I think. I just remember the hurtin’ they put on me. Every day someone was puttin’ a hurting on me some kind of way. Then I met him, he said he would protect me, take care of me. He was nice – for a while. But then he started in on me. It was worse with him. He would beat me, and tie me down and have his way with me…”  When she reached a point of excruciating pain no one moved. No one interrupted. Finally she finished. After a silence, she looked from one woman to another. “You heard me. You heard me all the way. You heard me all the way to here, to freedom. You heard me into my own skin. You heard me to life. ” Her eyes narrowed. She looked directly at each woman in turn and then said slowly: “I have a strange feeling you heard me before I started. You hear me to my own story.”  

Our truth is found in our stories, our truth is found through our stories.

Listening  to and hearing, really hearing each other is not an easy task. Those who have been abused, oppressed or discriminated against in any meaningful kind of way (and any abuse, oppression or discrimination is meaningful to the recipient of those kinds of acts), those people are often without hope and are mysteriously quiet.  When change is inconceivable, there can be no words to articulate discontent. We can only hear silence in the very moment when it is breaking.  And so, hearing each other is an essential responsibility, calling and task. Consider the image of hearing into speech, hearing into being.  This is a kind of hearing that take place before speech is articulated; it is a hearing more acute than mere listening. Hearing into speech, hearing into being is a hearing engaged in by the whole body. It is a hearing that evokes speech, a new speech, a new creation.  Hearing into speech, hearing into being dares not interrupt, but deepens when the telling halts or the pain becomes intense.  Hearing into speech, hearing into being walks alongside the teller through her agony, and stays with her until it breaks from the inside and she touches her real self – all of her real self.

This story is inspired by the narratives in Nele Morton’s “The Journey is Home”

my cup runneth over

On By MaryIn growth into humanity1 Comment

What you see is not always what you see. What you seek is not always what you find. A few years ago I was part of an editorial board for a feminist journal. Twice a year we would seek out a place to meet to do work on the journal, and to talk and plan. For the most part we would hold our meetings at the home university of one of the members, and that person would find a reasonable hotel near the school where we all could stay. So, it came time for Esther to volunteer her school which was in a major east coast city, a kind of pricy east coast city. But, Esther was undaunted! She knew of a bed and breakfast right across the street from the building where we could meet at her school. It would be perfect!

Of course we were immediately all on board with this, and the idea became a plan. Time when by, and it was coming on to be time for the meeting, so we all made our reservations at the bed and breakfast. And indeed the price for two nights and two breakfasts was remarkably inexpensive – it was downright cheap! All the better for low budget feminist academics. The weekend of the meeting arrived, and I arrived at the address of the accommodations. As I went through the door of the bed and breakfast I was taken with the rather prominent displays of Christian iconography – particularly since the bed and breakfast had been identified by Esther who is a very observant orthodox Jewish woman. But, then, I’m a feminist who celebrates diversity, so I was not going to quibble about this. Then at the registration desk – which was more like a telephone table in a small hallway, I was greeted by a young woman in a nun’s habit.  She warmly greeted me “God bless you, welcome to our retreat home.”  My jaw must have dropped several stories, because the good sister continued, “yes, we are the  Poor Clare sisters of St. Francis of Assisi. We’ve been running this retreat house as an extension of our cloister for a few years now. It gives women an opportunity to retreat and reflect in silence.”

At that point I found my voice – barely, and managed to utter, “Retreat house? Silence? Cloister?  Is this … and I sputtered out the address?” 

The good sister was the paragon of graciousness, and confirmed that I was at the right place, and affirmed that indeed the bed and breakfast that I was – that we were – expecting was in fact a retreat house where silence was the rule, and prayerful reflection was the practice.

At that point I found myself fervently, silently repeating the mantra, “I’m a feminist who celebrates diversity; I’m a feminist who celebrates diversity.” As I took up my silent chant, I tried to explain who I was and what I was expecting, and that there were a dozen or so other women with similar expectations who would be arriving shortly. Then the good sister’s eyes lit up and she said, “Oh, you must be part of Esther’s group.”  Ah, Esther’s group – that clarified it, and all was right with the world again. I was shown to my room, reminded of the rule of silence, and told that breakfast and prayers would begin at 7 AM. So, off to my room I went to settle in, to wait for the others and to see how the evening would unfold.

I unpacked, settled in, and then started to get restless. So, I ventured out to see if anyone else had arrived, and I found myself in a common room with another of the Poor Clare Sisters. This Sister noticed me, smiled and gestured for me to follow her. We moved into a kitchen area, and she introduced herself as the Mother in charge of the house, and welcomed me. She allowed as how hosting a non-retreat group was a new venture for the sisters, but there was only a small retreat scheduled for that weekend, so they could easily accommodate us, and they could use the additional revenue that our group would add. She asked if I was comfortable, if I needed anything or if I had any questions.

Well, indeed, I had some questions. I was raised Catholic. I knew about the Catholic Church. And there was a thing or two that I wanted to say to the Church. And, since she was standing there and she was clearly bearing the robes of the Church, well, I could just as well say them to her. So, within the rule of silence, I began. And, I continued. And, I went on. Abortion, birth control, clerical celibacy, dogmatism, exempting priests from responsibility for their acts against children, excluding gays and lesbians from marriage, financial wealth in the midst of urban poverty … I went on with questions about how an intelligent, thinking woman could be part of such an institution. (Maybe I might have been carrying some pent up frustration and hostility? Do you think?)  Finally I paused for a breath in my monologue about the failures in catholicity of the Catholic Church and the need for protest and reform. And the Mother Sister smiled graciously, and asked if I would like a cup of tea.

Actually I did. Tea sounded very good about then. And so I dug deep and found my last good manner, and said, “yes, please.” The water was already simmering, so Mother Sister got a couple of cups, poured the water into a teapot, and after the tea had steeped for a few minutes, she began to pour. As she poured the tea into my cup, I quickly notice that the tea was reaching the rim. “Ahhh” I said. And Mother Sister continued to pour. “Wait, stop!” I said, “my cup is full, you can’t put anymore tea in it!” 

Mother Sister just smiled, and said, “Exactly. If your cup is so full, how can anyone put anymore in it.”

And I knew right then and there that she was talking about a lot more than tea in a tea cup. Her few words said so much more than my monologue. Maybe there was something to this silence. And, I continued my silent chant, “I’m a feminist and I celebrate diversity.” And I started to think a bit more about what that meant, about what I meant by it, and about what it could mean.

Well, then others from the group started to arrive. Word about the rule of silence started to spread. And the giggles started to erupt. Women, silent? Feminist women, silent! Really? Well, we managed.  We were silent in the bed and breakfast retreat house – well mostly – and always when we were reminded. The work that weekend did seem to progress a bit more smoothly than usual. It was a weekend that none of us has ever forgotten.

 And, I find myself smiling quietly now every time I pour myself a cup of tea – and I find myself thinking about how full I really am, about how much I actually know. I’ve heard the beginning of wisdom is to know that you don’t know. And, while I do manage to keep the tea in the cup, more often than not, as I remember that weekend and my conversation with Mother Sister, I do feel like my cup runneth over.

Fear, Generosity and spoons with long handles

On By MaryIn growth into humanity, spiritual growth1 Comment

Once upon a time in a place both very near to my heart and very distant from here and now, there were two villages, Metus and Gratia.

In the village known as Metus, the people lived in fear. They have learned to distrust each other, and the communal belief was that each person had better take care of his or her self, because no one else could be trusted to so. The most common saying among the villagers was that help’s sir name was Godot, and there was no point in waiting for Godot!  

One day the Queen mandated a communal feast. And, all of the villagers were summoned to sit around at a huge table full of food. The Queen’s men saw to it that the bowls on the table were always full and overflowing. The villagers of Metus cursed the Queen and her men, they knew the food on the table was a cruel joke meant to taunt them. As part of the feast day celebrations, each of the villagers had spoons with long handles attached to their arms and they couldn’t reach their own mouths with the spoons, because the handles were too long. When they tried to feed themselves the food fell uselessly to the table. Their bowls were overflowing but they were all starving to death at the feast. They saw the feast as cruel punishment by a cynical and uncaring Queen.

In the village of Gratia, the people grew up living lives that were steeped in gratitude, generosity, and love. Like their distant relative in Africa, they understood relationships in the spirit of Ubuntu, “I am because you are.” The villagers of Gratia shared a sense of deep interconnectedness and a commitment to love, nurture and to see to the well being of each of the members of the community

As with the villagers of Metus, one day the Queen called for a communal feast in the Village of Gratia. All of the villagers were invited to be seated at a huge table full of food. The Queens men saw to it that bowls of food on the table were always full and overflowing. The villagers of Gratia knew the food was a joyous gift of generosity from their beloved Queen and they thoroughly enjoyed the day of celebration. To highlight celebration of Ubuntu that wove throughout the day, everyone had spoons with long handles attached to their arms. While in fact the handles were so long that they could not feed themselves, no one in Gratia noticed. They were all laughing and joyously feeding one another.

When we share with each other there is always more than enough, yet when we are afraid of sharing there is never enough.

When we open our hearts and share with each other there is always more than enough love, power and food. Will we see the spoons as obstacles or connections? Any crisis can be rendered into danger or an opportunity.

Two Nuns, Chastity and the Drowning Young Man

On By MaryIn Cloister of the Sisters of Mary Magdalene, growth into humanity, spiritual growthLeave a comment

Not far from Flemington there is a cloistered convent of the good sisters of Saint Mary Magdalene. Sisters living in a cloister have chosen to set themselves apart from the rest of society, and have dedicated themselves to a simple life of prayer, work and community within the walls of the convent.  Sisters of this Order have pledged themselves to pray always, and as do all religious, to honor the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. 

As it happens, this convent is very near to the Raritan River, and so, on occasion, the sisters will walk along the river, often in pairs, as they chant their devotions. One balmy spring afternoon, just after one of those torrential ‘spring showers’ that we are wont to have in central New Jersey, two of the good sisters were strolling along the banks of the river which was rushing past them with three times its normal volume and twice its speed, struggling to carry off the drainage from the rains. As the sisters walked and prayed in silence, they noticed a young man in the river, obviously in trouble, going under for the third time. Without hesitation, Sister Visentia shed her outer robes, jumped into the river, pulled out the young man – who she soon noticed was quite, well, shall we say, unclothed – and administered mouth to mouth resuscitation to him to help restart his breathing.  Very quickly he was revived. He concurrently noticed his own nakedness and saw that the two women were Sisters from the cloister. Embarrassed, he profusely thanked Sister Visentia, covered what he could with his hands, and ran off down the river away from the convent grounds.  Sister Visentia put her robes back on, and the two Sisters continued their prayerful walk along the river.

Sometime later, after they had walked and prayed for a goodly while, Sister Septimus turned to Sister Visentia, looked at her accusingly and said, “How could you so callously break your vows without any hesitation or remorse? You tore your close off in front of a man, you touched his body in all of its nakedness, and you pressed your lips to his! And now you continue to walk and pray as if nothing aberrant has happened! Have you no shame or remorse? Have you no respect for your vows?!?”

Sister Visentia looked very calmly at Sister Septimus and replied, “Well Sister, I only did what was necessary to save the life of one of our Creator’s blessed souls. What could be greater respect for my vows, for the commitment of our community to honor the Creator’s work in all that we do? How could I let such a fine example of that creation be lost before its time? And, besides, my dear Sister, I put that young man’s body down a long time ago, right there on the bank of the river where I found him. Why are you still carrying his naked body with you all this time later?”

Why indeed. The letter and the spirit of the law, the letter and the spirit of our commitments and goals can at times seem to be in conflict.

I really like this story because it reminds me of the importance of remembering what is really important, the essence of our goals and commitments. It also reminds me of the importance of letting go; of the importance of forgiveness; of the self incrimination and futility of judging others. 

If I were REALLY doing a total rewrite of the story instead of the minor tweaking liberties that I took, I would have Sister Visentia turn to Sister Septimus and sing song: “I am rubber and you are glue, and whatever you think or say about me, bounces off me and sticks on you!”  But I guess that really doesn’t fit with the spirit of the story, so I won’t.  I will indulge in one more moral though: remember Fritz Perls assertion that 80% percent of what we see is a projection of our own stuff.  That should give us pause when we are ready to indict someone for what their words or actions implied.  Was it implied, or are we reading our own fear, guilt or suppressed desires onto the canvas of someone else’s life? Indeed, “I am rubber and you are glue, and whatever you think or say about me, bounces off me and sticks on you!”

Parable of the Cracked Pot

On By MaryIn growth into humanity, love1 Comment

There was a woman who lived out in the country, not far from where I grew up in North East Pennsylvania, she lived so far out in the country, that her home did not have electricity or running water. So, each morning, she would take up her yoke with a large pot hanging on both ends, and down to the spring she would walk to get her water for the day.

 One of the pots was seamless and always carried its full capacity of water back to the home. The other pot had a crack in it, and by the time they arrived home, it was only half full. This journey went on for several years, with the woman arriving home with only one and half post of water to her home each day. Now, of course anthropomorphism was alive and well there and in this story! So, the seamless pot was proud of its accomplishments, and would often taunt the cracked pot about its failure to deliver.

 And of course, the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and was miserable that is was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After years of what is perceived to be bitter failure, with a sad heart, one day, the cracked pot spoke to the woman as they stood on the edge of the stream: “I am so ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house. I feel a failure. I let you down each day as you work so hard at your tasks.”

 The woman said to the pot, “Did you not notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side? That is because I have always known about your structure, and I planted flowers on your side of the path. Every day while we walk back, you’ve watered them. For years, I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house, to make our house a home.”

 One moral of the story: each of us has our own unique structure and possibilities. We’re all cracked pots. But it is the cracks and idiosyncrasies we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding. It is those very diversities that add spice and zest to life! we’ve just got to take each person for who they are and look for the good in them. To see the goodness in someone, to will and to act to make that goodness grow – that is love, that is the deepest respect for human dignity. We just need to be awake to the possibilities and the potentials.

Perspective. Awareness. Awe. And the Surfer Dude in the desert

On By MaryIn growth into humanityLeave a comment

Life and death are grave matters.
All things pass quickly away
Each of us must be completely alert:
Never neglectful, never indulgent.

This is a Zen saying, the evening message at many Zen sangha’s (communities).

 To be awake, to be alert, to be attentive to our own inner state and to our surroundings is pretty much the foundation for all work, no matter what the work … work for social justice and human rights, work as a social worker, work as a writer, all good work seems to build on a foundation of awareness.

 Anne Lamott has written at least seven novels, an award winning book on how to write (Bird by Bird), and she conducts writing workshops. One of her workshops was recorded and is available as an audio book: “Word by Word.”  Early in that audio book, she talks about the importance of awareness. She tells the story of a young man walking through the desert. I would assume this is in California, because the east coast does not have deserts as far as I know (and I do live in New Jersey, spend a lot of time in Cape Cod, and I have visited my sister in North Carolina; so I have some first hand knowledge of the geography of the east coast.). Anyway, Lamott’s young man who is walking through the desert is actually a bit of a surfer dude, completely decked out in full body wet suit, goggles, snorkel, zinc oxide on the nose, swim fins over the shoulder; he is walking due west along the roadside. Eventually a car comes up, and pauses alongside him. The woman driving the car asks him if he is OK. Surfer Dude, says sure, he is heading to the ocean. The woman notes as how the ocean is 500 miles away. The Surfer says, “hey but look at this most amazing beach.”

 Perspective. Awareness. Awe.