In Sweet Company

The word ‘love’ is so bandied about today, but love is the most powerful energy in the world. It’s so important to unleash it. To be present to the dignity of the forgotten, to recognize the beauty of the scarred and maimed, draws forth their goodness and self-respect in a way that nothing else can. — Sister Helen Prejean. IN SWEET COMPANY: CONVERSATIONS WITH EXTRAORDINARY WOMEN ABOUT LIVING A SPIRITUAL LIFE

 

Recently, a young man I love experienced the tragic and unexpected loss of a close friend. This is the first time something like this has happened to him. I have three times as many years as he does and many such losses on my dance card. It never gets easier, but at least I knew what to say to him, at least I could tell him with absolute surety that some things never make sense, but they teach us how to love more deeply and how enduring love really is.

In the wake of his loss, I have been thinking of losses I have weathered: the young soldier whose name I wore on a POW bracelet in the 70’s until the bracelet fell off my wrist; the olive-skinned girl in 10th grade who one day stopped coming to class; dear friends lost before their time to the ravages of disease or accident and those lost to the ferment of time. As I recall their lives, I review my own: Was I kind enough? Did I dwell too long on their idiocsyncrasies? Did I forgive them their humanity even when they could not forgive me mine? How do I carry them in my heart, the heart that remains?

What I know for certain as a result of my losses is there is a greater need for kindness, a greater need to accept what is different about us, a greater need to let go of the pettiness and prejudice and pride and busyness that separates us from one another, that separates one heart from the other. This is especially hard to do when other losses–financial and professional, loss of the future we hoped for and the past that used to be–weigh heavy on our minds.

My young friend did a very brave and very kind thing, I thought, when he wrote a tribute to his lost friend on his Facebook page. He put his heart on the line in a few short, raw, elegant phrases for all to see. It was a tribute to both boys, one gone, one–perhaps–a little more found; an act of kindness that did not separate one heart from another.

Your thoughts?

 “Great Mystery … is an energy that lives within me constantly. It calls to me internally and prompts me to develop or expand specific information or insights for myself and for others. It talks to me through my mental processes, through my intuition and feelings, and through inner visions. Great Mystery both sends and receives — it’s a two-way street. I talk to Great Mystery all the time and Great Mystery responds.” — Grandmother Twylah Nitsch, IN SWEET COMPANY:CONVERSATIONS WITH EXTRAORDINARY WOMEN ABOUT LIVING A SPIRITUAL LIFE

Wanted to share a truly inspired poem sent to me by the truly inspired editor I am working with on my new book, The Architecture of Light.  Lesley can be reached at http://www.lesleykellaspayne.com. The poem is by Lisel Mueller, a Pulitzer Prize winning poet from Illinois. Both brighten my days.

Sometimes, When the Light
Sometimes, when the light strikes at odd angles
and pulls you back into childhood

and you are passing a crumbling mansion
completely hidden behind old willows

or an empty convent guarded by hemlocks
and giant firs standing hip to hip,

you know again that behind that wall,
under the uncut hair of the willows

something secret is going on,
so marvelous and dangerous

that if you crawled through and saw,
you would die, or be happy forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I think spirituality is also about the reconciliation of opposites. It’s about diving deep inside yourself beyond the polarities to a place of unity where everything holds together.”  –  Sister Helen Prejean, IN SWEET COMPANY: CONVERSATIONS WITH EXTRAORDINARY WOMEN ABOUT LIVING A SPIRITUAL LIFE

Many years ago, I came across the words of R. H. Greenville — a man? a woman? a writer?  a philosopher? I never could find out more about Greenville — that have served me well through the years.

Greenville wrote an essay called “New Day,” an opus so lofty I can never take it in all in one sitting. So I take it line by line and use these thoughts  as affirmations I whisper to myself and to the Universe when my own thoughts are lacking.

Here are my favorites, the tried and true words of the anonymous R. H.. Greenville; the unsung legacy of a life of faith and divine love.

“I am not limited. I am part of the limitless freedom, wisdom and activity of God. The best that I have experienced is but a prelude to the good which it is my destiny to know and enjoy.”

“I am exalted, lifted up in mind, heart and spirit when I contemplate the grandeur of life of which I am, have always been, and shall always be a part.”

“Everywhere I go, everywhere I look, divine light, divine love, surround me.”

“I am not afraid to let go of the old and grasp the new. Movement and activity are a part of my life and a part of my joy in living. My mind is open to new ideas. My heart welcomes the opportunity to know and grow in understanding.”

“I trust Him to bring heavenly results out of earthly conditions.”

“His is the power by which I conquer. His is the presence by which all things are made new and glorious.

Thank you, R. H., whoever, wherever you are!

Your thoughts?

“My duty as a religious person is to align myself with the power in the universe I call God. Alignment is what relationship — any relationship — is all about.” — Rabbi Laura Geller, IN SWEET COMPANY: CONVERSATIONS WITH EXTRAORDINARY WOMEN ABOUT LIVING A SPIRITUAL LIFE

I’ve been waiting for it for a few weeks, punching buttons on the radio, holding the expectation each time I walk into the supermarket or a store to do some holiday shopping that I would hear it, hear a majestic voice sing “Silent Night” and blanket my heart with calm. The song never fails to lift me beyond the hustle and hassle of the holidays — of the world, for that matter. The respite is much appreciated when it comes.

As it is for many people, “Silent Night” has always been my favorite Christmas Carol. This is no small feat considering I was raised in a Jewish home. At night after my parents and sister fell asleep, often as  snow painted the trees outside my window a wintery white, I’d lie in my bed and sing “Silent Night” — all three verses — over and over again until I fell asleep. This was the beginning of a relationship I’m cultivating with silence and stillness that serves me Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall.

Today I was whipping around Berkeley, impatiently punching buttons on my radio, feeling a little blue that I had not yet heard my song. I was tired when I came home, and the house was cold, so I crawled under my covers to warm up until the heat kicked in. I lay in bed still thinking about the dearth of “Silent Night” when it occurred to me that I did not have to wait to hear the song, that I could pop in a CD or, better yet, that I could sing it to myself just as I had done in the springtime of my life. I am now, with hair the color of winter snow, the Mistress of my Song. I no longer have to wait for anyone to orchestrate my calm.

Though this “a-ha!” came quickly, it was many years in the making, and I have yet to perfect the skill. But in this moment, with this small but significant act, all is calm, all is bright.

Wishing you and your dear ones a joyful, peaceful holidays and a Happy New Year.