Wellspring: inspiration and guidance for a spiritual journey

Why I love Rochester, by Libby Moore

I was supposed to have coffee this afternoon with my friend Joy, a chance to talk about my worries about Bob and this unexplained blood count drop. But she called about fifteen minutes before we were supposed to meet and suggested that with the heavy snow coming down, we might postpone our date. I looked out the window and saw nothing but a little gray to the north and west – but as we were talking, it started to snow at our house, faster and heavier, large flakes drifting down, settling on the trees and ground. We cancelled our date. Another Rochester weather event.

But that's not why I love Rochester. It's the people who have surrounded us in this uncertain time, the people who visited in the hospital, who called and e-mailed and sent their love in so many ways. It's the early choir singing "The Storm Is Passing Over" to Bob on my cell phone, since he couldn't come to choir rehearsal Tuesday night. It's the offers of food and someone to sit with me while we wait for procedures to be finished. It's knowing that we're not alone in this.

The good news is that Bob doesn't have cancer and the bone marrow biopsy doesn't show anything horrible. We're in a period of watchful waiting now, monitoring his blood count and watching for unusual events, but I know we'll be okay. We have this caring community in Rochester, and beyond.

At the start of every Sunday worship service, one of our ministers reminds us all about why we come to church, that we need community with other loving souls. This past week has reinforced that need for us. In this time of uncertainty and fear, Bob and I treasure the friends and family who are with us, no matter what. We have a community that cares about what happens to us, and that's why I love Rochester. It's not Rochester's peaceful, quiet snow, it's not the glorious lilac-filled spring, not the uncongested traffic and cheap housing prices – it's the people we know, the church community and the choir and the golfers and the Bi-Fri guys, the friends who bring us cake and flowers and blackberries in January. I know from experience that ours is a caring community – I hope that others find this kind of love and caring in their times of need. I know that this community has blessed us and that we are grateful.

Just Breathe, by Libby Moore

Friday night my husband Bob and I were getting ready to go to a friend's house for dinner when Bob's cardiologist called. I answered the phone and called downstairs to Bob to pick up. He had been experiencing some shortness of breath and had seen his cardiologist that morning, after having passed a nuclear stress test earlier in the week with flying colors. Concerned, I came downstairs and caught Bob's end of the conversation, "Emergency, now, transfusion, okay." Low blood counts, he said, low enough that he had to be admitted to the hospital for a transfusion that night. My heart raced as I started gathering the things we would need to take with us.

Frantic and tearful, I called our friends to cancel dinner. But once we got to the emergency department, the crisis seemed more manageable. Our friends came to visit and we chatted in the hallway, just as though we were six friends around the dinner table. They left to go eat their wonderful dinner, and Bob and I got a sandwich from the Subway counter conveniently located right there in the waiting room. We hoped we'd have enough time to eat the sandwiches, and we did. We ate, we waited, we read, we waited, we talked with other people waiting – a young woman who had had an allergic reaction to the cheese in a Big Mac, a waitress from Bob's favorite diner.

We waited, and I thought about breathing and staying in the moment. I had seen Julie, my spiritual adviser, the day before and we had talked about breath, about Bob's shortness of breath, about my learning to breathe in my singing lessons, about just breathing when there was nothing else you could do and it was too scary to think about what might come. Just breathe, Julie said. Sometimes that's all I can tell people.

So I breathed, and read, and held Bob's hand. And I tried to stay in the present moment, where we were safe and warm on a cold January night, and where Bob was telling me that he hadn't really wanted me to go away that weekend anyway, and we both laughed.

He got his blood transfusion, he moved up to a bed on the oncology floor – how scary is that? – and we waited. Over the weekend we kept singing a wonderfully upbeat song we'd been rehearsing in choir practice, "The Storm Is Passing Over." We waited for the bone marrow biopsy on Monday morning and then for results. We breathed and sang. What else could we do?

We spent three days in the hospital, eventually, and still don't know what's causing the low blood counts. With luck, we'll know something this afternoon and it won't be as horrible as the possibilities that sent him to the emergency room. But we're fine. We're together, we're breathing, we're in this moment with the sun setting across the creek and the deer coming into the yard to eat the yucca plants, and we're breathing. Just breathe, Julie said. Sometimes it's all you can do.

A long way from Walden, by Libby Moore

A powerful windstorm swept through our area early yesterday morning, knocking out a couple of huge pine trees that took power lines down with them. At the end of the day, when I wrote this piece in longhand in my journal, we were still sitting in the dark, except for one light in the kitchen that was hooked up to our generator.

Ah, the generator. If it weren't for that, I could compare our situation with the citizens of Baghdad and other benighted places where power may be available for only a few hours a day. Even with just our little generator, we have ample power – the furnace heats, the refrigerator cools, the garage door opens. I'm increasingly aware that we have so much more than we need. I'm grateful, and a little abashed. I'm far more conscious today of the power drawn to heat the water for my tea, and I'm grateful for the clear, pure water from the tap and for the twelve kinds of tea I have to choose from. I am blessed with abundance.

The generator also keeps me from comparing our situation with Thoreau's Walden experience, the discussion of which took up much of our last Wellspring meeting. Without the generator, I would have pure darkness and silence and solitude. I would be thrown back on my own resources, my own ability to connect with God and find the divine in everything around me. Unlike Thoreau, we didn't choose this situation – it was thrust on us, and on our neighbors (all of whose generators are cranking away noisily, just like ours). Thoreau chose to go to the woods to find the meaning in his life, but he wasn't entirely solitary. Along with contemplation, he and other Transcendentalists believed in conversation and writing and walking and reading as forms of spiritual practice. As do I. This day has been a way of awakening.

Thank you, Henry David, for making me more aware of the complexities and ironies of my privileged existence. This day without RG&E power – but with the generator – has given me insight into the abundance of my life and also into what sets me to fretting and what gives me joy. I am grateful for my Wellspring group and their intense appreciation of the discussion on Transcendentalism. And I am grateful for heat and light and for love in my life. May we all find whatever it is that we need to generate compassion and insight in our lives.

Food for thought, by Tina Simson

Perhaps when we consider mindful eating we need to look at it as a moral act, what we eat, how we eat, what we teach our children about food and sustainability. Have you ever sat before your plate of food and traveled back in your mind to its origin, to the seed that was planted, to the rain, the sun, the farmer, the harvester? Do you imagine a sunny hilltop in upstate NY or an industrial farm in California with migrant workers?

Do you create a loving mealtime with conversation and laughter and time to sit, or do you grab food from the fridge and run out the door or plop down in front of the TV? What place does food and eating have in your life? Is it honored as the life-giving act it is? There is a reason all faith traditions “say grace” over their daily bread. Food nourishes our bodies and our souls.
I don’t write all this to make us feel guilty but to help us re-establish an honored and mindful place in our lives for eating.

I found some great ideas and resources from the Catholic Rural Life Conference on the Ethics of Eating. Here is their Code for Ethical Eating. It could easily be written by any honorable UU.

Eating is a Moral Act: Eaters Ethics in Food Choice

Human Dignity: Support fair wages, healthy working conditions for farmers, farm workers, food workers.

Human Dignity: Eaters have a right to nutritious food. Obesity is a public health issue.

Universal Destination of Goods: Support fair distribution of profits, not food cartel control.

Integrity of Creation: Support humane treatment of animals, restrict factory farms

Integrity of Creation: Protect the environment by the food you eat

Common Good: people around the world have a right to food security

Common Good: Limit “food miles” and reduce greenhouse gas emissions

Subsidarity: affirm local food production and local purchasing as a preference

Solidarity: Encourage fair trade practices

Option for the poor: provide nutritious foods for those who are hungry

The Sustainable Table is a site that will help you assess where you stand on with your personal practices and how to shift to sustainable eating.

Rochester Roots is a local program that is creating a locally sustainable food system that ensures community food security. Other communities and even municipalities are engaged in this type of endeavor.

And when you thought there was no hope for good decisions from the White House we have surprising news that the Bush Administration had appointed Brian Wansink, a professor of marketing at Cornell University, to head the US Department of Agriculture's Center for Nutrition Policy and Promotion, the branch of the USDA that's responsible for dispensing dietary advice to the American public. Wansink is the author of the book Mindless Eating: Why We Eat More Than We Think -- a groundbreaking work on the psychology of eating. Take a look at thoughts about this on the blog World Changing.

What Nourishes Me, by Mary Lyubomirsky

I wonder at the full, satisfied feeling in my stomach and my heart:
What has so nourished me?
To whom or what do I owe my deepest gratitude for sustenance of body and soul?

The miracle waiting inside a seed,
Water falling from heaven,
Leaves harvesting energy from the sun,
Labor applied to cultivation.

The careful selection of food from the harvest,
Eyes scanning thoughtfully through recipes,
Hands moving skillfully over cutting board, bowl, pot,
Love poured into preparation.

The soothing glow of candlelight,
Minds paused in blessed reflection,
Voices sharing poems, songs, and stories,
Souls gathered in celebration.

The smells of sumptuous dishes,
A table set to welcome the circle of sojourners,
A feast of flavors to delight the palate,
Thoughts woven into conversation.

The story of my nourishment begins long before the spoon reaches my lips,
I take in far more than what is contained in these tasty morsels.
Its sustenance far outlasts the journey home.

How rich is the ‘before’, ‘during’, and ‘after’ of this celebration!
A spiritual cornucopia that refills upon reflection!

Mindful Eating, a New Year’s Resolution, by Tina Simson

OK, so be honest. How many of you are planning to eat healthier in the New Year? Maybe there were too many cookies or an abundance chocolate temptation at the holiday time but I have been hearing many friends and colleagues complain about their holiday indulgences. In fact one friend told me she tried to get online at Weight Watchers on December 31st and there was so much traffic the site was down.

In the spirit of New Years resolutions, I thought I’d provide a twist on the Number One commitment this time of year. Rather than talk about diets I want to introduce Mindful Eating as a Buddhist practice. This will be the first of several posts about this concept so stay tuned and bookmark our site right next to Weightwatchers.com.

I was surprised at how many web resources I found by googling Mindful Eating. It seems the behavioral health community is promoting it for folks who struggle with eating. But whether you approach this concept with trepidation or curiosity, mindful eating can be an enriching meditation and practice that brings you face to face with the essential nourishment of life. So let’s start with a few thoughts from the teachers.

From an essay by the Buddhist Teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh

When we are mindful, we recognize what we are picking up. When we put it into our mouth, we know what we are putting into our mouth. When we chew it, we know what we are chewing. It's very simple.
Some of us, while looking at a piece of carrot, can see the whole cosmos in it, can see the sunshine in it, can see the earth in it. It has come from the whole cosmos for our nourishment.

From the Koran

Let man, then, consider the sources of his food: how it is that We pour down water, pouring it down abundantly; and then We cleave the earth with new growth, cleaving it asunder, and thereupon We cause grain to grow out of it, and vines and edible plants, and olive trees and date palms, and gardens dense with foliage, and fruits and herbage, for you and for your animals to enjoy

.

From The Buddhist Path to Simplicity by Christina Feldman

Habit is a pattern of dismissiveness, we deem whatever we do habitually to be unworthy of our attention. In the withdrawal of our attention we deprive ourselves of the capacity to be touched, to see a moment anew and to be taught by the lessons of the moment.

And to all those who cook with mindfulness, I say
"Ashk olsun!"
which is Turkish for,
"May it become love!"

I might as well be singing, by Tina Simson

Last month I was talking to a friend about how busy this time of year can get. She has three kids and a job and had a huge list of “to dos” before the holidays arrived. Then she told me that in spite of feeling a bit daunted, she added another task. My friend is a singer and she said she added rehearsing and performing in Handle’s Messiah to her ‘to dos.” She would be racing around with her kids to sporting events and performances all month and when I asked her why, in such a hectic time, she’d add one more thing to do, she simply said, “I might as well be singing”

I stopped talking and listened; a revelation came quietly with her words. She was telling me that singing is an answer to what life throws our way. That in spite of the trials and challenges, we have an option. Singing is a gift we each have and a choice any of us can make. It’s not relegated to a few with golden voices. It’s as if we have an ever-ready prayer of joy available whenever we choose. That’s not to say we don’t need to deal with life but it comforts me to think that singing can be the salve.

We talked about the Hymn, My Life Flows On. It begins, “My life flows on in endless song” and the last line of each stanza is “How can I keep from singing?”

You probably know the one, but here are a few renditions from Enya and the Cyberhymnal. The words change depending on your denomination or inclination but the message is the same. Life will throw us into tailspins and storms will come and the cold winds of winter will sneak through the cracks. But if I stop and if I listen

“I hear the music ringing; it sounds an echo in my soul…I might as well be singing”

Thanks Mary…