Wellspring: inspiration and guidance for a spiritual journey

The gift of noise, by Tina Simson

I scheduled a massage for myself last week. I wanted to let go of the strain and turmoil of my life and relax into the trusted hands of Michelle, my massage therapist. Not only is she skilled and generous of heart, but also her office is a perfect haven. Located in an old house with lots of worn wood, it has all the trimmings; candles, soft music, Zen like furnishings and a statue of the gentile goddess of compassion. I walk into a sanctuary for my soul when I’m there and I can’t help but relax. So last Friday’s session began as I expected. I settled into the moment and let the ambience wash over me. That is until the gardening crew arrived. Within a few minutes of my cherished hour, lawn mowers and leaf blowers were roaring outside the window. Not only were the crew members busy, they were ever so friendly and talkative, yelling to each other above the noise about the beautiful morning and aspects of their lives. Well, I couldn’t hear the soft music and I felt my whole being tense. Damn, this wasn’t what I needed.

But Michelle never missed a beat. She continued in her committed way to sooth the knots from my body and sorrow from my soul. I’m not one to miss a metaphor, so I thought about this. Life does this to us all the time doesn’t it? Turn up the noise that is. We create the setting, candles, music, poetry and we make a commitment to nourish our spirit and sure enough the leaf blowers show up. Sometimes they are loud and obnoxious, other times just a constant din that can’t be ignored. The noise of life is inevitable. If I wait for a quiet scripted moment to take care of my needy spirit, I’ll never get there. And if I let the noise sway my intentions, well then I miss out don’t I? And what of those hands that never missed a beat? Are there always such “hands” in the midst of the noise? Does this divine world offer such constant assurance? I believe it does, but it’s not necessary to block the noise in order to feel the promise. The trick really is to trust the promise smack-dab in the middle of the noise.

So with the massage over, I thank Michelle, make another appointment and wander out into the rest of my life. The lawn mowers are packing up their trucks and for a moment I laugh at the thought that they are going to follow me home. But I just return their friendly wave and silently thank them for the gift of noise.

The Meadow, by Carolyn Coit Dancy

THE MEADOW

Beyond the barn lies the meadow.

The meadow slopes

down hill to Queset Brook

and the pasture where

sheep once grazed.

Here grasses tickle my legs

the gurgling brook makes me laugh

birds sing their hearts out

just for me.

From the footbridge

I toss sticks into the stream

wishing a long journey

for them and for me.

Across the bridge

a whale-sized rock

left by retreating glaciers

begs me to sit and be still.

I stay a very long time.

Here, alone but not lonely

a feeling of connectedness

comes entirely unbidden.

I am part of everything.

Cherished memories

of those childhood days

compel me now to praise

nature's precious gifts.

Queset Brook still flows

through the meadow and

I return there often

by writing stories.

Writing the stories

only I can tell -

inviting others to explore

the world beyond their door.

Reflections at the end of Wellspring

At the final session of our Wellspring group, each participant brought something of meaning to reflect on the year's work together. Several offerings have been posted here already – Kim's lovely blessing for our group, Melissa's comprehensive reflection on learnings she's taken away from the program. Carolyn's poem "The Meadow" will be posted next week.

The reflections honor our Unitarian Universalist heritage in their individuality, their thoughtfulness, their commitment to living deeply and well in our faith. It seems fitting to share them with others in the Wellspring community through the blog. I am grateful for the time we've had together in this group – ten months of sharing our souls, our personal stories, our love and laughter and joy. We move onward in our different paths now, nourished by one another. May we all continue to love one another and to live with joy.

Libby Moore

An amalgamation of learning and truths, by Melissa Blackstone

Wellspring

An amalgamation of learning and truths

Melissa May 2008

 

Questions & Discovery

 

Grace & Equity in the midst of torture

Evil as distance from the worth of self and others

 

UU choice as emancipation and burden: thanks William Channing!

Listen: Way OPEN

 

 

Accountability for action= Social responsibility

"The inner journey, pursued faithfully & well, always takes us back to the world of action"

 

 

STRIVING: we are part of life; we co-create the reality in which we live

We are vessels and instruments of God

 

Notice JOY

 

Be still, and LISTEN

The still, small voice

 

Refute the refuge and ego of intellectualism

Opinions are self serving, and stifle others' inner teachers

 

Spiritual direction: A compass to my soul

Spiritual practices: I think I can, I think I can

 

Universalism

Humanism

Process Theology: Everything is connected…..STRIVE

Transcendentalism

 

Spiritual Awakening

Thoreau

Emerson

Yoga: Connoisseurs of the state of wonder

 

CalvinismàPuritanism

 

Servetus: a heretic

 

They died for what we take for granted

A Blessing as We Part

Blessed be your journey

along the stony path only your soul knows

Let longing crack your world open

so that belonging

and joy

are companions to your howling dog heart

 

May you hold the friendship of your soul

steadfast as the cardinal upon her eggs

Treasure its shyness

protect and guard

its secrets

listen for its whispers echoes and sighs

 

Blessed be your work in the world

in your family and community

May your gifts shine

and flow

and burst and bubble

from the wellspring of your living heart

 

May you be in right relation

with all of life's messy creation

That which frightens

those who repel and attract

are messengers

from the great beyond and the holy within

 

As you sit in silence

or walk or run or sing

May you feel the presence

of your fellow travelers

meeting your heart

in the wild garden of pulsing sacred space.

 

 

 

                    Kim Palma

                    5-16-08

Gold Star Mothers, by Tina Simson

So it was Mother’s day and the newspaper in my town did a story about the Gold Star Mothers, the women who have lost children to war. I read the article, as far as I could, until the tears blurred my vision and rage pierced my heart. I agree that these women have experienced an unimaginable loss, but their loss is not a noble sacrifice, or the ultimate patriotic deed. That’s part of the myth they tell us to make the loss seem bearable.

Women lose children everyday, to disease, addiction, depression, accidents. It is no more gallant a loss when a flag drapes the coffin. In fact it is the ultimate failure. We fail our children when war is the solution to any problem. We fail as a society and as humankind. When we choose war, we squander the dedication, commitment and devotion of our children who serve in the Armed Forces. We call them peacekeepers and then send them to fight. What a dissonant concept. And when we lose sight of a war because our own lives are complicated by more immediate concerns like the price of gas or food, we fail them again.

There is an indelible image in my mind. It’s 2005 and while staying at a hotel in the Midwest, I wander into a parking lot filled with buses of new soldiers. They are dressed in desert fatigues and filing into the hotel. Their faces are fresh, so young and so eager. My car is blocked, so I wait patiently while they stand in lines talking about the hot breakfast and the cozy bed that awaits them. We talk… “Where are you from?”
“Alabama, Vermont, Texas, Washington”, “Where are you going?”
“Iraq”

I realize then that my role is to stand witness to these beautiful children, to be there on behalf of their mothers who will follow every moment of this journey in their mind’s eye. I affirm their beauty, their innocence and potential, and the love they freely express for those left behind. I plead with all that is holy to wrap protective arms around these men and women. We chat, and I learn about families, children and plans for “when they return.”
Then I see a small ragged Elmo doll, stuffed into the pants pocket of a big strapping young man. Elmo’s head peaks out.
“I see you have a friend in your pocket?”
“Yep” he says, “Elmo has been with me my whole life. I thought he should come to Iraq too.”
I am at a loss… “I hope he keeps you safe,” I say.

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

Isn’t it time we all stand witness and choose to keep our children safe?

Gold Star Families for Peace
Military Families for Peace
Military Families Speak Out

Posting Comments to the Blog, by Tina Simson

Hi there all you Wellspring Blog readers. I wanted to take a moment and talk about how to publicly comment on a blog entry. Recently I’ve been getting e-mails from people who have read a blog entry and felt moved to let us know just how great or inspiring it is. The e-mails come only to me, (I’m the keeper of the e-mail account) so unless I pass them on to the author, she doesn’t know you’ve written. A more direct way to comment is to click on the text “comment” at the bottom of each entry, follow the prompts and enter your remarks onto the blog itself. This allows the author to see your feedback and encourages a public conversation about the entry. This creates a great dialogue and makes our work personal and relevant for our readers. We always love to hear from you and appreciate your opinions. If you have personal requests or concerns please feel free to e-mail us, but if you like us, please let others know by making your comments publicly.

The Heron Is Back, by Libby Moore

This is the real sign that spring is here – not the robins nesting in the upturned canoe on the side of the garage, not the hyacinths bursting with color and drooping with the weight of their blossoms, not the fierce pink of the cherry blossoms or the sweet smell of lilac blossoms. No, the surest sign of spring is that the heron is back in our pond.

We have a small pond in our back yard – an arm of the nearby creek, actually – which is inhabited mainly by ducks, who quack and flap and chase each other around during mating season. They're amusing and silly and we love watching the puffy brown babies when they emerge from their well-camouflaged nesting place, trailing their mother down into the water. There's a kingfisher who waits on a high branch, swoops down into the water to catch some elusive fish, then rises back to the branch to eat its dinner. There are robins and cardinals and mourning doves, goldfinches and nuthatches and the ever-present crows, cawing and dominating the food supply. All this life inhabits the yard and the pond, making itself known with noise and flutter and flashes of color.

But the heron, the heron is silent, still and totally attentive, watching the calm early morning water. It balances its huge gray body on long spindly legs, the narrow neck undulating as it observes the surface of the pond. When it changes position, its movements are slow and sinuous, creating no waves, calling no notice to itself. It reaches the unseen target, stands immobile for a moment, then jabs its long bill into the water and grabs a small fish. It whips its head up into the air to swallow, and then it's still again.

Watching the heron before my morning meditation reminds me to be still. If I move too suddenly, even in the upstairs window, it notices the disturbance and takes off, leaving the scene of the disturbance for a quieter spot. Its huge wings spread out and carry it flapping through the trees toward the creek and away.

It's the heron's stillness that I admire, the quiet mindfulness, the total presence in the moment. Elusive flashes of grace come with such stillness. I am more like the feisty goldfinches, prone to flap and flutter, create waves and air currents around me, stir the silence with the noise of my mind chattering away at itself. But when I can focus on my breath, still my mind, be in the present moment and allow the unexpected into my life, that's when joy happens. When I stop trying to be in control, I can relish the beauty of the world and of the people around me. With stillness and mindfulness, grace can happen. I am working on it.

Ben & Jerry & Joy, by Joy Collins

April 29th was pouring rain on Cape Cod. And only 46 degrees. And every single person walking out that door had a huge grin on his or her face. A “moment of joy.” The door was the exit from Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream Shop in Eastham. And as all ice cream aficionados know, that’s Free Cone Day at most Ben and Jerry’s around the country. Sometimes the line extended out the door, with hoods and umbrellas up. We saw teenagers with pink hair, workers with stained overalls, elderly folks with canes, a couple in a pickup truck sharing their cones with their black lab. We aren’t sure what brought us more joy – savoring our own “Coffee Coffee Buzz Buzz Buzz”, or watching, through windshield wipers, all those smiles.

How is it, all these people were free at 2 pm on a Tuesday afternoon? The only reason we were free, and willing to drive 30 minutes each way, was that we were on vacation. In my “real” life, I would never have made time for this. Life is jammed full of “important” stuff. Work, food shopping, home repair, meal preparation, church committees, dog walking, vacuuming, eldercare. Oh yes, and time for my spouse! So, I ask again, how is it, these other folks had free time for a “moment of joy”?

Through Wellspring, I don’t so much learn new ideas, as much as move the ideas from intellectual realization to experiential. And this year, one of my aha moments came in our new session on the “Theology of Joy.” I saw how easily I let productivity kill the spiritual sustenance of “Joy Moments.” If I’m frantically trying to jam more into my day, or worrying about all I need to get to, I miss the “moments of joy” that arise every minute. There is a false underlying belief I carry, that life will be wonderful once I get it all done. It’s my lifelong struggle to move beyond this belief. In a book we are considering for our following on course, “Wellspring 2”, Philip Simmons writes in Learning to Fall, “in our desire always to be elsewhere than here, we can lose what measure of heaven may be ours on earth…the present is the unfinished house in which we dwell.” All those people who went to Ben & Jerry’s for a free cone on Tuesday reminded me to let go of needing to “finish the house” before I savor a rainy day scoop of ice cream.