Wellspring: inspiration and guidance for a spiritual journey

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.

Recyled Stardust, by Joy Collins

My mom is 81 years old. Yesterday, in our 9 degree (yes, I mean NINE degree!) weather, she went downhill skiing at the local resort, where she continues to ski the most difficult “black diamond” trails. Maybe not as aggressively as in the past, but she’s still tough to beat to the bottom. Part of her identity is that of a skier.  Me, on the other hand, on the 9 degree day, had out-patient surgery on my “bum knee” which turned out to have a meniscus tear (probably from my own years of skiing and running.) What a contrast between Mom and me!

The good news is my surgery went smoothly and I should be off crutches in a week. The bad news is they had to remove a significant chunk of the meniscus, and as the young doctor kindly put it, “You might want to consider cross training with a sport other than running.” Immediately I began wondering what this meant. Run only 3 times a week? Twice? Once? Not at all? What, not engage in my favorite physical and spiritual pastime for the last 37 years? I’m really going to have to think about all of this.

Which brings me back to Mom. When is it the courageous, life giving path to push back on aging and get out there in the 9 degree weather? On the other hand, when is it the gracious spiritual path to say good-bye to an anchoring and life connecting sport that has sustained me through moves, job anxieties, divorce, coming out, re-marriage, deaths of loved ones….the list goes on. How can I feel connected in the universe without this beloved spiritual practice?

I’m getting some comfort from one of the readings in our recent Wellspring session on Humanism. In a speech, Rev. David Bumbaugh, Professor of Theology at Meadville Lombard, reminds me that, hard as I try, I am NOT separate from the universe, and that whether I jog or not, I am a manifestation of it:

“The history of the universe is our history; we are all of us recycled stardust…In a curious way, we carry with us in our bodies the very environment in which we evolved. The heat of our bodies is the heat of stars, tempered to the uses of life. The salt in our blood and in our tears is the salt of ancient oceans, encapsulated and carried with us, generation upon generation, into strange and distant places and circumstances. The past is not dead. It lives in us even now… It is a religious story in that it whispers of a larger meaning to our existence…If, as the Humanist Manifesto suggests, we are not separate from nature and we are a result of nature’s inherent processes, then our struggles with meaning and purpose, our endless search for insight and understanding can not be limited in their significance or consequence to the human enterprise alone, but must be part of the emergence of the universe itself.”

For a non-theistic agnostic such as myself, Bumbaugh offers me an honest, yet satisfying way to see the truth that I don’t need my daily run to feel connected. I am better than connected, I AM the universe!

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!"

The Chorus of Connection by Rev. Jen Crow

Just over twelve weeks ago everything changed for me. People told me it would happen, of course, but how could I possibly know what they meant? One night I was out running errands and doing laundry, sleeping soundly in a quiet house, and the next – well, let’s just say the world turned upside down and my heart cracked open.

The morning of my son, Henry’s birth, everything went exactly as planned. We arrived at the hospital on time and before we knew it, we were heading down the long hall to the operating room for my partner, Loretta’s, scheduled ceaserian section delivery. The doctors and nurses warned me that I’d need to wait outside for just a few minutes, and relieved that our midwife was in the operating room, I sat on the bench outside the door and began to wait.

I waited and waited. I tried meditating, but that didn’t work for long. Within minutes of closing my eyes and counting my breaths, the narrow corridor filled with doctors and nurses scrubbing in at the sink just a few feet away from me. They sure seemed at ease, but as the time of the surgery got closer and closer, my anxiety started to climb. So I began to pray. I prayed for the hands of the surgeon, for his quick mind and kind heart. I prayed for the nurses and the anesthesiologist, for their care and skill. I prayed for Henry and Loretta, for their health and comfort, and I prayed for myself, for the flexibility to cope and be present to all the moments ahead. As I prayed, I poured out my worries and my mind eased. And then something else happened. Something that I find harder to explain. The best I can do is to say that my heart simply cracked open that morning. In those moments sitting on the bench outside the operating room, I heard in my own prayers an echo – a ghost, you might say in this month of Halloween. 

In that echo, I heard not only my voice praying for the health of my wife and son, for the doctors and nurses caring for them – but I heard the voices of families around the world - – from Iraq to Afghanistan to Norway to Australia to America – offering up those very same prayers in dozens of languages. I imagined families sitting outside of operating rooms, beside bomb sites, up late at night wondering where their children were – and I heard their prayers lifted up – their hopes, their dreams, their human longings. In those moments before the nurse called my name and led me into the operating room, I felt myself joined in this chorus of connection - praying for comfort, for hope, and for the ability to cope with whatever came next.

Through this experience, I came to know our essential and unwavering human connection in a new way. No matter who we are and where we come from, we share so many of the same hopes and dreams, most of them so basic – for health, for life, for care and hope. As we continue to live into this month of pumpkins and haunted houses and memories – I pray that the ghosts of our neighbors all around the world might call us back to our truest task – creating conditions of health and healing the whole world round.

On Sunday, by Libby Moore

I have to admit up front that I'm something of a Rebecca Ann Parker fan anyway, but I'm becoming even more so after reading her essay "Spiritual Practice for Our Time," in Everyday Spiritual Practice: Simple Pathways for Enriching Your Life. She writes about an ancient spiritual practice that I have been trying to adopt over the past couple of months, keeping the Sabbath. She says, "To keep the Sabbath means, once every seven days, to step outside the dominating culture and enter another space." The dominating culture emphasizes shopping, consuming, working, striving, competing. Stepping outside of it for a day means slowing down, paying attention to family and friends and nature, giving oneself time to think, pray, reflect. "Stop the madness and rest," she says.

I have to admit that my life isn't madness in the first place. I'm blessed with the ease of retirement, with enough money and time and space, and I have the luxury of attractive choices about how to spend my days. And I'm naturally averse to shopping – when we're in need of food, I'll go to the grocery store, and if my clothes wear out, I'll buy new ones, but it's not a recreational sport for me as it is for so many people. Even with my comfortable life and with my daily yoga and meditation practice, though, I love the idea of setting aside a day for rest and contemplation. Because it's traditional and works best in my life, Sunday is my Sabbath.

For me, Sunday no longer means a time for laundry, cleaning, shopping, or taking care of business, whatever that might be. I try to stay away from my computer, which is probably the hardest part – it means no e-mail, games, news on-line, and writing blogs. Sunday means going to church and singing in the choir, visiting with friends and family, reading good books, doing the Sunday Times crossword puzzle. It means walks with Bob, quiet afternoons reading and napping.

I've grown into this practice slowly and still haven't made a public commitment to it, although I've started telling friends not to expect responses to e-mail on Sunday. Nor am I rigid about not doing anything that smacks of work or commerce. I cook because we need to eat. If we go out to eat, I'll pay and not feel guilty for spending money on the Sabbath. If there's a congregational meeting at church, I'll go even if it's about budgets and by-laws. What keeping the Sabbath does is give me permission to rest, to contemplate, to pay attention to what's important in my life. Parker says, "To keep the Sabbath is a radical act of resistance to a culture that has lost track of the meaning of life." I find it also a radical act of resistance to my own tendency toward busy-ness. I'm discovering that it's okay not to be producing or accomplishing something every minute. I'm grateful to Parker for opening my heart to this spiritual practice – it's one I can live well with.

Listening Deeply, by Libby Moore

Our Wellspring retreat on Saturday was a joy – coming together, finally, in person instead of through e-mail. Much as I treasure the convenience of sending off messages into cyber-space (and trusting for the most part that they get where I think they're going), I value even more the faces and voices, the group interaction, the process of listening to one another with attention and love. In the morning we talked about different spiritual practices, encouraging participants in their search for a daily practice that's meaningful and doable. This year we added a new exercise to illustrate yet another spiritual practice - the art of listening, the spiritual discipline of offering our complete attention to the other, listening from the heart without comment or advice or fixing.

Our first reading this year is Parker Palmer's A Hidden Wholeness, where he writes beautifully about allowing the shy soul the safe space it needs. It works well as the first assignment, since the afternoon of the retreat is spent listening to each other's stories, and Palmer's description of being together in a circle of trust reminds us of the need to listen from the heart. But there's another book I recommend as well, one given to me years ago by a Quaker friend. The book is called Listening Spirituality, Volume 1, by Patricia Loring. Every time I go back to it I find new wisdom.

In the chapter on listening as a spiritual practice or discipline, Loring says, "It is a powerful discipline for the 'listener' to try to listen without agenda, without the compulsion to help, abandoning the need or desire to appear knowledgeable, wise, or comforting. There may be no more tellingly difficult spiritual practice than the effort to receive what is being said by someone else hospitably, without editing, without correction, without unsolicited advice."

This kind of listening is easier for some of us than for others. I think of how our normal conversations go – jumping in with whatever comes to our heads, speaking more than listening, waiting for our "turn" to get in our two cents. But in our Wellspring group, we're trying to change that pattern. I know I'm still trying to change it in myself. I was raised in a family where intellectual strength was a virtue. Dinner conversations meant lots of talk and ideas, laughter and friendly argument. I'm still trying to hush the interior voice that wants to interrupt, to get people to listen to my story, my ideas, my memories. I'm practicing listening from the heart, hearing the other person's story without having to interject anything. It isn't easy, but it's worth the effort because I learn so much more this way. My hope for our Wellspring group is that we create a safe space where we can all be heard and where we can all be better listeners as we journey on our spiritual quest together.

A trip to the dollar store, by Tina Simson

My husband went to the dollar store last week. He’s a high school science teacher and this time of year he is getting school supplies just like the kids. He came home with bags full of ‘stuff’ and he was tickled at the plethora of goodies at such a low price. The availability of all these treasures got his creative juices flowing and even though I’m not sure he knows what he’s going to do with a pound of balloons, aluminum foil, bungee cords and sponges, I’m confident his students will be delighted with his results. They don’t call him, Mr. Blow Stuff Up, for nothing.

Joe’s trip to the store made me think about all the accoutrements of a spiritual journey and whether there was a dollar store for spiritual items. I remembered the vending carts at the Vatican with plastic rosary beads and Pope fans to keep you cool and holy inside the basilica. But we UU’s don’t go in for all that. All we need are a few candles and a fountain, and a fancy journal and some really cool pens. Then there are CD’s with music and chanting and books. We UU’s do love our books. And the message is: if we have all these things, our spirit will soar, right? No, not so much.

Throughout my experience of Wellspring and over my years as a spiritual seeker, I find my “spiritual dollar store” in many odd places, in the woods, on the ocean, in a noisy busy subway station, in a dark moonless night, in the doctor’s waiting room, and in the supermarket or classroom, at my family table. I’ve learned that the place we must prepare for this journey is not an external altar but is in our heart, and the supplies are offered each day in our interactions and our observances. The key is to open our eyes, which then opens our soul. I believe we need to look out at our world and at each other in order to see in.

So light a candle then go shopping in your own life for the supplies you need and I wish you, bon voyage.

Prayers for peace on September 11th, by Tina Simson

As we remember all who perished in their innocence and in their dedication to serve, and as we mourn the loss of our soldiers and the sorrow of their families let us not forget that the pain of this tragedy touches people across the world.

Let us remember the Iraqi’s who have died and continue to suffer daily and the tragedies of the people of Afghanistan. Let’s remember the victims of terrorism in Spain and England and Beirut and Israel.

And let us remember that the world’s religions have given us the words to speak when it seems impossible to utter meaningful words. From The Gift of Prayer

A Jewish Prayer for Peace “Come let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, that we may walk the paths of the Most High. And we shall beat our swords into plowshares and our spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not lift up sword against nation-neither shall they learn war anymore. And none shall be afraid…”

A Christian Prayer for Peace
“But I say to you that hear, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the sons and daughters of God.”

A Baha’i Prayer for Peace
“Be generous in prosperity and thankful in adversity…be a lamp unto those who walk in darkness and a home to the stranger. Be eyes to the blind and a guiding light unto the feet on the erring. Be a breath of life to the body of Human-kind, a dew to the soil of the human heart, and a fruit upon the tree of humanity”

A Muslim Prayer for Peace
“In the name of Allah, the beneficent, the merciful. Praise be to the Lord of the Universe who has created us and made us into the tribes and nations, that we may know each other, not that we may despise each other.”

A Unitarian Prayer for Peace
May we have the courage and conviction to honestly engage the difficult questions; 
to speak hard truths, 
to accept our responsibility to each other and the world. 
May we find the strength and vision to end the cycles of violence.

Imagine for a moment if UN Peacekeepers entered a country armed with medicine and clean drinking water and books and hammer and nails and open arms.

Too busy for God, by Tina Simson

I’ve had a very busy month with lots of excuses to avoid my spiritual practice. They’re all legitimate, my sons needed help with life transitions, I babysat my granddaughter, I’m looking for a new way to make a living, as in a ‘job’ and my aging dog has been having problems. My husband, a teacher, has been home for the summer and while he is very respectful of my alone time, he seemed to be under foot. So with a deep breath and an empty house on the first day of school, I reclaimed my space and my god.

To my surprise, all was as I left it. Standing directly beside me was all the grace and wonder and deep essence of spirit. How easy to slip back into a beauty of mindfulness and awe. How easy to rest in this place that is only mine. But it wasn’t always this way; I often resisted going back to my practice. I would spend time and energy wondering why I left. What was wrong with me that I couldn’t keep this going? Thinking that I should engage in ‘prayer’ even when I didn’t feel like it, you know kind of like exercising and eating right! In some bizarre twist my recrimination became my practice. I tended to my soul by giving myself a hard time. Ok, so that doesn’t work.

It was my spiritual director who said, “You have to get to neutral.” He meant rather than seeing my adherence to a spiritual practice as good or bad, merely accept is as part of living, sort of like breathing. I don’t judge myself on the quality of my breathing. If I hold my breath, I’m pretty sure I will breathe again soon. I don’t rant at myself for breathing too quickly or too slowly, I trust myself when it comes to breathing. It’s not that I don’t believe that it is important to commit to a daily spiritual practice, but I have to pay attention to what pulls me away. If ranting and judging myself in my internal conversation takes the place of sitting in quiet meditation, well that’s something to note. As my wise director said, get to neutral. Know that life will pull you away, that some days you would rather rage at the moon than sit in prayer. But if I’m really at neutral, then it is what it is, and patience with myself is the best lesson. With a quiet, open and forgiving heart you can slip back into your practice like a beloved pair of cozy slippers.

Two resources to help you find your way back to a UU spiritual practice can be found at the UUA Bookstore.

Everyday Spiritual Practice

Simply Pray

Namaste

Horrors! Do Unitarians Need Structure?...by Joy

Somewhere around the age of 40 my body started to creak and stiffen from all my years of jogging. I joined a weekly yoga class to learn some stretches I could do at home on my own. That was 12 years ago. What I realized after some fits and starts at home is that I need the structure of the weekly class to keep me committed and enthusiastic. Last year was a busy business travel year for me so I stopped attending class. While I kept up with my yoga practice at home, I found it became regimented and stale, with my mind constantly wandering as I waited for the time to pass.

So last week I went back to my class. I had to live through the teasing about where I’d been. During that class my long time teacher did not teach me any new poses. Most of the students were the same as when I left. But, oddly enough, I walked out energized and relaxed, and the next morning my old enthusiasm had returned for my “home practice.” Clearly, yet ironically, I need the support of the weekly structure to stay true to my inner self!

I think several of our Wellspring participants are having a similar experience now that two months has passed since our program ended. While most of us have busy lives and many were somewhat relieved to reclaim that one evening every two weeks, there is a caution. How do you keep up your practice?

I believe most of us need structure to continue doing things that are good for us. I think this is one area where the more fundamentalist Christians have a leg up on us Unitarians. Congregants in their churches often attend weekly Bible Study groups for years. They recognize that we stay more committed when we are in community.

What are you doing to help you stay committed, energized, and on your path? What is your equivalent of the weekly yoga class? We would like to know. Help us think about what we might do next to help our Wellspring graduates maintain a fresh and committed spiritual life.

Some tips and resources.
Every Day Spiritual Practice

Sermon by Jen Crow, First Unitarian Church of Rochester
To Whom It May Concern

Sermon by Cathleen Cox, Unitarian Universalist Church of Berkley
The Spiritual Practice Community