Endurance

It is not easy living with pain. Many of us find ways to go on when we would rather just stop and hope someone will take care of us. It is not something I indulge myself in very often. It is most apparent on days when the pain lessens so much that I am filled with energy and find myself accomplishing so many things that were left undone. I am so thankful for my life, but there are days that I do wish for a break form the nerves that speak so loud.

Long time gone

How can six months have gone by? It is as if I was typing in my last entry a couple of weeks ago. Time is this strange thing that moves without us marking it or rather the earth revolves and the the moon spins around us and these things seem to create something we call time. Maybe it would be better served if we called it "life." Life is what moves though these exchanges of light and dark, seasons and experiences. The rich interaction of people and the evening light as it glows on the upper edges of the last thunder clouds as they rest over the distant mountains. The last six months have been overflowing with living fully with family and teaching and creating in the studio. Not so much writing, I have missed that, so here I am pecking out a few lines at the end of a Friday. It is good to be back.

Three were rising

As I returned from walking our little dog, I looked up between the palm trees and saw the vertical line of three stars that announce the coming of winter. They are called the belt of Orion. This group of stars have been my favorite since childhood. I miss seeing them each evening during late spring, summer and fall, only visible in the very early hours of pre-dawn mornings. They are part of Orion the hunter, not the killer or murderer or dominating male, but the symbol of the man who hunts for food and the lively-hood of his family. This mythological figure is fierce, active, energy filled, radiant, fur covered and rich with nutrients for the male identity. He is part of a vast dialogue that reaches back through human history in stories told around the evening fires, to teach children the lessons of adult responsibilities for family and communities. Stories we have forgotten to tell to our children, so that our nation is filled with adolescent/adults who have not been brought through a healthy initiation into maturity. The fierce male, like Orion, is not aggressive, but intensely motivated by an internalized moral compass and a genuine love of people. So with the onset of winter and the birth of the Christ-child, let us remember the fierce, radiant power that comes from being more fully human. Thank you Orion for rising again this year and reminding me of living out my identity with vigor and sensitivity.

As it should be

Branches move with the early evening cooling breeze. The quiet is punctuated by crows squawking on their way back to the river. Seeing them fly allows for thoughts that travel back through days and years seeking landmarks of definitive change or a continuum of building with "sameness." Now that would be a relief-to be content with life built upon the issues of character that reappear at each junction of trials and demands from the "outer" pressures of life. To accept that what I am made of will not change, but, peace with that reality will bring what seems to be change, but rather it is just hearing the birds and feeling the breeze and knowing all is as it should be.

advent of hope

This morning we met in the "Place of Prayer" and read some scripture, sat in silence, listened to the noise around us and the quiet whisperings of God. A story was shared in rememberence of hope found in the love of God for us and during one of the times of silence, I realized how fast the pace I have been living at. It was good to stop and listen and feel the cool breeze on my face, the rough stone beneath me and the renewed sense of anticipation that the Christ will be born. Peace and justice and restoration and hope come with the birth of the messiah, the one who sets us free from our schedules, the unending lists of activities that fill our time. The "to do's" can rob us of the joy of immersing ourselves in this season, this time of celebration, this period of preparation for winter, for gifts given and received, for evenings with family, for taking care of those less fortunate than ourselves. Let us begin this advent season listening to the quiet murmurings of a loving God amidst the noise that often surrounds us.

The space in between

There is a distance between us, a gap that is invisible to the casual observer. The space between two people and the space between two buildings and the space between an artwork and a viewer and the space between an artist and their materials and the space between the physical and the divine and the space between the sensuous stuff of life and the rational intellect of our minds. It is in this place that great questions are formed, philosophy has its way, art of all kinds is birthed and religion finds a home. When we expect an answer that ends the questions we leave the gap and move on. So many do not even know that the gap is waiting for them to be enriched by the struggle for meaning, challenged by the transcendent nature of meeting the other in the space that lies in between.

Letting it in.

How often when we hear of someone's suffering, we throw out a one liner that makes us feel better and then move on as quickly as we can. Feeling the pain of others is an uncomfortable experience. It makes us feel vulnerable and unsettled. I sometimes wonder if we hear and see so much horror on the news that our sensory receptors are dulled. The endless footage of accidents, murders, war and tragedies of all kinds. It is too much to take in, so we practice holding it at bay and enjoy our meal while we continue to watch. The call to feel with someone, to hear their story, to embrace their pain, to be thankful for the rich lives we have as individuals and as a community, that is love. So, let it in, feel deeply with those you share this journey with.

moments...

The moments pass us by, we are too distracted to notice the connection, the person, the event. Those moments lead to other moments that we will never see, because we failed to do the simple task of, "paying attention." It is essential for a life well-lived. Look carefully, see with your eyes wide open, listen to the inner voice of prompting, look for connections. When we experience the moment, it leads to other moments and events and people and an ongoing chain of life-changing interactions that echo into our future. So, be alert, life in the present, calm your mind, be where you are, listen carefully and the moments of meaning will become a lifetime of rich encounters. Remember, pay attention.

Tend to your own

There is something to be said about how clearly we can see what needs to be done in the adjacent yard. Why don't they take care of it? There are weeds, the fence is in need of repair, the trees have not been properly trimmed in years, their leaves are mostly in my yard each Fall, and what about those herbs they planted three years ago, that now have taken over the entire side yard, do they even know how to cook with them? Does any of this sound at all familiar? We have such a clear vision of what others should be doing. Its easy, we spend a good amount of time looking over the fence to see how they are progressing. And when it is pointed out to us what a mess we live in, the excuses that flow off our tongues have been rehearsed so many times we have begun to believe them ourselves. In the letter Paul wrote to some Christians living in or near Thessalonica, he shares three things that speak to this issue of monitoring other's yards. First, he says to mind your own business, second he encourages us to live a quiet life and third, he admonishes us to work with our hands. Pretty clear and simple. Look in our own yards, quietly go about the business of taking care of our own messes, using our hands to work. If only more people would spend more time cleaning up the results of their lack of disciplined garden tending and quietly go about the business of doing the work at hand. What a different world it would be.

questions...

There are those things we want answers to, the ones that make no sense. The events and situations that come into our lives that only happen to others. What do we do when realities crash upon us that leave us without understanding, sometimes without hope. Moments stretch out into an unreal experience that we cannot wake up from. Any nightmare would be better than the pain of living in the reality before us. Tears sting like alcohol, words do not come forth, grief compresses the heart, darkness shadows the brightest of noonday suns. To truly feel the loss, to embrace what is unthinkable, to mourn deeply and honestly, to ever enjoy life again, this is a road less traveled.

Evening

Late in the day, as it begins to cool from the intense August heat, a time of transition begins. New sounds from insects chorus in the shrubs, a breeze flows up the river bed and rustles the palm branches, the light softens. Life is like this, the intensity of difficult times begin to ease up, an awareness of new possibilities enter our thoughts, relief comes like the cooling air of early evening. We need to pay attention, there is so much to see, to hear, to touch, to embrace, to mourn.

Fear of goodness

It is one of those strange, irrational human behaviors. The looking into the rearview mirror, expecting to see the front end of a MAC truck ready to ram into your backside, right when the view in front is breathtaking. More than that, it is a vista sought after for years and finally when the chance to view it arrives, fear of a disaster looms, marring the longed for event. Fear is not so much the problem, but rather the cause for doubting the blessing that lies ahead, and opening up the possibility of self sabotage. We are so often our worst enemy. We seek out what is best and when it comes, we suspect it will be taken away, so we undo the gift in the name of fear. To receive the abundance that comes after years of travail is sometimes more difficult than we can predict. Life is best lived open-handed, ready to give and to receive.

Time and momments

Too many days have slipped away in the connected momments of interaction. Conversations, meals, critiques and lectures have filled the past four weeks. The space to write was lost in the rich personal flood of realationships deepened and new born. This is but a brief window of a momment to reflect on the recent space of time.

Blindness in the midst

It was at the end a very difficult day that clarity struck with a vengeance. The moment when the day could have shifted out of hyperdrive and into a calm flow of work that both invigorated and "made a difference." The light shown upon the email like it was radiant with warning and advice. The words spoke of acceptance and embracing the results of the machine of command that grinds onward in spite of what may be right or fair. The bigger picture of institutional culture moves forward like a steam roller over voices of quiet and distressed concern. Taking a deep breadth of remorse and planning out next steps focused on the larger engagement of interactions brings some relief from the blindness. Seeing clearly allows for a different future and a letting go of the past, not in defeat, but rather with a learned understanding of the signs to look for right before the bicycle leans too far and the ground sweeps up to meet me.

Breaking the dam

A name, a sound, a texture seen in a light cast by a late afternoon sun. These are what it takes. The unexpected, the moment of insight after scales have fallen with the dried mud made from spittle and dust. Yes, I have been blind these past few months, unable to see words worth writing, thoughts worth sharing, ideas worth investigating. For a reason unknown to me, I had to write today, tonight, I cannot sleep until I find new words, new phrases, new reasons to take the time to shape the invisible language of thoughts. A smell not easily indentified, waifs through the open door to the upper porch. The moon has not yet risen, the heat lingers from the new summer. There is a kind of simple release in the connecting of words. It is a way of health, a path down which I have not traveled in many weeks. I feel the damage from negligence, from ignoring the pain, from the damed up silence leaking through the cracked reservoir. It is like tears falling in rain, unnoticed in the flood, but stinging like alchohol as they squeeze out from under closed lids. Unseen: the way of sadness. A new sculpture finishing in the studio, the head upturned, blackened nose and mouth with its stain running down to the chest. The ladder made of damaged branches tied with twine not strong enough to hold. A piece of the lingering sadness that moves at the deepest levels of the unconscience. At the still point of the turning world, there the dance is. Ever still and in stillness ever moving. The way.

The cloudy glass

A look into a fogged mirror and you can barely discern yourself, muted colors and indistinct shapes are what look back through the condensation. How dim the future when we envision what is to come. The shapes are hardly recognizable and the colors are difficult to indentify. Sure we set goals, create action steps, analyze time commitments and make our plans in one and five year increments. How about the shape of our hearts, what do we want to believe in, in five years, what will the interior landscape of our souls become. What will our soul gardens look like further on this journey: shade trees grown huge, ponds teeming with life, fruit weighing down branches, ripe for picking. The reflection seen dimly is one looked at on the outside, the inner journey is much clearer and does not require a reflective surface, but rather an unobstructed connection to the core of our being.

A River Within

A river is a beautiful visual picture of life. The rush of the water as it foams around rocks and drops over ledges in torrents of beauty. The motion slows when wider banks give it girth to meander through the lowlands. Traveling at a slower speed that allows for looking up at the overhanging trees and the cloudless sky on a lazy afternoon in mid summer. Ah, this is what the heart needs, a bit of slowing down, a time to look up and find out what color the sky is today, a chance to see what birds are winging through the branches of green-leafed trees, a closing of the eyes to hear the gurgling of the water agasinst the sides of the boat. To see life as upon a river, to see a river flowing within, to connect to life in all its mystery and wonder, that is what today should hold.

Sap and cells

Recently I was admiring some trees due to the beautiful blossoms that adorned their branches. One tree in particular looked almost dead except for these brilliant yellow trumpet shaped flowers.

It struck me how easily we judge what is visible without knowing what lies under the surface. What looked to be a tree in its death throws was in fact, a tree preparing to give us an incredible visual treat.

I think people are like that, they do not always show what is being prepared inside. The sap is moving and cells are lining up for new growth of which there is no apparent clue of what is to come. This is faith in what is not seen, hope for what has been promised. Do we have the faith to trust in the work of our God below the surface, unseen, unknown, preparing to burst forth in due season?

Happy Birthday Dad

On January 11, 1920, Thomas Catling was born. He was raised in rural central California, he grew up on horseback-as comfortable in the saddle as behind the wheel of his truck, he served as a Marine in WWII, he operated cranes that built some of the most amazing buildings in downtown San Francisco, he died in May of 1984, he was my father. He now rests in the arms of Christ and I am thankful for all he gave me.

Peter Pan Shadows

Late in the evening, darker gray shapes follow our every move. Starting out long and stretched from heel towards the edge of the lamp light, they shrink as we approach the light post and spring ahead when we pass. They appear to have limbs and a torso and head, but the shapes are more alien than human. How does one identify the source as it changes and distorts? What are these shadows that follow us through our lives? Bonded by the dark and the light, we dance through time casting shadow puppets in our wake.