I wrote yesterday's post--90% is just showing up"--immediately before going to bed, as I often do. You might say I slept on it. In this morning's meditation, it came that there is no where that "just showing up" is more important than prayer and meditation.
Spiritual teacher Caroline Myss has spoken about our "prayer bank accounts." My understanding of this concept is that we show up every day (preferably at the same time) to either pray or meditate, or some combination. We show up even when we have nothing to pray for or about. We just do it. Day in, day out. The term "practice" is often applied to our spiritual development because like a sport or a musical instrument that we are learning, we do it every day to get better at it. We develop spiritual "muscle" that we can call on when we least expect it.
Myss says that if we make these daily deposits to our "bank accounts," then some day, when we really need to pray for or about something, we have a relationship with whatever we call the listener on the other end of the line when we commune in that way. We don't need the kind of small talk that we usually use to get to know someone; we already have an intimate relationship. We can go deep...fast.
In my meditation this morning what kept coming up was that I haven't been so good in recent years about that regular practice. As I sat, I pictured myself in a workshop years ago when we stopped and meditated. Afterward, the leader said that she'd been doing that for years, and she'd never seen anyone settle into their meditation as quickly as I did. At the time, I'd been writing Leading from the Heart, and I began each day by meditating at least an hour a day and sometimes up to three. I'd meditate until I was inspired to write; then I'd get up and let the words flow through me. The point is that the practice I'd been building paid off in the workshop.
In recent years, there have been many days when I neither prayed nor meditated. Other days I fell asleep as I tried to meditate. Some days my prayers were one-liners: "Please guide my work today to the Higher Good." My prayer muscles have gone soft. But every day this year--all 12 of them, and twice a day since my retreat started. I've taken time to sit with God.
In the beginning I was very fidgety. Sometimes I'd think I had been sitting a while, only to open my eyes and discover that only three or four minutes had passed. I started setting the timer on my iPhone for 20 minutes. When I would think I'd been at the practice forever and the timer hadn't gone off, I'd look to see if I'd forgotten to start it. I had.
This week, I've noticed that the flow is much easier. I actually pray and meditate for the full 20 minutes, and the timer goes off before I look. Yeah! I notice the breathing is more natural, and I easily get insights like the one today about just showing up for spiritual practice. Floating in gently like a feather, totally without the labor I experienced even two weeks ago. I believe Myss would say that I am making deposits to my prayer bank account.
I fully understand that it is the beginning of a new year, and many people start new things as resolutions. I haven't been one of them. I have usually taken some time at the New Year to reflect and assess how I'm doing at moving toward my intentions. Then, I've made the effort to course correct. I'd like to think that is what I am doing now. I've shown up to write this blog every day. I've exercised at least 15 minutes, and today, thanks to a social event away from the Metro, I hoofed 75 minutes on a springlike January day in Washington. And, I've shown up for spiritual practice every day. Each of these things are getting easier each day that I do them.
When I am back to work, I understand that it will be harder, but now that I think about it, I am sure that these three practices are more important than anything else I could do for myself. Maybe that's been part of my problem in the past: I have thought that showing up for others was more important than showing up for things I do for myself. (That sounds like another post.) Not something I've been good about in the past, but it is a new year, and each is a new day in which I can just keep showing up.
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Thursday, January 12, 2017
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Falling back
Today is that delicious day we each get once a year when we set our clocks back and get an extra hour of either sleep or daytime activity. I got a little of each.
I expectedly awakened a little earlier than I normally would on a Sunday, and I indulged myself in an extended period of prayer, something I'd been yearning for since mid-summer when I began the chaotic wind down of my old job and transition into what is seeming to be an equally busy new job.
For me, prayer satisfies me most when I do it regularly. I think of it as being a bit like exercise. When I am doing either every day, I slide into it easily and often get into "the zone"--that enchanting place where time and space cease to exist, and I am mindfully in the present. However, not unlike being off exercise for a while, when I come back to prayer after time away, I struggle.
Now it isn't as if I haven't prayed for months. I have. Yet instead of deep, solace-inducing communion, my prayers have been less two-way communication and deep listening and more pleas for aid, like "Help me know what to do right now," "Show me the way," or "Help me get through this day." More often than not, I heard no answer. I am sure that the answers were there, but I was either not present enough to receive the answer or overly intellectualizing to figure the answer out myself. Most likely, both.
This morning the need to develop my prayer muscles was clearly apparent.
With that said, I did hear that I should write a blog post, so here I am. I do often feel that writing becomes a prayer for me, and my listening becomes richer when I allow myself to not know what it is I am going to write but rather just allow it to flow through me. As I write this post, I understand some of what was missing from my prayers this morning that I couldn't seem to know when I was in them.
Back in the day when I prayed with clients, I used the term "let your prayers pray you."
"God," I said, "would let us know what we should be praying for." Then we would sit and pray together. Often what would come up would be things about which my mind would never have thought to pray. "Thank you for the birds that sing outside my window every morning," or "Thank you for the sun and its warmth on my skin when I walk." Occasionally, I expressed gratitude for just being still.
The most interesting thing about letting my prayers pray me is that much, maybe most, of my prayers uttered from that space expressed gratitude and, more often than not, they acknowledged the little things in life of which I so often don't even make notice. I believe that focusing attention on the exquisite order of the world around me diminished whatever might have been on my heart and mind that day to an appropriate proportion.
The practice also reminds me of the non-linear nature of the Universe. For instance, my struggle to pray this morning did send me to computer to write about prayer. Now I remember what I had forgotten about praying and can go back to prayer again with an open heart and mind.
Soon, I will do that.
As I ponder doing so, however, the thought that nags at me is how I got so far from my prayer practice to have forgotten how to connect. The answer may go back to the metaphor of exercise. My actions haven't made either priorities when in my heart I know that I ache for both. Articulated priorities, which aren't acted upon as such, are clearly not the focus of our intention.
In the busyness of a life that seems to be driven by urgencies, like finding a new refrigerator before all my food thaws on a gorgeous fall day when I would prefer to go for a long walk in the woods. Always there seems to be something urgent that cuts into my time. Yet if I want my life to reflect the focus of my intentions, I must act accordingly.
I truly don't have an answer for the refrigerator-versus-the-fall-walk dilemma but somehow I know in my heart that if I spend more time in prayer and exercise, how to bring life to my intentions will become clear to me. Right now, I am savoring the extra hour to focus on prayer and exercise and feeling comfortable pushing back the urgent for just a little longer.
I expectedly awakened a little earlier than I normally would on a Sunday, and I indulged myself in an extended period of prayer, something I'd been yearning for since mid-summer when I began the chaotic wind down of my old job and transition into what is seeming to be an equally busy new job.
For me, prayer satisfies me most when I do it regularly. I think of it as being a bit like exercise. When I am doing either every day, I slide into it easily and often get into "the zone"--that enchanting place where time and space cease to exist, and I am mindfully in the present. However, not unlike being off exercise for a while, when I come back to prayer after time away, I struggle.
Now it isn't as if I haven't prayed for months. I have. Yet instead of deep, solace-inducing communion, my prayers have been less two-way communication and deep listening and more pleas for aid, like "Help me know what to do right now," "Show me the way," or "Help me get through this day." More often than not, I heard no answer. I am sure that the answers were there, but I was either not present enough to receive the answer or overly intellectualizing to figure the answer out myself. Most likely, both.
This morning the need to develop my prayer muscles was clearly apparent.
With that said, I did hear that I should write a blog post, so here I am. I do often feel that writing becomes a prayer for me, and my listening becomes richer when I allow myself to not know what it is I am going to write but rather just allow it to flow through me. As I write this post, I understand some of what was missing from my prayers this morning that I couldn't seem to know when I was in them.
Back in the day when I prayed with clients, I used the term "let your prayers pray you."
"God," I said, "would let us know what we should be praying for." Then we would sit and pray together. Often what would come up would be things about which my mind would never have thought to pray. "Thank you for the birds that sing outside my window every morning," or "Thank you for the sun and its warmth on my skin when I walk." Occasionally, I expressed gratitude for just being still.
The most interesting thing about letting my prayers pray me is that much, maybe most, of my prayers uttered from that space expressed gratitude and, more often than not, they acknowledged the little things in life of which I so often don't even make notice. I believe that focusing attention on the exquisite order of the world around me diminished whatever might have been on my heart and mind that day to an appropriate proportion.
The practice also reminds me of the non-linear nature of the Universe. For instance, my struggle to pray this morning did send me to computer to write about prayer. Now I remember what I had forgotten about praying and can go back to prayer again with an open heart and mind.
Soon, I will do that.
As I ponder doing so, however, the thought that nags at me is how I got so far from my prayer practice to have forgotten how to connect. The answer may go back to the metaphor of exercise. My actions haven't made either priorities when in my heart I know that I ache for both. Articulated priorities, which aren't acted upon as such, are clearly not the focus of our intention.
In the busyness of a life that seems to be driven by urgencies, like finding a new refrigerator before all my food thaws on a gorgeous fall day when I would prefer to go for a long walk in the woods. Always there seems to be something urgent that cuts into my time. Yet if I want my life to reflect the focus of my intentions, I must act accordingly.
I truly don't have an answer for the refrigerator-versus-the-fall-walk dilemma but somehow I know in my heart that if I spend more time in prayer and exercise, how to bring life to my intentions will become clear to me. Right now, I am savoring the extra hour to focus on prayer and exercise and feeling comfortable pushing back the urgent for just a little longer.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
My Prayers Praying Me
When I conducted one-on-one Intentional Living Intensives with clients, we would start our days with prayer. As we sat quietly, I would tell them that I'd like for them to consider praying differently this time. "Let your prayers pray you," I would say.
I would continue to say that most of us were taught to ask for things or to invite guidance on decisions. Sometimes we said memorized prayers, such as the Lord's Prayer which Christians often recite or the childhood prayer of "Now I lay me down to sleep...." Generally, prayer has been something that came from our brains.
Yet when we read about prayer, often it suggests communion or communication. As my client and I reflected on how prayer might be different, I would often share some different definitions of prayer for us to ponder. Today I looked up communion on dictionary.com. After the Christian sacrament of communion were the definitions "an interchange or sharing of thoughts or emotions, intimate communication; the act of sharing, or holding in common." That was the kind of prayer I was suggesting.
We would often talk about the nature of communication and especially intimate communication. "Two way," my clients would often say. "Listening deeply...taking time to let things sink in...more silence." Rather than us talking to God from our heads, I would say, "Let try intimate communication."
When my clients stopped thinking about what they were going to "say" in prayer, and instead they concentrated more on "listening," "letting things sink in," and "silence," a commonality across my clients from different religions and even the occasional atheist or agnostic who came for this spiritual retreat emerged.
There was much more silence. Sometimes we'd sit for several minutes. What followed was often several minutes of gratitude but rarely gratitude for the things that my financially successful clients spent considerable energy pursuing. I lived in a house in the woods on a lake. "Thank you for the song of the birds," might come. "Thank you for the rain." "Thanks for the cycle of nature." "Guide us in our work today," I would usually say.
Almost always, my clients would say what a profound experience it had been to let their prayers pray them. I would always agree.
This morning I leave on a business trip, and I couldn't figure out the logistics of going to church and then making my travel schedule. I decided to take my worship time to meditate. Shortly after sitting, I heard, "Let your prayers pray you." I smiled. It had been a long time. There it was again. I live in different woods now, but the song of two birds, obviously communicating, was the first thing I was thankful for. Then what grabbed my attention was a site of chronic pain, so I was thankful for the parts of my body that worked well. In an instant, the pain source calmed and melted discomfort away.
For 25 minutes I let my prayers pray me. I don't remember any others now, but I didn't ask for anything. I sat in deep gratitude. I was in intimate communication with God. The profound stillness continues in me now. It was perfect.
I would continue to say that most of us were taught to ask for things or to invite guidance on decisions. Sometimes we said memorized prayers, such as the Lord's Prayer which Christians often recite or the childhood prayer of "Now I lay me down to sleep...." Generally, prayer has been something that came from our brains.
Yet when we read about prayer, often it suggests communion or communication. As my client and I reflected on how prayer might be different, I would often share some different definitions of prayer for us to ponder. Today I looked up communion on dictionary.com. After the Christian sacrament of communion were the definitions "an interchange or sharing of thoughts or emotions, intimate communication; the act of sharing, or holding in common." That was the kind of prayer I was suggesting.
We would often talk about the nature of communication and especially intimate communication. "Two way," my clients would often say. "Listening deeply...taking time to let things sink in...more silence." Rather than us talking to God from our heads, I would say, "Let try intimate communication."
When my clients stopped thinking about what they were going to "say" in prayer, and instead they concentrated more on "listening," "letting things sink in," and "silence," a commonality across my clients from different religions and even the occasional atheist or agnostic who came for this spiritual retreat emerged.
There was much more silence. Sometimes we'd sit for several minutes. What followed was often several minutes of gratitude but rarely gratitude for the things that my financially successful clients spent considerable energy pursuing. I lived in a house in the woods on a lake. "Thank you for the song of the birds," might come. "Thank you for the rain." "Thanks for the cycle of nature." "Guide us in our work today," I would usually say.
Almost always, my clients would say what a profound experience it had been to let their prayers pray them. I would always agree.
This morning I leave on a business trip, and I couldn't figure out the logistics of going to church and then making my travel schedule. I decided to take my worship time to meditate. Shortly after sitting, I heard, "Let your prayers pray you." I smiled. It had been a long time. There it was again. I live in different woods now, but the song of two birds, obviously communicating, was the first thing I was thankful for. Then what grabbed my attention was a site of chronic pain, so I was thankful for the parts of my body that worked well. In an instant, the pain source calmed and melted discomfort away.
For 25 minutes I let my prayers pray me. I don't remember any others now, but I didn't ask for anything. I sat in deep gratitude. I was in intimate communication with God. The profound stillness continues in me now. It was perfect.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
My Prayers Praying Me
When I was growing up, I was taught that prayer was about talking to God: impassioned pleas, begging, bartering, asking for guidance from God by only offering two options, or the metaphorical equivalent of parting the waters for us to get the date we wanted for prom. Clearly, it was about asking God to help us get what we wanted. I once heard something (Marianne Williamson?) refer to this kind of prayer as "the carhop in the sky." We tell God what we want, and he/she is supposed to bring it to us.
I have come to believe a few different things about prayer. First, it is at least as much about listening as talking...maybe much more. Second, when we ask for guidance, we should do so with open-ended questions so that we really give God room to point us in the right direction, and when we ask for help, we should listen very carefully. The answers often float in as if on the wings of a butterfly and always without explanation. Reasoning with Go about why is pure foolishness. The answer is the answer.
Third, everything is a gift; no matter how much we don't like or understand the answers when they show up in our lives, if we are open-minded, we will eventually see that they are a gift.
Finally, God will tell us what to pray, if we will still our minds and listen.
All of these weave together to produce a very different kind of prayer than what I grew up with. When I started to pray this way, the term that came to me for it was "my prayers praying me." How this works is that I allow myself to become very still. Then I express the intention to prayer. Since everything is a gift, I begin by expressing gratitude, but not for stuff in my life. When I say that God will tell us what to pray, I mean that things will become apparent for which I should thank God.
I don't know if it works exactly the same way for everyone. Most of the time, I hear what to be grateful for, but occasionally I may see a picture which reminds me of something to be grateful for. In a recent prayer, I started noticing the buzz of the cicadas in the park behind me. That reminded me to thank God for having an apartment in a large city that overlooked a national park. It also reminded me of my home, having a home, and being able to afford my home, all things that I've learned to not take for granted. I was grateful that I had friends who opened their doors for me and that I was never on the streets during my season of homelessness. Then I remembered how wonderful it was to have a trailhead into the park just feet outside my backdoor.
After I'd taken time to be very grateful for my apartment and a number of other positives in my life, I started to thank God for things for which others may not take time to express gratitude. I thanked God for my pain because there was a time when I might have become a quadriplegic and couldn't have felt pain. Then I was grateful that I could wiggle my fingers and toes.
I thanked God for my difficult bosses because I was grateful to have bosses and all the things that went with them--a regular paycheck, benefits, and even paid time off. I even thanked God for my less-than-wonderful eyesight because before my February surgery, I understood I might lose the sight in one eye. You get the idea.
I wasn't running a stop watch, but my guess is that I was grateful for at least 20 minutes. Most of what I was thankful for weren't things that normally would have been on my Top 10 of gratitude. Instead, they were really very meaningful things for me to remember. When I am thankful for pain, bad eyesight, and even not being on the streets, when I get curve balls in my life, they remind me to look for the gift.
Then, it was time to ask. Once again, I asked: what should I pray for? There it was, just like in the wings of a butterfly, "Heal me." There was a knowing acknowledgement in my throat as my head involuntarily shook to the affirmative. "Heal me," I said.
Then, there was stillness again. No drama. No begging. No choices. Just "heal me." The roots of the word "heal" are "to make whole." Gratitude, and a request to be made whole. When my prayers pray me, they are simple and distilled. What more could I ask for?
I have come to believe a few different things about prayer. First, it is at least as much about listening as talking...maybe much more. Second, when we ask for guidance, we should do so with open-ended questions so that we really give God room to point us in the right direction, and when we ask for help, we should listen very carefully. The answers often float in as if on the wings of a butterfly and always without explanation. Reasoning with Go about why is pure foolishness. The answer is the answer.
Third, everything is a gift; no matter how much we don't like or understand the answers when they show up in our lives, if we are open-minded, we will eventually see that they are a gift.
Finally, God will tell us what to pray, if we will still our minds and listen.
All of these weave together to produce a very different kind of prayer than what I grew up with. When I started to pray this way, the term that came to me for it was "my prayers praying me." How this works is that I allow myself to become very still. Then I express the intention to prayer. Since everything is a gift, I begin by expressing gratitude, but not for stuff in my life. When I say that God will tell us what to pray, I mean that things will become apparent for which I should thank God.
I don't know if it works exactly the same way for everyone. Most of the time, I hear what to be grateful for, but occasionally I may see a picture which reminds me of something to be grateful for. In a recent prayer, I started noticing the buzz of the cicadas in the park behind me. That reminded me to thank God for having an apartment in a large city that overlooked a national park. It also reminded me of my home, having a home, and being able to afford my home, all things that I've learned to not take for granted. I was grateful that I had friends who opened their doors for me and that I was never on the streets during my season of homelessness. Then I remembered how wonderful it was to have a trailhead into the park just feet outside my backdoor.
After I'd taken time to be very grateful for my apartment and a number of other positives in my life, I started to thank God for things for which others may not take time to express gratitude. I thanked God for my pain because there was a time when I might have become a quadriplegic and couldn't have felt pain. Then I was grateful that I could wiggle my fingers and toes.
I thanked God for my difficult bosses because I was grateful to have bosses and all the things that went with them--a regular paycheck, benefits, and even paid time off. I even thanked God for my less-than-wonderful eyesight because before my February surgery, I understood I might lose the sight in one eye. You get the idea.
I wasn't running a stop watch, but my guess is that I was grateful for at least 20 minutes. Most of what I was thankful for weren't things that normally would have been on my Top 10 of gratitude. Instead, they were really very meaningful things for me to remember. When I am thankful for pain, bad eyesight, and even not being on the streets, when I get curve balls in my life, they remind me to look for the gift.
Then, it was time to ask. Once again, I asked: what should I pray for? There it was, just like in the wings of a butterfly, "Heal me." There was a knowing acknowledgement in my throat as my head involuntarily shook to the affirmative. "Heal me," I said.
Then, there was stillness again. No drama. No begging. No choices. Just "heal me." The roots of the word "heal" are "to make whole." Gratitude, and a request to be made whole. When my prayers pray me, they are simple and distilled. What more could I ask for?
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Be still! Know!
When I sat today and listened, I heard: "Be still and know that I am God" from Psalm 46. I smiled. How many times have I talked with my intentional living intensive clients about these words. Somewhere in the course of the three-day intensives, my spiritual coaching clients would hear these words, and we would talk. Usually, we would talk about stilling the noise of the world and taking time in prayer and meditation. I know I don't spend nearly enough time being still and knowing God in that way.
In Exodus 3:13 Moses asks God in the form of a burning bush who he should tell the Israelites has sent him, God replies in the next verse, "I am who I am." Depending on where my client went, sometimes we would talk about the reference of "I AM." I've often pondered God's humor, which I think is significant. How could it not be? Was God trying to tell us that each of us (who I am) is part of God? If so, was the Psalm reference God saying that we should spend more time knowing our godliness? I don't spend enough time there either.
In the Jewish mystical tradition of Kabbalah, God is a verb**. What if 'God' is a verb? Not an entity or state, but an action. What if "God" as "I am" is a verb that says who each of us chooses to be is how others experience God? If God is a verb, how have I been doing on "God-ding" today? I am afraid that often the answer isn't what I would like it to be.
This morning when I heard "Be still and know that I am God," I instantly plugged in to all of these old conversations and thoughts and pondered for a bit more before asking, "What more am I to know?" The answer: "Google it!" God does have a sense of humor. :-)
Obediently, I went to Google and found a description of the Hebrew meaning of the phrase. The verbs "be still" and "know" are imperative forms that might more appropriately translated "Be still!" and "Know!"* These words were not gentle suggestions: they were orders and strong ones at that. I was struck speechless. I am ordered to be still. I am ordered to know the nature of God. I don't think this order was intended to be an activity that I fit in after work, exercise, dinner, making lunch and coffee for the next day, and watching yesterday's episode of "The Daily Show."
Whether we may think of God as a field of Love that connects us all, which I do, or we think of God as an old white man with a white beard, or various other possibilities, we are ordered to be still and know God. Maybe it is just knowing the God in each of us. We are ordered to still our minds, let all the clutter from the world around us drop away, and "know! God." I wonder if our world would be as crazy and violent if everyone of us followed our orders to "be still!" and "know!" before we go into the world each day. "Being still!" and "knowing!" is a priority, not something that we fit in if we are not so tired from all the other stuff that we fall asleep, as happened to me yesterday.
For years, I've taken at least a few minutes almost every morning to meditate, but in truth, more often than not, those few minutes are exhausted by just calming my mind from the rush of starting my day. If I am to really "be still!" and "know!" then I will need to take more time. Really?! I already get up at 5:20 more mornings. I am not sure I can get up earlier. Or, it seems to me that maybe this is really about focusing my intention on paying attention in a different way. I expect that if I focused my attention on knowing the God in me, all that other mind chatter would just fall away. Ah! I suspect that is it.
*http://www.hebrew4christians.com/Meditations/Be_Still/be_still.html
**God Is a Verb: Kabbalah and the Practice of Mystical Judaism by David A. Cooper
In Exodus 3:13 Moses asks God in the form of a burning bush who he should tell the Israelites has sent him, God replies in the next verse, "I am who I am." Depending on where my client went, sometimes we would talk about the reference of "I AM." I've often pondered God's humor, which I think is significant. How could it not be? Was God trying to tell us that each of us (who I am) is part of God? If so, was the Psalm reference God saying that we should spend more time knowing our godliness? I don't spend enough time there either.
In the Jewish mystical tradition of Kabbalah, God is a verb**. What if 'God' is a verb? Not an entity or state, but an action. What if "God" as "I am" is a verb that says who each of us chooses to be is how others experience God? If God is a verb, how have I been doing on "God-ding" today? I am afraid that often the answer isn't what I would like it to be.
This morning when I heard "Be still and know that I am God," I instantly plugged in to all of these old conversations and thoughts and pondered for a bit more before asking, "What more am I to know?" The answer: "Google it!" God does have a sense of humor. :-)
Obediently, I went to Google and found a description of the Hebrew meaning of the phrase. The verbs "be still" and "know" are imperative forms that might more appropriately translated "Be still!" and "Know!"* These words were not gentle suggestions: they were orders and strong ones at that. I was struck speechless. I am ordered to be still. I am ordered to know the nature of God. I don't think this order was intended to be an activity that I fit in after work, exercise, dinner, making lunch and coffee for the next day, and watching yesterday's episode of "The Daily Show."
Whether we may think of God as a field of Love that connects us all, which I do, or we think of God as an old white man with a white beard, or various other possibilities, we are ordered to be still and know God. Maybe it is just knowing the God in each of us. We are ordered to still our minds, let all the clutter from the world around us drop away, and "know! God." I wonder if our world would be as crazy and violent if everyone of us followed our orders to "be still!" and "know!" before we go into the world each day. "Being still!" and "knowing!" is a priority, not something that we fit in if we are not so tired from all the other stuff that we fall asleep, as happened to me yesterday.
For years, I've taken at least a few minutes almost every morning to meditate, but in truth, more often than not, those few minutes are exhausted by just calming my mind from the rush of starting my day. If I am to really "be still!" and "know!" then I will need to take more time. Really?! I already get up at 5:20 more mornings. I am not sure I can get up earlier. Or, it seems to me that maybe this is really about focusing my intention on paying attention in a different way. I expect that if I focused my attention on knowing the God in me, all that other mind chatter would just fall away. Ah! I suspect that is it.
*http://www.hebrew4christians.com/Meditations/Be_Still/be_still.html
**God Is a Verb: Kabbalah and the Practice of Mystical Judaism by David A. Cooper
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Feeling Our Prayers
Prayer--communion with God. Ahh! Just being with those words makes my heart "vibrate" with warmth. Prayer is a two-way communication with the divine, but deeper and more consuming of our total presence.
It is not always so. As children, we spilled out the words, "God is great. God is good. And we thank him for our food," by rote and quickly at that, lest the food get cold in the few seconds they took.
And, there is the "Lord's Prayer," which many of us have said so many times that we don't even think about the words, much less feel them. When we pray the Lord's Prayer together in church, more often than not, if seems to me as if the congregation is racing through the words without even pausing for a comma much less to put feeling in them.
Several years ago, I studied the "Lord's Prayer" in Aramaic, the original language of the prayer. Since then, at least once each day, I say the prayer in Aramaic. When I first started, the prayer was slow and thoughtful, as I remembered the richness and complexity of the words in the original language. Sadly, the Aramaic words now spill out as thoughtlessly as the English version does most of the time.
After making my blog post last night, I felt my prayers. Why on one particular night did I feel my prayers? Perhaps it was the intensity of the visits to the war memorials that slowed me down or maybe it was the realization of the multi-generational pain of which I've been a part because of those wars. Whatever the reason, I had really felt the presence of the divine in my heart yesterday. As I prayed, I felt my prayers. It is a profound experience to really feel prayer.
The words were really irrelevant. In my heart, I could feel love, ebbing and flowing with my breathing. I actually felt bringing more love into the world so there would be less pain, loss, and grief. Today I've felt love, warmth and mercy being wrapped around me like a warm blanket on this cold and windy night. I feel the relaxation that comes with spiritual surrender. I will feel grateful as I write my gratitude journal, sending prayers of thanks. I will feel delight as I express gratitude that I can wiggle my fingers and toes. I will feel the reality of my affirmations as I say them.
I am quite confident that this is how we are in communion with God, the divine, all there is, or whatever term you prefer. This is how we say to God, this is what I intend to receive into my life. How often though I have prayed out of fear or anger, and fear and anger were the messages that I communed to God. Just thinking about it breaks my heart, but in its breaking open, I also send a prayer. Our feelings are the messages we send to God. If fear and anger are prayers, then so much more are joy, peace, and love prayers.
I am not sure if God even hears those rote prayers; of course, I am not sure that God doesn't hear them either. However, I am certain that when we are present to what we are feeling, we can be intentional about our prayers. A happy thought can be a prayer. A smile may also be a prayer. Delight is most certainly a prayer. Playing the Grocery Store Game can be prayer. Each moment we pray. Consciousness allows us to decide what we will pray and then really be present to the prayer.
It is not always so. As children, we spilled out the words, "God is great. God is good. And we thank him for our food," by rote and quickly at that, lest the food get cold in the few seconds they took.
And, there is the "Lord's Prayer," which many of us have said so many times that we don't even think about the words, much less feel them. When we pray the Lord's Prayer together in church, more often than not, if seems to me as if the congregation is racing through the words without even pausing for a comma much less to put feeling in them.
Several years ago, I studied the "Lord's Prayer" in Aramaic, the original language of the prayer. Since then, at least once each day, I say the prayer in Aramaic. When I first started, the prayer was slow and thoughtful, as I remembered the richness and complexity of the words in the original language. Sadly, the Aramaic words now spill out as thoughtlessly as the English version does most of the time.
After making my blog post last night, I felt my prayers. Why on one particular night did I feel my prayers? Perhaps it was the intensity of the visits to the war memorials that slowed me down or maybe it was the realization of the multi-generational pain of which I've been a part because of those wars. Whatever the reason, I had really felt the presence of the divine in my heart yesterday. As I prayed, I felt my prayers. It is a profound experience to really feel prayer.
The words were really irrelevant. In my heart, I could feel love, ebbing and flowing with my breathing. I actually felt bringing more love into the world so there would be less pain, loss, and grief. Today I've felt love, warmth and mercy being wrapped around me like a warm blanket on this cold and windy night. I feel the relaxation that comes with spiritual surrender. I will feel grateful as I write my gratitude journal, sending prayers of thanks. I will feel delight as I express gratitude that I can wiggle my fingers and toes. I will feel the reality of my affirmations as I say them.
I am quite confident that this is how we are in communion with God, the divine, all there is, or whatever term you prefer. This is how we say to God, this is what I intend to receive into my life. How often though I have prayed out of fear or anger, and fear and anger were the messages that I communed to God. Just thinking about it breaks my heart, but in its breaking open, I also send a prayer. Our feelings are the messages we send to God. If fear and anger are prayers, then so much more are joy, peace, and love prayers.
I am not sure if God even hears those rote prayers; of course, I am not sure that God doesn't hear them either. However, I am certain that when we are present to what we are feeling, we can be intentional about our prayers. A happy thought can be a prayer. A smile may also be a prayer. Delight is most certainly a prayer. Playing the Grocery Store Game can be prayer. Each moment we pray. Consciousness allows us to decide what we will pray and then really be present to the prayer.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
God's paintbrush
When I looked out my living room window this morning, the view just took my breath away. I am fortunate enough to have a national park as my backdoor neighbor. In the last few days the fall color has burst out in its full glory. Closest to me are shades of orange and russet, but a cluster of brilliant yellow trees stands right in the middle of my panorama. Earlier today the sky was dark and brooding in the background, but a bright shaft of sunlight spotlighted that grove.
As the morning has progressed, the sky has brightened to a beautiful robin's egg blue with puffy white clouds, providing a perfect frame for the oranges closest to me. The wind blowing through the trees brings with it a similar tranquility to listening to the surf at the beach.
In the spring I have been equally taken with the tender lime greens of new leaves, interspersed with the violets of the native redbud trees. What a wonder! And, especially after a long and hard winter, what a blast of hope predicting an unending progression of color that will follow all spring and summer...leading up to the beauty that grabbed me today. Only God's paintbrush could have created such wonders.
How is it that we have been blessed with such wonder? It is certainly a gift and one that always lifts my heart when I am alert to that blessing. This morning I believe I experienced still a different purposefulness of nature's beauty.
I start each day by taking a few moments (occasionally it takes more than a few) to connect with the vibrational feeling in my heart that I believe is my connection to Love or to God...or probably they are the same. From what I have been able to tell, I can only do this when I am totally present. If my mind is drifting to yesterday or last week or jumping ahead to later today or tomorrow, I cannot get that feeling. So it was this morning that my mind seemed obsessed with something that happened in the past that I need to deal with tomorrow. Like a tennis match, my mind bounced from the past to the future back to the past...and so on...inconveniently skipping right over the "net" that is the present.
Determined not to start my day without being present and connected, I tried everything I could to will myself present. I tried for a very long time. I couldn't do it. Then I remembered to pray for help, and almost as I did, a snapshot of the landscape in the park flashed across my mind's eye. ("Remembering to Pray" 10/30/2013) Even in my imagining it was so beautiful that I gasped, and the moment I did, I felt the connection in my heart. After struggling for nearly an hour to connect, the beauty of God's paintbrush brought me into the present moment instantly. And...I have stayed there all day.
I have certainly had the experience of awe and wonder in the mountains, the Grand Canyon, and countless other places in nature. Today, I wonder if the purpose of those wonders is to call us present and to remind us of the omnipresence and timelessness of God's love for us, always there just for the price of recognizing it.
As the morning has progressed, the sky has brightened to a beautiful robin's egg blue with puffy white clouds, providing a perfect frame for the oranges closest to me. The wind blowing through the trees brings with it a similar tranquility to listening to the surf at the beach.
In the spring I have been equally taken with the tender lime greens of new leaves, interspersed with the violets of the native redbud trees. What a wonder! And, especially after a long and hard winter, what a blast of hope predicting an unending progression of color that will follow all spring and summer...leading up to the beauty that grabbed me today. Only God's paintbrush could have created such wonders.
How is it that we have been blessed with such wonder? It is certainly a gift and one that always lifts my heart when I am alert to that blessing. This morning I believe I experienced still a different purposefulness of nature's beauty.
I start each day by taking a few moments (occasionally it takes more than a few) to connect with the vibrational feeling in my heart that I believe is my connection to Love or to God...or probably they are the same. From what I have been able to tell, I can only do this when I am totally present. If my mind is drifting to yesterday or last week or jumping ahead to later today or tomorrow, I cannot get that feeling. So it was this morning that my mind seemed obsessed with something that happened in the past that I need to deal with tomorrow. Like a tennis match, my mind bounced from the past to the future back to the past...and so on...inconveniently skipping right over the "net" that is the present.
Determined not to start my day without being present and connected, I tried everything I could to will myself present. I tried for a very long time. I couldn't do it. Then I remembered to pray for help, and almost as I did, a snapshot of the landscape in the park flashed across my mind's eye. ("Remembering to Pray" 10/30/2013) Even in my imagining it was so beautiful that I gasped, and the moment I did, I felt the connection in my heart. After struggling for nearly an hour to connect, the beauty of God's paintbrush brought me into the present moment instantly. And...I have stayed there all day.
I have certainly had the experience of awe and wonder in the mountains, the Grand Canyon, and countless other places in nature. Today, I wonder if the purpose of those wonders is to call us present and to remind us of the omnipresence and timelessness of God's love for us, always there just for the price of recognizing it.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Remembering to Pray
When I finish this blog at the end of most days and then head to bed, I find I often have an Aha! moment. So it was last night, as the night before. As I was writing my gratitude list--things that I have to be grateful for at the end of each day--there were two things for which I was most thankful. First, I was grateful for having spoken truth to power. Almost as I had that thought, I remembered early in the day I had prayed for courage to do so, and then I had promptly forgotten about the prayer. I am sure it was why I finally said what I should have said a year ago.
As I reflected about this little miracle (or maybe not so little,) I "got" on a deeper level than before about prayers being answered. I tend to pray gratitude and for guidance. I rarely pray for help. Now, I know that just by simply asking in the morning, and then "letting it go," made a huge difference to me.
Why then have I rarely asked for help? It is a good question. Maybe it feels selfish to ask for something for me. Perhaps, as the author of a book on courage, I think I should be able to muster my own courage without help. The truth is that I don't think I am very good about asking for help in anything from anyone--human or divine.
I could blame my reticence on events of my childhood that made me fiercely independent, since asking for help just doesn't seem very independent. I might say that all those years of education trained me to take care of myself. Even that my generation of women thought they had to be superwomen to claim our place in the work world. However, I think more likely is that I am terrified that if I surrendered even a chink in my armor of independence that I might just not exist.
Many years ago I heard an essay which proposed that the four most powerful words in any language were, "I need your help." At all of 5'1" tall, I often find myself looking for tall shoppers in the grocery store to reach items on top shelves that are far higher than my fingers can stretch. Over the years when I've needed assistance, I find people are often genuinely happy to help. I asked a friend to pick me up after a recent surgery because the surgery center wouldn't let me leave on my own. How silly! My friend was happy to help and good enough to tuck me in before I drifted back to sleep. Asking for help out of anything except sheer necessity has mostly been absent in my life. Why? I have no idea.
Dear God, I do need your help: I need your help remembering to pray. I need your help to just allow myself to collapse in the warmth of your love and to know that you will be there with me and for me.
Always!
As I reflected about this little miracle (or maybe not so little,) I "got" on a deeper level than before about prayers being answered. I tend to pray gratitude and for guidance. I rarely pray for help. Now, I know that just by simply asking in the morning, and then "letting it go," made a huge difference to me.
Why then have I rarely asked for help? It is a good question. Maybe it feels selfish to ask for something for me. Perhaps, as the author of a book on courage, I think I should be able to muster my own courage without help. The truth is that I don't think I am very good about asking for help in anything from anyone--human or divine.
I could blame my reticence on events of my childhood that made me fiercely independent, since asking for help just doesn't seem very independent. I might say that all those years of education trained me to take care of myself. Even that my generation of women thought they had to be superwomen to claim our place in the work world. However, I think more likely is that I am terrified that if I surrendered even a chink in my armor of independence that I might just not exist.
Many years ago I heard an essay which proposed that the four most powerful words in any language were, "I need your help." At all of 5'1" tall, I often find myself looking for tall shoppers in the grocery store to reach items on top shelves that are far higher than my fingers can stretch. Over the years when I've needed assistance, I find people are often genuinely happy to help. I asked a friend to pick me up after a recent surgery because the surgery center wouldn't let me leave on my own. How silly! My friend was happy to help and good enough to tuck me in before I drifted back to sleep. Asking for help out of anything except sheer necessity has mostly been absent in my life. Why? I have no idea.
Dear God, I do need your help: I need your help remembering to pray. I need your help to just allow myself to collapse in the warmth of your love and to know that you will be there with me and for me.
Always!
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
The Peace That Passes All Understanding
As I was making myself something for dinner this evening, I began to think about what I might write in my blog tonight. Well, of course, that is all wrong. There I go thinking again: my writing is supposed to come from my heart and not my head.
Nonetheless, almost like an earworm, for the last 90 minutes, the phrase from the Christian New Testament of Philippians "the peace that passes all understanding" has been playing over and over again, echoing behind cooking sounds, the radio, the TV, and even as I ran water to wash my face and brush my teeth.
"The peace that passes all understanding." I thought it was a topic. Now, my heart knows it is a process. Just allow myself to sink into peace and let the words flow through me. Why the repetition? It was almost as if my soul was meditating me instead of me meditating. I've often talked with coaching clients about letting their prayers pray them. Like a mantra, the phrase "the peace that passes all understanding" meditated me.
The point of letting prayers pray us is to just listen deeply to what our soul wants to pray and to let go of the clutter with which our brains would clutter our communication channels. When I've prayed this way with clients, it is very slow, and the words just gently float out. Mostly what floats out are words of gratitude, and gratitude for such little things that most of us would never think to include in our prayers. It has been such a long time since I've let my prayers pray me. I think it is time. Our souls are so wise.
Nonetheless, almost like an earworm, for the last 90 minutes, the phrase from the Christian New Testament of Philippians "the peace that passes all understanding" has been playing over and over again, echoing behind cooking sounds, the radio, the TV, and even as I ran water to wash my face and brush my teeth.
"The peace that passes all understanding." I thought it was a topic. Now, my heart knows it is a process. Just allow myself to sink into peace and let the words flow through me. Why the repetition? It was almost as if my soul was meditating me instead of me meditating. I've often talked with coaching clients about letting their prayers pray them. Like a mantra, the phrase "the peace that passes all understanding" meditated me.
The point of letting prayers pray us is to just listen deeply to what our soul wants to pray and to let go of the clutter with which our brains would clutter our communication channels. When I've prayed this way with clients, it is very slow, and the words just gently float out. Mostly what floats out are words of gratitude, and gratitude for such little things that most of us would never think to include in our prayers. It has been such a long time since I've let my prayers pray me. I think it is time. Our souls are so wise.
Friday, October 18, 2013
"If a Tree Falls,..."
There is an oft-quoted question, "If a tree falls in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" (George Berkeley) There are those who would say that if there is no one to witness the fall, the tree falling down doesn't make a sound. Others would argue that, of course, a tree falling makes a sound; whether someone hears it is moot. We will never know for sure. The heart of the matter is whether something exists without a witness.
For me, on this day, this is a poignant question. For over a month, I've been keeping my commitment to write a daily post to this blog, exploring the spiritual questions and bits of wisdom I encounter on my path. It has been rich for me. It is a spiritual practice.
Today it has been 10 days since anyone has read my blog. Without witnesses, like the tree falling in the forest, I wonder if my Voice has been muted. Is my exercise a vain one? There are really two answers to this question. Both start with "no."
Answer One: No; it is not a vain exercise. Spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss has talked about having a "prayer chakra," something like a prayer bank account. If we faithfully make deposits every day, someday when we really need it and call on God for help, we will have a well-tuned connection. I am faithfully showing up, and will continue to faithfully show up, to make deposits. Think of writing this blog as not only developing my writing muscle, but making deposits to my spiritual bank account.
Answer Two: No; it is not a vain exercise. My soul has been greatly enriched. Each day I learn, or more often remember, things I didn't know or had forgotten. I am becoming truer to myself. I have been awakened from my autopilot existence. If no one ever reads it, writing the blog is doing the three things that Helen in The Game Called Life said that life was really about. It is helping me to develop my gifts, in this case for writing. It is helping me to grow spiritually and learn spiritual lessons. It is available to be of service to the evolution of the Universe when the time is right. Writing this blog is why I am here...in this life. That is real.
I have no idea about that tree falling in the forest, but I do know that whatever we do to help ourselves be more whole is enough. The very act of writing and becoming more whole is having an impact on the world. So, I will keep writing....
For me, on this day, this is a poignant question. For over a month, I've been keeping my commitment to write a daily post to this blog, exploring the spiritual questions and bits of wisdom I encounter on my path. It has been rich for me. It is a spiritual practice.
Today it has been 10 days since anyone has read my blog. Without witnesses, like the tree falling in the forest, I wonder if my Voice has been muted. Is my exercise a vain one? There are really two answers to this question. Both start with "no."
Answer One: No; it is not a vain exercise. Spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss has talked about having a "prayer chakra," something like a prayer bank account. If we faithfully make deposits every day, someday when we really need it and call on God for help, we will have a well-tuned connection. I am faithfully showing up, and will continue to faithfully show up, to make deposits. Think of writing this blog as not only developing my writing muscle, but making deposits to my spiritual bank account.
Answer Two: No; it is not a vain exercise. My soul has been greatly enriched. Each day I learn, or more often remember, things I didn't know or had forgotten. I am becoming truer to myself. I have been awakened from my autopilot existence. If no one ever reads it, writing the blog is doing the three things that Helen in The Game Called Life said that life was really about. It is helping me to develop my gifts, in this case for writing. It is helping me to grow spiritually and learn spiritual lessons. It is available to be of service to the evolution of the Universe when the time is right. Writing this blog is why I am here...in this life. That is real.
I have no idea about that tree falling in the forest, but I do know that whatever we do to help ourselves be more whole is enough. The very act of writing and becoming more whole is having an impact on the world. So, I will keep writing....
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