Some Long-lost poems

I was rummaging through some old incomplete music and lyric notes when I ran across  some texts that I had done years ago. On reading them, they still resonated with me, so I thought I'd add them to my blog files. The first one is very appropriate, given the occasion:
                                 Lost
The melody tugged at the hem of my awareness
while the words hid in the folds of my feelings.
Around them swirled the maze of dailiness.
Soon, lacking attention,
they crept away into the comfort of oblivion --
maybe to remain secluded;
maybe to try again another day.
                                                                 4/6/88
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Another had no date noted, only some preliminary guitar chords.
                          The Search
Highway, long 'n' windin' highway.
Don't know where it's going, but I'm trav'lin.


River, deep 'n' muddy river.
Can't see what I want to, but I'm lookin'.


Questions ev'ry day keep fillin' up my mind.
There's myst'ry in ev'ry part of my life.
Ev'rywhere I turn, answers appear
Only leadin' to other questions.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Still another needs an image I had drawn of a twig with two arms reaching out like a U from a single stem
                              Ambiguity


Twig of two minds, reaching right and left,        
         teach my heart to be so.
                          
Teach me to embrace your between-ness;
         the wisdom of order,
                the truth of freedom,
              the wholeness of God!
                                                4/30/88
-------------------------------------



The last one I want to list today is also from 4/30/88. That was a fruitful day of reflection with the Franciscan poet, Murray Bodo.




                       A Pondside Trilogy
I     I sit -- dwelling for the moment in passivity,
                     letting the world go its way,
                         waiting for that which is.


II    Green reeds rise from quiet waters;
          misplaced grass glimmers from wet sun;
             bold cattails raise their heads above the pool,
                 and gentle winds steal brown tufts to bear to unknown shores.
      Cheerful sparrows chirp while an emerald beetle scurries to its nest.


III   Why do I sit -- doing nothing?
       What do I wait for, my world -- anything?


       I know -- it is the Voice;  it is the Creator;
           it is the One whose touch is always there, always here;
               always within, always around.
      It is the One who says "Here I am; come and see!"

Lenten Practices: some thoughts

Well, Lent has begun, and my main resolution is to pay more attention to my interior life - more reading/reflection/quiet time etc. Yesterday we had a speaker who spoke about Lent. For this entry I'm going to pull out some significant ideas that came up for me during the day.

One of the first things he said was that "Lent is...  a time to re-orient our lives." This concept of re-orientation made a lot of sense for me. The image that came was that of trying to focus a camera. I can live my days pretty much on target, but now and then I need to adjust the fine focus to make sure I'm living my priorities. I can get caught giving more time and energy to things that, while practical, take up the space of other more important things.  I need to orient on long term goals now and then, not always on the immediate stuff. As he said, we (I) need to learn what is important and what isn't, considering both long term and short term.

Another thing he said that hit home was that change/metanoia is all we have; nothing is without change. To me this is helpful for Lent, because Lent is about changing our lives/attitudes/mindset/etc.. If the only stable given in our lives is change, then each of us is immersed in the natural impetus to change. If so, why is it so easy and natural for us, including me, to want not to change. The challenge: how do I use this natural, ongoing energy of change in the universe to help me change myself? Is there a way to tap into that?

Some other ideas he brought up that really caught my attention:
* Contemplatives live in the world so as to transform it.
* Teihard (de Chardin) said that we are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience.
* We are not counter-cultural, but members of a culture of encounter. We belong to each other.
* He quoted Walter Burkhart, saying: "There is nothing secular in life except sin."
* He cited St. Augustine as saying: "We are a body of broken bones, but on the way to healing."

I'll try to reflect on some of these thoughts down the line.

A ky monk

Back again!

I have a hard time believing it has been so long since I entered anything here. I know I have "fallow" periods, but 9 mos. -- that's enough time to bring SOMEthing to birth!!!

Lately I've been realizing how little energy I've put forth in past months to create something. Seems I've had the ability to stop external activity and do the internal kind. I wonder why that is. It seems all energy is not equal.

Why is it easier to do something external than something internal? Is it because it's easier to do something we see than something we don't? (Reminds me of John when he says something like: If you don't love the neighbor you see, how can you love the God you don't see?)  I'm going to have to think about this a bit.

Well, at least I've come back from the void of not writing anything. Lets see if this marks another beginning where I come and do some "thinking out loud" a little more often.

a Ky monk

About being in need

Continuation of reflections on day with Simone Campbell (See post of Sun., Apr. 14)

One of the things Simone did was cast a new light on the vow of poverty. For her, the vow calls those who profess it to a "radical awareness of our need." It puts the focus not on property and possessions but on an attitude of spirit, one of dependency and mutual responsibility. She didn't say so, but it occurs to me one could translate this as a call to community.

This state of mind is a drastic departure from how most of us in our society are trained. Taking cues from the iconic world of America's early west, most forces during our developmental stages push us to independence. We are consistently told, in one form or another, to "stand on our own two feet." As adults we tend to look at government or church programs for the disadvantaged not as "hands up," but as "hand outs."  Still another facet of this is that collaboration and compromise, basic in any kind of community, are often interpreted as signs of weakness, of not taking a tough stand.

People of faith, and most certainly a Christian faith, are called to a contrasting perspective. Jesus mandated love as the binding force in our lives -- love of self, yes, but love of others in equal measure. This kind of love is not a one-way street; it forms a map of connections and interconnections all grounded in one source, God's love for all of us. And it's a give and take, not give or take!

In genuine community, whether family, business, church, or government, my receiving from others is just as important as my giving to others. I have to know that I am not the holder of all truth and wisdom. I have to realize that my own gifts and talents do not contain everything that the community needs at any given moment. Many times my greatest contribution to building a relationship could be to allow another person to be the giver, the source of light, the healer. I have to recognize that, as Simone said, "I am not enough."

I remember when Hilary Clinton wrote her book entitled "It Takes a Village," many people scoffed at the concept. I hope by now more people see it as a deeply spiritual and practical truth.

a ky monk

This is the first set of reflections on Simone Campbell's workshop. (See previous post.)

One of the things that for me became a thread running through the entire workshop was that of other-ness / we-ness. Often we unconciously treat individuals or groups as other, or something apart from us. We may be doing this when we use phrases like  "They said..." or "It's not my job".

When I find this thinking in myself, I'm often trying to simplify my life, to make it more manageable. I have a zillion things that call for my attention; if I can cut some out, that's a relief. The challenge, however, is the basis I use for making cuts. If, for example, I choose the job I like or to work with a person I like rather than a job I dislike or one done with a person difficult to work with, I may be choosing more on the basis of self-preservation than need.

Using self-preservation as the basis of choices is very natural, very human, and at times, quite necessary. What I find, however, is that because it is so easy, the resulting choice is often not the one that would be best for healing or building relationships in family or society. When I look at a job or another person, for example, as part of "we" or "our", not part of "them," the decision takes on a new perspective. It's part of me that needs help, not something apart from me.

In her workshop, Simone asked this question: "Who is it hard for me to let have a claim on my life?" In my mind, this almost immediately translated into a related question: "Who do I think has no claim on my life?"

Both these questions are hard to confront and need considerable pondering!

a ky monk

Radical food for our journey?

Yesterday I had the marvelous experience of 5-6 hours in presence of Sr. Simone Campbell, SSS. A Sister of Social Service, Simone is Executive Director of Network. This organization works to get  religious values like justice and care for the poor integrated into political law and discourse. As part of this mission, Simone ministers as a creative & reflective spiritual leader, organizer, writer, speaker and poet with a background as an attorney and social worker. While this day-long workshop was directed to women religious, her challenges are certainly not limited to such a narrow group. In fact, I think they can be taken up by persons of almost any belief system. Her thoughts, phrases, poetry --- so many things --- certainly gave the 160+ attendees much food for reflection, but I can see much of it being taken up by seekers in all walks of life.

What I'd like to do here is write down some of her thoughts then, over time, periodically choose some to write about. This first post, then, will list material I think I'll want to reflect on in upcoming entries in this blog. (We'll see if I can maintain this pattern. It could be that over time I'll modify the plan, but it's a beginning.)

Simone structured her presentation around the vows of chastity, poverty, & obedience, so her thoughts here will be laid out in a similar way. Reader, don't let the notion of "vows" turn you away from considering her challenges. Anyone who feels the desire to grow as a person and to help mend a broken society will, I think, find her ideas worth pondering. In the section below I'm listing notes from her presentation on Saturday. These are not my personal reflections; my own thoughts will emerge in future posts. 

Chastity -
- re-defined as "radical availability," "radical acceptance," "radical responsibility to participate and invite others in".
- related Catholic social principles: a) dignity of human labor; b) we exist in community, in relationship; c) participation in decision-making.

Poverty -
- re-defined as "radical awareness of our need"; admitting I am not sufficient; I need help
- letting other people need me
- related Catholic social principles: a) dignity of work (work as gift); b) being witness to resources for all; c) ecological responsibility (know we don't know enough & that earth needs us)

Obedience -
- re-defined as "radical willingness"
- walk towards need; walk in solidarity and let our hearts be broken so something new can emerge
- quote from Gerald May: "The only thing we bring to the contemplative life is a willing heart."
- overcome tendency to excessive risk management
- need to trust that the Spirit is there ahead of us; do not fear & don't hold on.
- related Catholic social principles: a) solidarity of human family (hold another's concern as dear as my own); b) principle of common good; c) standing with the poor

Other thoughts from Simone -
- when criticism hurts, sit with it to find the truth it contains
- Spirit gives us gifts before we need them. Are diminished numbers and aging gifts we/church/nation need now & for future?
- Jesus walked toward betrayal with love - and even encouraged Judas to :go do what you need to do!

More on some of this in later posts.

a KY monk

A God Unbounded!

Yesterday I wrote about a friend's memorial mass. While thinking about her unique life, I was looking for an adjective that might hint at her vision of God; I didn't find a satisfactory one. This morning one occurred to me: "Unbounded"!

This may or may not be a linguistically recognized adjective, but what it says to me is that God has no boundaries. Sure, "infinite" means that, but "unbounded" also says "unconstrained," "no limits," "free." I think Joyce's God would have been like this, so when her vision took her  "outside the box," which it did lots of times, God was there ahead of her.

As I reflected on this, I realized how important it is for me to make this aspect of God a more integral part of my spirituality than it is. If God is unbounded, with all that implies, it means I need to curtail my judgments, especially of people whose actions seem to be outside the normal expectations of society or even religions.

Over time, each family, culture, society or religion sets up a framework within which members are supposed to operate. Through history there are many stories of how groups treat people who "cross over" the boundary lines. We see extremes of this in the Salem witch trials, the McCarthy era & the Inquisition; more subtle instances show up with red lining in real estate, literacy tests for voting, etc. Then today, for example, there are the multitude of "looks" some people give others when a behavior or practice is considered over the edge, such as unusual haircuts, clothes, multiple tattoos, and so on.

Today, when someone crosses a line I perceive as significant in defining a boundary of appropriateness, righteousness, or whatever, I need to remind myself that my boundaries are not God's, because God doesn't have any. In my meditation and scripture discussions I've often pointed out that Jesus' whole life was spent breaking boundaries. He was always "crossing over" the lines that spoke about who was worthy and what was sacred. Now this observation has been brought a little closer to home.

Joyce, thanks for one more life lesson!

a ky monk

Memorial Mass brings memorable moments

Last Saturday I went to a memorial Mass celebrating the life and death of a long-time friend with whom I'd been out of touch. It was one of those situations where, despite the fact I hadn't seen or really talked to her for some years, I still felt close. She was a marvelous person who had a great deal of influence on me, especially in my younger years. (She was a good 15 or so years older than I.) I could write a lot about her and how she touched me, but at this point I'll just reflect on my experience at the Mass.

Joyce was a woman of great vision who at the same time was always connected with present reality, so I wasn't surprised that she had picked out the readings and music for her own funeral. Others have done that, but the effect on me this day was surprising. Part of it was the music, part of it the readings, part of it the text she chose for her funeral card, and part of it the fact the presider was a close friend who wove the scriptures and personal memories together in his homily.

All of this came together to give me an almost tangible sense of her presence; it was as though I could see her there in our midst. It also combined to give me a one-word key to her life, and that was love. I'd never thought of that specifically about her. In my mind she was generous, stimulating, visionary, calm, usually "out of the box"...... Now I could see that all she did came from a deep, all-embracing love of God. This love was manifested in ways that, while often out of step with most of society, were integral to her understanding of and her relationship with this infinite Being whose ways could never be limited.

I was grateful too that this Mass brought together many people whom I knew long ago, often because of our mutual friendship with Joyce. I find it a gift to have wonderful experiences of our past resurrected to be enjoyed again in a new way, and that's another one of the things that this day brought. Indeed, Joyce, both in her life and in her death, was a memorable gift.

a ky monk

Notes from God

Today at morning prayer a couple of things caught my attention in the psalms. The first thing was this line:
    By day you hand down your steadfast love,
     and at night your song is with me,
     a prayer to the God of my life. (Ps. 42)

The psalmist is telling me God sings a prayer within me, especially at night when
things are supposed to be quieting down. The song is one of praise to the very one
who is the Source of all love and all gifts, the "God of my life."

This gives me another slant on those bits and pieces of music that drift in and out
of my days. Some are bits from my own mind, others are remnants of hymnody
we used at liturgy, while others may be random memories from who knows where.
If I pay attention, any of them could literally be a "note from God". Instead of finding
them annoying, as I do at times (especially if I don't like the song!), next time I'll try
to hear what truth might be hiding behind the words, what insights the melody
might be offering me. Maybe there's a mini-prayer there!

a ky monk

Jesus: God's Invitation to Listen

In a post a while back I said I'd been asked to do a presentation about listening at a retreat. During preparation a number of insights came to me, and I thought a few could be worth noting here. For some readers they may not be especially insightful, but they were for me.

As I reflected on the act of real listening, I understood that it involves conscious steps: hearing  some message, taking it into myself, making it part of me in some way, then performing some action such as paying more attention to someone who is present or even changing something in myself; the action depends upon what the message is calling me toward. (These steps are what distinguish listening from hearing. The latter may bring some sound in, but nothing happens that affects me; there's no conscious action on my part. Some writers noted how hard listening is, one going so far as to say, tongue in cheek, that no one really listens, and if we tried it, we'd understand why!)

Amidst all these observations came the notion that much of what we listen to are words. Then the thought of Jesus as Word entered the mix. It dawned on me that one way to look at the incarnation is that Jesus is God's invitation to listen; he is the perfect Word! Next came the thought that Jesus was not only God's complete Word, but the perfect Listener because he did the will of his father totally and completely.

Since I am part of Christ's body, I share in this mysterious reality. I am to be God's word as well as one who listens to God's word wherever I am. This is quite a challenge to reflect on and try to make part of my daily living.

a ky monk

Looking for God

This morning I was struck by a passage from Psalm 48. The psalmist told listeners walk through Zion, go all around it, count its towers... basically, to consider their surroundings so they might know God as the one who guards them forever and ever.

I never thought about it before, but this is a reminder to reflect, to contemplate, to open ourselves to our environment because God is there with us on our journey. I'd not been aware of the psalmist giving that kind of advice; I'll have to pay more attention.

Many decades ago Bro. David Steindle-Rast, a Benedictine retreatmaster and author, told our retreat group that contemplation was listening to the conversation between our feet and the sidewalk. This spoke volumes to me. It had been a kind of guiding light in my spirituality; it still is. Weeds fighting thru cracks in the sidewalk,  the ornamentation of sewer lids, the motley faces that pass by -- these and so much more reflect God. This is a gift. The constant challenge is to increase my awareness of this sacred reality.

a ky monk
 

Seems death has been making the rounds recently in my small corner of our world. We've had 3 community members die since December. In my last blog I commented on the death of Bishop Hughes and the impact he had on my life. Today another acquaintance died. This one, Sara, had recently become more of a friend; I was growing in a deep appreciation of her -- her gentleness, her humor, her fidelity, and her patience with suffering. (She had cancer.)

It was just Friday that I found out Sara was dying, so I made arrangements to go over and visit with her in her home. When I walked in I was struck silent by how close she looked to leaving this earth that she embraced so vibrantly. I knew she loved music, particularly mine, so I had taken along some appropriate pieces to sing to her. I did that, but she couldn't acknowledge with any kind of response. (She did have tears running from her eyes, but when I inquired from her daughter, she said that happens on frequent occasions since her stroke. I figure it could have been a response to the music or it might not. No matter.)

The next day, today, I was shown a little memoir about her mother that Sara had written. I read almost the entire thing in one sitting, and Sara's personna just jumped out and danced in my mind. I wished I had known about the book sooner. I wanted to tell her what delight I found in its pages and how much it revealed about her, not just her mama. In between jobs during the day I kept thinking I wanted to go over and tell Sara how much I enjoyed her writing. Even tho she might not understand, there was a chance she might, so I wanted to tell her. I couldn't get away. Then this afternoon Sara died.

One of the losses death can bring is the loss of potential, the loss of the possibilites
that exist in every relationship. I will miss Sara, not only for her bright eyes and quiet smile, but for all that she bore within that I didn't know about. I didn't "tune in" to her soon enough. She is a treasure that was just beginning to be unearthed in my personal garden. Thank you, Sara, and thank you, God. Help me to learn from this to start knowing people sooner.

a ky monk

Death brings both shared pain and treasured memories

Yesterday evening I had a beautiful, sad experience. The bishop who many years ago hired me for a leadership position in our diocese was laid out in the cathedral, and many of his friends and co-workers gathered with the current bishop to celebrate a vigil service. He was a marvelous man and a bishop who saw his role as that of a "servant of the people of God," embracing Vatican II's definition of church. The gift he was to so many was evident in the faces of those who came to honor and pray for him.

I and many others experienced a bittersweet joy in greeting each other, recalling our working alongside him, sharing with him the major challenges and sweet delights of navigating the post-vatican II developments of our church. The pain of loss was evident among us.

As the eulogist said, he gave us a powerful lesson in letting go as the institutional Church began to shift over the years to a stronger emphasis on structure and a stricter interpretation of tradition. All of us who knew and loved him, and who embraced his understanding of church, now have a challenge. We need to learn, as he did, what to let go of and what to hold on to amidst changes already here and those still pending. May the Spirit who strengthened him be the spirit that strengthens us.

a ky monk

Musings about Listening

Once again, my apologies to any readers. I keep hoping to be more consistent, and my hopes get swamped with the daily, weekly and monthly to-do's. Today is Ash Wednesday. Who knows. Maybe my lenten resolutions will get me to these pages more often. Here's my first attempt at some regularity this Lenten season. We'll see how it goes.

I've been asked to do a reflection on listening for a small retreat group next month, and my mind is already becoming more sensitive to the topic. I pick up references to it more often in the psalms,  music lyrics, and in my own random meanderings.

An image crept into my mind yesterday that I want to think about for a bit and see where it leads: it's "listening as breathing." When we breathe, we take in air and it becomes part of us. When we listen, we take in something -- words, ideas, information, attitude, desires -- and it becomes part of us. I want to think about that.

Like the air we breathe, does everything we hear become part of us in some way? If we don't want it to, can we control that? Does what we'd rather not hear leave a residue despite our best efforts?

Only a few highly trained individuals can really control their breathing. The rest of us can stop for a while, but soon our body will step in and force us breathe.  We can't physically close our ears like we can hold our breath, so do we have to hear? What's the difference between hearing and listening? How does our free will enter into the act of listening? What happens differently within us when we choose to listen and when we choose not to do so?

I'll think about this. If any readers want to add any thoughts to this process, please feel free to do so. You can help me shape my reflections, and I'd appreciate that.

a ky monk

Time sure gets away from me. Seems like most times I come to post an entry it has been forever since the last one. For any readers, I apologize!

Yesterday morning I was walking up to the monastery about 6:30. There was a touch of winter in the air (Our weather recently has been more like Fall than Winter; this morning was no exception.)

Since it was still quite dark, I was looking down to make sure I didn't slide on some broken twigs or wet leaves. A short distance from our house I looked up and saw an almost breathtaking view. There was a slight foggy mist hanging above the road, and the streetlights had taken on a lustrous shine. Since the fog was not heavy, it gave the appearance of being gently laid out so it would float quietly just above eye level, creating a space where something magical might happen. It formed a filmy scarf  suspended between me and the front lights of the monastery while the air around the building itself was clear. The chapel's stained glass was brightly lit as usual.

I didn't recall seeing fog just like that before, so I stopped and tried to absorb the scene. A jogger was approaching and I wondered if I should suggest he stop and look back as he passed. I greeted him, but he was absorbed and didn't respond. I didn't try to tell him, but I was sorry he missed it.

This was quite a lovely Advent/Christmas gift from mother nature. It will stay in my memory for a while, I'm sure. I hope it doesn't too soon fade away like the fog.

a Kentucky monk

Surprising gifts

Over the weekend I had the wonderful gift of making two new friends -- and they are relatives! A second cousin and his wife were coming to town to bury the ashes of his mother in the family plot at a local cemetary; I invited them to stay overnight in our Guest House.

We had met once before, but hadn't had much chance to get to know each other. This single overnight here in KY, from Fri. to Sat. afternoon, provided space and time to remedy that. We hit it off famously! Two of my sisters came over because neither of them had met this couple, and they wanted to connect. By the time we parted, all 5 of us felt we had started a great friendship and strengthened family ties that had pretty much been ignored in the past.

We never know, do we, when surprising gifts are out there waiting for some gesture or effort so they can unfold in our lives. I hope I can be at least a little more alert to possibilities that are latent around us.

a kentucky monk

More images catch my mind

Since I wrote about images the other day, I guess I've become more sensitive to them.
This morning at prayers my mind was more tuned in to the countless pictures created by the words of the psalms.

The imagery that caught my attention today was the vivid language used by the psalmist to describe the bad things he was calling down on the enemies of Zion. (This brings up a whole other topic of how they expected God to treat people who did bad things to them.  Since this reflection is about images, I'll wait and see if the other topic comes up in my thoughts at another time!)

Anyway, the psalmist says:
    May all who hate Zion be put to shame and turned backward.
    Let them be like grass on the housetops
    that withers before it grows up,
    with which reapers do not fill their hands
    or binders of sheaves their arms.....

The striking imagery of how God was expected to treat the enemies of Zion really jumped out at me.  First of all, to be shamed would, in itself, be terrible, for honor was at the core of relationships in this culture. Then to have the grass on your housetop and in your fields get so dry that it produces nothing. In this desert land homes would heat even more because the roof had no protection, the crops would fail, and food would become very scarce. This is a quite timely image for us in our country because daily we experience or read about what havoc the draught is causing in many regions.

This prayer says to me that the psalmist had great confidence in God. While I would not feel comfortable praying anything comparable to this about someone I was having trouble with, it seems to fit what I understand of the culture of the time where tribal rivalries generated much hostility. However, if I could take that degree of confidence and mingle it with my understanding of how Christ showed us how to treat our "enemies," I think my spiritual life would be a lot stronger.

a kentucky monk

Some images that speak to me of God

I am a visual learner; images really help me understand things. For example, I find a map or printed directions much more helpful than oral description. I had an experience during retreat that reminded me of how important images are in my spiritual life, and it took me back to the poetry of Hafiz, a 14th century writer in Persia (now Iran).

The book I Heard God Laughing is the renderings of Hafiz' poetry by Daniel Ladinsky, an American midwestern poet who lived years in India. (He calls his work "renderings" because his goal is to capture the spirit of Hafiz rather than give readers a  literal translation.)

The image that caught my eye this time was: “Pulling out the chair beneath your mind and watching you fall upon God” O that I could let go of my own plans and develop that kind of trust when things go awry. (If you are interested in reading a little more on this, I plan to write about it next week in our monastery blog: http://stwalburg.blogspot.com. )

Some of the other Hafiz images that I really appreciate:
* "We all sit in God's classroom" (page 41) - This sounds so much like Benedict and his image of the "school of the Lord's service"
* "I bow to God in gratitude and I find the moon is also busy doing the same." (p.37). It reminds me of a poem I wrote some 60+ years ago in high school: "I saw the moon aleisure on through a cloud-filled sky. I stopped and thought within myself,'What a God have I.'"
* "My heart sits on the arm of God like a tethered falcom suddenly unhooded." (P. 97)The freedom we have without realizing it!
* "God is trying to sell you something but you don't want to buy" (p. 13). Like any sales person, God is limited by my choices. I can't be forced because of the freedom God created within us from the beginning.
* "The saint is now continually tripping over joy."(p. 127)  Isn't that a neat idea? I know some people who seem to have that ability already. Maybe I'll get better in that department!

There are many more thoughts and images from this ancient writer that resonate with me. Maybe I'll come back to him in a future blog.

a kentucky monk

Recognizing gifts for our spirit

Have you ever had it happen to you that someone famous or a person you hardly knew died and you found yourself unexpectedly touched? That occurred for me a couple of weeks ago when composer Marvin Hamlisch died. Of course I knew I loved his music, but when I heard the news that he died, my heart felt heavy. That was something I hadn’t expected.

 I wondered why I had this reaction; after all, I didn’t know the man, and I wasn’t especially drawn to his public appearances. Then I realized that Marvin’s music regularly found openings thru which to come inside and touch my spirit; I didn’t even have to be paying attention. His melodies and rhythms would cause me automatically to toe-tap or drift off into another space.

As I reflected on this often unconscious experience, it dawned on me he had given me a gift. Through his music, and with hardly any effort on my part, he put me in touch with a part of my soul. I don’t know exactly what it was in me that his music touched, but it might have to do with deeper realities – freedom, connection, or maybe just appreciation of beauty.

My thoughts went further, and I realized how often someone enriches my life without my even taking note of it. It could be the person I meet in passing who makes me think “I’d like to get to know her,” or the person I rub shoulders with frequently whom I can’t wait to move elsewhere. Both of these hold within them some gift for me. Sometimes, as with Marvin Hamlisch, the fact there is a gift is obvious; I just need to become more conscious of its significance. In other cases, however, the gift may even be uncomfortable, but it is there. In these cases I’m being called to discern where the meaning or the “teachable moment” lies.

So, the next time I hear Marvin’s music, I’ll recognize the gift, but I’ll also be reminded to put up my antenna to try receiving the gifts that come from the other people and situations around me.

a kentucky monk

It has been a really long time since I wrote anything here, the last post being a follow-up to my post on our monastery blog. Now here I am, once again making an entry after writing on the monastery site, stwalburg.blogspot.com. Not sure what that says about me!

What's prompting my reflection here today is the response to my thoughts about non-verbal communication that I wrote last week on the St. Walburg blog . Several people have responded, all focusing on the power of silence in communication, and grateful for being reminded of this reality.

I guess silence is one of those entities that gets glossed over in our daily busyness. It falls into the cracks between noise and chatter. Once in a while silence makes itself felt by its absence, times in our day when sound becomes a blanket that smothers instead of merely embracing us.  On occasions when that happens to me, I just want to retreat.

There are other times, however, when silence comes as a quiet little gem waiting to be appreciated. It can be between friends, family members, co-workers, or even an individual and her surroundings. This kind of silence is an invitation to go deeper, to leave the momentary surface and find a new dimension of some current reality. Silence can take us into ourselves, to some infrequently visited aspect of our life. This inward journey can lead to hidden treasures about a friend or even about ourselves.

Silence can carry a lot of weight too. It can hold pain, frustration, anger  - all kinds of emotions. When we pay attention to silence and find this kind of  treasure, we are often faced with more work than we bargained for. Because we have uncovered these feelings, it's likely we have laid bare a reality that needs attention.

Silence is a gift that, when savored, can bring unxpected rewards that challenge us to live more fully with ourselves and with others.

a kentucky monk