Author: admin

In every conversation I have had recently, the overriding theme is exhaustion and overwhelm. I am convinced that as empaths many or maybe all of us are feeling the collective pain of the earth and all its beings more than ever right now. Add to that our own challenges in this era of pandemic and climate and political chaos and it’s no wonder we are feeling crushed under that weight.

I found this article from Yes! Magazine to be helpful and a good reminder:

“Could it be that the fragmentation of our relations has been a fundamental cause of our exhaustion?”

Source: The Pursuit of Rest Under Capitalism – YES! Magazine

From Richard Rohr’s blog:

Laying Hands on Mother Earth

Steven Charleston is a member of the Choctaw Nation and an Episcopal bishop. In his book Ladder to the Light, he offers practices drawn from the meeting point of his Christian faith and Native American spirituality. Here he adapts a practice known as “laying on of hands.”

In order to receive the exchange offered by Native American tradition, we must put down the idea that the earth is nothing more than a vast accumulation of natural resources. Instead, we must see the earth as a living presence. We must recognize the interrelatedness of all life and begin to actively engage in protecting and learning from all our relations. . . .

They call it a laying on of hands. In many faith traditions, when prayers of healing are offered, people place their hands on the patient. I have decided to do that for someone, and I am inviting you to join me. The patient is our Mother Earth. She is struggling to recover from the effects of toxic poisoning and exhaustion. I am going to intentionally lay my hand on her and say, “Thank you, Mother, for all you have given us. Be healed of all that harms you.” It is only a symbol, but symbols have power. Please share my invitation. If every person on our planet went outside to lay hands on the earth and ask for healing, it might inspire us all to act, to work, to give for the sake of our Mother.

Experience a version of this practice through video and sound.

Steven Charleston, Ladder to the Light: An Indigenous Elder’s Meditations on Hope and Courage (Broadleaf Books: 2021), 140–141. 

I heard Terry Tempest Williams read from this at the end of the Parliament of World Religions and I was deeply moved. She begs that we let it not be true, and it is both a call to action and a poignant reminder of what is at stake.

From the introduction to this web page: “…Terry Tempest Williams is featured in The New York Times reading her “obituary for the land” titled A Burning Testament. Her husband, the Western nature writer Brooke Williams, shared the piece in its entirety on social media. Given recent events, it could not be more poignant and we encourage you to read it now.”

https://mountainjournal.org/terry-tempest-williams-says-it-time-to-rally-for-nature-and-country

Thanks to Tarana for posting this today on Facebook. Right before I saw it there was an incredible post from a hiker on Hurricane Ridge in our Olympic Mountains with a picture of a phenomenon called Brocken Spectre – here’s their video: https://youtu.be/CWZ03O_a0Qw

*********

I am dust particles in sunlight.
I am the round sun.

To the bits of dust I say, Stay.
To the sun, Keep moving.

I am morning mist,
and the breathing of evening.
I am wind in the top of a grove,
and surf on the cliff.

Mast, rudder, helmsman, and keel,
I am also the coral reef they founder on.

I am a tree with a trained parrot in its branches.
Silence, thought, and voice.

The musical air coming through a flute,
a spark of stone, a flickering in metal.
Both candle and the moth crazy around it.
Rose, and the nightingale lost in the fragrance.

I am all orders of being, the circling galaxy,
the evolutionary intelligence, the lift, and the falling away.

What is, and what isn’t.

You who know, Jelaluddin,
You the one in all, say who I am.
Say I am you.

~Rumi

In our Sufi tradition we practice Zikr which is about remembrance. This beautiful poetry (with thanks to Sister Amina who published this in her blog, “Love, Harmony, and Beauty”), speaks to an indigenous perspective on remembrance by the current U.S. poet laureate and first indigenous person to hold that role, Joy Harjo.

Remember the sky that you were born under,

know each of the star’s stories.

Remember the moon, know who she is.

Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the

strongest point of time. Remember sundown

and the giving away to night.

Remember your birth, how your mother struggled

to give you form and breath. You are evidence of

her life, and her mother’s, and hers.

Remember your father. He is your life, also.

Remember the earth whose skin you are:

red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth

brown earth, we are earth.

Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their

tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,

listen to them. They are alive poems.

Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the

origin of this universe.

Remember you are all people and all people

are you.

Remember you are this universe and this

universe is you.

Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.

Remember language comes from this.

Remember the dance language is, that life is.

Remember.

– Joy Harjo

This year’s Parliament will take place virtually in November. You can find out more and register to attend here: https://parliamentofreligions.org/2021-parliament-worlds-religions-registration

They have just published their Visual Statement which unflinchingly illustrates the current state of the world and the intention of this year’s participants.

Whether you are able to attend yourself or not, this statement is a powerful, poignant, and timely reminder of where we stand and what we stand for, and what we are willing to do about it.

I encourage everyone to watch this and consider adding your name as an endorsement of this vision and intention: https://xbil.trk.elasticemail.com/tracking/click?d=QE9G9jtWHmKKHV8QExr7XMZLbcWnZJ1yOBbkj5YFhrEnR4QddA2-u1v78Iu4JxE2V2EtRr3riJEqeT5wqvl5O82_QgvYZklU-BcVpzC-wycAGAeGdE-wQuoV2P028YA90R-0qxayD4tU_-84RGpn_lQTR3yVkHg0I3IO8EB77h9Tf7m0UJmZ_Q0lvFU_fZp6yA2

Loving Kindness, Discovering Compassion

Activist and author Rev. angel Kyodo williams was a presenter at CAC’s 2017 CONSPIRE conference. Raised in a Christian home, Rev. angel ultimately found her calling as a Zen Buddhist priest engaged in the pursuit of radical justice.

Compassion seems like a nice buzzword, and we all want to have it. But compassion isn’t an idea that can be taught. You can’t pick it up at the bookstore. Compassion has to be felt. It’s one of those things that reveals itself without your having realized that it was at your disposal all along. You can’t manufacture what was always there, but you can create the condition in which it is most likely to thrive. [1]

Rev. angel offers these suggestions for ways of developing compassion for self and others:

[Make] a practice of being open. Practicing being intimate, getting close. Not just to the people that you already feel love for and want to be close to, but to everyone. Open to the dentist, the bus driver, the clerk. Little by little you open up more and more. Open to Republicans if you’re a Democrat. To the Liberals if you’re Conservative. Your capacity to appreciate difference deepens. Open to white folks, Asians, Latinos, and East Indians. You accept the whole world with open arms not because you have been told you should, but because you realize in your heart that we are all ultimately deserving of love and compassion. Open to the poor and homeless, the sick and dying.

There’s no magic involved here, and it isn’t nearly as impossible or distant as it may sound. The way to get to this place of openness and compassion is to practice opening more and more to yourself. All of yourself. The rough, unrefined parts as well as the areas you are proud of and like to recognize. The practice of meditation helps us call on the gentle “watcher” inside us who views all the contradictions that make us who we are without judging any of it. When you are sitting there counting your breath and a thought comes up, acknowledge it for just what it is . . . a thought. . . .

There are no good thoughts or bad thoughts. When you name them like that, they all end up just the same. . . . Each [thought] gets a name and is then allowed to move on. . . . Through meditation, every bit of us gets to be seen and acknowledged, rather than forced into a corner. We gain our sense of wholeness from that self-acceptance. . . .

Armed with the open mind and open heart that come from self-intimacy and self-acceptance, you can begin the very possible task of truly accepting others. When you practice accepting yourself in many different forms and moods, you naturally develop an ability to see your own self in other people. As you learn how to accept yourself, you learn how to accept them. That’s the true meaning of compassion.

Experience a version of this practice through video and sound.

[1] angel Kyodo williams, Being Black: Zen and the Art of Living with Fearlessness and Grace (Viking Compass: 2000), 152–153. 

[2] williams, 146–147, 151–152. 

With a bow to dear sister Amina and her beautiful blog, “Love, Harmony, and Beauty.” This is from today’s blog post and it deeply moved me.

We are all called to be aware of the many names of the One in all its forms, both beautiful and painful. Only by holding that balance can we truly integrate that oneness and be fully alive and functional in this world.

Please Call Me By My True Names

Do not say that I’ll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive in every second 
to be a bud on a spring branch, 
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile, 
learning to sing in my new nest, 
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower, 
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry, 
in order to fear and to hope. 
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and 
death of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time 
to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond, 
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence, 
feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones, 
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks, 
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to 
Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his “debt of blood” to my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain is like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names, 
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once, 
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names, 
so I can wake up, 
and so the door of my heart can be left open, 
the door of compassion.

~ Thich Nhat Hanh ~