Tag Archives: language

Dec19

Lamps and Light from Three Traditions

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Don’t you feel, just a little, pricked and prodded with hope by the tiny lights that flicker around us at this time of year? So many people put lights in windows, wrap them around stairs, weave them through evergreens, hang them outdoors to sway in the wind … making the darkness a little brighter.

And it’s not so much that darkness is unwelcome … there is a slumbrous, restful quality to deep velvety darkness … we can close our eyes and sink into it. Rest. Find peace. Yet we can be warmed, held, and uplifted by each small light that is kindled within it, too.

So I wanted to share sacred texts from three traditions about lamps and light. This idea crosses many cultures and faiths. It is a reminder that we are all deeply connected.

In the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament, we find this passage: Psalm 18.28 —
“It is you who light my lamp;  the Lord, my God, lights up my darkness.”

And also, Psalm 119:105 —
“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”

In the New Testament, we find this verse: Matthew 5:14-16 —
“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

In the Qur’an, we find the following passage: Qur’an 24:35, Ayat an-Nur, The Light Verse —
“Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth. The Parable of His Light
is as if there were a Niche and within it a Lamp:
the Lamp enclosed in Glass: the glass as it were a brilliant star:
Lit from a blessed Tree, an Olive, neither of the east nor of the west,
whose oil is well-nigh luminous, though fire scarce touched it:
Light upon Light! Allah doth guide whom He will to His Light:
Allah doth set forth Parables for men: and Allah doth know all things.”

Sep21

Autobiography … What Faith Do I Claim?

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One of the homework assignments in a few of my classes has been to write and present a Spiritual Autobiography. Hmmm. It feels self-absorbed and narcissistic, in many ways, to focus inwardly and then to talk about oneself in this context. To an audience of peers and professors.

Yet it’s an important question to pose for ourselves. We need to be familiar with this story. To know why we arrived at a Divinity School to study. And what we want as the outcome of this time in graduate school. What is our connection to the Sacred?

I think it’s a question that all people pose for themselves at one time or another. What does my faith mean to me? What do I believe? What makes meaning out of the world to me? What do I hold as Holy or Sacred or bigger than myself?

As students and facilitators, we discuss milestones. Events or people or experiences or texts that shaped our faiths. Or raised questions that we’re still trying to answer.

Many of us consider our personal views of the sacred or the divine. Identify the language and images we use around those ideas. For some of us, the language might be a Trinitarian Christian concept (God-Jesus-Holy Spirit). For others it might be monotheistic Allah or Yahweh. For others it is a Boddhisatva, or a Goddess, or a different deity.

For some folks, there isn’t a specific deity or name that defines what is sacred. Maybe there’s a “Creative Force.” Or for some of my classmates, connection with the Sacred is inseparable from being human.

Some of these ideas may sound like heresy, if you are uncomfortable with the reality that people around the world follow many different religions. If you believe, or your faith tells you to believe, that there is only “one true way.”

I don’t put the idea of “one true way” into quotations to belittle that concept … just to acknowledge that not all belief systems require that people follow their way of thinking, being and doing. Not all belief systems consign everyone else in the world to Hell if they don’t convert. I’ve never been comfortable or okay with the concept that my faith is the only faith, and that everyone else is outside the circle and isn’t going to be okay, isn’t going to heaven, isn’t going to evolve to the next phase of being … I cannot reconcile that. Never could. Still can’t. Maybe it’s not my job to work out that dichotomy. I’m just admitting that I don’t embrace it.

Interestingly, many people in this era consider themselves to be spiritual, but not religious. And it’s a fair distinction.

Religion, as such, is the human-made institution that grows up around the seeds of a faith. For example, Christ and his first followers, for instance, were Jews. They were not Christians. And initially, Muhammed and his people weren’t Muslims with a capital “M.”

These Prophets didn’t necessarily believe they came to start new religions. Simply to bring a message to the world.

What evolved afterward, the codifying, the creation of a structure of authority and governance, administration and policies and laws and practices … those aren’t the original parts of any faith. Those are Religion with a capital “R.” They are systems developed and put into place by humans around the original messages brought to us by Prophets. At least, that’s my simplistic definition of it, but I think it’s a reasonable one.

I’ve learned, in the past few weeks, that saying that there’s one version of any Religion is also naïve. Is there one acknowledge and universal experience of Christianity? Christians would chuckle if you ask that. There are so many variations on what Christianity means and how it is experienced, starting with the major division between Catholic and Protestant. And you can go on from there.

The same is true of Judaism and Islam. Do you belong, for instance, to a temple that is Orthodox or reformed? Is the Judaism of a temple in Brookline, Massachusetts similar to the Judaism on a kibbutz in Israel? Unlikely.

Some contemporary scholars say that is it more accurate to acknowledge many Islam(s) rather than one Islam. Because again, these Religions, though springing from the seed of one origin, have developed within varied social, historical, ethnic, political, economic, and geographical contexts. Islam practiced in the neighborhoods of Chicago is different than Islam experienced in London or living in a nation such as Turkey. It has markedly different interpretation and practices in Afghanistan or Iran than in parts of India or Indonesia.

Some people following a specific Religion (with a capital “R”) will say there is only one true version, and all other schools that fall under that same umbrella or label are false. Not the real thing. But which version of any Religion is real? True? The only authentic one?

Those sorts of schisms and arguments are probably another reason why so many people in the world don’t want to be called Religious. For a lot of folks, technicalities lose sight of the whole point of faith. It sounds something like this. “Who cares about the semantics? Can’t we just pay attention to the original message? Can’t we get back to the bigger reason for why we worship and pray?”

Spirituality, on the other hand, seems to be a more universal impulse in humans to seek a connection with something greater than oneself. Something that some of us would call Sacred. Maybe some others would call it Nature or the Universe.

More people consider themselves to be Spiritual than to be Religious. Many people don’t want to be categorized, labeled or aligned with a particular tradition. It’s feels like a bad word or way of imposing limitations, for a lot of people.

And in a way, although I realize I am fundamentally Trinitarian (Christian), I am also connected to other practices. Yoga traditions, which can embody Christian references as well as others. Aspects of Buddhism that I have been taught. Native American beliefs that I find in poetry, art and stories. Teachings handed down from Asian origins by mentors who instruct us about spiritual practices as well as physical ones in martial arts classes such as kickboxing or karate classes. Jewish and Islamic offerings that I share during special holidays with my community. Other influences.

I don’t discount or turn away from the beauty and truths that I find in other places, other faiths. I incorporate them. I learn from them. I listen to them. Maybe I learn their practices, when those may help to offer balance or healing in my life.

Yet I am also learning not to make the mistake that all these Religions or practices are, underneath it all, the same. That’s a dangerous mistake. These are different faiths. The people who claim them also experience and view the world through a somewhat different lens.We live in a pluralistic world; that’s okay. In fact, that’s complex and amazing.

Yet we can inform and inspire each other. We can live peaceably. Build community. Share a world together.

Sep19

New Things, New Year: Encountering Other Faiths

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On one of the first days of Rosh Hashanah, which is THE (or one of many, depends on whom you ask) Jewish New Year, I tried something new. Part of this graduate school time is to work and study and play among people of many faiths. Develop chances to visit, to dip my toe, into other experiences.

Along the way, perhaps to better understand and embrace different traditions as something akin to my own cultural identity … connected, related … though not the same. I’m learning to make that distinction.

Yes, we can share many facets of history, belief and experience in common. Yet we don’t have to be one homogenized, same-everything confluence of cultures. The days of the immigrant melting pot, when we shed our pasts, changed our names, and tried to be like everyone else (usually in a white American-European-Protestant-Christian context) are over. In the past several decades, it has become increasingly safer for people to claim their roots, their ethnicity, their language, their religion, their race, their gender identity, their individuality. That should be okay.

Does this sound idealistic? Yes. Possible? Yes. Easy to do? No? A work in progress? Always.

We should be able to live side by side, yet be different from each other. Coexist in a pluralized society that respects and wrestles together with constructing a civilization that accommodates and welcomes diversity in many forms.

As part of this journey, I want to de-mythologize other faiths. Remove the stereotypes, biases and assumptions that I have internalized, or at least carried with me as an unconscious filter.

One of the forms of education I am receiving is to recognize other religions, practices and beliefs as different, but not as something that occurs “outside” a spectrum of societal patterns. Not “apart” from what we define as culture and civilization. Not “other” or “alien.” Not wrong, bad or in any way unacceptable.

One way that I’m grappling with this goal is to take classes. To study other religions through their history, art, development in different nations and languages, their connection to governments and politics, and through a glimpse into their sacred revelation. To understand each religion in its role as part of our broader American (Western) tradition, as well as its presence in other parts of the world. To this end, I’m taking two classes on Islam. It makes me look differently, already, at world events and the media coverage of them, political rhetoric, and our responses to them.

On the other hand, it’s best to get to know diversity up close. To form relationships with people who identify themselves in association with a variety of race, ethnicity, nationality, religious tradition, gender association, cultural affiliation and other characteristics. To make friends. To get to know each other, and put a face on “differences.” To study and learn together. Ask each other questions. Share each others’ traditions. I can do so with my classmates. We all learn and share with each other, and it’s safe to ask questions and explore diversity in this setting.

Back to the “new thing” I experienced.

Yesterday I attended a Rosh Hashanah New Year’s service. It was an improvisational service led by one of the students, Jeremy. It included many readings and songs in Hebrew. Jeremy’s voice rose, rich and redolent, to the rafters. His face shone with happiness to share this time with us.

We participated in some responsive readings in English. We recited a statement of faith (This rarely happens in the  annual Jewish tradition, since this is a religion of practice versus creed, unlike Christianity, but much like Islam. In fact, it may only happen in this service each year.) We remembered the departed. We considered and let go of our trespasses from the past year, since this is a time of letting go and starting anew.

Side note: My friend Miriam, however, celebrated somewhat differently. Among other rituals she and her children participated in Tashlick, which is the act of releasing crumbs or pieces of bread in a moving body of water. Naming regrets or transgressions, and letting them go. Setting new intentions for what you can do right, better and with more integrity in the coming year.

At the end of the worship service Jeremy sounded the shofar. This is a ram’s horn. It makes a blatting cry. It resounded through the chapel. We all listened to its echoes fade.

I cannot say I understood or connected with all aspects of the service. The parts in English resonated with me. They’re akin to my own statements of faith, and align with my beliefs. I felt bound in community.

Here’s the frustrating part. Admittedly, I was restless, listening to long passages in a language I don’t understand, regardless of how beautiful they were.  I felt, right then, like a little kid attending a classical orchestral concert, with no education or appreciation for what I’m listening to, and a tendency for my mind to wander, even while I try to pay attention and let it all soak in. * sigh *

A fellow student Lauren explained that much of the language (Hebrew, so I didn’t understand some of it, though we were provided with translations) of the service is a metaphor from archery. The intention is to recognize where we have “missed the mark” and improve our “aim” through our actions and intentions, so we will be “on target” in the coming year.

Another student, a Muslim peer, also attended the Rosh Hashanah service.  Like me, she’s trying to learn. To expand her understanding on an experiential level. She asked permission to record Jeremy’s recitation. I haven’t asked her why she wanted to record it, although I suspect that the Hebrew chants echo with the art and practice of oral recitation of the Qur’an.

The echoes fell silent. The year has begun. It is a sweet time, these High Holidays, in the Jewish year. We dipped apples in honey. Left the room, a little lighter in spirit, and perhaps a little wiser … or more foolish and opened-up … than we’d arrived.

Aug4

Spin

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Here is the other theme song I wrote a fear years ago for our cyclists. Sarah has performed this at the Coast of Hope bike ride a few times.

Our first family PMC, with Jessie as a young pedal partner, pictured with the team riding in her honor.

Again, the song has wider meaning than just one event. To me, it represents any ride or journey, including the one that Chris and Sarah will continue when they ride together tomorrow in the Pan Mass Challenge / PMC. (I’m posting more images from several years of the PMC, so you can see just how young Jessie and Sarah were when all of this activity began, and how mature Sarah is now, as an adult rider celebrating this tradition with her dad. You’ve already seen images from 2010 and 2011 in the past few days.)

None of us can imagine, from start to finish, just where we’ll go along life’s pathways. And most of all, what determines the finish line? There are so many milestones we pass, so many balloon arches underneath which we ride, so many bridges we cross, so many lines we draw and then step over, so many gateways through which we move … we don’t always know what’s around the corner or beyond the next crossing. You may cross one demarcation, but in many ways, the ultimate destination is always just ahead.

Enjoy the ride, enjoy the journey, as much as you can. It’s the passage from one way station to the next, the route from one stopping point to the other, that comprises our life together.

Here’s the song.

Spin
by Gail Doktor © 2009

Hearts cry out as wheels start turnin’
One more ride and one more day
Dare ask questions along this journey
Hope for answers along the way

Sure I’ve been lost and I’ve been broken
Look for hope after living through hell
Had to stop and start all over
Still carry scars from times I fell

      Oh you can’t measure life in speed and distance
      Or starting points and finish lines
      It’s where we go and who rides with us
      Every moment, every mile

What comes next? No way of knowing
Each arrival includes farewell
In our coming is our going
…in between we spin the wheel.

      Oh you can’t measure life in speed and distance
      Or starting points and finish lines
      It’s where we go and who rides with us
      Every moment, every mile

Find the beat
      Moving you onward
Breathe the song
      Of our going
Hear the drumming
      Of our heartbeats
Risk the turning
      Of the wheel

      Oh, you can’t measure life in speed and distance,
      Or starting points and finish lines
      It’s where we go and who rides with us
      Every heartbeat, every hope found
      Every moment, every mile

Chris and Sarah hold up the Bright Happy Power banner during a rainy 2011 PMC.

Jessie and Sarah waiting at family stop in Dighton for our PMC riders.

Our 2009 PMC team (in Wellesley, MA … more riders left from Bourne, MA).

Jul30

Discombobulated and then …

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Mill River General Store porch by Chris Doktor

What do you do when you can’t finish what you set out to do, and have to change your plans? What do you do if you’re in a place you didn’t expect or want to be? How do you respond?

That’s been a big question on the past few youth group trips, and it was a challenge again this past weekend. Chris and I spent three days in Western Massachusetts, with all the gear and supplies for bike riding. We were part of First Church’s summer youth group trip. (For sake of clarity, let me say that I was the designated van driver, not a cyclist. I followed the riders’ route with the support vehicle that includes first aid, water, snacks, dry clothes, bike rack and extra seats if anyone needs a lift.)

Indeed, adults and teens cycled about 50 miles through 3 states in two days. That’s less than our group wanted or planned to do, but our riders accomplished some portion of their goals, anyway. We did it, despite setbacks such as severe storms.

On a prior trip to Staten Island at the beginning of the summer, a soul-searching discussion about responses to big setbacks, problems and disappointments moved a larger group of students and adults to tears. Later they focused on “what is your rainbow?” in a time of storms and floods. Adults and teens sought insight into how they discovered hope or resolution when they found themselves in trouble.

This weekend, our challenges weren’t as dramatic, but similar themes arose again. What happens when things don’t go your way? What do you do about it?

In part, our group decided to “go for it.” They rode out beneath overcast skies in chilling, heavy downpours, climbing steep hills and braking cautiously as they descended again. They wound along scenic rural ridges, wooded peaks, pewter-colored waterways, through small villages and bustling town centers. They used the driest, earliest hours of Saturday and Sunday to capture those experiences. By the middle of each day, bad weather heightened to thunder, lightning, storms and a few flash floods. Our crew had to stop riding.

Yes, our youth group managed to make the best of each day’s forecast; they sat in the saddle for a few hours, and did what they’d come for. Yet everyone wanted more. More miles. More hours riding. More adventures on their bikes.

We also cancelled tempting destinations like waterfalls and scenic farms. We opted not to attend the outdoor Tanglewood concert. We gave up some of our plans for fun.

So we had to adjust our expectations, adapt to the change in plans, and find something else to do with all that extra time. We had many reactions. We were … Restless. Surprised. Tired. Annoyed. Sad. Distracted. Nervous. Irritable. Weepy. Playful. Hungry. Creative. Silly. Hopeful. Resourceful.

What didn’t we plan for?

  • Wash outs on roads we’d just traversed.
  • Power outages in villages where we took refuge.
  • Unavailability of road maps, just in case we got lost, GPS didn’t work, or our printed directions didn’t have enough detail.
  • Being stuck half-way through the route by impending storms, and needing vehicular rides for the entire group to a safe, dry shelter.
  • Hours of free time indoors during rainy weather.
  • Cutting our whole weekend short, because it didn’t make sense to attend an outdoor concert later on Sunday, in such torrential conditions.
  • Language barriers, since one of our younger guests spoke more French than English.
  • Lugging along more food than we could ever consume.

What did we have going for us?

  • A warm, cozy starting point from Bob Lee’s home in the Berkshires, with showers and beds.
  • A van loaned to the church by Ipswich Ford, that was big enough to transport our gear and members of our cycling group, in two back-and-forth runs, to a safe dry place when our first day ended very suddenly due to bad weather.
  • The unplanned-for hospitality and emergency shelter of the Mill River General Store’s front porch, with hot coffee and warm muffins, in the worst of the storm.
  • Later on, a spacious, warm and dry UCC church to host us on the second night, with a fabulous kitchen and plenty of space for games and group worship and community meals and sleepovers in the heart of Great Barrington.
  • Great meals and plenty of food for healthy cuisine.
  • Chocolate.
  • First aid kit for falls, cuts, bruises.
  • All our safety gear and experienced riders to make sure we were safe.
  • A local guide (Bob) who knew every road and gave detailed turn-by-turn directions to get us back home again.
  • Coffee (or in my case, black tea).
  • Secret buddies who gave little gifts to each other all weekend, for more fun and fellowship.
  • Good temperaments among our participants, both young and old, willing to go with the flow and find new ways to engage each other in fun and fitness: yoga or abdominal workouts, games of Simon Says and cards, cooking, washing up, journaling, worshiping, cycling, and talking.
  • Members with enough French, especially one eloquent high school student, to translate sufficiently that our young visitor eventually relaxed, made friends, and began to participate more fully in communal experiences by the end of the weekend.
  • The magic of card games and other forms of play to bridge the gap across culture and languages, and connect people of different ages, genders, traditions and nationalities in a common experience.
  • The universal communication of music. Two youth members, Grace and Anna Josiah, played Bob Marley tunes on the ukulele. Our new friend Lucas grinned broadly through that impromptu prelude to our last gathering of the weekend.
  • Even when you know the lyrics, they’re more beautiful when everyone tries to sing along, off-key and in more than one tongue, because we’re all unified, at least for a little while.

Since it’s a faith-based group and outing, we read scripture as part of the weekend’s activities. One of them, Matthew 6:25-29, talked about not worrying. Easier said than done, sometimes. After all, I was the SAG wagon driver (support vehicle that followed riders during the weekend, and yes, I got lost, and yes, we had storms and a hurt rider and plenty of adventures). Plus I’m also a … well, let’s admit it … a mother. And mothers, by nature, tend to worry.

As it turns out, though, “don’t worry”  worked as a theme for us. As a message, in the form of a raggae song, it closed the gap in our group, drew smiles on an overcast day, and brought unity. Our youth sang …

Three Little Birds
by Bob Marley

“Don’t worry about a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right!”

Rise up this mornin’,
Smiled with the risin’ sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin’ sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin’, (“This is my message to you-ou-ou:”)

Singin’: “Don’t worry ’bout a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.”
Singin’: “Don’t worry (don’t worry) ’bout a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right!”

Rise up this mornin’,
Smiled with the risin’ sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin’ sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin’, “This is my message to you-ou-ou:”

Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing, worry about a thing, oh!
Every little thing gonna be all right. Don’t worry!”
Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing” – I won’t worry!
“‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.”

Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right” – I won’t worry!
Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.”
Singin’: “Don’t worry about a thing, oh no!
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right!

In preparation for our closing circle, as we reflected on the weekend, everyone drew symbols or scenes about what the weekend embodied for each of us. We used scratch art to do this, so every page started out with a black wax coating on it. (You use a wooden stylus to scratch away the top layer, exposing colors underneath.) Your work reveals vibrancy in the shape or pattern of your choosing. Even the act of clearing away the black coating, and finding something special underneath, was a symbolic act.

  • The common elements among our drawings were rain clouds, spiky suns, bikes and riders, curving roads, trees and mountains.
  • One youth drew interlocking circles, as a symbol of connection, since he was only able to participate in part of the weekend, but felt like he’d been tied to the entire experience.
  • Someone else drew a border of spoons, reminiscent of our silly, laughter-filled card game called “Spoons” (which is a game that requires no skill with cards or numbers, but requires lots of monitoring other people to see who has gotten four-of-a-kind and has taken the first spoon … this game is like musical chairs, so everyone sneaks or grabs for a spoon, and the last person to reach for one, won’t get a spoon, and loses that turn, accumulating points in the form of letters, aka, S-P-O-O-N).
  • Our French-speaking member wrote, “Merci” alongside his whimsical sketch.
  • People drew and spoke about the metaphor of journeys as a path without beginning or ending.
  • Or the cycling as a roller coaster, uphill and downhill, exhilarating and alarming in turns.
  • One rider drew the wheel of life with the spokes of the experience connecting the outer circle to the inner hub of water and rain.
  • Another drew herself riding with her hair blowing, depicting the chance to think while out in the silence and solitude of nature.

(Plus, of course, if you follow this journal, or  read our www.dok.com blog during the years with Jessie’s childhood cancer, you know that riding bikes is one way that our family continues to make meaning out of events in our life. In a way it’s a a sacred, spiritual and healing act.)

We closed the weekend with the song “Let It Be” by the Beatles, after reading Psalm 139 about being claimed and known by our Creator at every turn in our path, regardless of how far we may go. The Beatles lyrics answered, in their way, the conversations and questions we posed to ourselves all weekend, and the very life lessons we learned as we problem-solved through storms and other challenges. I don’t think you have to belong to any specific faith to be moved by the Beatles, even if they mention Mother Mary in this song. It calls to all of us, and gives us some response to the universal question, “What do you when you can’t complete the journey what you started, when your plans change and you’re rerouted on detours toward a different destination entirely, and you must choose some other activity and goal instead, or you cannot continue at all?”

Let It Be
performed by The Beatles (written by Lennon/McCartney)

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree,
There will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is
Still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be. Yeah
There will be an answer, let it be.

And when the night is cloudy,
There is still a light that shines on me,
Shine on until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

Jul24

Ten Dollar Words, or When to Use ‘Em

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Ever heard of a “ten dollar word?” That’s a multi-syllabic, lots-of-consonants-and-vowels, extra-alphabet-flaunting, does-the-same-job-as-a-much-shorter-word kind of word.

Why use a “ten dollar word” when a simpler one will do? Our old friend Roland, a master carpenter from Rockport, used to ask that question. It’s a good question.

As a writer, I usually aim for more accessible language. Okay, admittedly, I’m long-winded. Verbose. I use a lot of words, often too many. But I still try to choose words that make my meaning clear and relevant to as many people as possible.

Here’s one of my favorite examples of a “ten dollar word.” Certain professionals are very fond of the term “utilize.” Yet it means the same thing as “use.” Whenever I catch someone dropping the word “utilize” in the sentence, and I’m editing, I usually change it to “use.” Easier to read. Means the same thing.

Imagine filling paragraphs with fancy words instead of straightforward ones. Check out a legal contract of some kind, and betcha you’ll find plenty of similar examples. Utilize.

Yes, there’s a time and place for beautiful or precise language. For flowery or more specific terms. English, and many other languages, are richer because of their complexity, their subtlety, their nuances.

Plus I love words. I collect them the way some people collect stones or coins. I like to understand them, even if I don’t have a daily use for them. So I sympathize with the tendency to play with them and apply them.

Yet I also appreciate the power of direct, to-the-point speech.

Which brings me to my next example. I’m registering for classes at Harvard. And my new word for the day? Straight out of course descriptions at Harvard.

Praxis.

(Note: to be grammatically correct, foreign words are shown in italics. Hence the italics here. It’s not for emphasis, just clarity. Hmmm, if I applied the editorial guideline correctly.)

Back to praxis. Okay, maybe some of you professionals, such as attorneys and doctors out there, make common use of this word. I’m sure it has usefulness. Just as I’m sure my vocabulary will soon be peppered with  Greek and Latin terms that didn’t seem relevant three days ago.

Praxis. What is this word? Well, I wanted to know, because I found it in several course descriptions, during pre-registration. But I couldn’t make sense of it.

Praxis. Maybe if I say it, or write it, enough times, it will sink in.

Praxis. Praxis. Praxis. Not yet.

So I’ve Googled it. That’s officially a verb, by the way. Googled. (Hah, yeah, I used “googled” in a sentence.)

And yes, this journal includes a confession from a soon-to-be graduate student about my current lack of academic rigor. I looked up the definition of “praxis” online. Praxis.

Below is an unauthorized description of its meaning, straight from Wikipedia. (In some realms of academia, at least, Wikipedia is considered a somewhat terrible — not authoritatively authenticated — source of information, since anyone can put up anything, and spread misinformation as well as information.) By the way, you can’t refer to Wikipedia in academic papers, for instance. And soon I’ll be at school, restricted to citing primary sources and doing my research through formal databases in the library. (Phew, thank goodness for places like EBSCO, which is a database publisher in my own hometown of Ipswich.)

Now, in this blog, I confess that I lazily clicked on praxis links provided by Google. Leading to Wikipedia, that reprehensible network of collaboratively-collected information (which I love, by the way, as a jumping-off point for research). Wikipedia says, “Praxis is the process by which a theory, lesson, or skill is enacted, practiced, embodied, or realized. It may also refer to the act of engaging, applying, exercising, realizing, or practizing ideas …”

There’s more. Wikipedia continues, “Aristotle held that there were three basic activities of man: theoria, poiesis and praxis … corresponded to … three types of knowledge: theoretical, to which the end goal was truth; poietical, to which the end goal was production; and practical, to which the end goal was action.”

Well, okay. Praxis seems to be the implementation of ideas. Putting concepts into practice.

Praxis. Practice.

Got it. I think … I hope …  Er.

Praxis. So, that’s one word in several course descriptions that I can now interpret. Just a few dozen more to go, and I may be able to make an educated decision about which classes to take.

Another confession: I’m exaggerating. Teasing. Most of the class titles are very engaging. Only a few are off-putting and so out-there that I can’t understand them. Many titles are short and straightforward.

Some are even attention-getting. They entice me. Even if you don’t know what these classes are about, you want to find out more. To be honest, in order to be somewhat risqué, I selected a small subset from among many mundane, workable academic class titles available at Harvard. So this is a misrepresentation, but it makes the point:

  • The Shock of the New
  • Prophecy, Ecstasy, and Dreams in Early Christian History
  • Crusades, Plagues and Hospitals
  • Body and Flesh
  • The Body and its Moral Cultivation
  • The Deep: Purity, Danger, and Metamorphosis
  • Eye Contact, Ethics and Interbeing
  • Ritualization, Play, and Transitional Phenomena

Some professors know how to make the study of religions sound appealing, even sexy, or at least alarming and different. And once you dig deeper, the content of the classes sounds challenging, but accessible.

Another confession: I’m not signed up for any of the classes above. The ones that excited me were … more provocative? More chaste? Or simply going in a different direction? Hmmm, I’ll never tell.

On the other hand, some of those Harvard professors want me to work for it. Their course titles are difficult to parse. Layered with slippery words. Hard to understand. And no, I won’t put up a list of the more inaccessible titles. Too scary. (Again, teasing here.)

Undaunted, I click on the course description, and try to interpret what the class might be teaching, by reading its context. But that’s not so easy, either. A few instructors write so circuitously, going in circles around the subject, that I only understand some of what’s being said. The main themes elude me. My brain gets tired, just trying to decipher what I might be studying, if I was persuaded to enroll, if only I could interpret the description.

Yikes. Um.

For instance, try this word: complementarity. (This time, I italicized for dramatic emphasis, not for editorial clarity.)

It’s part of a class description that sounds tantalizing, if I could just translate the gist of the class description. I think the course covers sexual identity, maybe in the context of religious history and concepts of self, but I’m not entirely sure.

Back to Google, back to Wikipedia. (Naughty me.) Maybe this entry helps us. “The complementarity principle states that some objects have multiple properties that appear to be contradictory. Sometimes it is possible to switch back and forth between different views of an object to observe these properties, but in principle, it is impossible to view both at the same time, despite their simultaneous coexistence in reality.”

Okay, Wikipedia’s examples of complementarity are physics-based: electrons perceived as either wave or particle. But you get the idea. Complementarity, as applied to gender, might mean man/woman. Both? Neither? Transgender? Bisexual? Variations in gender identity or roles. Something along those lines.

Well, that’s two new words in one day, just from reading class overviews. I cannot figure out how to casually drop either “praxis” or “complementarity” into my daily conversations, but maybe I’ll find a way.

Imagine what a whole semester will do to my brain! Every sentence will be filled with “ten dollar words.”

To me as an incoming student, it seems that when a professor assembles a course description and title, she or he is attempting to market or appeal to students. Inviting me into the professor’s slice of the universe, to become engaged by very specific areas of passion and expertise.

And maybe some students are immersed in the same linguistic ocean as the professor, swimming in adjectives and nouns and verbs that aren’t typical of the everyday reality, but some of us are coming from a more “street smart” sort of background.

Of course, I’m going to Harvard to learn about and dive into ideas and thoughts and knowledge not available for free (yet) on the corner of Main and High. But on the other hand, I’d like the street signage, the course titles and descriptions, to get me there. Give me good directions, so I know what my destination is. Maybe even act like a neon sign and lure me in?

Will I eventually arrive at the intersection of “Praxis Lane” and “Complementarity Avenue”? Can’t tell yet.

(Aside: The subject of accessible, affordable education for more people is a whole different topic for another day. Don’t get me started. Ew, that reminds me, time to call the financial aid office again today.)

I’m looking forward to classes. To new ideas. To new languages, even. Part of my challenge will even be to minor in a different religion, in addition to becoming more knowledgeable about the scholarship and practices within my own faith tradition. All of this is very exciting!

Some of my favorite “ten dollar words” were a gift in high school. I  remember the slogan that my American History teacher Mr. Davis, posted on his wall. It was ironic, as you’ll see.

Mr. Davis’s high school poster: Eschew Obfuscation.

Wordle: eschew_obfuscationWhat?

If you’re a vocabulary geek like me, you may already be chuckling. If you don’t know those words, you can learn two more vocabulary terms today.

  • Eschew is a verb that essentially means: avoid, forgo or prevent.
  • Obfuscation is a noun or state of being: perplex, muddle, or confuse.

Basically, Mr. Davis’s poster uses “ten dollar words”  to tell us to “prevent confusion.” Or to accomplish its alternative. “Seek clarity.”

Though I try not to remember too much about those years in Ohio, Mr. Davis and his poster stuck with me. A few of my soon-to-be professors might want to read that high school wisdom: eschew obfuscation. But then again, if they did, they might be teaching at Zanesville High School in Ohio instead of Harvard University in Massachusetts.

I’m putting that pair of “ten dollar words” in my pocket, and bringing them along to Harvard this fall. Eschew obfuscation. Seek clarity.

Jul19

Thresholds

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I read another post by Jane, the mom of twins whose family is now 2 weeks into their cancer journey. She described the raging steroid-induced appetite and cravings of her 4-year-old daughter. (I remember those vividly.) And the restrictions against many fresh foods, such as thin-skinned summer fruits like berries, some of her daughter’s favorites, which might contain bacteria that’s dangerous to the suppressed immune system of a child on chemotherapy, though not for healthy digestive systems.

Then she narrates walking through the store for a few meal items. Seeing fresh summer peaches. Juicy. Ripe. Now grocery-shopping moves her to tears.

Jane remembers before and after. Wants dinner with the four members of her family, safe and home again. An armload of fresh fruit for everyone. Not living with cancer.

For her family, like so many of us, there’s a “before” and “after.” A dividing line between what was normal, and what’s real now.

We all have those thresholds. An excerpt from a humorous novel recommended by the NY Times, Wife 22, says, “…she was always out in front of me. I had yet to cross all the thresholds she had crossed …”

Often we don’t even know we’ve stepped across through these gateways, until it’s already happened. Too late. You can look back over your shoulder. Remember. But what came before? It’s gone. Over. Done. In the past.

Something’s changed forever. Your world is different. You must learn a new vocabulary and language. Find your equilibrium in a place that seems to have different laws of physics, as if gravity has shifted, or the spectrum of light isn’t the same, or something out-of-whack now defines your perception.

Yet you will get used to it. Accept and cope with the “new normal.”

Other times this dividing line can feel like a border. You come and go. You cross back and forth between worlds. Visit the old reality. Then show your passpart at customs, and come back to the place where you’re now a member and resident (with all the rights and privileges, or lack, that comes in this new and an altered state of being, of living, of surviving).

Across the span of life, we’ll encounter many of these before-and-after dividing lines. They mark our rites of passage, like portals in great city walls. They let us in and out. They stand as testament to our coming and going. They represent old and new, past and future, then and now.

We can also label what we leave behind, and where we next arrived, as good or bad, right or wrong.

Some milestones are difficult, but natural. Even joyful. Necessary for our growth as individuals or communities. Generations share similar rhythms and cycles. Like choosing a partner. Having children. Sending adult children out into the world. Graduating from school. Earning your first paycheck. Opening your own bank account. Having your first home away from your family. Taking out a loan. Paying off a debt. Burying someone you love. Casting your first vote. Going to your first foreign country. Many of these experiences can be perceived as before-and-after moments.

Others situations aren’t expected or natural. They could be catastrophic events such as violent crime, terrorism, war, natural disasters like hurricanes, fires or floods, onset of disease, famine, drought, sudden loss of job and home, or other conditions over which we might not have control. They alter our worlds.

For us? Life before-cancer probably seemed better than after-cancer. For a while, anyway, I must have felt like Jane in the grocery store, staring at the peaches and remembering summer from a year ago, before cancer. Mourning. Comparing before and after. Wishing to go back to before-cancer.

But if this is the new reality in which you live, can you categorize all of it as bad and wrong? At first, you probably do.

After a while, though, you make a transition. You tend to accept and adjust. The “new normal” becomes more complex. Layered and nuanced. Not so easily defined as awful and terrible.

Rather, you’re simply experiencing life as you must live it now. Your “new normal,” the sometimes-unwelcome reality, must be learned, mapped and navigated. Hopefully there’s another dividing line, a border on the far side of the journey, that can be marked after-after. Like after-life-with-cancer.

But all the time between border crossings? As we trek between the threshholds that mark our lives? The time and space and distance between those milestones is when we do most of our daily living and being.

Along the way, you begin to find the goodness in every day. It’s not an innate skill, it’s a lesson you learn to keep your internal balance. You find light and hope. The raw jokes. The simple games. The deep conversations. The amazing spirit. The unexpected companionship.

Sure, in cases like cancer or diabetes or other illnesses, or conditions like unemployment, addiction, bankruptcy, survival of assault so many other unimaginable situations, it would be nice if you never had to go there. If you didn’t step through the gate or over certain dividing lines. But that’s virtually impossible.

All of us have thresholds that define our lives. That mark the territory of before and after. The person on far side of the border is different than the one who hasn’t yet crossed over.

Maybe the aisle of the grocery store is when Jane realized, again, that she’d crossed the line between before and after. I have my own places where I have stood, and known that life was different forever. So do you.

Some of them move me to tears. Sorrow. Others make me smile.

Jul16

Every Prayer

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Every prayer is sacred and powerful, regardless of language and religion. Prayer also comes in many forms. So I have come to believe.

When our younger child Jessie was diagnosed and living with cancer, we learned to appreciate and welcome every form of prayer, positive intention, affirmation, meditative reflection, mantra, chant, song, or any other form of energy ever offered to us. Don’t all faiths and practices, in the end, have the same intention, at least when it comes to sending out cries for peace, hope and healing into our universe? For the sake of one child, or a generation of children?

When we were in the hospital, we wanted and needed every vibe and Amen that came our way. We hung up a cross, Buddhist prayer flags and a hand-made Native American dream catcher. We made a bowl that accumulated — as gifts from practitioners of many healing methodologies or faiths – angels of all sizes and shapes, a Buddhist prayer wheel, stones incised with words like love and believe, prayer cards from saints and sacred sites, crystals with different healing capabilities or properties, necklaces or bracelets strung with symbolic beads and prayer boxes. We received a quilt, blankets and shawl all stitched with more prayers and wishes. We listened to music ranging from vacation bible school songs to sounds of the earth itself, plus hymns, chants and mantras.

We cherished all of them, because they came to us from many parts of the country and the world. Carried home from other people’s travels. Some hand made. All tenderly packaged and delivered, when we were isolated in one small room, unable to go further than oncology unit’s hall or the garden downstairs.

Of course, sometimes people would make observations, sometimes in the guise of a prayer, with the best of intentions or from inside their faith tradition, that we didn’t agree with. Sentiments such as “this happened for a reason,” or God “wants another angel in heaven” or “you’re only given what you can handle.” The Creator in whom I believe doesn’t dole out diseases as punishment, to balance the scales, or to fulfill a predestined script. I understand that other families with different backgrounds found these statements to be comforting and consoling, and I wouldn’t ever negate or argue with those perceptions, where they provide support. Yet if we couldn’t bear to be told such things, we were explicit about asking people not to make certain statements; we established boundaries, when we needed them, even though we wanted every good wish and prayer.

Personally, I cannot imagine a Creator who deliberately creates illness, famine, war, disease, hunger, poverty and other conditions that hurt us. In my estimation, we connect with the Sacred when we find comfort and resources to endure or overcome these situations. Even when people offer strength and help to each other, we act in sacred ways. Maybe we find relief through a song that inspires us or a shower of 10,000 paper cranes. Perhaps acting through a doctor’s quick insight and action or a nurse’s gentle teaching. Playfully lifting us up through a counselor’s silly games or a playmate’s challenge to a feisty competition. Or in the tasty delivery of a homemade meal or steaming beverage. In many small and big ways, the Creator’s presence comes to us as compassion and healing.

Empathy and mending, grace and tenacity, laughter and honesty: these still come to us, in other ways, though that chapter of our lives is over. If you ever listen to my daughter Sarah sing Hallelujah, you will know that prayer continues to be part of our lives.

Yes, I believe in all prayers.

In times of urgency, we ask for help or rescue.

  • That’s often when we’re most likely to bother praying. We’re in need. In crisis. Seeking a miracle, even
  • When our need is extreme, sometimes it makes sense to be specific, and ask for exactly what you need. During cancer treatment, we used to ask for Jessie’s healthy blood counts, protection from infection, remission, and stability. Yes, we also asked for broader blessings, but they could be interpreted many ways: hope, courage, fortitude, healing. These days, we ask for continued emotional connection and healing within our family, and for grace and growth during new adventures.
  • You can imagine, even now, that I grapple with a gut-level reaction that specific prayers weren’t answered. I’m sure you have those feelings, too. Years ago, we requested Jessie’s survival. We have all had those moments, those specific requests we made, that didn’t turn out as we hoped. Over time, I have come to a reconciliation between what I asked for and what occurred. For instance, maybe the only possible resolution, the only form of peace and dignity that remained for my youngest child, was the one that came to her. Letting go and moving on to the next part of her journey, because it was … finally … time. And what kindness remained, in holding her here, in the conditions under which she lived?

When you pray as part of a regular routine …

  • … such as at bedtime every day, prayers can be like an entry in a diary. Or a one-sided conversation. Gentle. Sometimes formulaic. Reciprocal, though the other party is silent, but listening in. “Guess what happened today? Did you hear? I’m thinking of these people … be with them. Know what I’m planning next? Be with me as I take this step.”

At times, we experience Book of Job moments.

  • Like Job, I have cried out, “No! Why?!” Screams of rage or defiance, desolation or confusion. These primal screams are also forms of prayer. Communication with our Creator. Healthy ones, I think, because a real relationship can sustain moments of doubt and anger, fear and despair … these are how relationships grow. Even relationships with Yahweh.
  • After Jessie passed, I thought nothing more, nothing worse, could happen to our family. Yet there have been additional times when my loved ones have been vulnerable, hurt or compromised. All over again!
  • I have called out, at those times, demanding, “Couldn’t we just keep a loved one safe? Haven’t we been through enough?” No, it seems. We are all human and vulnerable, and life will continue, the world will keep spinning, and experiences will accumulate apace, not sparing us either the best or worst of existence, just because we feel time should stand still … give us a respite …. since we have endured so much already. Life isn’t like that. There’s not really a 10-minute intermission between acts. It just keeps going. Sigh.

Happily, we sometimes pray out of gratitude. Celebration. Hallelujah.

  • We pause and reflect, acknowledge a special experience or blessing.
  • Maybe we notice a silent, awesome, profound moment. We give thanks when we feel particularly moved or connected.
  • Or we honor  something special  — extraordinary — such as a milestone. Graduation, anniversary, promotion, birthday, or other landmarks.
  • Sometimes it comes in a moment of laughter and humor. When your perceptions shifts, and a situation strikes you as funny, and you regain balance and connection.
  • It’s a healing practice, to remember to say thank you. To count blessings. To name our gifts and their Source. With praise. Exultation.
  • Because the Creator is in these moments –  the quiet-wow-introspective-soulful ones, and the wild-happy-loud-rowdy-dancing-singing-clapping-hoorah ones — as surely as in the darkest ones.

Sometimes, we’re taught to turn over our situation to the Creator’s consideration, and say, “Thy will be done.” That has always been a tough lesson for me.

Really? Relinquish control, or my idea of what the best outcome would be?  As I’ve said before, and as Reverend Rebecca Pugh reminded us again on Sunday at church, sometimes the answer we receive to prayer isn’t the one we expected. It may surprise us. Alarm us. Challenge us. We may not even realize, until later, that we received an answer at all.

Of course, some folks don’t have a specific religious affiliation. And even if you believe in a divine force or Creator, you may not credit that Someone is listening or intervening on our behalf. That a divine Being is stirring up the pot of events in this world to change fate at the request — on behalf of — of fragile, finite human beings.

I have my own view, based on personal anecdotes and experiences, that causes me to believe that I am connected to a Creator who cares and actually interacts with us. But that’s me. I honor other viewpoints, too.

The cancer mom Jane Roper, who is new to this journey, is receiving many prayers, too. She is eloquent and honest, in this excerpt from her blog:

“… while I respect and appreciate the fact
that other people like to pray, I’m not really a pray-er myself.

Or maybe I am. I certainly engage in prayer-like activities sometimes.
I will silently ask for strength or courage or patience or peace,
either for myself or for others. Last weekend when we found out Clio was sick,
I did a whole lot of desperate, tearful praying
that she’d be OK, and that we wouldn’t lose her.

But I’m not entirely sure who I’m addressing in these prayers.
I don’t believe in “God” in the classic, personified sense
so much as I believe in a sort of force / energy that connects us all,
and is maybe somehow responsible for the incredible
and beautiful creation that is our world (dude).

… But I do believe that people’s
thoughts / prayers / vibes / whatever
can have a positive effect on how
we handle adversity and experience joy.

I mean, I think I do. I’m not sure.

… So. Is it weird that I like other people’s prayers
even though I’m skeptical of my own?”

People are moved to pray at certain times. Even if you’re not sure. If you have doubts. Or you don’t believe in it, not really. Motivated by joy. Or desperation.

As I have said before, I find comfort and personal growth in the habit of prayer. Yet I’m not rigorous about the form that prayer takes for me. I grab hold of opportunities as they present themselves. There’s Sunday prayer in church as a community. There’s meditation in my yoga class in the morning. There’s picking herbs at Appleton. Sipping a hot drink. Paddling in a kayak. Listening to my daughter. Touching my husband. Walking through sunlight and shadow. Playing with a dog. Writing in a journal. Serving others. Singing. Sitting still, noticing the world.

Prayer can be individual or communal. Silent or aloud. Action or words. Directed toward the deity of a specific faith, or simply to the sacred universe. And throughout our lives, we will learn new ways to pray.

Prayer is a tool. A practice. An opportunity. However and whenever you do it, it’s a chance to connect and communicate with something bigger than yourself.

Every syllable, every thought, every vision, every hope, every wish, every intention … it all has potency. And when it is directed toward goodness and healing, wellbeing and peacemaking, stability and humor … when it is aimed at building connections … then such prayers, regardless of origin, must be working for the same cause. So I hope. So I believe.

Namaste.

Jul12

One New Thing

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When you learn one new thing during a day, it can make the entire 24 hours worthwhile, can’t it? It’s great to engage your body and mind. Both your muscles and your brain (also a muscle, I guess) can learn and remember. (Of course, I  recognize that we sometimes struggle when we learn unwelcome or difficult things, too … and those are different sorts of lessons, but related, aren’t they?)

My friends have different daily services that send them – via Facebook or email – quick snippets of “did you know” info. What are those called … factoids?  Or better yet, some people receive a new joke to share. Others register to receive actual educational lessons, like the SAT question or vocabulary word of the day. Many of my peers subscribe to newspapers and journals, where you’re sure to discover something you didn’t know (whether it’s factual or not is an entirely different topic). Some folks read a daily horoscope for insight. Or hey, there’s always a fortune cookie or tea bag for a little prefabricated wisdom. Or you can take a class, and you’re sure to learn something there, if you pay attention.

For a few moments, learning something new can give you a sort of mental or physical respite. Like a mini-vacation. To entertain. To develop your intellect. To check off something on your “life list.” For whatever reason you choose to learn.

I love it when “one new thing” comes my way from unexpected sources. Although honestly, I’m lucky to absorb and remember new info. (Uh-oh, what does that bode for autumn and a full-time load of grad school classes?)

In the past 48 hours, the items below have been told or taught to me. Or I’ve savored the results of someone else’s latest adventures in learning:

  • The word yassou in Greek means hi, welcome or bye. Since my daughter Sarah will spend her first semester in college there (she’s enrolled in Northeastern University’s international program), this could be a handy one to know. Plus Ipswich has many Greek residents, so it’s handy here, too. Like at one of our favorite restaurants, Ithaki. I learned this greeting while in line at Zumi’s, called out by the staff who have learned it from their customers. I like it enough to say it again with feeling, “Yassou!”
  • I may be the only person in the world who hasn’t peed in a shower. Go ahead, tell me the truth. While sitting at a kitchen counter among 7 women and 2 men, it turned out that everyone else had done so. Some only in desperation, others more regularly. So I’ve continued to poll people all day. So far, anecdotally, everyone’s done it … except me. I have to call my sister and check in with her … is our whole family missing out on this liberating pastime, or am I the only backward one who never let loose down the drain? (The conversation went on to enumerate other times when you pee without access to sanitary facilities … on the side of the road, while camping or boating, or maybe at a large concert or sporting event when the lines for the loos are too long.) I’m sure I’ll have to give this a try, but I don’t know if I’ll confess to it once I do.
  • Henna has a shelf life and an expiration date. If you acquire premixed henna, it might not work so well. Better to mix it yourself (and by the way, it will be 24 hours before it will be ready, so this isn’t a spontaneous activity). Also if you coat the dried henna with a mixture of lemon and sugar, it might adhere longer and be a longer-lasting stain. Our first experiment only produced faint results, but I woke up with a little henna lotus flower tattooed on the inside of my wrist. Magical.
  • Homemade strawberry vinaigrette goat cheese ice cream is so yummy and rich, you only need two spoonfuls. Ice cream recipes are from Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams at Home by Jeni Britton Bauer and this sampling was created in the kitchen of Meryl Baier. Mmmmmmm.
  • Some of the New Hampshire beaches north of Ipswich were closed due to shark sightings near shore. And apparently sharks start showing up when the waters are warming up. Another sign of summer in New England!
  • Your aura as a person should extend at least a few feet beyond your body in all directions. A quite healthy aura might extend 10 feet above and below you and 10 feet in all other directions, so that you occupy more like 26 feet of vertical space and 21 feet of horizontal space. Ever meet someone with a larger-than-life personality? That’s partially the impact of the aura, according to my yoga teacher Ingrid.
  • Also the postures of sadhana (the morning yoga exercises we do at 5am in my class) work on the subtle energies of the body: the same energies that are affected in practices such as Reiki and other complementary healing arts.  I have had the benefits of Reiki, and although it’s a form of therapy that doesn’t actually use physical touch, one time I would have sworn my Reiki caregiver was kneading my neck and shoulders to get rid of knots in muscles, but when I opened my eyes, she was standing across the room. Wow. (This used to be a weekly service at Children’s Hospital Boston to temporarily relieve the tension built up in the bodies of parents of pediatric cancer patients, who lived round the clock on the oncology unit. It was, of course, also available for the children living with cancer, since non-touch complementary therapies were safe and soothing for compromised immune systems.)
  • I listened to the words of John Updike as read by his sons Michael and David. They were written 45 years ago about the elm tree at the corner of County and East, because his former home was just across the street, and it featured in his personal landscape. The final verse of the poem Elm began with  “My thousand-thousand-leaved, with what a graceful straining you greet the year’s gray turning and put forth green.” The final verse wished, “Great shape, most godly thing I know, don’t die.”  And yet, that tree came to the end of its centuries-long life, and has been cut down. People shared their private memories of the tree, and there were many. It was a landmark for generations. It can’t be replaced, but if you love the American elm species, and need one to adopt, another yet survives by the Agawam rock at Town Hall. It’s worth taking a second look … and seeing anew.

Just for a moment, pause to consider what you’ve learned in the last 24 hours. Maybe you didn’t want to know it, but needed such unwelcome knowledge or insight. Emergencies, for instance, can cause us to become experts in subjects we never imagined. That’s happened, under many of circumstances, to all of us. Ideally, whatever you learned today was more willingly received … a piece of news or new skill that arrived lightly and left gentle footprints on your heart, mind and body in its coming and going.

If you ask yourself what you found out today, and answer “Nothing?” Hmmm. Listen again to your body, heart and mind.

There’s something new inside you … Life is, after all, change. Growing and responding, anticipating and moving. Learning.

Even if it’s just … one … new … thing.

Jul9

Does It Matter to You?

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This past weekend the Cultural Council worked with photographer Terri Unger and writer Kelly Schwenkmeyer‘s Visible Ink Project on an interactive community art experience. We were given use of Time & Tide’s gallery space while the owner Kristina Brendel is away.

So we’ve been asking people to join us, either inviting them through social media or press or right off the street, to come have portraits taken. We use digital cell phones to snap photos. Print the photos, and request that people write what “Art Means to You” on the image.

These pictures and words are hung with clips from strings, like laundry on clotheslines, throughout the gallery. We’ll continue the project for one more week. Later in the year, we’ll display these images again, and attempt to continue this thematic conversation in new ways that also engage the public.

Some people come by, bold and confident, strike a pose and quickly jot down a provocative reflection. Others turn away or aside from the camera, and hesitate over the text. One man turned his back and gave us permission to put a question mark on his snapshot. Some people don’t want to be photographed. Others want to be instructed about how to stand and express themselves. Some people like the results, others are critical of the final product, fussing over a double chin or hair out of place.

What do we see in our own photos? In each others’ portraits? And what words do we choose to include? What do we edit?

These are fleeting moments. They don’t sum up our lives, just the mood and the second in which the lens captured the image, that light bent in a certain angle, that muscles twitched a certain way, that we moved or stayed still.

Some folks pose solo. Friends cluster together. Spouses and partners lean into each other. Parents and children hug tight, wrestle or argue, grin at each other.

Often there’s tension in shared photos; dynamics seem somewhat visible. Other times, you cannot guess the story behind the person who jotted down some ideas in black marker on the inkjet portrait.

What do you see? What do you say? What is hidden? What is visible?

What does art mean to you? Is it as essential as breathing? Is it just something you go look at, and maybe think about hanging on your wall? Is it a form of expression that makes you pause and think in a new way about an idea? Is it a sensory experience? Why does art have relevance?

Of course, I’m biased. I paint in oils, outdoors, recreationally, but it’s as good as yoga class when I do it. On the other hand, writing is part of my freelance income, so in some ways art is also a form of sustenance. Painting and journaling? For me, they offer are ways to explore emotional states, to make meaning, to process experiences and information, to express myself.

So yes, I’d have to say that art has meaning for me. And I have seen different forms of art used as powerful and liberating therapeutic tools for many others, too.

Usually the local Cultural or Arts Council simply passes out grants to artists. Or like our Council, organizes an annual art show. After all, we’re just a committee of volunteers, serving the town by administering funds made available through the state to support local and regional fine and performing arts projects.

This community art project, engaging our friends and neighbors in a creative and ephemeral process that explores what we as individuals and a community, think  about art? It’s more ambitious than most Councils get. Yes, the people who volunteer as members of the Cultural Council are fans of all kinds of art.

Yet part of this experience is to find out what everyone thinks. And maybe to convince you that art touches all of us. And that we all have something to say and share, through art, when given the opportunity.

So feel free to speak up. Stop by. Lend your face to this fun and experimental dialogue.

By the way? It’s free. That seems to be a major selling point for the experience.

You’re invited to join this conversation. To make a statement. To be counted among those friends and citizens of Ipswich who believe creativity has a place in community, and that art matters. Join us again next weekend.