Today's gospel was the sermon on the mount, the one where Jesus, seeing the crowd, sits them down and teaches them -- the beatitudes.
the homily tonight, in the mezcla of the reading and the fact that it is All Saints, said that what we have in the Beatitudes is what it means to be a saint.
To be poor in spirit: to know that God is God and we are not
To mourn ...
and this is where I went on my own train of track, so here's the homily that developed in my head and heart.
To be a saint is to mourn. to feel deep enough that I hurt, that I feel pain and sadness, to risk getting involved, loving, that much. To mourn after something means that that thing (or person) mattered to me. It means to not live detatched, but rather wholly (holy) engaged.
This week has been a week of mourning for me. Many many things are changing (have been in the constant state of changing). Many many things make me sad. This week (maybe the past two weeks) there has been a shift: I have let myself (not totally, not completly, but begin to...) mourn them, to let these things touch my heart rather than holding them arm's length out barely out of sight. I have engaged them.
These sad things range from missing El Salvador to starting to say good bye to university (I've been looking for off campus housing), from naming the way friendships have and are changing to ways I am and have been changing, from endings to beginnings to endings in relationships. Taking risks and making mistakes that are hurtful.
Mourning all kinds of things. And in mourning them, letting them be real and in a way letting myself be real too, letting myself be here.
and reality isn't all pain, it isn't all sadness, all mourning, but without suffering and mourning after suffering, then it isn't reality but just kitsch. And so as I've mourned this week, joy and hope have been much closer as well.
Sigo adelante!
Gospel
Mt 5:1-12a
When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain,
and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him.
He began to teach them, saying:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the land.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the clean of heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,
for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you
and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me.
Rejoice and be glad,
for your reward will be great in heaven.”
01 November 2009
22 October 2009
"don't worry, don't worry"
i am reading again about the history of the civil war in el salvador (how funny is it that when i say "the War" i mean the civil war in ES. oh man).
i'm reading again how, over 12 years the US gave 6 billion dollars to the military run government. how we trained the came to be the most lethal death squads. how we provided weapons and military advisors and helicoptors. i'm reading (reading instead of hearing 1st hand accounts) of finding mutilated bodies by the road side, of refugees crossing the river into Honduras. About El Mozote and the sole survivor of that massacre (who died several years ago, but whose daughter I met at El Mozote last spring).
I am rereading the notes I took from my interview with one of the women in Calle Real -- how she had to leave her home in the country, pregnant, leaving with only her cow to come to the city so she wouldn't be killed.
about the 4 church women
and the 6 Jesuit martyrs --whose anniversary it is November 16
about Romero.
I think about my students, some of whom I've gotten to talk with over the past month
i think of my students whom i will have next fall.
and all of this comes together in my thesis. I am writing this week the Context, an introduction to El Salvador.
and i feel this horror about the actions of my country in the past, some consolation when i remember my friends and how i was received while i was there, some hope and excitement and nervousness about going back.
speaking with my students, my kids from last semester has been really grounding -- not to get lost in the horror of the past or the immensity if my project but to stay focused on them, my kids, my kids who (as i said in a recent talk I gave) stole my heart the first day i met them and have yet to give it back. and i'd just as soon they keep it. i talked with 2 of them yesterday and they told me they were learning the days in the week in english class. and so i quizzed them a little bit. they very proud to show off what they knew and anxious to look it up in their notebook when they forgot.
blood and roses, cats and thorns i wrote before about the same differentness of returning to Georgetown. and it is. more than i ever thought.
to live in the hope of the martyrs -- the hope of the dead, the murdered. to live in the violence of love. i see images of fire -cleansing and deadly. to live in this tension: "...but how good is God that pain and joy are not the sole property of el salvador."
i wrote this in high school. it reminds me ... LIVE NOW
February 16, 2005
Some day soon, and that day is quickly coming
A miracle will happen
A miracle of life laughter love
What is that miracle?
It will be more of what you have
More of the joy you hold in your heart
Be ready to overflow
Embrace life, and all that comes
Never turn away
Don’t sort the good from the bad
But rejoice fully in your heart for that time
And then embrace the next and the next
Don’t hold on, live, flow, breath, rejoice
Everything will come in time
Don’t worry, don’t worry
Stop regretting,
Don’t place all your hopes on what is to come
You are now, so live it
And then, each day the miracle will grow
Your heart will overflow with joy
You are living, loving, laughing
And nothing can go wrong
There will be sorrows and some pain
But they will, in the end, merely
Make your joy and triumphs more sweet
Your love more tender
And your laughter real
Rejoice and be glad
Embrace the universe
Hold it close to your heart and never let go
i'm reading again how, over 12 years the US gave 6 billion dollars to the military run government. how we trained the came to be the most lethal death squads. how we provided weapons and military advisors and helicoptors. i'm reading (reading instead of hearing 1st hand accounts) of finding mutilated bodies by the road side, of refugees crossing the river into Honduras. About El Mozote and the sole survivor of that massacre (who died several years ago, but whose daughter I met at El Mozote last spring).
I am rereading the notes I took from my interview with one of the women in Calle Real -- how she had to leave her home in the country, pregnant, leaving with only her cow to come to the city so she wouldn't be killed.
about the 4 church women
and the 6 Jesuit martyrs --whose anniversary it is November 16
about Romero.
I think about my students, some of whom I've gotten to talk with over the past month
i think of my students whom i will have next fall.
and all of this comes together in my thesis. I am writing this week the Context, an introduction to El Salvador.
and i feel this horror about the actions of my country in the past, some consolation when i remember my friends and how i was received while i was there, some hope and excitement and nervousness about going back.
speaking with my students, my kids from last semester has been really grounding -- not to get lost in the horror of the past or the immensity if my project but to stay focused on them, my kids, my kids who (as i said in a recent talk I gave) stole my heart the first day i met them and have yet to give it back. and i'd just as soon they keep it. i talked with 2 of them yesterday and they told me they were learning the days in the week in english class. and so i quizzed them a little bit. they very proud to show off what they knew and anxious to look it up in their notebook when they forgot.
blood and roses, cats and thorns i wrote before about the same differentness of returning to Georgetown. and it is. more than i ever thought.
to live in the hope of the martyrs -- the hope of the dead, the murdered. to live in the violence of love. i see images of fire -cleansing and deadly. to live in this tension: "...but how good is God that pain and joy are not the sole property of el salvador."
i wrote this in high school. it reminds me ... LIVE NOW
February 16, 2005
Some day soon, and that day is quickly coming
A miracle will happen
A miracle of life laughter love
What is that miracle?
It will be more of what you have
More of the joy you hold in your heart
Be ready to overflow
Embrace life, and all that comes
Never turn away
Don’t sort the good from the bad
But rejoice fully in your heart for that time
And then embrace the next and the next
Don’t hold on, live, flow, breath, rejoice
Everything will come in time
Don’t worry, don’t worry
Stop regretting,
Don’t place all your hopes on what is to come
You are now, so live it
And then, each day the miracle will grow
Your heart will overflow with joy
You are living, loving, laughing
And nothing can go wrong
There will be sorrows and some pain
But they will, in the end, merely
Make your joy and triumphs more sweet
Your love more tender
And your laughter real
Rejoice and be glad
Embrace the universe
Hold it close to your heart and never let go
25 September 2009
Bucket List
Ontological Mystery: Gabriel Marcel wrote that all too often as humans we define ourselves --our identity, value -- based on what we do, our routine, various roles or functions we are assigned or assign ourselves to.
Who am I?
a student
someone who likes to sleep in but lately gets up before 8 (early! ...for me) every day
member of several faith sharing groups
a thesis writer
there is a routine to my day, an expectedness, this structure is good and helpful, as long as I remember that whatever my routine is is not a definition of me.
and there are other functions i assign to myself: the organizer; the connector. Especially this last one can be very limiting to me in my relationships with others, that in my desire to bring other people together, I forget to include myself in that.
and this is the mystery -- ontological (the word about being). The Mystery of Being is that I am not a sum of parts. There is more. I be. And there is something intrinsically good and important and valuable about that BEING -- and the way that I be is different, unique just to me -- and it is from this core am-ness that my identity flows, that determines my worth and value as a person being.
and this is not to completely discount what i do and my various roles and functions and routines. That surely those too are part of me, and part of a manifestation of who I am, but the thing that is easily lost is that it is just a part.
but how is this mystery? well...who are you? try making a list of you that doesn't include what you do. and then how do they come together.
I asked my philosophy professor... well what if I forget about the things I do in how I think about myself and think only of that being part? his answer: we live in a very physical tangible active world and everythign arround us brings us back to : you are your successes and your failures, your schedule, your function, your routine. This, actions and do-ings, are what we see of one another. and so constantly we are brought back to ourselves in terms of functionality.
hang on to the mystery that there is more.
what does this have to do with a bucket list?
i was thinking about the Rilke quote:
"... and the point is to live everything. "
in context, he says to be gentle with unresolved questions in the heart, to not seek answers that couldn't be lived, because the point is to live everything, live the questions now.
but that one line "and the point is to live everything" has been reverberating around me this past week. To live everything. To take risks. to not live in fear-- i guess that's what i thought of first.
and it makes me think: what I haven't i lived, and silly enough, but some of the first things that come to mind are things like: drugs, gotten drunk ... And I'm pretty happy with that, though it seems like I skipped the stereotypical high school experience -- and maybe college for that matter. and i wonder how much of that was done out of respect for my body and how much out of fear. and are both reasons legit? "Do not be afraid" is a common theme throughout the new testament, do not be afraid to be to live, but some fear maybe is legit and self protective.
and then... what do I want to live before I die? And I thought of the movie the Bucket List.
But the truth is there isn't a list for me of things I want to do before I die. but if the list were about HOW I wanted to live. Yes, there is a list for that.
I want to live dangerously. And while the first thing that may come to mind with that statement is a motorcycle and tatoos (though that's pretty cool) or extreme sports, that's not what I mean.
I mean I want to live un-comfortably, in a way that is continuously putting me in contact with reality. Relaity buzz word from my El Salvador program. What I mean is I want the world: pain suffering hardship hand in hand with joy hope love faith generousity. I've written about this before, but the hard and the joyful are inherently connected and to truly live there must be room for both. So that means living at risk: living in a way that is open to pain and deep hurt that can puncture the protective walls i sometimes desperately try to throw up around myself. It is those some puncture wounds that let in (and maybe sometimes even bring) deep joy hope.
Living dangerously-- loving wastefully, as a friend once said. To approach both myself and those around me with this wasteful, this deep appreciation of our BEING.
This is a being (this ontological mystery) that is the core of humanity and no where is this seen more clearly than in the presence of those who are different, who live and speak and think and approach life differently. WHo have been wounded in ways I could never dream of and yet... and yet we, them and I, we share this being in common.
Living dangerously because to appreciate my being does not mean that I must protect myself from hurt. Appreciating my being (my creation -- which begs the question of a CREATOR)means not reducing myself to a function, to means constantly striving to be toe person I am created to be -- that I am a being in progress and to live in that knowledge, seeking to be faithful to that which is my core identity. And like anything else, faithfulness takes discipline and dedication and commitment because it won't always be easy, it will be hard, there will be people or events or situations that will challenge me, that will hurt me, that maybe will make me want to curl up give up on living into myself. Christ is a perfect example, right? He loved his created being -- who he was and who he was created to be -- so much that he stayed faithful to the end, which meant his death. Through such constant and faithful appreciation of Himself, he died, when he could have denied his being (his created being) and avoided the pain, saved His life.
To live dangerously. To love wastefully.
and maybe, just maybe, i'll get a motorcycle and tatoo some where along the way.
Who am I?
a student
someone who likes to sleep in but lately gets up before 8 (early! ...for me) every day
member of several faith sharing groups
a thesis writer
there is a routine to my day, an expectedness, this structure is good and helpful, as long as I remember that whatever my routine is is not a definition of me.
and there are other functions i assign to myself: the organizer; the connector. Especially this last one can be very limiting to me in my relationships with others, that in my desire to bring other people together, I forget to include myself in that.
and this is the mystery -- ontological (the word about being). The Mystery of Being is that I am not a sum of parts. There is more. I be. And there is something intrinsically good and important and valuable about that BEING -- and the way that I be is different, unique just to me -- and it is from this core am-ness that my identity flows, that determines my worth and value as a person being.
and this is not to completely discount what i do and my various roles and functions and routines. That surely those too are part of me, and part of a manifestation of who I am, but the thing that is easily lost is that it is just a part.
but how is this mystery? well...who are you? try making a list of you that doesn't include what you do. and then how do they come together.
I asked my philosophy professor... well what if I forget about the things I do in how I think about myself and think only of that being part? his answer: we live in a very physical tangible active world and everythign arround us brings us back to : you are your successes and your failures, your schedule, your function, your routine. This, actions and do-ings, are what we see of one another. and so constantly we are brought back to ourselves in terms of functionality.
hang on to the mystery that there is more.
what does this have to do with a bucket list?
i was thinking about the Rilke quote:
"... and the point is to live everything. "
in context, he says to be gentle with unresolved questions in the heart, to not seek answers that couldn't be lived, because the point is to live everything, live the questions now.
but that one line "and the point is to live everything" has been reverberating around me this past week. To live everything. To take risks. to not live in fear-- i guess that's what i thought of first.
and it makes me think: what I haven't i lived, and silly enough, but some of the first things that come to mind are things like: drugs, gotten drunk ... And I'm pretty happy with that, though it seems like I skipped the stereotypical high school experience -- and maybe college for that matter. and i wonder how much of that was done out of respect for my body and how much out of fear. and are both reasons legit? "Do not be afraid" is a common theme throughout the new testament, do not be afraid to be to live, but some fear maybe is legit and self protective.
and then... what do I want to live before I die? And I thought of the movie the Bucket List.
But the truth is there isn't a list for me of things I want to do before I die. but if the list were about HOW I wanted to live. Yes, there is a list for that.
I want to live dangerously. And while the first thing that may come to mind with that statement is a motorcycle and tatoos (though that's pretty cool) or extreme sports, that's not what I mean.
I mean I want to live un-comfortably, in a way that is continuously putting me in contact with reality. Relaity buzz word from my El Salvador program. What I mean is I want the world: pain suffering hardship hand in hand with joy hope love faith generousity. I've written about this before, but the hard and the joyful are inherently connected and to truly live there must be room for both. So that means living at risk: living in a way that is open to pain and deep hurt that can puncture the protective walls i sometimes desperately try to throw up around myself. It is those some puncture wounds that let in (and maybe sometimes even bring) deep joy hope.
Living dangerously-- loving wastefully, as a friend once said. To approach both myself and those around me with this wasteful, this deep appreciation of our BEING.
This is a being (this ontological mystery) that is the core of humanity and no where is this seen more clearly than in the presence of those who are different, who live and speak and think and approach life differently. WHo have been wounded in ways I could never dream of and yet... and yet we, them and I, we share this being in common.
Living dangerously because to appreciate my being does not mean that I must protect myself from hurt. Appreciating my being (my creation -- which begs the question of a CREATOR)means not reducing myself to a function, to means constantly striving to be toe person I am created to be -- that I am a being in progress and to live in that knowledge, seeking to be faithful to that which is my core identity. And like anything else, faithfulness takes discipline and dedication and commitment because it won't always be easy, it will be hard, there will be people or events or situations that will challenge me, that will hurt me, that maybe will make me want to curl up give up on living into myself. Christ is a perfect example, right? He loved his created being -- who he was and who he was created to be -- so much that he stayed faithful to the end, which meant his death. Through such constant and faithful appreciation of Himself, he died, when he could have denied his being (his created being) and avoided the pain, saved His life.
To live dangerously. To love wastefully.
and maybe, just maybe, i'll get a motorcycle and tatoo some where along the way.
07 September 2009
from Rilke to Relient K
Relient K, "High of 75"
Junior year of high school I was introduced to Relient K. For Christmas, I asked for all three of the cds they had out at the time and all spring, driving to school, to play rehearsal, errands, whereever, Relient K was blasting. Whenever I hear them now, if I close my eyes I can smell the spring of my junior year in high school, feel the wind blowing through my open car windows, see the road to school zooming by and my heart swells with the hope, anticipation, nervousness for the future that I experienced so often more than 4 years ago.
And all the listening... well I suppose I could say many Relient K songs are part of my Wisdom literature. This one in partiular hist me every once in a while when I am feeling overwhelmed or sad or anxious or discouraged -- when I let these feelings overcome and I convince myself that I am surround by black darkness. Usually in those times the line "It's funny how you find you enjoy your life when you're happy to be alive"
when you're happy to be alive. and as my middle school life science teacher (another wisdom source) said, as humans, the fact that we work that we can move and breath and live is amazing.
and then i remember the wonder that it is to live and it's as if all of a sudden i've remember to look up into a black velvety night sky and all above and around me are stars, pinpricks of light and that black darkness is beautiful, awe inspiring, still terrifying but also kind of comforting. It becomes a blackness that draws me out of myself rather than trapping and confining me in my fears and worries.
at one point over the summer -- in a black and starless dark -- i decided that i didn't need to be happy, that life whatever it was, all i wanted from it was to know what was coming next. understandable, especially if put in the context that in the 2 year period surrounding today (from one year ago to one year in the future) I will have moved residences 7 (very likely to be 8) times. And so far they have been good moves, hard but who wants easy. But in this much instability all I could think of was screw the rest I just want to KNOW.
When i can name this I do a lot better living in the unknowing. When I can name it I actually often rejoice in the fact that I cannot and do not know nor control everything (or often anything...) The world and universe is a vast glorious mysterious place. and so i can breath and live and be without fear of being crushed.
And my senior year.... it's looking much different than I had anticipated. I've commented to several people that it feels a little bit like I'm a freshman all over again. Living with some lovely ladies, but women I've never lived with before. The main claim on my time are my classes and thesis (THESIS! alright fine with that word I absolutely do not feel like a freshman!) but no leadership positions in any clubs. I could, oh so easily, give into the temptation to play pinochle in the bottom of the boat : to keep my head down and myself thoroughly engaged in the darkness but oh to be on deck, even in the midst of the storm. But it seems that I'm learning my way around the boat all over again and, meaning to reach wind-blown deck, I find myself, somehow, in the galley.
And i try, I try, to remember to laugh and be gentle with myself and , well as long as i'm there, explore the galley see what i can find, who i might meet. The universe has an amazing sense of humor and I don't want to miss anything, even if the joke's on me, that there is something wonderful for me here, now, living and i want it--to know what it is to live it experience it taste it and hold it so close that it becomes a part of me.
not that life is a scavenger hunt and i'm afraid of missing clues but rather that if i am too afraid to take risks, if i am waiting to be found or too obsessed with finding "it", if i am so absorbed with "shoulds" and "rights" then, like sand held too tightly, it will be gone.
So I'm learning and living -- and sometimes that means I hurt and ache sometimes with pain and longing and regret but often from the beauty (and that beauty always terrible) and abundance and sweet happenstance that IS.
We were talkin' together
I said "What's up with this weather?"
Don't know whether or not
How sad I just got
Was of my own volition
Or if I'm just missin' the sun
And tomorrow I know
Will be rainy at best
And the forecast, I know
Is that I'll be depressed
But I'll wait outside
Hoping that I'll catch sight of the sun
Because on and off
The clouds have fought
For control over the sky
And lately the weather
Has been so bi-polar and
Consequently so have I
But now I'm sunny with a high of 75
Since You took my heavy heart and made it light
And it's funny how you find you enjoy your life
When you're happy to be alive
And the tempature is freezing
And then after dark
There's a cold front sweeping
In over my heart
And we might break up
If I don't wake up to the sun
Because on and off
The clouds have fought
For control over the sky
And lately the weather
Has been so bi-polar and
Consequently so have I
But now I'm sunny with a high of 75
Since You took my heavy heart and made it light
And it's funny how you find you enjoy your life
When you're happy to be alive
Junior year of high school I was introduced to Relient K. For Christmas, I asked for all three of the cds they had out at the time and all spring, driving to school, to play rehearsal, errands, whereever, Relient K was blasting. Whenever I hear them now, if I close my eyes I can smell the spring of my junior year in high school, feel the wind blowing through my open car windows, see the road to school zooming by and my heart swells with the hope, anticipation, nervousness for the future that I experienced so often more than 4 years ago.
And all the listening... well I suppose I could say many Relient K songs are part of my Wisdom literature. This one in partiular hist me every once in a while when I am feeling overwhelmed or sad or anxious or discouraged -- when I let these feelings overcome and I convince myself that I am surround by black darkness. Usually in those times the line "It's funny how you find you enjoy your life when you're happy to be alive"
when you're happy to be alive. and as my middle school life science teacher (another wisdom source) said, as humans, the fact that we work that we can move and breath and live is amazing.
and then i remember the wonder that it is to live and it's as if all of a sudden i've remember to look up into a black velvety night sky and all above and around me are stars, pinpricks of light and that black darkness is beautiful, awe inspiring, still terrifying but also kind of comforting. It becomes a blackness that draws me out of myself rather than trapping and confining me in my fears and worries.
at one point over the summer -- in a black and starless dark -- i decided that i didn't need to be happy, that life whatever it was, all i wanted from it was to know what was coming next. understandable, especially if put in the context that in the 2 year period surrounding today (from one year ago to one year in the future) I will have moved residences 7 (very likely to be 8) times. And so far they have been good moves, hard but who wants easy. But in this much instability all I could think of was screw the rest I just want to KNOW.
When i can name this I do a lot better living in the unknowing. When I can name it I actually often rejoice in the fact that I cannot and do not know nor control everything (or often anything...) The world and universe is a vast glorious mysterious place. and so i can breath and live and be without fear of being crushed.
And my senior year.... it's looking much different than I had anticipated. I've commented to several people that it feels a little bit like I'm a freshman all over again. Living with some lovely ladies, but women I've never lived with before. The main claim on my time are my classes and thesis (THESIS! alright fine with that word I absolutely do not feel like a freshman!) but no leadership positions in any clubs. I could, oh so easily, give into the temptation to play pinochle in the bottom of the boat : to keep my head down and myself thoroughly engaged in the darkness but oh to be on deck, even in the midst of the storm. But it seems that I'm learning my way around the boat all over again and, meaning to reach wind-blown deck, I find myself, somehow, in the galley.
And i try, I try, to remember to laugh and be gentle with myself and , well as long as i'm there, explore the galley see what i can find, who i might meet. The universe has an amazing sense of humor and I don't want to miss anything, even if the joke's on me, that there is something wonderful for me here, now, living and i want it--to know what it is to live it experience it taste it and hold it so close that it becomes a part of me.
not that life is a scavenger hunt and i'm afraid of missing clues but rather that if i am too afraid to take risks, if i am waiting to be found or too obsessed with finding "it", if i am so absorbed with "shoulds" and "rights" then, like sand held too tightly, it will be gone.
So I'm learning and living -- and sometimes that means I hurt and ache sometimes with pain and longing and regret but often from the beauty (and that beauty always terrible) and abundance and sweet happenstance that IS.
30 August 2009
Wisdom Sources
Wisdom Sources: where I find truth, encouragement, a taste of reality in words and pictures that pierce my heart, that speak to me, that change me.
Sister, my theology professor last semester, said we get many wisdom sources, the Bible among but not only.
So i've been naming mine. here are some of my new ones
Mary Oliver
Shaun Tan (The Red Tree, this book and those images)
and Rainer Maria Rilke
I've been running into Rainer everywhere lately -- or his words anyway. So I've finally started to do some research on him
Before today this was the main quote i knew by him and i have this card in my room, a gentle reminder. but then i read Duino Elegies: The First Elegy -- it's here, my favorite parts bolded, and though long, i really love the whole thing
Duino Elegies: The First Elegy
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
Oh, to whom can we turn for help?
Not angels, not humans;
and even the knowing animals are aware that we feel
little secure and at home in our interpreted world.
There remains perhaps some tree on a hillside
daily for us to see; yesterday's street remains for us
stayed, moved in with us and showed no signs of leaving.
Oh, and the night, the night, when the wind
full of cosmic space invades our frightened faces.
Whom would it not remain for -that longed-after,
gently disenchanting night, painfully there for the
solitary heart to achieve? Is it easier for lovers?
Don't you know yet ? Fling out of your arms the
emptiness into the spaces we breath -perhaps the birds
will feel the expanded air in their more ferven flight.
Yes, the springtime were in need of you. Often a star
waited for you to espy it and sense its light.
A wave rolled toward you out of the distant past,
or as you walked below an open window,
a violin gave itself to your hearing.
All this was trust. But could you manage it?
Were you not always distraught by expectation,
as if all this were announcing the arrival
of a beloved? (Where would you find a place
to hide her, with all your great strange thoughts
coming and going and often staying for the night.)
When longing overcomes you, sing of women in love;
for their famous passion is far from immortal enough.
Those whom you almost envy, the abandoned and
desolate ones, whom you found so much more loving
than those gratified. Begin ever new again
the praise you cannot attain; remember:
the hero lives on and survives; even his downfall
was for him only a pretext for achieving
his final birth. But nature, exhausted, takes lovers
back into itself, as if such creative forces could never be
achieved a second time.
Have you thought of Gaspara Stampa sufficiently:
that any girl abandoned by her lover may feel
from that far intenser example of loving:
"Ah, might I become like her!" Should not their oldest
sufferings finally become more fruitful for us?
Is it not time that lovingly we freed ourselves
from the beloved and, quivering, endured:
as the arrow endures the bow-string's tension,
and in this tense release becomes more than itself.
For staying is nowhere.
Voices, voices. Listen my heart, as only saints
have listened: until the gigantic call lifted them
clear off the ground. Yet they went on, impossibly,
kneeling, completely unawares: so intense was
their listening. Not that you could endure
the voice of God -far from it! But listen
to the voice of the wind and the ceaseless message
that forms itself out of silence. They sweep
toward you now from those who died young.
Whenever they entered a church in Rome or Naples,
did not their fate quietly speak to you as recently
as the tablet did in Santa Maria Formosa?
What do they want of me? to quietly remove
the appearance of suffered injustice that,
at times, hinders a little their spirits from
freely proceeding onward.
Of course, it is strange to inhabit the earth no longer,
to no longer use skills on had barely time to acquire;
not to observe roses and other things that promised
so much in terms of a human future, no longer
to be what one was in infinitely anxious hands;
to even discard one's own name as easily as a child
abandons a broken toy.
Strange, not to desire to continue wishing one's wishes.
Strange to notice all that was related, fluttering
so loosely in space. And being dead is hard work
and full of retrieving before one can gradually feel a
trace of eternity. -Yes, but the liviing make
the mistake of drawing too sharp a distinction.
Angels (they say) are often unable to distinguish
between moving among the living or the dead.
The eternal torrent whirls all ages along with it,
through both realms forever, and their voices are lost in
its thunderous roar.
In the end the early departed have no longer
need of us. One is gently weaned from things
of this world as a child outgrows the need
of its mother's breast. But we who have need
of those great mysteries, we for whom grief is
so often the source of spiritual growth,
could we exist without them?
Is the legend vain that tells of music's beginning
in the midst of the mourning for Linos?
the daring first sounds of song piercing
the barren numbness, and how in that stunned space
an almost godlike youth suddenly left forever,
and the emptiness felt for the first time
those harmonious vibrations which now enrapture
and comfort and help us.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
Rainer Maria Rilke
Sister, my theology professor last semester, said we get many wisdom sources, the Bible among but not only.
So i've been naming mine. here are some of my new ones
Mary Oliver
Shaun Tan (The Red Tree, this book and those images)
and Rainer Maria Rilke
I've been running into Rainer everywhere lately -- or his words anyway. So I've finally started to do some research on him
Before today this was the main quote i knew by him and i have this card in my room, a gentle reminder. but then i read Duino Elegies: The First Elegy -- it's here, my favorite parts bolded, and though long, i really love the whole thing
Duino Elegies: The First Elegy
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
Oh, to whom can we turn for help?
Not angels, not humans;
and even the knowing animals are aware that we feel
little secure and at home in our interpreted world.
There remains perhaps some tree on a hillside
daily for us to see; yesterday's street remains for us
stayed, moved in with us and showed no signs of leaving.
Oh, and the night, the night, when the wind
full of cosmic space invades our frightened faces.
Whom would it not remain for -that longed-after,
gently disenchanting night, painfully there for the
solitary heart to achieve? Is it easier for lovers?
Don't you know yet ? Fling out of your arms the
emptiness into the spaces we breath -perhaps the birds
will feel the expanded air in their more ferven flight.
Yes, the springtime were in need of you. Often a star
waited for you to espy it and sense its light.
A wave rolled toward you out of the distant past,
or as you walked below an open window,
a violin gave itself to your hearing.
All this was trust. But could you manage it?
Were you not always distraught by expectation,
as if all this were announcing the arrival
of a beloved? (Where would you find a place
to hide her, with all your great strange thoughts
coming and going and often staying for the night.)
When longing overcomes you, sing of women in love;
for their famous passion is far from immortal enough.
Those whom you almost envy, the abandoned and
desolate ones, whom you found so much more loving
than those gratified. Begin ever new again
the praise you cannot attain; remember:
the hero lives on and survives; even his downfall
was for him only a pretext for achieving
his final birth. But nature, exhausted, takes lovers
back into itself, as if such creative forces could never be
achieved a second time.
Have you thought of Gaspara Stampa sufficiently:
that any girl abandoned by her lover may feel
from that far intenser example of loving:
"Ah, might I become like her!" Should not their oldest
sufferings finally become more fruitful for us?
Is it not time that lovingly we freed ourselves
from the beloved and, quivering, endured:
as the arrow endures the bow-string's tension,
and in this tense release becomes more than itself.
For staying is nowhere.
Voices, voices. Listen my heart, as only saints
have listened: until the gigantic call lifted them
clear off the ground. Yet they went on, impossibly,
kneeling, completely unawares: so intense was
their listening. Not that you could endure
the voice of God -far from it! But listen
to the voice of the wind and the ceaseless message
that forms itself out of silence. They sweep
toward you now from those who died young.
Whenever they entered a church in Rome or Naples,
did not their fate quietly speak to you as recently
as the tablet did in Santa Maria Formosa?
What do they want of me? to quietly remove
the appearance of suffered injustice that,
at times, hinders a little their spirits from
freely proceeding onward.
Of course, it is strange to inhabit the earth no longer,
to no longer use skills on had barely time to acquire;
not to observe roses and other things that promised
so much in terms of a human future, no longer
to be what one was in infinitely anxious hands;
to even discard one's own name as easily as a child
abandons a broken toy.
Strange, not to desire to continue wishing one's wishes.
Strange to notice all that was related, fluttering
so loosely in space. And being dead is hard work
and full of retrieving before one can gradually feel a
trace of eternity. -Yes, but the liviing make
the mistake of drawing too sharp a distinction.
Angels (they say) are often unable to distinguish
between moving among the living or the dead.
The eternal torrent whirls all ages along with it,
through both realms forever, and their voices are lost in
its thunderous roar.
In the end the early departed have no longer
need of us. One is gently weaned from things
of this world as a child outgrows the need
of its mother's breast. But we who have need
of those great mysteries, we for whom grief is
so often the source of spiritual growth,
could we exist without them?
Is the legend vain that tells of music's beginning
in the midst of the mourning for Linos?
the daring first sounds of song piercing
the barren numbness, and how in that stunned space
an almost godlike youth suddenly left forever,
and the emptiness felt for the first time
those harmonious vibrations which now enrapture
and comfort and help us.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
Rainer Maria Rilke
29 August 2009
safe
safe.
sobbing softly and alone.
alone and wondering
worrying.
but safe, my heart back
inside of my chest, hidden
by my body, by me.
I used to wear my heart
on my sleeve
until i had to gather back the
broken pieces
and now nothing is the same.
it's different
giving your heart away, losing
it and having it carelessly taken
and
discarded as if i had
another, one to spare.
I will give it to you gladly
willingly -- and all of it
but don't
lose.forget.take it for granted. That's
important.
i've promised myself, now, to
look before i leap. To
see if my heart is -- if i am
--wanted.
How -- to give myself away without
throwing
myself away. Because the difference
is real. That's
important.
But to love is to play the fool and
to love truly.deeply.thoroughly is to
love wastefully;
my heart already in pieces and
in this brokenness it is, perhaps,
more whole.
But not safe. That's
important.
Living is a risky business.
sobbing softly and alone.
alone and wondering
worrying.
but safe, my heart back
inside of my chest, hidden
by my body, by me.
I used to wear my heart
on my sleeve
until i had to gather back the
broken pieces
and now nothing is the same.
it's different
giving your heart away, losing
it and having it carelessly taken
and
discarded as if i had
another, one to spare.
I will give it to you gladly
willingly -- and all of it
but don't
lose.forget.take it for granted. That's
important.
i've promised myself, now, to
look before i leap. To
see if my heart is -- if i am
--wanted.
How -- to give myself away without
throwing
myself away. Because the difference
is real. That's
important.
But to love is to play the fool and
to love truly.deeply.thoroughly is to
love wastefully;
my heart already in pieces and
in this brokenness it is, perhaps,
more whole.
But not safe. That's
important.
Living is a risky business.
23 August 2009
es muss sein
i find that i want to write something deep and profound, something that will make anyone who reads this sit back and sigh and tumble it over in their mind. something that will come back, tap you on the shoulder in a day or so. something that has weight.
have you read "the unbearable lightness of being"? is life unbearably light -- a series of coincidences, of events, situations that have ended just so, intersected with something or someone else so that an encounter, based upon 6 or 7 "maybes" is the event that changes you. unbearably light in that we have no way to make decisions, or rather no way to know what the "best" or "right" decision is as we can only do it once and so never compare different outcomes and so nothing can ever really mean anything. those bird of fortuity falling down upon as like rain.
or is life heavy? an "es muss sein" ("it must be") that grounds us, pulls us down to the earth so that everything we do is because of that "es muss sein" : to be a doctor, to be constantly self-sacrificial. Is there an "it must be" that we each are tethered to, an "it must be" that gives weight and meaning to all we do. does everything we do have a meaning. and as it can it only be done once, that much weightier because if we mess it up the first time, it's screwed up forever.
lightness or weight? and which is the good and which is the bad? are they even any different. the birds turn to chain and i am locked in place, oh to fly.
the most important is what do i believe -- what are those birds of fortuity when, oh the stars aligned, and those 6 coincidences coincided just so and my life was changed forever. and it seems as though coincidence could never have been so good to me, there must be the work, the humor, the smile of a Creator, just for me.
really?
oh to fly.
but lightness can be hard to face. it s so fragile. so insubstantial. is it real? what if one of those 6 events had gone jut even a little differently. what if ... and life is made up of these. the most important, weightiest things rest on a spider's web, fragile thin delicate.
so i take it to heart, those coincidences and make them heavy, lend them weight. and sometimes in so doing it seems as though i'm giving away my weight, my substance so that everything in the world is weightier than me, a moth's cassock burning in the flame. (at this point you need to add 2 things to your reading list: 1 (as already mentioned) The Unbearable Lightness of Being. and 2) Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. Actually antying by Annie Diallard you can get your hands on.)
so the me that i am is defined by my fortuitious birds, out of reach in the air above me, the coincidences lent wieght from myself, surrounding me, entangling me. and me, well i am weightless, floating among my heavy, coincidence strewn, defining moment.
if i am not what i do, who am i? (and now...we'll just do my philosophy class in a blog! ... go grab Garbiel Marcel's Ontological Mystery).
then answer: I AM. oh mystery, when data encroaches upon itself --like when the word you're supposed to be defining shows up in the definition and your thrown nto an eternal loop. I am I am I am I am I AM I. helpful right?
and that's the important thing, to be ok with a little mystery, a little ambiguity -- is it light? is it weight? is it? and what is? and if i am not my birds nor my coincidences nor those weight imbued events and "es muss seins" around me ... when what? not a function. not a routine. not even whatever 3 adjectives you or i might choose to describe ourselves or each other. mystery.
and we are surrounded by it. start with the mystery of yourself, explore it and revel in it. love it.
move on to the mystery of your neighbor.
to the mystery of suffering. of hope in sufferng. of hope.
the mystery of love.
and less abstract and kind of completely different. i am always so fascinated by conversation. one person says something and another listens, says something back, but not the same thing, related but not and somehow with our different minds, our different thought processes and values, ways of expressing ideas emotions thoughts and we can follow each other. we can make some sort of sense of each other. communicate.
crazy.
mystery: "es muss sein"
have you read "the unbearable lightness of being"? is life unbearably light -- a series of coincidences, of events, situations that have ended just so, intersected with something or someone else so that an encounter, based upon 6 or 7 "maybes" is the event that changes you. unbearably light in that we have no way to make decisions, or rather no way to know what the "best" or "right" decision is as we can only do it once and so never compare different outcomes and so nothing can ever really mean anything. those bird of fortuity falling down upon as like rain.
or is life heavy? an "es muss sein" ("it must be") that grounds us, pulls us down to the earth so that everything we do is because of that "es muss sein" : to be a doctor, to be constantly self-sacrificial. Is there an "it must be" that we each are tethered to, an "it must be" that gives weight and meaning to all we do. does everything we do have a meaning. and as it can it only be done once, that much weightier because if we mess it up the first time, it's screwed up forever.
lightness or weight? and which is the good and which is the bad? are they even any different. the birds turn to chain and i am locked in place, oh to fly.
the most important is what do i believe -- what are those birds of fortuity when, oh the stars aligned, and those 6 coincidences coincided just so and my life was changed forever. and it seems as though coincidence could never have been so good to me, there must be the work, the humor, the smile of a Creator, just for me.
really?
oh to fly.
but lightness can be hard to face. it s so fragile. so insubstantial. is it real? what if one of those 6 events had gone jut even a little differently. what if ... and life is made up of these. the most important, weightiest things rest on a spider's web, fragile thin delicate.
so i take it to heart, those coincidences and make them heavy, lend them weight. and sometimes in so doing it seems as though i'm giving away my weight, my substance so that everything in the world is weightier than me, a moth's cassock burning in the flame. (at this point you need to add 2 things to your reading list: 1 (as already mentioned) The Unbearable Lightness of Being. and 2) Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. Actually antying by Annie Diallard you can get your hands on.)
so the me that i am is defined by my fortuitious birds, out of reach in the air above me, the coincidences lent wieght from myself, surrounding me, entangling me. and me, well i am weightless, floating among my heavy, coincidence strewn, defining moment.
if i am not what i do, who am i? (and now...we'll just do my philosophy class in a blog! ... go grab Garbiel Marcel's Ontological Mystery).
then answer: I AM. oh mystery, when data encroaches upon itself --like when the word you're supposed to be defining shows up in the definition and your thrown nto an eternal loop. I am I am I am I am I AM I. helpful right?
and that's the important thing, to be ok with a little mystery, a little ambiguity -- is it light? is it weight? is it? and what is? and if i am not my birds nor my coincidences nor those weight imbued events and "es muss seins" around me ... when what? not a function. not a routine. not even whatever 3 adjectives you or i might choose to describe ourselves or each other. mystery.
and we are surrounded by it. start with the mystery of yourself, explore it and revel in it. love it.
move on to the mystery of your neighbor.
to the mystery of suffering. of hope in sufferng. of hope.
the mystery of love.
and less abstract and kind of completely different. i am always so fascinated by conversation. one person says something and another listens, says something back, but not the same thing, related but not and somehow with our different minds, our different thought processes and values, ways of expressing ideas emotions thoughts and we can follow each other. we can make some sort of sense of each other. communicate.
crazy.
mystery: "es muss sein"
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