| A Cottage by the Sea |
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 Our true nature is stillness,
The Source from which we come. . . . . The deep listening of pure contemplation Is the path to stillness. All words disappear into It, And all creation awakens to the delight of Just Being. —Thomas Keating, “Stillness”
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 A big thank you to my son-in-law, who besides raking our lawn, gave me a twenty-one page printout of Rumi quotes. I had planned to pick some favorites to help us through the upcoming days, but the first ten fulfilled that plan, so here they are. Thank you, Rumi.
• These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them. • We carry inside us the wonders we seek outside us. • Only from the heart can you touch the sky. • Wherever you are, and whatever you do, be in love. • Your heart knows the way. Run in that direction. • Stop acting so small. You are the universe in ecstatic motion. • Love is the bridge between you and everything. • Keep silent because the world of silence is a vast fullness. • When will you begin that long journey into yourself? • You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean, in a drop.  Would anyone dispute that it is easier to be content with silence, solitude, and simplicity on a beautiful fall day? Science support that mood swings improve when the sun is out. But the goal, at least my goal, is to settle into deep contentment regardless of the weather. I can love ‘a’ rainy day if ‘a’ means one. But even then, a tiny pall sneaks in.
These days I am aware that whatever I write comes from a privileged position. That’s who I am, but it doesn’t mean I want to shake it off and go forth on my merry way. Let me never forget that I’m in a cozy house on a rainy day!! Remembering is a both trivial and powerful. Trivial if I take if for granted; powerful if I find ways to be grateful.  We have been best friends since we were two years old. Very grateful that our moms got us together. Love you lots!
 Last week a friend and I visited a mutual teacher friend, now living in an assisted living facility. We had made an appointment on-line and were greeted by two women who took our temperature and asked those usual Covid questions. The older woman was a nurse, the younger, a nurse in training. Both were incredibly kind. The nurse helped the trainee with the procedure of asking the questions, and then the trainee wheeled our friend out to the tent, helped her get comfortable, and at the end of the visit facilitated our saying goodbye.
As I drove away I felt deeply hopeful because I had witnessed this compassionate, caring young person whose had opened her heart to my friend. This young woman has chosen caring for others as her vocation. Let us be ready for the younger generation to show us a loving way.  The other day a friend from my teaching days asked me about my journey to divinity school after I stopped teaching. We hadn’t been in close contact since I had retired from teaching kindergarten and first grade twenty-five years ago. Here’s my response.
In 2004 I receive a Master of Divinity Degree (MDiv) from Andover Newton Theological School in Newton, Massachusetts. I loved every minute of it-- the professors, students, campus life, studies and writing papers. It was a vibrant place then. But the physical campus no longer exists. It is Andover Newton Seminary at Yale Divinity School in New Haven, Connecticut. After a satisfying career as a teacher, I had no interest in being ordained (being a pastor felt too much like being a school principal). Because I was pursuing the degree for my own discernment and spiritual growth, I was able to avoid courses on church administration, and, what I referred to as ’student teaching in a church.” Being 60 and having had a full career, I convinced the administration that I would never change my mind about ordination, so certain requirements were waved. In another life I might have gone into chaplaincy. I completed the chaplaincy requirement for the degree, but not for chaplaincy certification. Upon graduation I took a part time job as the ’spiritual care director' of Wayside Hospice in Wayland (now called Parmenter Community Health Care—Wayland). During my tenure I visited with families and ‘clients’ both at the hospice residence and in homes. I stopped that work in 2009. It was time. My mother was about to celebrate her 100thbirthday. She was my mom; I was her daughter. I didn’t want a spiritual care/chaplaincy relationship with her, although for sure, we talked about spiritual things. As I wrote in my memoir, Very Grateful, God was always present with us, always, but especially in our last two years together . Mom died October 3, 2011, 9 years ago.  Silence, solitude, and simplicity are a satisfying threesome in my life. But in The Signs of Jonas Thomas Merton mentions “solitude, silence and unity,” replacing simplicity with unity. Hmm, I like the idea of unity, but it can’t replace simplicity. It doesn’t resonate the same way; in fact, it is jarring; it disrupts the harmony, and yes, the unity that my three provide.
To start with, I like the idea that the my three begin with the same letter. It satisfies my penchant for order, and more to the point, my need to be in control. The idea that unity begins with a vowel, and not the soft look and sound of the letter S changes my goal. It interrupts the flow of silence and solitude. It isn’t peaceful. Unity implies action, mental activity, physical change. The end result of unity is simple--but arriving there is complex. |