Into the Day

04-28-2020 The Day…

To confront being vector being transmitter, being receptor… To confront all of the personal responsibilities of that set of triad. In the rule of three, the stool which stands, as it has three legs… the rule of communication… for it hears, it engages and it speaks… or listens or … is a tube through which sound passes… with some recognition of the sound.

In a social setting… sitting at distance… still a vector, a transmitter and a receptor… all three, all three legs…

And when the signal, that darling signal of contagion, when that has no more stools to jump between… what then? For then, then we have set a new standard… and in that standard… the contagion for which we modified … it now has left an imprint. What then?

How funny. To speak of that then… we are in this now. The panic of contagion. The cacophony of contagion. The peace of contagion. What peace?

For certain, a new method of triage. For certain some method or best practice to make a layer between the vector and the rest… To have a place of care become a point of contagion… the calm voice of practice… And, that moment of wanting to be over there when we are here.

A voice, saying loudly, what do we do now? Or, follow me, I am going to lead a contagion parade. Another voice calling out in pain and exhaustion. Yet another singing a quiet song of lullaby. All in the same symphony of … requiem of…

The sea tide. The waves crashing. The great squall roaring across the lake. The wide river, rising higher and higher… all of these, the water that has tumbled down from high mountain or fallen in storms upon the face of the open surface… all of these… voices of this contagion. For, as vector… we dance in this storm.

The many locks to doors in the body… in the living organism. What locks does this particular key fit and turn? What doors of mechanism and shift do open? What doors, lock tried, resist the entry or turn the visitor to another place and time? The idea of point of entry… in through the front door? In through a small mouse hole? Carried with an ant… investigating the kitchen after the rain has pushed the whole trail inside? Or born on the gentle airs… sprayed and then carried as a note on the airs… carried as a note on the airs. If I can hear, then the contagion has come to me also…

Transmission and contagion… not the same. One is a cacophony. The other… it is a communication. In this moment, sitting with the still small voice… hearing that quiet focus in the dawning… the sacred touch of all dawn… there is a place to quiet the contagion… at distance, connected still… a lesson of the desert mothers and fathers. In this time of great learning… when the old saws have dulled in the practice of just running them across the stone… Dulled in the automatic script… Dulled in the speaking that has unhooked from the moment. That speaking that meets not a moment but a spin…

When the tide rises and the docks rise also, the sudden rush of … into this rising tide… speaking of the wane… the wane to come… it is the … wait, that moment is not now.

So again. The dawn has kissed this moment on this place on the planet. The contagion of cacophony is stilled for the rise… and now, into the day. The voices of all creation, speaking in and at and through… From this set of speaking comes a symphony. For the moment it may be a requiem. Or, a transition into new form. Certainly a song of creation. A gift. A wonder and a gift.

Of a dawning…

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Those days when… the isms of my own mind invite some to put away all of their sharp objects. … Others, those of communion, know that the path of thought and thinking … may be curious. And, also know that a conversation or breaking the bread…

The twisted narrative of a tangle… deep winding over this or that… a spider tangle… wrapping all about … that narrative is one of limit and or… perhaps not. The … narrative of tied up in knots. The… narrative of a collapse. The… narrative of … something that is beyond understanding; and yet is also … just over there, in linked, connected moment… just over there.IMG_8095

The blended moment as the light of a candle… lit in dark cave… now, as lent comes to an end… the invitation to move, as light, out into the world. The retreat is … made and now the movement is …

A candle, lit in deep darkness… As the darkest hour before dawn… This is lenten retreat. Image speaks. The tangle … seen from a distance as a capture… yet, from the inner place of linkage… it is a great weaving of all creation.

All creation. A blessing.IMG_8102

 

Lent 37

“…’‘He has a demon and is out of his mind. Why listen to him?’Others were saying, ‘These are not the words of one who has a demon. Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?’…” John 10:19-42

Invitation; the altar in the world

IMG_8064“… ‘I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again?…” John 9:18-41

Perhaps in the severing … there is a moment of creating linking.

Perhaps … in the severing, there is the raising up … of the altar in the wide world.

Listening through a reading that my eyes say to my ears… A rationalization through reporting of an application of rules across the entire span of the world. Though the fact patterns of understanding and belief are different across the whole, still, the rule is applied. A set of rigid ‘knowing’ that, when applied … leads to formation of so many levels of shift.

In some places, it just means that those who would not or could not, follow the dictum… will disappear from the ranks of those in company. And so, now outside, will continue a relationship with all creation. The dictum, meant to keep pure, creates another linkage or path… one that creates a new set of relationships. The severing by dictum… creation of yet another set of faith links.IMG_8058

At the same time, reading about the faithful unchurched. A fine writing that talks about the mourning of the passing of a place that was formative… and now … coming to terms in that place of expectant projection that the ‘church’ need not be perfect. It just needs faithful servants. The deep and troubling sense that in a dying community, the plaintive desire to have faithful servants is a teaching of servitude… On is not the other.

Last night, enjoying the monthly men’s club. A throw back of a gathering that has some taint of misogyny… and yet, in the breaking of bread, the sharing of story, the gathering together in a jumble of community… sharing pictures of children, now grown… sharing stories… some are old saws… told so often that there is not a sentence that can be a surprise to most of the listeners… all of this in a gathering of men. The club; growing with added generations. It may not survive another ten years… yet, it is a gift in this moment.

When a narrative is demanded in explanation … sometimes there is something in the demand, the demand that a story become a description of … of a world that makes the listener more comfortable … yet, the narrative … our story, it is of our stones, our partners, our hits, our misses. It is that moment of … just being in a story that is of comfort in the face of … at times, great discomfort.IMG_8061

Walking through the doors of a church that was once home… and is home no more… even when that place is in this, the home town… it is something that appears to be a demand of faith. Yet, the greater altar in the world is a church that invites attendance in every moment.

I neighbor who performed a great service was at dinner last night. I asked if he was going to send me a bill for the service… “Are you kidding,” he replied? “It took me all of 20 minutes.” His gift of twenty minutes saved me hours of anguish. I great and faithful gift of community. A gift of neighbor. A gift of friend. That is my church. Imperfect. Full of mission in community. It is the sunrise. It is the sun set. It is the workplace. It is the mail carrier. It is a political machine working to a greater good. It is the arc of an ending of career, seeking legacy. It is the old order, holding on and making the rules more and more to preserve… It is the dancing of the dogs in the morning and the smile of a small child dancing in the hall outside my office cube. It is the altar of a friend’s son, watching a movie and laughing … twinkling of the eye. It is the sadness at an old friend’s passing. It is the lifting up of a college classmate as a grandchild comes into the world. It is the celebration of parents health and healing in the arc of aging. It is the passing of a year in the life of each child… it is all of these and so, so much more.

I miss the rubric of the service. I miss the comfort of the hymn and the wonder of a reading; read well. I miss the gathering of choir … the preparation of the anthem, the sharing of humor in the loft, the long discussion of a service… planning for a celebration… the wonder of a mass, concluded in silence and reverence… the gathering of children… the crying of a child where the entire congregation breathes comfort to partner parents… raising up this song of living… In the houses that are declared sacred, there seems little room for this lifting up. The easing away of a generation… in sacred sense… there is something … easing away.IMG_8047

This altar in the world is something of a mystery. The altar, constrained in a building is equally so. The dictum of each is the chasm of living both on the mountain top and in the canyon. The valley between is home. As too are the mountain tops. That tithe that is all of what I am, it is given in places of wonder. It is given in small and large … and returned in the same coin. The gift of all creation speaks in the most unusual moments… That place is … a moment of just so. Just so indeed.

And so, in narrative, that story made up… the gift of this dawning day is to muse in a story told and the demand to tell it again. This time, each element of the telling is honored and owned. The best in the moment. In that owning, there is also a sense of permission to celebrate at the altar in the world.

The church… the altar in the world. Amen, and amen.IMG_8032

The Mocking page to invitation

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“… the truth will make you free.” John 8:21-32

The candle in the cave.

Light warming the darkness.

That place where, the empty page invites.

That place where the empty staff; music calls.

The invitation to dance with lyric, narrative, melody and poetry.

The invitation to dance in all creation.IMG_7932

Easy to put ‘truth’ in the context of demand.

Easy to put ‘truth’ in frame of law…

When the lenten candle lights the cave …

In preparation, in solitude, in quiet reflection…

In the cacophony of voices… all call truth…

Light warming darkness.

The meal inviting communion.

The soft touch of …

The light caress of …

The Candle in the cave.

No mocking.

Invitation.IMG_7933

No mocking.

And so the lyric, the narrative…

That lenten muse…

For in moment, in communion.

The page embraces.

The staff enfolds.

And the song pours forth.

In call creation.IMG_7934

Amen, and amen.

Amen, and amen.

… The Swirl of the Deep Dive

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03-27-19 Data and … the swirl of the deep dive.

Lent 22

“… but no one arrested him, because his hour had not yet come.”

  • John 8:12-20 –

This makes me think of tea parties. That amazing set of moments when one of the kids invites me to sit and share ‘tea’… We have little cups and saucers. It used to be my own kids… now it is the children of the Godmother or even a child at the office who has a few moments to sit for tea. … this phrase of arrest because an hour is not come… Arrest is an amazing thing. A heart in arrest. A fall in arrest. An idea in arrest. To see it in a moment of … not yet come.IMG_7880

As a life arc… that moment when the rising comes to a point of arrest and a fall to earth begins. Or, at the deepest arc of a dive… and then the arrest of the decent and the rising back to surface.

In the midst of rise or dive… we arc and get to that arrest point… and as we arc, we arc to path… as is set before … as our arrest hour is not come.

In this time of reflection, the dark which is not dark and the light which is coming into darkness… it is an arc. The cycle of arc. The darkest before the dawn. Not arrested for the hour is not come.

So what is the hour? To be in communion with this moment. The arc of this moment. For … that sharing is the light of all creation. And in that light, even in this dark… that light shines forth so deeply. The deep light of care, of linkage, of connection. In this tapping… the light of connection.

There is a swirl of data and granularity in the air this day. That data, gathering slowly over the past year. The activities now described in that data… It has been with some anguish that, as the delver into the pool of this granularity and data swirl… I admit to worry that the pool will not fill… now, that tap, turned full, has filled the pool. And, in the deep waters of information… a new arc of engagement begins. The filling has come to arrest. The dive is now begun. The darkness before dawn is now the warm pool of wonder.IMG_7910

What is the hour? The hour that is here. Awaiting an hour that… has not come; invites missing the hour that is the tea party. And, in the moment of a tea party… may we raise our cups in toast. Toast to the light in darkness. For that hour is come. And come again and again.

Of a Saturday Morning in February.

The wonder of such a morning.

I know that the bears, sitting with their figit spinner, are all focused on the day. It makes sense that they are focused. For, that is the pose that is their world.IMG_7507

I didn’t wake up thinking about a blog. I woke up thinking about the incredible beauty of the valley. Washed from days of rain. The sun is bright and makes believe that it is warm. Later today, there are meetings to ponder important issues of water, the cost of infrastructure, completition for resources… all of that concern that rings so important in the rising tide of leadership.

It is important work. Suddenly understanding that an old friend is positioning to take on another role in the fishbowl. That of moving from back bencher to an on the dais face. From gentures on the floor of the chamber to the raised seats. Even if he is not successful in this shift, he is working hard to create the option to ‘explore’ such a place.

Listening to young children, confronting leadership with great passion. That same leadership is equally passionate. Two blunt objects slamming into each other. A great deal of passion. A great deal of energy. The breakthrough is when both parties begin to listen and learn … shared passion, engaged in agreement of outcome. Understanding that it is not a place to which we go back. It is a journey that moves with time. So, there is not a place to return. It is a journey with story arc.

Triangles

The wonder of engaging is that we look easily to being collectivly for what we are against. I hear it in my own conversations between. The power of a movement, a sustained movement is to be for what we are for. The whole of the idea; a collective of human movement. It is messy. It takes time. It is about seeing beyond the next quarter. In that, and in the description of those areas where I can not engage this larger vision. There are some things that are not negotiable. The sacred moments where there is not the energy to argue into a void or against a tide of being for what we are against…

This muse of engaging systems for which a binary is a violent reduction of both the depth of system and the sustaining connections that feed and foster. In so many arguments of being for what I am against… the reduction to A or B… straw man standing… a great joke. The humor of efficient argument. And… of a Saturday morning in February, a place to stop. For, the wonder of the morning is that it is a gift, this day. Moment to moment, a gift. With thanks.

Putting things in context.

There seems to be an interesting issue that popped up today. That amazing moment when, out of the blue, an understanding that as a consultant, I am not following my own rules of setting questions in a context.

The wonder of … the boys and Mr. Bill.

Is it possible to see? After hours of client note input… the realization that the simple contextualization of the questions… who, what, where, when, how and why… was lacking in any sustainable format.

Every once in awhile, the format was grounded in context. Then, off the rails, it shifted to a hazy sense of form and function, simple questions, not anchored in scope, scale and context.

I’m not sure what that means except, once anchored in context, there is another set of clarity. The questions have a there – there to find grounding.

So there it is… a lesson from a rainy day. Anchored in context, a process takes on form and function. In that context, steps to shift, to grow, to find a succession plan, to fund a new endeavor… these all can find a path.

With out context, it is just blather. Actually, even with context it may be blather. That is a different issue. One for another moment. For the moment, it is a deeply felt lesson.