"If I could ever say it right..."

"If I could ever say it right
And reach your hostage heart...despite
the doubts you harbor
Then you might,
Come to believe in me.

If I could only do one thing,
Then I would try to write, and sing
A song that ends your questioning
And makes you believe in me
Oh, you can believe in me...."
- Dan Fogelberg

Does God say it right...to you?  Does Love reach your hostage heart...despite the doubts you harbor?  He does in my life...and often, through "the Word."  The Word comes to us in many forms.  There are the more accepted and obvious literary vehicles.  The Bible, the Koran, the Torah, the poetry of Hafiz, tablets of stone carried down from Mt. Sinai, spiritual texts from many philosophies, religions, belief systems...all satisfy our hunger for something enriching, comforting, and edifying.  And then there is the presence of the Word as the Logos.  The Logos is often defined as "divine reason" the presence of Truth in the heart, divine discourse, an indwelling grace.  This is where God's voice feels most real to me.  This doesn't lessen, but enhances, my love for reading the Bible, Science and Health, and other spiritual texts. In their company, I find a timeless sense of community. 

Someone asked me recently, "Why do you read the Bible?  Is it so that you will have the right ideas to heal someone?" I didn't have to pause long to think about my answer.  It's one that I've given a lot of thought to.  It came in the form of a quote I read once on a Celestial Seasonings teabag:

"We read to know we are not alone."
- CS Lewis

I believe that CS Lewis got it right.  Since Mind is All-in-all.  We already include all intelligence, all knowledge, all inspiration.  So we are not reading to discover something new.  We are reading to discover we are not alone in the thoughts that keep us company in our silence, in the sweet sacred waking hours of the night, in the holiest of holies...the space of prayer.

I do not read the Bible to find something I think I have never known. I read the Bible, the Tao, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Lewis' "Screwtape Letters" to remember more of what I already know, already include, already delight in.  I read to feel fellowship with another thinker who can't stop him/herself from writing a "song" that forwards someone else's questioning, and helps them believe in themselves...in the presence of the great I AM within themselves.

Spiritual thinker and thought-leader, Mary Baker Eddy, said it so beautifully when she wrote:

I have nothing new to communicate;
all is in your textbooks.
Pray aright and demonstrate your prayer;
sing in faith."

Tonight I was listening to Dan's song, "Believe in Me" and I found myself wandering into the pages of the Gospels, walking with Jesus on his journey from the baptism, through the wilderness, and towards his destiny as a healer and pathfinder for spiritual thinkers of every age and tradition. 

Poetry is "my native tongue" as I wrote in this linked post from September of 2007.  And the poem that follows below, is one that I found my heart singing...again..as I kept pace with him along the dusty road earlier today.  The words and rhythm felt familiar but I couldn't remember where I'd heard it before, until I was led to finally clean out a folder that had been recovered from an old hard drive two years ago.  This poem was there.  It is one I'd written in 2005 and had not read since.  It had poured out late one night when I was hungry for a more genuine relationship with Jesus.  I'd been feeling a like he was someone I spoke about...not to...or more importantly, with.  This poem was the beginning of something more timeless, present, and rich with fellowship between us.   

This is just the first poem of dozens.  Dozens of conversations with him that flow in poems.  Conversations that I've experienced on our walks through the holy land of consciousness:

the gift
descended
like a dove
...surprising

surprising
to see a dove
descending from
heaven

to hear
a
voice

to
feel the water
pouring
like
silk over
my forehead
and through dust-coated hair
and lashes

the gift descends
from
where there seems to be no
reservoir of
hope

and yet from the
unseen...
from somewhere
beyond the
clouds
there is a voice
that whispers
thunders
roars
a promise
of
love

the gift descends
and
we are caught
off guard,
breathless,
driven to our knees
in awe
wet from the
baptism,
spent with
surrender,
dazed by the
anointing

we are
on our
tiptoes
waiting
without
sandals
feet bare
unshod
on holy ground

we are
naked before
His
knowledge of
our hearts' most
unspoken
longings

egos are
shattered by His
grace,
by His
love,
by His
gift....

I am His son
He is pleased?


then why
then...
ah..."then"

the wilderness
the hunger
the temptations
the taunting
the false promises and
coercion,
hypnotic offers of bread and
celebrity

but
we
are
not
afraid
of this jeering...
snake
pharoah
satan
baal
herod
devil...

I am well-prepared...
a childhood of study...Hebrew school
Shabbat, Passover
conferring
with the elders
a stolen afternoon at twelve
alone with
doctors, lawyers, holy men
learned Rabbis
hours with the Torah
mornings in the temple
I am ready

I remember

I know...I have always known

"It is written..."

and the Word was made flesh...
and angels
ministered...
the sweetest bread
the Word...

ah yes, the gift...

you remember too...
don't you?

shared with Love,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

[photo credit: Stacey Vandermast Barton 2010]

"Thank you for hearing me..."

Downtown Hays, Kansas

"Thank you for hearing me
Thank you for hearing me
Thank you for hearling me
Thank you for hearing me…"
-     Sinead O'Connor

And thank you for hearing the difference.

On Monday afternoon I backed out of the driveway and waved a bittersweet "see you Sunday…" to my dear husband and our silly puppy….the girls were already at school. I was heading west…heading home.  As each Midwest mile slipped away behind me and the Rockies beckoned...invisibly at first from in front of me...tight bands of aching loosened from around my heart and each breath came more freely and fully.

I wasn't surprised.  Sometimes just getting on the road to somewhere I am only known--and defined by my moment by moment behavior of genuine humanity, authentic compassion, and those blessedly random opportunities to act with kindness--is the most refreshing and renewing time for me.

After enjoying a lovely dinner with a dear friend in Kansas City, I got back on the road looking forward to the next day's sidetrips into small towns like Hays, Abilene, Colby and Stratton.  There is something so reaffirming about getting off the highway in a little Midwest farming community and wandering into their downtown.  A coffeehouse or bakery on a near empty Main Street beckons and I am completely at home.  As I walk through the front door I know that I will only be judged on how considerate I am of others, how patient I am with the person behind the counter. My character will be determined by my behavior.  I will not be known for past successes or failures, but by how I behave and interact with those I come in contact with each moment....moment by moment.

As I was pondering whether to stop in a rest area to check emails (did you know that the rest areas along Route 70 in Kansas have free wifi ?!?!?) my cell phone rang.  I picked it up and answered with my usual, "This is Kate.." greeting and it was a friend from St. Louis, just calling to let me know she was thinking about me on my drive.  Then she asked the most unusual question, "Is this really you, your voice sounds so different?  You sound so clear and strong and peaceful and happy."

Hmmm…what did my voice usually sound like?  Well, I knew the answer to that question.  It often sounded, even to me, strained, concerned… uncertain, not of God…but of myself.  I realized that lately I have often looked at my self through the lens of how others might be seeing me.  I worry about whether I am judged, kindly or harshly, by my past choices, mistakes, successes or failures.  This observation by my friend gave me a lot to ponder.  I spent most of the night, as I wended my way across eastern Kansas (stopping often to check emails or nap), wondering if my voice sounded different because I was away from St. Louis. Or was it perhaps that I was already anticipating being completely free of past impressions or future expectations…living only in the moment of being good, kind, generous, patient with anyone I would meet on my travels.

When I stopped in Hays the next morning for breakfast at Café Semolina I was conscious of how much I loved just striking up a conversation with the young woman behind the counter.  She was graceful, kind to the older gentleman in line before me, and happy to serve me my tea and scone.  I learned that she had moved to Hays from Maine earlier that year to be near her parents who had relocated to Kansas for her dad's work.  She liked the weather, but missed the ocean.  We talked for a bit about things we both loved and then I found a place on the sofa by the fireplace to work.  I could hear my voice…resonant, strong, confident…echoing through my heart. 

My friend had pointed out the difference in the way my voice sounded on the phone the night before, the way someone with perfect pitch can sense when an instrument is out of tune.  By letting me know what the true tone sounded like and when she heard it, I could then identify what it felt like and where it came from and practice living out from that space. 

God's name is "I AM."  I will never find the voice of God…in myself or in others…if I am speaking or listening for messages based in "I was" or "I will be"..."What if" or "What might"...

Keeping my instrument in tune with the perfect pitch of God as I AM is now vital to me.  I want my voice to echo His…only.

My friend later shared this in an email:

"On the way to church tonight I was thinking about acoustics and comparing one's inner voice to a musical instrument. The tone quality inherent in an instrument never changes, but it sounds very different depending upon the acoustics of the room in which it is played.  In a "dead" room, a Stradivarius violin may still be lovely but in a limited way, but play it in a concert hall and WOW!  I was looking at it all wrong--your voice doesn't change in St. Louis, but as you said, you hear it differently away from here.  The other night, I heard your voice in a concert hall!"

For me, this was what I needed to hear.  The dead room was my concept of myself based on a "dead" past…or a not yet "born" future.  The "concert hall" was not a place…a road in Kansas, a camp in Colorado or a cottage by the ocean off the coast of Maine. 

The "concert hall" I was playing my instrument in that night was a consciousness so grounded in the freedom of I AM that it wasn't looking backwards or forwards, but enjoying the moment of being…in the nowness of I AM…right now! Everytime I look back at myself, or someone else, through the lens of the past...or through a conditional lens of the future...as in: "when you do this, then I will love you, be kind to you, accept you"...I am sitting in a dead room with a divinely-created Stradivarious, wasting the moment. But when I live and love in the present-tense-ness of the I AM, the only reality that God knows...I am in the Carnegie Hall of being. I have the opportunity to be living as if I've just wandered on to Main Street, Hays, Kansas and any door I walk through will be magical with promise.

I'm ready to BE...to be heard, to be kind, to be me...not just have been, or be someday...and to let everyone else BE too. But it took a road trip, and the listening heart of a friend with perfect pitch to discover what my true voice sounded like and how to practice using an "in tune" instrument. My week was full of concert hall moments...and continues to be, right here in St. Louis. Now that I have found my voice, I intend to keep it in tune and only play it in the best acoustical settings...a consciousness filled with the I AM of God, Love. 

"...Take my voice, and let me sing
Always, only, for my King.
Take my lips, and let them be
Filled with messages from Thee...

…I am Thine, and I will be
Ever, only, all for Thee."
-     F.R. Havergal

With Love and gratitude for the perfect pitch of friendship….it always detects the true tone...
Kate

"My sweet Lord..."

"My sweet Lord
Hmm, my Lord
Hmm, my Lord

Now, I really want to see you
Really want to be with you
Really want to see you Lord
But it takes so long, my Lord

My sweet Lord, Hallelujah
Hmm, my lord Hallelujah
My, my, my lord Hallelujah…"
-     George Harrison "My Sweet Lord"

This time it didn't take so long.  But I am getting ahead of myself. 

On Mondays and Thursdays I am at a college for office hours.  At this college, the 30 minutes from ten to ten-thirty is spent in quiet.  Students, staff, faculty…everyone stops for thirty minutes of silent inspiration…or at least I think that is the intent.

Last term I spent that half hour studying, taking calls, praying for myself…and others.  Yes, it was quiet, it was inspiring…but somehow it wasn't very different from the rest of my day as a spiritual healer.  It was a continuation…not the interruption…of my work day, and it was not "quiet" in the way I needed.  I knew the difference. 

But this term I had the opportunity to hear a friend talk about her relationship with "quiet time" and it felt all to0 familiar…and the insights, very exciting.  She shared in our Wednesday worship meeting that she, too, had struggled within herself about how to use this space of time.  At one point colleagues had invited her to join them in their outdoor quiet circle and that week she had decided to put her quiet "work" - reading, studying, preparing for the next class - aside and go sit in silent communion with her friends.  She said that it was such a rich and inspiring time for her. 

Something about her experience resonated with me.  I wanted that "something more" again.  I wanted to not be so busy in my prayer and quietness.  With her encouragement,  the next time I was at the college I shyly joined their silent circle in the sun.  And it was glorious.  Thirty minutes of true silence.  No prayer agenda items, treatments, ToDo lists, rehearsing of quotes or citations, wrestling with "angels",  or mental arguments….just silence, just listening...no mental speaking.   When a thought would come, I would gently usher it into stillness.  I had forgotten how much I really LOVED meditative silence.   At the end of that first day I was hooked.  I couldn't wait for my own self-imposed quiet times…thirty minutes, an hour, two….back to basics.  Back to the very foundation stones of my spiritual practice.  Not praying about, or for, anything or anyone….just listening.  No mantras, statements of affirmation…just silence.

And the more I sat with my silence the better I became at watching thoughts….some benign, and some not so good…wandering  in, trying to get a rise out of me, giving up, and leaving for lack of engagement.

So, that brings us to this morning.  It was a gorgeous fall day in Elsah.  The air was cool, the sun was bright…but not hot.  I made my way to the concrete circle in the middle of the lawn right as the Chapel bells rang at the top of the hour.  I sat on the brick pavers, wrapped my paisley pashmina around my shoulders to ward of any chill that might distract, leaned back against the high concrete curbing and closed my eyes. 

I let the sun and the silence penetrate deeply.  I opened my eyes briefly as three other women joined the circle but quickly returned to the stillness of a space that was full in its emptiness.

As I sat there listening, I heard a man at right at my left ear say, "Excuse me…" in the warmest, kindest, richest voice.  It was so close that I almost felt His breath move the stray hairs near my ear. From somewhere deep inside I immediately responded with "Speak Lord, for Thy servant heareth…"  But there was nothing more.  I wondered for the briefest moment if perhaps I was mistaken and someone had actually come by the office, seen me outside in the circle, and come over to gently ask for help.  I opened my eyes briefly, but there were only the three other women in the circle…no men. 

It was then that I truly knew that it was God's voice I had heard.  You see, God's voice to me has always been a woman's voice.  But today, had I heard a woman's voice I might have assumed it was one of the other women in the circle speaking.  This voice was so clearly not a woman's and so obviously His….and I was so grateful.

It was only then that I pondered what God had actually said.  "Excuse me…" in the loveliest way.  Gently inserting His voice...and presence...into my reverie.  It was like my small daughter's gentle tug at the hem of my jacket after church as I stood in the lobby talking to friends, or my mother's loving "excuse me" at my bedroom door when as a child I would have stayed up too late reading and she wanted me to know that she was still up and I might want to turn out the light and get some rest…

It was a gentle reminder of His presence…and it was wonderful…
Kate