"a child, a snake, and a spoonful of milk...."

"Were you a blazing ball of fire
before you were ever born?
Did you find the cure for polio?
Invent the telephone?

Or were you disobedient at
the age of thirty-three
When some old Roman soldier
had you nailed up to a tree?

Maybe you were black and tired,
on the front seat of a bus,
Or on a protest march in Bombay
lying face down in the dust.

Maybe you were all of this and more,
Borrowed light from those who came before.

And the children who haven't yet been named
are stronger for your spark,
Stronger for your flame…"

- Randall Williams
from "Praying for Land"

This week's Bible study begs a reposting of this snake story:

"Nice snake..."

I absolutely love Randall William's, "Stronger for Your Flame," [the song starts at 1:40.] When I hear it I am reminded of a poem that has been a longtime - but missing-in-action - companion. Until yesterday, that is.  My copy of this 1990 Godfrey John poem serendipitously found its way back into my hands.  I originally discovered it in the Christian Science Monitor one morning almost thirty years ago, and tucked lovingly into my wallet.  It became my touchstone through a very difficult period.

Someone I loved and respected for his devotion to public service was being maligned, vilified, and treated with disdain -- after decades of admiration and trust.  I was heartbroken, but he wasn't.  His spiritual poise seemed untouched - unshakable.  When we spoke on the phone, or met in person I was always stunned by his grace -- his pure, unflappable grace.

Because we were friends and colleagues, the integrity of those who were close to him had also been called into question. It felt awful.   That is, until finally found the courage to phone him.  I was hungry for some direction about how I should proceed in correcting the misunderstandings and impositions on us all.  

He calmly asked me if I knew my own truth.  I responded that yes, I did. I was certain that I had done nothing wrong.  I knew that my motives, at every juncture, had been pure. And that even though - in hindsight - I might have taken different steps today, I was confident that I had been honest, prayerful, and humble in asking for divine guidance at the time.

He then turned me to a story that Mary Baker Eddy relates in the article "Taking Offense" from her book, Miscellaneous Writings 1883 – 1896:

"A courtier told Constantine that a mob had broken the head of
his statue with stones.  The emperor lifted his hands to his head,
saying: "It is very surprising, but I don't feel hurt in the least."

He then said to me, "you are not there."  You are not the "who," that they are throwing stones at.  They are attacking their own concept of the office that you represent to them, and seem to occupy -- healer, director, mother, father, wife, neighbor, church member.  They are throwing stones at the version of that office that they are holding in consciousness.  But only you know if that is you.  If it is, then it is your opportunity to correct it - with and for God. If it is not you, then you can't feel hurt in the least.  You do not live in their consciousness of you. You live in your consciousness of you.  You must ask yourself, "who is the source of my consciousness of myself - and of them?"

"So," I asked him,  "what should I do when I see them, think of them, or are told stories about what they are saying?"  I swear I could hear his silent smile through the phone as he sighed,  "Why, what else is there to do? You just love them. You truly love them."

This set me back on my heels.  Wasn't I supposed to defend him, me - all of us?

Then he reminded me of how Mary Baker Eddy follows up her story about about Constantine and the mob -- she writes:

"We should remember that the world is wide;
that there are a thousand million different human wills,
opinions, ambitions, tastes, and loves; that each person
has a different history, constitution, culture, character,
from all the rest; that human life is the work, the play,
the ceaseless action and reaction upon each other of
these different atoms.

Then, we should go forth into lifewith the smallest
expectations, but with the largest patience; with a
keen relish for and appreciation of everything beautiful,
great, and good, but with a temper so genial that the
friction of the world shall not wear upon our sensibilities;
with an equanimity so settled that no passing breath
nor accidental disturbance shall agitate or ruffle it;
with a charity broad enough to cover the whole world's evil,
and sweet enough to neutralize what is bitter in it,
--determined not to be offended when no wrong is meant,
nor even when it is, unless the offense be against God.

Nothing short of our own errors should offend us."

This story became a staff - and a rod - for me over the ensuing months.  A staff to lean on, and a rod to prod me forward towards a greater understanding, humility, grace.  It was such a help.

However, I am a visual person.  I love having mental pictures that I can connect with as I exercise new spiritual muscles.  The Constantine story was wearing thin, and I needed something fresh, something I could identify with.  I just didn't feel like an emperor ,and the image of a mob scared me.

That was when Godfrey John's poem appeared on my doorstep wrapped in newsprint.

Here it is:

"Nice Snake"

[Note from poet:  This poem is spun from a story
I was told of an actual little girl in South Africa]

Slowly and with no mistake
the giant snake is inching up
the veranda where the five year old
sits, joyfully sloshing her cereal

As if planned and without noise,
the boa constrictor guiltlessly
encircles the chair and the child in his coils.

He lets his eyes come close to hers.
"Nice snake!" she says, lifting
a spoonful of milk up to his mouth.

He feels excused.  He sips the milk.
She lifts the spoon to her own lips.
His innocence coincides
with hers.  Valued now, he waits.

She feeds him again with special care
"One for you and one for me."
Suddenly he dips his mouth
deep into the bowl.  The child
taps his head with her spoon and laughs:
"Naughty, naughty!  Wait your turn!"

The boa constrictor meekly places
his scaled face against her cheek.
Repentance is responsive to love.

Once again she lifts her spoon
full of light.  His lips sip.
They take turns till the bowl is empty.

Unhurriedly, then, he uncoils
and slides beneath the veranda steps.

We must de-mythologize.

Innocence can not be earned:
innocence is immanent;
innocence is untouched
by guilt or hurt or old age.

Innocence
is a child with a snake and a bowl of cereal –
astonishing the day,
celebrating art.

- Godfrey John

I connected with this poem on such a deep, visceral level. I had just been to Africa, I had seen snakes, I knew the way they were feared.  And I had a little girl who was fearless when it came to snakes, and bugs, and growling dogs -- I wanted to be like her.

This poem became the space I lived in.  It became my posture in loving.  I was willing to share my cereal, but I was also clear about identifying my tablemate. But more importantly, it helped me understand my friend's spiritual poise -- his unshakable dignity, grace and compassion.

This poem became my companion.  In fact, it was such a priceless treasure that we gave it as a gift to our friends in our Christmas cards that year.  More than one asked if the little girl in the poem was our South African daughter -- it was not.

Through my many moves since then, I had misplaced my original copy of the poem and would often try to recall the words I had memorized over twenty years earlier.  I would have a strong grip on ten or twelve lines and then miss a word and not be able to find the rhythm again.  I had been thinking about it a lot over the last year or so, and had on a number of occasions searched folders full of scrips and scraps of quotes, the insides of books (a favorite home for poems and quotes in my library) and old journals - but to no avail.

Then, out of the blue a letter arrived from my mom.  She was harvesting some of her old files and came upon some Christmas cards, photos, and clippings from "once upon a time" and decided to send them to me -- and in that packet was a copy of the Christmas card with our gift of the "Nice Snake" poem.

So,  today I am sending out this post-Christmas card - again. Some of you received it over 20 years ago  Others might be reading it for the first time today. Its message, for me, is still a precious gift.

There are times when we all face misunderstanding, criticism, persecution.  Knowing where our innocence lies and Who defines us -- to ourselves -- is critical in finding peace of mind, and growth in grace.  Jesus, Gandhi, Mandela, Eddy are our mentors in this classroom.

My utmost thanks to Godfrey John for writing it.  To my dear friend who taught me to live with dignity while under fire, as a "whole-souled woman." To Randall Williams for reminding me that we are all sparks to one another's flame.  And to each of you,  for your ongoing example of humility, courage, affection, and trust. I feel so blessed. 

offered with Love, 

Kate

"Innocence is a child with a snake..."

"Were you a blazing ball of fire
before you were ever born
Did you find the cure for polio?
Invent the telephone?
Or were you disobedient at
the age of thirty-three
When some old Roman soldier
had you nailed up to a tree?

Maybe you were black and tired,
on the front seat of a bus,
Or on a protest march in Bombay
lying face down in the dust.
Maybe you were all of this and more,
Borrowed light from those who came before.

And the children who haven't yet been named
are stronger for your spark,
Stronger for your flame…"

- Randall Williams
from "Praying for Land"

This week's Bible study is begging me to repost this snake story....with Love:

"Nice snake..."

I absolutely Randall William's, "Stronger for Your Flame," (the song starts at 1:40), and when I hear it I am reminded of a poem that has been a longtime...but missing-in-action...companion. Until yesterday, that is.  My copy of this 1990 Godfrey John poem found its way back into my hands.  I originally discovered it in the Christian Science Monitor one morning almost twenty years ago, and it became my touchstone through a very difficult period. 

Someone I loved and respected for his devotion to public service was being maligned, vilified, and treated with disdisdain, after decades of admiration and trust.  I was heartbroken…but he wasn't.  His spiritual poise seemed untouched…unshakable.  When we spoke on the phone, or met in person I was always stunned by his grace...his simple, unflappable grace. 

And because we were friends, my integrity (and that of his other friends) had also been called into question. And it felt awful.   I finally had the courage to phone him.  I was hungry for some direction about how I could proceed in correcting the impositions.  He calmly and joyfully asked me if I knew my own truth.  I responded that yes, I did. I was certain that I had done nothing wrong.  I knew that my motives at every juncture had been pure. And that even though, in hindsight, I might have taken different steps today, I was absolutely sure that I had been honest, prayerful, and humble in asking for divine guidance, at the time. 

He then turned me to a story Mary Baker Eddy relates in the article "Taking Offense" from her book, Miscellaneous Writings 1883 – 1896: 

"A courtier told Constantine that a mob had broken the head of
his statue with stones.  The emperor lifted his hands to his head,
saying: "It is very surprising, but I don't feel hurt in the least."

He then shared with me that "you are not there."  You are not "who" they are throwing stones at.  They are attacking their own concept of the office you occupy…healer, director, mother…they are throwing stones at a version of that office that they are holding in consciousness that they don't like.  But only you know if that is you…and if it is…it is only between you and God to correct it.  If it is not you…then you can't feel hurt in the least.  You do not live in their consciousness of you...you live in your consciousness...and you must ask yourself who is the source of your consciousness of you...and of them.

"So what should I do when I see them, think of them, or are told stories about what they are saying?" I asked.   I could hear his silent smile through the phone as he sighed,  "Why, what else is there to do….you love them…truly love them."

This set me back on my heels.  Wasn't I supposed to defend him, me…all of us?

Then he reminded me of how Mary Baker Eddy follows up her story about about Constantine and the mob, she says:

"We should remember that the world is wide;
that there are a thousand million different human wills,
opinions, ambitions, tastes, and loves; that each person
has a different history, constitution, culture, character,
from all the rest; that human life is the work, the play,
the ceaseless action and reaction upon each other of
these different atoms. 

Then, we should go forth into lifewith the smallest
expectations, but with the largest patience; with a
keen relish for and appreciation of everything beautiful,
great, and good, but with a temper so genial that the
friction of the world shall not wear upon our sensibilities;
with an equanimity so settled that no passing breath
nor accidental disturbance shall agitate or ruffle it;
with a charity broad enough to cover the whole world's evil,
and sweet enough to neutralize what is bitter in it,
--determined not to be offended when no wrong is meant,
nor even when it is, unless the offense be against God.

Nothing short of our own errors should offend us."

(There is more, but for the purpose of this piece, I would like to stop here with that statement. )

These statements became a staff and a rod for me over the ensuing months.  A staff to lean on and a rod prodding me forward towards greater understanding, humility, grace.   However I am a visual person.  I love mental pictures to connect with as I exercise new spiritual muscles.  The Constantine story was wearing thin…I needed something fresh, something I could identify with.  I just didn't feel like an emperor and the image of a mob scared me.

That was when Godfrey John's poem appeared on my doorstep wrapped in newsprint. 

Here it is:

"Nice Snake"
(Note from poet:  This poem is spun from a story
I was told of an actual little girl in South Africa)

Slowly and with no mistake
the giant snake is inching up
the veranda where the five year old
sits, joyfully sloshing her cereal

As if planned and without noise,
the boa constrictor guiltlessly
encircles the chair and the child in his coils.

He lets his eyes come close to hers.
"Nice snake!" she says, lifting
a spoonful of milk up to his mouth.

He feels excused.  He sips the milk.
She lifts the spoon to her own lips.
His innocence coincides
with hers.  Valued now, he waits.

She feeds him again with special care
"One for you and one for me."
Suddenly he dips his mouth
deep into the bowl.  The child
taps his head with her spoon and laughs:
"Naughty, naughty!  Wait your turn!"

The boa constrictor meekly places
his scaled face against her cheek.
Repentance is responsive to love.

Once again she lifts her spoon
full of light.  His lips sip.
They take turns till the bowl is empty.

Unhurriedly, then, he uncoils
and slides beneath the veranda steps.

We must de-mythologize.

Innocence can not be earned:
innocence is immanent;
innocence is untouched
by guilt or hurt or old age.

Innocence
is a child with a snake and a bowl of cereal –
astonishing the day,
celebrating art.

- Godfrey John

I connected with this poem on such a deep level…I had just been to Africa, I had seen snakes, I knew the way they were feared.  I had a little girl who was fearless when it came to snakes, and bugs, and growling dogs…I wanted to be like her.

This poem became a space I lived in.  It became my posture in loving.  I was willing to share my cereal, but I was also clear about identifying my tablemate as eager to share too. It also helped me to understand my friend's spiritual poise…his unshakable dignity, grace and compassion.

This poem was my companion.  In fact it was such a priceless treasure, that we gave it as a gift to our friends in our Christmas cards that year.  More than one asked if the little girl in the poem was our South African daughter…it was not.

Through my many moves since then I had misplaced my original copy of the poem and would often try to recall those words I had memorized twenty years earlier.  I would have a strong grip on ten or twelve lines and then miss a word and not be able to find the rhythm again.  I had been thinking about it a lot over the last year or so and had on a number of occasions searched folders full of scrips and scraps of quotes, the insides of books (a favorite home for poems and quotes in my library) and old journals, but to no avail. 

When out of the blue a letter from my mom arrived.  She was harvesting some of her old files and came upon some Christmas cards, photos, and clippings from "once upon a time" and decided to send them to me…and in that packet was a copy of the Christmas card with our gift of the  "Nice Snake" poem.

So,  today I am sending out this early Christmas card to each of you…some of you received it almost 20 years ago…others will read it for the first time today…its message, for me, is still one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.

My utmost thanks to Godfrey John, to my dear friend who taught me to live with dignity while under fire as a "whole-souled woman," and to each of you,  I am so blessed…
Kate

"...with lovingkindness have I drawn thee..."

"…if I could build a causeway,
I'd build it to your door;
step by step and stone by stone
'til we're apart no more…"
- Daithi Rua

This hauntingly beautiful version of Daithi Rua's song, "Causeway," is the last track on Randall Williams' new CD Praying for Land.  It has been playing through my heart for the last week.  I even found myself cueing it up, over and over again, as I worked in the kitchen, watered the herbs, or dusted.   Another lovely line from the last verse says:

"If in Scandanavia, it was you I found
…I'd take you in my giant's hands
and hold you all the night…"

I don't know what Irish folksinger/songwriter, Daithi Rua's muse, or motivation, was in writing this beautiful song, but this week it spoke to me of God's love…of God's desire to come to us and draw us to Him…to "take us in His giant's hands and hold us all the night".

This is what is filling my heart this week.  The Father's love for His child…His children.  His desire for a relationship with us that draws us to Him…to His "kingdom of heaven" that is within each of us…infinitely near.

My study of Scripture this week includes the statement from Jeremiah,

"Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love:
therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee."

Over the years this Bible verse has evolved and expanded for me.  I have often found myself praying with it in moments of hunger, when the longing for a greater understanding of my relationship to God and His love for me…and mine and all…presses me to dig deeper, go farther with His message than just a passing consideration of its profound promise.

My earliest "Aha!" about this passage came to me as an artist.  I had been thinking of myself as overweight, making careless errors and taking less than graceful steps as I moved forward in life. It was about this time that I was again led to consider this verse, but this time I loved thinking about God as The Artist, drawing my life with a spiritual pencil.  That His hand was true and that He loved His subject.  I was drawn beautifully, accurately, carefully by my Father who was the greatest artist in the universe.

Then there was the time when I thought my life was without meaning.  I just wanted to know what God wanted from me.  I felt directionless and scattered.  I prayed that He would tell me what He had created me to be.  Was I a scholar, a healer, a school teacher, a publisher, an artist, a lawyer, a mom, a wife, a poet, a writer…I thought that if He would just tell me what I should focus on I could finally get some traction and be something.

Again this verse came to thought and yet this time the mental picture was of The Great Cellist.  I was His instrument and he was drawing His great bow across my strings.  Drawing chords of creativity one moment, and chords of contemplative silence, a love for the law, or a desire to write, read, nurture, sing…the next.  As an instrument I had a full set of strings.  Every chord, note, rest, and crescendo found in a symphony, folk song, or rock opera could be drawn from the body of my completeness.  I only had to be…to be ready…The Great Cellist would keep me "in tune" and He would draw from me, with His bow, the music he needed each and every moment.

Another time I was feeling overwhelmed, depleted as a wife, mother, housekeeper, friend and professional.  And again it was this verse that came to sustain me.  Only this time I was water and the Great Mother was drawing a bath for Her children.  I came from an infinite reservoir of affluence…a rushing river of clear, pure, sparkling gifts…every drop of me was complete.  Every drop was H2O (or in my case, the full reflection of Principle, Mind, Soul, Spirit, Life Truth and Love…PMSSLTL to the infinite!)…nothing more, nothing less. God was drawing me from the deep well of divine refreshment, purity, nourishment, sustenance, and buoyancy.  The minute he turned the spigot I flowed fully and freely without fear of depletion.  And He was always, and only, ever drawing me with loving kindness…never in a way that would leave the silt of martyred exhaustion, a false nobility, or a self-conscious need for acknowledgment or appreciation.

But this week, when this verse came to me again…set to the music of Randall's final cut, Causeway, I heard it yet in a different way. 

This time I was His daughter and He was the Perfect Father.  He was drawing me to Him.  He was walking towards me and putting His arm around my shoulder and pulling me into His strong embrace.  I was home.  As I pondered and felt this truth, I let myself surrender to that embrace.  Dissolving into the warmth of His strong arms where I could hear His heartbeat setting the cadence of my life.  Slowing my maddening rush with its constant, rhythmic "I AM", stilling all demanding, silencing all concern, drowning out the voices that would tell me I am a wayfaring stranger rather than a beloved daughter, a princess in the Kingdom of my Father.

Thank you Abba,
Kate

"Praying for land..."

"...You were Hillary and Norgay at the summit,
Neil Armstrong, with both feet on the ground,
You were Wilbur and Orville yelling madly
As the plane touched down,
You're a sailor staring out at the ocean,
A child's telescope pointed at the sky
You're the mother who names her child Amelia
Yearning to fly.

You were the thousands
who sailed for the new land
And the hundreds who made it safely home
Sun-bleached and torn by adventure
Weathered to the bone…"
- Randall Williams

Randall Williams' "Praying for Land" is the title cut from his 2006 release, a must-have CD for the spiritual  thinker who longs to sail…without instruments… into the depths of "the sea within." It is for those who are willing to wrestle with new ideas, shatter old paradigms and stretch the borders of what constitutes "home."    Or, as folk radio DJ Mara Noelle at KVMR characterized this collection, "...meaningful songs that remind us the world is made small by a common need for love, peace, and dreams."

I love this CD.  I have waited (not so patiently) for its release since first hearing the title cut almost a year ago in our dining room one Saturday morning after omelettes and marmalade and Ginger Peach tea.  The hairs rose at the nape of my neck that morning as words started building, one carefully crafted line upon another, towards a heart piercing message of the power and grace.  Randall's verses take you apart...and put you back together again...long before the last chorus whispers (or roars) a phrase you won't get out of your heart for days.  

Randall is a consummate Renaissance man….but more importantly he is a profound thinker, a contemporary "Pete Seeger" with a revolutionary's vision and a poet's vocabulary.  Every word is nuanced with spiritual undertones…every line gently punctuated with social activism, plaintively begging us to take responsibility for out actions…and our thoughts.

I love Randall's balance of resonant vocals and clear articulation, I am stunned by his brilliant right-hand work on the guitar - and knowing his heart, I trust the integrity of his "voice" - he lives the message.

"Praying for Land" is one of those songs that speaks to my heart a message of encouragement…and consolation.  So many times I have wondered, "What is this hunger to push out into open water that seems so imperative within me?  Why am I not content with the status quo.  Why do I seem to need to know more, see farther, go deeper?"

But "Praying for Land" gave me some clues. And although I'm not sure what Randall's intent was, my inner wanderer said, "Ahhh…it is You, dear God.  You are "the Mother who names her child Amelia,...yearning to fly."   You, dear Mother, have named me Kate.  You are the One yearning to write. It is You...You are yearning to sing, to think, to heal.  It is You within me…and Orville, and Wilbur, and Neil Armstrong…and everyone of us.

Thanks Randall for the reminder….come back soon for marmalade and omelettes and Ginger peach tea…bring your guitar…and your passion for singing the song within...that cannot be silenced.

"You are the dreamer;
You are the hope of men
Forever hoisting sail,
Forever pushing on,
Forever praying for land."
- Randall Williams

listening,
Kate
[To order Randall's CD "Praying for Land" you can contact randall@whereisrandall.com]