"silence...."

"Hello darkness my old friend
I've come to talk with you again.
Because a vision softly creeping,
left its seeds while I was sleeping..."

I think the first verse of Simon & Garfinkel's "Sounds of Silence," says it all for me today. 

Mother Teresa once wrote:

"We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature - trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence... We need silence to be able to touch souls. "

Whether this is a Truth, or just true for her...I do not know.  But something about it calls to me.  It's an inviation that I can't ignore.  It seems like a living, pulsing something asking for space in my life. I glimpsed its promise this summer, when...quite serendipitously...I had some time to just sit with myself. And what did I do with it?

Well, I ended up finding that I couldn't seem to silence the "self" that always wants to record it all in my journal, try to immediately make sense of what I was "hearing," and then search for the words to make it "make sense" for others.  In doing so, something was "lost in translation."  Besides which, I seemed to lose the true chord each time I tried to give it a name, a form, or put the substance of its message into words.

And in the midst of it all, I kept coming back to something I have long-loved, but have always been too busy trying to "find words" to explain it to others, to let its message move in, unpack, and take up real residency in my own hungry heart. Mary Baker Eddy suggests in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"The infinite Truth of the Christ-cure has come to this age through a "still, small voice," through silent utterances and divine annointing which quicken and increase the beneficial effects of Christianity.  I long to see the conssumation of my hope, namely, the student's higher attainments in this line of light."

I want to understand this...more than I can say.

There is a seed of something growing in my heart...I don't know what its voice will sound like...or if it will even have a voice that reaches beyond the silence.  But I want to sit with it, and let it take whatever shape God wants it to take.   I don't know if its song will have lyrics...but I know I have to listen. 

This time, I dare not...

"...disturb the sound of silence...."

with Love,

Kate

"Doin' nothing..."

"Slow down, you move too fast.
You got to make the morning last.
Just kicking down the cobblestones.
Looking for fun and feelin' groovy.
Hello lamppost,
What cha knowing?
I've come to watch your flowers growing.
Ain't cha got no rhymes for me?
Doot-in' doo-doo,
Feelin' groovy...."

I've been thinking about this 1967 Harper's Bizarre song, "59th Street Bridge Song," (otherwise known as, "Feelin' Groovy") today.  It's a song that makes me feel...well, like a child.  Talking to lampposts, kicking my way down a cobblestone street, making the morning last, wiggling my toes in the sand, accepting the moments -- one at a time -- as they come...this is what being a little child is all about for me. 

Giving yourself permission to live in the moment of discovery.  To be open to the serendipity of the day. 

Why do we deprive ourselves of this gift of Life, this sweetness of our living? 

There have been decades when just giving myself permission to even ask that question seemed foolhardy and irresponsible.  Looking back, I can trace many of my best-laid plans...especially the ones that "often go awry"...to my penchant for bull-headed task accomplishment, and a dogged commitment to  project management and meeting my personal goals. 

But as Dr. Phil would have asked, "how was that workin' for ya?"  Well, not so well, thank you.

Finding a deeper, and more conscious, connection to God has been key to recognizing the value of stopping in the midst of it all, and to just:

"be still..."

To put tasks and deeds on hold...even the ones that seem most important, vital, inspired, and well-planned...and become as a little child. 

This practice doesn't get me those brownie points and merit badges I have learned to work very hard for...being able to put a "completed" check on my TO DO list, or systematically work my way through the inspired writings of great spiritual thinkers.   But there is nothing like the directness of hearing the voice of your divine parent...in pure childlike moment of watching the grass grow, seeing the clouds shift into new shapes, and listening for to the music of tapdancing ladybugs...to realign your priorities.  

And you know, the more I have explored the lives...not just the writings...of those spiritual luminaries, the more I have discovered about their own practice of regularly walking away from the strains and demands of the day...the cares of this world... to just listen.

As a child I loved the writings of A. A. Milne.  His wisdom...as shared through the heart of a stuffed bear with "very little brains," still reaches me in ways that other writers can't.  This passage speaks to me this morning with fresh joy:

"What I like doing best is nothing," Christopher Robin thinks aloud. 

"How do you do nothing," asked Pooh after he had wondered for a long time.

"Well, it's when people call out at you just as you're going off to do it, They say,  'What are you going to do, Christopher Robin?' and you say, 'Oh, Nothing,' and then you go and do it.

It means just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."

"Oh!" said Pooh."

Yep.  That's exactly what it is.  Going along and listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering...not being bothered, stirred up with anxiety, worried, stressed by, in a fret about, troubled with, disquieted by the storm that roars around us.  It's a perfect agenda for a new spring day....

That doesn't mean being unaware, clueless, or careless...childish. It just means not being bothered by it all...childlike. To give it prayerfully, unguardedly, trustingly into the hands of your divine Parent. Leaving you free to listen for all the things you can't hear when you are trying too hard to be the grown up in the "room."

Don't you want to put that endless loop message on hold...the one that plays in your head saying, "hey you, don't you even think about it. You've got to stay on that grownup, big girl treadmill, or everything will fall apart"...and give it a whirl?  Like...today?  Even if all you have is a coffee break or a lunch hour, give yourself that time to stop having it all sorted out like a grown up, with your ducks in a row, and do nothing...it might just waken something in you that is so inspired and divine that it takes your breath away. 

"Got no deeds to do,
No promises to keep.
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.
Life, I love you,
All is groovy."

May your adventures in doing "nothing," lead you, as Shakespeare hoped:

"To unpathed waters, undreamed shores."

on to a day of wonder and delight...with Love, 
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

*Here is a fun video set to Simon & Garfunkel's version of "Feeling Groovy" if you prefer hearing their voices, to the original Harper's Bizarre recording shared above. 

"beyond the chains of thinking..."

"Hello darkness my old friend
I've come to talk with you again...."

Simon & Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence" speaks to me of a gentle darkness, a sweet emptiness, a delicate inner "void" I have learned to love, and am no longer unsettled by.  It is speechless.  And sometimes this silent voice of God comes so softly, almost imperceptibly, that I can really only feel Her touch if I am perfectly still, like a deer in the forest listening for the moccasined footsteps of an Indian princess as she tiptoes her scent through the fallen leaves. When this divine whisper brushes against my heart, it is not in words, but in feelings so tender that I find my eyes closing, unintentionally.  It is a moment of reverence so pure it takes my breath away.  And with this intake of breath, there is a shift in focus, my inner landscape takes on new dimensions, and what was once close becomes distant, while what was distant, draws infinitely near.  It is a touch that penetrates to the core place where there is neither time nor process, failure or accomplishment,  you or me.  It is beyond the chains of thinking...beyond reason.

What does freedom
look like
when you are
no longer
bound to
your
once-upon-a-time
beliefs
about
your life,
the
worn-out cliches
of someone else's story
about you,
the
fairy tale dreams
you recited
to yourself
...like mantras...
from beneath the covers,
long into the
darkness,
when
the world
was fast
asleep...

Can we ever...
is it possible
for us... 
to walk
beyond the
chains of
thinking,
wondering,
worrying,
if we might
just
be
the
product of
our own
worst
choices,
or
worse yet,
our own
best
thinking...

You are not
the outcome,
the offspring,
the effect
of
someone,
anyone
else's
rejection, neglect
abuse
abandonment...
or even,
their
love

you are
the breath of
Spirit
upon
an aspen leaf,
a drop of
holy water
on the tongue of
a saint,
the whisper of
forgiveness,
the sweetest song
to a mother
who
never meant
to
cause her
child's
tears

true
freedom
is to live
without want,
without
need,
without 
feeling
the dull ache
of thinking
there
might just be
something more...


it is
to
live
fully
within the
space of
having all,
in the
Allness
of
our
singular
relationship with Him.

it is
to be at peace
to be at home
to find heaven
in
a
closet,
a sepulchre,
a cell,
a cocoon,
a prayer....

In this space of spiritual surrender we discover that, as Sara Groves' assures us "It's Gonna Be Alright" And I believe...I really, truly, genuinely believe it is. In fact, I know it is.

""And when some time has past us,
and the story is retold
It will mirror the strength
and the courage in your soul
Oh, oh, I believe I believe,
that it's going to be alright...""

Especially when we have the courage to cast our cares on Him...for he careth for us...

for you...

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"Like a bridge over troubled waters..."

"When you're weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes,
I will dry them all;
I'm on your side. when times get rough
And friends just can't be found,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down..."
- Paul Simon

Saturday morning I witnessed a moment of love and courage that took my breath away...again.  Camp is full of those moments, and this summer is no different.   Moments when someone lays there own self-interest down to become a "bridge over troubled waters" for a camper, a friend...a cousin.

Saturday was Sunday for Sky Valley campers (the 3rd through 8th graders whose schedule accommodated Sunday School on Saturday this session).  Part of the Sunday tradition is an early morning 5K (or 3.1 mile) run through the South Woods.  Our daughters, Emma and Clara, along with their cousins and friends, love to participate in this opportunity to run through the woods, around the Round Up corral, down the road that bisects the high school level part of camp, and through a gaunlet of cheering high-schoolers on their way back down to Sky Valley.

I love it because it is a mid-camp opportunity to see the girls and to cheer on my nieces and my daughters' friends.  Clara came through the gaunlet with her friend, Cecily, smiling and strong.  I asked her where Emma was, and she indicated that her sister was somewhere behind her, so I stayed put waiting for her to come down the road.  When I caught a glimpse of her running along side her cousin, Tatiana, I was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

She avoided running through the bridge of raised arms...teens whooping and hollering...and ran straight towards me.  She collapsed into my arms in tears.  Tati stood next to us, rubbing her back and assuring her that she would be fine.  I walked her to the porch of my cabin and Tati followed, nursing her heart as we went.  In the midst of her tears she encouraged Tati to return to the race, telling her she would be okay. 

Then her tears really started to flow.  When her sobbing quieted a bit she told me that she wasn't crying because of the painful blisters that had screamed at her through the race, the cramps in her side that had taken her breath away in the middle of the woods, or the upset feeling in her tummy that made her want to lie down.  No, she was weeping because she was so amazed and grateful that her cousin had given up the possibility of winning the race to stay with her all along the trail.

This meant so much to Emma.  Perhaps it is because Emma loves to win races.  She is fast and she likes to compete.  The thought that her cousin would slow her pace to little more than a walk to care for her was heart-breakingly remarkable...and healing...to her. With a much-appreciated ride from a loving bunkhouse mom, Emma returned to Sky Valley already feeling much better.

While we waited for her to be picked up at my cabin, I explained to Emma that her cousin had won more than a race that day.  She had won the respect of everyone who knew what she had done.  She had won the love and admiration of her cousin, her aunt, and anyone who had discerned her sacrifice.  She had won a battle with the ego that always wants us to care more about self-interest than others.

Tati was my hero that morning.  She taught my daughter a lesson more important than how to win a foot race.  She taught her the true meaning of courage.  The root of the word "courage" is the Latin "couer" or heart.  Whenever we let our hearts speak more loudly to us than the voice of self-interest or personal accomplishment, we are at our most courageous best. 

"...When you're down and out,
When you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you.
I'll take your part.
When darkness comes
And pains is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.

Sail on silver girl,
Sail on by.
Your time has come to shine.
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine.
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind."

Thank you Tati, I love you...
Aunt Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

[photo credit:  Lila June Jones...Tati's mommy]