"I listen to the Wind..."

"I listen to the wind,
to the wind of my soul.
Where I'll end up,
well, I think only God really knows..."

It's been forty-six years since I first ran my thumbnail down the edge of the cellophane on the Cat Steven's "Teaser and the Firecat" album that I'd gotten for my 17th birthday.

Within days I'd memorized every word. Within weeks my dad was threatening to break that album into a million pieces -- if my sister and I played it one more time.

Today, I can still listen to that album, and remember which song comes next.  I know the exact moment when the next track will start, and am able to anticipate the momentary pause in his voice -- during a poignant verse. "The Wind," is still my favorite song.  It's lyrics still leave me feeling both hungry and satisfied all at once.

I have asked myself so many times, "Why did he not want water -- even once? Why was not wanting water important? What was the devil's lake?"  There are some songs that it will take me a lifetime to understand. This is one of those songs. And yet, for all of its mystery -- and perhaps because of it -- I love this song.  Always have, always will.

Some songs reveal themselves in bits and pieces. About 25 years ago I had an experience that helped me gain some insight into this song, especially the line:

"I listen to my words,
but they fall far below..."  

Our daughter was about 4 years old. It was a snowy morning and I was in a hurry to get her to preschool before heading back to my office for a full day of calls and appointments. I buckled her into the passenger seat of our old car and came around to the driver's side.

When I say "old car," I mean really old car. We were a very young family with a very modest income. The car I was driving - although clean and reliable - was rusty, worn, and road weary. I'd patched the floor with cardboard, and the clutch pedal had lost its rubber pad.  

That morning, as I hurriedly pressed down on the clutch to start the car, the snow-covered sole of my shoe slipped off the pedal.  Its metal edge popped up suddenly and caught my ankle bone.  I heard -- and felt -- a sharp crack.  The pain was excruciating.

Our daughter loved to pray. She knew that this was what her mommy did for other people. She loved to sit at her little desk and pray for her dolls and her stuffed animals. But sometimes, she would also pray for her friends and our dog. 

In that moment - sitting in the silent car - I knew that I couldn't walk back into the house and call someone to help me. So I turned to our daughter, and asked her to pray for mommy.

Immediately she closed her eyes. Within seconds I realized that all of the pain was gone and I could freely move my ankle. I have to admit I was surprised at how instantaneously the situation changed.

I turned to our daughter and exclaimed that I'd been healed. Her expression said, "of course."  I thanked her, and asked, "When you were praying for mommy, what were you thinking?"

I will never forget her response -- or the look of exasperation on her face. It was as if she was repeating something to a child she'd been instructing, on the same subject, for years.  And I still hadn't gotten it. She said:

"Mommy,
when I pray
I don't think,
I listen."  

It literally took my breath away, and then it changed my sense of what it means to pray -- forever.

It also explained -- for me -- something Mary Baker Eddy writes on the first page of her primary work, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, in the opening chapter, titled "Prayer":

"Prayer, watching and working,
are God's gracious means..."  

Prayer is not my means for reaching out to God. It is God's means for communicating Truth to human consciousness. Prayer is not my means for mentally rehearsing scripture, inspiration, or quotes. Prayer is God's means for reaching deep into my heart with His/Her Truth -- revealing whatever I need to know in, and about, any given situation.

My job was not to think, but to listen. To listen from a very deep place of humble surrender.  To listen with the childlike trust of a toddler attentive to her parent.

Earlier, in the Preface of Science and Health, Eddy states that:

"The human mind is not a factor
in the Principle of Christian Science..."
 

Silencing the human mind is a constant discipline. For over twenty-five years now, I have been humbly reminding myself that "to pray," is not to think, but to listen.  

The human mind so desperately wants to be a contributing factor, a collaborator, a partner with the divine.  It wants to believe that it can create a prayer.  That it can create an environment ripe for a miracle. Create a thought that will flip the switch on a situation.  Silly ego mind -- you are not a creator.  You are not a factor in the Principle of Christian Science -- the law of God. 

So, over and over again, throughout each day and long into the night, I arrest the human mind's desire to be heard.  I silence its running dialogue with itself.  And I quietly listen for the voice - the Word - of God to speak to human consciousness.  And where I end up -- where this listening will take my heart -- only God really knows.


offered with Love,

Kate

"In a crowd, or by myself...."

“I can be in a crowd
or by myself
or almost anywhere...
When I close my eyes,
no darkness there
there's only Love, and
I get on my knees ...”

Jaci Velasquez's "On my Knees"reminds me that I can never be too alone...or too overwhelmed by chaos, cynicism, or crowds...to drop to my knees (mentally or physically) in prayer. 

Nothing, and noone, can stop me from...stopping. From saying "no" to the clamor of urgency, "not yet" to the demand for an answer, or "I'm praying" to the impatience that thrives in the dark places of fear.

How often do we go to God "on the fly," thinking that we don't have time to just stop, and surrender our human sense of importance to the choreography of divine grace? To allow the space for being moved towards a solution by Love, rather than away from a problem out of fear.

In his acceptance speech for the nomination of his party -- as their candidate for a second term as President of the United Sates at the Democratic National Convention -- President Barack Obama quoted President Abraham Lincoln:

"I have been driven to my knees many times 

by the overwhelming conviction 

that I had no place else to go."

For me, this is not such a bad place to be. It's sometimes a blessing to find myself at the very end of all my well-intentioned -- and ofttimes desperate -- human thought-taking, and urgent grasping. To be standing at the edge of my self-importance, and to know that the only way out, is down on my knees.

And yet, how often do we measure someone's spiritual acumen by the perceived level of demonstrated "harmony" in their lives. It's a measuring stick dipped by the blind, into the murky depths a distorted glass beaker. How do any of us everreally know what another is facing in "the dark night of the soul."

President, pauper, or pilot, cowboy or CEO, the unemployed, the retiree, or the college freshman...we all live on the edge of our next great need for spiritual comfort, direction, healing, peace. And I don't know about anyone else, but if I am honest, I have to say that I spend most of that time, "on my knees." And I've learned that, to judge another's path by what we see on the outside, is like judging an athlete's strength and flexibility by the color and cost of their workout wear.

So, what can I do when I find myself in a dark moment of despair, or when I see my brother (or sister) in Christ facing a crisis of health, economy or faith? I can join them "on my knees." I can humbly can surrender my doing, for His stillness of Being. For the constancy of His care, the never-the-lessness of His peace, the insistence of His love...impartially and universally. Falling into the Truth of His presence, and trusting in His power, is the deepest and most satisfying rest I've ever known. And resting on my knees, in His presence, often gives me a spiritual perspective that is completely different than the one that sent me there.

There is never a situation so urgent, a question so important, or a decision so critical that we can't take a moment, and drop to our knees in prayer. Never. In his "dark night of the soul," our Master did just that. And his plea to his divine Parent: 

"Abba, Father, 

all things are possible unto thee; 

take away this cup from me..."

became, in the breath of a moment:

"...nevertheless not what I will, 

but what Thou wilt."

I love that word, "nevertheless." It is synonymous with the word "still." As in, "I will still be here." To be "still," is to be like Him in a profound way, to be "nevertheless." To be constant in our trust, unshakable in our clear conviction that we can alwaysstop, and pray. Or, as Mary Baker Eddy urges:

"Beholding the infinite tasks of truth, 

we pause, — wait on God. 

Then we push onward, 

until boundless thought walks enraptured, 

and conception unconfined 

is winged to reach the divine glory."

What a perfect thing to do, from the summit of one's knees...

with Love, 

Kate

"the answer..."

“I believe you are the answer
to every tear I've cried...”

Last night, I took my most yawning question to God in prayer.

His answer came in the form of a song...again.

Corinne May is one of the voices that seems to have deep spiritual resonance for me. Much like a tuning fork, it helps me find the true tone.

And in that place of perfect pitch...of sacred stillness, this song,  "The Answer" felt like just that...an answer. Not a "whew, glad I've got that figured out now," kind of answer. But a feeling of peace...a consciousness of His presence...that I could rest my hopes upon.

My prayer today is that we each feel that, "through the crosses we must carry"...our hearts are ever more closely bound to Him.

I'll let this song speak for itself....

with Love, 
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]