Spurred on by my readings in The Feminine Face of God, I decided to attend a Full Moon Circle this week. It's an all-women spirituality group that I've only been to a handful of times. This week's theme was about thin places; places that are personally sacred. We each went around the room and shared heartfelt stories about where we have felt close to the sacred. The locations spanned the whole world. Some of mine include the beach in Belize I've written about before as well as mountains in general, especially The Blue Ridge Parkway. After sharing about my own thin places and hearing about other people's, I became worried. All the thin places I could imagine were either in the past or not some place I could easily access. Several people spoke of thin places that were special and sacred to them now. I racked my brain and realized a surprising thin place for me: prayer. Not prayer by myself, which I admittedly don't practice very often, at least not in the traditional sense. Art, writing, and singing are my personal prayers. I'm talking about the prayers I say with other people, usually in my role as a Chaplain, worship leader, or with my family.
As a Chaplain, I pray with my patients and their families. In my current cultural location, my prayers often reflect the most common theological perspectives here. It's taken me a while to become comfortable doing so. Mostly, my language reflects a theology that is not part of my current beliefs and yet, strangely, has still felt authentic for me. My discomfort has mostly been present because I haven't been able to understand how I could believe differently and yet feel so authentic in prayer. Recently, in The Feminine Face of God, I came across a phrase from a woman who was once a Roman Catholic nun who left her order and has since pursued painting images of the goddess as a reflection of her spirituality. "My Catholic heritage and environment have been like a beautiful river flowing over my subterranean foundation in God the Mother," she writes in her introduction to The Mother's Songs, "The two movements are not in conflict, they simply water different layers in my soul." They simply water different layers in my soul. Yes, absolutely. This helped me find language for why I can feel personally different from the beliefs of my patients and yet can authentically and whole-heartedly pray with them and their families along our varied theological perspectives; because it waters my soul to do so and connects me with my foundational and initial belief system.
In worship settings, I typically am praying among other Unitarian Universalists and therefore the language I get to embrace reflects my current beliefs. It becomes a combination of prayer, meditation, and guided imagery. It feels comfortable and peaceful. It's almost as though I zone out. I seek the words that feel the most fitting and reflective of the mood, theme, and feeling of the service of which the prayer is a part. Sometimes, it takes me a moment to reemerge into the present moment. But typically I still remain connected to the sacred like the smoke of birthday candles that continue to waft through the air even after the flames have been blown out.
With my family, I'm usually asked to say a blessing before meals. One or both of my parents usually ask me to do this. I think they do it because of my vocation as a Chaplain. They used to try to ask my husband to do it, but Dan doesn't feel comfortable when being put on the spot like that. Over time, it has become my role and is seen as an honor. I embrace as one. Traditionally, in this cultural location, many families have a patriarch lead family prayers. I appreciate and value that my family challenges this tradition.
One last family prayer memory. I've written about it before, but it particularly stands out because it combined my role as a Chaplain and as a family member - as a granddaughter, daughter, niece, and wife. When my grandmother was dying last year, my mom asked me to pray for her. She asked me to do so because she sensed that my grandmother, her mother, needed a minister to provide care. And there I was, the Chaplain Granddaughter, present, willing and able. I accepted the challenge of my mom's request and sang several old hymns and ended them with a prayer. My grandmother died very shortly afterward. I like to think that my prayer comforted my grandmother and offered her peace, as well as provided love and compassion for my family present in the room.
Prayer with others is one of my thin places. It's a sacredness I have access to on a regular basis. I'm grateful for having this particular thin place and becoming aware of it. Thank you to all the women who were a part of this recent, personal discovery.
Blessed be.
Showing posts with label Connection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Connection. Show all posts
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Sacred Energy
The following exchange took place in the season finale of "Marvel: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D." It really spoke to me. I watched the episode twice and really paid attention to this scene both times. Spoiler alert if you haven't yet seen the episode!
Jemma Simmons: I like to think about the first law of thermodynamics, that no energy in the universe is created and...
Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons: None is destroyed.
[Both smile]
Jemma Simmons: That means that every bit of energy inside us, every particle will go on to be a part of something else; maybe live as a dragonfish, a microbe, maybe burn in a supernova. And every part of us now was once a part of some other thing - a moon, a storm cloud, a mammoth.
Leo Fitz: A monkey.
Jemma Simmons: [Smiles] A monkey. Thousands and thousands of other beautiful things that were just as terrified to die as we are. We gave them new life; a good one, I hope.
My journey through The Feminine Face of God continues. The chapter I'm currently reading is about the women's first encounters with the divine. There seem to be a few themes that remained constant throughout the interviews with all the women. The first is that most of the women described experiencing the sacred during their childhood, "whether it was felt in the body as an infusion of energy or light, or took the form of a dialogue with angels, the ability to see auras, or an experience in nature." Another theme is that these experiences rarely remained heightened throughout adolescence and adulthood. Often, the women's peers, parents, or inner self squelched the expression of the divine and they lost the ability to feel its presence, sometimes for decades.
My first experience with a sense of the divine occurred in my backyard during my childhood. Jumping on my trampoline was always a joyful experience. I miss the feeling of flipping around on the bouncy material; of the texture beneath my feet and hands, its smell on a hot day, the burn when I miscalculated a move and my skin slid across its surface... During summer days, I would set up the sprinkler and either jump over or right through the water arcs as they pulsed back and forth. But at night, I would experience a different deep sense of joy. I would lie on my back and watch the stars. I would see constellations, shooting stars, and planes. I remember the deep feeling of awe I experienced when I first really noticed that the world was moving. I had learned this fact in school, but it was another thing altogether to actually see it. It felt like an enormous privilege. As a child this felt miraculous. I felt like I was a part of something bigger than myself. I felt incredibly small but not at all insignificant. On the contrary, I felt enormously excited to be a part of it. To this day, looking at the stars on a dark, clear night is still one of my absolutely favorite things to do. In fact, one of my best memories took place on the shore of Monkey River Belize when the small town where I was staying turned off its generator at night and the world became dark for 50-100 miles around. I would walk alone on the shore of this tiny island, lie in the sand by the lapping waves, and look up at more stars than seemed possible to see. It took my breath away and caused many shed tears simply because of the vastness of what I was seeing. Sometimes it breaks my heart to remember because the memory has faded and become more surreal over the years. But whenever I need to mentally travel away from a difficult or stressful situation, that is most definitely my happy place.
As I read the various personal stories presented in The Feminine Face of God, I thought about the scene from S.H.I.E.L.D. shared above. It spoke to my inner truth. The stories also made me think about the overall "amount" of spirituality/soul/sacred energy able to be shared. If I accept the first law of thermodynamics - that no energy in the universe is created and none is destroyed - as true, and furthermore if I accept that this means that all energy within all living creatures comes from something else, then my mind goes wild with scenarios. These thoughts are all very raw and little developed, but I still wanted to share and process them. So here goes.
I imagine the universe to be so much larger than I can possibly imagine. However, if no energy is created, that means the amount of energy available is ultimately finite and has therefore been a part of something else before it becomes a part of our lives as walking, breathing, living people. This makes me think of the concept of reincarnation as well as Ralph Waldo Emerson's "The Over-Soul." I wish I was better versed in each of these concepts, but here is my rudimentary summary of each as I understand them.
Reincarnation is the belief that when one dies, one's life force, spirit, or soul becomes a part of a new living being. And my favorite description of Emerson's Over-Soul came from a guest speaker in my UU church. She described it as a large pitcher of "soul" or "spirit." She went on to say that as each person is born, a portion of this Over-Soul is used to fill the person. It becomes a part of them. Then, as one dies, it returns to the source to be used to fill another being. Both of these concepts seem to echo the first law of thermodynamics. They feel like deep truth to me. They also makes me think of those people who are described as "old souls." Are these people who are more aware of or in touch with their soul? And therefore more in touch with their past sacred selves? All this makes me wonder if my spiritual energy was once a part of a star and if that's why I'm so drawn to them.
It seems like there is a downshift in spirituality with each new generation of people. Is it possible to consider that with each new generation there is less sacred energy at the core of people because there's only so much to go around? As though the overall amount of spirituality is diluted as the earth becomes overloaded with people? But on the other hand, that's presuming quite a lot about the earth and its inhabitants which are, after all, only a very small speck in the grand scheme of the universe. Perhaps it's not about dilution as much as disconnection; disconnection from one's own sacred self. I do think that it's fair to say that people as a whole are spending less time in tune with nature, and therefore less time pondering and wondering about the sacred. I make this comparison because nature and sacredness are so intertwined to me.
In The Feminine Face of God, there is this paragraph:
"When we are children everything in our environment vibrates with aliveness. Plants and trees, insects and animals, pebbles and rocks, sky and sea have something to say to us, and we are not self-conscious about talking to them in return. In some elemental way we seem to know that to connect is to respond, and as children we respond to everything. Whether we are walking barefoot on cool grass, smelling the earth's fragrance as we lie on our belly tracking an insect, or catching raindrops on our tongue during a summer shower, we know that we are intimately related to the natural world and that there is a mystery at the heart of this intimacy."
Reincarnation is the belief that when one dies, one's life force, spirit, or soul becomes a part of a new living being. And my favorite description of Emerson's Over-Soul came from a guest speaker in my UU church. She described it as a large pitcher of "soul" or "spirit." She went on to say that as each person is born, a portion of this Over-Soul is used to fill the person. It becomes a part of them. Then, as one dies, it returns to the source to be used to fill another being. Both of these concepts seem to echo the first law of thermodynamics. They feel like deep truth to me. They also makes me think of those people who are described as "old souls." Are these people who are more aware of or in touch with their soul? And therefore more in touch with their past sacred selves? All this makes me wonder if my spiritual energy was once a part of a star and if that's why I'm so drawn to them.
It seems like there is a downshift in spirituality with each new generation of people. Is it possible to consider that with each new generation there is less sacred energy at the core of people because there's only so much to go around? As though the overall amount of spirituality is diluted as the earth becomes overloaded with people? But on the other hand, that's presuming quite a lot about the earth and its inhabitants which are, after all, only a very small speck in the grand scheme of the universe. Perhaps it's not about dilution as much as disconnection; disconnection from one's own sacred self. I do think that it's fair to say that people as a whole are spending less time in tune with nature, and therefore less time pondering and wondering about the sacred. I make this comparison because nature and sacredness are so intertwined to me.
In The Feminine Face of God, there is this paragraph:
"When we are children everything in our environment vibrates with aliveness. Plants and trees, insects and animals, pebbles and rocks, sky and sea have something to say to us, and we are not self-conscious about talking to them in return. In some elemental way we seem to know that to connect is to respond, and as children we respond to everything. Whether we are walking barefoot on cool grass, smelling the earth's fragrance as we lie on our belly tracking an insect, or catching raindrops on our tongue during a summer shower, we know that we are intimately related to the natural world and that there is a mystery at the heart of this intimacy."
I think we lose our sense of wonder and awe in the race to adulthood. Once there, perhaps we don't take the time to be still, look, smell, taste, and experience all that the natural world has to offer. Enough with this "we" talk. I'm going to speak for myself. I don't do these things. I don't stop as often I would like to amazed by what's around me. I do make an effort to appreciate the beauty of photos. But anyone who has ever visited the Grand Canyon will tell you, a photo will NEVER show the magnitude and incredibleness of the actual experience. There's nothing like engaging more than one sense at a time to really feel connected to the natural world!
Tomorrow I plan to make an effort toward this end. I'm going to spend the morning with a sister friend and her two young children - 5 and 3 years old. We're going to a park so I can capture photos of her children at a new age swinging on a swing set. This has become a tradition of ours over the last few years. Each year, we take swinging photos to show how her children have changed doing the same activity. But I also plan on trying to see the park through their childlike eyes; to notice things I might otherwise overlook and be happy and joyful in the moment.
Tomorrow I plan to make an effort toward this end. I'm going to spend the morning with a sister friend and her two young children - 5 and 3 years old. We're going to a park so I can capture photos of her children at a new age swinging on a swing set. This has become a tradition of ours over the last few years. Each year, we take swinging photos to show how her children have changed doing the same activity. But I also plan on trying to see the park through their childlike eyes; to notice things I might otherwise overlook and be happy and joyful in the moment.
As I continue to read The Feminine Face of God, I feel as though something sacred is stretching out and making much needed room within me. It's as though my spirit self is filling me more fully, rolling her eyes good-naturedly that it took me this long, and yet feeling proud of my attempts nonetheless. The women in this book have not only described these childhood experiences and their suppression of them, they have also expressed a reconnection to their spirituality. This gives me hope. My spiritual muscles are weak. I spend so much time reaching out to my patients and families, trying to connect them with their definitions of the sacred that my own experiences have been quite vicarious for a while now. However, this book is changing that for me. It's on par with when I worked through Julia Cameron's The Artist Way several years ago. And for any of you who know me, you know that that is quite high praise!
A question I'm going to try to ponder and live out more often: What can I do today to nourish my spiritual self and sacred energy? Today it was spend time with family, read more of my book and write this post. Tomorrow, it will be deeply enjoying the park with my sister and her children and taking photos. The next day, who knows?!
Friday, September 21, 2012
Further Connection and a Homily in Progress
So...
I wrote about my friend who proposed an intentional covenant of connection via weekly emails and monthly snail mail. So far, it's absolutely wonderful. To know that my emails will be read with care and responded to is so healing. Many times, I've tried to email, text, or call people in my world but haven't heard back from them. There's only so long that that kind of one-sided connection can last before it fizzles.
My friend said my enthusiastic response to her proposal gave her the confidence to make communication offers with other people. She has three more people who she'll be trying to stay in touch with in similar ways. With her encouragement, I decided to be brave and invite two of my other friends into the circle of connection.
So here's what I'll be doing!
With Tracy (the originator of this fantastic idea): I'll be receiving emails from her on Tuesdays and responding to them on Wednesdays. In addition, I'll be sending her a piece of real mail at least once a month.
With Kody: I'll be emailing him on Sundays. He's asked for two days of response time, so I'll be hearing back from him by Tuesdays. He also agreed to snail mail at least once a month and counter-proposed occasional packages as well!
With Kt: She liked the idea too, but said she writes enough emails in her life and would like to become...wait for it...actual pen pals, writing real mail to each other, trying for once a week.
So there you have it! The ways in which I hope to continue to be connected to my incredible friends. Now, I'd like to be intentional about spending time with Dan locally. Perhaps a guaranteed once a week walk? Away from anything with a screen to drag our attention away from each other.
Exciting.
On another note, I'm currently at a coffee shop getting my writing juices flowing with this blog because Sunday is my annual hospice memorial service. This is my once a year event where I invite everyone who has lost a loved one on our care for the past year to a memorial service that I have planned and facilitate. I think the event will be welcoming and hopefully healing for people. I have a local high school ensemble chorus who will be coming to share music with us. Dan's running the sound. My mom and Dan's mom are catering for the 2nd year in a row. The order of service has been printed beautifully thanks to one of my co-workers. I've received RSVPs to make me feel calmer about all the effort going into this event. The weather is supposed to be beautiful, which is excellent considering last year it POURED the day of.
Only thing left?
My homily.
It's also what was last minute for me last year. Damn procrastinating personality! It's just very difficult to write a homily that encompasses so many different people, both our deceased patients and their families. When I'm asked to do a service for a particular person, it's nice because I can focus on THEM. I can get personal stories, ask families what they want to have included, make the songs and words intentionally reflect particular people. But for dozens of different people and the staff that take care of them...much more difficult.
I want to focus on universal themes of loss and the trauma of death. Because frankly, death disrupts our lives. We're going along, living our day-to-day, then boom! Someone we love dies. And the truth of it is, no matter how many people tell you "It's going to be ok." there is, at least for a moment, a time where it doesn't feel that way. We live in a very death-denying society. With the transition of deaths to hospitals and nursing homes, (which are viable options, don't get me wrong) the feeling of someone dying has turned from being personal and family-oriented to stranger and machine-oriented. Hospice is trying to open up the possibility of people having the choice to die in their homes, surrounded by family, and photos, and memories, and love. In a personal way.
When someone dies in our culture, who is not a celebrity, I find that there is a stressful push to "be ok now!" We try to get back to "normal" as quickly as possible. At my HOSPICE job, it's written into the policy that employees receive "up to three days" of bereavement time at the death of a close loved one. And "close" only counts for parents, grandparents, and siblings. Really? Three days? Yeah, right. I think this is especially bogus when the person who we've lost because the sun of our universe...illness causing them to be the center of our world perhaps under very difficult circumstance and for an extended period of time.
While I want to acknowledge and make a sacred space for the losses, and the aching holes left behind, I also want to spend a good bit of time talking about love. There's a Forrest Church quote that I adore. It will be read by the hospice social worker before I homilize. I want this quote read at my own Memorial Service hopefully MANY years from now.
By the Reverend Forrest Church who was, before his passing, a Unitarian Universalist Minister:
"Every time we commit ourselves, every time we share ourselves with another...we risk so very much. We risk disappointment...we risk the enormous pain of loss. If we try to protect ourselves from suffering, we shall manage only to subdue the very thing that makes our lives worth living. Though we can, by a refusal to love, protect ourselves from the risk of losing what or whom we love, the irony is, by refusing to love we will have nothing left that is really worth protecting."
In other words, the only way we can avoid the pain of grief is also by avoiding the joy of love.
And I, for one, do not believe that my life would be worth a lick of beans, as they say here in the south, if I didn't have people to love and who loved me. My ideas about god change and evolve over the years, but one thing I have been consistent on believing is that there is evidence of divine love present in the love of my family and my friends. They are the embodiment of sacred connection, hope, and love. Without them, I feel depressed and disconnected. I feel like there is nothing worthwhile. But with them I feel full and whole. I soar and can expand to a fuller potential. I can make a difference in the world because of their love.
And when I lose someone I love, then their memory, and even my guilt and regrets, spark within me a desire to live better. To love more. To tell the people I care about how grateful I am for them. Each life, and even each death, alters my life perspective. They turn the course of my life path, sometimes a little and sometimes a lot.
Each of the people coming to the service on Sunday has been affected by death in the past year. More than anything I want their losses to be acknowledged and for them to feel cared for and safe. And I want for them to eat delicious food, because I fully believe there is something ancient and wonderful about sharing a meal with people.
Well this blog certainly has gotten my writing juices flowing just like I'd hoped! I've even been going back and forth from my homily writing while typing it. Now, I plan to focus more exclusively on my homily, praying that something loving and comforting will result.
If you have any thoughts please leave me a comment. Otherwise, until next time!
Blessings,
Kelley
I wrote about my friend who proposed an intentional covenant of connection via weekly emails and monthly snail mail. So far, it's absolutely wonderful. To know that my emails will be read with care and responded to is so healing. Many times, I've tried to email, text, or call people in my world but haven't heard back from them. There's only so long that that kind of one-sided connection can last before it fizzles.
My friend said my enthusiastic response to her proposal gave her the confidence to make communication offers with other people. She has three more people who she'll be trying to stay in touch with in similar ways. With her encouragement, I decided to be brave and invite two of my other friends into the circle of connection.
So here's what I'll be doing!
With Tracy (the originator of this fantastic idea): I'll be receiving emails from her on Tuesdays and responding to them on Wednesdays. In addition, I'll be sending her a piece of real mail at least once a month.
With Kody: I'll be emailing him on Sundays. He's asked for two days of response time, so I'll be hearing back from him by Tuesdays. He also agreed to snail mail at least once a month and counter-proposed occasional packages as well!
With Kt: She liked the idea too, but said she writes enough emails in her life and would like to become...wait for it...actual pen pals, writing real mail to each other, trying for once a week.
So there you have it! The ways in which I hope to continue to be connected to my incredible friends. Now, I'd like to be intentional about spending time with Dan locally. Perhaps a guaranteed once a week walk? Away from anything with a screen to drag our attention away from each other.
Exciting.
On another note, I'm currently at a coffee shop getting my writing juices flowing with this blog because Sunday is my annual hospice memorial service. This is my once a year event where I invite everyone who has lost a loved one on our care for the past year to a memorial service that I have planned and facilitate. I think the event will be welcoming and hopefully healing for people. I have a local high school ensemble chorus who will be coming to share music with us. Dan's running the sound. My mom and Dan's mom are catering for the 2nd year in a row. The order of service has been printed beautifully thanks to one of my co-workers. I've received RSVPs to make me feel calmer about all the effort going into this event. The weather is supposed to be beautiful, which is excellent considering last year it POURED the day of.
Only thing left?
My homily.
It's also what was last minute for me last year. Damn procrastinating personality! It's just very difficult to write a homily that encompasses so many different people, both our deceased patients and their families. When I'm asked to do a service for a particular person, it's nice because I can focus on THEM. I can get personal stories, ask families what they want to have included, make the songs and words intentionally reflect particular people. But for dozens of different people and the staff that take care of them...much more difficult.
I want to focus on universal themes of loss and the trauma of death. Because frankly, death disrupts our lives. We're going along, living our day-to-day, then boom! Someone we love dies. And the truth of it is, no matter how many people tell you "It's going to be ok." there is, at least for a moment, a time where it doesn't feel that way. We live in a very death-denying society. With the transition of deaths to hospitals and nursing homes, (which are viable options, don't get me wrong) the feeling of someone dying has turned from being personal and family-oriented to stranger and machine-oriented. Hospice is trying to open up the possibility of people having the choice to die in their homes, surrounded by family, and photos, and memories, and love. In a personal way.
When someone dies in our culture, who is not a celebrity, I find that there is a stressful push to "be ok now!" We try to get back to "normal" as quickly as possible. At my HOSPICE job, it's written into the policy that employees receive "up to three days" of bereavement time at the death of a close loved one. And "close" only counts for parents, grandparents, and siblings. Really? Three days? Yeah, right. I think this is especially bogus when the person who we've lost because the sun of our universe...illness causing them to be the center of our world perhaps under very difficult circumstance and for an extended period of time.
While I want to acknowledge and make a sacred space for the losses, and the aching holes left behind, I also want to spend a good bit of time talking about love. There's a Forrest Church quote that I adore. It will be read by the hospice social worker before I homilize. I want this quote read at my own Memorial Service hopefully MANY years from now.
By the Reverend Forrest Church who was, before his passing, a Unitarian Universalist Minister:
"Every time we commit ourselves, every time we share ourselves with another...we risk so very much. We risk disappointment...we risk the enormous pain of loss. If we try to protect ourselves from suffering, we shall manage only to subdue the very thing that makes our lives worth living. Though we can, by a refusal to love, protect ourselves from the risk of losing what or whom we love, the irony is, by refusing to love we will have nothing left that is really worth protecting."
In other words, the only way we can avoid the pain of grief is also by avoiding the joy of love.
And I, for one, do not believe that my life would be worth a lick of beans, as they say here in the south, if I didn't have people to love and who loved me. My ideas about god change and evolve over the years, but one thing I have been consistent on believing is that there is evidence of divine love present in the love of my family and my friends. They are the embodiment of sacred connection, hope, and love. Without them, I feel depressed and disconnected. I feel like there is nothing worthwhile. But with them I feel full and whole. I soar and can expand to a fuller potential. I can make a difference in the world because of their love.
And when I lose someone I love, then their memory, and even my guilt and regrets, spark within me a desire to live better. To love more. To tell the people I care about how grateful I am for them. Each life, and even each death, alters my life perspective. They turn the course of my life path, sometimes a little and sometimes a lot.
Each of the people coming to the service on Sunday has been affected by death in the past year. More than anything I want their losses to be acknowledged and for them to feel cared for and safe. And I want for them to eat delicious food, because I fully believe there is something ancient and wonderful about sharing a meal with people.
Well this blog certainly has gotten my writing juices flowing just like I'd hoped! I've even been going back and forth from my homily writing while typing it. Now, I plan to focus more exclusively on my homily, praying that something loving and comforting will result.
If you have any thoughts please leave me a comment. Otherwise, until next time!
Blessings,
Kelley
Monday, July 30, 2012
Serendipitous Surprises
When I started my most recent venture in writing, I explained that I didn't know where it was going to lead me. I didn't need or want to know. I just wanted prance playfully along the path as it became visible, one leap and skip at a time. Well, the path took a surprising turn about which I wanted to share.
Last week, I received an email from one of the ladies in my company who works in Danville, VA. She and I are friends on facebook and she said she'd read my post "Being Someone's 'Angel.'" She asked if she could put it in her Hospice Volunteer Newsletter. Surprised, but pleased I assured her that would be fine and that I was honored she valued it enough to want to share it with others. From this conversation, I decided to show it to my own office's Volunteer Coordinator (henceforth "VC") Teresa. I know she is always looking for pieces to put in her newsletter and if this other VC found my blog interesting, I thought it might be worth showing to Teresa.
She also liked the words and immediately said that she too would like to use it in her newsletter. I was grateful for the compliment and the alacrity of her positive response. I also found myself feeling abnormally surprised and taken aback by her encouragement thinking to myself, "Really? You liked it that much?" I'm not sure why I responded so critically to my own writing. I suppose I've just never shared it beyond the internet world; a world and space that can feel distant despite its public nature.
I then discovered that Teresa shared it with another VC who then asked to know the link to my blog because she now wants to follow it. (Hi Donna!) Then! I find out today that not only did Teresa share it with the VC, but she also forwarded it along to our high up boss who forwarded it along to the woman who collects material for the company-wide newsletter. My boss also wondered about sending it out to the marketing agency that works with our company to potentially bring attention to our hospice in the larger community. Surprise after surprise!
All because of words I wrote. All because of words I wrote.
I feel like this all spiraled so quickly! Just last Monday, my blog was just a place where a few of my friends read about whatever I was currently pondering. I never fancied that a large number of people took interest in it. I'm an external processor and this was just another place that I could sort through my emotions and disorderly brain. And I do feel emotionally cluttered with all this. And since lists go a long way to helping me sort, here's a list of my current emotions: stunned, empowered, grateful, nervous, humbled, overwhelmed, shy, proud, thoughtful, encouraged, and confused.
Confused seems to be chief among my feelings. Confused because I don't quite understand why anything I would write would be valuable to others. How self-deprecating is that?! Especially in light of all that I've been reading from Julia Cameron about all people having a voice and all people being writers. That's all well and good in the privacy of my own journal and the semi-privacy of my blog, but I didn't realize how deeply embedded this feeling of unworthiness as a writer truly is for me. I suppose I have more work to do.
My writing feels valuable for me. It's a way to both experience the world and respond to it. I've always dreamed of becoming a published writer. And by that I mean publishing children's books or maybe even a book about Hospice Chaplaincy. But something like this never occurred to me! After I told my husband all of the above, he said, "You're a published writer." If that's the case, then one more excuse for not being able to call myself a writer has been wiped away from my list of obstacles.
How exciting! And confusing.
Perhaps someday, my other publishing dreams will become a reality. And maybe they will add to our financial livelihood. I think perhaps that's what I meant by being published. Being paid to write. Blech. I don't like defining a beautiful creative process by money. I'll continue to work on disassembling that line of thinking as well.
In the meantime, I'm grateful to report that my words are going to be reaching out to a larger community than I could have imagined. Julia Cameron, in The Artist's Way writes about serendipity, or moments where the Universe responds to our desires and creative yearnings. I think this certainly qualifies as a moment where serendipity has appeared, smiling and waving gleefully! And for now, I'll bashfully wave back feeling grateful for this serendipitous surprise. Thanks to everyone who has always been so supportive. I'm supremely grateful.
-Kelley
P.S. If you're interested in re-reading the blog that started all this, here's a link to "Being Someone's 'Angel'"
Last week, I received an email from one of the ladies in my company who works in Danville, VA. She and I are friends on facebook and she said she'd read my post "Being Someone's 'Angel.'" She asked if she could put it in her Hospice Volunteer Newsletter. Surprised, but pleased I assured her that would be fine and that I was honored she valued it enough to want to share it with others. From this conversation, I decided to show it to my own office's Volunteer Coordinator (henceforth "VC") Teresa. I know she is always looking for pieces to put in her newsletter and if this other VC found my blog interesting, I thought it might be worth showing to Teresa.
She also liked the words and immediately said that she too would like to use it in her newsletter. I was grateful for the compliment and the alacrity of her positive response. I also found myself feeling abnormally surprised and taken aback by her encouragement thinking to myself, "Really? You liked it that much?" I'm not sure why I responded so critically to my own writing. I suppose I've just never shared it beyond the internet world; a world and space that can feel distant despite its public nature.
I then discovered that Teresa shared it with another VC who then asked to know the link to my blog because she now wants to follow it. (Hi Donna!) Then! I find out today that not only did Teresa share it with the VC, but she also forwarded it along to our high up boss who forwarded it along to the woman who collects material for the company-wide newsletter. My boss also wondered about sending it out to the marketing agency that works with our company to potentially bring attention to our hospice in the larger community. Surprise after surprise!
All because of words I wrote. All because of words I wrote.
I feel like this all spiraled so quickly! Just last Monday, my blog was just a place where a few of my friends read about whatever I was currently pondering. I never fancied that a large number of people took interest in it. I'm an external processor and this was just another place that I could sort through my emotions and disorderly brain. And I do feel emotionally cluttered with all this. And since lists go a long way to helping me sort, here's a list of my current emotions: stunned, empowered, grateful, nervous, humbled, overwhelmed, shy, proud, thoughtful, encouraged, and confused.
Confused seems to be chief among my feelings. Confused because I don't quite understand why anything I would write would be valuable to others. How self-deprecating is that?! Especially in light of all that I've been reading from Julia Cameron about all people having a voice and all people being writers. That's all well and good in the privacy of my own journal and the semi-privacy of my blog, but I didn't realize how deeply embedded this feeling of unworthiness as a writer truly is for me. I suppose I have more work to do.
My writing feels valuable for me. It's a way to both experience the world and respond to it. I've always dreamed of becoming a published writer. And by that I mean publishing children's books or maybe even a book about Hospice Chaplaincy. But something like this never occurred to me! After I told my husband all of the above, he said, "You're a published writer." If that's the case, then one more excuse for not being able to call myself a writer has been wiped away from my list of obstacles.
How exciting! And confusing.
Perhaps someday, my other publishing dreams will become a reality. And maybe they will add to our financial livelihood. I think perhaps that's what I meant by being published. Being paid to write. Blech. I don't like defining a beautiful creative process by money. I'll continue to work on disassembling that line of thinking as well.
In the meantime, I'm grateful to report that my words are going to be reaching out to a larger community than I could have imagined. Julia Cameron, in The Artist's Way writes about serendipity, or moments where the Universe responds to our desires and creative yearnings. I think this certainly qualifies as a moment where serendipity has appeared, smiling and waving gleefully! And for now, I'll bashfully wave back feeling grateful for this serendipitous surprise. Thanks to everyone who has always been so supportive. I'm supremely grateful.
-Kelley
P.S. If you're interested in re-reading the blog that started all this, here's a link to "Being Someone's 'Angel'"
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Artful Connection
I spent the bulk of today at a friend's home. It is an incredible, beautiful, and sacred space. She is a fellow artist and Unitarian Universalist. Though over 30 years my senior, we share many of the same quirks and seem to have an inordinate amount of understanding of each other. I'm thrilled to be developing further connection.
The weather was extravagant today. October is my favorite month in my favorite Season. And today brought with it crispy air and bright sun. The only thing lacking was a bit of Fall foliage on the trees.
Here are a few images of my friend's amazing view:
I arrived at her home around 11:3o for our prearranged "Art Day!" Not only did I bring an obnoxious amount of art supplies (canvases, acrylics, watercolors, sketch pads, etc.) but also fruit, french bread, and individual chocolate mousse cakes. We spent a few hours talking to one another, with me also becoming acquainted with her various animals. We learned more about each others' histories and life stories. Our time together was so natural and comfortable. And I was able to paint using my newest acrylics! Many hours well spent today!
Here's an image of my latest painting:
The day was so spiritual and healing. Full of depth and connection. What a blessing. I feel incredibly grateful.
The weather was extravagant today. October is my favorite month in my favorite Season. And today brought with it crispy air and bright sun. The only thing lacking was a bit of Fall foliage on the trees.
Here are a few images of my friend's amazing view:
I arrived at her home around 11:3o for our prearranged "Art Day!" Not only did I bring an obnoxious amount of art supplies (canvases, acrylics, watercolors, sketch pads, etc.) but also fruit, french bread, and individual chocolate mousse cakes. We spent a few hours talking to one another, with me also becoming acquainted with her various animals. We learned more about each others' histories and life stories. Our time together was so natural and comfortable. And I was able to paint using my newest acrylics! Many hours well spent today!
Here's an image of my latest painting:
The day was so spiritual and healing. Full of depth and connection. What a blessing. I feel incredibly grateful.
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