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."

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. 

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?!

The "Storyteller" Assignment

Today's chapter with Ms. Cameron was short and to the point. Stop straining so hard to make a story up! Settle down, chill out, and listen for the story that's ready to be told through you. I've heard this described on many occasions in various expressions, but usually it sounds something like this, "It was as though the story was already formed and I was just there to write it down." The image I have here is a tornado of words and images swirling high above a receptive writer. I picture myself flying down headfirst with their stories in a furious spiral toward the writer, eventually crashing with their pen as it flies across the page! It's all rather adventurous!

Frankly, I've been skeptical of this concept. The story as an almost separate being simply out to find the right conduit? Or perhaps envious is more accurate. Either way, I have not experienced this personally. If it really is a true experience and really does exist for some people, why not me? Julia Cameron suggests it's because I'm trying too hard to create impressive words all on my own rather than listening to what's around me. I'm going to give this a shot. Maybe I'll carve out some time this weekend to just...be...and listen. We'll see what comes from it. She suggests letting go so the creative process can work in and through you. I shall try. As Barney, from "How I Met Your Mother" might say, "Challenge accepted!"

The writing assignment from this chapter is as follows: "Pretend that you are sitting under a large tree with your back resting on its trunk. On the other side of the tree, a Storyteller sits also resting against the tree trunk. Take a sheet of paper and number from one to five. Tell the Storyteller five things you'd like to hear stories about." I've decided to type my list here rather than write them in my notebook. So here they are:

1. I'd like to hear a story about the diligent and hard-working person who is hopeful about a life filled with more meaning. I want to hear a story about how opportunity finally knocked for them and new hope was born as they skipped along toward their happy ending.

2. I'd like to hear a story about the committed and loving couple who, having longed for a child for years, finally have their dreams realized in a sweet, healthy addition to their family.

3. I'd like to hear a story about an adventurous woman who traveled the world in search of new experiences and opportunities to bring love and peace into a hurting world.

4. I'd like to hear a story about a child who opened the hearts of adults by being loving, kind, and unwilling to accept the boundaries and walls we create in adulthood.

5. I'd like to hear a story about the family that loves each other no matter what and that, rather than avoiding the difficulties of life, face them together through love, support, and encouragement.

Okay, so one thing is for sure from my list. I like my happy endings. As a friend just wrote today, "I don't need art to imitate life. I want a movie with a damn happy ending....tied up neatly." Well apparently, so do I. it also seems to be a theme that I don't necessarily need the whole story to be sugarcoated. But I am a fan of love, peace, hard work, hopefulness, and positivity winning out in the end.

I also see that none of the stories I want told are entirely new. I can think of several stories already out there that would fit into one of more of these categories. But still, it was a cathartic and energizing process to write them down for myself. Maybe I'll settle more into these ideas when I sit back this weekend and allow the process of creativity to lead me where it chooses.

More to come!

Blessed be,
Kelley

What is a "Writer"?

I was reading in The Right to Write by Julia Cameron about what makes someone a "writer." It was about challenging our notions of who and what writers are. An interesting thing about this chapter is she seemed to assume that associations with writers would be negative. For example, "Writers are broke," "Writers are crazy," "Writers are loners." I think my assumptions are actually glorified in an unrealistically positive light. Some of the assumptions I make are, "Writers get to travel and live abroad to study and gain experience for what they write." "Writers absorb the same world I do, but with interesting and enlightening perspectives that other people want to read." Or even, "Writers are in touch with a deeper creativity and spirituality than the average person." In fact, I often picture a "writer" as worldly woman stylishly dressed sitting at a café in Europe,  watching people, writing, engaging the locals (in perfect vernacular), and committing prose to paper that is immediately revered.

Interesting...

The "assignment" at the end of the chapter was to fill in the phrase "Writers are ________________." ten times. Again, the assumption seemed to be that the associations would be negative and that a spin on the task would be to find the statement's opposite, more positive outlook. Using the examples she gave it would be, "Writers are solvent." "Writers are sane" and "Writers have good friends."

Again, interesting.... Instead of a negative slant, I have an image of a writer lifted onto a pedestal of enlightening creativity. It's much like the place I put Julia Cameron herself despite her constant reminder that her "writing life" looks much like any other person's life, "...just with some writing sandwiched in."

Until the last pages that included the assignment, I was right with Julia. She was challenging my other assumptions that cause me to resist calling myself a writer. Here's a rough idea of what I took from the chapter rephrased in my own words:

If asked to speak on the spot, I feel very articulate. I think quickly and love the challenge of putting words together in a way that's both clear and capturing.  I even feel articulate when writing/typing my thoughts. Though I do often feel verbose when both speaking and writing. Why, then, do I not feel like I can be considered a writer? Answer: Because I'm not published. Okay, that's a true statement, but it doesn't diminish this form of personal expression. However, writing in this blog does make me want to refocus on and embrace a Bucket List item; namely, to write, illustrate and publish a children's book, the rough draft of which is...somewhere. (Note to self: search out rough draft.)

This blog is a creative outlet I'm grabbing hold of once again! I am a writer simply by the beautiful and personal act of writing!!

Some quotes from the chapter onto which I particularly latched:

We make a big deal out of putting words on paper instead of simply releasing them to the air.

What if there were no such thing as a writer? What if everyone simply wrote? What if there were no 'being a real writer' to aspire to? What if writing were simply about the act of writing?

What if we allowed ourselves to be amateurs (from the Latin verb amare, "to love").

And finally...
If we eliminate the word 'writer,' if we just go back to writing as an act of listening and naming what we hear, some of the rules disappear.

So...I write. I look, absorb, process, and then, as a bonus, I put it here (or in my journal or in my morning pages), and maybe it does connect me with something deeper and more. And maybe it also happens to connect me with whoever reads this. All in all, I think that's something worth aspiring to.

So, I'll continue to delve into this book. I'm fairly certain this will not be my last post written in response to one of the chapters. I certainly hope not. Until we meet again!

-Kelley-

Ramblings

On a friend's recommendation, I recently ordered The Right to Write by Julia Cameron. I think it's interesting that it took me as long as it did for me to call myself an artist. But now I finally feel like I can claim that title for the long years of practice and effort that I've taken drawing and painting. And, though I've been doing it nearly as long, "singer" is another title that often sounds just as pretentious to claim as "artist." But I sing, therefore I am a singer. I create art, therefore I am an artist.

But one thing I have never laid claim to is being a writer. Or, even more scary, a poet. Sure, I write on here and I journal. But really, that's about it. But there is something about this particular art that intrigues me, perhaps even calls to me. One of my life ambitions is to write a children's book and have it published. I have a draft that I need to brush up on and see where it can take me from here. I need to work on it soon because it deeply expresses my gratitude to my parents and I would sincerely love seeing them read it. I think I will share the draft with them.

I have taken one writing workshop that I extremely loved. The guidance via prompts yet the freedom to write were both incredible to experience. So, with that in mind, I'm going to see what the inspiring Ms. Cameron has for me in my latest book experience with her.

I don't know what will become of my writing. Maybe it'll be a helpful, developed from of self-expression. Maybe it'll grow into something more, though I don't have many thoughts at this moment of what "more" may mean. One thing I know it will do is give me an outlet for writing that is more representational of who I am. As a Chaplain, I document my interactions with patients and families. The formulas I use to write are dry and concrete. I do not feel comfortable nor do I think it is appropriate for me to write in the flowery, poetic style that feels more comfortable to me. But I need to do that somewhere! Otherwise it remains bottled inside, swirling and writhing, longing for release. Expression is such a beautiful form of release. Therefore, I hope to express more and filter less. Who knows what may come!