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Rinsed Air, Rinsed Mind

Gifted with a walk to the beach. Not unlike labyrinth meditation.

First, hail to match my struggle. Then blustery downpour, finally sprinkle. No rain, a slight breeze for the mile beside the sea. By the time I reached the pavement again, deep peace had returned.

I could ask curiously,

“What can I give today?”

We celebrated my Dad’s life together in ceremony and song and story-telling and bike-riding. His was quite the story. Um, um.

I hope we will have the energy to do the same for my Mom when her time comes.

First, a story from my son, Clarke:

Struggling

OK, so I managed to pedal my way to UW a few days this week to register for another Spanish class. But motivating myself for the study it requires of me outside of class…oomph!

Good thing fabulous memories like this one pop up on Facebook to remind me why I do this. I am super-proud of my son who is a fluent Spanish speaker. I believe that even though we are privileged as native English speakers, we too are wise to learn a second language. I think we contribute to the positive evolution of humankind when we encourage communicating across differences in this way.

Still it’s hard every time I start up a new class. I’d rather shore it up immersing myself again by traveling and living with host families. There, I’ve said it. Maybe that will help…the accountability offered by a silent audience.

Bookends of Healing

They were like magnets. When I arrived at the chapel for 7 AM Eucharist, my choice was clear. I scooted to the front row to sit near the doctor and her scrub nurse.

After the service and breakfast together, Brother Paul (of the Franciscan Order) told me of when rain fell upward. Then he encouraged me to share my own Holy Land mystical experience with him. It was good for me to get used to articulating, in the words of Rumi, My Note*.

I told Paul about that time on the Temple Mount when, for a few seconds, the hum of humanity cushioned all the other sounds on the soft cloud of Goodness…the time for a few seconds I was certain my part was about the Universality of Christ.

*From a poem by Rumi

Here

The adage that it takes a day for every hour of time change in order to recover from jet lag after traveling seems about right to me. I’ve been home 10 days following a 10 hour time change. I am now sleeping soundly beside Rob again at night instead of napping, moving to the blue room in the wee hours, craziness like that.

That doesn’t mean my thoughts aren’t still crazily whirring at times. No wonder. I left part of my heart halfway around the world.

When I see photos and read about the protests in Israel over politics, I remember our guides, bus drivers, people of all stripes and proclivities. These are souls who do many things the same way I do, seeking to honor the Divine and care for themselves, their children and their neighbors.

And I weep, Lord, I weep.

*Photo by Stuart Meeks. Church of Saint Anne in Jerusalem.