Human to Human

When I was a young teen, my Grandma sat me down to give me a piece of advice. That was Lena, my father’s mother. She was a teacher of my heart, though I didn’t come to know that until another six or so years passed.

I was a teen. A bit out of touch. A bit fumbly, as young teens often are. A bit vacant. I was a kid who cared most about baseball then. And my friends. I think Grandma wanted to steer me into a more thoughtful way of being. She saw some capability in me. Or perhaps just loved me, and did what she did — pointed to a more conscious way to live.

I’m glad.

Grandma drew this diagram for me on a piece of paper. She had flip charts and markers in her home — so I guess I come by that naturally. And then started to explain. “When you are a teenager, like yourself, Grandson, you see yourself as this big circle on the left and you see the rest of the world as this small dot on the right.” She was likely calling out a young and immature quality in me. A self-centeredness.

She continued, drawing a second diagram. “As you grow and learn, you begin to see yourself like this diagram. You become the small dot on the left. And you begin to recognize that the world is the bigger circle on the right. You begin to pay attention to what is going on in the world. You begin to feel its wonder.”

Again, that’s a Grandma that I think showed some guts, some clarity, and some truth-telling. She wasn’t snarky. She wasn’t shaming. I remember feeling that she was speaking with sincerity. And that meant something to me — kinda planted a seed in me that would have me returning to her many times in my young and mid adult life.

Now, I’m now aware that there is nuance to this particular conversation. For some of us, it is significant work and journey to claim our big selves (not make ourselves small). Some of us need to step into our bigness. All of that. I think Grandma was clear on that also, but likely wise enough to know the limit of what I could hear, then.

Well, now, 50 or so years later, I offer this nod to my Grandma. And, bring just one more layer of nuance to those diagrams she drew so long ago.

I’ve added the blue spiral on top of my Grandma’s diagrams. It symbolizes what I’ve come to recognize as a life force moving through us. And through circumstance. And moving with us. It symbolizes an organizing pattern that sometimes calls for brave individuality, in connection with all the other things going on. Or sometimes, an organizing pattern that calls us to a brave communality, an extreme relationality together. Life moves through us. With us. Among us. From those seeds Gma planted in me, a garden remains growing in me. And I’m glad to say that I’ve been able to plant a few seeds in others too.

Grandma gave some good advice. That’s her below, on the left as a 34 year old. On the right, a little later in her life. She passed in 2008, at 89.

Yup. I’m glad for the advice from a Grandma.

The theologian, guide, and poet Richard Rohr begins.

“Sooner or later, if you are on any classic “spiritual schedule,” some event, person, death, idea, or relationship will enter your life that you simply cannot deal with, using your present skill set, your acquired knowledge, or your strong willpower.”

He goes on, in a paragraph that had me grabbing a cup of coffee, slowing down, and sipping.

“Spiritually speaking, you will be, you must be, led to the edge of your own private resources. At that point you will stumble over a necessary stumbling stone, as Isaiah calls it; or to state it in our language here, you will and you must “lose” at something.”

And he positions further, perhaps from first-hand knowing, and perhaps from many-times witnessing.

“This is the only way that Life-Fate-God-Grace-Mystery can get you to change, let go of your egocentric preoccupations, and go on the further and larger journey. I wish I could say this was not true, but it is darn near absolute in the spiritual literature of the world.”

A bow to these words. Read the full post here on Awakin.org.

I’ve lived a few times within awakening moments, dark nights of the soul, bright lights of the birth. I’ve lived with many wisdom keepers, skilled to see and guide initiations. I’ve learned through many moments, to live from my belly. Surrendering. Again. Glimpsing insight from something beyond me. Again. Bathing in renewal as life has flowed through and around me. Again.

I don’t find that this ends. Life is kind with its “agains.” It has different flavors. Familiar reminders. Generous invitations. And both joyous and reluctant responses to life beyond my skill set, approachable only with an honest belly.

On it goes.

A thx to Richard Rohr today.

The poem below is from Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. She titles it Reunion. I love her words + images, including, “done swooping for the day.”

I’m glad for words that move the heart, my heart. And for images that make us smile, me smile.

We need our swooping, don’t we. And we humans, we need rest too. If we are lucky, with a sweetheart, or friends. And, essentially, we need our rest within ourselves, with ourselves.

On it all goes.

Reunion
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

After the kazoos and champagne and hula hoops,
after the blueberry pie, after the napkins folded
and unfolded and crumpled, after the impromptu
parade on the drive, after the house full of laughter
and music, after the glow sticks, the glittering headbands, 
the mountain of dishes washed and dried and put away 
there was that moment when we sat on the couch,
just the two of us. You held my hand. We said nothing.
Like two swallows, done swooping for the day
who finally enter the nest they have built together, 
snuggling at last on the rim. 

In this context below, “gentle me” is used as a request. As a prayer. As a verb. As an invocation.

My friend Saoirse shared it with several of us a couple of weeks ago. It’s stuck with me. Gentle me. Yes please.

The poem is by American Ted Loder, a UMC pastor and poet and social justice advocate. He died five years ago. He’s also known to have stood for laughter as holy medicine.

His poem, Guide Me Into An Unclenched Moment, is included in this collection.

Enjoy. And thx Saorise.

Guide Me Into An Unclenched Moment
Ted Loder

Gentle me,
Holy One,
into an unclenched moment,
a deep breath,
a letting go
of heavy experiences
of shriveling anxieties
of dead certainties

that, softened by the silence,
surrounded by the light,
and open to mystery,
I may be found by wholeness,
upheld by the unfathomable,
entranced by the simple,
and filled with the joy
that is you.