The first - and maybe only - would be a question.  "Do you want to talk about it?"  Then, just be there.  If we are dear friends, words aren't always necessary.  The feelings of being disconnected - alone - can be uncomfortable and often well-meant words can be the worst thing of all.  Simply being present and sharing a hug, holding the friend's hand, having a cup of tea together can restore the connection.  Mostly though, having had such a feeling at times, just the presence of someone who cares is enough.  Words are too much unless my friend wants to talk.

It took more than the first fifty years of my life to learn to appreciate my maternal grandmother.  Georgia May Buck (Smith) (Brandlin) was one strong, tough lady.  She was not a warm, cuddly sort of grandma-type person in any way.  That was my Grandma, Maggie Smith, my dad's mother.  Grandmother, on the other hand, was a critical woman whom I never felt I could satisfy.  Now I know her strength and determination got her through many very difficult, often painful years.  I never will know just how difficult or how painful.  She kept so much of her own counsel.

She was an only child, born in eastern Missouri, not far from St. Louis, in 1888.  My mother talks a little about Grandmother's parents, who were very loving people and about whom I never have heard anything negative.  Both of them died within a year in the mid-1920's, something that had to have been devastating to Grandmother, who was, by then, married and the mother of six daughters.  My grandfather was not a choice my great-grandparents would have made for their beloved only daughter, and the marriage did not last through the Great Depression.  In fact, once Grandmother took all six daughters, paid movers not only to move them all to a walk-up apartment in Kansas City, but also not to tell her husband where she was.  He found them by walking the streets looking at the laundry hanging on lines from the balconies, recognizing his daughters' clothing hanging out to dry.  Grandmother allowed him to move in for a time, but it was short-lived.

I only can imagine how difficult it must have been in the depression years with daughters to house, feed and clothe.  I believe some of them lived with Grandpappy for a time, although the older ones were out on their own early in those years.  Aunt Betty was born in 1912 and Aunt Dorothy in 1915.  That left Aunt Isabel, my mother, Aunt Ruth and Aunt Clarice.  Mother talks about staying up waiting for her mother to return from working the evening shift in some government clothing factory, massaging her mother's legs to work out the exhausted knots and muscle cramps. 

Grandmother moved to northern California in the early years of World War II to work in another government job at Mare Island, near Napa.  She lived there the rest of her life - another 40 years.  There she met Emil Brandlin, one of a well-established family in Napa and married him in 1944 (5?)   He was nearly 20 years older than she, and I don't think they ever actually lived in the same house.  No one ever has known what that was all about.  My clearest memories of that time are of driving up the Napa valley from Vallejo to see her where she lived in a mobile home and tended her garden.  She loved flowers.  I remember a rainbow over the mountains to the East once, and the curving slide in a park near her home on which I loved to play.  I don't remember her being much of a cook, but her needlework was magnificent, learned from her mother.  My Aunt Ruth gave me Grandmother's carriage blanket a few years ago, created for a much-wanted baby with the initials GMB and the year 1888 embroidered on the brown velvet and crazy-quilt fabrics, along with beautifully embroidered flowers and designs.  I passed the carriage blanket on to Grandmother's youngest great-granddaugher as a college graduation present.  My daughter Maggie is the spitting image of her great-grandmother at the same age and had the blanket framed in a museum-style framing to preserve it.




Yet, in spite of my impressions of Grandmother being emotionally withdrawn and unavailable, I know she cared.  She kept pictures on the wall in the nursing home where she lived the last 3 years of her 93+ years on earth.  These pictures were not only her daughters, but her 20 grandchildren and numerous great-grandchildren (I haven't stopped to count THOSE).   There may have been a couple of great-great grandchildren by the time she passed.  She was proud of us all but never knew how to tell us.  I wish could talk with her now to know what she was thinking and feeling.  I think she wishes that too.

There are moments when life seems to suspend itself, when reality appears to stand in awe at the wonder of possibility. At those moments it seems I look through eyes seeing not one limitation to vision into tomorrow, eyes having clarity to see beyond the present, beyond place, beyond conscious knowing. These are those incalculable eons translating into all too brief miracles of seconds when I know truth, when I touch the face of God, when I reach into God's heart and know nothing else exists beyond the reality of that Presence.

It is not possible to question any aspect of the gift of an instant of living any more than it is comprehensible to understand what exists beyond the edge of the universe. Some might call the awareness and acceptance of such gift as grace, a lovely theological word as gentle as its sound. However, as much as I appreciate the word and its nuances, it seems almost too gentle for the effect in my soul from those miracle moments. There appears some only yet dimly realized power growing from the innermost recesses of where I am. Is this, perhaps, the dawning of full realization of the woman Shekinah created?

There is often a temptation to question the purpose of the gifts of Presence, the actuality of the events. As long as I breathe the atmosphere of this planet I probably shall hear the "why" echoing in my soul when I stand inarticulately in the knowledge of Creator Spirit's love. Yet, even when I hear the question, I understand the answer. There is no mortal alive at any age since time began who can explain the generous gifts Shekinah gives at will. "Why not" is a more likely question. I truly believe one primary factor in whether or not any of us receives the nano-second's awareness of God's presence is entirely dependent upon our willingness to release control of our lives enough to allow the moment to happen. Even our very existence at all is testimony to the reality of God, who is love in action, desiring our presence in relationship. In his poem about creation James Weldon Johnson pictures God saying "I'm lonely" as God chooses to create someone to share love and all the beauty already created. So God makes man.

As any of us who love readily can attest, we desire nothing more than to spend time with those whom we love. Even the strongest, most capable of us who are happy within ourselves whether alone or with others desire relationship that is intimate and accepting. We who love wish to give, and there are no barriers to the generosity of the truest of love. Yet, each of us knows that the ones we love will not always accept what we wish to give and we learn that we must be patient and accepting of the others choices. So it is with Creator Spirit.

This God, by whatever name anyone chooses to speak, is One who desires nothing more than to be with us, to give us the desires of our hearts, to be in intimate relationship. We are those who choose not to accept, who choose not to build relationship, who refuse the gifts. We are those who stand with folded arms and closed fists, with eyes closed to the brightness of light that is God's love. We do not receive because we cannot when we remain closed to possibility and to the riches that are ours by our birthright as beloved children.

What amazes me, however, is that Creator Spirit gives so unstintingly even when we place foolish, short-sighted conditions on our requests. Even in the writing of those words I recall how often those children of my life have asked for some desire while promising spectacular, long-lasting return for my consideration. Of course, I gave if it was appropriate without regard for the unlikely promises, knowing the unreality of the words even as they were spoken. I am convinced that God is the wisest of mothers and simply disregards our silliness when that for which we plead is truly in our best interests while we promise all manner of dubious returns.

Through my mid to late teen years I sought satisfaction to my myriad questions regarding church doctrine and other basic theological issues. The religious organization to which I had been allied through familial association did not fulfill the needs for answers. Little did I realize at the age of eighteen that this was the beginning of a life-long journey. However, I began to read, to ask questions, to search wherever the trail took me. It led then to the traditions of the Roman Catholic church. After several months of intense study and prayer I made one of the rashest promises of my life, a bargain with God. Adolescence is a rash time of life, prone to action without adequate understanding of consequence. At the moment that I sincerely begged to know truth, I promised to enter the convent if God would show me what is truth.

I easily could be facetious by stating quite simply that God did and I did; however, that would beg the entire subject of how generously Creator Spirit gives and how we receive. Such a light-hearted approach would serve only to nullify how seriously I always have regarded the ensuing events of my life. For God did show me truth in a blinding moment when I stood in the real Presence, knowing only the brightest of light that revealed everything. Over the many years since that morning I have endeavored to write and to speak of that moment. Never once have I been able satisfactorily to articulate the gift. Bill Stegall, former pastor of the First United Methodist Church in Redding (CA) says that the mystery of the resurrection is best expressed in poetry because such a genre allows for the unexplainable. This also probably is true of that moment when I touched the fact of God in awe and saw Truth.

The gift of that instant in which my life was subtly and eternally altered was not that I knew any more than I had previously; it was a gift of recognition. Perhaps, the substance of the difference is that I began to recognize more what was not truth when I have encountered it than what IS truth. The poetry I have attempted to write, the many efforts I have made to articulate the effect of that encounter with the Eternal: none of these has the clarity of expression that my soul has attained from a timeless moment. Over the many years and events since an early Spring morning in mid-Missouri, I have grown to know that Truth wears no label, is not bound by human-designed paradigms that appear to offer comfort to those who need them.

For several years following Creator Spirit's loving gift of that moment I continued to search out the appropriate direction of my life through committed participation in structured religious settings. There is no denying that I often found these structures and organizations somewhat stultifying, that my creative urge to shape my response to Truth was frequently thwarted by the rigid bars of the cage that was specific denominational doctrine. There was always an indefinable, inarticulate desire to peer around the corners, to run past the limits that appeared to be held in place from the power of fear, by the need to establish control.

In my effort continually to move closer to the God who is truth, eternity and life, I began to understand that there is yet much more awaiting me. That one momentous encounter had left me yearning for more, such is the beauty and magnetism of God's love. There was no doubt in my mind that I could not ask, nor would I ever have dreamed of assuming that gift; yet, nothing satisfied. In my longing to come closer once more I began to consider the possibility of allowing Creator Spirit more access to my soul, to touch the controls I kept on my deepest self.

One of the more significant benefits of my year's attempt at formal religious life was exposure to and some training in meditation and contemplative prayer. Although I realized my freedom-loving spirit had no place in the conformist atmosphere of a religious order, the lifestyle and its concentrated prayer life spoke deeply into the stillness. I began to know that one gift Creator Spirit had blessed to me is prayer, that deliberate involvement with the Sacred in the opportunities of life. I longed to explore that world with more concentration, more dedication; and Shekinah spoke, gently inviting me to open myself to her love. I resisted for a little while, fearing that which I did not know and not comprehending that I knew all I needed, that Love was who called.

In the desire to live in a manner more attuned to the presence of God in my life I eventually found the courage to release my stranglehold on the issue that, until these last few years, has been central to my difficulties in relationship, both with others in my life and with God, the challenge of control. Details of this stumbling block are not central to the thoughts herein expressed except for my resulting fierce independence. It is a measure, albeit in a very limited fashion, of God's generous, unquestioning love that we remain so free to the point that God does not seek to give even the most delightful gifts to us when we view our capitulation to that love as undesirable. It is we who lose; we lose relationship opportunities with a loving, accepting God more than anything. We also lose the abilities to further enhance the goodness and the abilities created within each of us. Some glimmer of these realities finally began to sink through the stubborn swamp of my fear and I opened one hand just enough to allow Creator Spirit room to move into my life in a new way, enough to allow this great God to place a new gift in my barely opened fist.

Even those of us who have some competency with language reach obstacles in our efforts to speak or to write of thoughts, feelings, desires that touch to the very core of our beings. It seems to me that prayer at its most honest depths comes to a place where words do not suffice, where we long to express that for which we pray but cannot. In his letter to the church in Rome, Paul wrote that these are the moments when Creator Spirit can pray those thoughts that we have no facility to articulate. Just as we offer all that we are, all that we can do as prayer for any variety of purposes and trust that a loving God will accept the meagerness of our offering within the unlimited bounty of God's goodness; so, also, we can open our inadequate ability to pray to the power of love that is Great Spirit and allow that love to speak for us, expressing all the praise and desires that we cannot.

This gift of prayer in such unique style is, and probably always will be, subject to extraordinary controversy, distrust and misinterpretation. Rather than to delve into the aspects that create discordance and misunderstanding, I find it of more benefit to explore prayer in the love of Creator Spirit as it is manifest in my life and in how it affects those for whom I pray by such means. Truly, this particular capability, as is true of most abilities that God gives us, is one meant to support life as children of God who are maturing as co-creators in that redemptive love. In my understanding and experience this is a privately expressed ability meant to be used for others. There are many moments when I want to pray in as focused and clear a manner as I can manage; yet, there are no words to express the depth of my longings for which I pray. These are the moments when I allow Shekinah to pray those thoughts I cannot; and I know that the prayer is perfectly expressed.

To my delight and wonder, I find that the times of prayer in which I give my freedom willingly to Creator Spirit as my own gift are those times when I am clearly aware that I stand on holy ground. As I encounter the burning bush of God's presence I know the warmth, loving acceptance, respond to the light; yet, the fire does not scorch. There is peace, a radiant and flowing river so deep and still that I desire only to remain suspended within. However, there is no possibility of choosing the place or time, or even the duration; for God gives the gift only when I give my will and there is no rationale or choice of mine that will affect that moment other than removal of my assent.

While giving some thought, albeit inadequately, to this gift of God's presence in my life, I realize that there has been another form of prayer that I have begun to experience as gift of freedom, one which before I had not considered in this framework. It never has occurred to me to question how music has enhanced prayer throughout my life, particularly when I sing or play an instrument. Until recently, I had not thought seriously how prayer can and, perhaps, should involve my entire self, physically and spiritually. Then I began to dance my prayers and another gift of the freedom in Gods love found expression.The first instance when I danced my prayer was in a clearing on the mountain where I lived for a year in spiritual retreat and renewal. That was a prayer of commitment, a prayer of the gift of myself to the whisper I had long heard deep in my soul. It was a prayer of thanksgiving, a prayer of longing, one of love that I could not speak. Since that beautiful autumn afternoon I have prayed in dance at only a few, deeply focused moments when no other avenue of expression appeared appropriate. I have become increasingly aware that God creates not only our souls and our minds, gives us abilities and gifts far beyond that which we ever use, but also creates our bodies to also be gift of praise.

While the rare and precious instances when I met Creator Spirit forever focused my vision beyond the present moment, beyond our material existence on this earth, I dared not hope for more than that which I had already experienced. Over time, with thanks that I began, at last, to realize that God creates in each of us such unnoticed, unappreciated beauty and magnificence gave me new outlook, new acceptance; life became an adventure in the freedom of God's presence. I began to learn forgiveness and generosity towards those who had created difficulty in my life and began to understand that I was free to choose, free to be who I am. Then I met the God whose love is all of reality.

Although I clearly recall dates and times of  two instances in which I had stepped into God's presence in which I learned the recognize truth and to allow Creator Spirit to use me for perfect prayer, I do not remember when the first moment in which I stepped into the circle of God's loving embrace occurred. I cannot point to a date on a calendar with any more than a general time frame. Since that one moment I have known this Love often enough that I feel no need to place a time exactly. I remain forever in the presence of Love and I come to startled awareness often, longing to continue far longer in such communion. However, I believe that I could not continue in normal human existence were that desire to be granted.

Rather than some long explanation of these beautiful moments and what happens, which is impossible to write, how these gifts of love have affected my life and my very being is more an appropriate expression. Love is gift and perfect love bears no condition, no expectation, no demand. Yet, such love cries out for unity, passionate expression, constant togetherness, ever-deepening relationship. By allowing God to love me fully I begin to see that there is nothing I need accomplish, nothing I can give, nothing I could begin to achieve that would ever earn such boundless, generous, always forgiving love. Love asks only to be accepted to work its magic miracles. The most beautiful truth of this love is that there is more than I can absorb, more than I need, more than I ever could dream of wanting.

Since I began to live in deliberate awareness and acceptance of Shekinah's love, I have become more emotionally and spiritually integrated, more able to feel and to express my emotions, more forgiving and accepting of others. Many have said to me that there is a radiance about me, an inner joy and peace that glows out with invitation to join me in the beauty of living. I am far more open to people; even strangers I meet start smiling at me. Yet, another less easily explained change is the clarity of vision that this love has enabled. It is without question that perfect love, once accepted into ones soul, banishes fear. The effect of this banishment opens doors that we do not even realize are there, hidden behind the cobwebs and shadows that fear created. We begin to realize more of ourselves and our strengths, the God-given power to live fully, once the radiance of love brightens the darkness.

The clarity that love affords bears several unexpected consequences that can affect not only my life, but can challenge those with whom I come in contact. Because I see myself more clearly and with forgiveness, I see others in the same light; however, that presupposes that unrestricted, loving vision sees where individual responsibility begins and where it ceases. There can be a certain harsh reality, however compassionately we love, when we know that our love must be as realistic as it is complete. There is no romance in this love, only gentleness that calls forth the best of those we love, if they will but understand and accept. Since we understand that our love must leave others as free as we are, we also know that those same others must have the same freedom to choose to reject love, reject appropriate growth and change, reject acceptance and forgiveness. At the same time, our compassionate loving must accept that each of us is responsible only for those choices which we make, those events over which we have control.

Living in freedom knowing God's presence as complete love is living in reality and in truth. This is no easy, rose-strewn pathway, for such love calls for open eyes to accompany the open heart. We look deep into ourselves and know that such love calls forth the best from us and, even as we attempt to live out the gentle whisper that is God's loving beckoning to us, we learn that we now live in a light that has no shadows. Another of the effects that love has created is a heightened awareness and development of talents that already were present. I have had a strong sense of other people, their emotions, motivation, their own sense of themselves for most of my life. With the spirit eyes that see through the filter of loving acceptance I see into others far more clearly than I did previously, although I am less likely to voice that which I see. However, there have been many people who become significantly uncomfortable when I turn my gaze towards them. I see rejection and fear often enough; but I also see personal unhappiness and self-deception that does not wish any light to brighten the dark places.

Forgiveness has become more than a word, no longer an almost impossible challenge in the face of injury that has been the legacy of less sensitive, less aware people in my life. In the gentle, accepting, always generous love who is Creator Spirit I have come to accept myself with all the goodness and all that shadows, the joy and brightness along with the sorrow and pain that has marked my years. I see my failings, as do we all, with often uncomfortable clarity; but I have come to understand that were it not for the contrasts and the opportunities to allow God's love to work in my life, the texture would be of much less variety. Truly, as I have realized the truth of Jacques Maritain's words, I understand that it is my emptiness and thirst that God desires, not my plenitude. I have learned to forgive myself for poor decisions, wrongful behavior, selfish choices, the human condition that we all share.

In coming closer to knowing God's forgiving love I have realized that those who share life with me travel the same path as I. To participate in the mutual, forgiving love of God is to invite each other to touch our wounds, to reach into the tender, hurting places where our agony has lived and to anticipate and to accept healing. The process of forgiveness is one of vulnerability and trust, albeit uneasily and hesitantly begun. It is when we realize the power that forgiveness carries in gentle, healing hands that we begin to know how to forgive with a little more faith, a little more readily; and our memories of pain become less and less accurate, even to the point that we forget, so beautiful is the effect of lovingly offered and accepted forgiveness.

It seems, after considerable thought and scrutiny, that the most powerful effect of allowing God's love to guide ones life is that of empowerment. There is not one facet of being that is not affected, restored, renewed and enervated by this Love that pervades every dark corner of the soul. Such a process can be unsettling since unconditional love, when considered in the terms of the frequent limits and distortions of human reasoning, is insane, unpredictable; and it transforms ones life in the most unexpected fashion.

Creator Spirit is always restless, always moving to bring new life, new hope, new possibility. The gift of boundless love evokes a fountain of response that obliterates any trace of fear as it fuels desire to express the beauty that is the inherent truth of love. It is impossible to remain passive and not to find ones soul expanding in the presence of love that accepts without question. Any of us who love readily understands how the experience of passionate love stirs us into energetic life, rejuvenates weary hearts and gives birth to new hope. Dreams are born where once we believed life had concluded its dance of joy.

The power that God's love unleashes when allowed to perform its magic in our lives takes various styles, as diverse as human creation. While I can speak in general terms, I know this power best as it has affected my life. For those who are less emotionally expressive than I, dwelling in conscious awareness of Love will have effects quite divergent with those I experience. However, there most certainly will be effect and increased intensity in living. Each of us sees with new eyes and we are forever more sensitive to all that is good and beautiful. God, in the power and majesty of this love, touches each of us with gentleness and we are transformed.

Did you think I really would make some profoundly academic statement of theology - knowlege about God / the Sacred / whatever you want to name Who IS?  Perhaps another day.  For now, for my life, this is my statement, my personal theology, if it needs such a $5 word.  The rest can wait.

This morning's conversation with myself as I drove into work was as good an example as any of the kinds of subjects I discuss with me.  My thoughts were on what it means to be the contemplative mystic every day sort of person I am.  My train of thought started down those particular tracks as a mental response to a comment one of my dear sister friends here on Zaadz made to a recent blog entry. 

I probably don't realize that my mysticism, so ordinary and every-day way of being to me, is not at all ordinary to many other people.  I was thinking about what it means to be an everyday mystic in an everyday world doing everyday sorts of things - going to work, puttering around the house at night and on weekends, seeing my elderly aunt regularly (except when she goes gallivanting off on some great jaunt the assisted living home cooks up), talking to my daughter or mother...  Yet, as I drive I notice my constantly changing surroundings and the drivers I encounter (not the cars, except for the license plate holders or bumper stickers they choose).  Everything is opportunity for another meditation.

Probably the most important part of being an everyday mystic is to turn off the radio - what difference is it really going to make if I listen to the blah blah blah about terrible events with which I disagree profoundly but can't change anyway?  I would far rather contemplate on how to be love and warm the coldness of how we treat each other so often, light in the darkness of hopelessness, anguish, pain and confusion.  I would rather see the breeze turning the leaves on the trees, pushing the drying grasses along the roadside into patterns of waves and movement, read the bumper sticker that says "If hell froze over, I'd be snowboarding there, too" when stopped at a light.  That fellow has a sense of humor and an adventurous spirit.

After all, says the contemplative mystic in my soul, what is life but the moments we live and how fully we live them?