True Colours

Praying with colours: Week 6-13th October - Where Am I? Where is God?

Back to Sacred Spirals the other day, where, on our journey with the labyrinth and the Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius, we were looking at the Principle and Foundation, in particular  the examen, or examination of awareness:  pausing to take the time to notice God in all things - as I once wrote -  in the "bad hair" as well as the "red letter" days. It's that question beloved of spiritual directors everywhere, "Where is God in this?" in all its variations: "For what am I most grateful today?" "For what am I least grateful?" "What gives me life/drains me?" "When did I give most love/least love?"... all part and parcel of the process of discernment, "Listening to the music of the spirit," noticing what draws me closer to my centre and to God and what pulls me away. (Definitely a work in progress with me; going on past experience, I could do with the spirit presenting me with a pair of headphones!)

Any oldhow, I was thrilled when we were encouraged to use colour in our prayer *- to explore our own personal "prayer colours" to symbolise our emotions. What a wonderful idea!  As my spiritual director is wont to remind me, when first we started meeting, I described myself as an "butterfly," imaginative, intuitive, forever running after the latest "ooh shiny!" ideas,  thoughts all over the place; getting them gathered into any semblance of coherence is sometimes  even now like wrestling to fold a pop-up tent! My discovery these last few years that I can use paints, colour, art journaling, creativity in all its wonderful variety to move closer to God has been a revelation. It also, I've discovered, a crafty way of bypassing  the old writer's block and that rather mangy, motheaten "Internal Parrot."

  The artwork above though is more of a "here's one I made earlier," (child of the 60s and 70s that I am!); pre-session. I've shared with several folk recently a sense of growing integration or put another way "St Francis meets St Ignatius in the labyrinth." In  one of those funny  "Godincidences" I'd already been trying to pray the examen this way at home. I'll not go into detail about the colours I used, other than to say that I'm now realising that by intentionally praying this way, I'm (well, to be strictly accurate - God and I) are turning round events which going on past experience have all the potential to knock me spinning right off course and away from my centre.   Baby steps they might be  but for me progress along the road that I honestly didn't think possible. 

I might even venture a quiet and discreet "Hurrah!"

*Based on the ideas of Sheila Merryweather's Colourful Prayer.

Lost In A Labyrinth?

Near Hadrian's Wall - Durham to Iona Pilgrimage, April/May 2011

A 'first,' for me yesterday; I actually got lost in a labyrinth. What an odd feeling! I was caught totally by surprise; a labyrinth has only one path winding in and out from the centre, after all. What confused me, was, I think, the overall shape, which was more of a square, with some sharp angles and meditative prayer stations along the way; a great idea in theory, yes, but in practice this introduced not only the usual need to  step off the path to let other walkers go by, but also decisions as to whether to wait patiently at intervals behind somebody deep in prayer, (which to be honest, I felt might appear rather intrusive to the person concerned) step right round them (intrusive again) or, as I eventually did, walk right off the labyrinth. I'm not famed for my sense of direction at the best of times, and after a couple of these diversions, I found myself totally confused and lost.  Several kind helpers appeared to point me back in the right direction, but I decided to call it a day. 

Though they may not have realised, I was quite happy to step off the installation and sit quietly with my thoughts.  I've been musing a fair bit recently about self-esteem issues and my tendency to let set backs, like the one I had earlier in the week, send me hurtling down a spiral of hurt despair and unhealthy self-absorption; as if I'm in some ghastly, cosmic game of Snakes and Ladders.   From where I am it looks as if The Only Way is Down and the temptation, I find is often to let the  downward pull define  everything else I'm about; surely the blips and set-backs are only an indication of my (abysmal) lack of self-worth and abilities. It's that old Imposter Syndrome: If they really knew how useless I am ...blah de blah...I might as well give up.  The trick, I've found, is to know when to push against this; the old   not in desolation going back on a decision made in a time of consolation bit.  I'm finding this easier of late; though this last has involved a few days snivelling away at a bemused but sympathetic Mr GP and much raging at God during the wee small hours.  Stepping back  now, I'm starting to  see the set-back in context.  This is where the labyrinth comes in again, mirroring, as it so often does, those unexpected twists and turns of life when you think you're travelling further away from your destination, but in reality are still on the path. Old cynic that I am, I sometimes find the old hymn God Moves in A  Mysterious Way,  a wee bit too off pat for my liking, but I do (grudgingly) have to admit there's more than a grain of truth in it. 

So, for all kinds of reasons, some of which won't make it on to this blog, the event that I was involved with yesterday, which I could so easily have decided to back out off at the last minute, has done wonders to boost the Greenpatch self-confidence; I've squared up to and stared down the old Inner Critic (for now, at least) and am back on the pathway.

Whiskers on Kittens - 110 Things that Bring Me Life...continued

At the (totally embarrassing) risk of sounding a dead ringer for Maria in The Sound of Music:

45. The blossom laden trees in the park as I walked GP dog in the park earlier. So delicate; try and grasp the blooms and you risk crushing them.

46. The arrival in my in-box of the St Beunos newsletter;  bright, springlike and bursting out all over.

I'm not so sure about our own resident 'big kitten,' pictured above. Leastways - when he plonks himself on my desk between the printers and sits there looking stern/shoves his whiskers in my face. We've not had to cope with such goings-ons since the reign of the Late Great Gothcat. Was that really three cats ago? How time flies!

[Hmm..Who can spot the typo in the post title first?! ]

Waiting - Interim Time

If there's  one thing I've learned about myself from these last couple of year's vocational wanderings, it's that I find waiting sooo difficult. The frustrating  process of one step forward, two steps back, hopes raised, then dashed as once again a new path followed up leads to another seeming dead-end. On a good day I joke wryly about learning curves and the need for Prayer, Patience, Pro-activity and Persistence in equal measures; during the bad ones, it's all I can do to stop myself flinging myself down in the middle of said road and howling in frustration.

Then every once in a blue moon,  just as I'm on the point of giving up, as earlier this week, somebody or something happens; in this case some practical  affirmation from a friend  that they at least, see me as being on the right path which gives me renewed hope,  albeit a tiny sliver, but just enough to help me up and onto the road again.

So on I plod. The other week, I  was congratulated on my excellent (for my age) blood pressure reading; the practice nurse remarked that she could tell that I  was a walker; it's reflected in my level of physical fitness. Look on the bright side: the current trials must surely be having a similar effect on the spiritual.

Borrowed my own book back from the church Lent library today just so that I could look over this old favourite from Benedictus by the late John O'Donahue. These lines are from For the interim time.

...You are in this time of interim

          Where everything seems witheld...

           As far as you can, hold your confidence.
           Do not allow your confusion to squander
           This call which is loosening
            Your roots in false ground,
            That you might come free
             From all you had outgrown.

heaven scent

Alium by Susie B freedigitalphotos.net

No, we're not talking the 1970's perfume here. How did the ad go? A [something or other] full of rain-washed breezes. A poem waiting to be written... At 17 years old I fell for the cutesy gold cherub embossed on the packaging and the tiny booklet of poetry that came with it; generally something like Rabbie Burn's My Love is like a Red, Red, Rose. The height of romance and sophistication  or so it seemed to me at the time, even if the actual perfume was a bit on the cloying side.

That so, I'm sure just a whiff of it now would send me back over 40 years in an instant. Strange how smells have such a power over our minds;  potent keys to the past.

This morning on my way to church, it was the definitely unromantic pong of allium that transported me back, not too far this time, but to the grounds of  the place where I first began to go on retreat about eight years ago. Heaven scent it may not be, yet the smell of alium leaves crushed underfoot takes me back to those special times at Compton Durville.

 I often find nowadays that recalling such times when I've felt so held and close to God,  far from being self-indulgent,  often help me focus myself during those leaner, bleaker periods when I'm struggling.

Like last Spring, on  our  pilgrimage to the Western Highlands. During an scaringly hairy section of Loch Lomond in horrible weather conditions,  when it seemed we'd never reach our destination without emulating the old song and leaving ourselves on the 'low road,' it was that familiar, faintly oniony scent that helped me 'hold on.' I'd love to say that I was aware of God upholding me every step of the way but that would be fibbing When it's all you can do to put one foot in front of the other without slipping over on to the rocks below, your focus needs to be on survival first, prayer second. But, that ordinary, workaday, familiar smell  - well...I'm sure it was truly 'heaven sent.'