Category Archives: Faith and Spirituality

Real Religion

Beltane                                                     Waxing Last Frost Moon

“The real religion of the world comes from women much more than from men – from mothers most of all, who carry the key of our souls in their bosoms.” – Oliver Wendell Holmes

Especially true if you insert mother earth for mothers and nature for women, viz.  The real religion of the world comes from nature much more than from men-from mother earth most of all, who carries the key to our souls in her bosom.

I am just back from seeing Leslie give her final presentation at Groveland.  Ran into Bill Mate.  He’s been doing work for the Methodist Church in New Orleans.  Sounded fun.

Wow.  No nap yesterday plus 5 hours driving, then up early for going into St. Paul to see Leslie.  Got hit by a sudden need to lie down and sleep.  Did so.  Better now, less foggy.

When I got back, Kate was in the front, raking and planting, earth mother to mother earth.  I made pizza, then crashed.  Still waking up.

Light rain, warm.  80’s in the forecast.  Spring, it seems, may have finally arrived, well after it has come and gone as a Celtic season.

Knocking on the Door

Beltane                                                                             New Last Frost Moon

There are times and this is one of them, when death seems behind every door.  My friend Bill has learned that his wife’s cancer is stage 4.  A grave diagnosis with a grave prognosis.   American’s exult in the streets over the death of Osama Bin Laden.  A friend sent out a quote from Martin Luther King* that expressed my feelings.  Today Vega, one of our younger dogs, tested positive for Lyme’s disease.  Not a big deal, treatable, unless the kidney is involved.  Hers may be.  If it is?  Difficult to impossible to treat.

Since I started today already in somewhat of a funk, all this darkness hovering around has reinforced it, made the day two or three shades grayer.

Death does not surprise us.  It lurks beside us all our born days until the last one.  Its reality, its starkness, its finality, especially that last one, passing from the quick to the dead, still strike heavy hammer blows to the heart.

Death’s most severe wounds come from the source of our greatest joy, love.  Without love death counts only as an incident, something happening to someone else, an event of little consequence.  We know this each day we read the obituary pages.  Even the death of someone we have known, but not loved, does not shake us at our foundations.  When, however, death comes to call for one close and important in our lives, the very bound of love lacerates the heart, accelerates our fear, amplifies our sense of loss. Continue reading Knocking on the Door

Beltane 2011

Beltane (May 1)                                                        Waning Bee Hiving Moon

A bit about how I got interested in the auld religion, the ancient Celtic faery faith and from it, the Great Wheel.

23 years ago I left the Presbyterian ministry and wandered off into a life I could never have anticipated.  The writing turn I took then led me to investigate my Celtic past, the heritage of my Welsh and Irish ancestors.  I learned about Richard Ellis, son of a Welsh captain in William of Orange’s army who was stationed in Dublin.  After his father’s death, his mother paid Richard’s fare to America, to Virginia, where he was to become heir to a relative’s land, a common practice at the turn of the century since children died so often.  This was 1707.

Also a common practice at the turn of the century was a ship captain’s larceny, stealing Richard’s fare and selling him into indentured servitude in Massachusetts.   Richard went on to found the town of Asheville, Massachusetts and become a captain in the American Revolution.

My own other Celtic ancestors, the Correls, were famine Irish, part of the boat loads forced out of Ireland by the failed potato crop, or an Gorta Mór it is known in Gaelic, the great hunger. (Incidentally, this was due to planting potatoes as a mono-culture, much like we plant corn, soybeans and wheat today.)  They came to this country in the mid 19th century.

I did not go into the history of Wales at the turn of the 18th century, nor did I investigate the an gorta mor and its aftermath.  Instead, I went further back, into ancient Ireland and Wales; in fact I looked at all the Celtic lands, Isle of Mann, Scotland, Brittany and Galicia as well.  What fascinated me then, and still does now, was the auld religion, the Faery Faith, as represented in The Fairy Faith by W. Y. Evans-Wentz, more famous as the translator of the Tibetan Book of the Dead.

Not long after leaving the Presbyterian ministry I packed my bags for a week + at St. Denioll’s, a residential library in Hawarden, Wales.  While there I wandered northern Wales, visiting holy wells, castles and Welsh villages.  There was also an extensive collection of Celtic material at St. Denioll’s. Continue reading Beltane 2011

Celebrating in the Way of the Bunny

Spring                                                           Waning Bee Hiving Moon

When I pulled the grass plugs out of the entrance reducers, it was as if the bees had lined up, just waiting for me.  They streamed out, headed for nearest blooming thing.  Well, maybe not.  My understanding is that bees take short flights, then incrementally longer ones, then longer ones, until they’ve built up a knowledge base about the hive’s location.  Only then do they head off for the pollen and nectar available.  They vector using the sun, landmarks and the hive’s appearance.

Bees see color, though they see it in the infrared spectrum.  The colony, essentially a female commune, depends on the different tasks performed by workers, most of them dependent on age.  The  youngest bees serve as nurse bees, checking on larvae (instar), pupae health, cleaning the frame and building up comb if necessary.  The forager and defensive bees are the oldest bees in the colony with the exception of the queen.  They are also the crankiest, the most likely to sting and the fuddy-duddies who, if a new queen is not properly introduced, take offense and smother her.

(see the Guardian article on the pagan roots of Easter)

I wrote the first draft of Leslie’s end of the year evaluation today, too.  She has made great strides.  Though I would have thought it happened long ago, this likely will be the last time I have a working relationship with the seminary and, with the exception of the occasional sermon, Groveland.  It’s been fun to work with Leslie, but the church just does not hold the juice for me anymore.  Liberal religion is an interesting thought world, an anti-faith faith and for most of its adherents, a godless religion.  A strange animal indeed.

After the nap I went outside to finalize the planting scheme for this year.  I have a small moleskine notebook in which I record my planting schemes, primarily to keep my memory clear about rotation planting.  It can get complicated.  This was a blue sky, yellow sun day.  Birds sang and a light breeze blew through the trees, still leafless.  Writing in my notebook, I felt  a connection to the other gardens we’ve planted, the ones from which we probably still have tomatoes, beans, onions, chutney, sauces.  Each gardening year is its own event, never duplicated.  There are averages and likelihoods, but mother nature does not repeat with slavish devotion to detail, rather in the large strokes, warmer and wetter in summer, colder and drier in winter.

Later Kate came out and I consulted her about how many tomato plants she wanted, where she wanted the beans and the peas to go.  We marked them with the wonderful tomato cages we purchased three years ago, thick metal rods enameled orange, sturdy.  She set out to string netting for the sugar snap peas and I planted carrots, then leeks.  Mark smoothed out last year’s potato bed where this year we will plant beans and onions.  He put in several rows of white onions and when I left him was planting red onions.  Kate planted the sugar snaps and the dwarf peas, too.

I came inside to get ready for tai chi.  I’ve made a decision, at least for right now, about resistance work.  I’m going to continue my intensive aerobic work, focused on cardiovascular health, but I’m going to set aside the resistance work for now in favor of tai chi.  My reasoning is that the primary gain I wanted from resistance work is strength to avoid falls.  Tai chi, carefully cultivated and practiced, approaches the question of balance from a different perspective, whole body balancing and leg strengthening, movement centered over the foot.  I just don’t have the willingness to do 45 minutes + of aerobics plus tai chi plus resistance work.  At least not right now.  I will get some resistance work naturally during the gardening season.

Walking Toward the Bomb

Spring                                                           Waning Bloodroot Moon

Last night, in conversation with Bill Schmidt, cybermage and nuclear engineer, the Sheepshead group turned to Fukushima.  Bill built an identical plant on the west side of Honshu, across the sea of Japan from Korea.  That lead the conversation to Hiroshima and Dick Rice’s story of a Jesuit who picked up a medical bag and walked into ground zero after the blast to help the injured.  Since then, Dick said, all Jesuits have “walked toward the bomb.”  May all of us do the same.

p.s.  Bill sent me a note about Father Arrupe, S.J.– He was the man referred to above and a former Superior General of the Jesuit order.

(Visitors walk toward the Atomic Bomb Dome, at the Peace Memorial Park in Hiroshima, western Japan, Wednesday, Aug. 4, 2010. Hiroshima will mark the 65th anniversary of the world’s first atomic bomb attack on Aug. 6. (AP Photo/Shuji Kajiyama))

Not joining protests of the policies that will soon affect poor Minnesotans disproportionately, gives me a sense of not walking toward the bomb,  sitting on the sidelines as our state turns its back on those most vulnerable.  Four years ago I chose to throw my political effort behind the Great Work, moving humanity to a benign relationship with the earth.  I’ve done this because the Great Work, to me, weighs in on the side of our species as a species, conserving a safe place for us in a cold universe.  This is a very long range perspective, the seventh generation view of the Iroquois, and it comes with some pain.   I’m glad others are there to carry the fight to the capitol about health care and human services cuts.

Gotta get ready for the Institute.

Our Own, Original Relation to the Earth

Spring                                                            Waning Bloodroot Moon

I’ve discovered an analogy between translation and science.  Coming to a premature conclusion about the meaning of a passage causes chopping and cramping to fit meanings, declensions and conjugations into the preconceived notion.  The better way lies in suspending judgment, collecting all the possibilities, then, sorting them out in context, both with the larger work and among themselves, to find the probable meaning the original author had.  In science, the old method, the deductive method, began with a premature conclusion about the nature of reality, say, the earth is the center of the solar system and then made observational data fit the conclusion.  Francis Bacon summed it up well.  If method were a foot race, then the wrong method would take you further and further from your goal, no matter how fast you ran; the right method (the experimental method) carries you toward your goal, again no matter how fast you run.

Biblical translation often suffers from this very problem.  Predetermined theological or dogmatic conclusions force particular choices in translation, choices that support or reject a sanctioned premise.

It is, too, unfortunately, a trap fallen into by many folks I know.  Using second or third removed “sources” for so-called teachings is not new, but it’s phony baloney and muddies even the best minds.  Let me give you an example.  Many of the Wiccan or neo-pagan folk refer with confidence and certainty to certain Celtic religious practices.  Here’s the rub.  All we know about the ancient Celts in other than an archaeological sense, comes from three exceedingly suspect sources:  Roman writers like Julius Caesar and Tacitus, Roman Catholic monks who wrote down some material about the Celtic folk religion and a romanticized version of Celtic lore that surfaced in 18th century England.  The Romans conquered and subdued the Celts militarily; the Catholics oppressed them spiritually; and  the English treated the Celts as second and third class subjects.  Yet it is the literature of these three sources that contain the deposit of information about early Celtic religious practices and beliefs.

Now, even this data, through careful scholarship and skilled literary criticism, can yield solid or at least strongly suggestive information.   We learn some things about the Triple Goddess Brigit, for example, through material written about the Catholic saint who co-opted her place in Celtic lives, St. Bridgit.

It’s an odd field, these contemporary attempts to recapture a relationship in the present with the attitudes toward the earth held in our deep past.  I count myself as part of it, though with a twist, rather than retrieving the thought world and ceremonies of our ancestors, I’m following Emerson.  We need an original relationship to the earth, one based on our experience, not theirs, a religion of our own “revelations” gleaned from the earth as she is now, not the record of theirs.

As one way of getting at it, I take a cue from an Iroquois shaman I met long ago who prayed for the winged ones, the four legged, the ones who swim in the rivers, lakes and oceans, the flying ones and the ones who crawl.  When I asked him why he didn’t he pray for the two-leggeds, the answered, “Because we’re so fragile we depend on the health of all the others.”

We don’t need to become faux Iroquois to grasp and incorporate this sensibility.  All we need do is realize the onrush of climate change and the danger it poses to our species.  In that one move we can shift over to a deep respect for mother earth and all her parts, the living and the inanimate.

That is the fear based way and I’m perfectly ok with it if that’s what it takes to move you because not all fear is baseless.

Another way is to step up your own intimacy with the living world by growing vegetables, keeping bees, growing flowers, participating in the local foods movement, shopping at food co-0ps,  This web of activities coupled with mindfulness about where you are and what you eat can increase your sensitivity to the thrumming, vital interdependence of which we are a real and intextrictable part.

Many use camping, hiking, bird-watching, weather forecasting, fishing and hunting to put themselves into this I-thou relationship with the earth.

There’s so much more here, but I want to plead for direct experience, not the cadging of other cultures, not the assumption that by associating ourselves with indigenous persons we become somehow more in tune with the earth.  No, the one you need to be associating with is yourself and your daily, lived experience.  Can we learn from others?   Of course.  Can we become them in any authentic way?  No.  Absolutely not.

Stay In It

Spring                                                    Waning Bloodroot Moon

As winter loosens its grip on our state, the legislature begins to tighten theirs.  In the last half of the first session of the 2011-2012 legislature, budget bills dominate the news.  From my perspective as both a liberal and an environmentalist, the news is grim.  Environmental permitting, a public process designed to tease out and prevent negative impacts, has been weakened.  A bridge over the St. Croix, negotiated to a smaller, less intrusive version, has suddenly come back to life, bigger and more expensive than ever.  Up until the Japanese disaster, the nuclear moratorium in the state seemed headed for repeal.  Last night, in what must be one of the more peculiar–not to mention outrageous actions–an amendment passed attaching to an omnibus environmental budget bill a provision to fund state parks by cutting down black walnut trees in two of them, White River and Frontenac.   Let’s see, cutting down trees to save the state parks.  Like selling the children to support the family or auctioning off the planes to save the airlines.

Since the halcyon days of the 60’s, it’s been tough for those of us with liberal to radical political sympathies.  Victories have been few and defeats numerous.  It is possible to despair, to wonder if a sense of communal responsibility will ever again influence policy; but, it is in precisely these circumstances where those of us with a historical perspective and active engagement must not allow despair to over run our convictions.  To shuck off politics now is to insure that the field is left to those whose politics create the need for us.

No, as the conservative hand closes around the gavel in state after state and in Congress as well, those of us in the opposition must be more vigorous, more active, more vocal.

Mind/Body

Spring                                                                Waning Bloodroot Moon

The yard!  The yard!  If Tattoo had been here this winter, he’d have gotten pretty excited about this dreary muddy mess now more visible than not.  The mountain of snow over which I could not see as I degaraged my Celica has melted to foothill levels, allowing me sights not seen for two + months.  Yippee.

Business meeting this morning and we acknowledged both the new tax burden and our wisdom in saving adequately to deal with it.  This transition year into the retired life has had surprises, mostly pleasant ones, but this one caught us up short, at least at first.  We have enough money to pay the taxes and still go on with our cruise.  I’m glad because I’ve already got that Panama hat picked out.

I’ve entered a new phase of physical activity, one with not only aerobic and resistance work, but also with body movement exercise like the Tai Chi and the Body Flow class at the Y.  It feels different, maybe better.  The better aspect comes with the more body friendly Tai Chi, yoga and pilates.  Aerobic and resistance are necessary to retain muscle mass and heart/circulatory system health, but the others work the body in a way designed to calm, loosen, stretch.  The Tai Chi, too, has a strong element, as does yoga, of the Eastern mystical.  Yoga as taught here has lost much of that, but the Tai Chi world remains rooted in the ancient Taoist traditions of China.

Welcome Home, Tai Chi

Spring                                                   Waning Bloodroot Moon

Once in a while something comes into my life and it feels like a part of me already, as if a missing piece had come back home.  Meeting Kate was like that for me.  My split-off.  When the Wednesday classes for the two-year docent program began, art history came home.  When I found a Jungian analyst over 25 years ago, my Self began to return.  Last night I attended my first Tai Chi class.  Another wandering aspect of myself has joined the others at the hearthside.

When my hands floated up last night into the second position, I felt an energy pushing away from my body, just I felt it collecting as I pulled my elbows in and those same hands back toward my body.  A sense of inner peace, momentary, but real, emerged.  My first class, but not my last.

It may be true as an article in the Star-Tribune this morning claimed, that memory takes longer to cement as we grow older, may be, but for me, I hold out for variability, that some things to take longer to seat, yes; but others, because they’re compelling or because they’re split-offs that have found their back to the homestead, just rejoin as if they’d never left.

I’m going to confess something here.  There’s a part of me, a looky-loo part, that hopes disasters will go all the way like the earthquake and the tsunami in Japan or the financial crisis or the riots sweeping the Middle East.  A part of me wants to see what a nuclear meltdown would entail.  What if that chief villain of high tech actually happened?  What would the consequences be?  Really?  This is not at all a desire to see more disasters or worse catastrophes, rather it is a sort of morbid curiosity, a curiosity about extremes.  What if a volcano like Mt. Rainier or Mt. Fuji erupt at full force?  What if the sea levels do rise by 2 feet or more?  This is the immoderate part of me, that aspect that wants thing to extend to their logical conclusion.

I wouldn’t feel embarrassed about this at all if there wasn’t the possibility, the great likelihood, of serious injury and death to people and eco-systems.  So, I feel embarrassed, but still interested.

Public Speaking

Spring                                               Full Bloodroot Moon

Redefining the Sacred is now available.  The discussion around it was solid, engaged, intelligent.  It felt good in delivery.  I enjoy public speaking engagements.  I’m mostly down to Groveland, now, but I’d like to do some more.  Not a lot, but some.  Have to think about how to make that possible.

Kate and I tried, without success, to eat at Saji-ya and then the Heartland Restaurant, both not open until the evening.  We finally settled on Osaka.  Udon for me, tempura for Kate.  Now, a nap.