REDONDOWRITER'S SACRED ORDINARY

A Reflective Thanksgiving Weekend Filled With Stories and Memories

I've been off work for a week and a half, with only one day spent at school. I took this time to be aware of the people and stories swirling around me--and focused on my own story. I wrote a lot in my regular journal, devoted countless hours to the art journals, read, and allowed myself to have quiet time to just think. The latter is hard for me as I have a tendency to be a human doing. Too much thinking produces anxiety sometimes. 

On Friday I attended a funeral mass for a long-time acquaintance at St. Joseph's Catholic Church in Hawthorne. It was one of the largest funerals I have ever attended and Trudy's priest son, Fr. Jim Clarke, was the principal celebrant with 35 priests and deacons on the altar. Fr. Jim is one of my favorite priests. He always speaks to my heart. The Clarke's have 11 adult children, many, many grandchildren, and one great grandchild and my kids went to school with them at St. Catherine Laboure. I taught some of the Clarke kids in CCD. Trudy and Bill were spiritual role models to many of us and it's hard to believe she is gone. Her husband Bill is near the end of his life and lives in a nursing facility; he was present at the funeral and reception afterwards although unable to engage with the guests. He was once a mentor to me; I felt very, very sad, but what a legacy they have lived. 

St. Joseph's was the first Catholic Church I ever remember being in. It was my sister Virginia and brother-in-law Sal's parish and I often spent time with them when I was growing up. As I recall, I was about 8-years-old and my sis took me shopping for a new Easter dress. We sat in the choir loft, or at least that is what I remember. This church is very large and is filled with art and statuary. I'll never forget the grandeur of that Easter service. It was the first time I saw Our Lady of Guadalupe who is displayed prominently on a side altar. I was attending a Baptist Church at the time. When my husband and I moved back to L.A. after college, St. Joseph's was our parish for two years. 

My parents, my sisters and I lived in a small home at 11408 Birch St. in Hawthorne when I was ages 3-6. After the funeral, I drove by the house and though it seemed huge to me as a kid, it is in reality very modest. It was during WW II and my sisters were all of dating age. I remember so many service men visiting our home as my older sisters were active at the USO. In speaking with my two living sisters yesterday, they told me that each of them had been married in front of the fire place in that house. I know that whoever lives there has a big black SUV. I wonder who they are. Memories are bombarding me.

I've been thinking a lot about my spiritual journey lately as I have been aware of being a seeker since I was a young child. I converted to Catholicism at age 21 and the church was our primary community for more than 25 years. I still feel so much at home in a Catholic Church and comfortably attend mass when it feels right. I have difficulty with politics and doctrine, but adore the mysticism, liturgy, social justice, and scholasticism of the Catholic Church. It's like coming home when I do attend mass, and yet, I am expressing myself as an Episcopal the past several years. I often dream of being at mass. Is it possible to be an Episcopal Catholic? I know there is an African Methodist Episcopal Church. Since I have free will, I suppose I can choose to worship however I wish, but I sometimes wish I wasn't so dualistic about so many things. I rarely see things in black and white. 

Ah, food for thought. Any comments? 

Gathering My Thoughts on a Fall Day

Those of you who know me in person or through this blog over the last 5 1/2 years know that I like to stay busy and active. I still work part-time at a K-12 school 3 days a week, I volunteer for the Palos Verdes Library and my Macintosh Users Group. I’m blessed with family living locally and have a lot of friends so I can be with people when I want to be.

But, this summer I chose to spend a lot of time being solitary partly out of laziness and partly because I just wanted to see what it felt like not to be busy all the time. I have spent a lot of time in contemplation, writing, doing art, reading and watching DVDs largely by myself. My Washington sister's diagnosis of stage 2 lung cancer and my Vegas sister's declining health have also affected me as I want to be ready to be with them if it becomes necessary.

This photo, by the way, is of the path behind my friend Orma's home in Palos Verdes; she made a beautiful painting from the photo.

For the past few weeks I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been a little more solitary than is healthy for me, but it’s so easy to be alone. I have a tendency to adapt to whoever I am with, which in actuality is both a positive and a negative. I’ve started to be annoyed when I have to drive at night, too, although my sight is not impaired. Maybe this is all part of the natural aging process. Some of my sisters became reclusive in their elder years; I don't want to let myself get started on that path.

This past week I decided to step outside my comfort zone and I signed up for a six week mixed media class on Monday nights at Summer Studios. I have never had any art instruction before and I am very excited--and fearful. I'm not a "real" artist, I keep telling myself, but I know that's bullshit.

This coming weekend is my 54^th class reunion, if you can believe that. Reunions always stir up my soul and memories. Though I went to school at Verdugo Hills High School in Tujunga, for the past several years we have met yearly and usually in Lauglin, NV, one of my most un-favorite spots in the world--but it's cheap and everyone seems to be retired (except me) with time to spare. There are no flights from L.A. directly to Laughlin for one thing. Instead of bumming a ride this year and having to depend on others, I’m flying to Vegas on Friday morning, renting a car,  and will spend a few days with my ailing sister. On Sunday I’ll drive the 90 miles to Laughlin and spend Sunday and Monday with my former classmates. As you probably know, I do not like driving alone in unfamiliar places, but I don’t want to spend four days at the reunion just so I can get a ride. Two days seems about right. This whole trip is out of my comfort zone, but in the past 24 years as a single woman, I’ve felt the fear and done whatever anyway. I WANT to go but Scotty just won't beam me up and make it easy.

Last night as I was preparing for bed, after a movie and art marathon evening, which I thoroughly enjoyed, I felt uneasy, lonely. Maybe it was because I watched “Practical Magic” immediately followed by “The Other,” the latter being pretty scary all in all. When I did my day’s summary in my journal I thought, “I am tired of being alone so much.” I asked Spirit to show me the way to being alone less, particularly on weekends.

After church this morning, which I had to drag myself to somewhat reluctantly just because it’s easier to stay home, Fr. Bob gave a great sermon on Mark 8:27-38, “Who do people say that I am?” He used the metaphor of a GPS—in this case a God Positioning System which periodically has to recalculate when wrong turns or directions are made. I was really thinking of who people say I am versus who I say I am and how long it takes me to recalculate sometimes when I realize I’ve made a wrong turn but keep going anyway . Even at 72, I can’t say with consistency who I am. Partly it’s because I am still changing.

Usually I don’t go to the coffee after services, but for some reason I went today and a lot of that had to do with a serious nudging by Spirit to be more community-oriented. I’ll admit that I have trouble with intimacy sometimes so group situations (except for work and volunteering) are sometimes difficult for me. Kevin, who runs the Education for Ministry program in our parish, and I chatted over coffee. I’ve always avoided signing up for this intense study program which is ultimately a four year program, 36 weeks at a time. But instead of my usual Inner Critic (IC) ragging on me, I clearly heard a voice say in my head “When were you the happiest in recent years?” “When I was studying new things,” was my silent interior reply. The more Kevin spoke, the more jazzed I became. Kevin showed me all the materials for the program and I spontaneously signed up. I’m not a spontaneous person by nature. It takes me a long time to commit to anyone or anything, but when I do, I’m usually loyal as hell.

So—some new things are coming up for me. I think I’ve drawn these things to me, I’m affirming them even if they make me uncomfortable, and I feel like my GPS has recalculated and I’m taking a slightly different road than I’m accustomed to. Hmmm. OK, Spirit. Is there any way you could make me more comfortable with thinking out of my solitary box?

Divine Order or Cosmic Roulette?

I am more than 40 miles away from the nearest fire burning in Southern California, but I was raised in the Sunland-Tujunga area of Los Angeles and our news stations are broadcasting the disasters non-stop. Since I've been at work all day, I haven't sought any news connections for several hours. For the past several days the columns of smoke over the mountains were visible, but from my office window high on a hill, there is a dark cloud of smoke blanking out almost everything. It is very hot, even in South Bay, and there is an oppressiveness because you know that close by there are a lot of people in danger. Firefighters have already lost their lives. 

I just Google Earthed my old home in Sunland, which is actually about 2 miles from where the fires are burning -- and it is there. The people who bought the house from my folks in 1956 are gone and I haven't been up there for 18 months. I don't know who owns it, but it exists. Next I checked the home of a friend who is very close to where the fire is burning, and was happy to see it is still standing, complete with swimming pool. You can see the burned areas right up to the houses on the next block, however. They have been through similar fires many times and have always been spared. They are philosophical. 

Growing up in a foothill community right against the mountains was a wondrous thing I took for granted when I was young. From the windows of my home, I had one patch of lighter earth I always focused on half-way up the mountain in front of me. I was convinced that Pancho Villa's treasure was buried there and wrote stories about it. That area was inaccessible, but I know it has already burned over this go-around. We built a little dam in the Sunland Wash right off Oro Vista and that was our summer swimming hole. That whole area has burned over. We dealt with fires, too, even way back when I was a kid but I simply believed my dad would save me. 

These fires make me think of what I would run and take if my own house was going to burn down. I have been told that people aren't always rational about what they take. Off the top of my head, I'd grab medications first, then the box of old photos and the ones of my kids growing up; Cookie would be in my car first and although she grows more feeble day by day.  If there was time I'd grab my mom's wedding dress which I display in my bedroom and my laptop computer. What would you grab if you had only five minutes to evacuate? 

We all know that life is transient, that possessions really don't mean very much in the long run, and that if you have your life, you can start over again. But, as I allow myself to actually feel the feelings of having to leave everything behind, I am remarkably anxious, I'll admit. I'm a take charge person and always have been although I've learned not to impose my need for order and control on others--but it took me a long time to come to that. 

The bottom line is that life is fragile, fleeting, impermanent; we just like to pretend we are in control. My late friend Donna, also my CoDa sponsor in the 1980s, always said life was in divine order. I hear her voice in my head frequently when I'm obsessing on something I can't fix. Sometimes that's hard to believe. My old friend Sam Genensky, who founded the Center for the Partially Sighted, always told me that life was cosmic roulette. He recently passed away, but he made such a huge difference in so many people's lives in his own tough journey. 

So, that's the musings that out-of-control fires remind me of tonight. I feel unsettled, helpless, and the only other thing to do is drive home now and keep on keeping on. It's just that no man is an island and I am my brother's keeper. 

Synchronicity: The Story of the Two Ralph Whites

This summer I have free written in my journal a lot to explore where I am and what might be next for me. I’m recording dreams again and spending more quiet time simply being aware of my body and environment. I’m whispering gratitudes continuously as I’m fully aware that though my own days are dwindling just by the mere fact that I’m 72, that there’s no reason I can’t say thank you for the days I have had and am having. (I am not being morbid, but realistic, I think.) I’m also working almost every night in my art journals—and creativity and hope seem to be simmering once again. I was kind of stuck for a while. All summer I’ve dug around in my patio garden connecting to the earth and have walked to the sea simply to stare at sunsets and people. A few weeks back I began sorting old photos and reconnecting with my ancestors and my family. Today I booked a flight to visit my sister in Las Vegas later this month and to go to my 54th class reunion in Laughlin, NV. I had really been dragging my feet. I have very much become a homebody. 

When I consciously live life with intention, starting when I first wake up (which is much harder to do than say), synchronicities begin to happen. It’s like Holy Spirit (or whatever you call something greater than yourself) reveals itself through people, situations and circumstances. Have you noticed that yourself? I've been more present lately--and sometimes that is pretty darned painful, I might add.

In that synchronistic vein, I’ve recently become aware of two Ralph Whites. One I’ve actually met. So, here goes. In the Aug. 31 edition of the Los Angeles Times, there was an interesting article by Louis Sahagun called "A Quest for the Mysteries of spiritual experience."  It was about a conference in upstate New York exploring the unexplained about the country's spiritual and cultural movements that started there. This first Ralph White, the editor of Lapis Magazine, led the tour. Booked as “An Esoteric Quest for Inner America” in Rip Van Winkle country, participants visited the Oneida Community, the site of the 19609 Woodstock festival, the Six Nations Iroquois Conferdation, the Hudson River School painters, the now mostly defunct Shaker communities, and several other locations. One doesn't necessarily have to go the great ruins around the world to find spiritual beginnings and continuity. It's right in our own back yards. 

Ralph White I is apparently is an expert on esoteric philosophy and theology and for the past six years I haven't been spending time at my old esoteric haunts like the Krotona School of Theosophy, the Krishnamurti Foundation of America, both in Ojai, or the Philosophical Research Society in Los Angeles for a long time. I haven’t even been to the Jung Institute in Los Angeles, which isn't so much esoteric, but is a psychology based in spirituality. I haven't been reading Gnosis or Parabola on a regular basis. 

I had never even heard of the esoteric scholar and Lapis editor Ralph White but even before awareness of Ralph White I, I met another Ralph White, a fusion artist. Ralph White belongs to my art group and has a studio set up in a garage next door to my house where he paints on the weekend. I recently visited him while he was working and though I am not ordinarily attracted to most abstract art, I was extremely pulled toward his. It is very spiritual. 

I love the synchronicity of “discovering” both Ralph White’s within a few weeks span and if you are interested in all things spiritual, I highly recommend visiting both these men’s websites. Both are inspiring and surely piqued my interest—and maybe more.

I'll admit it. The time has come again to enrich my Christianity by staying equally in tune with all the spiritual traditions of the world. Something has been missing lately--and I know that by nature I like to seek out other ways of looking at the world. 

 

Welcome to the Center for Sacred Psychology on the Web

Today I was delighted to find a comment regarding the Center for Sacred Psychology in west Los Angeles I had made in May of 2005 in a post titled, "Center for Sacred Psychology Rekindles Hope for Sanctuary."

I always felt frustrated that the Center didn’t have a web presence as the work they do there is so beneficial to so many people and in today's world, Internet communication is a blessing. I'm happy to say the Center is now alive and well on the web.

Cassi said, “Dear Fran, Your readers may be interested in knowing that the Center for Sacred Psychology is now online offering time-tested aids to psychospiritual growth to those outside southern California. The Center for Sacred Psychology is pleased to announce it's first eBook, "The Legends of Mary's Girlhood," available for purchase and download. Thank you for your support. Sincerely, Cassi Bassolino, Webmaster and eBook Publisher for Betsy Caprio Hedberg and the Center for Sacred Psychology."  

Not only is there a site for the Center, but Betsy’s latest book is available as an e-book. I will definitely order it as I have read all of their books over the years. They are front and center in my spiritual collection. Betsy and Tom’s other books are also for sale at the site in hard copy, but other e-books will continue to be published at the site. 

As for my dream of creating Sanctuary in my home at Villa Redondo, four years have passed and I never officially created it, I thought as I reread the post. I did not make my dreams from 2005 a reality; instead I chose to continue working part-time. When I think about it, however, I do have ongoing journal keeping evenings, occasional SoulCollage® and other art hands-on hours, I another group uses the house for a meeting space, and a psychologist friend stays here two nights a week when she comes down to practice in L.A. Maybe Sanctuary does exist after all.

Welcome to the web, Betsy, Tom, Cassi and the other therapists and soul tenders who gather at the Center for Sacred Psychology. I am because you were. By the way, that kitty graphic at the top is Betsy and Tom's Tobias. 

Art Journal Page: Where Was God?

I'm still plugging away on my 20 page art journal from the Play workshop I took from Teesha and Tracy Moore in Pt. Townsend last month. 

I feel like such a novice, but then I'm my own worst critic. I call this page and its flap "Where Was God?" Click on it to enlarge it. 

SoulCollage®: Feminine Freedom

In my SoulCollage® cards, I often find myself working in certain colors much more than others. Many of my cards are purple, although I personally don't wear purple often. The other colors I use a lot are red and black together. 

I'm not a color analyst or symbolist, at least not consciously. I find purple to be a mysterious color, but I know this color often connotes both nobility and spirituality. To me it has always meant freedom.

Using SoulCollage terminology, I am the one who often feels stifled, shy, railed in, particularly about my body--largely because of my own fears and more recently because of the limitations of age. I was the one who was always chosen last for sports teams and sat in the corner at dances because I was simply terrorized I'd be discovered as a klutz. I am the one who always needed a drink or two to really relax enough in public to dance decently. My husband and I often danced; he was a great dancer but I was too self-conscious. I am the one, when newly separated and divorced more than two decades ago, would turn up the stereo at home blasting my favorite rock music and dance until I dropped--alone. I found freedom in the dancing--and I haven't done that for a long, long time. 

I am the one who then loved Mariane Athey-Levy's Movement Expression and used to attend her Santa Monica Friday evening classes in the 1990s. The dance studio was darkened and people of every age gathered and we moved, each in our own rhythm, getting used to our bodies. And then I discovered Gabrielle Roth's method, which I assume Movement Expression came from. I often danced to my video of "Sweat Your Prayers." But, I am also one who tires of the discipline of such classes and Santa Monica was so far. And dancing alone at home gets old after a while.

And now I am the one who hasn't danced in ever so long, alone or in a ballroom or studio. I am the one who feels sad that I have reverted to the woman who is no longer at home in my body.

I remember leading a Progoff National Intensive Journal workshop long ago where "Dialogue With the Body" was one of the exercises. When people read back, I was so deeply moved, but I particularly remember a woman in a wheelchair who wrote about the dancer she once had been. 

I'm not even going to ask this card a question because I just want to prop it up next to my journal and next week I'll see where it leads me. It is really pulling at me and I'm just too weary right now to be insightful.

SoulCollage: Death by Inquisition, Abuse, Excess and Rigidity

This is a SoulCollage card I made a few months ago and that I have not been able to name or really work with, but it haunts me. Without a title or a suit, I can't focus on what it means to me.

Two weeks ago I saw Angels and Demons and because I have this card laying out on my art table--and laying on my computer desktop--I have kept looking at it repeatedly. Angels and Demons was my favorite Dan Brown book of them all, although I had trouble with the film because of the violence. It's one thing to read it and quite another to see it. 

I am no longer a practicing Catholic, but I do go to an Epsicopal Church because I like the liturgy. I was a convert to Catholicism at 21 and in my heart of hearts, I suppose I will always be a Catholic on some level. 

Tonight I watched the PBS documentary "Soul Searching: The Journey of Thomas Merton" and I recalled so vividly how the Trappist monk Merton, another convert, had influenced me from the time he wrote "The Seven Storey Mountain." In the mid 1980s I wrote my master's thesis on "Dialogues With Thomas Merton." Merton's untimely death in 1968 has made all of us who he influenced wonder how he would have remained within the constraints of a Church that was having a hard time changing. 

This card reminds me of the inquisition, of child abuse, of clerical excess, of rigidity and morbidity. I almost want to name this corpse of a priest so I can personalize him and have a dialogue with him about all the things that trouble me about organized religion. 

And that's what SoulCollage is really all about. Our cards invite us to go beneath the surface. What would you name this card and what feelings does it evoke in you? 

Reintroduction to Anthony de Mello: Awareness

The terms of awakening or awareness are used by all the world's major religions and belief systems, and even though I "know" the importance of "staying awake", I often fall asleep for long periods of time--sometimes years. When the pupil is ready, the teacher comes--again. Today she came in the form of a spiritual directee I see occasionally and she was very excited by the writings of the late Fr. Anthony J. de Mello, S.J., particularly his book, "Awareness: The Perils and Opportunities of Reality."

In 1984, I was first introduced to de Mello by my long-time spiritual friend Sr. Brigid when she gave me a book called, "Sadhana: A Way to God, Christian Exercises in Eastern Form." Sr. B. is in a nursing home now, but I often reflect how ahead of her time she was and how many people she influenced over the years. Then a Jesuit priest friend gave me a birthday present in 1988: Anthony de Mello's "One Minute Wisdom."

I have been on a spiritual path my entire life, but the journey gets way-laid periodically and I fall asleep even though I regularly attend a church. In an effort to back-burner my own aging process, I've fallen into finding meaning in work and in volunteering, which gives me "purpose", but I'm not sure it isn't because I'm afraid I will become invisible. I also find pleasure (or distraction) in fiction, film, and the Internet, as well as family and friends. I collect books and have hundreds of really good spiritual titles, but my "study phase" seems to have passed.I have a good life. But, at least for today, I'm awake. Not bad on a beautiful warm, spring day.

When I Googled de Mello, I was surprised to learn that he died unexpectedly in 1987 of a heart attack at Fordham University as he was about to start a U.S. speaking/reteat tour--and yes, there are conspiracy theories, as there are about Thomas Merton's untimely death in 1967. Then I found out that in 1998, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, then the Prefect of the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith and now Pope, issued an official notification "Concerning the Writings of Father Anthony de Mello, S.J.," warning us of the direness of his heretical teachings. Well, I'll be darned. Maybe the inquisition is alive and well in a different form. Maybe Dan Brown isn't that far off with his books.

Here's a taste of de Mello from "Awareness", pp. 150-151. I am finding that being re-introduced to his work has jolted me awake, at least for today. There's nothing new here, but a reminder that I have been awake in the past and I have hope I'll stay awake longer. What that means to me is setting intention of seeing the sacred in the ordinary more often than I have been lately.

Can one be fully human without experiencing tragedy? The only tragedy there is in the world is ignorance; all evil comes from that. The only tragedy there is in the world is unwakefulness and unawareness. From them comes fear, and from fear comes comes everything else, but death is not a tragedy at all. Dying is wonderful; it's only horrible to people who have never understood life. It's only when you're afraid of life that you fear death. It's only dead people who fear death.

One of your American authors put it so well. He said awakening is the death of your belief in injustice and tragedy. The end of the world for a caterpillar is a butterfly for the master. Death is resurrection. We're talking not about some resurrection that will happen but about one that is happening right now. If you would die to the past, if you would die to every minute, you would be the person who is fully alive, because a fully alive person is one who is full of death.

We're always dying to things. We're always shedding everything in order to be fully alive and to be resurrected at every moment. The mystics, saints, and others make great efforts to wake people up. If they don't wake up, they're always going to have these other minor ills like hunger, wars, and violence. The greatest evil is sleeping people, ignorant people.

Anne Lindbergh's Gift From the Sea Still Relevant Today

Only those of us who are a "certain age" probably recall air pioneers Charles Lindbergh and his wife Anne Morrow Lindbergh. In my growing up years, however, both of them were household words. My dad worked in the aircraft industry and the kidnapping and subsequent murder of their first child in 1932 was a piece of history every American who lived in those times knew about. 

In 1955 Anne wrote Gift From the Sea--and in 1955 I graduated from high school, but I was too young to appreciate this book then. I never read it seriously until the early 1970s when I was raising three young children and wondering if I would ever have any private time again; the book really helped me clarify myself, motherhood, marriage and my relationships with others. I reread it periodically; I have a paperback, underlined, grungy to the max, from 1965. I often give this book to young women just entering the middle years of marriage. 

So, I was delighted when my book club chose this book for today. My book club is an unusual one; it was started by several young women as a spin off from my school's formation of The Friends of the Library in the mid-1990s. When I partially retired, I was invited to join. I am the oldest woman in the group. Today was a walk through the 1950s with several women dressing the part; all the snacks were '50s appropriate, and the beverages were served in those metal tumblers we all used then. The moderator had checked out several 1950s cultural books and we heard the highlights of those years, including the top literature of that decade. Another woman had done research on Anne and gave us the timeline of her life. Then we launched into the book. 

If you haven't read it, Anne shares her meditations on youth and age; love and marriage; peace, solitude and contentment as she set them down during a brief vacation by the sea. Drawing inspiration from the shells on the shore, Lindbergh’s musings on the shape of a woman’s life is relevant to men and women at any stage of life, but I suppose mostly women.

I was delighted to find an old NPR All Things Considered interview with Anne's youngest daughter Reeve after her mom's death in 2001 which was deeply touching to me. Half of my book is underlined, but in the section called Oyster, she writes about long-term marriages. This passage has stayed with me:

I am very fond of the oyster shell. It is humble and awkward and ugly. it is slate-colored and unsymmetrical. Its form is not primarily beautiful but functional...

But is it the permanent symbol of marriage? Should it -- any more than the double-sunrise shell -- last forever? The tide of life recedes. The house, with its bulging sleeping porches and sheds, begins little by little to empty. The children go away to school and then to marriage and lives of their own... What is one to do -- die of atrophy in an outstripped form? Or move on to another form, other experiences?

Married 27 years, divorced 23 years, I still mourn the idealism of what I thought marriage was. I still wonder if I just moved on to another form, or if I had been more patient, our problems would have ultimately resolved. But--I don't dwell on this a lot. I've had such a wonderful life, but a very different life than I had expected.

Gift From the Sea was written well over 50 years ago, but all of us in book group today were amazed at how relevant the book still is today.