Tree Sitting

Trees

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

 

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

 

A tree that looks at God all day,

and lifts her leafy arms to pray;

 

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

 

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

 

 

Joyce Kilmer, 1886-1918

 

I found myself sitting in a tree today.  It’s not like I woke suddenly to discover that I was in the tree; it was a conscious act, I chose to climb the tree.  I’m glad I did.

Life has taken me to some new and exciting places these past few months.  Some of the locations are spiritual, accessible only through meditation, while others have been physical places, some of which I never dreamed I would find myself. 

Reading tarot cards at a Biker festival was a bit of surprise for me.  The whole experience took me out of my normal realm and dropped me in the midst of a community and culture with which I have had little exposure.  On top of being a stranger in a strange land, I was doing a strange thing:  promoting myself as a psychic reader and performing readings using my relatively new tarot deck.  I was amazed at what was coming from within, and from the reactions of the clients who sat down for a reading, I’m guessing my readings were accurate. 

So this morning, I sat down to do some more reading about psychic development, and do some meditation.  It’s one of those sunny, warm, late spring days (solstice is still 5 days away) and I have all the time to sit and read.  Alternating between reading and meditation, and keeping my glass full of iced tea, I took the time to explore my own life, and experiment with some new ideas. 

The experiment is how I ended up in the tree.  All of the reading I’ve been doing about psychic development stresses a connection to the earth.  The earth is a vehicle for both positive and negative energy, and it nourishes the soul.  One of the exercises directed me to ground myself by emptying all my energy into the earth, then allowing myself to be filled again with all of the life-giving energy that the earth has to offer.  It was at that point that I felt I should climb up the tree.  So, I did it. 

Trees are incredibly alive.  I certainly knew that I’d find plenty of insects, birds and the evidence of their presence.  I was not prepared for how fully vibrant and moving it would be to sit in that tree.  It was moving, literally and emotionally.  As I meditated, clearing my mind of all else and concentrating on one particular issue I am having, I could feel the life of the tree.  It swayed, it moved, it vibrated.  I could feel all of that life supporting me, and moving me with it.  I could the strength and vitality of the tree, and witnessed the flexibility of the strong branches.  The thin supple twigs at the far reaches of the tree seemed just as strong as the slowly moving thick trunk.    Through it all, I could feel the spirit of that tree, honoring my own humble meditation, holding me up, giving me strength as I asked the Supreme Being of the universe to help me. 

The spirit of the Green Man blessed me today.  My soul is better for it, my life has been enriched, just because I did some tree sitting.

 

Thank you, Green Man.

Storyteller

You know these guys.  You somehow get dragged into a tent at a festival, or the school sends home a notice asking you to bring your child to school for an evening of storytelling.  You prepare yourself for an hour of some old guy in bib overalls, telling endless stories that end abruptly and make no sense.  Perhaps it’s a woman in a long calico dress who lived on a commune in the 1960’s, and she breaks out an autoharp to sing a song about spinning wool, but either way, you feel like you’re in for a real snoozefest. 

In this case, I needed to pick up some credits for Pennsylvania’s Act 48 continuing education requirement for teachers, and this storyteller was hosted by a local elementary school.  All I had to do was show up, listen to a few stories, and collect my 1 hour credit. 

Unfortunately, I was drawn in.  This guy was good, perhaps too good.  I had to give him credit, he was in corduroy pants and suspenders instead of bib overalls.  His first story was not only enough to hold my attention, I found myself imagining what this 8 foot tall hairy woman would look like.  I wondered how this “regular man” could leave the child he had with the hairy woman, and I certainly couldn’t imagine how he could leave his son, no matter how ugly the kid was.  

So when the storyteller asked us to close our eyes and go on a journey, I did so quite willingly.  Why not?  I’ve been practicing some meditation lately, and I figured this story could be like a guided meditation.  We were directed to walk into the woods.  As we made our way through the forest, we were told to follow the path to the big tree up ahead, our family tree.  Our next instruction was to take a close look at it, feel the bark, look down at the roots, gaze up through the branches into the sunlight. 

Our storyteller asked us to do what seemed to be impossible, but it was afterall, just in our minds.  We entered the tree.  We were doing this collectively, a group, in the school cafeteria, but at this point, the story, and the experience became very personal.  I’d even describe it as sensual and intimate without being sexual.  A tree is an awesome living thing, and to be in the tree, our own family tree, is a deeply personal experience.  

“Go down to the roots, and if you see an animal there, greet them; listen to what they have to say.”   I saw a skunk, which made me laugh a little, but I heard him say what a great honor it is to live in this tree, and that I was a special part of the life of the tree.  I travelled to the highest branches and met a robin there.  The robin told me that the branches of this tree have given me the ability to soar.  I thanked both the skunk and the robin and returned to the trunk. 

Our guide asked us to leave the tree and start back on the pathway to our real world.  We rubbed our hands together, perhaps to awaken our minds to our present reality.  Then we wiped our faces to open our eyes and leave behind that great family tree we discovered in our imaginations. 

Storyteller, where did you take me this evening?  I’ve been playing with myth and magick, story and dreams.  Meditation has taken me to places much like you showed me tonight.  Once again, I am reminded that we are all connected. Family connections, whether we like it or not, can be very strong. They can be help us or hurt us.  Ultimately, the family tree determines not only who we are, but provides those heaven-lifted branches from which we take flight to become the person we are meant to be.

Absent

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything here on this terrestrial ball.  For me, writing is connected to spirituality, and lately, I haven’t felt very spiritual, or even like I have anything of value to say.  I know my pastor would say that I am going through the “valley of the shadow”.  I suppose this is where I find myself, but not in a despondent, depressed, or desperate situation.  Let’s say that I’m “in transition”.

Back in December, I wrote about my experience of leaving a job and church that I loved, the way in which that it appeared I was forced out by a new, and interim minister, and the betrayal I felt by the congregation.  I admit that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that experience.  I’m hurt that so many who greeted me warmly every Sunday morning do not care to know what is happening with me now, do not wish to understand what could have driven me away.  I keep asking myself “where is the love that they so freely professed?” 

I am reminded that this is not the first time I’ve experienced alienation from a group of Christians.  As a matter of fact, recalling the experiences of my parents, other ministers that I’ve worked with in my career as a church musician, and a variety of  tales that have been related to me by those who’ve been mistreated at the hands of Christians, I’d have to say that it is the natural condition of churches to destroy its own members, or at least to ostracize those who are “not our kind of people”.   Of course, this is done in spite of the clear command in scripture to Love One Another.

I’ve been absent from church services since December.  Oh, I’ve gone a few times, but you could count those on the fingers of one hand.  Two of those services were to substitute for an organist who needed time off after surgery. We visited a Unitarian church but didn’t quite feel like it met our spiritual needs.   I attended my husband’s church but found it lacking of any real substance;  it felt like they’d found something that worked at one time and saw no need to review it’s effectiveness.  Now they simply continue performing the same empty rites out of obligation. 

Where I’m not:  I’m not sad, depressed, or suicidal.  I’m also not lacking any interest in spiritual things.  Despite some snarky comments around Easter  in which I may have stated that we should reinstate the practice of feeding Christians to the lions, I have no contempt for those who find spiritual fulfillment in organized Christianity.  But I also think I am no longer one of those who can find fulfillment in the church pew.

 

So yes, I’ve been absent, from here at my blog, as well as at church.  Where have I been?  I’ve been hanging out with some people that most would consider as being on the fringes of religion, and others would say that they are just plain heathens.  That’s ok with me.  I’ve learned that those who have been persecuted, those who have lived through painful episodes in life, are the ones with deep insight and compassion.  I’m happy to be in their company, they tend to be wise people. 

I’m also no longer able to suppress my trust in my own intuition.  Since I’ve been paying attention to those subtle urges and thoughts that enter so quickly, I’ve noticed that they are becoming more accurate.  It is as if I am becoming more aware of the emotions, motives, and likely actions of the people around me.  This awareness gives me clues about how to act and respond in positive ways.  I feel as though I am connected to the whole of the universe, including the God that is omnipresent, and so much bigger than the God that is spoken of in the churches I’ve attended in the past. 

I hope that I’m not shallow, not trendy, but it seems that I may indeed be what is known as post-christian.  I can no longer participate in an organization that routinely does the opposite of its mission statement.  I’ve long hesitated to call myself Christian, but that does not mean I have discarded the teachings of Christ.  As a matter of fact, I hope I’m able to do a better job of following the great commandment than the Christians who stood silently while their new leader ushered me out the church’s door.

Quit Your Whining About Valentine’s Day!

 

Listen up, all you straight guys!  A gay man is going to tell you what to do about Valentine’s Day.  You’ve been complaining for months that your girl, your wife, your significant other just isn’t putting out on a regular basis, and now, the one sure night you could get some loving, you’re going to mess it up by complaining that Hallmark is forcing you to say “I Love You” just so they and the florists can make huge profits.  Well, as the song goes, it ain’t necessarily so.  Valentine’s Day celebrations took place long before Hallmark ever printed a greeting card. 

So, let this romantic fairy tell you what you need to do to keep your woman happy, and score yourself some passionate lovemaking on February 14th.   First, stop complaining about how you’re being blackmailed, bribed, coerced, forced to fork out big bucks to let your girl know what she already knows:  that you love her.   Second, this little celebration doesn’t have to cost you a lot of money.  If your woman has any depth (read: not a shallow gold-digger), you can put forth a small amount of effort and reap big rewards. 

Here’s my suggestion:  DO buy a gift.  It can be something small, like a candle, or stuffed animal, or inexpensive jewelry.  You might even skip the gift, and buy the $15 flowers at WalMart, if you follow my next suggestion.

Dinner:  you can take her to dinner, but that may mean handing over big bucks, and that’s if you’ve remembered to make a reservation.  Instead, why not “cook” for her?  I know, you can’t cook, but I bet you have a microwave oven and a supermarket nearby.  Here’s the plan:  create an easy, almost no-cook meal, and serve it to her.   Most supermarkets make it almost painless to look like you’ve spent hours in the kitchen.   Purchase the following things:

• bag of salad
• small bag of sliced almonds for the salad
• make sure you have salad dressing, something light
• frozen vegetables in a steamer bag
• rice or mashed potatoes in a microwave container
• rotisserie chicken from the deli or Boston Market
• 2 slices of cheesecake from the bakery

That’s the basic meal.  If you’ve got some skills you can add more to the salad, dress up the veggies, and add a sauce to the cheesecake.  Don’t forget some wine or champagne.

Now, get the table ready.  Think about where you will serve the meal.  The dining room is nice, but why not try another room?  How about setting up a small table, with a tablecloth, in the living room?  Even better, set the table in the bedroom.  Use your best dishes, add some candles, and be sure to have some music playing.  Make sure the music is conducive to getting her in the mood.   The best part of having dinner in the bedroom is that you’ve already got her close to the bed!  How can she refuse after all this “effort” you’ve made? 

Straight men:  I have faith in you!  You can do it!  And she will reward you with a night of passion, I guarantee it!

Going to Church

I went to church last Sunday.  Big deal.  So did millions of other people.  It was a big deal, at least for me.  It has been over 3 weeks since I left my position as music director at a Disciples of Christ Church.  In the past 25 years, I’ve had very few Sundays in which I could experience church services that are outside of my own experience.  I’ve been employed continuously by churches since 1982, with the longest hiatus from music ministry being about 2 months.  One of the problems of being “in charge” of worship is that one rarely sees how others go about it.  This abrupt leave from my music job is the perfect opportunity to visit and make observations at other churches. 

 

The chosen destination for this past Sunday was my husband’s church, one which I’d never attended services at because I was always at the organ of my own church.  We loaded up the kids of our blended family that were with us for the weekend and headed out in the snow to the church in the country.  It’s part of a small, protestant denomination that tends to be traditional and evangelical.  They are awaiting the arrival of their newly hired minister, so it is understandable that this service may not have been a good example of what things are like there on a regular basis.  And that’s a good thing. 

 

The people were friendly and happy to see Scott.  They greeted me warmly and welcomed our children.  We took our bulletins and found a seat, taking a moment to arrange ourselves comfortably.  The organist began the prelude and I immediately got nervous.  I’m a musician, and a good one.  When I hear church musicians who are struggling, I become anxious.  This woman was having such a difficult time with her chosen prelude, that it took me quite some time to determine what she was playing.  It was an old evangelical hymn  Out of the Ivory Palaces. 

 

Which leads me to the next problem I had with the service: the lack of meaningful, timely hymns.  The hymnal, by my estimation, was at least 25% contemporary Christian music, or “praise choruses”  which I’d hardly call contemporary considering that they were at least 25 years old in most cases.  If a song has been around long enough to be included in a hymnal, printed, promoted, and sold to a congregation;  and the congregation uses the hymnal for a significant period of time, it’s difficult to consider the music “contemporary”.   The one “traditional” hymn planned for the morning worship service was an old Holiness Movement song “We’re Marching to Zion”.  It was sung at a slower pace than I’m used to performing it, and the musicians, both pianist and organist, lacked the skills to transpose it into a key in which most congregants could comfortably sing.  Imagine being out of breath and reaching for high notes.

 

When the ushers were called forward, I looked up to see 4 burly men walking forward.  I whispered to Scott  “is there a weight requirement?”  These guys were huge.   I said “what’s the minimum?  225?”  Seriously, I didn’t know if they were ushers or bouncers.  Of course, since this was an important job, handling the money, all of the ushers were required to be in possession of a penis. 

 

 

The children’s message was delivered by a woman, which is generally thought of as acceptible in these patriarchal churches.  Caring for children is the woman’s domain afterall.  The woman talked about having friends but the point of her little message was lost on me, so I’m pretty sure the kids were as baffled as they looked.

 

We plodded through another pop-ballad hymn which was executed with technical accuracy by the instrumentalists, but with all the musicality of a horse counting to ten with its front hoof.  This song led us into a time of prayer.  I believe that the people who made their prayer requests known are genuinely concerned about those people named.  Some moved beyond the typical illness requests and made mention of current events and nationally known tragedies. In all of these honest, heart-felt concerns, there remained a sense of some unspoken desire, an appeal to magic.  That appeal to magic was reinforced by the prayer leader, who prayed extemporaneously, including all of the requests voiced moments earlier.  I noticed pretty early in her prayer that she had a favorite phrase, which was  “Dear Heavenly Father”.  She said it so much that I wrote it in my bulletin.  She kept saying it, punctuating each paragraph with 2 or 3 repetitions. So many Christians have this habit when praying publicly.  It is as if there is a mystical combination of “Blessed Jesus’” or “Loving Fathers” or even “Hail Marys”  that said in a specific quantity or order that will unlock heaven’s safe full of blessings.  When did prayer become the heavenly Powerball?  Jesus cautioned us of this in Matthew 6:7

 

And in praying use not vain repetitions, as the Gentiles do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking.

 

Sadly, the sermon, offered by a visiting minister, did little to hold my attention as a visitor.  I suspect that it was meant to encourage this congregation as they await the arrival of their recently hired Pastor.  The sermon began with the perfunctory joke and apologies for his shortcomings as a speaker.   Those who attend this church regularly may have heard some words of encouragement, but my mind wandered off.    After one more pop-song hymn, the benediction was pronounced and everyone bolted for the door. 

 

Now, I’ve certainly been critical and some would say downright mean with this post.  You might even tell me that the computer glitch that sent my first version of this post out into cyberspace, never to be found again, was a sign from above that I should turn from my wicked ways.  Let me reinforce this sentiment:  these people are good people, their intentions are noble and their desires are honorable.  Unfortunately, they found something that was successful at some point, decided that this is how they would do it from that point on, and mediocrity set in.  Their worship service has most likely morphed slowly to become the dry and irrelevant ritual that we experienced that morning.

 

Traditionally, people in this country have attended church for the spiritual encouragement they receive by participating in worship services.  There was a time when people attended church out of a sense of obligation, regardless of any spiritual or communal benefits that may or may not have been derived from attending.  I’ve heard complaints about the lack of commitment to the church and its programs.   My question, after visiting this church, is “what does this church offer that would encourage people to attend regularly and support their programs?”  In addition, for those who do attend, are their perceived or actual needs, physical and spiritual, being met?  And finally, are the people we meet in this or any other Christian church a reflection of the Christ they strive to emulate?

 

I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians.  Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.

Mohandas Gandhi