Category: Daily Breath

Tough and Sweet to the tooth

“To hold onto something with a desperate grip is not the way to die. Death is a painful process, and restoratives offered to the dying wretch bound to his wheel only prolong his agony. There are times when the thing to do is simply to die. I am thinking, of course, of dying to the self. We clutch so tenaciously to our rights, hopes, ambitions, something to which God has perhaps said a plain no. If would-be comforters offer us consolation and sympathy, if they assist us to strengthen our grasp when it should be loosened, they do not love us as God loves us. The way into life is death, and if we refuse it we are refusing Him who showed us that way and no other. The love which is strong as death is not only willing to save the beloved, it is willing to seem, if necessary, pitiless, insensitive, unloving, if that is what will help the beloved to die–that is, to be released from the bondage of self, which is death, and thus enter the gateway of life.

Archbishop Fenelon wrote to the countess of Montberon, ‘You want to die, but to die without any pain…. You must give all or nothing when God asks it. If you have not the courage to give at least let Him take.’”

And so the mystery of life through death lives on with a passing over. It is a new day, and I have felt more peace with the morning than usual mornings. It is finished, and the sun rises again in the East with the song, “How Deep the Father’s Love for Us” playing through my tired mind. Let it play. 

Yesterday, I made Tsoureki: Greek Easter bread. Traditional Easter breads carry the makers mark of symbolic sweetness and heartiness. Rich, eggy, yeasty. Like other festival breads,  they might be celebrated by coating bite for bite in honey before meeting the lips. Just a week ago I was reading about the opposite – Passover bread – unleavened, empty, disheartened, and eaten with bitter herbs.  Today, the sweetness is good enough. It is enough. It is good.

For the past few weeks I’ve been communally re-visiting our Bible’s “children’s stories.” Adam, Eve, Moses, Noah, Abraham, Jonah…you know them – the big guys. After catching a glimpse of The Passion movie in this Sunday’s service, foreshadowed by a procession of the “big” guys preparing the way of the Lord, “Live On,” seems to be the one thing written over and over and over. This is not your day to stop, this is not the end of the story. Get up and walk. Enter the land I have prepared for you. Live on.

Elisabeth’s devotion today is harder to swallow, but reminds me of this morning’s peace. Death has been swallowed. It’s day one of a new year of life going on after death. Taste and see the good.

When I asked Joseph how he found out about S.O.U.L Church, he told me he followed his nose. “I could smell the food…” he followed up with an honest chuckle.

Another new acquaintance, Dan, told me, “Well, you really can’t miss the music!”

I learned about S.O.U.L’s  ministry through Holy Yoga (*the odds*), practicing one Saturday morning with Pastor Leon’s wife, Jennifer. Yesterday, I had the pleasure of getting to participate for the first time. Dan and Joseph are spot on, you can’t miss the sounds and smells radiating from this small, open lot beneath the crossroads, downtown. Hands and feet numb on this Sunday morning, hugs abundant, eyes and ears eagerly opened, heart – crazy full. Hundreds of friends gathered to celebrate a birthday, a marriage, new life, new testimonies, peace beyond understanding, a hot breakfast, worship, dancing and singing with abandon (in Jesus’ name). If you’re ever in the area on a Sunday morning, I encourage you to get involved. Maybe you’ve been looking for this too? I’ll provide an early bird wake up call and we’ll go together!

Get the details, and more info that I can provide on S.O.U.L. here >>

Lavender weather, sweet Earl Grey tea packet crinkled on the desk, She & Him, and Nora, “Stuck”…today seems like the perfect day to become aware of the quiet things, like breathing and grace and flowers…

And then one day I looked around and I found the sun shining down
And I took off my worried shoes

‘Cause I’ve got a lot of walking to do
And I don’t want to wear
My worried shoes

~ Karen O and the Kids; “Worried Shoes” Where the Wild Things Are

One good deep breath would take about 8 seconds, allowing us 6-10 breaths per minute. This allows for a relaxed state of mind…good digestion, focus, metabolism, and many other processes our body does for us all day without our knowledge.

~ How the Body Breathes

Cobra Pose and Legs up the Wall pose for
a little glow in this gloomy day.

on reading and eating

There is only one way of reading that is congruent with our Holy Scriptures, writing that trusts in the power of words to penetrate our lives and create truth and beauty and goodness, writing that requires a reader who, in the words of Rainer Maria Rilke, “does not remain bent over his pages; he often leans back and closes his eyes over a line he has been reading again, and its meaning spreads through his blood.” This kind of reading named by our ancestors as lectio divina, often translated “spiritual reading,” reading that enters our souls as food enters our stomachs, spreads through our blood, and becomes holiness and love and wisdom.

Eat This Book, E. Peterson

Modern Daedalus

I got the opportunity to walk my first labyrinth this past weekend. Now, reader, pushing through the cloud of Bowie imagery, note that the labyrinth began in ancient Greece, but has since become less about ‘finding ones way out,’ and more about finding oneself within the maze of what was designed to be “magnanimously complicated”.

The informational graphics told me that there were hexagonal stones and twisting paths in this labyrinth to remind me of my infrastructure as a life form (components of DNA), something to ponder on, however, the thoughts and sensations dedicated throughout one’s personal journey there at the path are infinite. The Lord’s Prayer, self-awareness, and reflection are a few to name. Meditate on David Bowie for all I know! Ha. The labyrinth is a positive, ancient and modern day mean to work out the twists in your consciousness and understanding that will ultimately, only move you forward.

This morning, I set out for my walk around the third floor of the apartment complex I call home, three times around (and it’s about the equivalent of a walking track in revolution). I continued reading Hinds’ Feet On High Places (yes, because I have improved my ability to read and walk simultaneously), at a point which tells of much-anticipated Joy when Much-Afraid realizes that the path that she is walking on is one that leads to the High Places in her midst. Not the desert. Not the Precipices of the empty sea wall. Her Goal becomes most seemingly real. Soon thereafter the happy dance, the path crooks toward a valley and away from the mountains, and the enemy, Bitterness, creeps up behind her as the chapter continues. How does this, relate to that?

When I began stepping between the confines of stones guiding my feet into the labyrinth, I was excited about a journey. There was a shiny purple mosaic in the center of this thing that I wanted to completely “end” at. I had a goal, and, as someone completely detached from thoughts of my purpose or existence in the prayer walk, that was all the ambition I knew. It didn’t bother me, however, I was intuitively aware of the fact that there were points in which I was winding so tantalizingly close to that center. “I think this turn will get me there,” would only turn into 15 paces in the opposite direction. I’m sure that there was one point in which I could have hopped over the wall of rocks to be right there in the end…but that point only lead me furthest from it as I continued, thinking “what the hell is that about!” (In the cute kind of frustration, way).

Metaphor for your life, you sharp individual, you are.

Oh, just to leave you hanging at the crook in the road with a worried and Bitter Much-Afraid, when she asks The Shepherd whether or not this is the path, with her head turned over her shoulder, that will finally take her to the High Places, He ambiguously nods His head and tells her, “Now thou shalt see what I will do.”

Today is the first day for Ginko Biloba. More to come.

There is a Time For.

“If you’ve ever taken a yoga flow class, you’ve no doubt heard…”Chaturanga, Upward-Facing Dog, Downward-Facing Dog” over and over again. This sequence is often inserted between poses, …[w]hen done correctly, they build suppleness, strength, and endurance. They require the spine to extend (as you arch into Upward Dog) and then lengthen (as you move into Downward Dog) Ultimately, these poses cleanse the palate of the body so it’s ready for the next pose.”

I remember my first yoga class in 2007, this “flow” rattling my cages within the first ten minutes – not what I had bargained for or expected; I haven’t given up yet. A flow sequence should indeed, shake up energy, as a waking up. The heartbeat quickens and blood begins…well flowing, which stimulates a warmth – the suppleness – for the remainder of this type of practice. Chaturanga – melting down from a plank pose, Upward-facing dog – rebounding from the chest by the lead of the nose swooping up from the ground, arching the back, recoiled by Down-Dog – releasing the weight of the upper body, pulling the hips into the sky, and stretching the spine downward all the way to the fingertips, preparing the body for what’s next.

I have been tuning into podcasts on the ride to work these days. One of the most profound moments on the road had to be delivered by Shane Hipps at Mars Hill Bible Church, entitled “Wiffle Guitar,” about finding clarity and purpose – direction – in solitude. As an, ironically, vocal advocate for silence, solitude, and meditation, I keep his practice close to heart: Even in stillness, we encounter distractions of our commentating thought and emotion. What am I doing today, what am I doing tomorrow, where should this thing go and how can this go with that, and why do I feel so, and dinner, and gas mileage, and loan payments, and buying curtains, and Deuteronomy 4,  and children, and….? Hipps makes an analog[ical?] exercise of releasing every thought that comes into the mind as if letting go of one balloon. What am I doing (open) Is the stove on? (open) What if I can’t, (open) Who should I (open) When will (open)

My hands flap rapidly, open and shut as the thoughts are “disregarded,” one by one (your yogi would say). It chimes in harmony with something Rumi wrote:

Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror up to where you’re bravely working. | Expecting the worst, you look, and instead, here’s the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see.  |  Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.  |  If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralyzed.

Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding,
The two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birdwings.

I absolutely love the idea that my deepest presence – the place where I can find myself most real and true – is uncovered in the micro-cosmic twist of change – 180 revolution – between a contraction and an expansion. It’s like saying, “I was walking in this direction, but in this moment I am actively in the process of turning everything around because if I don’t, I’m practically rendered paralytic;” and the two sides of this swinging pendulum are consistently, perfectly balanced.

Don’t miss a deeper purpose – your deepest presence –  because you are weak in the fall of Chaturanga, or the entanglement of worrisome head chatter, or the painfully choking surprise of a new inhalation arrested within you.

I’ve been practicing the techniques of my flow simply because it has become a symbol of renewal. Just before bed, or when I’ve finished the morning routine and am about to head for the door, it is a physical reminder to clear the palatte and prepare for what is next. Whatever is next.