Terry Chapman's - Sabbath Journey

mumbo jumbo

 

I've had a lot of movement on my own path this week, beginning with a severe intestinal bug over the weekend.  I became aware of how vulnerable I can be to cynicism and just plain suckiness when I'm not feeling well.  But I was able to treat it (me) with some kindness and wait it out.

Then, while teaching/leading the Sababth Journey I paused to see how people were feeling about what I was presenting.  Long story, but one women said, "It seems like a lot of mumbo jumbo..."  This feeling of not connecting in my teaching touches a deep place in my soul (yes ego but deeper still).  While feeling that I did not need to fix it, her, or me I did notice how it vibrated.  And today I continue to ponder the idea of mumbo jumbo.  This from rom wikipedia:

Mumbo jumbo, or mumbo-jumbo, is an English phrase or expression that denotes a confusing or meaningless subject. It is often used as humorous expression of criticism of middle-management and civil service non-speak, and of belief in something considered non-existent by the speaker (such as ghosts or other superstitious beliefs), or the rituals of a religion the speaker does not believe in performed in a language that the speaker does not understand.

The phrase probably originated from the Mandingo name Maamajomboo, a masked dancer that took part in religious ceremonies. Mungo Park's travel journal,Travels in the Interior of Africa (1795) describes 'Mumbo Jumbo' as a character, complete with "masquerade habit", that Mandinka males would dress up in order to resolve domestic disputes. In the 18th century mumbo jumbo referred to a West African god.

There is so much for me in this whole idea and practice of how to language mystery as I live in this world between poetry and prose... mystery and "reality"... speakable and ineffable... bold sorties into the dark and pragmatic observations in the light.... 

I'm becoming more and more aware that while called to put words around that which I don't understand and which point to that beyond what I "believe" some of what I say and do will look and sound very much like Maamajomboo.  Maybe at that moment I/we are closer to Truth.

How can I keep from singing.... or dancing...

 

Come home to love, rest is the shade of Sabbath

Today I heard from two dear friends who were feeling depleted by life. I thought I would share an amalgam of my responses to them and a constant invitation to my-Self.

Their very real and raw cry included a description of feelings and accusations, internal and external, that have just taken the wind out of their sails. Each sentence began with 'I feel. . . I am . . .' each followed by a list of difficult life sucking emotions.

Here is my response to them (and to my Self)

"This too. . .

Pause after each 'I' in the paragraph. Take another deep breath, inhaling inexhaustible love.... hold.

Now exhale releasing any judgement, cynicism and fear.

Again. Again.

Now consider, as you are able, without judgment, only with compassion and kindness: Who is the 'I' who is: angry, attacked, reaching out, needy, having a hard time, alone, getting shot down, not heard, going to crack, not comfortable, discontented, falsely accused, really hurt, afraid?

Can you touch an 'I' that is more than those separate and fleeting identifications (or even the sum of them all). . . the most authentic Self . . . only love?

Keep breathing. The deepest part of you is full of light and love and stronger than you have imagined.

Come home to that part dear one. Find healing there before returning to the 'world'.

Know you can come back, whenever you feel depleted, out of the hot sun of false identifications (as real as they seem!) into the shade of Sabbath and find rest and refreshment there."

And a poem:

Each New Day
“Blessing covers the dry land like a river, and drenches it like a flood.”
Ecclesiastes 39:22

Each new day
before setting out
on the sun scorched path
I pause by the well
fed by love’s stream
to fill my soul’s reservoir
with essential blessing
into a dry and weary land
I carry the canteen of intention
from which I shall draw
when faced with
long spells of rejection
and if by chance or
seduced by some mirage
I find myself lost
in a parched place
I will turn once more
to my canteen, now a grail
to be refreshed for the
journey home

New Brunswick Theological Seminary

I am having a wonerful time teaching a class at NBTS titled "Spiritual Disciplines".   I feel a little like a kid in a candy store.  Of course the accompanying feeling of incomleteness seems to always follow the sugar high.

The Gift of Bear

“You see, I want a lot

Maybe I want it all;

The darkness of each endless fall,

The shimmering light of each assent”

Rilke

The Gift of Bear (A True Story)

After a long journey

I found myself 

alone on the path

body aching, 

heart throbbing,

spirit resting,

soul longing.

When in the meadow

I paused for breath

she raised her head

from her spring nap.

For one paralyzing

moment we were 

both gripped by fear. 

But in the next

we saw each other -

no really saw each other -

not “the bear” nor “the human”

but the essential soul

exchanging a

kairotic gaze.

She invited me

to a journey 

and gave me 

the gift to

begin.  I put the secret

in my belly

as we went our separate ways.

She lumbering back

into the forest to

worlds unknown.

I setting my face to a strange new

path into the dark forest 

which I shall mark

with the crumbs of this poem.

For the spirit’s eastward 

journey is familiar leading

toward the rising sun

ascending vistas 

from which I sing

praise for earth’s light

filled beauty.

This path is westward

toward the setting sun

into the night

through the shadowy valley 

following the stream

to ancient deep

underground caverns.

The upward way

is the journey of the 

spirit, toward vistas of

peace, attunement, 

creation, connection

and vocation. On it I journey

with many companions.

The downward path 

is the soul’s way

on which one can 

only travel alone.

It leads into the world

of dreams where there 

is no promised protection.

Now on the steep

descent I reach into

my belly for the bear’s

gift. . . a word, no a groan, 

that is a lamp unto my

feet and strength 

for my heart.

I tremble knowing

I too want it all

The darkness of each endless fall, 

The shimmering light of each assent.

so on this long journey home 

I shall always cherish 

the gift of bear.

Sabbath Prayer

Whenever you say God's name, dear pilgrim,
My ears wish my head was missing
So they could finally kiss each other
And applaud all your nourishing wisdom!

-Hafiz

The Wind blows

In one ear and

out the other.

But there is a 

naming breath

in between.

יְהֹוָה

Into one ear flows

the sound of longing,

a tender whisper,

“come away 

with me into

the dessert place.”

יְהֹוָה

Out the other 

is heard

the insatiable

thirst, the inconsummate

longing, the sound

of silence.

יְהֹוָה

When I hear

the name on

my lips my

ears wish my head

was missing… 

Ahhhh...

יְהֹוָה

Into the empty 

space between

my ears a standing

ovation rises as

longing and inconsummation 

kiss each other.

יְהֹוָה

(The Hebrew letters represent the name of G-d in scripture.  The name is unpronounceable as there are no vowels.  The sound of the consonants would be like the sound of exhaling breath.)

Morning Mandorla

How the day begins

Each morning just after first light

I drive four miles to Double Trouble State Park

where Mocha, a 7 year-old chocolate Labrador,

and I begin our day. - RITUAL

About one half mile into our walk we pause

for the daily exercise that centers me in God.

I stand facing at the top of concrete stairs

leading to Cedar Creek. - THE FUTURE

 

Behind me is Ore Pond - THE PAST

a quiet pond home to family of eagles

egrets, canada guess, and countless frogs

all supported by the water, held by banks and dam.

 

To my left are the water gates - IMPOSED ORDER

which bring order and practicality to the flow,

built by the early settlers who 

tamed the land for the cultivation of cranberries.

 

To my right is the spillway - UNRESTRAINED FREEDOM

where the water ripples over stones

creating a wonderful symphony,

a dance to another unknown rhythm.

 

I pause facing the future, aware of what 

is behind and to the left and right.

I breathe… deeply breathe.

I raise my hands to the sky in praise. - ANTICIPATION

Bringing to mind the creator God

I create a circle as I stretch

up - around - to the side and finally 

with the last bit of breath to my side. - GRATITUDE

Once again now opening up to the

incarnate God I reach toward the heavens

as if to receive the God who is 

now flesh and blood. - CENTERING

Now finally as if drawn to the flow

of the creek I reach up and out, once more

evoking another breath this time taking in

Spirit as it caries me down the stream. - INSPIRATION

The day begins in this mandorla -

the past behind and the future ahead

the known on the left hand

and unknown on the right hand. - HUMILITY

It is as if time itself flows through

my body which is carried

forward into the unfolding day

down toward the sea

only to return again anew.  HOPE

8th day art project videos

A project of co-creation

KNOWING - OPEN MIND 

RELATING - OPEN HEART

TRUSTING - OPEN WILL

claritatem

 

the quest for clarity

stirred by the restless inquiry 

of the curious sojourner 

stumbling over rock hard dogmas 

leads to endless clouded wandering 

through the stacks in the library of 

accumulated ideas

clarity, that pure, unclouded

transparent gift, that

like wind and breath

cannot be reasonably grasped

waits outside the library of

the mind in the courtyard

of the heart where she will

hold the restless, trembling 

one in her sweet calming embrace

Why I Write Poetry

"A poem not so much about God as a prayer for God, and not so much about prayer as about the effort of the poet to put himself in the attitude of prayer." (J. Bottum remarks, First Things 55, 1995, 25-30)

For me writing is about adjusting my gaze, my posture, toward the present-future, that is the "inflowing" of God into the now (or the opening of the now to God).  It is thinking from the heart of the matter.  It is my shy soul peeking out from behind the bush called ego.  Words come from a spacious, mysterious place.  They hold the weight of invitation and freedom to explore new territory.  The words are like crumbs along the trail I dropped on some former, perhaps ancient journey, marking the forgotten way home.   If by some miracle of grace the words find their way into the heart of another sojourner.... well that is sheer joy.

 

 
 

What I learned in spiritual direction today

Deepening Wells of Resilience

what can easily be 

mistaken for desolation

that dark, lifeless, stifling, non-movement  

can actually be the

hand of God at work

scooping out room 

in the secret place

for something new to be given

only with a slight shift of attention

- it is not much really -

can one tell the difference

in the pause at first noticing

and the intention that follows

a patience arises and 

the heart yields to the

the slow work of the 

Spirit

into the deepened 

reservoir a new

word will be spoken

that could not have

been contained in the 

former shallows