Saw this mother and child in the woods in Rhode Island.
Postcard Home
After my motorcycle ride through the Catskills I had a few days at home before heading off to Princeton Seminary for the 4 day Fred Buechner Writer’s Workshop. There were 300 accomplished and would-be writers in attendance. Barbara Brown Taylor, a very gifted preacher, speaker and writer - one of my favorites, was the keynote presenter. I attending a variety of workshops as I reconnected with old friends and made some new ones. I was inspired to continue to craft my skills of story telling.
Last Friday I headed to Rhode Island for a grief ritual workshop. This grief work is based on the tradition of the West African Dagara tribe. 16 people gathered in circle to learn about and open to a wide variety of grief. Through ritual, story telling, drumming, chant and dancing deep wells of grief were accessed and expressed. I have never experienced anything quite like it. Carolyn Baker masterfully convened the retreat creating a safe holding space for grief to be expressed. She told some very moving stories accompanied by drumming.
Monday I participated in a day-long retreat at Sabbath House. Phyllis Zoon convened 10 people for conversation and reflection around the theme of “Our Place In Time and Space”.
I now have three weeks in which I’ll not be doing much traveling as I continue to explore the landscape of my soul and my relationships.
I’m reading several books including the novel “Gilead” by Marilynn Robinson; “The Mindful Writer” by Dinty W. Moore; “The Grace in Aging” by Kathleen Downing Singh; “Backpacking With the Saints” Belden C. Lane; “Landmarks” by Robert Macfarlane; and Love 2.0. by Barbara Fredrickson.
Reflections Along the Way
In the events outlined above I experienced a powerful thread of “story”. The stories told at the grief ritual were raw, archetypical and timeless. They were old mythic stories from indigenous cultures that cut through the rational defenses we erect to give us an illusion of security. The accompanying drum reverberated like a heart beat opening in the chest. These were stories and rituals intending to be disruptive, to catch the ego off guard to make room for the soul.
Ursula K. LeGuin wrote, “The truth goes in and out of stories, you know. What was once true is true no longer. The water has risen from another spring”
When stories become too tame and familiar they tend to loose their transformative power. Think of the stories Jesus told or the poems the Psalmists gave us. Sometimes they have been so homogenized, so common place, the disruptive rhythm, the heartbeat that can get under our egoic defenses, becomes just another whistling tune along an ordinary path to nowhere.
I wonder what it would be like to celebrate the story of the Passover or the Lord’s Supper to the beat of a drum and dancing?
ps. Just read this in "Gilead":
"I’ve developed a great reputation for wisdom by ordering more books than I ever had time to read, and reading more books, by far, than I learned anything useful from, except, of course, that some very tedious gentlemen have written books. This is not a new insight, but the truth of it is something you have to experience to fully grasp."
Robinson, Marilynne (2004-11-15). Gilead: A Novel (p. 45).