My White Shadow

By Claire Blatchford                                                  

It’s 3:33 a.m. I’ve just woken from a weird dream, am thirsty, and need to go to the bathroom.

Moonlight pours in through the window. On my side of the bed my white shadow is, like me, sitting upright. Perhaps, for all I know, he sat in on my dream and found it more exciting than weird. I wouldn’t be surprised, as he reads my gestures, expressions, words, moods and thoughts like an open book. And mirrors all back to me, always truthfully, always with sympathy, though what he shows is certainly not always flattering.

When I see my dark side in and through his steady brown eyes-- without any accusations-- I am shamed.
 

Why are you angry? those eyes ask. Your anger is squeezing out the air in here! Boy, is it sweltering! Good-bye-- I’m going down to the basement to cool off! 

Down he goes, bushy tail lowered in evident dismay.

"Want a bone?” I call after him rattling the jar full of milk bones.

No response. He won’t be fooled. He knows that I know he adores bones.

That he doesn’t want to be near me pops the anger. You can almost hear it fizzling out, leaving me limp, chastened, apologetic.

 Minutes later he reappears, tail up, mouth open.

 Now…what about that bone you mentioned?

Fidelity and companionship of this sort offer the chance for correction right on the spot! Sometimes I take it, sometimes I don’t. And still, without any commentary, the loving mirroring continues. How unbounded is his happiness when we are happy! How instantaneous and sweet his greeting when we return home, no matter if we’ve been gone ten hours or twenty minutes.

My white shadow follows me as I make my way through the dark hallway to the bathroom. He waits by the stairs. When I come out I sit on the top step to take a few minutes with him. He leans against my chest and asks ever so simply for what he needs: touch.  

I run one hand down the length of his spine, in one direction repeatedly, all the way to the end of his leg—as though to enhance or cleanse the energy flow. Then I take his face in both hands and with my thumbs massage behind his ears. I feel his total surrender to the pleasure of it all. When I stop his cool tongue across my face says thank you. My kiss on his forehead is my returned thank you. So easy to give—such joy, both ways, in the giving!

My white shadow knows the art of being with, without invading boundaries, though there are times when his close is a bit too close. Like after he’s caught and gulped down a whole mole, sampled manure in the cow pasture or rolled in fishy seaweed. I know my good ideas— weeding the garden rather than going for a ramble— are not always his good ideas. Nor are his mine— as when he chases crows round and round the yard, nose aimed skyward, barking up a storm! Does he really imagine he could sprout wings and fly with them? Or the way he insists, in his ridiculous, persistent manner that squirrels come down straight away from this or that branch in a tree. To what? His open jaws? How can my white shadow who is so wise also be so silly? Perhaps he, secure and comfortable in the depths of his doggie incarnation, thinks the same of me.

I see, as we return to the bedroom, it’s a bit after 4 a.m. My white shadow picks a different spot in the room, this time at the foot of the bed. In the moonlight I watch him turn round three times, scratch the rug, then lower himself into a neat circle, this time facing the door. As though to keep weird dreams at bay.

I, too, snuggle down again filled with gratitude for this wondrous friendship that accompanies me not only through each day but through each night as well.

An Incarnational Sketchbook: Body in Winter

Meditation and Art by Mary Reddy

Author’s Note: I often draw what I see as I meditate. The act of putting pencil to paper brings my thoughts into physical form where they endure, take on weight, and invite me to revisit them. Often these quick sketches suggest themes and practices found in Incarnational Spirituality. In this meditative drawing, I envisioned the earth’s crust as a great Boundary and imagined how the practice of Standing, at first local, could stretch to encompass the whole of the planet.

…a simple outline of polar opposites—the hemispheres of the earth experiencing winter and summer…I love the paradox of a wholeness containing opposites: heat and cold, light and dark, growth and rest within a single planetary field. But moving into this drawing, I begin to locate myself in the particular, in the north— in winter.

We are not just observers of Gaia’s seasons. In our embodied selves we turn with the seasons as much as any plant or creature. Here in the northern hemisphere, winter casts her shroud across the surface of the earth. Imagine a fine woven cloth, gauzy and porous, but enveloping. It stretches across one half of a great sphere, thicker toward the north, thinning southward. This shroud is the earth’s wintry crust: a rim, a borderland, an edge, a skin—and in winter, a kind of seal used to join two things together (sealed with a kiss) or to prevent anything from passing between them (a sealed tomb). Above is sealed off from below; within is sealed off from without. Or so it seems. 

Over this seal of cold ground, the trees stand in contemplation. The loud shouts of birds are a faint memory. Bright warm colors have been replaced by subdued tones of sky grey, twig brown, and solemn evergreen. And white—winter whitens us. We breathe our white breath into the air, then seek the red whispers of fire to warm our hearts. If summer is a lush sprawling novel by Thomas Wolfe, winter is the brief, austere poetry of Emily Dickinson who once observed, “If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.” 

Winter is a mirror of subtle worlds. Remember—all that is unseen is not therefore absent. I ask my body if it is also quietly busy with an underground enrichment, an earthly steeping of my spring growth. This winter I find myself sleeping later, longing to stay in bed until the sun’s rays begin to peep over the Cascadia range. Yet through the long nights, my dreams have shone with an incandescent light. Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote “Perhaps I am a bear, or some hibernating animal underneath, for the instinct to be half asleep all winter is so strong in me.” And so I, in my body, attune to the season and the earth’s turning, wedded to its rhythms as much as any bear.

 Moving out from my own body in winter, from the particular place on the planet where I stand, I begin to imagine the whole sphere of earth. It turns on its axis and tracks its orbit around our sun. On the other side of the planet, all is reversed; above ground teems with colorful life and buzzing sounds. The seedling cracks out of its pod, straining to cross the borderland between dark underground and bright sunlight. Earth’s hemispheres hold the paradox of growth within and without, visible and hidden. 

Standing is the core exercise of Incarnational Spirituality and Boundary one of its four Principles. Click on the links provided to learn more. For another blog post on Standing, please read Susan Sherman's A Reflection on Standing with Dogs and Cats, Oh My! Comments or questions about Views from the Lorian Community? Please email drenag@lorian.org.

 

 

Blog Updates: February

January Recap

During the month of January Views from the Lorian Community columnists and writers reflected upon our embodied experiences of sacredness: in our skin, the motions of our physical bodies, in our interests as well as our attitudes. Additionally, this month we introduced a new feature: interviews with members of our community,  sharing through our diverse spiritual backgrounds how Incarnational Spirituality impacts our lives and those around us.

Below are links to (and excerpts from) the January posts:

Baring Belly and Soul: Belly Dancing and Incarnational Spirituality by Rue Hass:

“In order to be freely ourselves, and truly touch a happy creative flow of life, we need to ground ourselves in the land under our feet and the stars above us. That grounding forms a nourishing support for weaving the complex rhythms of life and the patterns of emotion that we embody. Joy, lightness and heartful courage arise from here. Now we can offer form to the irrepressible shenanigans of spirit.”

The Sacrament of Star Wars by Drena Griffith, Art by Brandon G. Walker:

"But what is it about the power of Star Wars and the sacredness of stories in general—especially the ways certain characters and tales intersect our inner lives and help us deepen our own rich experiences?. . .Like any powerful story, I was transported to another world while also simultaneously incubated in the womb of human struggle–that one story. But my childhood heroes have all grown older (as have I) and realized that in spite of the call of destiny and their best efforts and plans, the grand mountaintop victory, and even the power of love as a tool of redemption, their dreams didn’t quite turn out like they planned. Yet in spite of darkness, the essence of their original story–the call to adventure, the power of hope, friendship and presence, reawakens in them the next iteration of their journey.

 

So much like real life and yet…isn’t that ultimately why these characters matter? They enact for us the courage we need to believe in our own destinies as incarnated beings, the strength to face our difficulties, no matter what they are—and the wisdom to hold on to what matters in spite of loss, not only for their own sake, but for the sake of the future where all hope lies."

 

Coming Down from the Mountain: An Interview with James Tousignant:

 

Drena G: What does your spiritual practice look like?

James T: In my experience, first I do the practice–I set my intention to remember and open to the possibilities of life; then the practice does me–I notice that I am noticing more moments of enchantment throughout my day, without looking for them.

And finally, I become the practice.  I am remembering – remembering the One who sent me, remembering the importance of leaving the world a better place for having been here, and doing the things I came here to do, with the people I most enjoy working with, in the way the world most needs it done.

The best description I have right now is one of David Spangler’s poems:

I am the vessel that earth has made
To hold the wine of God.
And I am the wine that God has pressed
To fill the cup of Earth,
And I am the one who sips this new wine
And is filled with its sparkling life,
And I am the one who lifts the toast
To the beloved of all life,
And I am the one who sees anew
The rhythms and flows of God
From Heaven to Earth and from Earth to return
In the Oneness of life.

The Living Universe: Opening Possibilities with Our Attitude, Meditations by Dorothy Maclean, Commentary by Freya Secrest:

"Central to my inner experience of the sacred after times of silent attunement or moments of wonder and awe is a sense of connectedness. I look to give that sense the room to ‘bloom’ in my daily life by initiating the attitude of joy and appreciation that Dorothy’s messages point out. I find this invites and unfolds the Sacred in everyday ways that on my own I could never imagine into being."--Freya Secrest

"There is an answer, a way out, to all that befalls you, and it is up to you to find it.  You won’t find it if you look for it on the same level which presents it; it would not be a problem then, it is only a problem because your awareness is confined and caged.  But the problem is an opportunity to extend yourself, to let in more light, to rise and enjoy more of life  Someone else may point the way for you but the problem is one of your consciousness and one which only your consciousness can solve.  You cannot blame anyone else – that is, and be accurate – and its solution depends on your movement."  from Seeds of Inspiration by Dorothy Maclean

Dona Teresa and the Body Elemental by Susan Beal:

"It’s easy to get caught in the glamour of having non-physical colleagues and tempting to use such contact as a form of escapism. And it’s even more tempting to place a higher value on expanded spiritual experiences than on material realities and limitations. But subtle perception has to include listening to the subtle—and not so subtle!—messages of the physical body with as much respect as one would listen to angels or spirit guides. . .It has been transformative to learn to welcome and work with the perceptions of my physical body, and to feel more truly incarnated than I ever have."

 

Skin by Claire Blatchford:

". . .As I rub lotion on my hands skin relaxes, becomes softer. I think of the vast memory of touch skin has gathered within me, not only in my hands and feet, kneeling knees, balancing thighs, tender breasts, but in its constant, simple transparency, no matter how tired or worn. I recall pink flush of babies waking from naps as they return from who knows where, dark circles of sleeplessness, yellow of jaundice, white of fear, blue-black rising up my father’s feet from toes to ankles as he began the journey out of his skin.

I recall, not without some embarrassment, how honest skin is, as when I catch sight of someone, someone who “gets under my skin”, and instantly feel squirmy irritation. Or how the heat of anger or annoyance can flood into my cheeks. Heck, will I ever be able to get a handle on that? Will I ever be able to brake a blush?

. . .The arm of the elderly man seated on my left bumps against me. Without looking at him I pull away a bit to give him more space as my awareness shifts from skin as open receiver of an endless stream of information from the outer world, to skin as closed, enclosing, definition of me. I am in here in my body. He is in his body. Skin as limit, border, boundary, anchoring me in this physical incarnation. Thank goodness! Aren’t boundaries, in a way, what physical incarnation is all about?"

Ask Julia: Community of Consciousness by Julia Spangler:

"In the culture of the 1970’s there was a movement toward community of many kinds.  There were back-to-the-land communities, political communities, spiritual communities and more.  These were largely groups of people choosing to live with or near each other to pursue a common goal or way of life.

Those who began the Lorian Association came out of one such spiritual community in Findhorn, Scotland.  This community was a thriving and vital example of a diverse group of people choosing to live a spiritual life together in partnership with God, the land and the subtle beings of the natural world.  There were books and articles written about Findhorn giving a glamorous cast to life in this place and as a result many people believed that if they wanted to be part of the new spirituality, the new age, they had to go live at Findhorn.

When we returned to the United States from our sojourn at Findhorn, we felt that it was important to balance that strong gravitational pull toward Findhorn as a place by a recognition that this spirituality is accessible everywhere in the world for it is a condition of an inner alignment, not a location.  We defined Lorian as a “community of consciousness, by which we meant a non physically located group of like-minded individuals sharing a certain spiritual perspective. We saw our focus as promoting new expressions for our human community to engage in a sacred partnership of person and planet around the world. This consciousness could be found and anchored everywhere and connects through anyone’s everyday life."

♥

Many thanks to all Lorian columnists, writers and interviewee for sharing from the depths of their lived experiences.  Thanks also to every one of our blog readers and followers on Facebook.  One of our Facebook friends,  Jillian M, left the following comment in response to Dona Teresa and the Body Elemental:

"A really good article. It so tempting to dissociate when we are traumatized or under stress. By that I am not saying that subtle realms aren't real, but as we are incarnated we need to be in our physical bodies."

Susan Beal's response:

"Absolutely! It's an under-recognized issue in the spiritual community. I know so many people who privilege the spiritual realms over the physical or take refuge in "spiritual" approaches to life because, either consciously or unconsciously, it's just too painful for them to be in their physical bodies. As we become more aware of trauma and its lingering effects it's obvious that kind of escapist approach to the spiritual realms comes at a cost, both personally and collectively. But that's what I love so much about Incarnational Spirituality--it emphasizes the sacredness, even the centrality, of incarnation. It's not something to dismiss or overcome; it's something to honor and work deliberately with--it's kind of the whole point of being on Earth."

Thanks, Jillian, for taking the time to share your thoughts!

 

February

February is the month we honor and celebrate our loved ones.  But is Valentine's Day merely a Hallmark holiday, a time for people to send cute cards and eat more candy? What is it about February that turns us to ideas (and ideals) of Love? If you have any thoughts you'd like to share, please email Drena: drenag@lorian.org.

Ask Julia: Community of Consciousness

By Julia Spangler

What is the Lorian community? How can I become become part of it?

In the culture of the 1970's there was a movement toward community of many kinds. There were back-to-the-land communities, political communities, spiritual communities and more. These were largely groups of people choosing to live with or near each other to pursue a common goal or way of life.

Those who began the Lorian Association came out of one such spiritual community in Findhorn, Scotland. This community was a thriving and vital example of a diverse group of people choosing to live a spiritual life together in partnership with God, the land and the subtle beings of the natural world. There were books and articles written about Findhorn giving a glamorous cast to life in this place and as a result many people believed that if they wanted to be part of the new spirituality, the new age, they had to go live at Findhorn.

When we returned to the United States from our sojourn at Findhorn, we felt that it was important to balance that strong gravitational pull toward Findhorn as a place by a recognition that this spirituality is accessible everywhere in the world for it is a condition of an inner alignment, not a location. We defined Lorian as a "community of consciousness", by which we meant a non physically located group of like-minded individuals sharing a certain spiritual perspective. We saw our focus as promoting new expressions for our human community to engage in a sacred partnership of person and planet around the world. This consciousness could be found and anchored everywhere and connects through anyone's everyday life. 

We found partners in this Lorian fellowship wherever we went, people who were living quiet lives deeply connected to spirit. They were from many paths and did not necessarily share the same vocabulary, but an essential common quality was present: an open, loving,  positive view of each other, humanity and of the world. We considered each of these individuals as part of the family, sharing our community of consciousness, and a vision of a positive future.

Now we identify the Lorian community as an independently- minded, world-wide community of individuals exploring new spiritual possibilities that focus on love and partnership with a Living Universe.

How does a person become part of this "world-wide community of individuals"? Generally by standing in alignment with spirit while also standing on the planet: feet on the ground, heart in love, head in creative engagement with the present and the future. By recognizing the existence of an inner subtle community, and knowing you are part of it, you participate in the energetic connection which is built by any group of people who offer each other loving support. That feeling of fellowship and connection is community.

But how can you participate more actively in the Lorian community? Incarnational Spirituality is defined by a few distinct principles and practices and as with many things it takes time of working with these principles and practices to be able to embody them in a way that holds this uniqueness within the world. It is not simply a matter of understanding the concepts, but is a matter of practicing so that the actual spirit of it comes alive in your bones. But anyone can practice anywhere if they are willing to take the time  and make the effort, and they become part of the Lorian community through that practice.

While we do not have a physical place, our website has become an online portal to the community at differing levels of engagement through its resource sharing. Books and free materials let us connect on the level of ideas. Classes and study groups and a few (but growing number of) local gatherings allow people to connect in real time activity.

There are some for whom Incarnational Spirituality has become a core part of their life and spiritual practice, and they are the heart of Lorian Association. They are dedicated not simply to increasing their knowledge and practice of IS but also to supporting and expanding its work in the world. To become part of this focused core takes years of practice and dedication-- and is open to anyone with the will and intent.

Regardless of your level of engagement, by deeply living the practices and principles of Incarnational Spirituality, by sharing what you know, by being a source of light in your part of the world, by working to be an entry point for spirit in the world, you are part of this community of consciousness.

Questions for Ask Julia? Please email them to drenag@lorian.org or leave a comment on our Facebook page. 

Skin

By Claire Blatchford                                  

The waiting room is full today. I check in with the secretary then slip into the last empty chair between a snoozing white haired man and a young black woman texting hard and fast on her cell phone.

The magazines arranged in even rows on the table reflect the range of ages the dermatologist treats: AARP, Cosmopolitan, Field and Stream, Good Housekeeping, Reader’s Digest, Sports Illustrated, Seventeen. I find myself wondering if Dr. Gordon could read a brief description, a sort of haiku of a person (in a similar way that magazines can be a quick read into one stage or another of life) by looking at a section of skin—anybody's skin, just skin and no more.

Wrinkled, freckled, bumpy in spots but still elastic, certainly well-worn, and, yes, sweetly familiar: I’m suddenly profoundly aware of skin. My skin!  Eyes, ears and nose I can, more or less, close or block off. But skin-- even when covered over, my skin is  open-- always open-- exposed, alert.
   

“Overly dry hands, chapped lips, warm chest, itchy spot on the right rear end, cold blast of air from over there, prickly sore on the forehead,” says skin as I reach in my purse for a tube of lotion.

“That ugly sore,” I think in reply. “Will Dr. Gordon dig it out? I’m going to a wedding in two days; I don’t need a bullet-sized hole in the middle of my face.”
    
“Vain lady!” whispers skin. “Beauty is more than skin deep. Beauty is about the health of the whole. . ..”
    

As I rub lotion on my hands skin relaxes, becomes softer. I think of the vast memory of touch skin has gathered within me, not only in my hands and feet, kneeling knees, balancing thighs, tender breasts, but in its constant, simple transparency, no matter how tired or worn. I recall pink flush of babies waking from naps as they return from who knows where, dark circles of sleeplessness, yellow of jaundice, white of fear, blue-black rising up my father’s feet from toes to ankles as he began the journey out of his skin.

 I recall, not without some embarrassment, how honest skin is, as when I catch sight of someone, someone who “gets under my skin”, and instantly feel squirmy irritation. Or how the heat of anger or annoyance can flood into my cheeks. Heck, will I ever be able to get a handle on that? Will I ever be able to brake a blush?

I recall too, how, when I hear something surprising, shocking, even scary, goose bumps often pop up on my arms before I’ve even processed what I’ve heard. Goose bumps urging, “Hey! Hey! Wake up! Pay attention!” Even when I’m hearing within by way of intuition rather than through my physical ears. Like remembering someone and seconds later that very someone sends an email.

The arm of the elderly man seated on my left bumps against me. Without looking at him I pull away a bit to give him more space as my awareness shifts from skin as open receiver of an endless stream of information from the outer world, to skin as closed, enclosing, definition of me. I am in here in my body. He is in his body. Skin as limit, border, boundary, anchoring me in this physical incarnation. Thank goodness! Aren’t boundaries, in a way, what physical incarnation is all about?

I’m jiggled out of my personal musings as the nurse calls out a name and the man beside me jerks awake, bumping me yet again with his arm, this time a bit harder.  I notice then the dark blotches, raised veins, and an ugly red gnash of about three inches on his arm as he staggers to his feet. What a beating his skin has taken--is taking! I’m shocked. I wonder how I missed seeing it.

The young woman to my right stops texting as the white haired man shuffles past. I feel her wondering, as I am, what happened to him. We exchange a look. As I look at her I see the pleasing dark smoothness of her skin. Broken, wounded skin on one side, clear, complete skin on the other. I know my impression of the differences between these two has much to do with outer observation, yet I also know that I do not know-- and likely will never know--the boundaries this young woman may experience on many levels because of the color of her skin.

These thoughts flow past as I sense how the mutual sympathy and concern the young black woman and I share for the elderly man have joined and are accompanying him down the hallway to the doctor. It’s as though, together, we’ve drawn a soft pink bubble around him.  

And when he’s gone out of sight, we share a quick smile. Then return to the privacy and comfort of our own thoughts, our own individual skins.

 ♥

“ What happens in my field also happens in the environmental field, the field of humanity, and the planetary field as a whole. It’s not that some influence from one field travels across some distance or space to impact another field someplace else; it’s that the state of one directly and immediately influences to some extent the state of the other because in mysterious ways, they participate in each other.” —David Spangler, Views from the Borderlands (Year 5, Volume III)

Author's Note: "This experience was inspired by reading David Spangler's latest Views From the Borderland. There he speaks of the many “fields within fields” we live and move in every day, all the time, without being aware of them. As I was bothered right then by the sore on my forehead (which turned out to be no big deal!) I decided to try tuning in to “skin.” And became rather acutely aware not only of my own skin and the skin of others, but the thought that we possess and are constantly moving within and interacting with other, non physical “skins” or “fields” of thought, feeling and energy."

David Spangler's quarterly journal, Views from the Borderland is his personal exploration and perception of the subtle worlds. Click here for more information about it. (Click on either of the links above for an excerpt.)

If you have blog related comments or questions,  please email drenag@lorian.org.

Dona Teresa and the Body Elemental

By Susan Beal

I first met Dona Teresa in meditation nearly 25 years ago. I was trying to envision an angel along the lines of Botticelli or Leonardo da Vinci. But I kept seeing a woman who looked more like an indigenous Peruvian, with a weathered face and long, black hair in braids. I’d sweep her image aside and try for Botticelli again, but the same dark-haired face would reappear.
 
Finally, in a burst of insight, I stopped resisting the image of the woman’s face, and she smiled at me as if she’d been amused by the back and forth. Her presence was warm and somehow familiar, quite a different feel from the pristine, angelic figures I’d been trying to picture.
 
I’d been doing this angel visioning exercise on the advice of a therapist I’d begun to see after my husband had left me on New Year’s Eve. I hardly knew anyone in town, having moved to an unfamiliar place from out of state with him and our two young children only six months earlier. The trauma of the divorce had triggered dark emotions from much older, childhood traumas, so I started the New Year lonely and terrified.
 
The therapist had said since I didn’t have a network of friends or family, I’d have to summon what support I could from within. I had told her about an experience I’d had just after my son was born, in which I’d been overcome one night by grief and fear over my crumbling marriage. In desperation I’d prayed for help, and suddenly I’d felt enfolded by a powerful, comforting, loving presence that made me know I’d be okay.  
 
“See if you can give a face to that presence,” the therapist said. I had thought of it as an angel, so that’s what I was trying to envision when Dona Teresa appeared and told me I was “barking up the wrong tree” by trying to contact an angel. “For what you’re going through, an angel isn’t the right kind of help,” she said. “You need human support, from someone who understands pain and loss from direct experience.”  

 
I was taken aback. I’d always thought of angels as all-loving, all-powerful and all purpose helpers who answered your prayers if you were lucky enough to encounter one. It had never occurred to me there were categories of spiritual assistants, according to the kind of help you needed. For instance, you go to lawyers for one kind of help, doctors for another, and bulldozer operators for yet another. Yet I had conflated all spiritual aides into one generic angelic type.
 
Dona Teresa told me a lot during that first meeting and advised me not to get caught up in the drama of what I’d been through, but simply to regard it as the path that had brought me to that moment. I discovered that it was easiest to contact her from a place of stillness and gratitude, even just a smidgen—just enough to escape the morass of blame and self-pity I’d get stuck in.

After meeting Dona Teresa I met other inner guides and spent more and more time in inner dialogues and journeys, learning ways to perceive and work with non-physical beings and subtle energies and journey to high-vibrational realms. They gave me comfort as well as practical advice that helped me through very difficult times.
 
But as my inner life was expanding in scope and complexity, my outer life was, too. The effort involved in focusing on inner contact and exploration became enormously draining because of the stress I was going through. It was hard for me to span the gap between the numinous inner experiences and the painful and heartbreaking challenges in my daily life. My physical and emotional health suffered and my ability to perceive subtle beings and energies wavered. I felt bereft of inner clarity and guidance just when I felt I needed it most.
 
Eventually, I realized that my body felt abandoned when I’d “leave” on inner journeys because it was too similar to the disassociation that comes with trauma. As David Spangler explained to me, the body elemental endures all the pain and trauma our psyches and spirits can disassociate from, even the pain of surgery, which we’re consciously protected from by anesthesia. Unless we work with the body elemental to release all of that, it accumulates to the point of imbalance, even illness.

It’s easy to get caught in the glamour of having non-physical colleagues and tempting to use such contact as a form of escapism. And it’s even more tempting to place a higher value on expanded spiritual experiences than on material realities and limitations. But subtle perception has to include listening to the subtle—and not so subtle!—messages of the physical body with as much respect as one would listen to angels or spirit guides.

 

Since that time, I've learned to pay more respect to the wisdom of my body and what it has to tell me.  A big part of that has been working with a somatic psychotherapist to release old, embodied trauma, the kind of healing that Dona Teresa, as a non-physical human, couldn’t help with. It has been transformative to learn to welcome and work with the perceptions of my physical body, and to feel more truly incarnated than I ever have.

 

While the clairvoyant contact with Dona Teresa was gratifying and made our relationship seem more “real” in some ways, I’ve found I can usually tune in to her informally, without the need for a meditative state or focused sessions like in the past. But such communication relies on trusting myself and my perceptions, and for that, my physical body has turned out to be one of my most honest and reliable allies.

Would you like to learn more about connecting with your body elemental or other beings in the subtle world? Take a look at David Spangler's book Subtle Worlds: An Explorer's Field Notes, the first in a series of guides mapping the inner planes.  For more information, please contact info@lorian.org. 

Opening Possibilities with Our Attitude

Meditations by Dorothy Maclean, Commentary by Freya Secrest

 “As you bring your problems to Me, they are solved according to your attitude.  If you bring them to Me as a duty, yet keep a tight rein on them, holding them in mind and weighed down by them, you keep them with you.  They cannot be resolved unless you let go of them and let in an attitude conducive to the joyful solution of them.  Lightness and love are absolutely essential….” from Wisdoms by Dorothy Maclean

When looking for deva messages that speak to my practice of Incarnational Spirituality to share with you this month, I found several that highlight the ways I am learning to reframe my attitude and choose,  again and again throughout the day, to live into the sacredness of my life.

Central to my inner experience of the sacred after times of silent attunement or moments of wonder and awe is a sense of connectedness. I look to give that sense the room to ‘bloom’ in my daily life by initiating the attitude of joy and appreciation that Dorothy’s messages point out. I find this invites and unfolds the Sacred in everyday ways that on my own I could never imagine into being.

My most recent experience of this practice has come up due to a recent move back to the midwest.  There are many details to juggle to transfer the many structures of support, like bank accounts and driver’s licenses, and new ones to set in place, like snow removal and car repair connections. Such tasks can use up much time and generate frustration in me. When I make my first step in these tasks with my attention on cultivating a joyful attitude, I have noticed my sense of overwhelm is lessened and a response of connectedness meets me as I move through my tasks. When I can hold this attitude, 'solutions' come up alongside any ‘problems’ and I have greater ease at making any needed adjustments.  Attention to attitude helps me make the space for new possibilities to emerge.—Freya Secrest

Rows of us, like the spikes of the plant, seem to be calling you to come up, to leave the denseness of human life and join our gaiety and movement.  Don’t you see that all of life can be enjoyed in this spirit; don’t you see that your gloomy view of anything is but an unnecessary weight having no reality except in your mind?  We know well that when you are born on Earth you are plunged into levels of world thought which are dinned into you until you accept them as natural and even argue that anything else is unrealistic, but now at this time we add our voices to urge you to look up, rise and only accept into your consciousness that which is good.  Accept your problems as something delightful, a game, happy events from which new awareness comes, for such they are in reality.  Let them lift you up instead of weighing you down, for indeed that is why you have them. 

There is an answer, a way out, to all that befalls you, and it is up to you to find it.  You won’t find it if you look for it on the same level which presents it; it would not be a problem then, it is only a problem because your awareness is confined and caged.  But the problem is an opportunity to extend yourself, to let in more light, to rise and enjoy more of life  Someone else may point the way for you but the problem is one of your consciousness and one which only your consciousness can solve.  You cannot blame anyone else – that is, and be accurate – and its solution depends on your movement.

This is the sort of things we see so clearly in humankind and which you often see so clearly in another, but remember it applies to yourself.  When you find yourself in a difficult situation, rise and laugh at yourself, keep the touch of lightness and that in itself may show you the way.  Be grateful for the opportunity for growth and movement.  Don’t bemoan your fate and pass on negativity, find and spread the light.  Life is a pattern of growth and expansion of Light and Love; act on it as such and transform your world.  You humans and we angels are of one substance and we take every opportunity to emphasize this, to bring a spark of light to your life, as we do to the life of a plant, and to join our worlds with yours in joy.  We do love all life so much, and so will you when you rise and see that all is very well.  In your attitude is the way; rise and find the way." --Lavender Deva from Seeds of Inspiration by Dorothy Maclean

For more inspirational messages by Dorothy Maclean, please visit Lorian's Bookstore.

Coming Down from the Mountain: An Interview with James Tousignant

By Drena Griffith

Editor's Note: Beginning this year, Views from the Lorian Community will regularly feature members of our community, sharing through our diverse backgrounds how Incarnational Spirituality impacts our lives and those around us. 

Formally trained in experimental psychology, research methodology and statistics, James Tousignant, from Chemainus, British Columbia, currently works as Executive Director of the Canadian Mental Health Association – Cowichan Valley Branch.  James is an ordained Lorian priest who combines his study of Incarnational Spirituality with a "direct-experience" integration of practices from Tibetan Budhism, Integral Yoga and Sufism called The Way of the Heart.

James and I spoke recently about his spiritual practice which he calls Inquiring Mysticism, his experience of the Sacred and particularly about the challenge of bringing the mystical experience of God home to his personal life.

DG: How do you define the Sacred?

JT: All that is. Seen and Unseen.

DG: How do you define the Sacred as it manifests in your life?

JT: Well, it is my life. It’s not a part from my life. And it is me and it’s not apart from me.

DG: What is your biggest challenge in your relationship with Sacredness?

JT: Forgetting. Forgetting that the sacred is my life and my self and my world, all that is happening around me.

DG: How would you describe your spiritual journey?

JT: I’ve always been aware of energy and vibration. When I was growing up I read a lot of science fiction and fantasy and the world was alive. And I was very creative with a strong imagination and very much interested in awareness of consciousness. And I went into university and that was my first introduction to schools of thought apart from Roman Catholicism.  I became intrigued with Eastern Yoga, then went right into the Upanishads. A little bit after that I was introduced to Integral Yoga. Then I explored Carlos Castaneda’s work and the indigenous First Nation teachings. I never really connected strongly with that, though. I connected more with the Eastern teachings.

That was my edge at the time. I was studying to be an experimental psychologist. I started Tai Chi, still in the Eastern tradition, but I had to put all of that on the wayside when I had kids. I still had a focused practice, but living and house-holding was my primary focus. There was a hiatus of about fifteen years or so when I’d read something, put it down, read something else, put it down.

It wasn’t until my kids got older that I began to understand Eastern talks about phases. I was in the house-holding phase. Kids and diapers. School and work. But as my kids were growing up and as I was divorcing my former beloved, I started working with a teacher who taught something called soul-centered living. She was an empathic individual who was comfortable working with energy and that’s when I started developing my skills. It wasn’t spiritual in a sense, but it opened up other doors into being human.

It was later when I was reintroduced to Integral Yoga that I started asking: Who am I? Why am I here? What does that mean? Who am I becoming?  This opened up what has become my spiritual path, Inquiring Mysticism. The practice is inquiry. The path is the direct experience of the divine, of the beloved, of God, as myself.

DG: What does your spiritual practice look like?

JT: In my experience, first I do the practice--I set my intention to remember and open to the possibilities of life; then the practice does me--I notice that I am noticing more moments of enchantment throughout my day, without looking for them.

And finally, I become the practice.  I am remembering - remembering the One who sent me, remembering the importance of leaving the world a better place for having been here, and doing the things I came here to do, with the people I most enjoy working with, in the way the world most needs it done.

The best description I have right now is one of David Spangler’s poems:

I am the vessel that earth has made
To hold the wine of God.
And I am the wine that God has pressed
To fill the cup of Earth,
And I am the one who sips this new wine
And is filled with its sparkling life,
And I am the one who lifts the toast
To the beloved of all life,
And I am the one who sees anew
The rhythms and flows of God
From Heaven to Earth and from Earth to return
In the Oneness of life.

DG: What drew you to Incarnational Spirituality?

JT: I started taking classes with Lorian around eight, ten years ago. But I'd already been attracted to David’s teachings. They were so clear and accessible. Incarnational Spirituality works with exercises. It points out, but it doesn’t tell you what to believe. The initiatory path is not one that I follow, where you have to go through formal initiations to become the next thing. You already are the next thing. You’ve never not been all that you are. It’s more like an unveiling as opposed to a rewarding. And you have to realize that. And it sounds so simple. It’s not. 

How do I un-awaken myself? How do I un-enlighten myself? It’s already there. How do I put myself back to sleep? How do I forget? That’s the path of inquiry. And David’s teachings are a direct personal experience of the self as a sacred being and also why we're here on this earth. He answer these questions in ways you could consider are quite ordinary. David is an individual who lives his awareness and lives his realization. My saying yes to the ordination process was a way for me to formally recognize my desire to live my realization.

DG: You once spoke about being called “down from the mountain.”

JT: My experience of life started changing about ten years ago and at that time the practice I had been doing and the work I had been doing allowed me to easily shift my awareness so that I didn’t have to experience some things that I may have needed to experience in my body. It’s a flavor of spiritual bypassing and it’s very easy for me to shift perspectives. So when I say I was up on the mountain, it was like I was sitting in a meditation cave watching the world go by and I was more connected with watching than with living.

It’s the weirdest thing to talk about now…when I look back at how I was I laugh. And so yes, I was in a cave, literally inside myself. And the realizations I was experiencing were true and significant--and not relevant! Not relevant in the sense of the teachings of Incarnational Spirituality. Very relevant for some of the lineages I was working with at that time. But so what?

It took a while for me to say, okay, now go live that! It took pain. It took pain and suffering, my own and some of the people around me for me to realize that was one of the shoes that needed to drop. I had to step into the other side and come back, and come back in a way that my life expressed my realization-- and that’s why it’s tied to the teachings of individuals like David and a few other people I have met who live their realization.

It's nowhere near finished, but I’m far more in the valley, in the village now that I’ve ever been and a lot of that has to do with the Lorian ordination and making it real in this body in this time in this moment…so for me it’s the spirituality of life: continually seeing God appearing as my life, as my self, as the people I’m with…just remembering that, coming back and touching back into that. 

And when I remember, the world again comes alive. 

 How has Incarnational Spirituality impacted your life? Please e-mail your IS stories to drenag@lorian.org.

The Sacrament of Star Wars

By Drena Griffith, Art by Brandon G. Walker

 

 

To me there’s nothing more sacred than a story. And one of the most significant stories of my childhood was the original Star Wars trilogy. So with great eagerness I spent most of December (heck, much of last year!) awaiting the release of Episode VII: The Force Awakens.  It did not disappoint. Attending the movie's release was more than an afternoon spent at the local movie theater--it was, truly, a transcendent experience! As the final credits rolled across the screen, I rested deeply,  in immeasurable bliss at the restoration of my childhood essence in the reawakening of this great mythological tale.

 

(Given the fact that in only three weeks in theaters The Force Awakens became North America’s top-grossing film of all time, not to mention that ever since the movie’s release, from the comic book shop to the local office supply store, I have regularly encountered strangers avidly participating in passionate exchanges and swapping fan speculations, clearly I’m not the only one!)

 

But what is it about the power of Star Wars and the sacredness of stories in general—especially the ways certain characters and tales intersect our inner lives and help us deepen our own rich experiences? In the book The Power of Myth, based on a series of interviews with mythologist Joseph Campbell, journalist Bill Moyers commented: “So the new myths will serve the old stories. . . After our youngest son had seen Star Wars for the twelfth or thirteenth time, I said, ‘Why do you go so often? He said, for the same reason you have been reading the Old Testament all of your life.’ He was in a new world of myth….” That was, admittedly, part of Star Wars creator,  George Lucas' goal--to "recreate myths and the classic mythological motifs. . .I wanted to use those motifs to deal with issues that existed today."

 

But then I remember an old saying: "there’s only one story." At the end of "today", a life, an eon, the epic battle between good and evil continues. Though it’s a bold statement, perhaps true on at least some level, I believe it’s the stories we tell ourselves, and the characters and roles with which we define ourselves, that have the final say about who we are and most especially how we live.

 

Last November a Facebook post from Humans of New York (a blog that features photos and stories of the denizens of New York City) illustrated for me this profound, yet often subtle connection people have with character and story. This particular passage read: 

 

“My mom knew I was getting picked on at school. I tried not to tell her, but she’d see me come home unhappy every day. She’d open up my binder and see the notes I wrote about hating everyone. She’d tell me to trust in God. And that God was always with me. And not to fight back, because God was working out justice, even if I couldn’t see it. She was the closest thing I ever had to heaven. She was like Mother Theresa. When I was around her my anger would go away. Not completely, but almost. She died when I was twenty-one of esophageal cancer. I feel like The Flash sometimes. His mother was murdered when he was a child, and he’s always obsessing about going back in time to save her. I wish I could go back to a year before they found the cancer, and say: ‘I know you don’t feel anything right now. But you should go to the hospital and get your throat checked.’”

 

When I first saw this man’s tender retelling of part of his life's journey,  I was struck by the archetypal reference to the DC comic and television character The Flash and how this fictional being was allowing, even helping this stranger in New York City articulate and carry his very real, very human pain. I don't think such bonds at the intersection of myth and real life are rare. 

 

Several weeks ago, a friend and I were discussing the power of symbolism while browsing Star Wars memorabilia at our local 2nd & Charles bookstore. A woman shopping nearby overheard us and joined in, speaking with pride of her own devotion to Wonder Woman— a character so beloved to her even in childhood that she pledged to her mother when she got older she would have the Amazon goddess tattooed on her thigh. It was a promise she kept! When I asked the reason for her devotion, she replied that Wonder Woman was a powerful, strong individual. Growing up at a time when she didn’t feel women were encouraged to move beyond prescribed societal roles, Wonder Woman helped her to believe in her own strength and authority.

 

Of course there are many such archetypes that live in my own psyche, though Luke, Han and Leia definitely all hold places of honor. Already I care about the new characters, and yet, seeing the old guardians in The Force Awakens definitely deepened my own understanding and connection. Like any powerful story, I was transported to another world while also simultaneously incubated in the womb of human struggle--that one story. But my childhood heroes have all grown older (as have I) and realized that in spite of the call of destiny and their best efforts and plans, the grand mountaintop victory, and even the power of love as a tool of redemption, their dreams didn’t quite turn out like they planned. Yet in spite of darkness, the essence of their original story--the call to adventure, the power of hope, friendship and presence, reawakens in them the next iteration of their journey.

 

So much like real life and yet…isn’t that ultimately why these characters matter? They enact for us the courage we need to believe in our own destinies as incarnated beings, the strength to face our difficulties, no matter what they are—and the wisdom to hold on to what matters in spite of loss, not only for their own sake, but for the sake of the future where all hope lies.

 

Clearly Star Wars: The Force Awakens has invoked something sacred within me personally. At the same time it's also reminded me that in the grand scheme, no matter which stories we each carry within our private hearts, we are all characters in each others' myths and, overall, participants in the one great story— but not solely the one about the irreconcilable war between good and evil. That’s an old version, and it’s more than fulfilled its purpose. But digging deeper we find an even more integral one--the story of a world full of incarnated beings--the Oneness realizing itself through many multifaceted, complex lives-- and the gift of being human, with our vulnerabilities standing alongside our ability to renew our dreams and awaken to the inherent possibilities within. 

 

“There are stories about what happened….”

 

“It’s true. All of it."

 

Questions or comments about this or any other blog post? Please send a note to the editor: drenag@lorian.org.

Baring Belly and Soul: Belly Dancing and Incarnational Spirituality

By Rue Hass

Five years ago I signed up for what I thought would be a fun way to get some exercise for a few weeks by learning about belly dance. I could not have predicted (and would have fled from!) the idea that it would turn out that I was joining a belly dance performing troupe…that would have me up on stage in front of hundreds of people…baring my belly!  OMG!

Belly dance in its essence is a celebration of the radiance and power of the body. It is powerful core work that requires and develops strength and flexibility. I have always loved dancing, and I have a good sense of rhythm and flow.

But I found it brought up interesting challenges for me. First came my (and everywoman’s, every person’s) personal drama about body image stuff. And then there is being willing to be so visible while doing something I will never be really good at.

Belly dancing does not come easily for me. I am sort of challenged by my particular body shape, and scoliosis in my spine, along with the effects of 72 years of life (that’s another thing—I am the oldest person in my class, and probably the whole troupe of some 75 women of all ages and sizes). I watch the strong, lithe, flexible bodies of the teacher and the younger women in my group with love, longing, and deep, deep appreciation.

I learn best by watching the teacher’s body make the moves, and then I practice finding the essence of those moves in my own experience, getting my body to take a shape that feels like what I see in her. That is how I learned Tai Chi many years ago. It is a good learning strategy. But—I have the funny experience of feeling each particular belly dance phrase moving perfectly through me, and then I look in the mirror and see that what I feel on the inside doesn’t make me look like her! I am not just “comparing and falling short” here. It is an interesting meditation on learning, exploring, accepting, and creating with my own subtle energy body language.

And learning complicated choreography is hard for me. My mind works fluidly, intuitively. Choreography is a linear organization of specific moves. The teacher’s strategy is to help students to become proficient in the individual belly dance moves, and from there learn how to improvise.

At the beginning I think I am never going to be able to learn the dance. It really requires that I open to hearing, feeling and seeing the music in some inner way. I need to let my body find it, and let it find my body. My mind and earnest intentions and even practice can't do this alone.

A good example is our performances last autumn of a Zombie belly dance to the Michael Jackson song “Thriller" based on Jackson's original dance moves. What a thought— to be the living dead, with rhythm!

"Thriller" was the hardest belly dance I have learned, with many advanced moves. It required being dead and alive, precise and loose, at the same time. I had to kind of let myself bypass any philosophical disagreements I might have with the song (to say nothing of the blood and ghoulishness) so I could participate in the lively fun and outrageousness. The audiences loved it! Who knew it was such fun to be dead.

(The living dead, belly dancing, the Post Mortem realms…it all collides in my head…!)

In the weeks before last year’s performance show in May, called “She-Nanigans,” (with stage lighting, announcers, filming, yikes!), the teacher asked each of us in the troupe to write something about our experience of belly dance to be read out at various times during the show.

I thought about the history of belly dance as a deep honoring of the wisdom of the earth and the body, through women especially. I thought of how the Sidhe bring life into being through song and dance. I asked that they, and all my inner allies and Gaia, help me to move my focus beyond being so anxious about making a fool of myself on stage, to allowing the music to move the dance through me.

I thought about how learning the dances and preparing for our big annual show and other performances has been an opportunity for me to practice moving in this embodied incarnation with creative acceptance and flow.

Here is what I wrote:

“In order to be freely ourselves, and truly touch a happy creative flow of life, we need to ground ourselves in the land under our feet and the stars above us. That grounding forms a nourishing support for weaving the complex rhythms of life and the patterns of emotion that we embody. Joy, lightness and heartful courage arise from here. Now we can offer form to the irrepressible shenanigans of spirit.”

Belly dancing through the lens of Incarnational Spirituality has helped me to stand strong in myself, to hold a space for my unique individuality, to co-create with intention and love. It is helping me to dance my spirit into being.

Views from the Lorian Community Updates: January

December Recap

During the month of December Views from the Lorian Community featured a series of blog posts around experiencing Sacredness--culminating in a Holiday-Themed "Festival of Light" (inspired by David Spangler's reflection on the New Troubadour's song.)

Below are links to (and excerpts from) the December posts:

The Living Universe: Christmas Angels Meditation by Dorothy Maclean, Commentary by Freya Secrest:

Christmas-time is such a season of contrasts – the quiet of the winter solstice and the bustle of festive preparations, the darkest night of the year that celebrates the bright spirit of birth and renewal, the tender moments of gift-giving and the raucous welcome of a new year.

Everyday Love by Annabel Chiarelli:

My spiritual practice can basically be summed up in two phrases by David Spangler: “the primal call to love” and “looking for God in a peanut butter sandwich”.

It’s a spiritual practice rooted in everyday life that doesn’t require churches, temples, priests, monks, gurus, prayers or dogmas. The main requirement is to love the people and the world around me to the best of my ability, in joyful recognition that we are all fractals of the Sacred. Any ordinary interaction, whether it be with a person or a coffee cup, can be the basis for an encounter with the Sacred.

The Face of God by Susan Beal:

What I can say, now, is that it was like being cocooned or bathed in light while all my fears, big and small—the feelings of failure and insufficiency, of being too much one way and not enough another—were gently, effortlessly smoothed away.  I felt completely safe, understood, and valued, and even better, fortified with the certainty of my own goodness, as if the love beaming into me was filling in the spaces left by dissolving fears. There was an exchange, a wordless dialogue of some kind, in which I asked questions that were answered with reassurances of my intrinsic worth, the incontrovertibility of my divinity, the truth of myself as a mighty being full of purpose, power and love.

Swimmer's Reach by Claire Blatchford:

There are times when prayer, meditation, subtle activism (whatever I may call the inner urge to offer warmth, comfort, consolation– in short, help of some sort to others in need) simply isn’t enough. It’s as though my thoughts and feelings can only truly be expressed by way of physical movement.

This is why I love to swim. Not only does swimming ease out the tensions, stresses and knots in me, so I’m healthier and happier, I also take great pleasure in often dedicating my laps to a person or a situation that’s been brought to my attention. It feels good to be doing something rather than frowning, fretting, worrying. Maybe I don’t have the energy or resources to do direct acts—such as volunteer in a refugee camp or give billions of dollars towards the same — but I do have resources to share in the form of loving thoughts.

Ask Julia: Creating Christmas by Julia Spangler:

Everyone has a moment in their lives when the shine and sparkle of Christmas gets tarnished.  It may be the childhood realization that Santa Claus really doesn't come down the chimney and fill the stockings waiting there in expectation.  Or the disappointment that those beautifully wrapped packages don't contain the holy grail.  There is nothing inside of them that will bring a person ultimate happiness or transport them to imagined inner heights of grace and wisdom.  Nor will the opening of these gifts so full of mystery, so full of possibility, bring peace and stability to a broken world.

Perhaps the loss we feel is akin to the loss that is represented by the "fall" from Eden, which to my mind is about the process of incarnating into the physical world.  I think a part of us has a sense of having once been held in the heart of the Mystery, one with a universe we were intimately part of.  As children, we feel this connection for a time, and then disillusion creeps in.  Now here we are, grown up and immersed in this world of hard edges, and the Numinous seems distant and unattainable. We grieve the death of dreams and loss of innocence.

Welcome to the Festival of Light by Drena Griffith:

We come to the Festival of Light, bearing gifts of gratitude and joy.  We come to the Festival, though the days be dark. Our self-lights mark our passage through the night. We await the Incarnation of the Light; yet we are the lights of this world.

We enter the Festival in communion. We enter the Festival with love, for we are children of the Light. We enter the Festival with blessing for all who surround us, seen and unseen. We enter the Festival with openness to the promise that awaits as the days grow longer and the sun brighter. We are eternally connected to the Sun within our hearts.

"We are the Festival. We are the light. We are the candles burning brightly in the night."

Festival of Light: Experiences of Sacredness During the Holidays by Claire Blatchford and Annabel Chiarelli:

Festival of Light: The Life Within by Deborah Koff-Chapin:

In the Holy Darkness

When we can see no sign of life

May we bring forth a vision 

To renew the world. 

 Sacred Moments by Mary Reddy:

But what about the many non-ecstatic moments that make up the bulk of my life? As I tap at my laptop, cook meals, read books, talk, sleep, cry, sigh, laugh, cough, blow my nose, wash my clothes—without ecstasy but with a quiet surety—I look for that deep sense of the sacredness of all life and of my own sacred presence within it as an essential participant.  When no mystic vision arrives to transport me, I’ve found I can begin by connecting with myself. That self-acknowledgement—here I am!—wakes up my appreciative attention to all the beings with which I share this moment, whether human, plant, mineral, animal, or delightfully “other.” Here I am, with all of you!

Near Midnight in Babylon by Ian Rees:

It is midnight in Babylon 
the ass brays in darkness
the candle is out.
the worlds pivot, trembling, 
holding breath

Silent night of holy darkness
Silent night of holy dread

Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison
Kyria eleison, Sofia Eleison
Kouros, kouros, kouros, COME!

Chamber of Kings by Susan Beal:

In the darkness of the Chamber of Kings
my heart is a winged sun, a sun with wings,
Alight with stars, aloft in Christed radiance
 Witnessing
the births of Holy Children from the gravity
of granite, from the black sarcophagus.
I am so complete! Divinity
has found me – I am in its radius.

∗

Special thanks to all columnists and contributors. We are also grateful to all our readers and followers on Facebook, especially Sarajane T. who earlier this week emailed the following:

"Please let Ian Rees know how very much I appreciate the poetry entitled, “Near Midnight in Babylon”.  The words flowed with such precision and beauty and depth of feeling."

Thank you, Sarajane. Your feedback means a great deal!

January

The beginning of the new year is traditionally viewed as a time of new beginnings, taking on a fresh perspective and setting goals.  Rather than focusing on resolutions, this month Views from the Lorian Community will explore the ways Incarnational Spirituality shows up in our daily lives. 

Questions? Comments? Email drenag@lorian.org.