From the Archives: A Vision of Holarchy (Part 1 of 2)

By David Spangler

By the time my first child, John-Michael, was born in 1983, I had already been a spiritual teacher for nearly twenty years. A major perennial topic in my lectures and workshops was love, and I felt I reasonably understood what love was about. But the first time I held my son in my arms, I realized how incomplete my knowledge was. I knew immediately that this new person was going to teach me things about love that I had never known before. And he has, along with another son and two daughters who came to join him as my teachers over the years.

When we think of the relationship of parents and children, it’s common and natural to think of what parents do for their offspring. We are responsible for them. There would appear to be a natural hierarchical relationship here with knowledge, love, wisdom, power, and authority flowing down from the parent to the child. But as any parent knows, the relationship is not so clear-cut; love and knowledge flow back from the child and as he or she grows older, wisdom and authority do as well. Parents and children may not be equal, but they can be partners each enriching the other in ways that neither could do for themselves.

Holarchy and Holism
This relationship in which different and unequal participants nevertheless enhance each other and co-creatively make a larger wholeness possible is what I call holarchy. It honors each participant and looks not to their relative ranking as in a hierarchy, but to what they can contribute by virtue of their differences. Thus in a hierarchy, participants can be compared and evaluated on the basis of position, rank, relative power, seniority and the like. But in a holarchy each person’s value comes from his or her individuality and uniqueness and the capacity to engage and interact with others to make the fruits of that uniqueness available.

The idea of holarchy conceptually grows out of the larger idea of holism. The word itself was coined by the South African statesman, general, and scientist Jan Smuts in his 1926 book, Holism and Evolution. After reading it, Albert Einstein said that the concept of holism was one of two paradigms that would govern human thinking in the 21st century (the second, he claimed, was his own theory of relativity). As in many things, Einstein has proven prescient. While no one would claim that politics, commerce, and social development as yet follow holistic models, the need to develop and implement such models is becoming increasingly apparent.

Smuts defined holism as “the tendency in nature to form wholes that are greater than the sum of the parts through creative evolution.” This idea found fertile soil in the science of ecology, which studies the patterns of interrelationship and wholeness that make up an environment. Consequently, the word has come to mean a condition of interdependency and interconnectedness such as characterizes the web of life on earth. In human society, it represents an attitude and lifestyle that perceives and fosters that condition in all areas of our personal and collective life.

Inner Worlds or Supersensible Realities
For me, the idea of holarchy comes from my experiences with the non-physical dimensions of life, what Rudolf Steiner called the “supersensible realities,” or simply the “Inner Worlds.” I have had a form of clairvoyant access to these worlds since early childhood. As a young man in my late teens and early twenties, I became familiar with theosophically related cosmologies that described these non-physical worlds in terms of layers, planes, and hierarchies, rather like a wedding cake with the physical realm at or near the bottom. Beings of greater spiritual presence and power occupied the upper realms and passed their wisdom and creative energies down the levels to us, rather like parents passing their knowledge and care down to their children. But when on occasion I would find myself in the presence of such a higher being, I did not feel any sense of hierarchy or ranking any more than I felt my own children to be “below” me. Instead, what I felt was a sense of embrace and love, of honoring and attentiveness from this being to me. I recognized that while it might be more powerful energetically than I and possessed of greater insight, this being and I both shared a universal life. We were different in capacity—in what we could do—but we were equal in value and in a shared sacredness.

Over the years, I have experienced the inner worlds more like a vast ecology whose various levels function less like ranks in a hierarchy and more like biomes, each with its own unique characteristics and dominant forms of life, energy and consciousness. Rather than flowing in one direction from the top to the bottom, creative energy, inspiration, and spirit flows between these regions in patterns of mutual co-creation and support. The Sacred—the Generative Mystery—is everywhere present, the force of life and presence within the entire ecology, rather than being centered in one part of it.

The Physical World as a Radiant Presence
In particular, I find the physical world itself to be a radiant presence, a “star” of life. It imposes unique characteristics upon consciousness due to the nature of matter, but it is hardly the “densest” or lowest of places. Rather than simply receiving inspiration and guidance from above, it is a source of spiritual energy in its own right, and makes its own important contribution to the co-creative process of the evolutionary whole of which all the dimensions are a part. While one world or level may indeed emanate from another, once it comes into being it begins to radiate and unfold in its own unique way, becoming a member of the larger planetary and cosmic spiritual and energetic ecology. It becomes a partner, not a dependent.

“From the Archives” features essays and book excerpts by David Spangler that are out of print or not readily available. The last part of this essay (digitally published by Seven Pillars House of Wisdom in 2008) will appear next week.  For more information, please email drenag@lorian.org. 

Souls Who Want to Be Here

By Claire Blatchford

Ed and I were pretty excited when we first became grandparents nine years ago. And the excitement hasn’t lessened as three more grandchildren have joined our family. Though each arrival has been a story in itself, there seems to be a common tune. All arrived early, up to two weeks before their due date. All experienced some bumps either on the way here or for awhile after landing. And, despite that, all responded in the same affirmative way to the welcome they received. Perhaps the tune could be called, “Hey, everybody, I’m here!”

For our first granddaughter the “bumps” had to do with her environment: there was a fire in the apartment her family lived in shortly after she was born. Then her mother took a job in another town and mother and daughter had to be apart during the week for some months until the whole family could be together again. Our second granddaughter had to wear casts on both legs for eight weeks, then a bar between her legs at night for up to a year to straighten her legs out of the curve they’d settled into when in the womb. Our third granddaughter had to come via C-section after her heart rate faltered. Then, less than a week later, she ran a fever that put her back in the hospital for two weeks because of a meningitis scare. The fourth grandchild—our grandson—had—and still has—this unbelievable appetite. And he’s not the least bit plump. His dad is 6’7”, his mom 6’1” which may explain the amount of growing he’s likely headed into. During his first year his parents were up at all hours of the night to feed him. We still joke about his “hollow” leg having to be be filled promptly and completely.

Yet, despite the bumps-- maybe even because of them-- I’ll never forget meeting, truly meeting, each child eye to eye as I held them in my arms during their first or second week. I’ve experienced this with other newborns too, so please don’t assume this is just another doting grandmother speaking here. (Though I’ll readily admit I am a doting grandmother!)  

If you have met and held the gaze of a newborn, or a baby, you will know what I’m talking about. This experience can move—even shake-- you to your core. Who is this soul looking right at you, into you, through you as though sizing you up? A new born can look not only very new born but actually quite ancient. Tiny physical size and young age-- as we’re accustomed to counting them in days and hours-- suddenly evaporate before the mystery of incarnation.  It’s as though wisdom and love in the steady, curious, unperturbed gaze of this little one are reaching out to touch, even finger, the world it has chosen to enter. And some times there’s been more than just a meeting and a greeting. On occasion I’ve felt the arriving soul asking, “Can I trust you?” Not me, specifically, but humanity as a whole.

Recently, when remembering this calm, penetrating, yet always “bright” look which I saw in the eyes of our grandchildren when they were babies, I was reminded of something David Spangler said when speaking of the incarnational process:

"Much as the nuclear processes at the core of a star cause it to give off heat and light, so the incarnational processes within the embodied soul…..naturally give off a quality of spiritual radiance I call our “Self-Light.” In a sense, this is a spiritual force indigenous to the incarnate realm. It’s not coming from a transpersonal level (though there are qualities and currents of Light that do come to us from such “higher” dimensions); it is produced, generated and emerging right here in our midst within the physical world. In effect, we are each like stars, producing our own radiance, rather than like planets that have to reflect the radiance of others. We are each generative sources." (from Surfing a Wave of Conflict forum, Spring 2016) 

The star-like quality is really there though our grandchildren don’t look at me the way they did when new born. By “brightness” and “star-like” I don’t mean “smart”, “clever”, “unusual” or “superior.” I’m speaking rather of how the radiance I saw shining in their eyes when we first met eye to eye, is now shining not just in their faces but in their bodies. The stellar brightness David describes is being generated by their movements, actions, explorations, ongoing discovery of language, others, self, indeed, the whole world both near and far. This energy has so many forms and colors.

Take the determination of the 2.4 year old who recently pulled a chair over to the kitchen counter, climbed onto it, got the car keys from his mother’s pocketbook, went out to the car, got in, and put the keys in the ignition!

Take the independence of the soon to be 3 year old who insists on dressing, eating, climbing, pretend-writing, pretend-swimming, and racing on ahead, all by herself. No faltering heart beat there!

Take the kindness of the 5 year old who laboriously wrote her name and her mother’s name within a heart shape. Then colored and folded the heart and solemnly gave it to her mother to take on the business trip her mother didn’t want to go on.  

Or the exuberance of the 9 year old upon completing a challenging climb up one of the highest mountains in New Hampshire.

These are just a few examples of some of the bright qualities we see in them. I hear them as variations on the tune, “Hey, everybody I’m here!” Sure our grandchildren whine and have melt downs. Sure, I wish they’d stop grabbing at the dog’s tail, would sometimes walk and talk a bit more softly, especially at 5 AM, would dare to eat more than familiar old macaroni and cheese. Sure, I’m always happy when they arrive at our house and often exhausted when they depart. It’s hard work keeping up with a young star!

But here’s the thing I never cease to marvel at: they have come in these dark and difficult times. I am certain that all over the world you can find them, recognize them, meet them. And in meeting them meet your deepest hopes for the future of our world. They have chosen to incarnate, they want to be here. What can one say but, Welcome! Thank you for coming! We need you!

How do we use the principles of Incarnational Spirituality to engage these turbulent social and political times?From October 2-8 join Lorian Facilitators David Spangler and James Tousignant for Standing in the Eye: Creating Calmness in a Season of Storms. This week-long forum will provide practical exercises and approaches for conscious engagement during this election season. For more information or to register click here. 

The Scent of Sacredness

By Freya Secrest

Moving to the Midwest, as I shared with you last month, has me looking around my garden with fresh eyes. Just identifying the plants in my new Michigan backyard has brought a number of delightful surprises. One recently was a large shrub I could not recognize. It was mature, tall, and lanky – having grown up in the shade of a maple. But I couldn’t quite place it from just its leaves or shape. I watched it slowly come awake in the spring and then walked out one morning this summer and was delighted to see it had started to bloom. I was still unsure of its identity– until I smelled its flowers. The fragrance instantly brought forward its name – Mock Orange! I loved finally recognizing this old friend who I only knew previously as a vigorous, but more managed, princess. Growing in the shade without as many blossoms as the one in my northwest garden, this Mock Orange still clearly and fully brought forth the fullness of its unique signature in the perfection of its shape and fragrance.

When next I picked up Dorothy’s Seeds of Inspiration, it fell open to this message from the Mock Orange:

We are here before you think of us. We are always with our plants. We are attached to each little charge because we love to see it grow, have the keenest delight in being part of its development out of nothing into a perfect example of the pattern we hold. Not one little pore is out of line. Out of the elements we carve and unite, and carve again a living example of one design of the Infinite Designer.

And what fun it is! Holding each little atom in its pattern is a joy. We see you humans going glumly about your designs, doing things without zest because “they have to be done,” and we marvel that your sparkling life could be so filtered down and disguised. Life is abundant joy. Each little bite of a caterpillar into a leaf is done with more zest that we sometimes feel in you humans – and a caterpillar has not much consciousness. We would love to shake this sluggishness out of humans and have you see life as ever brighter, flowing, more creative, blooming, waxing and waning, eternal and one.

While talking to you I am also peacefully promoting growth in the plant.  All over the world wherever I grow, I hold the wonderful designs for each plant to confirm. Maintaining life in countless places, I yet remain free, utterly and completely free, because I am the life of the One. How I rejoice to be alive! I soar to highest heaven, I become part of the heart of all. I am here, there and everywhere, without deviation holding my pattern of perfection. I bubble with life. I am life. I am One and I am many.

I have leapt lightly into your consciousness. I bow out, glad to have been with you, glad that you have appreciated what I have said, and still more glad to be back in our world of light. Think well of us, think of us with light.

Such a delightful synchronicity! It makes sense to me that the amazing aroma of a Mock Orange that is so beloved and distinctive could only come from such a spirit of joy and zest for life. For how else could such a fragrance arise? "Nothing comes from nothing", as the song says; the essence of a being reflects through all parts of its expression and what more natural source than joy for such an evocative scent!  

Unlocking our sense of smell and all the information it holds for us is a frontier that has been associated mostly with perfume and cooking, not(for me anyway!) with the mystical. It is thought-provoking to consider how fragrance is sourced from the quality of being that underlies its chemical formula. Smell is one of our interfaces of perception with the world, perhaps it could be more seriously considered as one of the voices of the subtle. It is a language which draws together so many layers of information for us as we step to discover those realms.

And it is not just flowery smells that inspire and express those mystical roots. The sweat of hard work and effort is an earthy smell, honest and grounded in itself. The tang of ocean, the freshness of laundry dried in the sun, the bitter hit of some herbs……the Sacred takes shape in a multitude of scented expressions and our noses are placed front and center to interact with them.

As we work more from qualities such as joy and gratitude, hope and courage, we too mix together a unique blend of presence that wafts out as a fragrance. Not all noses are equally tuned to its frequency but it is there as a gift of our sacred self, a gift of uniqueness carried by the wind, adding its note to the harmonies of the world.

I am inspired, humbled and definitely committed to strengthening the fragrance of joy my newly discovered yard-mate has brought into my life. I would love to think I could create similar delight with my own scent.

For an exploration of the sacred at the heart of our incarnation, join us for a free Teleclass on August 28, 2016 – 7:00 pm Eastern / 4:00 pm Pacific. Then, from September 12-October 16, join us for “Journey into Fire” – a five-week online class exploring ways in which we can discover our inherent sacred fire and learn to fully shine our “star” essence into the world. Click here for more information or to register.

Stars Within Worlds

By Susan Sherman

It is mid-summer in northern Michigan where the population in the cities and towns are smaller, and the stars have the opportunity to shine brightly. Nearby is one of several designated International Dark Sky Park areas which possess “an exceptional or distinguished quality of starry nights and a nocturnal environment.”

Recently, in the depths of a moonless night, I opened the door wide for a peek outside. A gasp breathed through me. The Milky Way —shimmering and stunningly alive in its living energy — offered an invitation into the richness and graceful beauty of the night sky. A sparkling cloak of stars wafted through the heavens. Simultaneously, I found myself entering deeper into the core of my own living essence. And in that moment, I felt at once both connected with the generative life of the stars in the night sky and with that similarly resonant pulsing star essence within myself. I was awestruck, or perhaps I was star-struck!

As morning came around, I contemplated the presence of stars in the daylight hours, and was reminded of a tagline I had recently read – something to the effect that there has been a source of unprecedented energy discovered in the Milky Way Galaxy. And again, a wave of awe flowed through me. Are we not also a source of unprecedented and untapped energies? In what ways might we experience ourselves more fully as “generative sources”? As sources of love, of blessing, of kindness, of integrity, of respectfulness and caring, of compassion, of sacredness? What untapped potentials lie within the inherent essence of our being human? What radiance within ourselves resonates as the radiance of the stars? And though the stars cannot be seen with the human eye in the light of day, they continually radiate nonetheless…Do we as well?

This quote from the book Journey into Fire by David Spangler helps me to attune to the deeper essence of this night-time star experience:

“There is a sacred fire in us as incarnate beings that radiates a Light into the world…it is there in us all for it is lit by the act of incarnation itself.  It is at the heart of a spirituality of incarnation, one that does not separate us from spirit or from the Generative Mystery at the heart of the Sacred.  Rather it says that we are part of the Mystery, an expression of its generative nature, a source of the sacred fire of life.  

We each of us have it in us to find this fire and cultivate it, and when we do, we nourish that which makes us most human.  It becomes a journey into the wonder, the presence, the creative power of who we are.”

I am drawn to contemplate these words, “There is a sacred fire in us as incarnate beings that radiates a Light…it is there in us all for it is lit by the act of incarnation itself.” Ah, there it is again – radiant light – like the stars, drawing me into a synchronistic parallel.  

The stars have always drawn me and held a sacred place in my heart. And, although I am far from an expert in the naming of stars, the shapes of some of the more familiar stars are impressed in deep memory – the Milky Way, the Big Dipper and North Star, Cassiopeia, Orion’s Belt. Sensing the beauty of these particular stars as ever-present generative powerhouses of energy, radiating their light even in the daylight hours, reminds me that we are also radiant beings of light with an inner Self-burning light always present and available to us. We are human-stars embodied upon the star called Earth in resonance with the stars beyond.

So I open myself to the possibility that we live within an interdependent universe, a relational universe, a synchronistic universe, and that just as the stars are continually radiating their brilliant light and ‘source of unprecedented energy’, we, too, carry within us a generative (even unprecedented) source of sacred soul energy. We are called to shine and share our unique radiance of love and light through our loving care, our actions and words, and by being in dynamic relationship with the living world moment to moment.  

When something sparks my imagination through ideas, words, images and experiences, over time I have learned that it is most helpful to take a moment to feel into where the thoughts, words or experiences resonate within me, where within my body is there a sensation, a micro-movement. As I read or speak aloud the quote above – “sacred fire,” “radiates light,” “incarnation” move into my inner awareness, I feel a sense of fullness and density throughout my body, in my limbs and torso particularly, and this stronger awareness of the solidity of my physical body is accompanied by a continuing pulsing sense or vibration bubbling up in me and radiating outward. I feel more alive – in my body and senses – in this moment. I am more conscious and aware of living as a being whose essential energy does radiate out into the world around me – into my environment, into my relationships with the world. I am aware of the interdependent web even in the smallest interactions I may have in life. I am not feeling energized, per se, but alert, aware and present in my fullness. The word “whole” might best describe it. Clothing these feelings of aliveness and radiance in words helps me to capture, express and embody who I am as a part of the Sacred Mystery. And, though our thinking and words sometimes fall short in describing the subtle nature of inner workings, we always have the opportunity to step into the next moment and into the next, and practice allowing and kindling the felt sense of that essential generative flame at the center of our Self, our incarnated being.  

We are bridges – we bridge the worlds of the transcendent and the personal – the Stars, Earth and Humanity through our embodied, incarnate Self.

—

One of the exercises which has helped me to attune to the stellar, generative qualities within my own self is “Where Stars Meet”.  When I practice this simple exercise, I feel fully aligned with the Stars of the heavens as an inhabitant of the Star of Earth, and embodied within my own Star Self. We will be exploring this exercise and others in the upcoming Journey into Fire class and I invite you to explore your inner Star and let us know how this practice unfolds for you.

Where Stars Meet

Imagine a spiritual star at the center of the earth. It’s a green star radiant with the power of planetary life. Imagine the light from this star rising up through the earth, surrounding you, bathing and nurturing the cells of your body and forming a chalice around you.

Imagine a spiritual star within the sun in the sky. It’s a golden star radiant with the power of cosmic life. Imagine the light from this star descending from the heavens and pouring into the chalice of earthlight that surrounds you and fills your cells.

Where the light of these two stars meet in you, a new star emerges, a radiant star of Self-Light, born of the blending of the individual and the universal, the planetary and the cosmic, the physical and the spiritual. This Self-Light surrounds you and fills you, radiating back down deep into the earth and out into space, connecting with the star below you and the star above you. You are a Chalice of Self-Light within a pillar of spiritual energy rising from the earth and descending from the cosmos.

Take a moment to feel this Self-Light within and around you, your connection to the earth, your connection to the cosmos, your connection to your own unique and radiant Self. Take a deep breath, drawing this Light into and throughout your body; breathe out, sending this Light out into your world. Filled with this Light of Self, attuned to heaven and earth, go about your day.

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For an exploration of the sacred at the heart of our incarnation, join us for a free Teleclass on August 28, 2016 – 7:00 pm Eastern / 4:00 pm Pacific. Then, from September 12-October 16, join us for “Journey into Fire” - a five-week online class exploring ways in which we can discover our inherent sacred fire and learn to fully shine our “star” essence into the world. Click here for more information or to register.

Blog Updates - August 2016

July Recap

During the month of July, Views from the Lorian Community writers explored a variety of topics:

the power of standing and inner connections;

Finding My Stance by Claire Blatchford

When I’ve been confused or in distress Incarnational Spirituality has, many times, offered me a helpful and steadying stance. Not a creed, dogma, or set of rules, but, quite literally, a stance...It is definitely, for me, a way of standing or being placed, not only on this earth but within the specific incarnation I’m in now. This earth, the natural world, the invisible world I can sense within this world, family, friends, and various communities I’m connected to, the time in history I’ve incarnated into: stance implies relationship with all of these things. When I feel I’m standing in relationship with one, the other, or all of them—rather than ignoring, condemning, retreating or hiding from them– I know I’m not alone. (This is not to say there aren’t times when I need to retreat, rest, and lie low, in order to gather strength to stand again.) I can also sense there are deep meanings behind all these connections, meanings I may not yet be fully aware of, meanings that wait to be discovered, explored, and worked with.

a heartful meditation in response to racial discord;

Movement of the Heart by Drena Griffith

My guiding principle in response to all social and political challenges is this: it doesn’t matter what we profess to believe if our actions, even our anger at injustice, exclude us from those around us. Our neighbors. Our friends. Our enemies. Them, whoever them happens to be. In some ways, it doesn’t matter how we wound up together in this place, because together we are. All of our fates intertwine. So we either all get home together, or no one does. In the end, beliefs should serve people, rather than the other way around. But more and more I’ve come to see belief, even beliefs about race, as less a static basis of identity and more of a spectrum, a range diverse and multifaceted as our own distinct hues, features and cultural differences.

I’ve also witnessed the existence of something opposite–vectors of unintegrated subtle energy that David Spangler refers to as “Hungry Ghosts.“ I call them colorless holes. These energetic voids feed from our disconnection. They feed on the words that people don’t feel comfortable sharing for fear of censure and trial by public opinion. They feed on the fears that people suppress. And they expand and engulf entire sections of our world when people react and become filled with even justifiable wrath and rage in response to discrimination.  Truly, it’s hatred, rather than love, that knows no color. It’s counter-force Love, by its very nature, embraces all, including and especially that which challenges it. That makes love itself a multifaceted, multicolored experience.

attuning to the presence and vitality of neighborhood trees;

Community of Trees by Freya Secrest

There is a wonderful mature maple tree in my new front yard. I spent some time under it today as I started to prepare the soil around it for a new shade garden. I was touched by a quiet rustle. I paused in my work and accepted the invitation, resting for a moment in the confluence of land, water, sky and spirit that the tree holds within its vital presence. There was a nurturing feel under its branches, different than out in the rest of the yard...Under my maple that morning I saw my yard from a new tree perspective.  The continuity of their work and the history of their relationship with land and water and sunshine stood out in vivid clarity.

friendship with a family of crows:

Backyard Friends by Julie Spangler

Like many people, I have always enjoyed sharing my backyard with the natural critters who co-inhabit this small piece of land with me. We have the usual squirrels which raise their families in our yard, babies delighting us with their game of tag chasing each other as they practice their skills in the trees. There is a mother raccoon who often will bring her babies to nap in the tree by our porch. I love watching the Hummingbirds hover over the feeder, and the Finches,Nut Hatches, Blackeyed Junkos and Chickadees on theirs. Various shyer woodpeckers make an appearance every so often. But most notably there are a couple of crows who frequent our territory and for whom we leave a tidbit.

Most people I know don’t like crows. They are loud and raucous and aggressive toward other birds. I am fond of crows in their sleek black beauty, though I do not love crow voices. But I have discovered firsthand how smart and neighborly they can be.

the importance of being present to the moment;

On the Way to There by Mary Reddy

Recently, events in my life have heightened my awareness of the preciousness of Now—this moment. How many ordinary moments do we string together to make a life? I awoke this morning thinking about the quote, “It’s the journey that matters, not the destination.” Though I understand the intended meaning, I’m aware that it still frames each moment in terms of a destination. In this metaphor of life as a journey, we are admonished to stop and smell the roses. Yet the overriding message is that we are on our way somewhere else.

During the sixties cultural revolution, the renowned American spiritual leader, Ram Dass, wrote a pivotal book titled Be Here Now. “Early in the journey,” he noted, “you wonder how long the journey will take and whether you will make it in this lifetime. Later you will see that where you are going is HERE and you will arrive NOW…so you stop asking.

attuning to a spirit of healing and love in response to fear and unrest;

The Spirit Amongst Us by David Spangler

These are heart-heavy days. Nearly every day, the media bring us news of more suffering, more deaths, more anguish in the world.  One day it may be images of unprecedented and devastating floods or wildfires, destroying property and displacing thousands of lives.  Another day it may be the horror of terrorism as airports are bombed and innocent revelers are killed by the dozens by a deranged truck driver.  

Last January, one of my non-physical colleagues said, “A spirit of conflict is being loosed in the world this year. Prepare yourself for a wild ride.” His comment has proven unfortunately prophetic, particularly as unresolved currents of fear and distrust, hatred and anger have been erupting in tragedies along the racial fault lines in our country. The killings of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile; the ambush and slaying of police officers in Dallas; the murder of three police officers in Baton Rouge…all of these wound the heart and make one wonder how many more may die in senseless ways before our nation finds healing.  And in spite of what my inner colleague said, how does one prepare one’s heart for convulsions of violence arising from centuries of division and conflict between members of the human family, between blacks and whites, Christians and Moslems, the haves and the have nots?

and, lastly, the power of heaven and earth in music.

The Magical Harp by Susan Beal

It’s easy to understand why harps are associated with angels and heaven. The harp is unique in the number of open strings it has—more than any other instrument but the piano—that vibrate sympathetically whenever any strings are played. It creates layers of harmonic frequencies that evoke the higher worlds and the harmony of the spheres. Research shows that such frequencies have powerfully healing effects, but we don’t need science to tell us what our bodies already know. Music is healing.

Celtic legends are filled with stories of harps being used to invoke magic and summon magical beings, or to open portals to the faery realms. Ancient harpers believed that harps themselves were alive, and people treated them as more than mere instruments. They were beings in their own right.

August

Lorian's Annual Summer Gathering will take place August 6-7. Also the fall semester of classes begins on August 28 with a free Journey into Fire teleclass led by instructors Julie Spangler and Susan Sherman. Susan has written a guest post for Views from the Lorian Community, which will lead our August lineup.

Many thanks to all of our readers and followers on Facebook. Like us on Facebook in order to keep up with the latest blog posts, classes and other offerings.

Views from the Lorian Community publishes essays from a team of volunteer writers expressing individual experiences of a long term, committed practice of Incarnational Spirituality (and the general principles shaping such a practice.) If you wish to share how your life has benefited from your relationship with Lorian and IS, please email the editor at drenag@lorian.org. We prefer submissions between 700-900 words. We rarely accept previously published material (including blog posts.) We also reserve the right to decline or to edit your submission. Any accepted submissions will be published in the order that best fits our topic schedule.

The Magical Harp

By Susan Beal

I just returned from a folk harp festival, a sort of Brigadoon for harp players, who come from all around the country and several other parts of the world to learn, teach, talk and play folk harp. Not many people play folk harp, and none at all play it where I live. The harp is a bit exotic and has characteristics that can present challenges when playing with other musicians. So the chance to be amongst other passionate harp players is a bit like the ugly duckling meeting swans for the first time. There’s a sense of familiarity and belonging that brings great joy whenever people come together over a shared passion.

Workshops at the festival spanned every harp-related topic imaginable. Among the ones I took were two led by a woman I have admired from afar for many years, a luminary in the Celtic folk harp tradition who almost single-handedly rescued the Irish harp tradition from oblivion. Getting to meet her was like getting to meet Santa Claus.

There was an exhibition hall filled with harps in all shapes and sizes, from towering pedal harps with 47 strings, to tiny, 15 string lap harps that seemed like the harp version of ukuleles. And because everyone was trying out harps, the hall was filled with the thrumming, chaotic, melodious resonance of dozens of harps being played all at once. The concerts at night featured an amazing lineup of performers in various traditions from around the world – Celtic, Turkish, Jewish, Paraguayan, and one performer who rocked out on electric harp. So many interpretations of an instrument most people associate with angels on clouds!

It was heaven for harp players, right there in New Jersey.

It's easy to understand why harps are associated with angels and heaven. The harp is unique in the number of open strings it has—more than any other instrument but the piano—that vibrate sympathetically whenever any strings are played. It creates layers of harmonic frequencies that evoke the higher worlds and the harmony of the spheres. Research shows that such frequencies have powerfully healing effects, but we don’t need science to tell us what our bodies already know. Music is healing.

Celtic legends are filled with stories of harps being used to invoke magic and summon magical beings, or to open portals to the faery realms. Ancient harpers believed that harps themselves were alive, and people treated them as more than mere instruments. They were beings in their own right.

I’d wanted to play Celtic harp since 1981 when I got a cassette tape of a man named Patrick Ball playing a wire strung harp. But back then folk harp was a rare thing. Playing it seemed unattainable, the harp more a myth than part of my world, like the land of the Sidhe. Through the years I told myself it wasn’t practical, and I should focus on the instruments I already played, namely trumpet, oboe and guitar.

But once I began playing the harp, I realized all those other instruments were the flings I had in search of my soul mate. The synchronicities that unfolded hinted that something larger was at work. I’d been in a very difficult period for several years and my heart felt desiccated and broken. I’d had severe insomnia for a long time, and wondered if I’d lost the capacity for happiness as well as for sleep.  Then I went to a concert at my son’s college, and one of the students played a small Celtic harp. The tune he played was “My Heart Will Go On,” the theme song from the movie Titanic. The sound was like a quenching rain to the cracked desert of my heart, and I started to feel things I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years. It revived the longing I’d felt 30 years before, whenever I listened to the cassette tape. I realized this renewed yearning was about more than learning to play the harp. It was about learning to listen to my own heart, no matter how impractical it might seem.

The first harp I got, a 22 string I found on Craig’s List, was called an Eve by its maker, a fitting name for giving in to the temptation I had denied for decades. My family of harps has grown since then—and, interestingly, the double strung harp I just brought home is also an Eve. I’ve always understood the story of Adam and Eve as being about the courageous step we humans took in descending deeply into matter, taking on material bodies while our angelic and faery cousins stayed in the more ethereal, Edenic realms.

The fact that it is told as a story of wrongdoing and punishment betrays the difficulties of living in and between two worlds—heavenly and earthly. Our dense, material bodies allow us to experience Earth in ways our celestial counterparts can’t, but they also seduce us into forgetting we’re more than material beings. It’s a constant balancing act to synthesize opposites, and we’d do well to cut ourselves some slack when we mess it up.

Perhaps that challenge explains, in part, the power of the harp to soothe and heal. Like us, the harp has to balance opposing forces. We couldn’t hear the vibrating strings without the wooden body of the harp to act as a resonator. The soundbox of the harp has to be strong enough to withstand the tremendous tension of the strings, and the strings have to be tight enough to vibrate in the correct pitch. If the string tension is too great, the harp breaks. If the strings are too loose, the sound is dull and out of tune. When they work together, they transform the elements of wood, metal, air, and the fire of creativity, into beautiful music. That’s magic.

I have learned so much from learning to play the harp, not the least of which is the power of the music to bring heaven and earth together, and the joy to be had when one listens to one’s heart.

Questions or comments to share? Please email drenag@lorian.org.

The Spirit Amongst Us

By David Spangler

These are heart-heavy days. Nearly every day, the media bring us news of more suffering, more deaths, more anguish in the world.  One day it may be images of unprecedented and devastating floods or wildfires, destroying property and displacing thousands of lives.  Another day it may be the horror of terrorism as airports are bombed and innocent revelers are killed by the dozens by a deranged truck driver.  

Last January, one of my non-physical colleagues said, “A spirit of conflict is being loosed in the world this year. Prepare yourself for a wild ride.” His comment has proven unfortunately prophetic, particularly as unresolved currents of fear and distrust, hatred and anger have been erupting in tragedies along the racial fault lines in our country. The killings of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile; the ambush and slaying of police officers in Dallas; the murder of three police officers in Baton Rouge…all of these wound the heart and make one wonder how many more may die in senseless ways before our nation finds healing.  And in spite of what my inner colleague said, how does one prepare one’s heart for convulsions of violence arising from centuries of division and conflict between members of the human family, between blacks and whites, Christians and Moslems, the haves and the have nots?  

If a spirit of conflict is indeed loosed among us, it is truly an unwelcome spirit but one which arises from our own history of actions and inactions, attitudes and perceptions. We are being confronted by a brokenness that is of our own making. But in recognizing this, we must also recognize that it comes not for condemnation but to be healed and made whole, perhaps for the first time.

For this healing to take place, we must know when we meet this spirit of brokenness in the specificity of our own lives, for it is not an abstraction or something happening in the “out there” presented on our television and computer screens. We may meet it as a sudden anxiety when we encounter someone of a different race or religion from our own; out of the unconscious and out of the thought-forms so prevalent in our society, fears with no grounding in reality may arise, and in that moment, our heart may close. We become wary. Like ground mist on a damp day, suspicions begin to swirl in our minds. Am I safe? Is this other person a threat? Brokenness invades the connection I may wish to feel with this person, siphoning away the love that is my soul’s natural response to the world.

It’s at that moment that I must be attentive and bold, acknowledging the fears but giving them no place in me to root. It’s at that moment I must be deliberate in opening or keeping open my heart so that trust and even love have a portal through which to flow. It’s at that moment I must see myself as an agent of connection rather than of disconnection, allowing myself to clearly see the other whom I’m meeting as a fellow sacred being rather than as an image shaped by the angry and fearful rhetoric so present in the world.

Over the past decade and a half I have dealt with bladder cancer, going through numerous operations which finally proved successful as I have been cancer-free for some years now. However, the toll on my bladder was significant, and it no longer functions as well as it should, which creates other problems I’m now dealing with. A part of my body is broken. However, my body as a whole is healthy and not at all broken. This gives me a choice. I can focus my attention upon the part of my body that no longer functions as it should, letting that dysfunction define my life, or I can embrace my bladder in the larger health and energy of my body as a whole. I still have to deal with it, but how I envision who I am in dealing with it makes a huge difference in whether I can bring a spirit of healing to myself.

A spirit of conflict and brokenness may be loosed on the land, but it doesn’t define the world around us, nor should it define us. This, to me, is the first step in being able to meet and heal this spirit however it arises or we encounter it. It invades our world with suffering, but its true insidiousness is how it invades our minds and hearts, convincing us to fear, to mistrust, to accept brokenness as who we are and as the nature of the world.

In Incarnational Spirituality, each individual is seen as a unique, valuable and sacred person as a physical entity, and the world around us is equally sacred in its physicality. We are not perfect by any means, nor is the world perfect, but within us and around us lie vast resources of connectedness, love, and blessing accessible through an open heart willing to acknowledge those resources are there. In short, for all the brokenness in the world—or in ourselves—there is health as well. There is an innate impulse towards coherency and wholeness, towards synergy, towards effective and optimal functioning. We can tap that impulse through our intent to embody it, to honor the connections, to choose love over hate and courage over fear. We tap that impulse through our capacity to embrace differences rather than to push them away or deny them.

Incarnational Spirituality is about honoring our individual sovereignty as well as the sovereignty of everyone and everything else, and from that foundation, creating a field, an “aura,” of thought, feeling, and energy around ourselves that honors and embraces life, connection, collaboration, and, yes, love. Standing in and holding that field, one that connects to what is healthy and unbroken in life, we become points of stability and calm, strength and wholeness in the midst of turbulence.

Many years ago, two friends of mine bought one of the first water beds on the market. One night, the husband was seized by a cramp in his leg, and as he thrashed about in pain on the bed, he created a wave that lifted his wife up and tossed her onto the floor. The next day they went back to the store and bought baffles, essentially long boards, which were inserted in the bed to prevent any waves from propagating themselves again.  

As waves of fear, mistrust, anger sweep through our country—for whatever reason—and seek to propagate the brokenness of our history or our present, if we can stand in our field of loving and open attunement to our own sovereignty and sacredness, to the sacredness of each other, and to the sacredness of our world, we can be baffles that break up those waves. We will feel them. Our hearts may be wounded. But we need not pass them on. We really do have the power to make a difference by choosing not to participate in the spirit of conflict but to manifest instead our choices to hold an open heart and a loving mind. We can connect to the ancient stability and life-giving presence of the world around us, the nature that enfolds us, and draw on the strength and health these can offer. We can draw on the comfort and presence of each other, each of us seeking peace and happiness in our lives, each of us seeking freedom from fear.

In short, we have the power to loose another spirit upon the world, a spirit of love and a spirit of healing.

___

Join teachers David Spangler and James Tousignant for Standing in the Eye: Creating Calmness in a Season of Storms. This week long forum from October 2-8 will focus on the upcoming US Presidental Election against the backdrop of racial tension and social upheaval, terrorism and widespread violence, confusion and political distrust. How can Incarnational Spirituality help us engage these difficult, turbulent times? Please join us as we explore both subtle and practical ways to bring healing, intentional activism, wholeness and the forces of peace, hope and love to this raging storm.  Click here for more information or to register.

On the Way to There

Essay and Sketch by Mary Reddy

Recently, events in my life have heightened my awareness of the preciousness of Now—this moment. How many ordinary moments do we string together to make a life? I awoke this morning thinking about the quote, “It’s the journey that matters, not the destination.” Though I understand the intended meaning, I’m aware that it still frames each moment in terms of a destination. In this metaphor of life as a journey, we are admonished to stop and smell the roses. Yet the overriding message is that we are on our way somewhere else.

During the sixties cultural revolution, the renowned American spiritual leader, Ram Dass, wrote a pivotal book titled Be Here Now. “Early in the journey,” he noted, “you wonder how long the journey will take and whether you will make it in this lifetime. Later you will see that where you are going is HERE and you will arrive NOW...so you stop asking.”

What a shift in our zeitgeist—at least in the West—and what a re-wiring this called for. Drop the feverish planning ahead, the listing of way stations to pass before we arrive “there.” In more religious eras in history, “there” was universally acknowledged as Heaven. A daunting journey to heaven, described in the 17th century Christian allegory Pilgrim’s Progress especially frightened me as a child. The traveling pilgrim falls into the Slough of Despond—a swamp of despair and guilt over his sinfulness. Getting “there,” I thought, might be too terrifying a journey to undertake.

These days, “there” might be attainment of enlightenment or a more mundane destination such as career success, financial security, a longer list of accomplishments, a more fit body. Despite the power contained in the be-here-now message, I believe we all struggle to maintain full presence in the moment. The cultural pressure is on measuring time and moving through the scheduled clock of our days and nights, marching inexorably toward even more planned activities. We are pushed to exhibit continual improvement. 

How does this affect me? I live responsibly in my modern Western culture. I understand the importance of each step along the road, keeping appointments, planning ahead. I imagine where I want to be next and work to manifest my dreams. But I also feel the tug in the opposite direction. Right now, here, I am all right. I am sufficient. 

During times when it’s difficult to see ahead, I’ve discovered fully resting in the present moment calms me and opens my heart. And having practiced that shift in awareness pays off when the going gets tough. Two principles of Incarnational Spirituality, Self Light and Emergence, solve the paradox of being fully present in the moment while continuing to live in a stream of events. 

Self Light is the spiritual radiance generated by the act of being a unique self, an individuation of sacredness. The light I hold as an incarnated self reminds me that I am, as I am here now, an emanation of the Sacred—whatever my strengths and weaknesses may be. Self light is not a thing I have to earn or journey toward. I entered the world on a wave of love. The light originates in my loving intent to be here, in this Now. 

Emergence acknowledges the journey as well as the moment. It acknowledges change. It’s about the growth and newness arising out of my presence and interaction with all that surrounds me. Emergence reminds me to honor my mediated experience of time, where I engage with change, evolution, and growth. Because I am here, in this moment, something new may manifest which could not have occurred without me. 

Feeling into these qualities, I land in a both/and space. Time breathes in and out of my human life. And the Eternal resides in the pause between intake and out. I am, have, always will be here in this time, feeling this deep pain or stretching beyond grief into this bright joy, loving this flower, enjoying this bite of fresh food, or smiling into this loved one’s blue eyes. Lately, when I struggle to rise out of my own slough of despond, I recognize that it’s me, in that place, who can infuse the moment with love, intentionally interlacing my own sacred breathe with that of all beings around me, whether they be dark and muddy or warm and sunlit. Just as light can behave as wave or particle, my human self can pulse between time and eternity, moment to moment.

Questions or comments? Please email drenag@lorian.org.

Backyard Friends

By Julia Spangler

Like many people, I have always enjoyed sharing my backyard with the natural critters who co-inhabit this small piece of land with me. We have the usual squirrels which raise their families in our yard, babies delighting us with their game of tag chasing each other as they practice their skills in the trees. There is a mother raccoon who often will bring her babies to nap in the tree by our porch. I love watching the Hummingbirds hover over the feeder, and the Finches,Nut Hatches, Blackeyed Junkos and Chickadees on theirs. Various shyer woodpeckers make an appearance every so often. But most notably there are a couple of crows who frequent our territory and for whom we leave a tidbit.

Most people I know don't like crows. They are loud and raucous and aggressive toward other birds. I am fond of crows in their sleek black beauty, though I do not love crow voices. But I have discovered firsthand how smart and neighborly they can be. One lovely spring day a few years ago I was eating my lunch outside on the porch, quietly reading, when an annoying crow shout finally penetrated my consciousness. "CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!" I realized my body had been aware of it before my mind was wrenched from my book, and my shoulders were tense from resisting the sound. I turned to face the crow in the branches of the tree behind me and said, "Shut UP!"  She did.

She went silent. So I told her that if she was quiet while I ate my lunch, I would share a bit with her, but only if she was quiet. Then I went back to my book. As I finished, and collected my stuff to go back inside, I realized that the crow was still there, sitting quietly waiting for me to keep my agreement. I thanked her and left a crust on the railing of the porch. The next day, as I ate my lunch on the porch, I became aware of a strange, soft, almost purring sound I had never heard before. I turned around and saw the crow sitting on the same branch nearby, and she was making this odd noise deep in her throat, very quiet and almost intimate sounding. I looked at her and said, "Hello! Thank you. I will keep some lunch for you". This contract was kept all summer. She never cawed in our yard demanding treats. She would come sit on the branch or on the railing and wait patiently. Occasionally another crow would show up with its loud CAW!CAW!CAW! and I would shush it and tell it there was no food if there was shouting. I have seen 'our' crow chasing loud crows away from our porch.

We have kept the agreement for several years now, and every morning the crow will come sit on the rail when the kitchen light goes on, her mate on the near branch of the tree, and will wait there until we come out with an offering. We enjoy their presence, and honor our deal, though we are clear with them that there is only a morsel once a day.  (Doesn't stop her from trying for more, but always with quiet respect for our boundaries.)

I have recently been aware of the fact that the crow couple have been nesting, and feeding their babies from our largess. And I have not been looking forward to having the young crows coming into our yard with their whining voices demanding to be fed. I told myself that I would not feed them, because they needed to learn to forage for themselves.  Yesterday they broke all my resolve.

I saw the dominant crow sitting on the rail and as I brought out a snack of a couple of cherries, I saw the baby sitting on a branch. The baby gave one short cry and  the crow on the rail croaked sharply back. Then silence. Mama crow was teaching her baby to respect the etiquette of our yard  Oh my! I watched during the day, and the quiet rule was respected by all three crows. At one point, I saw the dominant crow on the rail, and just about four feet above her in the tree was the baby, with the other parent sitting right next to it, chest to side, stroking the baby's neck with his beak. The baby's neck was stretched up, mouth slightly open, calmed and quiet.  Perhaps they were trying not to scare the humans away! Later, knowing there was no more food coming from us, they left their baby on the branch by the porch and flew off to hunt as the baby napped, head tucked under its wing. What a show of trust!

A few days later there were two more of their babies in the tree. It was much harder to keep three quiet than just one, but I could see the parents trying to teach them all the etiquette of our yard. Kids get excited when they are hungry and demanding food. I was deeply moved by the intelligence of that crow family, who have kept the agreement of no loud noise in our yard. They are no dummies. When they are quiet, they get treats. When they are noisy, they get nothing except a "No, no, no. No cawing!" from me. They have taught their children well how to survive in this suburban neighborhood by getting along with the neighbors!

I have enjoyed the company of this dominant crow.  Sometimes she will come sit on the rail, about 5 feet away from me as I work on the porch, and together we watch the humming birds sip from the feeder.  Friends sharing a moment of companionship. People experience nature communication in different ways, and we may never really know how our connections with nature will show up, but when we pay attention and notice our natural world companions, we may be surprised by how much they are willing to engage with us.

Views from the Lorian Community publishes essays from a team of volunteer writers expressing individual experiences of a long term, committed practice of Incarnational Spirituality (and the general principles shaping such a practice.) If you wish to share how your life has benefited from your relationship with Lorian and IS, please email the editor at drenag@lorian.org. We prefer submissions between 700-900 words. We rarely accept previously published material (including blog posts.) We also reserve the right to decline or to edit your submission. Any accepted submissions will be published in the order that best fits our topic schedule.

Community of Trees

By Freya Secrest

There is a wonderful mature maple tree in my new front yard. I spent some time under it today as I started to prepare the soil around it for a new shade garden. I was touched by a quiet rustle. I paused in my work and accepted the invitation, resting for a moment in the confluence of land, water, sky and spirit that the tree holds within its vital presence. There was a nurturing feel under its branches, different than out in the rest of the yard. After a moment I carried on with my work refreshed.

Our front yard is level with a road carrying cars up and down our peninsula neighborhood. Runners and cyclers go by quietly but frequently. One side of our lot is in the sun, the other overshadowed by this maple. The path to the house goes between the sun and shade and I have been working to bring a little color to both areas. But in this moment of pause I felt the life of the tree itself, a presence with a role and purpose that took root long before it became an element in any human landscape design.

My husband made a comment once as we walked through a neighborhood in Oak Park, Michigan. Struck by all the large oak trees in the neighborhood he observed, “We aren’t walking through a neighborhood of houses planted with trees, we are walking through a forest of oak trees with houses added.” Under my maple that morning I saw my yard from a new tree perspective with the maple in front and a hillside of oak, maple, fir and cedar behind. The continuity of their work and the history of their relationship with land and water and sunshine stood out in vivid clarity. Dorothy Maclean’s deva messages from the large trees came to mind. Let me share two that give voice to their perspective.

“We trees, rooted guardians of the surface, converters of the higher forces to Earth through to the ground, have a special gift for you in this day and age of speed and drive and busyness.  We are calm strength, endurance, praise, fine attunement, all of which are greatly needed in the world.” —Scot’s Pine

“We exult in what we are, for so it is. We rejoice in any consciousness that appreciates what we are, that appreciates the fineness, precision and delicacy, the power and patience which culminates in a birch tree. We stand in our positions here, and as we stand we spread what we have to contribute for all to see. We are no accident; we are part of the whole. Each plant species is individual yet part of the whole. Here we are, above unrest, forever one with what we should be. We greet you and trust you will often greet us.” —Birch Tree

There is always time for appreciation, a fact I sometimes need to be reminded of in the midst of the busyness of life. I am grateful for the maple’s gifts of strength and endurance and glad for its invitation to join into nature’s song of praise and celebration for the wonders of life. It is an immediate way for me to contribute something to the community of the planet, a respectful way to honor the history of this piece of land and a joyful way to get to know more of the inhabitants of my new neighborhood.

Questions or comments about The Living Universe? Please write drenag@lorian.org.

Movement of the Heart

By Drena Griffith

A painting of a white Jesus--blonde, blue-eyed--greeted us each afternoon as we walked into religion class my sophomore year of high school. On the same wall hung a black Jesus with dark skin and curly hair. These two images watched us quietly, day after day, for months, until one of my classmates finally asked the question unspoken but clearly often wondered about:

“…why is there a picture of a white Jesus and a black Jesus on the wall?”

In response, our religion teacher explained that the Jewish Jesus Christ, from the Middle East with olive colored skin and dark, wavy hair, really did not look like either representation. But what did we think?

Well, of course Christ had to be more white, several of my classmates exclaimed, because white represented everything important and good in our country and world, right? Of course Christ couldn’t really be black because black people were inferior; hadn’t history proven that time and again? What began as a discussion about wall hangings slowly turned bitter and aggressive as the rising tide of resentments over affirmative action, the Confederate flag and other lingering issues of our parents' (and grandparents') days projected conflicting attitudes upon those images.

I was one of two non-white students sitting in the classroom the day the question was asked. At the time I felt deeply defensive, shamed and wounded by the words of my classmates, some of them my friends.

As for me, I really couldn’t relate to either white or black Jesus. Neither image reflected my reality. It seemed to me that my classmates needed Jesus to be white because they were white. And they needed Jesus to not be black because of what they had been taught to believe about blackness. But hadn’t I grown up on those same depictions, except within me whiteness also seemed remote and beyond my reach, and blackness as something to despise? Wasn’t Jesus Christ, as the Bible stories portrayed him at least, selfless, conscientious and, above all else, inclusive?

Neither of those images told me a thing about the real Christ; though silent as they were, they seemed to reveal much of what we believed about each other.

_

Over 26 years later, I’m reminded of those silent, watchful paintings and that blistering conversation as I listen to the cultural and racial rhetoric of this season: Black Lives Matter, All Lives Matter. The two movements slam against each other, unyielding--the existence of one seemingly negating the stance of the other. Last week was particularly brutal and troubling. But when I hold the fresh wave of pain flowing across the nation from communities in Falcon Heights, Baton Rouge and Dallas, I don’t see white blood and black blood. I don’t see an us versus them. What I do sense is a commingled wave of fear, misunderstanding and hatred that I know firsthand can sweep across and drag all colors and races, cultures and creeds, movements and good intentions down to the depths.

As someone who has actively contemplated and sought to reconcile racial discord since long before that fateful high school class discussion, the one--and perhaps only-- thing I’ve come to understand is the complexity of the issues involved.

It seems to me that if we stop to think about it, of course it’s true that Black Lives Matter. And yes, it’s equally true that All Lives Matter. Standing alone, each is an expression of a very real incarnate need to be recognized and understood. The trouble is--these movements don’t stand alone. The framework of each depends upon a particular discourse with the other; and often it seems what some people react against is what they think the other means by what it says.

Just like with the two images of Jesus on the wall, the issues ultimately had nothing at all to do with those images themselves, but what we as a class projected onto them. (Of course, that didn’t make the resulting tension any less real. In fact, I think it made things worse. It’s nearly impossible to find resolution when the issues themselves are cast shadows.)

But my guiding principle in response to all social and political challenges is this: it doesn’t matter what we profess to believe if our actions, even our anger at injustice, exclude us from those around us. Our neighbors. Our friends. Our enemies. Them, whoever them happens to be. In some ways, it doesn’t matter how we wound up together in this place, because together we are. All of our fates intertwine. So we either all get home together, or no one does. In the end, beliefs should serve people, rather than the other way around.

But more and more I’ve come to see belief, even beliefs about race, as less a static basis of identity and more of a spectrum, a range diverse and multifaceted as our own distinct hues, features and cultural differences.

I’ve also witnessed the existence of something opposite--vectors of unintegrated subtle energy that David Spangler refers to as “Hungry Ghosts.“ I call them colorless holes. These energetic voids feed from our disconnection. They feed on the words that people don’t feel comfortable sharing for fear of censure and trial by public opinion. They feed on the fears that people suppress. And they expand and engulf entire sections of our world when people react and become filled with even justifiable wrath and rage in response to discrimination. 

Truly, it’s hatred, rather than love, that knows no color. It's counter-force Love, by its very nature, embraces all, including and especially that which challenges it. That makes love itself a multifaceted, multicolored experience.

Of course none of this is an answer to the racial challenges facing the United States (and our world.) There aren’t easy answers. Quite frankly there may not be answers at all. I know we must stand against injustice. I know we must not yield to rage in our quest for understanding. But this past week especially there seemed to be such a narrow space in between those two points that it’s been all I personally could do to stand still, say a firm clear no the energies of that devouring, colorless void and, as quietly as possible, attune my heart to Love that knows a world where all races existing in harmony is possible.

It has to live in me, and be nourished by the soil of my efforts and responses first and foremost. So taking a quiet hour, after a week of violence and anger, I look to the movement stirring within my own heart, and I ask myself:

How do I find love in this hour, in this place, where I am? How do I love and honor all victims of racial violence so that their sacrifices aren't in vain? How do I love white police officers using excessive force against unarmed and innocent people? How do I love black men shooting white officers in retaliation? How do I love my friends, black white and all shades in between, struggling in sometimes awkward, conflicting ways to make sense of these trials? How do I love myself, love the limitations and resistances I sometimes encounter right here at home in this heart--the part of me that wants to give in and give up?

This is my humble offering to this hour of painful struggle. Today I hold my silent vigil and tomorrow I will seek out ways to act upon it. I will bless every cop I see. I will honor every one of my friends brave enough to speak out openly and honestly. I will partner with them to paint a new portrait of our world. I will risk openness and discomfort and share my own deeper feelings. Day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment--I will not give into fear.

_

That afternoon in religion class as white Jesus and black Jesus looked on us with solemnity and sadness in their eyes, I could not as easily see something that seems obvious to me now: our teacher never asked us to choose one painting over the other. We took on that task ourselves. Yet over these long years, in the times when I’ve seen the essence of Christ truly reflected in the world around me, it has never seemed more clear how similar we all are beneath the boundary we call skin. In fact, I cannot help being reminded of the immortal words of poet Maya Angelou in her poem "Human Family":

"…we are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.

we are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike

We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike."

Views from the Lorian Community publishes essays from a team of volunteer writers expressing individual experiences of a long term, committed practice of Incarnational Spirituality (and the general principles shaping such a practice.) If you wish to share how your life has benefited from your relationship with Lorian and IS, please email the editor at drenag@lorian.org. We prefer submissions between 700-900 words. We rarely accept previously published material (including blog posts.) We also reserve the right to decline or to edit your submission. Any accepted submissions will be published in the order that best fits our topic schedule.

Finding My Stance

By Claire Blatchford   

                                 
When I’ve been confused or in distress Incarnational Spirituality has, many times, offered me a helpful and steadying stance. Not a creed, dogma, or set of rules, but, quite literally, a stance. Stance as defined three ways in the Merriam Webster Collegiate Dictionary: “a) a way of standing or being placed, b) an intellectual or emotional attitude, c) the position of both body and feet from which an athlete starts or operates.”

I like the word stance and these three definitions because Incarnational Spirituality is definitely, for me, a way of standing or being placed, not only on this earth but within the specific incarnation I’m in now. This earth, the natural world, the invisible world I can sense within this world, family, friends, and various communities I’m connected to, the time in history I’ve incarnated into: stance implies relationship with all of these things. When I feel I’m standing in relationship with one, the other, or all of them—rather than ignoring, condemning, retreating or hiding from them-- I know I’m not alone. (This is not to say there aren’t times when I need to retreat, rest, and lie low, in order to gather strength to stand again.) I can also sense there are deep meanings behind all these connections, meanings I may not yet be fully aware of, meanings that wait to be discovered, explored, and worked with.

I also know when I’m standing straight with ease and strength because I feel clear and able, and I mean this not just physically but intellectually and emotionally. And I know when I’m not straight intellectually and emotionally, am wobbly, weighed down, or hunched over with worries, uncertainties, fears, and so on. Likewise, when I am standing straight, there’s an invigorating, athletic feel to it. The feel of, “I can go for it! I can find my way into and through it.” Be it a difficult or unhappy situation or even a super busy or grey day. In short, it’s the stance of feeling empowered because I’ve chosen to be an incarnated human being at this time within a certain web of relationships.

I recently, to my own amazement, found the reassurance and power of this stance in my dream life; it is there within me when I’m asleep as well as when I’m awake. Here is the dream that alerted me to this:

I dreamt I was lost in a strange city. I was standing on the sidewalk bare foot with only the clothes on my back. No car, no keys, no wallet, identification cards, money, known address to return to or destination to go to. No cell phone. No familiar faces passing by. No eye contact with any of these obviously very busy, very purpose- filled passersby.

I am, by the way, a country girl, not a city girl. In the country I often see places –within a thicket, beside a stream, beneath an old tree—where I know I could pause and find my bearings if I wasn’t sure of the way.  But not in the midst of a city. Because of this I was-- in the dream-- flooded with momentary panic: Where was I? Where was I supposed to be going? Curiously I was most upset not by the loss of all forms of identification or currency but by the absence of my eye glasses. How was I going to read a train schedule, a map, a newspaper? How was I going to find, and make sense of, whatever I might be directed to?

Then a wave of something warm washed over me, not just once but several times, and I knew one thing for sure: I was standing upright on my feet. My own two feet that have carried me up stairs and down, up mountains and down, everywhere from dawn to dusk day after day since I first stood up, through every situation— easy or hard—I’ve been through thus far. And, though I wasn’t wearing shoes, my feet weren’t the least bit cold, like the cold feet I’ve been getting the last four or five years. So cold I need to wear socks when I go to bed.

I looked up and saw deep blue, cloudless sky over-head. I didn’t know what city I was in, didn’t know where I was supposed to go, or if people spoke in English or a foreign language, but there was the sky. The thought that the sky belongs to everyone, no matter where one is, has always been important to me. My heart rose as it always does when greeting clear sky expanse and openness. And there was the sun. That, to me, meant the stars were there in the sky also, though, as usual, not visible during the daylight hours. I felt steadied.

Looking down I saw the earth. Pavement, pebbles, dirt, bits of twigs from a tree, and, to my right, unmowed grass. Grass! It looked as though I was standing on the edge of a park. And, hey, there was some clover! I was instantly beside the clover, squatting, fingering the heart shaped leaves with their white markings. I didn’t need my glasses to read into these familiar shapes and colors. I felt gladdened –much more at home. If there was a park and grass in this city, it couldn’t be too strange.

Might there be a four-leaf clover? I began looking. I’ve always found it easy to find four-leaf clovers. As four-leaf clover folks know, it’s possible to “sense” them before you see them. So, sensing one was close, I had to look, and……..I woke up!

While I was happy to find myself in my own bed—not alone in some strange city—I was also, funny to say, slightly disappointed not to be hunting for this four leaf clover! It wasn’t the “luck” of the four leaf clover I wanted, though that might have been helpful in the dream situation I’d landed in. What I wanted was the little “Got it!” satisfaction of sensing the presence of a four leaf clover and connecting with it.  

As I lay in bed mulling over the dream, it occurred to me how different my dependence on my eyes (and eye glasses) is from the “sense” of the presence of a four-leaf clover. I’m not denying the role and import of the physical senses. Yet I have this other sense, a sense I may not be able to define very well, but one which I also can’t deny. It was as though the dream was reminding me, no matter how confusing and scary the situation I may find myself in outwardly, there are within me subtle senses which, if I pay attention to them, can help to calm, steady and reorient me.

I thought too how the absence of my glasses fed into my panic, while the realization I was on my own two feet stirred confidence. Then followed feelings of awe, wonder and gratitude for the sky, sun, stars above and the earth below, which helped to anchor me not only in the strange world I’d found myself in, but in myself as well.

And that night I fell back asleep thinking: are we ever fully conscious of all the ties we have, both obvious and subtle, known and unknown, within the many worlds we inhabit and their possibilities? This is what Incarnational Spirituality is about: waking up to these connections.

Standing is one of the core practices of Incarnational Spirituality. Click here to learn about it and other exercises.

Blog Updates - July 2016

June Recap

June marked Lorian Association's sixth year of offering Views from the Borderland, an annual subscription-based program which includes quarterly print journals and the opportunity to participate in two online forums with David Spangler.

Blog writer Annabel Chiarelli interviewed David to learn what makes this journal special and significant to those interested in a experiential approach to the subtle worlds.

Field Notes from the Borderland: An Interview with David Spangler (Part 1)

David: As I thought about it, I realized that most of my field notes came out of experiences with the life and the beings and the energies that were immediately around me in the house, in the neighborhood, in this geographic area. These were not “higher beings” off in some distant dimension, but they were engaged with the physical dimension all around me, like the nature spirits in the backyard. And so I thought, “This is the borderland between the deep ocean of the subtle worlds where you really do get into very different characteristics and conditions of consciousness, and the physical realm. This is like the shoreline where the two meet. That’s where the term “Borderland” came from.

Field Notes from the Borderland: An Interview with David Spangler (Part 2)

David: I think I’m unique in what I’m doing here. But now what really makes the whole Views project unique and powerful is the Subscriber community that has developed over the past five years or so. People come and go but there’s a consistent core of people who’ve been there for every forum and all the Views, who’ve come to know each other and to support each other. I cannot overestimate how important this is. It creates a growing field of energy, and I feel responsible to honor and enrich this field just as I’m supported by it. This field and all the people creating it are my companions in research, so to speak, and their presence means a great deal to me. I’m very appreciative of the energy and the love and the support that they bring, and I think that is definitely part of what has been broadening and deepening all that I can do in Views.

Last month Jeremy Berg, Lorian Priest and artist for the Card Deck of the Sidhe and the Grail of the Sidhe Expansion Deck, led a workshop on the Sidhe at the Faery and Human Relations Congress. Drena Griffith interviewed Jeremy about his perspective on the Sidhe and the role of a Human-Sidhe alliance.

Sidhe, The Deepest Part of Humanity: An Interview with Jeremy Berg

Jeremy: Personally I don’t think of the Sidhe as all that glamorous. To me they are interesting in the way that anyone is interesting. They occupy a state of matter that creates different conditions for them, a different set of physics, so their natural experience is different than ours. And I think there are aspects of that experience that may seem glamorous to us. If we stepped into their world we would experience it as very magical because it’s different from what we already have. . .but that’s also true in the post-mortem realm. Things work differently there. You make a thought, you move. You can project yourself, essentially fly. From our point of view it’s a different set of conditions that allows certain things to happen more easily, but some things are harder. I think holding an identity separate from one’s environment is hard. It’s easy to hold your identity here in a way because everything around you is holding it's. Here you don’t walk by a tree and automatically blend with it, but in some realms you do.

David Spangler wrote a short reflection in response to the tragic shooting in Orlando.

Hope for the Future Lies in Meeting Hate with Love

It takes so little to kill: the twitch of a finger on a trigger, a knife in a hand, bullets in a gun, confusion and hatred in the mind. It takes so much more to build a connection with what is strange and unfamiliar, to learn to understand that which otherwise is frightening, to dare to love and to embrace that which is different. This is where courage lies. This is where our humanity lies. This is where our hope for the future lies.

Freya Secrest shared messages from Dorothy Maclean (from the Rhubarb, Lettuce and Tomato Devas) in her monthly column, The Living Universe.

Connections with Salad and Rhubarb Pie

Whenever anyone contributes their attention, their feeling to a plant, a bit of their being mingles with a bit of our being, although unknown to you, and the one world is fostered. You humans are all very linked to us but until you give recognition to these links, they are as nothing and remain undeveloped. The plants contribute to human food and give of themselves and this also builds links, tangible ones, which though of the past, come into the present if recalled. This is one great use of memory, to recall the oneness of life.—Dorothy Maclean, Rhubarb Deva

Guest writer Geoff Oelsner shared a poem about an encounter with a family of owls near his garden.

A Visitation

In the hush of dusk, I sat by our garden, empty-handed, waiting
for nothing, relaxing into that greying time between day and night

when silence seeps up around sounds, and sounds drift deeper
into silence. I was singing to encourage a tomato plant.

I was loving the darkening land. As stillness filled the garden,
I sensed a seeing, swept my gaze, and spied a watchful little owl

perched on a cedar fencepost. I recognized its compact silhouette
and could vaguely make out tufted ears and grey feathers fading

into dusk obscura. It was an Eastern Screech Owl, otus asio.* Our eye-beams intertwined...

Claire Blatchford portrays her fascination with a tree using both words and paintings.

River Birch: A Meditation in Pastels

This past year one tree in particular has held my eye and I’ve wanted to participate in her gesture, grace, and growth by trying to paint her from different angles. I don’t think of all trees as feminine, but I’ve got three granddaughters and one grandson and so am aware of differing energies, this charmer feels to me like a young girl! She’s a River Birch who was given to us about seven years ago.

Her pale bark has flakey, peeling, papery orange-brown scales. She has three forks from the base, each about 30-35 feet in height (mature River Birches in our area grow to 50 or 60 feet) each bearing dark brown or black twigs, lighter branches, oval leaves with double-toothed edges, and green drooping catkins in the spring. We don’t have a river nearby but she’s clearly thriving, overseeing our gardens, the bird traffic and the human traffic that goes up and down our driveway, the shifting winds and clouds, and the great open night sky we get on this hill top.

Lastly, Susan Beal seeks a forgotten quality of relationship and partnership with the land, a lost sense of place.

A Place of Love

Words are the incarnations of thoughts and ideas, giving substance and meaning to feelings and experiences. In the same way our bodies anchor us in the physical world, words anchor ideas and energies into our everyday reality. The power of words to evoke and invoke is a kind of magic. Words describe, but they also conjure, so when we lose a word, we lose much more than a definition, we also lose an ability. We need all the words we can find to help us describe, create and anchor wholeness, friendship and connectedness in our lives and in the wider world. Kith is such a word, and as such, I think it is time to revive it.

Community Feedback

This month Views from the Lorian Community received several responses to blog posts. One email from reader Maggie Spilner, after reading "Hope For the Future Lies in Meeting Hate with Love", was particularly poignant:

"I pray everyday, help me to see the larger reality in these tragedies. Help me to remember the spirit within Donald Trump and see the part this soul must be playing in reminding the world of their choices in this harrowing drama we call terrorism. Help me to see how my own anger at the "other" stirs the pot. It is a minute by minute vigil. Help me to not give in to fear."

Yes, Maggie! Thanks for reaching out and sharing your reflections. Thanks also to everyone who sent emails and who supported our blog posts on Facebook.

July

It's a holiday weekend, and the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer are nearly upon us! In response, Views from the Lorian Community writers will let their pens follow where their minds, heart and feet lead. If you feel inspired to share some of your summer experiences with us— and how Incarnational Spirituality keeps you centered--feel free to contact: drenag@lorian.org or info@lorian.org.

Happy Fourth of July!

Views from the Lorian Community publishes essays from a team of volunteer writers expressing individual experiences of a long term, committed practice of Incarnational Spirituality (and the general principles shaping such a practice.) If you wish to share how your life has benefited from your relationship with Lorian and IS, please email the editor at drenag@lorian.org. We prefer submissions between 700-900 words. We rarely accept previously published material (including blog posts.) We also reserve the right to decline or to edit your submission. Any accepted submissions will be published in the order that best fits our topic schedule.

A Place of Love

By Susan Beal

There’s a word in Old English that describes a quality of relationship with place that I believe many of us love or long for but don’t know how to describe. The word is cyþþ, pronounced kith, like the modern English word that descended from it. Kith is basically a lost word, existing only as part of the phrase, “kith and kin,” meaning close friends and family. Kith originally meant native land or country, not just in the sense of one’s place of birth or ancestry, but in the sense of a loving, intimate, friendly relationship with the landscape of home, the place you come from and the people and things that share it with you. Kith is not only the place you know and love, but the place that knows and loves you back.

My own kith is where I live now, on a piece of land that has been in my father’s side of the family since 1899. There are layers of family history here, which is the kin part, but the kith part is equally layered and deep. It is the sound of the brook running past the front of the house, and the smell of hay on summer days, and the tap tap tap of maple sap dripping into buckets in early spring. It’s the familiar silhouette of Mount Anthony in the evening sky, and the yip yapping of coyotes who sometimes come down into the fields from the woods. It’s also the walk into town to our favorite diner for breakfast, where the waitresses know to give me a glass of water without ice and raise their eyebrows in surprise if I don’t order Huevos Rancheros with black beans. It’s Fed Ex having me sign for packages for my neighbors if they’re not home. It’s knowing the sources of gossip and the facts behind hearsay soon enough. It’s being a Justice of the Peace and marrying people in their living rooms or mine, or in the town hall where the town clerk asks me how my dog is doing because she knows he’s getting old.

Words are the incarnations of thoughts and ideas, giving substance and meaning to feelings and experiences. In the same way our bodies anchor us in the physical world, words anchor ideas and energies into our everyday reality. The power of words to evoke and invoke is a kind of magic. Words describe, but they also conjure, so when we lose a word, we lose much more than a definition, we also lose an ability. We need all the words we can find to help us describe, create and anchor wholeness, friendship and connectedness in our lives and in the wider world. Kith is such a word, and as such, I think it is time to revive it.

You could say kith is a kind of terroir of people. The concept of terroir, usually associated with wine, is about recognizing the connection between whole and part, honoring how the nuances and influences of place—the sunlight, the weather and seasons, the quality of the soil and water, the flora and fauna—affect what is grown there.

To me, kith is akin to David Spangler’s description of Grail Space, the exercise in which you settle into your heart and expand your awareness and love outward to recognize, honor and embrace everything in the space around you. It’s the recognition that there is more to the story of the world and our place in it than the human relationships we usually focus on. I think that is the ultimate goal of Incarnational Spirituality: to cultivate kithship, if you will, with the whole Earth, physical and non-physical, human and non-human.

We are more accustomed to cultivating and honoring the value of kin than kith. The word kin descended from the Old English word cynn, which meant family or race. It is the ancestor of many familiar words, such as kind, kindness, kindred, king, and kingdom. All these words describe relationships that have to do with blood ties and relatives, the vertical connections of ancestors and descendants. We have a much more meager vocabulary for our “horizontal” relationships. There are no equivalent forms of kith—no kithness, no kithdred, no kithdom.

When the word kith was in common use, our daily lives were more connected to the soil and the stars, to the language of trees, weeds and wildflowers, to the cyclical movements of weather and wildlife through the land and the seasons. We knew how the water flowed and where the moon was going to be in the sky each night and what herbs would ease which illness or pain. The food we ate and the things we used were grown and made from right there, where we lived—where we belonged.

But most people no longer live in the same place for generations. Our careers and our relationships uproot us from places, requiring us to move for their sake more often than the other way around. Our world of social media, virtual community, and ease of travel have erased the boundaries of physical locale. There are many benefits that come from that, but there is also loss.

Behind the upsurge of farmers’ markets, artisanal crafts, and the popularity of antiques and all things vintage, I suspect there is a longing for genuine connection to people and to place. Hand-made, hand-grown or handed-down things connect us to the people who made them and the places they’re from. Kith is about physical connection to physical spaces like a country, a landscape, a back yard, or a building. Essentially, kith describes an expanded sense of self, one that includes one’s home and community and all the bonds and affinities that are incorporated into a sense of identity and belonging.
 
Rather than becoming obsolete, the concept of kith needs to evolve along with Humanity and Earth. While it may once have meant the intimacy and familiarity with one’s native landscape, and while there is an undeniable value in having ties to a particular locale and knowing it well, the definition of kith can become more inclusive. It can encompass a more enlightened and inclusive sense of identity, not defined by birthplace, proximity or shared traits or values, but by our common humanity, and even further, by our kinship to all who call Earth home. It can be a kith born and cultivated in the unbounded landscape of the heart and anchored in our bodies.

Incarnational Spirituality is about using the power and magic of our incarnate status, our physicality, to bring wholeness and light to Earth. Being incarnated means we are part of the substance of the planet, not as “spiritual beings having a physical experience,” not as unfortunate prisoners of Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Eden, not as randomly mutated life forms that cease to exist after death, but as powerful, full-spectrum human beings with access to and wise use of all the benefits of our physical and spiritual inheritance.

That inner radiance of incarnational power, the light generated from the union of a fiery spirit married to a material body, is our terroir, so to speak, qualities blended from the cosmic and earthly environments that give us our unique characteristics as human beings on planet Earth.

Late in his life, the English poet, W. H. Auden, wrote a poem called Amor Loci, Love of Place, about his love for his childhood landscape and all the memories and magic it held for him. When we cultivate that magic and honor that love of place, we fulfill the promise of our incarnation, and we transform Earth into Loci Amor, a place, or landscape, of Love.

"Creating Grail Space is one of the fundamental practices of Incarnational Spirituality", writes David Spangler in David's Desk #59: "Grail Space".  Click here to read his essay.

River Birch: A Meditation in Pastels

Essay and Paintings by Claire Blatchford

Perhaps there’s a tree you find yourself greeting as you come and go. The species, the essential gesture of this tree, the exuberant fullness of its gesture, its steady presence, knowing it through different seasons and times of day or night...wherever I’ve lived various trees have “grown” on me over time and will always remain etched in my memory.

This past year one tree in particular has held my eye and I’ve wanted to participate in her gesture, grace, and growth by trying to paint her from different angles. I don’t think of all trees as feminine, but I’ve got three granddaughters and one grandson and so am aware of differing energies, this charmer feels to me like a young girl! She’s a River Birch who was given to us about seven years ago.

Her pale bark has flakey, peeling, papery orange-brown scales. She has three forks from the base, each about 30-35 feet in height (mature River Birches in our area grow to 50 or 60 feet) each bearing dark brown or black twigs, lighter branches, oval leaves with double-toothed edges, and green drooping catkins in the spring. We don’t have a river nearby but she’s clearly thriving, overseeing our gardens, the bird traffic and the human traffic that goes up and down our driveway, the shifting winds and clouds, and the great open night sky we get on this hill top.

    Some times her skin glows orange…

 Directly beneath her, looking up, you can feel her flowing into the sky.

 Here she is in her spring frock among the rocks that keep her company.

 

In conversation with the reeds….

She wore a gorgeous dress last autumn. The tree book says River Birch leaves are a dull yellow in the fall—hers were far from dull!

There’s a dip and a sway to her branches. I believe trees grow to music—a music we can’t hear with our ears but can sometimes hear through our eyes. I see a symphony!

A Visitation

 Poem By Geoff Oelsner

 In the hush of dusk, I sat by our garden, empty-handed, waiting
for nothing, relaxing into that greying time between day and night

when silence seeps up around sounds, and sounds drift deeper
into silence. I was singing to encourage a tomato plant.

I was loving the darkening land. As stillness filled the garden,
I sensed a seeing, swept my gaze, and spied a watchful little owl

perched on a cedar fencepost. I recognized its compact silhouette
and could vaguely make out tufted ears and grey feathers fading

into dusk obscura. It was an Eastern Screech Owl, otus asio.* Our eye-beams intertwined.

I became aware that I'd been hearing but not listening to successive low-toned owl wails coming from behind the fence in our backyard.

 Some curtain of attention had now parted to reveal soft tremulous calls, rising from a parliament of owls in fluttering motion.

My body relaxed further as I rested my attention on the calls, and exchanged head-swiveling glances with the sentinel.

Low whinnies ventilated out from each unseen owl body, a sound like feather shutters being blown open by sudden winds from within.

Then sound became visible, as one scout owl ghosted past the fence, lofting over our garden down the slope into the dark arms of a huge Post Oak with its branches

spreading out in all directions. And now came floating over two three four

more weightless little owls, as the sentry owl kept his watch.

 The four glided to the oak and flittered in the tree’s great middle branches, their songs revolving ‘round and ‘round its trunk.

Now they were joined by owls five and six, who flew suspended in the hush, which they plied with shivering wails, settling then fluttering in a vibratory dance among the branches.

All this was witnessed by the solitary sentry, now repositioned on a broken limb of the old oak, as the owl troupe continued its ecstatic song and dance in the shy grey fading twilight.

Author's Note: The Eastern Screech Owl isn’t actually much of a screecher. It was called the Shivering Owl in the Old South because of its tremulous descending purrs and trills. Eastern Screen Owls are locally known by myriad names, including simply Screech Owls, Mottled Owls, Little Horned Owls, Cat Owls, Mouse Owls, Red Owls, Little Grey Owls, Whickering Owls, Spirit Owls, Little-eared Owls, Ghost Owls, Little Dukelets, Demon Owls, Shivering Owls and Dusk Owls. They have two color phases, grey and russet. Like only a few other birds, they mate for life.