sermonette

I mini sermon I was asked to write for a service on Sabbath:

I was asked to say a few words about what Sabbath means for me. Sabbath, the seventh day, a day for rest and renewal. I used to think a Sabbath was like a vacation, a break from work, until I took a sabbatical, a type of Sabbath, and realized that entering into the space of Sabbath, sabbatical is anything but a vacation. The writer and intuitive, Caroline Myss said, “[During Sabbath,] more than relaxation and de-stressing, we are seeking a genuine encounter with the power of Grace.” (Mystics Without Monasteries, Unity Magazine, Nov/Dec 2007, page 16).

True, Sabbath is a time of slowing down, being quiet, but it is an active rest. In order for an encounter with God to occur, we must clear our space and time of distractions, busyness, absolve our perceptual field of any imposition of rigid structure and knowing, because Sabbath is not about how much we know, it’s about whether or not we can endure listening in the silence. We have to let go of our need for control, our fear of nothingness, fear of pain. We have to let go of the security of the known, comfortable habits of our day, long enough to hear the still silent voice of God. For many of us, this is an effort; surrender control, that’s really hard work, risky business. It demands a level of faith that our finely constructed and controlled worlds will not fall apart in the process of seeking a genuine relationship with God, the Source.

As a performer, I know that place of surrender to the luminous ineffable, that place of transcendence into the Cloud of Unknowing. It’s the point in a song or dance when I’m not thinking about technique, the notes or steps; I’m not thinking about my next line, or the mistake I made in rehearsal; I am not thinking. I am purely in the moment, trusting that I am one with the movement, the gesture, the sound -- and the song sings me. This is the place of Grace; this is my Sabbath; this is my prayer. I’ve only reached this state of surrender a few times in the dance. How did I get there? Through daily devotion, discipline and practice. I trained my tool, the body, up to six hours a day, 6 days a week in order to get closer to the absolute, that collaborative conversation between grace, gravity and God.

As a poet, when the Spirit travels through me I know I have to lean back and let it; I have to trust that the writer’s craft will be there, as a part of me, without me manipulating the process. I must discipline myself to write every day in order to reach that occasional encounter with Spirit, with mystic mystery. I must empty myself of preconceived notions and perceptions, suspend all judgments, dissolve the boundaries of ego and fear, and be willing to tolerate uncertainty and a sense of insecurity. Hard work! I must have the patience to wait for the truth to reveal itself in an image, a word, an unexpected combination of thoughts.

I try to do this every day, but I don’t make a living writing poetry and if the poem hasn’t birthed itself in the hour before work that I’ve allotted for Sabbath, well what can I do? Sometimes I take the poem to work with me and I feel really guilty even if God does trump my place of employment. Sometimes I try to stay in that open state of listening, breathe the breath of Sabbath throughout the day and marry what I hear and see and feel in the office or on the bus with the light wisp of words from the morning. Sometimes I don’t return to the poem for days, weeks, even years, but every day I continue to devote myself to an opening of my heart and mind. I open wide, putting aside both the objective facts and subjective filters to listen to the Word of God. This is my purpose. This is my Sabbath. This is my prayer.

My place of Sabbath can look like inactive rest, even laziness, but actually, the devotion, discipline and practice of surrender into the silent mystery is a type of effortless work that, if I can reach an encounter with the vast power of Grace, is more renewing and life giving than any vacation I’ve ever had. I wish to leave you with a thought about Sabbath time from Rev. Eleanor Fleming. “Time in the silence is sacred. We must learn to place it ahead of everything else in our lives until it becomes such a part of our functioning that it has more authority over our thinking, our words, and our actions than the outer voices of the world.” (Rev. Eleanor Fleming, Unity Book Preview: Sacred Secrets, Unity Magazine, Nov/Dec 2007, pg 19.)

Fall

Lamentation

If you insist, God, that I stay alive
then what consolation? Don’t I too deserve more
than a couple hours of joy?

Entitlement is a nasty word.
I know too much about grief
and the ache in an old dancer’s hips.

Shivers of midnight light on downy quilts
no longer convince me that Beauty
makes these years of strain worthwhile.

I know the pain of surrender to gravity;
release to a hard, cold earth as the only way
to bliss. Beauty hurts,

so like an autumn leaf trembling
on the tip of an oak branch, I suspend
in quiet gold until it is my time to fall

and become nothing again.

From Vermont I feel Burma

Across Oceans of Compassion

Vermont maple syrup
flows bitter sweet through my pen
as silent monks fall.

Autumn orange stands
tall, still, with Myanmar roots.
Breathe my violence in

Breathe in maple’s gifts
of O2 and fluid veins.
The leaf touches me.

CO2 released ~
Winter comes early this year.
We know what to do.