113. Grace and Grit

I write this within an hour of finishing reading the book Grace and Grit—Spirituality and Healing in the Life and Death of Treya Killam Wilber by Ken Wilber. I found this book to be profound and what I’ve learned from it may take days or months or even years to clearly understand. In fact, what I’m writing now are some of my impressions from the couple of weeks it took me to read the book. So this is not so much what I’ve learned from the book—you’ll get that as I continue to absorb what I’ve read.

When I first read (somewhere) about this book, I recognized Ken Wilber’s name. It turned out that years ago I had read his book, No Boundary). And he writes as the Ken Wilber who wrote No Boundary would write, while at the same time writing as a man who met, married, and lived with the woman he truly loved. He himself says in the opening note to the reader that there are two books here—one a book of his deep philosophy, and one a book of what happened when this woman discovered she had breast cancer. He suggested that you could read them separately by constantly skipping forward, or you could read it straight through. I chose to read it straight through.

Some of my developing views of religion, of God, of my beliefs are expressed in this book. There are details about religion or the Bible that I find I don’t have to believe in because I can touch the mystery and that is enough. It was wonderful for me in reading this book to recognize that occasionally there comes along for two people a deep love that can go through trials and difficulties and still come out lasting and abiding. And this book confirmed my conviction that past death, we go on. I didn’t doubt it but the experiences of these two people add to my belief.

You can tell that I’m recommending this book. I have already ordered my own copy for a second reading. Chances are I will refer back a number of more times to Grace and Grit by Ken Wilber.

112. That Kind of Time

I love Anne Lamott’s books and I recently was reminded of a story in one of Traveling Mercies. She wrote about going shopping with her friend Pammy who was in a wheelchair and struggling with cancer. Anne was looking for a dress and came out of the dressing room asking Pammy if the dress made her look too big in the hips. Pammy said, “You know Anne—you just don’t have that kind of time.”

What stirred this story up in me was listening last week to a man who has taught the last year in Iraq, and he has built an orphanage in Mozambique, and he talks of war and peace, and orphans and children starving. He told of churches who argue about the color of the carpet in the sanctuary, or whether the minister wears a robe. I’ve been in a church where people got upset because the preacher didn’t list a title for his sermon each week in the bulletin.

We just don’t have that kind of time.

Remember #92 in these postings which was titled Let It Go #2. I want to repeat the words to the chant I wrote:

Make room for love,

Live life with love,

And when some other enters in

Let go—shake off—strip down,

And breathe in love.

—

© Copyright 2012 by Ann Freeman Price

That’s what we need to with the carpet, or with the pastor’s robe, or the sermon title—let go, shake off, strip down—and breathe in love. We do have that kind of time!

111. Chaos and Void

Chaos and void are resources to be used. In my first experience in a clowning workshop, this was one of my learnings—a new concept for me at that time. There was a social-action clown from the midwest named Tom Woodward. Here’s what he said:

“God created heaven and earth out of chaos and void. Never neglect either of those as a resource. We are not called to be effective. We are called to be disciplined. Take an idea and give it some space.”

My reaction to chaos is often a panic to create order quickly. My reaction to void is sometimes to fill it up immediately. If I can slow myself down, sometimes I can see that there is potential for insight and growth in both chaos and void. I just need to look at them as a potential resource.

I find this in writing. I can face a piece of paper and it feels like total void—total emptiness. And I can panic and go feed the dog. Or—I can stay with the blankness of the paper and see if something emerges.

The same is true of chaos for me. I can tolerate a gathering crowd and comings and goings, and loud talk and fast movement, and I want out—to where things are more simple and calm. And sometimes that’s exactly what I do and seem to need to do—get into a quieter space. But occasionally, I can breathe in the midst of the chattering people and come to a quiet place inside myself. And also occasionally that turns out well and I’m glad I stayed.

110. Root Strength

My mother had a set of books by Harold Kohn that she passed on to me and last year I read all three of them—each filled with short one or two-page essays. In one of them, Adventures in Insight, Kohn describes the brook outside his study window, and the birch trees that grow in clusters or alone beside the stream.

He pictures the damp earth and how the trees bend in a storm. They bend but never fall because of their roots. He explains that those roots reach out for each other and entangle themselves together so that they become extra strong and he calls them “a fellowship of roots.”

My mother was the oldest of nine children and she ended up being very strong. Her mother (my grandmother) was the provider for those nine children almost immediately after the birth of the youngest one. She had a woman friend who lived with her and the two of them with low paying jobs held that family together. Obviously Granny was strong too.

I see those three women as a part of my root strength. Added to them are significant friends who have tangled their lives with mine, along with my own family. We become, like the birch trees, “a fellowship of roots.”

Perhaps I, too, am contributing my root strength to others. I hope so.

109. Go For It!

I preached a sermon once and used the story of the man who is going to walk a tightrope across Niagara Falls pushing a wheelbarrow. A crowd has gathered to watch and the man stands at the edge and asks the crowd, “What do you think—can I do it?” The crowd shouts “Yes!” The man hears one person’s answer above the others—he hears another man’s voice who clearly shouts “Yes, You can!”

He then talks directly to that person and says, “Do you think so?”

Again the man shouts, “Yes.”

He questions again, “Really? Really, do you think I can do it?”

The man is emphatic, “Absolutely, You can do it!”

The man who is going to cross Niagara Falls says, “Then get in the wheelbarrow!”

That story has always spoken to me. In times when I am hesitant, when I hold back, when I’m being wishy-washy, I hear that voice say, “Get in the wheelbarrow! Show up! Do it! Go!”

And sometimes I go.

108. Anticipation Living

I don’t know if this ever happens to you, but lately I’ve been doing some anticipation living. By that I mean that I seem to be going through my days thinking, “Now if I can just get through this event, or through that day…then I can relax.” Except as soon as that benchmark date has been reached, there is another one about which I am saying “Now if I can just get to that point…then I can relax.”

I’m trying to slow myself down a little and quit making so many commitments but I haven’t totally cured myself yet. At this point in between these dates, I’m trying to find time to do some breathing. Then I’m working on pulling back slightly from making more dates that I would then have to anticipate and feel pressure about.

I want to get to the point where I live in the present, in the here and now. Perhaps it’s a matter of figuring out just exactly what it is that I want to be doing with my days and my time—and then stick to it.

I’ll make a date next week to figure that out. Oh-oh, I’m feeling the pressure already.

107. Sitting on the Edge

Sometime before 1995 I watched a movie that I barely remember, except that it had something to do with sitting on the edge of the Grand Canyon. It became a dream of mine, and in 1995 I took the train from New York, met my daughter Donna there (she had just biked from Maine to Oregon), and we had three or four days together at the Grand Canyon.

It was a significant time in my life. Donna did some of the activities, we both went to ranger educational events, but mostly I sat on the edge. For me, it was a sacred place and I may have believed that before I arrived. Being there for four days confirmed that, and I found it an amazing place in which to ponder who I was, where I was in my life, and what was to come.

Once home I framed the print that I had bought—a picture of the canyon with varying colors, mists and fog drifting through it. And then in a few years I found another picture of Toroweap which I bought and had framed. Toroweap is on the North Rim and we didn’t actually get there and yet this sheer face of the canyon continues to call to me today.

Both pictures, complete with my vivid memories, tell me that it is important for me to recognize when I need to have a Canyon experience. It is significant for me to know when I need to separate myself from the routine and make the time to ponder and perhaps to drift. I don’t have to go to the Grand Canyon each time. But I do need periodically to search out a sacred place and sit on the edge.

106. Value of Regret

I recently did a one-woman show and it was such fun, once all the preparation was done, and the last minute jitters were over, and I stepped out and did it. There were close to a hundred people; we raised over a thousand dollars for United Methodist Women’s World Thank Offering; and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Then—there came hindsight and a surge of regret. I had almost my entire family present—all four children, three of their four spouses, ten of sixteen grandchildren, my former husband, and his wife—19 out of a family of 26, plus a sister from Canada.

I had intended at the very end to ask my family members to come up and stand with me, because they are such a part of the things I have written and the music I have composed, and I forgot—or I panicked and thought it had lasted too long and I shouldn’t take the time—or…whatever. But I didn’t do it.

Actually the primary reason that I didn’t do it, was that throughout the show, I had made notes to myself about what I was wanting to say in between songs or readings, and I was sure that I had done the same thing for the Thank You’s at the end. When I turned the last page to see those Thank You’s, the page was blank. And I had to wing it.

So, what I have learned from this is to do three things: 1) Plan, plan, and for me that means write it out. 2) Acknowledge the regret and learn from it for the next time. 3) Release it and enjoy the wonder of what I accomplished before the regret set in.

105. Dance the Tripudium

The tripudium is an ancient processional step of three steps forward and one step backwards. It is still used in Luxembourg today. I met it for the first time at a dance workshop with Doug Adams. He taught that it was a symbolic step that meant the church moves forward, but every once in a while moves backwards again.

We processed with it at this workshop, hands on the person’s shoulder in front of us, with people getting mixed up and bumping into each other and laughing together. Doug said that there was something wonderful about that too—that sometimes we go to church and never touch or get touched but when we dance together (or become part of a processional like this together) then we have that chance to be community together, imperfect but still moving community. As we settled into it, it was a powerful movement that said, yes we are together and we do move forward, and at the same time we are human and inevitably we take a step backwards. The people around us are depending on us.

There’s an excitement in the tripudium.

104. Ebb and Flow

Ups and downs, ebb and flow, feeling positive or negative, having highs or lows—it’s all the same picture. Ann Morrow Lindbergh in her classic book “Gifts From the Sea” talks about the ebb and flow of the ocean and how natural it is.

This is another learning that I have to keep working on, because I get caught in wanting my day to be all flow, all up, all positive, all high. And it’s hard for me to accept the rhythm of both or even some middle ground.

Occasionally reading or music or movement can help me get into that relaxed place that says it’s all o.k.—the flow will come again and you can just be, just be in the middle of the ebb.