Mrs Metaphor

I’m thinking a great deal this week about love and faith and even “religion” as I understand it…so…I thought it right and proper to put this out there and shine a little light on it.

There is this little book, “The Quotidian Mysteries” that was recommended to me long ago by my wonderful friend Karen. We both harbor a real love of Kathleen Norris’ work. This book was originally a lecture given by Ms Norris on Spirituality and it centers around the idea of embracing the “quotidian.” This is a delicious word, “quotidian” and I work it into blog posts and conversations as often as I am able.

The “quotidian” refers to what we would identify as the mundane, the ordinary, the everyday tasks. The word, however, is much much richer than we give it credit. Prayer, is quotidian…just as housework is quotidian. I’d go so far as to say that Love is quotidian. It must be revisited every day. It must have commitment every day.

This passage from the book puts it so well as it relates to my faith so I rest here for now:
“Laundry, liturgy and women’s work all serve to ground us in the world, and they need not grind us down. Our daily tasks, whether we perceive them as drudgery or essential, life-supporting work, do not define who we are as women or as human beings. But they have a considerable spiritual import, and their significance for Christian theology, the way they come together in the fabric of faith, is not often appreciated. But it is daily tasks, daily acts of love and worship that serve to remind us that the religion is not strictly an intellectual pursuit, and these days it is easy to lose sight of that as, like our society itself, churches are becoming more politicized and polarized. Christian faith is a way of life, not an impregnable fortress made up of ideas; not a philosophy; not a grocery list of beliefs.”

Food for thought. Prepared lovingly. I shall be chewing on this as the week progresses.

then what kind of drug do I want to be?

Am I penicillin or heroin?

Opium or Ibuprofen?

Arsenic?

Aspirin?

Do I heal or do I harm?

There is your radical thought for the day.

That Writerchick. I like her an awful lot. She has issued a “meme” recently that really did stick in my brain so I thought I would venture out and join the crazy fun. For the most part, “meme” stuff makes me mental these days (although I secretly enjoy them….go figure.)

Anyway, this one is fairly easily and acts as a kind of “self marketing” meme in the process.

Here is the basic layout:

1. Go through past posts and link to five of your favorites, one for each of the following categories:

* Family
* Friends
* Yourself
* Something you love
* Your personal choice

2. Tag five other people to do this meme. Two of them must be people you already know so that you can get to know each other better. That Writerchick is so very wise and cool that I am actually going to copy her and not “tag” anyone. Maybe it will stick in your brain this week and you’ll want to just tag yourself, though huh?

My picks:

Family: What I don’t know is a lot
Friends: Into Africa
Yourself: Falling in love with me
Something I Love: Why don’t you like me?
My Choice: New

Enjoy delving into the archives….

Here is your radical thought for the coming week.

Pay attention.

Pay attention to the feel of the air on your skin. Pay attention to the color of the sky and the trees. Pay attention to the sound that fills the room and failing that, pay attention to the silence.

If you had a camera in your brain (and in effect, you DO have a camera in your brain as it were) and your eye is the lens then this week take as many well framed and focused photos as you can.

Slow down.

Look deep.

Breathe it in.

Pay attention.

I don’t usually post about my faith. I should amend that to say that I am always posting about my faith but I don’t usually post about it in quite this much detail. This, being the day before Easter, however I feel compelled to put some things down. This feast day is the reason that those of us who profess to be Christians, um, profess to be Christians. Without Easter, Christianity makes no sense, really…so there you have it.

For whatever reason I’ve been contemplating lately The Holy Kiss. This phrase has come to me again and again in the last year and it was just today that I thought to google it. I was contemplating writing a poem or a song or something. It’s just such a good visual, filled with all kinds of promise, yes?

In the early Christian church there developed a ritual greeting which was called “the Holy Kiss.” It was common in the culture to greet one another with a kiss. This practice, during gatherings of Christians though moved beyond the traditional nicety. It became a sign of such deep affection that it came to be seen as a sacred act. It was one of the things which DEFINED them as community.

We see the remains of this in some church services which embrace the “sign of peace” or “passing the peace.” For the most part, however, in our own culture we’ve moved away from the physical touch, away from showing this deep affection for one another. It is simply not done. It’s not alright. It’s not accepted.

I find though that I am drawn inexplicably to this idea. It’s an intruiging one especially for the latent German Catholic in me; this part of me which shies away from touch because of my own fears. The little voice present in the back (or sometimes front) of my head which tells me that I am not worthy of touch…I am not soft enough, I am not warm enough, I am not deserving of it.

This then takes me right into the acts of Christ in the New Testament…touching the untouchable, using his hands to heal and of course, my favorite; the story of the bleeding woman. When the hem of Christ’s robe is touched by the woman he FEELS it. Christ was all about touch, all about the Holy Kiss.

I wonder if He knew that it would be this very Holy Kiss which would signal His betrayal.

These are the thoughts that drive through my mind today, Holy Saturday…the day that I, as a follower of Christ and believer in His divinity, wait. We, as a body, wait for the chance to greet one another anew, on Easter Sunday with the realization that He is Risen and perhaps one day…the return of The Holy Kiss.

In a few short weeks I will travel to Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan for the Festival of Faith and Writing. It is a kind of ritual that my friend Karen and I relish. For me, the highlight is always getting to see up close one of my favorite living poets, Scott Cairns.

It is especially heightened for me this year because I am knee-deep in his book, “Short Trip to the Edge: Where Earth Meets Heaven - A Pilgramage.” The book details his experience as a Pilgrim to Mount Athos and of his search for a spiritual mentor. This strikes me soundly at this time in my life. I feel I have been in search of my own mentor for a number of years to no avail.

Rather than do a poor job re-telling what Mr Cairns does beautifully in his own words I will merely post for you his work, “Setting Out” which opens his book. It lays a wonderful foundation. If it rings something in your soul then pick up this book and let it speak into the echo left in the wake of that ringing.

Setting Out

In time, even the slowest pilgrim might

articulate a turn. Given time enough,

the slowest pilgrim - even he - might

register some small measure of belated

progress. The road was, more or less, less

compelling than the hut, but as the benefit

of time allowed the hut’s distractions to attain

a vaguely musty scent, and all the novel

knickknacks to acquire a fine veneer of bone-

white dust, the road became then somewhat more

attractive; and as the weather made a timely

if quite brief concession, the pilgrim took this all

to be an open invitation to set out.

-Scott Cairns

There are many water roads in the brain of Mrs Metaphor…I’m sure they all lead to a remarkable ocean but for now, it’s just a stream of consciousness….

A friend of mine posted an excerpt from a TS Eliot Poem called “Little Giddings” recently. The part that stuck to me was this one:

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

Through the unknown, unremembered gate

When the last of earth left to discover

Is that which was the beginning;

When I read this part of the poem I am reminded about a place I’ve begun to inhabit a little more frequently these days, my own unremembered gate so to speak. I suppose basically I’ve been an artist of sorts for a long time. I’m a musician, writer and sometime poet, abysmal amateur painter and heaven knows what else lies ahead in the discovery of me as artist. It’s only recently, maybe the last year or so of my life that I’ve begun to put on the metaphorical clothing of this artist and walk around in it.

It feels all new and at the same time familiar…like coming home and finding all the things we love about a place still present and new things cropped up in the dead spots…new life breathed into a dying place…a secret garden.

Secret gardens, however, are in need of labor and attention. Left unattended they move into this state of hibernation or overgrowth. When I leave the garden for too long the gate becomes hidden. When I let life and circumstance determine my true identity rather than something deep within me, something Creator made…the lock becomes rusted…the key becomes lost…the gate becomes forgotten.

It feels like a luxury in this mundane, quotidian life of mine to step into the garden. It’s often the first to be bumped to the bottom of my list. It’s a shame, really, because it’s not a luxury, it’s not superfluous or silly. It’s foundational. Just because I neglect the gate and forget about it does not mean that it ceases to exist, yes? It is there, waiting to be rediscovered and awakened.

In a way, it’s comforting to me, knowing that hibernation doesn’t have to be forever and yet in some ways it only makes seasons like that even more unbearable.

I’m getting ahead of myself though, another bad habit…not living in the now…always thinking ahead to what I will be missing later. Crazy-making at it’s finest.

Ah…now we’ve reached the shore. Carry on.

It’s been a while since we had a “radical thought” so here is an assignment for you.  When you are next paid a compliment no matter how big or how small I want you to do something extraordinary.  I want you to say, “Thank you” and leave it at that.  No, “thank you buts”  or attempts to play off the compliment in the name of false humility.  Just say “Thank you.”   Let me know how it goes.  

It’s not really a hairshirt, it’s actually this flannel jacket/shirt thing I wear around my house. Whenever I put it on I get very depressed. I put it on because I’m feeling cold and it’s the best choice in a utilitarian sense. It does the job so to speak. It just so damn ugly. I think this is it, at least. I’m not sure how it happens, psychologically or spiritually or what….but whenever I put it on I may as well have put on a suit of lead that accentuates every body flaw I own and a few I didn’t know existed.I only wear it at home, when I’m in parenting mode.

It gets all the snotty noses wiped on it (not my choice, it’s literally out of my hands or out of their noses perhaps is more like it.) By now you are asking yourself why I don’t throw out that shirt. That is a good question. In the spirit of giving things up for Lent, maybe this is a good time to give up the comfy crappy shirt and choose the good.  Ack,  it’s just so comfortable.

And because I am Mrs Metaphor and I just can’t leave it alone I gotta say that I think there’s a connection here for us to draw our metaphorical moment.  Looking at my crappy flannel I wonder, psychologically and spiritually, what else I’m clinging to in the name of comfort.  What have we grown accustomed to that  warms us up and makes us feel like hell at the same time?

Points to ponder…

I, for one am relieved. Sheesh…I was really stressing about keeping up the facade for the overlords and now I’m off the hook.

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