The checkered flag is at half staff here at "Ramblings..." in honor of the death, this morning, of Paul Newman. Paul's love of road racing, and his participation in the sport, is legend among those of us who ourselves love the sport and/or who love driving really fast around a closed track under controlled, supervised conditions.
I was at Lime Rock race course on the day Mr. Newman took his last ride around the track. In fact, it was on my track day. We gladly gave up some of our time out there to let his car follow behind the pace car for a few laps. Newlin refused to take photos - it seemed a violation of privacy. He wanted also to remember Paul Newman as he was, dressed, helmeted, behind the wheel of his Datsun 200sx in which he won all eight races he entered in 1979 in that car, or his later Corvette.
For photos, see http://www.newman-haas.com/
For the skinny on how Paul Newman got into racing, and his early years, see
http://www.datsunhistory.com/Sharp.html
(hope the links work. Otherwise, put Newman Sharp racing for the history link, or Newman Haas racing for the photos, in your search engine.)
Rest eternal grant to him O Lord, and may light perpetual shine upon him, and may there be abundant road racing in his new life.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
The Rambler is Home
Well, vacation is over. It's funny, I want the posts on this blog to be decent, at least, literature, not simply posts for the sake of posting. At the same time, while I haven't made the time to formulate what I want to write here upon my return, I feel a responsibility to post something so you won't lose interest!
First, vacation was excellent. Newlin and I camped out three times - twice at Housatonic State Park, which I just love, right down there on the river, and once at Cascade in New Hampshire, also on the river, which is lovely, but the campground itself is a bit creepy. Oh, by the way, I'm talking about tent camping, not camper camping, cooking on a white gas stove on the picnic table, making tea on a really cold wish-I-had-my-gloves morning so I can warm up my hands.
The first day we were at Housatonic, we had just pitched the tent and gotten everything inside, and were arranging our space, when the rain came. It didn't pour, it deluged, if I may coin a verb. And it deluged for over an hour. When it finally stopped, the campground was water logged. There was three inches of water in the fire ring. We survived.
The next night, it rained all night long, but this time we didn't wake to standing water in the campsite. So, better. And still I love camping. Maybe for me it's a reminder of playing at camping when we were kids, even though we never really camped out overnight, tying together all our tricycles and wagons to form a "wagon train" and traveling what I recently found was only a few yards down River Road to the side of the Passaic River in Millington New Jersey to "camp out". Regardless of discomfort, the camping part was the best. On second trip to Housatonic we woke to a great horned owl hooting across the river. In my book you can't beat that!
Now to the good stuff: Yes, I did drive Lime Rock Race Track! Wow, what a great day, a great experience. Now let's face it - I was driving a Saturn, so you know I was not nearly as fast as the Ferraris that were on the track with me, but I was faster than the driver of the Lotus, which should have been faster than me and everyone else, but we were all novice drivers so you have to make allowances.
I learned stuff about myself; I learned stuff about my car. What I learned most was I can trust both of us - myself and my car. Cool.
And as I write this, I realize there's no way I can describe the experience, and maybe I don't even want to try. I'll say this, though, I may just want to do that again someday.
I've been back a week. Lots to do last week to catch up, and wonderful first Sunday back. Now I return to my routine: office at 10 a.m., Starbucks at 2 p.m. with a doctor's appointment at 1:10.
This week I have an MRI - this is to check to see if the breast cancer has returned. I've already seen my radiation doc - she's leaving so I don't know who I will see at my six month check up. I see my GP today, my chemo doc next week. The MRI is being done at my surgeon's request. It's the month for follow ups.
I find I resent the amount of time I have to spend with doctors post-cancer. I also hate it when people try to change the way I feel about it by saying such unhelpful things as "You survived! It's good to have them keep checking so they can catch anything else early." blah blah blah. Do me a favor: If you run into me, and I choose to share my anger at the, don't try to make me "feel better" about it because your attempts just make me feel a. guilty b. pissed that I shared anything with you c. even more angry because you just don't get it. Thanks for helping me by honoring my feelings just as they are instead of trying to turn them to what you think are the appropriate feelings, because, my friends, there ain't no such thing as appropriate feelings. There are just feelings.
Except for all the doc visits reminding me of last year's hell, I'm feeling pretty good, looking forward to the months to come at Grace Church, and slowly getting the yard and gardens back in shape after four weeks of neglect. But more on that later.
For now, this will have to do. Be talking at you later! Peace.
First, vacation was excellent. Newlin and I camped out three times - twice at Housatonic State Park, which I just love, right down there on the river, and once at Cascade in New Hampshire, also on the river, which is lovely, but the campground itself is a bit creepy. Oh, by the way, I'm talking about tent camping, not camper camping, cooking on a white gas stove on the picnic table, making tea on a really cold wish-I-had-my-gloves morning so I can warm up my hands.
The first day we were at Housatonic, we had just pitched the tent and gotten everything inside, and were arranging our space, when the rain came. It didn't pour, it deluged, if I may coin a verb. And it deluged for over an hour. When it finally stopped, the campground was water logged. There was three inches of water in the fire ring. We survived.
The next night, it rained all night long, but this time we didn't wake to standing water in the campsite. So, better. And still I love camping. Maybe for me it's a reminder of playing at camping when we were kids, even though we never really camped out overnight, tying together all our tricycles and wagons to form a "wagon train" and traveling what I recently found was only a few yards down River Road to the side of the Passaic River in Millington New Jersey to "camp out". Regardless of discomfort, the camping part was the best. On second trip to Housatonic we woke to a great horned owl hooting across the river. In my book you can't beat that!
Now to the good stuff: Yes, I did drive Lime Rock Race Track! Wow, what a great day, a great experience. Now let's face it - I was driving a Saturn, so you know I was not nearly as fast as the Ferraris that were on the track with me, but I was faster than the driver of the Lotus, which should have been faster than me and everyone else, but we were all novice drivers so you have to make allowances.
I learned stuff about myself; I learned stuff about my car. What I learned most was I can trust both of us - myself and my car. Cool.
And as I write this, I realize there's no way I can describe the experience, and maybe I don't even want to try. I'll say this, though, I may just want to do that again someday.
I've been back a week. Lots to do last week to catch up, and wonderful first Sunday back. Now I return to my routine: office at 10 a.m., Starbucks at 2 p.m. with a doctor's appointment at 1:10.
This week I have an MRI - this is to check to see if the breast cancer has returned. I've already seen my radiation doc - she's leaving so I don't know who I will see at my six month check up. I see my GP today, my chemo doc next week. The MRI is being done at my surgeon's request. It's the month for follow ups.
I find I resent the amount of time I have to spend with doctors post-cancer. I also hate it when people try to change the way I feel about it by saying such unhelpful things as "You survived! It's good to have them keep checking so they can catch anything else early." blah blah blah. Do me a favor: If you run into me, and I choose to share my anger at the, don't try to make me "feel better" about it because your attempts just make me feel a. guilty b. pissed that I shared anything with you c. even more angry because you just don't get it. Thanks for helping me by honoring my feelings just as they are instead of trying to turn them to what you think are the appropriate feelings, because, my friends, there ain't no such thing as appropriate feelings. There are just feelings.
Except for all the doc visits reminding me of last year's hell, I'm feeling pretty good, looking forward to the months to come at Grace Church, and slowly getting the yard and gardens back in shape after four weeks of neglect. But more on that later.
For now, this will have to do. Be talking at you later! Peace.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Time for a Vacation
Two days until vacation begins - one and a half if the last reference on a potential nursery worker comes in today! - but who's counting?
Last year I continued to work throughout months of chemotherapy. When vacation came, I still had to report to the infusion unit every week for chemo, and although the taxol didn't cause the nausea the previous chemo drugs did, it was taking a day longer each week to recover from the ill effects of that drug, and there was less and less food I could stand the taste of, so my vacation was simply a time for chemo when I didn't have to serve the church.
I did get a new camera that summer, and spent time getting to know it. Newlin even used some of my photos on his website, tracktimephotos.com (I think that's right!), and one young man bought the CD of the photos I took as he drove his ferrari out of the garage at Watkins Glen for his first time ever on the track. Last year I learned that I am a natural at taking panning shots of cars driving fast on a road course. And last year I had my second experience as a passenger in a high performance car going fast around a road track. Last year it was a ferrari, and the track was Watkins Glen, on the day, the very day, before my last ever chemo infusion.
So last year's vacation wasn't a total washout. But this year, I really need this vacation. And of course the gospel for last Sunday, my last one in church until September, began, "[Jesus] withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick." !!!!!
Well, as I wrote previously, during my week as chaplain to Arts Camp at Camp Washington a couple of weeks ago, I was renewed in my writing, drawing and painting. When I got home, I found that week had fed me more than I had thought. I rose early and wrote all sorts of things. I produced a number of pastels - a medium I have seldom used - on a theme I have not yet exhausted. And I'm really looking forward to vacation to do more of that sort of thing.
It will begin with three days on the banks of the Housatonic River, camping in a tent, and becoming a vegetable. On Wednesday I have my first track day as a novice driver at Lime Rock, with SCDA. Then up to Watkins Glen to shadow Newlin as he works various track events for driving clubs. There will be a trip to New Hampshire International Speedway in the middle of the month - more camping by a river - and ending the four weeks at Watkins Glen, giving the invocation for the annual reenactment of the first ever road race on the streets of Watkins Glen, to kick off the vintage auto weekend. Newlin's working on getting me listed as "crew" for one of the teams - I'd be doing photography.
So, four weeks of doing things I love, vacating my mind, turning everything on this end of the world over to God and the people of Grace Church and having fun.
Did I mention the bag of books I'm taking along to read as well? Oh yes, this is a true vacation.
This blog will be in hiatus. Feel free to leave comments. I'll read them when I return. See you in September!
Last year I continued to work throughout months of chemotherapy. When vacation came, I still had to report to the infusion unit every week for chemo, and although the taxol didn't cause the nausea the previous chemo drugs did, it was taking a day longer each week to recover from the ill effects of that drug, and there was less and less food I could stand the taste of, so my vacation was simply a time for chemo when I didn't have to serve the church.
I did get a new camera that summer, and spent time getting to know it. Newlin even used some of my photos on his website, tracktimephotos.com (I think that's right!), and one young man bought the CD of the photos I took as he drove his ferrari out of the garage at Watkins Glen for his first time ever on the track. Last year I learned that I am a natural at taking panning shots of cars driving fast on a road course. And last year I had my second experience as a passenger in a high performance car going fast around a road track. Last year it was a ferrari, and the track was Watkins Glen, on the day, the very day, before my last ever chemo infusion.
So last year's vacation wasn't a total washout. But this year, I really need this vacation. And of course the gospel for last Sunday, my last one in church until September, began, "[Jesus] withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick." !!!!!
Well, as I wrote previously, during my week as chaplain to Arts Camp at Camp Washington a couple of weeks ago, I was renewed in my writing, drawing and painting. When I got home, I found that week had fed me more than I had thought. I rose early and wrote all sorts of things. I produced a number of pastels - a medium I have seldom used - on a theme I have not yet exhausted. And I'm really looking forward to vacation to do more of that sort of thing.
It will begin with three days on the banks of the Housatonic River, camping in a tent, and becoming a vegetable. On Wednesday I have my first track day as a novice driver at Lime Rock, with SCDA. Then up to Watkins Glen to shadow Newlin as he works various track events for driving clubs. There will be a trip to New Hampshire International Speedway in the middle of the month - more camping by a river - and ending the four weeks at Watkins Glen, giving the invocation for the annual reenactment of the first ever road race on the streets of Watkins Glen, to kick off the vintage auto weekend. Newlin's working on getting me listed as "crew" for one of the teams - I'd be doing photography.
So, four weeks of doing things I love, vacating my mind, turning everything on this end of the world over to God and the people of Grace Church and having fun.
Did I mention the bag of books I'm taking along to read as well? Oh yes, this is a true vacation.
This blog will be in hiatus. Feel free to leave comments. I'll read them when I return. See you in September!
Friday, August 1, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
We're STILL settling for too little, even in Worship
I spent last week as chaplain at our Episcopal Church camp, Camp Washington, with children age 9-12. I returned wonderfully exhausted. The campers for whom I was chaplain were there for a week of the arts - writing, drawing and painting, and dance. I participated in all these areas - dance, at age 63, with my knees already shot from years of dance in my youth, was the most challenging, since even now I can't keep from dancing but it wreaks havoc with my legs. I learned to salsa, which puts more strain on the knees than the dance the young people were learning over the week, but it was worth it!
I learned excellent techniques for jump-starting my writing when writer's block hits. I even started a young people's "chapter book" on Billy the Spacegoat ( the class decided on the theme!).
I drew, painted, charcoaled, pasteled. It was a very fruitful week.
The highlight, however, was of course the kids. Challenging, broad spectrum of behaviors, gifted. Reminds me of how tired I get when people say "Children are the future..." of whatever. They are not the future. They are not our future. They are not the future of the church. They are, here and now.
They are themselves. They are the church. They are the world. To say they are the future gives us unwarranted permission to set them aside until they grow up and take over. To put them in Sunday School classrooms, often in the basement, during church because they cannot "behave" properly in church - to which I am tempted to use a British epithet, "bollocks".
And so, off I go again, dreaming of the church that could be, if only I could figure out how to break through the decades of conditioning of church people who see Sunday worship as their quiet time, as personal time, private time with God.
I blame the years of Morning Prayer as the primary worship in the days of my youth! When I was in elementary school, we worshiped at All Saints in Millington, New Jersey. George Rath - Mr. Rath we called him - was the minister - we did not use the word priest in those days. Morning Prayer was the norm on Sunday. Holy Communion, we called it, was once a month. Morning Prayer is appropriate "private time" with God, private in community.
Holy Communion, Eucharist, is not private time. This is the big Thanksgiving Dinner, the feast, the party. The whole family is there. It is noisy and even raucous. Children are appropriately present in all their messiness and frankness and antsiness and spontaniety.
Now that Eucharist is the norm for the principal worship of the week, there is no service, at least in the churches which I have attended since 1981, for that private worship time. And the people of my generation and earlier have been conditioned by Morning Prayer services to view all church attendance as private time with God, sedate, proper, well behaved, orderly.
And so, I'll be frank with you - children really are not welcome at Episcopal Church services of worship - unless of course they can behave themselves.
The service of Eucharist is the primary formational instrument for shaping Episcopalian Christians in the church. It needs to start with infancy and baptism. The child needs to experience being at the Thanksgiving Table every week. They need to experience the joy of being part of the family of Jesus, who ordered that the children be allowed to come to him in the midst of the adults and put no restrictions on their behavior in doing so.
Well, this is another of those things, like in the previous post, which I would like to be part of before I retire or die - the primary worship (not relegated to "The Family Service" or "The Children's Chapel" but the primary service of worship) as the entire family gathered around the table - not in polite, school-like rows of pews but around the table - singing, dancing, telling stories to one another about Jesus and the prophets and Jacob the Trickster, sharing what their week has been like, where they have seen Jesus and crying together over the parts where Jesus has been absent, and then, all together, shouting, yes shouting, the Great Thanksgiving, lifting up the gifts of God, the bread and wine, and dividing it among themselves and feasting. Children might pay attention, they might be playing or running or dancing over in some other part of the room, they might all of a sudden hear what the priest is saying and ask the crucial question, "You mean, he DIED?!!!!" for which everything would stop and we could have a teaching moment - all of it is still part of the celebration.
And trust me, you have no idea how much children absorb when you think they are not paying attention.
Is there anyone out there, reading this, who also hungers for worship like this? How do I find you? How do we get together?
And as for that private time with God, well, this fall I'm initiating "Practicing Prayer", 45 minutes after Eucharist, once a month, for that very thing - private time, in a group, with God, practicing prayer, learning ways to pray, on an adventure together toward God.
As a priest I'm supposed to take people as they are, care for them, not rock the boat, because church people have become what they are honestly; they are what they have been taught and conditioned to be. I get that.
At the same time, I have this hunger, this dream, this vision, and I cannot believe that such a dream will have to die with me without my ever living it out in a community that will embrace it, mess and noise and all.
I learned excellent techniques for jump-starting my writing when writer's block hits. I even started a young people's "chapter book" on Billy the Spacegoat ( the class decided on the theme!).
I drew, painted, charcoaled, pasteled. It was a very fruitful week.
The highlight, however, was of course the kids. Challenging, broad spectrum of behaviors, gifted. Reminds me of how tired I get when people say "Children are the future..." of whatever. They are not the future. They are not our future. They are not the future of the church. They are, here and now.
They are themselves. They are the church. They are the world. To say they are the future gives us unwarranted permission to set them aside until they grow up and take over. To put them in Sunday School classrooms, often in the basement, during church because they cannot "behave" properly in church - to which I am tempted to use a British epithet, "bollocks".
And so, off I go again, dreaming of the church that could be, if only I could figure out how to break through the decades of conditioning of church people who see Sunday worship as their quiet time, as personal time, private time with God.
I blame the years of Morning Prayer as the primary worship in the days of my youth! When I was in elementary school, we worshiped at All Saints in Millington, New Jersey. George Rath - Mr. Rath we called him - was the minister - we did not use the word priest in those days. Morning Prayer was the norm on Sunday. Holy Communion, we called it, was once a month. Morning Prayer is appropriate "private time" with God, private in community.
Holy Communion, Eucharist, is not private time. This is the big Thanksgiving Dinner, the feast, the party. The whole family is there. It is noisy and even raucous. Children are appropriately present in all their messiness and frankness and antsiness and spontaniety.
Now that Eucharist is the norm for the principal worship of the week, there is no service, at least in the churches which I have attended since 1981, for that private worship time. And the people of my generation and earlier have been conditioned by Morning Prayer services to view all church attendance as private time with God, sedate, proper, well behaved, orderly.
And so, I'll be frank with you - children really are not welcome at Episcopal Church services of worship - unless of course they can behave themselves.
The service of Eucharist is the primary formational instrument for shaping Episcopalian Christians in the church. It needs to start with infancy and baptism. The child needs to experience being at the Thanksgiving Table every week. They need to experience the joy of being part of the family of Jesus, who ordered that the children be allowed to come to him in the midst of the adults and put no restrictions on their behavior in doing so.
Well, this is another of those things, like in the previous post, which I would like to be part of before I retire or die - the primary worship (not relegated to "The Family Service" or "The Children's Chapel" but the primary service of worship) as the entire family gathered around the table - not in polite, school-like rows of pews but around the table - singing, dancing, telling stories to one another about Jesus and the prophets and Jacob the Trickster, sharing what their week has been like, where they have seen Jesus and crying together over the parts where Jesus has been absent, and then, all together, shouting, yes shouting, the Great Thanksgiving, lifting up the gifts of God, the bread and wine, and dividing it among themselves and feasting. Children might pay attention, they might be playing or running or dancing over in some other part of the room, they might all of a sudden hear what the priest is saying and ask the crucial question, "You mean, he DIED?!!!!" for which everything would stop and we could have a teaching moment - all of it is still part of the celebration.
And trust me, you have no idea how much children absorb when you think they are not paying attention.
Is there anyone out there, reading this, who also hungers for worship like this? How do I find you? How do we get together?
And as for that private time with God, well, this fall I'm initiating "Practicing Prayer", 45 minutes after Eucharist, once a month, for that very thing - private time, in a group, with God, practicing prayer, learning ways to pray, on an adventure together toward God.
As a priest I'm supposed to take people as they are, care for them, not rock the boat, because church people have become what they are honestly; they are what they have been taught and conditioned to be. I get that.
At the same time, I have this hunger, this dream, this vision, and I cannot believe that such a dream will have to die with me without my ever living it out in a community that will embrace it, mess and noise and all.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Why do we settle for so little in our religion?
Do you want God? Do you really want Jesus? Do you want God in your life, Jesus as an integral part of your life? Do you even know what that means, to have God in your life? Why do you want God in your life? What is God for, for you?
This morning, with the Black Dog, or at least its pup, yapping at my heels, these are the questions I ask. I have long known that the God we worship, the God to which we pray is too small, not God at all, even though GOD accepts our worship and hears our prayers and cares for us insofar as that would be good for us in the scheme of things, even when helping us, which is what we want, impedes the fulfillment of God’s dream which is all creation and all life.
We could reach for the stars. We can become all fire. We can, in this life, be so united to God that we are consumed with transforming our world and the lives in it. All I want to do is be a priest – to lead people into meeting GOD, while I myself search for GOD beyond the God we worship. To teach, to listen to your stories, to help you see GOD in the midst of the cares and worries – the flesh, one woman put it – that gets in the way, leaving only Sunday morning as the one chance to be more than our rest-of-the-week self.
We have settled for too little. It is right that we should pray for the Church, and for those who are in need, for those who are sick and for the dead. It is too small a thing to then expect God to fill our requests while not asking for and expecting God to transform us into people who will make a difference – in the Church, with those in need, those who are sick, those who are dying, those who mourn the dead. It is too small a thing because GOD, the true god, is waiting, hoping, dreaming of us praying to be made all fire, all flame, a light to the nations, and the glory of GOD’s own self in the world.
I’m going to say this, and some may be hurt by it, for which I am deeply sorry: I desire to serve a people, before I retire or die, who want to be all flame. I want this more than anything. We don’t need a church building, or high overhead, just people with dreams of being more, of being useful, of making a difference. People who are willing to take into themselves the constant cry of the angels and Jesus himself, “Do not be afraid!”
Are you out there? How do I find you? I would give up everything to lead and serve you (although of course I haven’t run this by Beloved yet, Newlin that is, or thought about how we will support ourselves or where and how we will live – details, details, details!)
But there it is – I dream, and I dare to think that dreams can come true, can be real, and I dare to believe that it is dreams like this for which GOD keeps waiting, and hoping, and dreaming. And even then, my dream may be too small a thing, and so I put myself in GOD’s hands to enlarge the dream as much as my aged body and soul can take.
I have to go into the office now. Do you want to know why I go into the office, really – in addition to the two appointments I have? I live in constant hope that in doing so I will one day meet GOD, the true God, face to face, in someone who wants to be all that GOD dreams us to be. There is always that chance. I have that dream, and I don’t think dreams are given lightly, especially the dreams of becoming all flame.
This morning, with the Black Dog, or at least its pup, yapping at my heels, these are the questions I ask. I have long known that the God we worship, the God to which we pray is too small, not God at all, even though GOD accepts our worship and hears our prayers and cares for us insofar as that would be good for us in the scheme of things, even when helping us, which is what we want, impedes the fulfillment of God’s dream which is all creation and all life.
We could reach for the stars. We can become all fire. We can, in this life, be so united to God that we are consumed with transforming our world and the lives in it. All I want to do is be a priest – to lead people into meeting GOD, while I myself search for GOD beyond the God we worship. To teach, to listen to your stories, to help you see GOD in the midst of the cares and worries – the flesh, one woman put it – that gets in the way, leaving only Sunday morning as the one chance to be more than our rest-of-the-week self.
We have settled for too little. It is right that we should pray for the Church, and for those who are in need, for those who are sick and for the dead. It is too small a thing to then expect God to fill our requests while not asking for and expecting God to transform us into people who will make a difference – in the Church, with those in need, those who are sick, those who are dying, those who mourn the dead. It is too small a thing because GOD, the true god, is waiting, hoping, dreaming of us praying to be made all fire, all flame, a light to the nations, and the glory of GOD’s own self in the world.
I’m going to say this, and some may be hurt by it, for which I am deeply sorry: I desire to serve a people, before I retire or die, who want to be all flame. I want this more than anything. We don’t need a church building, or high overhead, just people with dreams of being more, of being useful, of making a difference. People who are willing to take into themselves the constant cry of the angels and Jesus himself, “Do not be afraid!”
Are you out there? How do I find you? I would give up everything to lead and serve you (although of course I haven’t run this by Beloved yet, Newlin that is, or thought about how we will support ourselves or where and how we will live – details, details, details!)
But there it is – I dream, and I dare to think that dreams can come true, can be real, and I dare to believe that it is dreams like this for which GOD keeps waiting, and hoping, and dreaming. And even then, my dream may be too small a thing, and so I put myself in GOD’s hands to enlarge the dream as much as my aged body and soul can take.
I have to go into the office now. Do you want to know why I go into the office, really – in addition to the two appointments I have? I live in constant hope that in doing so I will one day meet GOD, the true God, face to face, in someone who wants to be all that GOD dreams us to be. There is always that chance. I have that dream, and I don’t think dreams are given lightly, especially the dreams of becoming all flame.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Art and the Spirit
A few weeks ago, on a thread on Jake's Place, a blog that is now closed because sometimes a person has to move on, I posted the following comment:
"Art - looking at it, singing it, playing it, listening to it, reading it, painting, drawing, writing it definitely drives my spiritual growth and is, in a real sense, my spirit. My connection with God, with Christ, with the Spirit, with the Trinity is not there without art. Art is like my primary language - the language of my spirit. I have never fully understood this until [recently]. I will have to write about this on my blog - maybe tomorrow. There's so much of art wrapped up in my awakenings, or are my awakenings wrapped up in art?"
Last week, June 30th, was my 63rd birthday. Newlin and I spent it with our friend Christopher in New York City (known hereafter as "The City"). I wanted to see The Waterfalls, four water installations by Olafur Eliasson, on the East River, at Brooklyn piers 4 & 5, pier 35 in Manhattan, Governor's Island and under the Brooklyn Bridge.
I'm not big on astrology, but I am a Cancer, which is a water sign, and all my life, even long before I knew about water signs, I knew that I had to be near water - always - preferably ocean water but rivers and lakes will do, especially big rivers. The East River does very well.
Add to the East River these four scaffolds of different sizes, heights and orientations, with water cascading over them being blown about by the wind and I was in seventh heaven.
At first, from the foot of pier 17 we found a place from which we could see all four waterfalls at once from the land. They're not close to one another. One is on the Manhattan side, another on the Brooklyn side, one on the side of an island in the river near the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, and the other between the first two, at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge, facing the Manhattan side.
I am at a loss as to why these waterfalls are so important to my spirit. We spent almost the entire day seeing them. We took a Circle Line boat out on the river just to get close to them. It was even more magical to be in a spot on the river from which we could see all four at one time. This was the best of all worlds, to be on the water, looking at water pounding down from great heights, falling in sheets, cool, independent, taking their life from the river and giving it back again, but never the exact same life. The river water that is drawn up at this moment is not the same water that will be drawn up in the next second. The river keeps flowing away from the waterfall.
I wish I could say some really profound thing that would make sense of all this, but I can't. All I can do is gaze in wonder and delight, and, now, today, to remember that wonder and delight still with me, part of me, living in a place within me that will feed me in ways I don't yet understand.
I hope the link works. Go have a look. The photos are nothing like being there, but they're close. Enjoy.
"Art - looking at it, singing it, playing it, listening to it, reading it, painting, drawing, writing it definitely drives my spiritual growth and is, in a real sense, my spirit. My connection with God, with Christ, with the Spirit, with the Trinity is not there without art. Art is like my primary language - the language of my spirit. I have never fully understood this until [recently]. I will have to write about this on my blog - maybe tomorrow. There's so much of art wrapped up in my awakenings, or are my awakenings wrapped up in art?"
Last week, June 30th, was my 63rd birthday. Newlin and I spent it with our friend Christopher in New York City (known hereafter as "The City"). I wanted to see The Waterfalls, four water installations by Olafur Eliasson, on the East River, at Brooklyn piers 4 & 5, pier 35 in Manhattan, Governor's Island and under the Brooklyn Bridge.
I'm not big on astrology, but I am a Cancer, which is a water sign, and all my life, even long before I knew about water signs, I knew that I had to be near water - always - preferably ocean water but rivers and lakes will do, especially big rivers. The East River does very well.
Add to the East River these four scaffolds of different sizes, heights and orientations, with water cascading over them being blown about by the wind and I was in seventh heaven.
At first, from the foot of pier 17 we found a place from which we could see all four waterfalls at once from the land. They're not close to one another. One is on the Manhattan side, another on the Brooklyn side, one on the side of an island in the river near the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, and the other between the first two, at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge, facing the Manhattan side.
I am at a loss as to why these waterfalls are so important to my spirit. We spent almost the entire day seeing them. We took a Circle Line boat out on the river just to get close to them. It was even more magical to be in a spot on the river from which we could see all four at one time. This was the best of all worlds, to be on the water, looking at water pounding down from great heights, falling in sheets, cool, independent, taking their life from the river and giving it back again, but never the exact same life. The river water that is drawn up at this moment is not the same water that will be drawn up in the next second. The river keeps flowing away from the waterfall.
I wish I could say some really profound thing that would make sense of all this, but I can't. All I can do is gaze in wonder and delight, and, now, today, to remember that wonder and delight still with me, part of me, living in a place within me that will feed me in ways I don't yet understand.
I hope the link works. Go have a look. The photos are nothing like being there, but they're close. Enjoy.
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