Blessings and Banishing Walking Meditation For the New Year

Blessings Meditation           

Choose a starting place.

Take a few moments of silence.
Notice the sounds and sights around you.

 

Take 4 deep breaths:

In and out,

In and out,

In and out,

In and out.

 

Starting from wherever you like, walk in a clock-wise direction around the area you have chosen. It can be as big or as small as you like. You can also sit outdoors and travel inwardly if that better suits your needs.

As you walk or travel in spirit, name the things you would like to invoke for the new year.

Call upon those things.  Don’t hold back!

You can say them aloud or in your mind:

 

“I call upon more peace.”

“I call upon happier relationships with ______”

“I call upon healing.”

In this meditation, as you call upon what you want and need, notice your surroundings. Is there a sight, sound or smell that you can take away with you as an anchor memory? When you find it, stop and hold it in your mind. You can return to it any time you like.

Go as fast or slow as you like until you have completed your meditation and feel full of blessing. When you feel ready, start the…

Banishing Meditation

 Pick up something from your surroundings: a stick, a rock, a pinecone. Hold it in your non-dominant hand. This is your talisman.

Notice what is around you. Take it in.

Take four deep breaths:

In and out,

In and out,

In and out,

In and out.

Going in a counter-clockwise direction (widdershins), walk or visualize at whatever pace feels comfortable to you back toward where you started your clockwise journey.

As you go, think about the things you would like to let go of, release and banish from your life in the new year.

As you imagine those things, tell them you release them, you do not need them, and the power of creation may absorb or transform them.

You can say these things aloud or to yourself:

 

“I release you, anger at _________!”

“I banish this harmful thing in my life!”

“I let go of __________ and ask creation to take it from me and transform it.”

When you return to where you started, take a few moments to notice where you are. Breathe slowly and deeply. Place or throw or bury your talisman wherever feels right, thanking the Earth for supporting and sustaining all life, including yours.

Thank the animals and elements for witnessing your New Year’s Meditation.

 

 

 

Children’s Version             

 

Blessings Meditation           

Choose a starting place. Take an amulet to hold (I like a polished stone or seashell).

Take a few moments of silence.
Notice the sounds and sights around you.

Take 4 deep breaths:

In and out,

In and out,

In and out,

In and out.

Walk slowly, holding your blessings amulet. Imagine all the things you would like to experience in the new year:

How would you like to be?

What would you like to see in the world?

What do you hope for?

These thoughts and feelings will go into your amulet and stay with you through 2021. You are part of creation and your dreams matter.

Any time you like, you can take a walk or quiet time and refresh those good visions.

The creatures and earth around you have heard you.

When you feel ready, start the…

Banishing Meditation

 Pick up something from your surroundings: a stick, a rock, a pinecone. Hold it in your non-dominant hand. This is your talisman.

Notice what is around you. Take it in.

Take four deep breaths:

In and out,

In and out,

In and out,

In and out.

Going in a counter-clockwise direction (widdershins), walk or travel internally at whatever pace feels comfortable to you back toward where you started your clockwise walk.

As you go, think about the things you would like to let go of, release and banish from your life in the new year.

As you imagine those things, tell them you release them, you do not need them, and nature may absorb or transform them.

You can say these things aloud or to yourself:

“I do not need or want _________”

“I give _________ to the Earth (or the river, or the woods, wherever you are) to transform it.”

When you return to where you started, take a few moments to notice where you are. Breathe slowly and deeply. Place or throw or bury your talisman wherever feels right, thanking the Earth for supporting and sustaining all life, including yours.

Thank the animals and elements for witnessing your New Year’s Meditation.

 

 

 

Sprinters And Marathoners

It’s 4 o’clock in the morning and the birds sound beautiful but I feel wretched. I am writing through the pain and waiting for the Icy-Hot and the Topricin and the ibuprofen to kick in. The CBD oil that I have been using to manage this muscle pain for the past several weeks has ceased to be effective.

I send some writing out into the internet most days on Facebook but this post is going to be too long for that format because, as I said, I’m writing through the pain and I’ll be at this keyboard until it lets up and I can sleep.

What I think I have is simple muscular pain. I know my body pretty well at the age of 53, and what I know about it is that I localize tension in one section of it (lower back! feet! now my jaw!) for a season and then pain in that location resolves and moves somewhere else. Since June, and in conjunction with playing a very bizarre character in Stephen Sondheim’s musical “Assassins,” I have had deep aching in my legs and thighs. That’s where Sara Jane Moore lived in me, I suppose, and it’s where I stored all of the new stage fright that has plagued me throughout this production. I’ve been performing since I was six years old and I never imagined that I would be standing in the wings of a theatre at this level of experience psyching myself up for my entrance while a jittery part of my mind just one level below keenest consciousness relentlessly murmurs (but not unkindly), “You’re going to fuck this up.  Just think about all the ways you could fuck this up!”

(If you have played Sara Jane, can we have a drink and vent about the RIDICULOUS number of complicated props she has to handle with split-second timing? The gun, the fried chicken, the joint, the lipstick, the dog, the bullets, the insane complexity of props in her verse of “The Gun Song?”)

While I was playing Ruth in “The Pirates of Penzance,” I got headaches so bad that pressure applied to a certain spot in my neck made me vomit (that wasn’t good for my voice but it did relieve the headache pain). When I played Emma Goldman, my ankles and feet froze into knots so debilitating I had to vist the chiropractor weekly so I could continue to perform.  During one cold Minnesota winter when I was in my mid-20’s, my feet cramped up so badly I couldn’t walk down a short flight of stairs until I had been awake for at least a half an hour. Since the only bathroom in the house was on the ground floor, this made for humiliating predicaments.

My body often acts out at the conclusion or during the aftermath of a big creative project or especially demanding and intense season of ministry. When I much more actively and perilously battled anxiety and panic disorder around ten years ago (I consider myself to be recovered, or perhaps recovering), my panic attacks would come in the days after I thought I was in the clear for breaking down from stress.

It was much the same when I was growing up: I inevitably caught a cold, or the flu or once a serious case of mononucleosis (leading to hepatitis) after closing one of the many musicals I performed in in addition to schoolwork and after-school jobs. I understand and accept by now that I am not a marathoner in this life but a sprinter, putting out intense bursts of energy and focus and then collapsing at the finish line while others keep trotting along in enormous, companionable phalanxes, waking early, setting out and staying hydrated throughout the day as they maintain a steady pace and retire at a reasonable hour when the sun sets.

It seems to me lately that social media and the 24-hour news cycle have thrown the sprinters and marathoners into a big ramshackle farmhouse together where we can keep each other up far too late into the night and wake each other up far too early in the morning conversing, reacting, agitating and goading.  I think sprinters may adjust to the relentlessnes  a bit more easily given our natural rhythms of intense engagement and withdrawal, but the farmhouse is just as often the set of a horror movie as it is a party.

So I’m returning to a longer-form communique at 4:51 this morning to slow things down a bit, to avoid being the wee hour *ping* on someone’s phone who follows my Facebook page, and to see how I feel about engaging in this slightly less ephemeral fashion than what is possible in Mark ZuckerbergLand. There are no ads here. The eye isn’t drawn to a thousand side comments. Maybe it’s a little more boring and a bit more peaceful.

I have heard that 3AM is the Mystic’s Hour, when the veil between the realms is most gossamer and those who are prone to commune with the gods are most likely to do so. I have very dear friends who are in the Iona Community in Scotland right now and I enjoy imagining them starting their day with a late breakfast at this hour.  Bangers and mash? Haggis? I just hope the coffee is good. I look forward to hearing whether the veil between the worlds at Iona is as permeable as reported.

Mystical union aside, three and four o’clock in the morning are also existential crisis hours when many who keep vigil over sick bodies, agitated minds, crumbling relationships and frightening life circumstances feel most alone and desperate.  I hope it comforts you, as it comforts me, to know that monastic communities all over the globe are keeping vigil with you and praying for your well-being and spiritual safety. You aren’t the only one awake.

I have now been writing to you for an hour, during which I have also tended to the dog and cat who awakened to prowl and sniff around me in concern. I have had  a blueberry smoothie. The neighborhood is waking up and the ibuprofen has kicked in. I no longer entertain myself with dire imaginings about what terminal disease might be causing my muscle pain (I am certain that it’s the terminal disease called life). My day ahead involves attending a legal hearing as an advocate, having a conversation with my outgoing board chair, attending a Zoom call about local immigrant advocacy and doing some funeral preparation.  A demanding day, so I am going back to bed.

Here’s a little beauty from the Universalist Book of Prayer, 1895:

O Thou from whose fatherly hand sleep falleth nightly on the eyelids of man, whereby his body forgetteth its toil and his soul its sorrow; Teach us ever to receive it with grateful hearts, and grant that lying down this night with our souls at peace, and fearing no harm which man can do unto us, we may sleep secure in the guardianship of thy love. Amen. 

 

 

 

 

 

Scripted Prayers

 

 

This column was written for the Wednesday Word that goes out to members of the Unitarian Universalist Christian Fellowship.

 

I have a copy of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer and the King’s Chapel Book of Common Prayer in my library and reach for them often for their beauty of language and clear, effective liturgies. The bloody battles fought by my Dissenting and Puritan religious forebears against the use of set and scripted liturgies recorded in the BCP mostly feel too far off historically to be relevant to me today. I appreciate and savor the beauty of a traditional collect, such a the Collect For Peace,

“O God, who art the author of peace, and lover of concord, in knowledge of whom standeth our eternal life, whose service is perfect freedom; defend us thy humble servants in all assaults of our enemies, that we, surely trusting in thy defense, may not fear the power of any adversaries, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

That is a powerful incantation and I have turned to it many times in my personal devotions and translated its ideas and intentions for humanist Unitarian Universalists congregations with whom I have ministered.

All that said, during these past months I have felt increasingly grateful to be the heir of clergy who vehemently fought against the imposition of set prayers into their liturgies. These men (and the lay women who supported them) were persecuted and some died for the right to pray extemporaneously, as the Spirit moved them and for as long as they liked. Sometimes their prayers lasted for hours – much to the chagrin, I’m sure, of some of their cold and uncomfortable parishioners! While I would neither want to hear nor give a prayer that long and verbose in a worship service, neither do I feel that I could recite some of the prayers and collects that my liturgically scripted colleagues are required to give – and particularly for the nation’s leaders.

Jesus taught us to pray for our enemies, and I do. The Scriptures promise us that God will work in the hearts of even the most hard-hearted of humans, and I believe that God can and may. But right now, when I see daily evidence that my nation’s leaders are determined not to extend grace, not to learn wisdom and not in any way or moment to embrace the humility of spirit by which wisdom and grace may enter, I choose to direct my most ardent (and extempore) prayers to the victims of their follies and failures.

May the love of God and the peace of Christ be with you, guide you and sustain you this day and every day.

August 30, 2017