I sense Lizzie's presence beckoning me away from the only socially acceptable
addiction of our time: workaholism. She asks me to stop and look at what I am doing,
at why I am so busy, at who I am and what it is that keeps me so mindlessly driven and
competitive. It is not hard work that she questions, for she knows all too well the value
of labor, but she invites me into awareness and honest self-scrutiny. Perhaps it is
because I have chosen to live with a divided heart that the idolatry of being busy has
claimed me. Perhaps it is Lizzie's faithful attention to what matters most – her focused,
un-fussy attentiveness – that makes me
think of her as I ponder the meaning of
singleness of heart.
~ Elizabeth J. Canham in "Grandmother Wisdom," Weavings, Mar/Apr, 2003
Hard work and drawing up plans are helpful, but not always. We do not build our souls as much as we find them along the way. We discover them by accident as much as by intention. There is a time to take our lives in hand, but there is also a time to take our hands off our lives, and to leave what seems apparent and trust ourselves to the hidden.
~ from ALL THE DAYS OF MY LIFE by Marv and Nancy Hiles
Mystery is what happens to us when we
allow life to evolve rather than having to
make it happen all the time...There is
something holy-making about simply
presuming that what happens to us in
any given day is sent to awaken our souls
to something new: another smell, a
different taste, a moment when we allow
ourselves to lock eyes with a stranger, to
smile a bit, to nod our heads in
greeting.
Journeys bring power and love
back into you. If you can't go somewhere,
move in the passageways of the self.
They are like shafts of light,
always changing and you change
when you explore them.
Most people mistakenly believe that all you have to do to stop working is not work. The inventors of the Sabbath understood that it was a much more complicated undertaking. You cannot downshift casually and easily. This is why the Puritan and Jewish Sabbaths were so exactingly intentional. The rules did not exist to torture the faithful. They were meant to communicate the insight that interrupting the ceaseless round of striving requires a surprisingly strenuous act of will, one that has to be bolstered by habit as well as by social sanction.
It sometimes seems to me that holiness, the quintessence of holiness, is as elusive as that strange fragrance in the air which heralds spring. We cannot define precisely where the scent lies, nor analyze exactly the color of the bird, nor yet assign to an
invisible musical scale the plaintive bleat of the lamb, nor to a paint box the fleeting blue of the sky: a stirring in the blood, an impulse toward adventure, rough
moorland, woodland paths... No, holiness is not to be defined. It is a living, glorious rebirth...an active condition, not a struggle with or against self, but a struggle for self, to bring oneself back, back to that pure and fragrant spring of our creation.
The earth is a living, conscious being. In
company with cultures of many different
times and places we name these things as
sacred: air, fire, water, and earth. Whether
we see them as the breath, energy, blood, and
the body of the Mother, or as the blessed gifts
of a Creator, or as symbols of the
interconnected systems that sustain life, we
know that nothing can live without them...
To honor the sacred is to create conditions in
which nourishment, sustenance, habitat,
knowledge, freedom, and beauty can thrive.
To honor the sacred is to make love possible.
To this we dedicate our curiosity, our will,
our courage, our silences, and our voices. To
this we dedicate our lives.
