Thin-ness

Some places are noted thin spots...Iona, Santa Fe, to name a couple. I think there are thin spots all over the world. Thin-ness may be found everywhere.

Thin-ness

Can be found

All over the world

No matter the spot

No matter the understanding

No matter

The people

Involved

No matter

The weather

No matter the sun

Or rain.

Thin-ness

Has its own

Particular feeling.

It has its way.

It will continue

To have its way

There it is.

Here it is.

Thin-ness.

It is not meant

To be explained.

Layers

Now I counsel people for a living.  Of course, as I counsel people, they in turn, offer so much to my own perception of things.  Often I find layers of things I have covered over, as well as the layers with which I cover things.  Iona is a holy place with layers upon layers.  In retrospect it is not a surprise that on Iona I realized there is more to be done.

On Iona I discovered

There is more to be done,

Always more

To be done.

This is hardly new information,

Yet it is somehow

Still new.

There are

Still more layers

To be discovered,

Unearthed.

The layers have always

Been there

Still

I am clever

We are clever

We are all more than capable

Of creating

New things to do,

New things to keep us busy

Cover the old with monuments

Even stone basilicas

Pretend there is nothing

Underneath

Or pretend perhaps

The underneath

Doesn*t matter.

Iona eyes

In the midst of home chaos, I find myself acclimating to the home renovation.  Returning from Iona to Illinois was a bit of a shock.  Still, I knew what I was returning home to.  And a little about what I was returning home with.  I am still thinking about the women from Fort Worth, struggling with re-ordering their diocese.  I am clearly not done yet, with prayer, with figuring where I fit in the re-ordering of the whole.  I did think I was done. I now know I am not.

Two weeks returned

From Iona,

I think I am getting

My bearings back

Finally.

Of course nothing

Is ever final.

The trick is to keep

Iona eyes

In Illinois,

Just as Illinois

Arrived with me

On Iona.

Just as I found Fort Worth

Staying in the same hotel.

Cooler weather

Is upon us now.

The trees have noticed

In full color.

I watch them change

With Iona eyes.

Manageable space

More from Iona.  It is hardly as manageable as I sit here in home chaos.  Still... the Iona memory holds.  I remember the variations of weather, the water changes in the strait between Iona and Mull.  I remember the water flowing both directions at once.

This is manageable space

And time,

Small enough to see

Changes in wind and water,

Sun breaking through,

Bits of hail and rain.

The come and go,

The hitch and pull,

The push and pull of Spirit

In manageable time

And space.

Blues and greens of the strait

Between.

Water flowing

Both directions at once.

Fall light

I have always been connected to the seasons.  When one part of the natural order seems off schedule (the trees being green when it is the end of September, for example), I often feel out of order as well.  On Iona I understood this connection again.  Fall has always been a favorite season for its coolness and blue skies and bright leaves.  This year it has a sadness to it.  It feels like a lot more change is afoot.  The trees seem to be pretending it is still summer.

The fall light turns.

I have not planted the mums

I meant to plant

In the outdoor planters.

Soon the planters

Will hold pumpkins.

The fall light has begun

Its turn

To winter.

The trees have not caught up

To the light.

They hold on

To summer green.

I want to tell them

To stop pretending.

The birds

Are not fooled.

They know summer

Is on its way out.

They mass into cawing screeching gaggles

In the green trees.

Maybe the trees will hear

The birds.

I watch the light,

Listen to birds.

It is perhaps too late

For mums.

Places thick and thin

I am trying to see the thin-ness here, in the midst of renovation.  I will have at least six to eight weeks of practice.  I returned from Iona knowing I was not done yet... with Quincy, with Fort Worth, with priesthood, with anything, really.  I realize I was yearning for something new, even when I thought I traveled there with few expectations.  No.  For the time being my new writing chair overlooks the turtle tank.  This morning he is sleeping peacefully.  At least it seems he is sleeping.

The pilgrimage leader offered:

When it is said Iona is a thin place,

It does not mean that other places are

Thick.

Home here

In the midst of renovation,

I aim to make a chair

In the family room

My writing chair.

I am surrounded by pots and pans,

Plates next to the door,

Silverware

Next to the sofa.

The cat dishes sit

Under the television.

The turtle tank rests

In its usual place.

He can write,

If he could write

(of course)

V e r y  s l o w l y

From his regular spot.

This place feels particularly thick

To me

Surrounded by everything

At once.

If I squint

I think I see the turtle

Smiling.

He has never had so much company

At once.

It seems this may be

A thin place

For Felix.

Of course

He will never say.

Different as it should be

This is the second full Iona day.  I spent a lot of this day watching and walking the clouded misted brightness.     It turned out the week would provide the wide range of weather opportunities, unlike stories of the week before, when the isle was socked in with grey and wind, and the ferry could not cross for three days.

This is clouded misted brightness,

Different today than yesterday.

I know

Tomorrow will be different still:

Clouded misted brightness

A rainbow perhaps

Maybe some sun and blue

But still

Clouded misted brightness,

Different,

Constantly different,

As it should be.

Expectations

This was written after our first full day on Iona.  Somehow fittingly, it was a Sunday.  For those not in the Episcopal Church family, Fort Worth is a diocese which is working to re-order its life after a sizeable group split off.  I sat at Sunday breakfast with the Chancellor (read: lawyer) of the re-ordered diocese.  She is facing October court battles over who owns what church property.  This was not what I expected to find on a small, isolated island in Scotland.  

Today is a day

I did not do things

On the list.

After church and lunch,

A long nap was in order.

Now I think

A glass of wine before dinner.

The group

Grown to 40,

Hiked to the North End beach.

I slept instead.

Here I see well

Sea?  I hear well too.

This morning*s breakfast

Brought Fort Worth

To the table,

To the flow of things I imagined

Differently.

I knew it would not be quite

What I expected,

Even when I tried

To expect nothing.

The light

Another in the Iona series.  My accessible room provides a view of the back yard.  Companions note that I could go out in back and turn the upside down kitchen chair right side up (at least).  It seems right to leave it as it is.  The light above my bed provides just the right amount of illumination for writing as the outside light grows dim.  Just the right amount of light.

The light is perfect

To write in bed.

I cannot view the sea

From my window.

Instead I see the workers* quarters,

Construction material,

An upside down kitchen chair

In the yard,

Crags in the distance.

Occasionally a dog

Wanders through.

The light above my bed

Is bright enough

But not too bright.

It provides a Goldilocks effect

In my accessible room.

Iona: a beginning

This was written upon arrival in Iona, before dinner.  We had traveled all day by coach and ferry from Inveraray.  

I came here for space and time,

Came to this rocky small outcrop

Of a place

2 planes

2 coaches

2 ferries away.

No wonder the Romans

Never bothered.

There is little hope

I can help much

With the family kitchen renovation

From here.

My room is the accessible sort:

Handbars and grips,

A seat in the shower.

I will be reminded every morning

I am limited.

Not a bad reminder.

Not a bad thing to see.

Not a bad thing

To wake up to.

Duchess

I met the Duchess in the gift shop, before ordering tea and scones.  It really is another world, one that I was not expecting.  I did not expect interactions with royalty,  Especially in the gift shop.  Now I am home with my Duchess apron, with a demolished kitchen, the refrigerator in the living room, the coffee pot in our bathroom upstairs.  I am waiting to use my apron.

I met the Duchess of Argyle

In the gift shop

Of the Inveraray Castle.

She was wearing a kitchen apron.

It read, simply,

Duchess.

The Duke had gone to fetch the children,

Two boys and a girl,

Lady Charlotte

Age four.

She was a cab driver

Before she married

The Duke.

The Duchess rang up my purchases.

I bought a Duchess apron,

Had her sign it for me.

It appeals to my sense of whimsy.

The whole scene.

I will wear the apron

When the kitchen is complete.

I will pretend

I live in a castle.

Lady in purple

I am re-acclimating to Chicago time.  In the process I will post from the last couple weeks.  I met this woman close to the beginning of my journey.  How many women in purple cassocks have you seen recently... in the airport?  I still have her book.  

I have only seen people

In purple cassocks,

Clerical collars,

In precious spaces.

Usually it signifies

The presence of a bishop.

Yesterday

The Newark airport was graced

With a woman in a purple cassock,

A clerical collar,

Ebony cross.

She told me she was

Mother Clare,

Spiritual and Teaching Master,

Co-founder and Priest

Of the mystical Christian Order

Of Christ Sophia.

She was delighted

I was on my way to Iona.

She was on her way

To Stockholm,

All in purple,

Next gate over.

She gave me her book

And brochure.

I didn*t dare leave it

In Newark.

On Iona: Taking a break from posting

I am on Iona for the next week.  For those I love and cherish, for those I don*t know at all, and for all and everything in between:  Please know I am holding you in prayer.  It is a more than fitting place to pray.  I will return to the blog on September 24.  Continuing blessings.

No coffee in Newark

What an interesting beginning to a pilgrimage.

There is no coffee anywhere here
in the Newark airport.
The water lines are broken.
We sit in the Juan Valdez coffee shop
Without the coffee we came for,
Sit and watch pilots,
Other official people
Ask for coffee.
There are four people behind the counter
Not selling coffee.
They shrug their shoulders,
Laugh a mite apologetically.
We wonder if our pilot will fly
Without his coffee.
There is no coffee anywhere
In Newark.

New Old Things

Today I set off for Iona, with backpack and suitcase and passport.  What new old things will I find today?  It seems everything is both new and old.  One child at a parish I served, reflecting on how we are all part of God*s vine, summed it up with: Even in Antarctica... we*re all connected.  Even in Antarctica, everything is old and new.

Cave paintings were discovered in Lascaux, France, on this date in 1940. Four French teenagers and their dog, Robot, stumbled upon the caves while they were out exploring one day. The main cave is approximately6 feet wide and 16 feet high, and is connected to a number of smaller chambers. Assigning a precise date to the art on the cave walls has been difficult. Scientists used carbon dating to estimate the age of some charcoal found in the caves, and according to that method, the drawings are about 17,000 years old.

There are about 2,000 drawings and engravings, mostly of animals: horses, bison, red deer, stags, cats, and aurochs — large, black cattle-like animals that are now extinct.

Source: The Writer*s Almanac for September 12, 2012  http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/

Is anything new

Under the sun?

Today is the anniversary

Of finding the cave paintings

In France.

Four teenagers and their dog, Robot,

Scouted out the caves

On a hike.

The pictures are thousands of years old.

They only found them in 1940.

They show we have been drawing

Forever.

Is anything new under the sun?

The Russians explore a frozen Antarctic lake.

They drill two miles

For signs of old life

Under the ice.

Even in this world we think we know

There are new things

To find,

New things to conjecture.

New improbable things:

Did the Nazis have

A secret cloning facility

In Antarctica?

Questions I would never think

To ask.

What will be discovered today?

Shorter list

It is always a surprise to me that lists loom larger the longer I put them off.  I remember a client years ago who was avoiding cleaning a white chair in her living room.  She was depressed.  I avoided saying what was going through my mind: Get rid of the white chair!   The chair loomed larger and dirtier the longer she didn*t clean it.  When she finally got it cleaned, she was able to do any number of things.  I often ask people what*s the one thing they*re putting off doing.  Often it*s something small.  We put a lot of energy into avoiding things.  My preparation list is blessedly short right now.  I am grateful.

The list grows shorter.

It had loomed large and larger

As I left it

On the table.

Most everything

Can be done

With the plumber upstairs,

The cat sound asleep

In the shade,

The sun having left

The living room.

Now the laundry is done.

Now the bank and credit card people

Have wished me bon voyage,

Promised no stop payments

While I am gone.

Now the backpack beckons me

To fill it

With airplane essentials.

I have found the exact right book

To journal the adventure.

It was gifted

When I was 25 years

A priest.

There is still a list

But less of one.

The plumber just finished.

The cat has installed himself

Under the new bathroom cabinet.

I consider lunch.

flute

I have never been to Iceland.  Much less bought a flute there.  In three and a half weeks I fly to Scotland for a pilgrimage to Iona.  I wonder what I will carry back home with me.  I somehow know it will be beautiful.  I imagine it will take some time to learn its use.

I dreamed I bought a flute

In Iceland.

I figured I would learn to play

On the flight home.

I opened my eyes

As we prepared to land.

I had slept all the way

Across the Atlantic.

It is a beautiful flute.

I cannot play a note.

Still

It is a beautiful flute.

Still

I cannot play a note.

Thin places

I really did google thin places as if there would be some sort of thin place directory.  There wasn*t.  I only found people arguing about its origins and who owned it.  I was looking for a map.  No map.  I knew my experience in Santa Fe was of a thin place.  But is it for everyone?  Probably not.  I list the responses I got from four separate Navaho about the Corn Dance.  I think about the Eucharist and our attempts to describe it.  Perhaps the only real answer is How was it for you?

While I wait to find out

About Iona,

I wonder if there is a map

Of the thin places

Of the world,

The places where heaven and earth

Meet,

Or at least breathe

into each other.

Perhaps I can go

To one of them.

My research says

There is no common mind around

Who has ownership

Of the term

Thin places.

Certainly no map

Exists.

I smelled heaven*s breath

When I stayed in Santa Fe,

The scent at morning*s arrival,

The thinner air,

Two coyotes passed me by

At dusk.

The indefinable Corn Dance:

No one would name its meaning

Except

I don*t know

Or

I*m not allowed to tell.

And finally

How was that for you?

What did it mean to you?

No one owns the thin place,

The meaning

Of the thin place.

There is no map.

I am told in Iona the air

Is thin.

Perhaps I will see

What it means to me.