Kingdom Come

I've been working on a new series illustrating the Lord's Prayer. As I worked on these images, meditating & thinking about my daily interactions & some big picture decisions, I felt God asking me two things (as Jesus asked His disciples up on the mountain):

• Sit with HIM & wait, just a little longer. 

• Stay awake. Be present. 

So simple, but oh so difficult. Stay awake & present in my feelings & emotions, feel both hurt & the fullness of love, accept each moment for what it is & do not disassociate to cope or numb out.  This is no small task, most of us do not stay awake or show up fully to each moment. Most of us walk in our lives very much asleep to ourselves & because we can not go there within ourselves, we are also asleep to those around us. This posture I have been cultivating has infiltrated the milliseconds of my life & at the same time flipped big picture decisions and made them & my life more full & whole. I feel like I have barely woken up, this is just a taste of what the fullness of Kingdom here & now means! 

This is Kingdom stuff & it is powerful. 

“Jesus Said, the kingdom of God is here and now, which means it’s not somewhere else and later.” -JIm Palmer 

Meditating on the Lord's Prayer, in it's simple call for Kingdom come, is a way to sit at the feet of Jesus & stay awake.

Jesus went up on a mountain and He sat down. His disciples gathered around Him.

And asked “Teacher, would you teach us your way of prayer?”

Jesus said, Here is how you pray: 

Our Father in heaven,

let Your name remain holy.

May your Kingdom come. 

[May your will be accomplished on earth as it is in heaven.]

Give us each day that day’s bread—

no more, no less

And forgive us our debts 

as we forgive those who owe us something.

Lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

Let Your kingdom be,

and let it be powerful and glorious forever. 

Amen.

*These illustrations are being used with the toddler curriculum at Ecclesia throughout Lent & the translation used is The Voice. 

Station 10. Jesus Is Stripped

I worked on a 'Station of the Cross' this year which is a traditional set of stations used to walk thru the steps that Jesus took as He was being led to His death.  Ecclesia asks different artists in and around the community to make an art piece for each station.  It is being displayed on the gallery walls at Ecclesia for the entirety of Lent.  The station I did this year is an interactive art installation.

The station dialogue, which I was given:
Jesus Is Stripped 

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you. Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world. 

The governor's soldiers took Jesus into the great hall, gathered a great crowd, and stripped Jesus of His clothes, draped him in a bold scarlet cloak, the kind that soldiers sometimes wore. They gathered some thorny vines, wove them into a crown, and perched that crown upon his head. They stuck a reed in His right hand and then they knelt before Him, this inside-out, upside-down King. They mocked Him with catcalls.  

I wanted to focus on the internal work that Jesus being being stripped represents to us spiritually, so I used a piece of writing from a time where I felt I was unraveling and loosing everything I had once felt was my identity.

The Sound of it all Unraveling

There are some things that you should let unravel.Some things that, try as you might, are too frayed to be put back together.You can patch and sew and work... but it will still only be rags.
I think this is the case.
So I am putting up my darning needles and putting away the scraps of fabric used for patching.I am letting it all fall down around me. Look away if you don't like what you see. Don't be afraid, don't feel bad for me, don't feel the need to throw a blanket around my shoulders. 
Sorry if this isn't what you wanted to see from me.But my Father loves me and thinks that I am more beautiful than the pile of rags I was crafting to hide myself.This is between Him.... and me.

Imagery came forward, drawing itself out of the painful story of the loss of literally everything.

Pain - whether it's strategic or simply unjust Needles Unraveled & tattered cloth Patching & mending - the ways we try to craft and protect Seeds - tiny hope, something found in the lossIdentity 

I knew that I wanted to use a piece of writing that I felt related personally to the station & so I went there, hopefully I won't end up with too bad of a vulnerability hangover. It feels interesting & even uncomfortable to put yourself up on display in this way.  But it feels wonderful to have people interact and relate to it too. Pain is a powerful connection point, and this painful story is a deep archetype for us to all tap into.
Which is why I made the piece interactive.

I gave the viewer squares of gauze fabric & different sized needles with the following instructions:

• Think about the things you do, the things you own, the things that make your life ‘yours’.

• Think about the things that make you safe, the things that make you accepted & the things that make you comfortable. 

• Hold those things as you let the fabric you hold fray.
  
• You might let this cloth fall to the ground. 

You might rip it apart. You might stomp it. 

• What about those things are false? 

What about those things are crafted to hide?

•  Take a piece of cloth in your hands. Feel the threads between your fingers. 
• What about those things are you being asked to leave to let them be stripped away? 

• When you have something in mind, grab a pin & attach the cloth to the 3rd circle.  

• Pray. 

Let Him hold you in the loss. Let Him fill that space with His Love, Acceptance & Safety. 

I'll post after photos, but I have been really pleased to see the station used a lot over Ash Wednesday services. 

bringing home heart's work

running these shifty words 

in my head

over, over

'safety' 

'acceptance' 

'comfort'

I ease out feelings  

using lungs, rising

to soothe

belly constricted

You use the same card 

I threw 

the card I am trying to forcefully out 

as I breathe

I let the feelings that scare me 

engage 

St Augustine mumbles something to me 

and I write a simple prayer 

taking in my own fraternal dark

giving way for care of that place

drawn moves presenting

open, close

you infer yourself

show me my fellow

I call you 'sex kitten' 

aquainting a region of heart's work 

with itself 

oh this good girl bullshit 

all the things I could say with a look

and still pretend 

'who me?'

the close-fitting persona  

crafted to look thoughtless 

all while each detail is contained  

in it's show

slightly disheveled 

a blueprint saying I'm 'Okay' 

with cursive letters 

written in leaking ink 

saying

'I'm not, 

please see'

attend to that heart region 

let it dilate 

breaking character

dissecting peace

'peace I give you 

peace be with you'

I bring it home

granting clemency

drop the (finite) story

Text taken from 'Outlaw Magic 101' By Carolyn Elliott

Thoughts on light & dark, Psalms 149 & how we really can not get it wrong

CAN I GO ANYWHERE APART FROM YOUR SPIRIT? 

Is there anywhere I can go 

to escape 

your watchful presence

IF I go up to heaven

YOU ARE THERE

If I make my bed

in the realm of the dead

You ARE THERE

If I ride on the wings of the morning 

YOU ARE THERE

If I make my home in isolated parts of the ocean

Even then you will be there to guide me

Your right hand will embrace me

YOU ARE ALWAYS RIGHT THERE

Even if I am afraid 

You can see in the dark, for it is not dark to

Your eyes. For You the night is just as bright as

the day. 

Darkness and light are the same to

Your eyes

____________________________________________________

 

As I worked on these illustrations over the last week or so I found them covering my heart. Working on the concept of light and darkness, the illustrations took on meaning for my internal work. And as I went through a week of soulful, heavy internal work (which over the past several years feels like a nonstop process of excavation) I was comforted.
We really can not get it wrong, can we?


If we get it 'wrong' by hiding. He sees.
If we get it 'wrong' in our attempts to get it 'right'. He finds us there too.
If we hide in the deepest darkest places of our hearts. He is there.
If we hide in the 'heaven' of 'being good'. He uncovers us.
He holds us in our shame and tells us we are free.


Shame has no power. He nullifies & makes trivial our shame filled voices.
Because either way... if we acted out or we never acted... it is ultimately meeting love square in the center of ourselves where we find true, deep abiding love. A love that seeks us, uncomfortably.  

My heart has had such deep hidden places that I kept 'light safe and sealed shut' from everyone, including God.
I have been so 'good' that I was lost in being something that God never asked me to be.
I have followed the 'rules' only to realize that was an attempt to hide too.
I tucked away whole parts of my identity and told them to be quiet & not to come out.


He found me every time.
And this process, is life.
We can not get it wrong.

Wake up

wake up, child

look up from your screen life

set your eyes, peripheral  

towards the heaven right here  

until you have fully awakened 

use other senses

rubbing eyes, bleary

grow accustomed 

to new site

do not worry 

splash water on your cheeks, child

colorless, odorless 

vapor serves kingdom, inexaustible

each molecule holds you 

coefficient 

if only you'll see

at first all you'll feel is 

paralysis' painful spasm 

this is just the slap of living life, child

observe

heed mind's trickery

but don't let it lull you 

don't be tempted to numb cognizant pain

revisit it all, child

connect each moment

trust this cohesion

it all is gathered here 

for you

use this moment as teacher 

when the outside evades you 

go deeper inside 

then, from depth, sing out  'awake my soul'

croon with your full power, child 

it's about time your voice is trusted 

now sing! 

What can you do?

When you create a life

That you can not possibly fit into.
What can you do?

Other than change,
Everything.

More Than Myself by Anne Sexton

Not that it was beautiful,

but that, in the end, there was
a certain sense of order there;
something worth learning
in that narrow diary of my mind,
in the commonplaces of the asylum
where the cracked mirror
or my own selfish death
outstared me . . .
I tapped my own head;
it was glass, an inverted bowl.
It's small thing
to rage inside your own bowl.
At first it was private.
Then it was more than myself.

Book of Hours by Rainer Maria Rilke

She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
of her life, and weaves them gratefully
into a single cloth --
it's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
and clears it for a different celebration

where the one guest is you.
In the softness of evening
it's you she receives.

You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking center of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,

to hold you.

In Out-Of-The-Way Places Of The Heart by John O'Donohue

In out-of-the-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,

Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the gray promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plenitude opening before you.

 
Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire. 

Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

I Want To Be Alive With You [By Toko-Pa Turner]

I want to be guided by older-ups. I want babies to be born where old people die. I want to be sandwiched in the middle of a messy togetherness.

I want to be warned before I do something stupid. I want to be forgiven when I do it anyway. I want wisdom to be tapped out on my eardrums and not Googled. I want transitions to be recognized by fire.

I want gifts to be educed from children. And teenagers and adults and I want to mean something to my community. I want to get drunk on substance morning and night.

I want to hear your dreams. I want to raise a revolution for gentleness. I want to call out the bullshit on consensus reality. I want to get rich so I can billboard the highways with validations.

I don’t want to be another faker. I don’t want to show you my good side and hide my humanity. I don’t want to dole you out my Self in digestible status-chunks. I want to challenge you in long, drawn-out rituals and still find you interested.

I want to feed you seventeen course meals made with spices I crushed. I want to recite you circular poems, each beginning cutting a deeper grasp. I want to make you feel something, even if it’s awkward. I want to sing you songs which are ancient and new.

I want to carve stories in trees with tools my elders fashioned. I want to keep sharpening them. I want to find places we’ve never been. And then, I want to return there, but backwards.

I want to shuffle up words so we don’t sleep through them. I want to learn things and then be splashed into never forgetting. I want to make you feel seen. I want to hold your pounding heart in my gentlest of hands. I want to make your thing feel like my thing.

I don’t want to miss a moment. I want to dig at the bottom and find it false. I want to turn up unknown depths. I want to stand in this hurricane and sing the sweetest, most naked song you can bear.

I want to be alive with you.

Via Rebelle Society

“No person, trying to take responsibility for her or his identity, should have to be so alone. There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep, and still be counted as warriors.” 
― Adrienne Rich

waiting freedom

at day's end

what was abandoned

in struggle 

was tucked in stacks of business cards

clutched tightly

I can't remember how

it wasn't lost

a tangled 

badge 

symbolizing: 

love / freedom

flight / light 

this bird: 

purchased with his cash

and worn  

in regalia 

to encourage the rising

broken

as dark minutes terrorized

wolf archetype

attributing details 

to play slow

in foggy denotation

a necklace

worn backwards 

to not show it's color 

like my hope / green

like my strength / yellow

like my pride / black

always dialing back the brilliance

  

motif is surely easily fixed

repair shouldn't be costly

but oh how it costs

So I keep it here

waiting to be ready

for conclusion

will this bird 

set to flight? 

or cast off?

either way 

freedom is waiting

21 Masks (one for each year)

I lived my life like this. 21 years. I guess more.

Story Telling

“Whatever I do, however I find a way to live, I will tell these stories. I have spoken to every person I have encountered these last difficult days...I speak to these people, and I speak to you because I cannot help it. It gives me strength, almost unbelievable strength, to know that you are there. I covet your eyes, your ears, the collapsible space between us. How blessed are we to have each other? I am alive and you are alive and so we must fill the air with our words. I will fill today, tomorrow, every day until I am taken back to God. I will tell stories to people who will listen and to people who don't want to listen, to people who seek me out and to those who run. All the while I will know that you are there. How can I pretend that you do not exist? It would be almost as impossible as you pretending that I do not exist.” 
-David Eggers [What Is The What]

From Letters To A Young Poet by Adrienne Rich

Look: with all my fear I'm here with you, trying what it
means, to stand fast; what it means to move

Where the Wild Things Are (film)

Douglas: Will you keep out all the sadness?

Max: I have a sadness shield that keeps out all the sadness, and it's big enough for all of us.

I'm Not Afraid To Be Free

Heartbeat

heartbeat 

one, two

resting

it's important I count them 

and if I can time it  

then I feel yours too

listen to a

heartbeat 

three, four

whatever became of you? 

did it empty that moment

arrhythmic  

lapse with the second hand

revolution in one breathe 

loss skipping next

I take in each heartbeat

claim internal swell 

shame leeching 

at the point of dilation

writing itself into the rhythm

hitting at it 

hers was an acting out 

mine a never acting

soon every second is seizure

either way you play

heartbeat 

five, six 

all the way to 100

this time will be different 

checking pulse 

steady 

Is artery tunnel? 

as I take in each pump

deeper exploration 

and did you know you share a heartbeat 

with those you tunnel dwell with? 

sleep next to in soft heat 

we share one heartbeat 

we rise and we fall

I started writing about you that night

I started writing about you that night

and the next day you said you wouldn't make it

one word

then talebearing 'til 2

like skipping stones 

even if painted with bright lacquered lines 

they sink

I said I would hold it loosely

find value

so I wrapped esteem around tight

crocheting transparent lines

leaving space open 

residing in ambiguity with you 

it opened up

nearing worship 

huddled

like peeking in

being spoon fed 

one succinct moment at a time

careful,

I am probably too careful 

and if it hurts 

it is the kind of ache that also pulls

as your value and the corresponding risk increase 

it washes out in glowy middle

pinching as words turn to her

I would talk about it

if it paid it proper respect

and why is it so easy to talk to you? 

and you are careful too