Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts

Friday, March 8, 2019

Called Out



Out of the silent dust
was I called to be

Blown by some sacred breath
into the spring of existence,
particles stirred by
quaking earth and fire,
drowned by storm,
invisibly formed

Some distant song
carried its precious mass
through the void

“Who will go for us?”

Ears to hear, then unexpected response,
“Send me!”

And just as I Am is,
I became further I,
germinated,
embodied,
and released
with eyes to see,
ears to hear,
breath with which
to make voice
into the matchless
universe,
legs with which
to wander the shadowed valley,
arms and hands with which
to grasp, to gain, to give

According to each day
according to every season
according to any moment,
of which all are new
births under different light,
searching, and seeking,
wandering and weeping,
struggling,
learning
being,
serving,
loving,
in vital witness,
as ever be can be,
woven as am I of paradoxical parameters,
warp and weft, contradictory

[right and wrong,
sickness and health,
real and false,
free and oppressed,
generous and miserly,
careful and careless,
studious and ignorant,
shy and outgoing,
loud and silent,
joyful and angry,
studious and perfunctory,
color, full and less,
visible and invisible,
and so on, ad infinitum]

This song,
mine and ours,
knows no end
but partial ends forthcoming

by and by
—one knows not the wherefore nor why,
only that existence presses forward,
revolving and evolving,
perhaps toward,
and even sowing,
knowing

[shall ever I do?
shall ever I know
what I is, am and ever was
or why,
and if then,
what next might be/is,
what might be beyond
or what beyonding might bond?]

And when the Song calls me back
to that valley of bones
that river of dust,

Be, as I’ll be
marked:
Return to Sender,
Am I to I Am,
Thine to Thee.

© 2019 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen
(A meditation for lent on International Women's Day)

Tuesday, September 11, 2018

9/11 and the Sins of Division

Like the books that fall off shelves into my hands when I’m in book stores (and, yes, that really does happen to me), the universe has been sending me urgent messages about the nature of wholeness. Whether it is my feeling of being an integral part of creation while on a walk in the woods, or hearing someone talk at the grocery checkout stand about how great it is to see people come together after a tragedy, or the minister who talks about the admonition to “Love one another,” or the rabbi who indicates that the waters were divided, but this was pronounced “so,” not “good”… or a whole train of other messages, heard and unheard—well, I guess you could say I’ve had the spectrum of “together” and “apart” on my mind.

Everything that is a part of creation is one great, growing expanse. I’m being simplistic, I know; this is a huge generalization. But it is critical for the survival of at least our little terrestrial ball that we embrace this generalization. 

There are so many people out there who talk about “original sin” – usually to blame it on womankind. Adam and Eve… the snake and the apple… but, at the heart of that story is the dichotomy between need and togetherness, separation and alienation. Here’s the thing, if we are going to look to the origins of negativity, or perhaps better understood as its challenges, we must look to “creation” itself. And while I’m couching this meditation within a tiny bit of biblical exegesis, I don’t want to lose people who reject religion. All of us are part of the same story, whatever the story is; it is all a matter of perspective, and we are all peoples of myths, whether we attend temples of some sort, follow post-Enlightenment philosophies or post-modern existential/secular ways of thinking. As I tell my kids, “All words are built on all words; this is the basis of evolution and creativity.”

And so, I present this unorthodox set of notions, on this day of days, which commemorates a terrible event in our modern history.

In the mythological creation story from Genesis, Divine Entirety suddenly felt alone. This conscious awakening could be thought of as the primary point of alienation. Alone and in the dark. “Let there be light.” What does the light do, but make a sense of isolation all the more apparent?  

What to do? Well, what to do is to do, or to make. Identify raw materials from within the sea of integrity, and separate them out from one another; dividing materials into kinds makes them easier to use. (Just think of the world as an assembly project from IKEA or a never ending LEGO construct…) Once the materials are organized, they can be combined and recombined, molded into what you want, what you need. This is the essence of the creation story in Genesis. The world was created, then seen to have some flaws, and so was reinvented. Over time and many interventions, the thing that was created (and perhaps objectified) forgot its true origin, forgot its original language, forgot its purpose, forgot that it belonged to and had individuated from a singular source.

Seen in this light, it could be said that the primary flaw in creation was/is the act of division, and that this flaw is a natural aspect of ongoing creation, and the original commission of Creative Energy. Alienated Being desires intimate togetherness, and so creates more being(s) to accommodate that desire… and yet, the product can only promote more longing that leads to more separations, more creations… more divisions and differentiations, more exposures of an insuperable design flaw.

Divisions and differentiations, “devices and desires”, these are primary motivating energies, I should say. These primary motivating energies drive all of our actions in daily life, as well as our politics. In societies, we grow within community units that during our formative years comprise the whole world to us. Maturing into “adulthood,” our sense of what the whole world is pans outward. We discover that many of our decisions are made for us, and we sometimes find ourselves at the mercy of divided waters and diverted streams not of our own making. There are many distractions and manipulations controlling everything we do.

Truth is, all people are The People. All existing or created divisions between people are false, illusory divisions; at the most basic level, we all have the same needs. I have often stated, “That there are so many of us is for only one reason, so that we can help one another.” Certainly, this is the message of the Golden Rule, in all the different ways we see it expressed throughout world history. 

On September 11, 2001, we experienced what could be called a “Great Sin of Division and Discord” in the event and aftermath of terrorist actions that resulted from a magnitude of hate, death and destruction not seen before on our shores. This day continues to be a day of mourning and remembrance for the loss of so many lives, of so much potential for good, so much purpose. This day also continues to be an open, unhealed wound, perpetuated by systems of injustice that are politically motivated in order to consolidate money and power—actually to rob people of their personal assets and agency in order to feed the greed of powerbrokers.

Healing will not come until we acknowledge civil unity to be of primary importance. In the days following September 11, 2001, there was a sense of unity, even if tinged with anger over losses and against “foreigners,” and even through a profound sadness in the knowledge that it always seems to take a tragedy (flood, hurricane, war, forced migration, and the like) to bring people together— as if we cannot achieve unification by any other means. We huddled together in our grief.

Territorialism, nationalism, tribalism, ghettoization… these are all false constructs, designed to make people think in terms of scarcity and fear, rather than in more holistic terms, such as a recognition of abundance that is able to fulfill need wherever it exists. 

I’m grateful to Rabbi Jay LeVine for his discussion, yesterday, of a famous quote of the Prophet Amos, who states that feast days and hymns of praise and blood offerings are not the sacrifices desired by the Divine Source. Instead, “Let judgment run down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream.” Rabbi LeVine said of social action that we must think of ourselves as drops of water, which join in puddles and pools, and rise with the rain to flow with power and might. Likewise, there is no more powerful agency in the world than people joining to work together, to help one another. 

In short, I suggest that togetherness and inclusion are the balms to heal a broken world. Today, I hope for you and for me, for all of us, that September 11th be remembered as a call for unity to the common goal of being for each other in goodness, truth and equity. 

Let all that who are joined toward such goals never be put asunder.

© 2018 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Sunday, September 2, 2018

earth and air, water and light

—on the trail,
engaged in a counterpoint of breathing
over an ostinato of stepped footfalls,
meeting a rising and falling landscape—

ferns reach out to stroke ankles and shins,
as if to say,
too long, too long have you been away—

even the rising dust from these stamping feet
joins an alleluia chorus of motes,
dancing,
suspended in shafts of light,
trained and focused by the benevolent branches
of these sentinel redwoods
that guide this way;
it is a music of welcome,
quiet but potent—

sorrel and trillium,
their delicate blossoms content just to be;
even violet and columbine
speak a language of color and moment;
wild ginger carpets each moist patch below,
visually cooling the warmth of this day—

and ahead are the rocks,
tumbled there from time immemorial—

and imperceptibly the trail rises,
drawing nearer to a water music,
heard from over the next ridge—

mingled medicinal aromas
of coyote mint and yerba buena
drift from somewhere below,
or from over yet another ridge,
one that seems a world away—

an awareness overtakes,
of height having been achieved,
these feet drawn over pathways
traced earliest by small creatures,
then by migrations of deer,
and followed by others for millennia,
only to be discovered again, today—

then comes a sudden touch;
water reaches out whenever
riparian proximity is achieved
—playfully errant spray
tickles and teases the flesh
with its coolness—

rushing up from the depth and darkness
of its rock-hewn source to meet the light,
water rushes all a-tumble,
falling all over itself in joyous freedom,
to flow and drift into the meditative rest
of pools below blue-hued skies,
spiegel im spiegel,
there to be serenaded by what congress of birds
is berthed in the surrounding canopy—

too long, too long you have been away,chants the feathered choir
in their various languages,
but you are here with us now,
reply earth and air, water and light,
the only truth worth knowing—

but you are here with us now,
alleluia!

© 2018 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Meetings – A Remembrance of Dawn Foster-Dodson


I wrote the poem you will read below for Dawn in 2002 and revised it in 2004; who knows, perhaps it is not truly finished. This poem is actually about Dawn and her relationships with her cello and with one piece of music, Max Bruch’s Op. 47, Kol Nidre. But really, it is about the will and freedom of the spirit to express beauty.

I had the honor and joy to hear Dawn play Bruch’s Kol Nidre each year on Erev Kol Nidre from 1997 to 2015 at Temple Isaiah in Lafayette, most of those years in collaboration with organist Michael Secour.

Over those years, Dawn’s relationship with this piece and with her cello, as well as her ensemble with Michael, deepened and expanded. I was amazed to experience her cello’s voice growing in depth and expression, Dawn’s touch of the bow on the strings becoming so second nature into meditation – the experience of hearing her became more and more translucent, if that at all makes sense. The sadness of the melody really was an uplifted prayer, less sad than a balm of love, poured out for all in the sanctuary, and beyond the beautiful stained glass windows of the synagogue, released into the world.

In the early years, Dawn used sheet music. Over the years, I could see that piece of sheet music was well-loved; it became dog-eared and worn on the edges from use. One year, she came to services without the music. Of course, she didn’t need it anymore. She hadn’t needed it for years and years. The music stand and the music copy had long become superfluous – she always closed her eyes and just played. She had transcended that barrier.

Every year, Dawn and Michael would play that piece for an assembled congregation of at least a thousand or more, over the course of two evening services. And every year, she drew the congregation away from their cares, concerns, fidgeting, drew them into their prayers with her music. You could hear a pin drop, it was so quiet, as if the congregation was holding an uncharacteristic but necessary border of silence around Dawn and her cello, Michael and the organ, to protect the precious fragility of the beauty being recreated for them.

And every year, at the last note, a collective sigh of thanksgiving for that translucent, shimmering beauty sent all those prayers aloft to Adonai. Every year. When her illness kept her from us last year, another kind of sigh was heard. And this year, a different one yet shall be heard.

Dawn, Dear One, with tears, my soul sings the shimmering, translucence of your transcendence, as a prayer of thanksgiving for the beauty of your life among us.

Meetings

Paper worn,
sheets so old
there's no rustle left in them,
more like felt under her fingers,
or softer yet,
like the worn cheek
of a beloved old friend.

Settling the pages,
making them comfortable,
she arranged herself,
just close enough
to see the signs and symbols,
and on them meditate.

Cradling the instrument
within her warm embrace,
she took a long, deep breath,
filling her being with its sweetness.

Fixing her gaze
on those worn pages—
old friends, revisited often;
“the rules of engagement,”
she had once heard;
an apt description,
the thought occurred
—she drew the bow,
forward over the strings.

Then she leaned back,
closed her eyes,
and let the bow find the strings,
the way that they would do,
just now.

Inner ear to mind,
mind to thought,
idea to quill,
quill to manuscript,
symbols dot paper,
shapes greet the eye,
horsehair strokes steel,
steel vibrates wood,
wood sings,
space hums,
body rejoices,
soul soars.

The sum
of all these meetings
is God’s voice,
heard as music.


© 2017 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Another Sun


Another sun rises
over the dark zone,
light warming, informing
by casting shadows
that define moment.

Another sun rises
moving to mark one
more passage of longing
for resolution,
for healing content.

Another sun rises,
teasing leaves, none
of which will be lasting
much longer; indeed,
the season is spent.

Another sun rises,
declaring all be done
that is not inviting
of newness, of life,
of seeking advent.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Today marks a terrible anniversary. We cannot forget all that happened, where we were when it happened, or what we felt. We cannot forget the tragic loss of life, the families torn apart, the fear in our hearts in the hours and days that followed.

I take much satisfaction in knowing that my children have no memories about this horror--they were toddlers. It makes me happy to know that children born after this day have little knowledge or understanding of what this day means to us, the old-timers.

These young people are growing, living with the nearly carefree abandon we all should be feeling, each day, as we rise from our sleep to a new morning. We should celebrate each morning, even this one. 

We should not retain this day as a time to mourn; our mornings should celebrate every new beginning, each new life, those actions that bring about change, all moments of beauty that fly in the face of tragedy and death. 

Morning returns, the sun rises, the shadows define the dimensions of all that appears to us, all that we must negotiate. But we must remember that day lights the way to newness and possibility, to the opportunity presented in each moment. 

My prayer for you and for me, and for us all, is that we rise, like the sun each morning, in search of making the day better, safer, kinder and more generous for every life.

Amen.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Meditations in Fast Times: 1. Coming down from the highs

                        1.


Coming down from the highs,
coming down from the heights,
separating from the rights and rites
to settle,
first formless,
then in form,
informed
by stillness at its fulcrum,
stillness as close to rest,
as can be achieved in a lifetime
—neither a resignation,
nor abdication,
but an embrace of liminal space,
in which to consider
the moment;
clay, after all,
            can only grow so tall
before gravity,
or a confusion of tongues,
causes it to fall;
But now, at least,
is an acceptable time
to consider the limits of dust,
the rewards of oblative ablution
and what treasures lie
beyond substance,
within, perhaps,
the gift of apprehension
or the embrace of possibility
as—sic transit mundi—
we flutter in moth-like suspension
before the light,
betwixt and between.

 © 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Stop and See—Contemplate


Let me celebrate Life at all times;
may a song to beauty always be on my lips—
May all my days glorify the sweetness of Being!

Friends, join me in singing;
let our music weave a celebration of Life!

We, who search and strive for truth,
are sometimes so woefully unaware:
truth constantly surrounds us
and is continually being revealed.

Let all who seek find,
and all who realize glow with dignity;
May all who suffer find relief
through transformative possibility;
Let none of us be confounded.

This lowly person asked for truth,
and was given an answer:
The Spirit of Life surrounds all those
who fully engage with the world.

Stop and see—contemplate
by resting in the goodness of Life.

Blessed are all
who love,
who do right by others,
who speak truth and beauty,
who make and nurture peace.

All who find the goodness of Life
and share it abundantly
cannot fail to be blessed.

Together,
Let's celebrate Life, at all times;
may a song to beauty always be on our lips—
May all our days glorify the sweetness of Being!

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

***

Stopping (concentration) and Seeing (insight) are integral halves within Buddhist meditation practice. “The Great Stopping and Seeing” is a collection of lectures set out to explicate the various methods of meditation practice, as realized by the 6th century Chinese master Chih-i.

While filtering Stopping and Seeing through my own experience and practice, the thought drifted into my head that Stopping and Seeing sounded somewhat like “o taste and see” from Psalm 34, and so this offering is a sort of re-envsioning of Psalm 34.

The interesting thing about Psalm 34 is that its heading indicates a relationship to the story of David’s adventures in Nob, as told in I Samuel 21. David, in this situation, acted as though he was insane, in order to escape from danger. Is the Psalm a crazy outburst, or does it reveal method in madness? Likewise have those awakened to enlightenment been thought, at times, to be crazy.

At any rate, we could all do worse than throw ourselves headlong into celebration, at every opportunity! 

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Ubi Caritas Et Amor



What could be more Divine
than Loving Community,
where we are gathered
to be for one another?

Let us be joined,
braided in love,
filled with, and renewed by
joy,
kindness,
patience,
purpose,
calm
and thanksgiving.

If indeed it is Holy
that we are gathered as one,
let us not be given to quarrel;
may no unkind thought enter
to divide us from the dignity
to which each of us is equally due,
in the name all that is Holy.

Within the due completion
of every compassionate act
of love and understanding
is the reminder
of The Artist’s exultation:
It is all Good!

Since we are together,
may we ever be joined
and braided in that union,
renewed and fulfilled,
thankful,
calm,
purposeful,
patient,
joyful,
and kind.

To be for one another
is the reason that we were made,
that we might, that we must
gather in Loving Community,
now and eternally;
Therefore, let us always be found here,
in celebration, in service, in joy!

© 2013 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Monday, September 19, 2011

Volition


within the stream of consciousness,
contemplation flows
—about and through,
even melding together—
so that all local molecules
shimmer with union and integrity;
a music of central calm and silence,
of gratitude for being.

all at once,
the call comes down:
the Gentle Whisperer is thirsty,
but the river is dry.

what to do?
            barren clouds and angels
                        whispered amongst themselves:
who will go for us?

which query unraveled the silent music,
faltering the molecular dance,
tearing at the seams of togetherness,
halting flow and thoroughgoing of contemplation.

the crisis registered to one-mind as a challenge.

having returned to now from Now,
i can say i am in this place,
and i will gladly go for us
—quick pour me in!

and so the challenge was answered:
mindful contemplation restored
the river of life
by pouring in the stream of consciousness,
the new water of thanksgiving.

in the way of weather,
the river was drawn to the clouds,
which grew heavy with joyful tears,
and celebrated with a watery dance.

the Gentle Whisperer tasted the libation
and pronounced it good.

the drought was over.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Monday, June 6, 2011

Offices


A bell rings,

the music begins,

and so too the mystery.
Sound on sound

builds the song,

and you are there,

filling me with love.
Harmonies,

oh my Love, 

they trace a path through me,

then draw me away,

far away from concerns

and toward the present Moment,

spiraling higher, farther,

until I can just apprehend

the soft shores of that homeland
to which I will return
when this work is done.
In the present Moment,

I think not on our home, 

but on how good it is

to be filled with your light,

with your love.
So filled,

I cannot but pour myself out,

an evermore song to honor Thee.
© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Meditation


In the dream that opens
from inward out
the heat of the day
cools all possibility of thought
like a sudden rain in the garden
falls upon the printed page
rendering the imprinted characters
a sodden and murky pulp mural
that tells me nothing now
if ever it did

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Monday, April 11, 2011

Wishing Well


Shafts of light reach into the placid depths of the pool.

So, too, my gaze and my breath reach,
inward, downward through the mossy depths,
finding source and swing,
peace and wing.

The sharp relief of day's cast is softened,
and stillness imbues thought's idle current,
discoloring emotion to the point of peace
and back in reflection.

May the stroke of my gaze
and may the breath of my soul
be tokens that,
floating ever deeper into the still quiet depths,
find both their question and their answer,
find their expression from inward ever outward,
and their expansion onward, upward—beyond.

Well wishing to and from a wishing well,
for this moment and for all the episodes that follow.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Through A Looking-Glass

Reflection,
beyond reflected image,
to a world apart?
Not at all,
            no, not at all.

If one could truly reach out
from the mirrored soul chamber,
among and through the atoms
of material dimension,
the truth would be known,
            more softly,
                        more constantly,
                                    in the shadows of our soul-gleaming.

For that is all we are,
            all there is,
                        and ever would be,
were it not for wondering,
            were it not for wandering,
                        were it not for seeking
                                    something else.

Creation, ever evolving
            beyond itself and possibility,
is but the reflection of our soul-gleaming,
            beyond reflected image,
                        to a world apart
—though not a world apart, at all.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Friday, November 12, 2010

Camera stellata: A Place of Creativity

The Star Chamber. This was a special judicial council in England, from the late middle ages to the end of Henry VIII’s reign. The term has become a pejorative to describe secret meetings, where illegal or unfair decisions are made, against which there is no recourse. This information is neither here nor there, as far as this post is concerned.

Apparently, in some text dating from the 16th century, the Star Chamber was described as a room with a vaulted ceiling of azure, with golden stars. There are many such, throughout Europe, and even a few here in the United States, in cathedrals and churches. Have you ever been in one?

Starry, starry night.  The depiction of earth as an eye, open to the cosmos.

The star chamber is my metaphorical place of creativity.

I can enter this chamber at any time of day; frequently, this happens between 2 and 4 a.m., but also during daylight hours. I can enter this chamber at home, at sea, across borders and boundaries, and in any weather.

What is in this metaphorical chamber? How exactly do I get there? What is in the chamber? And what happens next?

I’m afraid I don’t have precise answers to these questions, but I will venture toward something necessarily imprecise.

There is an invitation made to me. From whence, I know not. This comes in the form of a twinge at the forehead, a series of words that drift into my mind and don’t drift away. There could be a tug at my sleeve, an itch on the sole of one foot or a breeze blowing across my forehead. Whatever the invitation, it will not allow me to avoid giving it due attention.  Come on, it says—in no uncertain terms.

Then, something like this happens. My conscious mind and my unconscious mind join hands. My right-brain and left-brain join hands. My heart and mind join hands. And then, in words somewhat like Dogen’s description of meditation, body and mind drop off, leaving the rest of me free to enter.

And there I am. What is in the chamber? I could not describe exactly what is in there for you or tell you what it is like, but I can say that Divine Genesis resides there, and the chamber is full, indeed.

What happens next? Mmmm. Difficult to say, for the circumstances are different each time. There is a meeting, and a spark sets the proceedings alight. Is it a conversation? Perhaps. Yes, it could well be a conversation. It could also be an exploration. A flow and mix of ideas.

And then I return to mind and body.

But the very elements that made the invitation arrive back with me, transformed into something else.

Is the result by my hand? Hmmm, I would have to say partly.  Yes—as filtered through my being—yes, it is by my hand. But, there is something more there than me. An alchemy, a music, a melding, a grace bestowed by Divine Genesis.

While I am not sure what to call this something more, it is a definite meeting.

All art, I am convinced, is derived from such meeting.