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“WANING” (?)

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” January 6, 2024

A pretty quarter moon hovers over me as I write this morning. It is a waning moon, raising the question: What things are waning in my life these days? When I write this blog, I tend to focus on growth and addition, not contraction and diminishment. Perhaps that word, diminishment, is part of the problem. It hints at a lessening, a negative event, when maybe there are many ways that our lives enhanced by becoming somehow less, smaller, more circumscribed.

I am finding that growing older is an experience of waning, at least for me. The most obvious evidence of this is in comparing my appointment calendar of 2022 to the one of 2023. Now the first year of retirement is bound to have fewer engagements than the one before, having little to do with the reality of aging. Also, having major surgery in a year is bound to slow one down. But I did spend whole weeks without seeing anyone at all, except Joel of course. To be honest, that slower pace, having many periods of wide open days, seemed to suit me. It may be that growing older is allowing me to settle into my introverted nature a bit more, withhout an ounce of guilt! I could have been more actively engaged with others, but chose not to.

Accompanying the longer stretches of solitude, came more mindfulness in conversation, and thus the waning of idle chatter, perhaps a more judicious use of words. I have experienced conversation to be more intentional, with a larger purpose than just “talk”. It may be as we age we are less likely to want to stay on the surface with people. Teenage gabfests with friends were very enjoyable as were grad school “debates” about anything, but I really have no interest in repeating them. I feel a deeper urgency to get to the heart of things, to the heart of myself and others, and this seems to require less verbiage and more silences. Does this mean my social self is waning while something else is waxing? I don’t really know.

What else is waning thse days? I wish I could say it is my need to “please” people, but sady that seems to be hanging on. All wrapped up with caring about what others think of me, I’m afraid these will be two of my last ego traits to fall! But the good news is the more I can observe my thought patterns in the silence and solitude, the more I recognize it when these habits take over. I can, if I will it, stop!

One thing that has surprised me as I turn sixty-eight this week is that I have lost none of my drive to grow and perhaps have even increased in my ability to make personal changes. I am learning that the older I become, the less adamant I am to hold on to the old ways I used to think. Growing up I heard a lot about old people supposedly “stuck in their ways.” In my pastoral work I have found this to be more true of the young and the middle-aged than it is of their elders. Now, I am ready to learn new ways of being and thinking, my insistence on former ways is waning. Growing older is much more exciting than I thought!   

 

 

MOON WHISPERS

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” January 2, 2024

We have skylights in our house, two in the dining room and one in the kitchen. Aside from the brightness they add, my favorite thing about them is walking in the darkness before dawn into the the kitchen when my eyes are suddenly flooded with moonlight. I didn’t know how powerful the light of the moon was until it came laser-like through the ceiling the first night I slept in this house. That time it was a full moon taking me totally off-guard. This morning it is a half moon shining in the window of my hermitage room bright enough to help me write in my journal.

Dwelling in presence as I am wont to do, especially in the early morning hours, the world outside tends to whisper to me. Sometimes it is just the whisper of silence. I bow to 16th century priest and mystic John of the Cross who said that “Silence is God’s first language.” It is deep, unfathomable, and full of mystery. It can also be soft, comforting, and full of peace. On days of inner turmoil, silence seems to cover me like a calming blanket.

This morning, the winter birds break that silence with familiar voices. First it was the cardinals, who seem to get up almost as early as I do. Now it is the doves, the finches, and chickadees. Often the crows arrive by about now, but they must be sleeping in. That’s okay with me for their whispers are not nearly as pleasant, often sounding like a big rambunctious family in the middle of a squabble.

Then there is the distinct whisper of the air. No matter how cold it is, I always crack my window open to meet the day. It makes me feel closer to my outdoor kin, even though my right shoulder freezes a little bit. Sometimes the air blows in with a “whoosh” and other times it creeps in silently, caressing me with the lightest of touches. It feels like a quiet blessing, that silent God speaking.

The moonlight has just been overtaken by the sun rising on the opposite side of the house. With it, the squirrels have come to pester the birds on the apple tree feeder. The mourning doves, nine of them in all, are unmoved and continue their breakfast activity beneath. I notice that with the sun, there is a different quantity and quality of sound outside. Two seagulls are flying over calling to one another and the doves just took off as one with their particular noisy flap of feathers. Less whisper now. Ah, and here come the crows!

I had a thought this morning that I don’t fully understand. As I read and reflect more about aging these days, I am feeling a stronger connection with the moon. Something about being struck by the moonlight on the way to morning coffee feels different than being jarred awake by the sun. Aging has a very different kind of radiance than the growing up years. If anyone has any thoughts about this, I’d love to read them. Until then I’ll be writing every morning in my journal by the moon, listening to creation’s whispers. 

      

   

INTENTION

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” December 29, 2023

I woke up thinking about my mother this morning During our daily phone call during her retirement, she would usually tell me what she had done that day. ”I cleared out the drawer underneath my desk,” or “I emptied out the closet in dad’s old office.”  She said it with a satisfied sense of accomplishment, often adding “I have to do at least one thing a day, then I can rest.” I never really understood why she couldn’t rest to begin with, after all she was retired.

I’m starting to get it. One of the challenging things I have found in this stage of life is that after so many years of a packed calendar, I now have a lot of empty spaces. As someone who has always longed for more solitude and silence in her life, you would think that this is a good thing. At first, it was glorious (minus the detour for heart surgery), but after a while, I realized something. Although I was still basking in the silence of the mornings, meditating, reading, and writing, by noon I began to feel restless, and even, dare I say it, bored!

Yes, I know, there are many things I can be doing, good work to volunteer for, justice to advocate for, peace to demonstrate for, democracy to protect. And yes, I know I am not done with all of that, but I do not want to simply redo an earlier phase of life without knowing what this one is for. I could easily once again get caught up in a whirlwind before I ever find my ground. Neither do I want to float through half of my days wondering what I’m still here for. This is not restful, it is disorienting. 

So, back to Ann, my mother. I think mom firgured out a key to a successful transition to retirement. After days filled with service in her occupation as director of volunteers in a large nursing home/assisted living facility, she may have felt unmoored as I do in open time. There is something, however, that can stem that feeling whatever you are, or are not, currently engaged in. Livng with intention. Each day she seemed to set an intention for her day, whether it be to clear out a drawer or a closet, visit a friend, anything that raised her motivation and feeling of accomplishment when done. 

This is different than just “keeping busy.” Setting an intention raises one’s focus and engages the will. Why is this important? My recent experiences of restlessness and boredom feel like having lost not only the energy, but the will, to do or be anything. I may have a number of admirable goals, but somehow have lost the ability to reach toward them. I am living much of my day without a sense of intention, without making a firm decision, to change my circumstances or anyone else’s.

Mom, I understand now why you couldn’t rest until you got something done, until you accomplished your intended goal. It fed your desire to be of use, to be of service, without which you would always be restless and a little bored. You knew you still had it in you to accomplish what you set out to do. And you always did do wonderful things with your life, inspiring your friends and family. 

So now, it is my turn. In this retirement phase, I need to return to living with intention. I can start small – such as handling one of the piles of folders in my hermitage, filing or recycling as need be, not expecting to get everything done at once. I may feel accomplished enough to take on another tomorrow. But only if I start my day with intention. I wish I had my mother to call and talk about it. But it will feel good to exercise the will in small ways, because I feel bigger challenges coming. I want to be able to say “yes” with all my heart. 

  

 

ROBAI-SHIN and the PURPLE SWEATER

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 29, 2023

I wasn’t planning on writing this morning but I am so taken by something I’m reading that my heart is fluttering. This used to happen to me once in a while when I was studying as something would strike me in a way that I knew my sight had been widened and my thinking changed. I could barely sit still, wanting to dance around the library stalls, the dorm room, or the nearby field.

Okay, what is it today? The book is Aging with Wisdom: Reflections, Stories and Teachings by Olivia Ames Hoblitzelle. (Kathleen B., if you are reading this, perhaps this is the book we should read together!) A short two page chapter begins with a quote from Eihei Dogen, the 13th century founder of the Soto School of Buddhism: “You can comprehend all of Buddhism, but you cannot go beyond your abilities and your intelligence unless you have robai-shin, grandmother mind, the mind of great compassion.” Hobitzelle goes on to write that in “East Asian languages, mind and heart are designated by the same word, shin. The grandmother’s heart has been broken open and healed countless times through the hard knocks of life. In through the cracks of disappointment and pain come compasson and loving-kindness.” (p. 27)

For many years I struggled on my spiritual journey when my former images of God just broke down and fell apart. Then about thirty years ago, I began to imagine and relate to God as the “great broken heart of the universe” (now, “cosmos”). The totally open Presence that pours love, forgiveness, and compassion upon all who/that suffer.

This way of thinking rose for me soon after I went through a guided meditation on a retreat. The meditation began by walking through a deep, dark forest, coming upon a cabin, entering, and finding someone there. Anyone. In my heart/mind, I immediately saw an old woman sitting in front of a fireplace knitting. I didn’t want to disturb her. But she looked up and her face was shining, ancient and kind. She took what she had been working on and put it on me – a purple sweater. I somehow knew that it was made just for me. I felt a deep warmth and the meditation ended.

This experience touched me on many levels. As someone who has always had a hard time receiving love, feeling unworthy of it, this generous gift, given with such joy, totally filled my heart. I know I had received a moment of deep healing. The ancient woman herself gave me the first experience of being totally comfortable with a feminine God image. She was love and compassion, tenderness and shelter, safety, and, for me, hope. From her, the broken open God-heart evolved, the heart of an ancient grandmother who was not a stranger to pain, loneliness, or sorrow. A great healer.

In a stunning incidence of serendipity, the week following the retreat I was at an Arts Fair in Madison, Wisconsin. I came across an image that took my breath away. It was a tiny purple sweater mounted on hand-made paper and framed – for what reason I don’t know. Well, maybe I do. It was God’s love delivered straight to me. And yes, I took it home.

I now have to find that work of art in the boxes of my as yet unfinished hermitage room, share it with you, and put it up on my newly painted wall. Why is my heart still beating so fast? I realize I may have finally found a name for my God image – Robai-Shin. And it makes me want to dance!

COME DECEMBER LONGING

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 27, 2023

As the wind howls and the rain pounds upon the already saturated ground, I watch the season evolve outside my window. The very last leaves are being blown off trees and I realize that the next storm may bring a carpet of white to cover them. Not long ago, I wrote about November melancholy. I think this storm is clearing the way for December longing. My heart is gearing up, and I’m beginning to feel its urgency.

Last year this time, I was preparing for the Advent season at The First Church. The most meaningful season as far as I am concerned. The church talks about it as a time of getting ready for the coming of Christ into the world, both at the end of time and as a baby in the manger in Bethlehem. As such, it is a four week period of waiting and hope. But Advent really came alive for me when I began to understand it as a season of longing. A time when we should not only really listen to what we are yearning for deep inside, but when we should talk about these longings with one another.

There is a huge difference between asking someone “What do you want for Christmas?” and “What do you long for at this time?” Our personal wants are too small for this season, while our longings may stretch as wide as the world and as high as the heavens. Lighting the Advent wreath of four candles is a meaningful ritual for naming these longings, often summed up in the words hope, peace, joy and love.

We short circuit this communal spiritual practice however by simply lighting a candle, singing a song, and moving on to the next one. My desire is to find ways to lean into these longings together and flesh them out. We can break open our hearts with one another, risk baring our souls, and then act as the beloved community finding ways to respond to these yearnings for the sake of the world and each other. The result would be incarnation – God breaking into the world through our flesh and blood.

Is it possible to create beloved community on line? Is anyone interested in lighting the candles and sharing your longings? Yes, it would be a challenge. But the world needs our heart’s longing and the will to embrace the earth with all our love.

INFUSING JOY

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 18, 2023

An alarm was sounding in another part of the brightly lit room as I was settling into the leather chair in my cubicle. On my first visit here, the piercing beeps alarmed me as I never saw anyone run to attend to them. “Someone needs help,” I thought. But this was my fourth visit here and I’ve learned that alarms get answered with the same kind of gentle ease with which people are welcomed in at the infusion center. Urgency is not the mood of this place. Competent and compassionate care is. Anyway, I’ve learned that the alarm generally means that medication bags are empty and need to be switched for a patient or another is done and is ready to go home. The alarms are loud for hearing purposes only, not to declare an emergency.

I’m beginning to relax in this place that at first I was anxious about. The first time I arrived I got lost looking for this ground floor department in the local hospital, reached most easily by parking behind the building. Perhaps it is the desire to guard people’s privacy that makes it so hard to find. For this is where individuals with cancer come to receive their chemo treatments and vitamin supplement shots. The room where I sit is one long, large space, divided by curtains to shield patients from one another. People snooze or read or even eat their lunches as they receive treatment. I was pleasantly surprised when I was presented with a hospital menu yesterday and was told I could have anything I wanted! A free meal! I only wanted coffee, but this was just another sign of the hospitality that is given in this place.

On my first visit I admit that dread overtook me when I entered the office labeled “Oncology” and “Hematology”. I expected sadness and fear to fill the reception room. Many here were receiving that dreaded “cancer” diagnosis, and others to be treated wth medicines that often made them very ill. I was grateful that I was only dealing with anemia at this point and needed an iron infusion. My dread immediately lifted in the waiting room. The atmosphere was one of peace, made possible, I think, by the welcome and kindness of the staff. The infusion room where everyone is hooked up to machines or about to be stuck for an intravenous line is filled with light conversation and even laughter. Not only are the care staff, nurses, aides, and receptionists, good at what they do, but they are good at being people. I did not see a single person who was not being gracefully supported by someone.

I felt rather privileged to receive some of that support myself while observing a slice of life I hadn’t experienced before. My nurse yesterday, Steven, is one of the first who could find a good vein with just one stick! He also seemed sincerely interested in what was required for my care. One of the things I will definitely be grateful for this Thanksgiving.

Actually, there are a lot of things I’m grateful for – the heart beating in my chest, those who returned it to health, the time I have now for reflecting, writing, reading, and keeping silence as I move into a new phase of life, this incredibly cozy nest Joel has built for me which surrounds me with his love every time I burrow in here, my relationship with him that only seems to have grown stronger after these difficult months and fills me with hope for the future, the sound of bird wings just now passing by my window which remind me of the blessings of the earth, my beloved friends here in Maine and in Wisconsin, my extended family all over the place!

There was a time when I would berate myself for feeling joy in a world in which such suffering abounds. But now, I think it is our responsibility to feel all the joy and gratitude that we can, using it to infuse the world with the kind of medicine that it needs to heal, beginning right where we are and flowing out in great rivers of love.

RETURNING TO HEART

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 14, 2023

I have about an hour before I’m off to cardiac rehab. Why I ever chose the early morning session is beyond me, except that I’ve always thought of myself as a morning person. And that is true, however good mornings are for writing, reading, praying, not, I have learned, for sweating on the stepper and the elliptical followed by stretching. I know this is good for me, but I now think it would be just as good at 3 p.m. as at 7:15 a.m. I have been very faithful to rehab, but I must admit some frustration. I have not felt the surge of energy everyone told me I would get following surgery and exercise. I am tired much of the time. Fortunately (I think), it has been discovered that I have some kind of chronic anemia. No explanation for it yet. But I am getting iron infusions and that seems to help.

I am doing what I can to stay awake and hopeful. Recently I decided to begin a meditation practice I have engaged in occasionally on and off for many years. I’d been drawn by the Centering Prayer method made accessible some time ago by the late Fr. Thomas Keating. He advised two twenty minute silent sessions a day, aided by a “sacred word” to keep one from fully engaging in the thoughts that incessantly pop up when unbidden. Honestly, I’ve never been very good at it. I find that I have a penchant for arguing with the sacred word, never mind the unending thoughts! If I could only find the right one that doesn’t rile me in some way!

You may ask, why not try something else? After all, there are many fine methods of meditation drawn from Eastern and Western spiritual traditions. The thing is, I would probably bring the same arugumentative me into any single one of them! This time I want to try patience, and to learn something about the person who in the midst of silent prayer finds herself arguing with sacred words! Another form might have me questioning an image or analyzing the breath instead of surrendering to the process. I’ve never been one to accept things as given. So, why go back to this meditation thing at all?

There are a few things I know. Silence reveals. Silence grasps and teaches me all the time. Silence brings me directly into the present moment which is a vast and spacious place. I’ve had the suspicion lately that silence will lead me straight to my heart which is longing for something right now.

So. I am going back to meditation to encounter the silence. As I do, I am rereading Cynthia Bourgeault’s book The Heart of Centering Prayer: Nondual Christianity in Theory and Practice. Perhaps if I wrestle with the words while reading, I will experience more space inside the meditation. I am kind of excited to learn once again (only now it feels more real to me) that when Cynthia is writing about the heart of centering prayer, she is talking about the actual physical organ, the one that has gone through so much in my body this past year. I know I will be reading and meditating with a new depth of perception. A new modicum of stillness.

MOVING FORWARD

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 10, 2023

My partner, Joel, has not had good hearing ever since I’ve known him. It is a great sadness for the one who loves to hear the birds but usually can’t, and loves to sing with a group but isn’t always sure what the piano is doing. But sometimes, I admit, there is some humor in it. He usually does his computer work downstairs in our raised ranch while I putter around upstairs. At least once a day, I will call down “I love you down there!” This morning his response was “Okay!” “Okay?” No ones tells their beloved they love them wanting to hear just “Okay.” But I have to admit, the answer amused me, so I decide to try it on him sometime. When someone tells me that we seem so good together, I tell them that we make each other laugh every day. Laughter is an essential mark of a strong marriage!

Joel always brings a little levity to my November melancholy. Another bit of light yesterday was the tiny flurry of snow we had. Not enough to cover the ground but enough to be a promise of things to come. As a child, I used to pray for snow days. As an adult, I treasure the days of wood burning in the stove, wind singing outside, the snow dancing every which way as something good is cooking on the stove. If the lights go out, candles are lit and the wood stove can keep the pot warm and the coffee hot. If all else fails, we have a good excuse to pile on the blankets and go to bed early. Knowing how fortunate I am to have all of this available to me makes winter an opportunity for deep gratitude.

This morning I am grateful for something else entirely. When I last posted, I was getting ready to deal with the boxes of books piled up in my crowded room. In the last few days, I have found this process to be excruciating. I felt like a failure as too many went back up on my new shelves. The novels are easiest to let go, but only about one percent are novels. Poetry is probably the easiest to gift someone, but only about two percent are poetry. And even then, I have to go through the book to find the poem I know I just can’t dispose of! When I get to history and theology, I always find a chapter I definitely want to read again. The books on liturgy make me wonder if I am truly finished with teaching this favorite subject. And then the titles concerning Spiritual Formation just make we want to keep them close to my heart! Help!

Well, help did come in the form of an idea. I went out and bought some see-through plastic containers to box things up in by subject. Since I had no idea what I was going to put in the large cabinets Joel built alongside my windowseat, I can place those in there. These will allow me to go through the piles faster because I don’t have to agonize over each tome and will allow friends to visit and easily see what is available in case they would like to take any. Yes, I know this does put the final sorting on hold, but it will ready my hermitage with less trauma. Besides I really don’t know what the future holds for me vocationally. I don’t want to regret the total purge of my books.

So, I plan to start the process again today. The first book to go into a container is entitled Aging as a Spiritual Practice: A Contemplative Guide to Growing Older and Wiser by Lewish Richmond. Although to be honest, I think the secret to this subject is not in a book. It is to be present in every passing moment and to embrace what each day teaches. This is a spiritual practice for a lifetime.

NOVEMBER MELANCHOLY

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 5, 2023

It is November. I don’t need to look at the calendar to know this. I can feel this month coming from the inside of me. Maybe it is the loss of the vibrantly colored leaves or the hue of the sky and dwindling light, or perhaps it is a physical remembrance of a divorce that was finalized the Tuesday before Thanksgiving so many years ago, for many years this month has been a time of melancholy for me. Just as sounds and sights are revving up for holiday celebrations, inside I feel a kind of revving down, a desire to be silent and alone. At this point, I expect the sadness to sink in and stay for a while.

I used to run from it. I made lots of plans, keeping myself busy and connected. But I have learned over the years that this is just exhausting. It makes more sense and does more good to honor those feelings. Be with them. Now, to be sure, melancholy is not clinical depression. It does not bring me to a place of hopelessness and despair. It does not need to be treated. Neither should it be ignored. I have found that feelings, especially those with no immediate apparent cause, teach a good deal about life, our own lives in particular.

On Saturday, Joel and I were supposed to go to a Fall Sunrise Association meeting with other clergy and lay participants. But my November heart wasn’t in it. So after Joel left, I made up my nest next to the window. As a few leaves flew by, I felt in sync with the autumn scene outside. I too am in a phase of loss. I thought about going out, lying flat on the ground, and sharing this cyclical grief with the earth. But I confess my fear of late season tics kept me inside.

I wondered how I could facilitate whatever it was I was needing to let go. After an hour or so of silence, I knew what I had to do. I turned to the other side of the room and took in the piles of boxes and files full of papers, sermons, presentations, class preparations, retreat plans along with all the books I’ve collected in years of learning and teaching. It is a bit disturbing to see one’s whole life stuffed into cardboard containers. I knew that it was time to begin the sorting, the difficult and time-consuming process of deciding what goes back up on shelves, what can be given to others, and what needs to be donated somewhere or simply tossed.

This room, one half with its fine new shelves and window seat, represents the stage in my life following retirement. I can feel the other side totally weighing me down. It is certainly a major contributor to my melancholy, reminding me of a past I don’t want to forget, but I don’t want to be held back by. Besides, it is time to finishing painting the room, get rid of that “bagel” for “azurite blue”, decide what stays and what goes up on the walls, if anything. This is meant to be the simple hermitage that I’ve been longing for my whole life.

And so, let the emptying begin. I expect it will provide times of sadness as well as moments of great joy. Just a few posts ago, I was beginning a geographical life review on our trip from Maine to Wisconsin and back. Perhaps this will take me on an extended journey of my intellectual development. It helps to think of it that way because I know there is much more ahead, this time more focused on my heart. When I was about twelve, I remember saying that what I wanted to do was to “think more deeply into God than anyone else had ever done!” How is that for adolescent hubris? Well, all these years later, I’ve learned we don’t really “think” our way into God. All those academic programs taught me that. But we are all already in God. What I want to do in this phase of life is deepen that knowing and pass it on. For that I will need to keep preparing my soul and opening my heart. Perhaps November melancholy will transfigure into December joy.