Episode 05 - Into The World

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worthy of rescue.

 Martha Postlewaite

It was an April Sunday. 8 years ago.  I remember walking with Mark towards the hospital. Everything smelled of growth, the beginning of spring.  When we walked through the doors the entrance smelled like the end, like nothing could grow in here, javex blended with a wiff of roses roses. 

We found the floor, the right ward. Our friend, Ron, was dying. He had worked alongside Mark on our farm for almost 15 years; he was like a grandfather to our kids, he sat in our Prairie Wind Circle for a decade and a half.

For this Sunday, I organized the people of Prairie Wind to gather in his room. 

Ron was an elder to our community. He and his wife, Doris, brought a habit to Prairie Wind that came from their time with the Saulteaux-Ojibwa people from Bloodvein First Nation in northern Manitoba. Ron introduced us to the grandmother/grandfather stone that was to be passed around the circle in the way of the sun; each person would be invited to either hold the stone in their silence or speak their truth.  I remember Ron once telling me, while discussing something about the up and coming Sunday gathering, “it is more important to make a simple room for our truth then make a fancy one for our entertainment.” 

This, our last Sunday with Ron, was a simple room for the truth.  Ron was a wood carver and made many gifts in the form of a bowl or candle holder. I brought one of those bowls to the hospital. we filled up his room into a circle around his bed, and in between singing his favorite songs, each person held that empty bowl, spoke their gratitude and grief, held the bowl in silence before passing it onto the next person. 

To make simple room for our truth….that is my song. To make simple room for our truth through circle...that is how I sing my song into the world. 

I have belonged inside of circle for as long as I can remember:

When I was a little girl, on most Sunday afternoons, in a farmhouse on the outskirts of a small south western Mennonite town called Rosenort, my father’s extended family gathered around the large dark oak dining room table for either a roast beef lunch after church or for faspa, a display of the pantry, for early dinner. On a good day, both.

Before and after the meal, the cackle of cousins would climb trees, play hide’n’seek in the house or barns, sneak away for truth or dare in the basement. 

The given -- when the table was set (and it was always set for everyone, a card table or two would extend into the living room) we sat in that circle, together as the tribe that we were, anticipating exactly what our taste-buds had been taught to anticipate: the crisp sour of grandma’s canned pickles, the chewy whiteness of her home made tweibach, and the salty softness of jelly covered canned sausage. 

Before we were allowed to dip in, Grandpa would have us all quiet. Always perched between an older and younger cousin, I bowed my head to his low german blessing. A short and loving announcement of the importance of what we were doing together and an acknowledgment that any of the goodness we experienced was a gift from God. That home around that oak table was my first and defining circle.    

Looking back...

In my break away from traditional church and my turn to circle, I long to replicate the loyal constant of those sunday feasts as a child, those full embodied play times, my guaranteed place at the table, the ceremony of pause and sincerity that named and gave meaning to our gathering.

I also long to clearly name the rejection and lostness I carried while faltering in the confines and judgment of that very community. In clearly naming that pain, I never want to repeat the destructive hold a tightly controlled circle can do to the spirit.  I always want my room to have large doors that open and windows that face all four directions. 

Echoing Ron, the room we make for each other, over time, inside of the loyalty and surrender, is the simple room that can hold our wild truth: the ugly and the beautiful, the complicated and confused, the shame and the grace, the faltering and the strength, and every little strand between. 

And to be this simple room requires tending and rejuvenation, anticipates renovation and sometimes complete take down. 

Circles, like all of us, like me…need something that Martha Postle waite’s poem doesn’t show or say…an arrow that points us back to its beginning. 

Again and again, we are nudged to look at our temptation with the cynicism and/or the frantic for the grandiose and we courageously go back into the forest of our lives….and begin again and again to be lost so we can be found. 

And here we are together again, Katharine, coming full circle. 

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worthy of rescue.

Episode 04 - Our Song

The song that is your life

“Have I
created
a clearing
in the dense forest
of my life
Have I waited there
patiently,
until the song
that is my life
falls into my own cupped hands”

My reflection

There is a sweet children’s book called the blue songbird.  As this story goes, this blue song bird feels lost because she doesn’t have a song. And since everyone around her seems to have theirs, she leaves home and goes out into the world in search for hers. She travels far and wide, bumping into different birds along the way, always asking them — the crane, the owl, the penguin,— “have you ever heard of a very special thing — a song that only I can sing.”  Each bird sings their song, says no about hers, then sends her on her way to another land another place where she bumps into another bird. Until, she meets the crow. 

The crow says, yes, fly west as far as you can, and there you will find the song you seek. She heads west and then further west, and then hears, in the distance, a beautiful song — maybe it’s her song… “At last! I made it”, she says, But as she circles around the corner, she notices she has come all the way back home. How can this be — I’ve circled the whole world to find my song back home?  In her befuddlement, she tells her family of all the adventures she has had, the places she has seen, of each bird and their tale, and then, suddenly, she and her family notice her voice, her song, “her special thing, a song that only she can sing.”

I feel akin to this song bird. For the first three decades of my life, I was on the road asking many along the way, “have you ever heard of a very special thing — a song that only I can sing.” From volleyball to piano performance to a Masters of Divinity. From two marriages, two divorces, another marriage. From a tiny south western manitoba town called Rosenort, to Winnipeg to Toronto to Europe, to Saskatoon back to a south eastern manitoba farm where I now live. Oh yes, I travelled and hunted well. 

And by my mid 50’s, I felt quite secure in my song… thought I was singing it well…

 I sang my exceedingly Bonnie song as a volleyball coach and a gardener,  as a facilitator with various circles and a spiritual guide for people going through marriage or palliative transition. And my song was only sung well with the particularity of my presence. There was a continuity of spirit between each of these songs which created the resonance of being at home. 

Florida Scott Maxwell’s, in her little book, The Measure of My Days writes of the song und that resonates in my home when she uses the word essence:   

“The purpose of life,” she writes, “may be to clarify our essence, and everything else is the rich, dull, hard, absorbing chaos that allows the central transmutation. It is unstatable, divine and enough.” Page 129 

By my mid 50’s, I felt as if I was living out of my essence, singing my song. I felt at home.

Then I went after that venture that would give me a piece of paper marking my qualifications to do circle. 

 There I was, feeling like that restless song bird again…wondering “is there a better song out there”, or at the very least, “could I amplify, get a bigger stage for the song I was already singing.”  

When “the rejection” came along, this little bird landed deep inside the forest of her confusion. She searched for the clearing that would allow her to see that the title granted, or not, by this institution didn’t change a thing. She noticed that the shameful dehumanizing process of rejection didn’t have the power to change a thing. Nothing could touch her song's source of mystery or capacity or  wonder. In that forest, she found her clearing. She stood still. She listened. She heard moments along her 50 something way when she sang her song with clarity and purpose and beauty. 

She, that is me: I recognized that I was the singer of my song...it was not a song written or amplified or certified by someone else. It is held in my being, in my hands. Echoing Postlewaite’s poem

the song
that is my life
that falls into my own cupped hands

 As I claim this simple but profound truth, 

I am not here to interpret or preach the word; I am not here to correct others’ stories, or speak truth into someone’s soul. I am a tender of space where each person, including me, listens for and then sings their particular song. 

Presence Ignites Presence: 

When you are with the children or the elderly in your life, put away all things electronic, and lay down any agenda. Notice how they live with their senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell, intuition. Notice how they invite you to do the same.

Reflective Invitation:

Bonnie said, “When present, I am a witness to the beauty and wonder of what I am doing. I am energized. When I perform, I try to please someone else and get tired.” 

Include in your journal a list of those places or things or experiences when you are a performer; when you are witness. It can be as small as cutting vegetables for dinner; as large as being the main speaker at a conference. Place these “witnesses” into a job description and wonder how they are your song in the world.

Podiums. Do you lose yourself by dragging around a podium, places where you perform? Or do you lose yourself by crawling into a metaphorical closet, or basement? Or another piece of furniture? What is your metaphor? 

Resources: 

• Blue Song Bird, vern kousky

• Measure of My Days, Florida Scott Maxwell

• drinking from the river of light, Mark Nepo

Episode 03 - Stillness

A number of years ago, on a bitterly cold Manitoba January night, Mark, my husband, our 3 year old daughter and I returned from a trip to Mexico to a ½ kilometer driveway 3 feet high in snow. We quickly decided that I would bundle up our daughter and she and I would walk our way down the driveway while Mark would figure out what to do with the truck, our luggage (he had a papaya deep inside for his mom!). 

Within one stretch of telephone poles, Ajah and I became afraid. The wind, the deep snow, the sheer distance. She started to scream; I started to lose my hold on her. Panic ripped through my stomach and had me turn to go back to Mark.

Then, from a distance, an owl called out. Within an instant, Ajah’s body went calm; since I could now hold her, I turned back to trudging through thick snow. Panic was replaced with the sound of that owl’s song. Longing. Deep deep longing. 

We’d walk the distance of the telephone poles, and the owl’s song travelled to us again. We’d walk another round of steps towards home, and then the owl’s song. Again and again, until we were home.

That walk and the owl has had me reframe my understanding of prayer.  My need, my panic, Ajah’s fear, and turmoil turned to stillness with the call of that owl to the possibility of all the unknowns in front of us.

Prayer, rather than a negotiation to beg for what we want or what we know, is that surrender. A deep need that has us surrender to the spaciousness between what is and what we desire. 

And in that surrender, we notice our longing, and when we notice our longing, we place ourselves inside the haunting possibilities of the song that will lead us to real shelter, real home. 

My granddaughter, Quinn, is 3 and a half months old. During her first days of being out of her mother’s womb, when I held her, I noticed that she spent the majority of time looking between things. Briefly, we would lock eyes, and then she would roam again. 

John O’Donohue, in his book, Eternal Echoes, writes, “…. infants gaze lingeringly into the middle distance….this middle distance is not empty; it is a vital but invisible bridge between things.”

Whatever brings me to a place so still that I am able to be inside the invisible bridge between things, I call that prayer.  Including The song of an owl)

Paradoxically so, massive feelings, what I described last week as regret and blame, and feeling them through to the bottom of things, owning them as my forest, the truth of my loss, also brings me to stillness. And in that stillness I am able to notice the invisible bridge between things. In the words of the poet, and then 

create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands

That, to me, is prayer. 

A practice: 

Find a place that is quiet. Place your hands on your lap, your seat on your seat, your feet on the floor. Close your eyes. Breathe in and breath out (a little sharper on the out breath) for a few minutes.  Any thoughts that flow through, greet them as friends who are passing by and then let them go on the out breath. Try doing this every day at the same time for a week and ask how this practice influences the rest of your day. 

As you reflect, we invite you to consider the following questions: 

Mark Nepo writes - “The gift of deep silence is that it allows us to let go of what we want so we can receive what we have.

1. Reflect on a time when you felt stuck, overwhelmed, or dealing with an issue that felt challenging. How do you discern what is worthy of listening to, or as Bonnie states, how do you "get to the bottom of things"?  How could a practice of deep listening and stillness help in these moments? 

2. What emotions come up as you think about sitting still in silence? If you feel resistant to the suggestion, is there a curious question you can ask? Or wonder about silence as if silence was an old friend and you’d like to know more about this friend. 

3. Katharine told a story about a bear. Bonnie, about a bird. Do you have an animal dream or story that teaches you about stillness, about surrender, about finding true shelter? 

Episode 3 Resources: 

There is a moment in the episode where Bonnie wishes she could remember the woman’s name who talked about the soul as an instrument. We did a little research and and discovered the source of Bonnie’s memory. Ursula Martius Franklin, a scientist, political and social activist, and a quaker.  In response to a question about how she had acquired “an exquisitely developed conscience” Ursula said, “you tune it like an instrument. You know, when people start singing they develop an ear. They develop their voice. They begin to hear dissonances that they didn’t hear before.….It’s like singing. At every point you say, “Am I in tune?”  The full quote, inside of her obituatry, in the globe and mail, is worth reading. https://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/ursula-franklin-canadian-scientist-and-activist-had-a-passion-for-peace/article31123033/ 

Pema Chodron When Things Fall Apart

John O’Donohue Eternal Echoes

Mark Nepo Drinking from the River of Light

Episode 02 - Lost In The Forest

Last week, I spoke about that massive rejection. In the days that followed what I’ll call, “the rejection that shall not be named”, I was far from finding my clearing. I was lost in a forest of shame and anger and hurt.

This week, I pause to wonder — why is it so important to be lost, to feel everything about being lost. What is the connection to being lost in the forest of our lives in order to be found in our clearing?

Thirty years ago, after I graduated with a Masters of Divinity, I said no to ordination and employment opportunities with the United Church, while saying yes to a spiritual journey that gathered in circle. 

The rejection “that shall not be named” had an element of title, lets call it lower case ordination.

When signing up for this venture, I heard that cunning voice within: “come on Bonnie, wouldn’t a hat, even a modest hat, perched on the top of your head, announcing your commitment to circle be sweet.

Whacking away at the bramble, There it was. Humiliated that I allowed this temptation to sneak in again, I swung at the thought: “since this rejection hurt so much, maybe, just maybe, thirty years ago, when I said no to ordination, I made a mistake.” Instead of coming up with any clear answer to that question, I raged on. 

During one of the swipes, I looked behind me: “Good grief, Bonnie, why did you get so attached; why did you give so much time, why did you get vulnerable and why the heck did you have so much faith in those at the helm of this venture? Not to mention the travel, the expense, the child care.  Oh please, lift me out of my own humiliation.”  Regret, with a capital R

Then there was that day when I was driving down a gravel road toward our farm. The emptiness of the prairie sky above had me Pull over to the side of the road, put my head in my hands, and have another good cry and when I looked up, I said ha…this regret, it’s my part of being lost. I sat in my car, on the shoulder of the road, Smack dab in the middle of the silence of my inner forest and I knew, ultimately, I stood in that silence alone.

As I read and reread my notes and resources from the venture I was rejected from, I stumbled upon a massive log; it belonged to the species called “blame”:  “Blame the people who caused this pain and blame the disastrous institutional decision making process that amplified the pain”  

This log — not only did I notice it, but described its every detail.  While doing that, I noticed this blame was also my part of being lost. And like the regret, I found myself smack dab in the middle of the silence of my inner forest. And I knew, that ultimately, I stood in that silence alone. Alone with my regret, alone with my blame. My most important work: why did this loss bring about my deep feelings. What terrifying truth about my journey was inside of this loss. 

The year I met my husband, Mark, his fiance was killed in a car accident. One of the pieces of wisdom he received during his early raw grief, “as hard as it will be, try to make friends with every feeling that comes through.  Sit side by side with the despair, the pain, the unbearable loneliness”

In the middle of the night, during my six months of lost, if in my tossing and turning, I would wake Mark up, the only thing Mark did — he was with me. The only words he would speak, “yeah, it makes sense you would feel lousy.” And then he would put his hand on my back, or hold me. He did nothing to try to fix or analyze or minimize or dismiss. He simply recognized that I was lost in these complex feelings, lost in the forest of my life. He was my witness.

As Martha Postlewaite writes:
Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life

 We can only begin to create a clearing, when we know and understand and feel the dense forest of our life.

We can only make room for being found when we honestly allow ourselves to be completely lost.

What resonates for you as you listen to our conversation? As you reflect, we invite you to consider the following questions:

• What is your practice How would you tell the story of an ‘in the forest’ moment in your life? How do you recognize that you are there? 

• In that inner forest, how do you feel? What messages are you receiving there? 

• How do you experience the process of “whacking or shedding the extraneous stuff’ in your story? What muscles are you strengthening there? How does this serve you?

A Deeper Invitation

Go into the forest. Go off the path. Sit amongst the trees and the bramble. Listen. What does the forest have to teach you?

Episode 1 - Into The Forest

I live the day, sometimes it takes a morning, other times, one text— and I can be lost. I can lose my way in what appears mundane like:  “shoot, I forgot to read the Covid protocol and I brought my daughter undressed to hockey practice” tangled up with that  sabatuer within: “it’s true, you will never be organized enough, thorough enough, good enough to get these Covid protocol right never mind the other stuff you are getting wrong like texting your mother at the appropriate times so she can be happy” to “K, Bonnie, you know better than that, you can’t make another human being happy.”  In the words of poet Martha Postlewaite, “I get lost in the dense forest of my life”. 

That’s me. I do get lost and I’m guessing I’m not alone here. We all get lost. In the midst of life’s pulls and pushes, lists and demands, mixed in with our active inner voices, we get lost from ourselves and in doing so we lose our ability to be with others. I want this podcast to explore how we find ourselves, how do we discover those clearings, that spaciousness within to be our deepest complete selves.

Martha Postlewaite writes of this exploration in her poem Clearings:

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worth of rescue.

I was recently rejected, in one of those out of the blue, unexpected punch in the stomach kinds of ways, one of those rejections you don’t share with many, that you get in the mail, and it can stay tucked inside the envelope, and only you need to know.  But oh my, what a horrible feeling…. the bramble in my inner forest got so thick and uncomfortable, I could no longer see the sky, nevermind the path

While in the thicket of that emotional bramble (that lasted almost 6 months…especially at 3 in the morning), I trudged through the tangled branches, whacking away at the voices, especially the ones that said I wasn’t enough. 

When I look back, though, at what I was whacking at: I was getting rid of the extraneous stuff, the expectations of who I should be in this world that I am not while laying out before me the stepping stones of what I am. Then taking firm steps on those stones with, yes, this is who I am. 

Something fierce came of that work. A clearing. And when I stood in that clearing, I made a commitment to this podcast that came out of a solid claim, a solid step: I write to speak. 

When in the forest, we get an opportunity to claim the events of our life. We get to thwack away to know who we are as much as we get to know who we are not and with that knowing, we get to be fierce.

Something fierce came out of my 6 months of work. In that wide open space, that clearing, I stood alone and exposed to myself.  In that space, I made a commitment: I will find more homes where I write to speak, and in those homes, meaningful conversations will become, and in those conversations that ebb and flow alongside silence,  all of us —  dear Katharine,  our dear listeners, and me….we’ll be invited to tend to the forest of our lives, anticipating, again and again, those clearings where we can discover our voice, our place in the world.  

And so, a Circle of three begins.

As you reflect, we invite you to consider the following questions:

• How would you tell the story of an ‘in the forest’ moment in your life? How do you recognize that you are there? 

• In that inner forest, how do you feel? What messages are you receiving there? 

• How do you experience the process of “whacking or shedding the extraneous stuff’ in your story? What muscles are you strengthening? How does this serve you?
  

A Deeper Invitation

Go into the forest. Go off the path. Sit amongst the trees and the bramble. Listen. What does the forest have to teach you?

Episode 1 Resources

• Eternal Echoes - John O’Donahue
  https://www.brainpickings.org/2016/01/11/eternal-echoes-john-odonohue-belonging/