That little face in the photo is my new great-nephew Nohek at three weeks old. Nohek means Morning Star in his father’s Mayan heritage and he shines one of the brightest lights I’ve ever seen.
We are all born with this light. It’s implicit in what my spiritual teachers have named our divine inheritance of love, joy, peace, light, and enthusiastic abundant life. Nohek is clearly enthusiastic to be here and his joy is infectious. When I had the pleasure to meet him a few weeks ago I sang a song to him and he became incredibly animated. Huge smiles and laughter and arms waving in the air. This went on for several minutes and trust me, it wasn’t because I have a good singing voice.
Thank you for the love that you are, Thank you for the light that you are, Thank you for the blessing you are, You are sacred to me.
As has been true in cultures around the world, it is our job, especially as elders, to see and acknowledge that light when the little ones arrive. And it is our job to nurture that light. In this, Nohek chose the perfect parents. Yet beyond the little ones, we must nurture that light in ourselves and each other.
A while back I created a new byline for this blog, when we encounter the sacred, for sacred encounter is much what I write about. Perhaps in this time of descending darkness when the world is filled with stories of anger and fear it’s more about re-encountering the sacred in ourselves. It’s more about remembering that we hold a light that, intrinsic in our divine inheritance, no one can take away from us.
Within those who are coming to this world and those of us who are already here, this light is more essential than ever. For these lights – yours, mine, and Nohek’s – are the lights of hope.
We’ve never met each other and I doubt we ever will. But we follow each other’s blogs. I appreciate his writing but am particularly attracted to his bright spirit and bow tie.
Over the year I’ve been following Christopher’s blog, I’ve come to understand that he aligns himself with the Christian tradition. His eloquent and prolific writing is steeped in this. His reflections are profoundly thoughtful and thought provoking.
I’m not aligned with the Christian tradition. Not even remotely.
I don’t always resonate with what Christopher writes and I’m sure he doesn’t always resonate with my writings. But there is a resonance that goes beyond words. There is a resonance that flows from the depths of spiritual passion and it is there we find each other. It is there that we speak the same language. Perhaps different dialects. But the same language.
The language of soul.
Bless you, Christopher. And thank you for being in this world…and in my life. You are an inspiration.
I just heard the drum echo through the woods. They will soon be entering the lodge.
My dear friend and sacred sister, Diane, offers most sweat lodges here at MossTerra these days. It’s her passion. She was born to it. When her lodgers gather, it’s often my pleasure and honor to welcome them and provide some history and insights about this magical landscape. Today it was an exceptional honor to meet with the three men gathered.
All three have done lodges here but it’s been a few years. Christopher and his cousin Abe have been here many times. Abe’s son, Asa, was here for a winter lodge when he was eight years old but at the time was much more interested in playing in the snow than the lodge. However today is Asa’s sixteenth birthday and when his dad asked him how he wanted to celebrate, suggesting perhaps a barbecue with his friends, Asa asked for a sweat lodge. His dad and uncle were both surprised and delighted. Rather than a casual party, this will be an extraordinary opportunity for them to share wisdom with Asa. Wisdom they wish their fathers and uncles had shared with them, wisdom they have gathered over the years.
Men of spirit, they hold deep wisdom and have claimed many of the sacred traditions of their indigenous tribal culture. They walk in the world with strength and beauty and clarity. A great light shines in their eyes. It was good to see them again and I wanted to let them know about the link to the ancestor portal in Ireland and the presence of so many ancestor spirits and energies. For those who can see, apparently MossTerra is thick with them. I suspected Christopher and Abe would feel that presence immediately. As we sat together this morning and I was sharing this, Christopher laughed. Well, that explains it, he said. Both he and Abe got little sleep last night as they were kept awake by visits from ancestral energies.
I won’t be here in the Round when they return for a potluck. I never am as I feel it’s important to allow the insights and integration to be held by those who were in the lodge. But I know I will eventually hear stories. I know that today will have been a mystical and powerful rite of passage for Asa.
It’s such a profound honor to offer this container for these extraordinary experiences.
I made my way past the Bigfoot t-shirts and tote bags to a cashier. I remembered there was a legend associated with the magnificent Multnomah waterfalls and had found nothing on any visitor center signage. Surely there would be something at the gift shop. I was directed to the only place the legend appeared. On a coffee mug.
Seriously? There are an estimated two million people who visit the falls each year and the only legend they will likely discover is an elusive and dubious Sasquatch?
With more than a 500 foot drop, these falls on the Columbia River Gorge are a magnificent wonder of the natural world. The very kind of wonder that fosters human relationship and inspires stories and legends that come from those relationships. This legend of a Multnomah princess is no exception. It’s a legend of cosmic relationship, a legend of love and sacrifice. It’s a legend for this time and all time.
There was a terrible sickness that threatened lives of the Multnomah people. An old medicine man revealed that the sickness had been foretold but that it would pass if a maiden descendant of a tribal chief would throw herself from a high cliff above the big river and onto the rocks below. The chief was not willing to sacrifice any of the princesses, so he elected to allow the sickness to run its course.
When the Chief’s daughter saw that the sickness had affected her lover, she went up to the top of the cliff and threw herself to the rocks below. Upon her death, the sickness immediately began to leave the affected people.
Now, when the breeze blows through the water, a silvery stream separates from the upper falls. The misty stream fashions a form of the maiden, a token of the Great Spirit’s acceptance of her sacrifice.
I didn’t see her misty form. But I felt the energies of natural wonder and cosmic connection. I’m sure other visitors were also touched by the natural wonder. But what inspiration might have touched them had they known of the legend?
We are fluent in high-minded idealism, making it real is another story. Fintan O’Toole, The Irish Times
Ireland is poised to welcome 100,000 Ukrainian refugees. Some suggest as many as 200,000. At the lower number this would be the equivalent of adding a city the size of Limerick, at the higher number, this would be the size of Cork City. As O’Toole writes, there is a genuine desire to rise gracefully and with generosity to this historic challenge. And he goes on to challenge his fellow Irish citizens to closely examine the implications of that, especially the long range implications, noting that we’ve set ourselves up as an example for others to follow.
When I read Fintan’s recent column it hit a bit of a nerve. If you’ve followed this blog for any length of time you know that I write much about Irish ideals and idealism. Do they make it real? It seems they are now facing a significant test of that. While I’m only Irish by heritage and passion, I tend to be optimistic. From this side of the pond, it’s always been my experience and perspective that they do a better job than most.
It’s a small example. But I remember back to when we first purchased the cottage in rural Ireland. The place had been sitting cold and empty for several years and the neighbors were reportedly delighted that someone had finally purchased it with plans to restore it and not knock it, as they say. However their excitement was quickly tempered by learning who had purchased the cottage. It would certainly test their hospitable ideals.
OK. So there’s an American lady involved but she doesn’t plan to live there. And there’s a man involved who lives just down the road but he doesn’t plan to live there either. There was no small amount of speculation about our relationship and reports of my having a husband were met with skepticism until they actually met Dennis. There’s a young woman living there with the curious name of Cloud. She doesn’t seem to have any relationship with the man beyond being his jewelry apprentice…still, they did wonder about that. You can imagine what happened when they discovered she had a wife living in Belgium.
It was indeed a test of their hospitable ideals. Our dear neighbor Mick kept stopping by with many unspoken questions and unprompted assurances that the folks around here are very welcoming of all manner of people. It’s a matter of your character, not whether you are one, he would say. Sure, there’s plenty of characters around here, he would say.
As the talk was fresh and flying through the neighborhood, I decided to invite Mary and Theresa to tea. They could meet me, hear my story, and pose any questions they might feel inclined to ask. I did my research and had the proper tea, white sugar (never honey), milk (never cream), and the right cakes and pastries for the occasion. Apparently it went well. The next morning as I was headed to the airport to catch my flight back to the States, I encountered Theresa on the road at the foot of her lane. She was waiting for a lift to a medical appointment in Galway. I stopped and rolled down my window and told her how delighted I was to meet her. She came over to the car. Ah, the phone lines were burning up last night. We told everyone you are grand. Just grand.
It’s a matter of character.
That following winter the snow was deep, the roads were impassable, and the electricity was out. One of our neighbors walked over a mile to the cottage to check on Cloud and invite her back to their home until the conditions cleared. So, yes. I am confident that the Irish people will rise to the occasion. I am confident they will encounter the character of the Ukrainian people and respond with fluent idealism. They will make it real. It’s in their nature. It’s in their heritage. It’s in their character.
