Roots, Vines, and Religious Liberty

As I settle into our new home in the southwestern Missouri Ozarks, I’m embraced by trees and vines and roots, by bloodlines and history, by two hundred years of cellular community. Do the trees protect or isolate? Do the vines support or choke? Do the roots nourish or taint? How does any of this help me become stronger and more compassionate? 

I turn to the wisdom of nature and the beauty of landscape for messages of growth and healing. I step into new communities and listen with my heart. I invite the past to share its journey through story. 

I’m reading like mad, as usual, and one of my absolute favorite books has been Founding Faith: How Our Founding Fathers Forged a Radical New Approach to Religious Liberty by Steven Waldman.* Founding Faith is a gorgeous distillation of America’s process toward religious freedom, and a good reminder for all of us right now not to persecute a religion because of extremists within it. Founding Faith is one of those books that, if I were one to highlight pivotal phrases or “ah-ha!” moments, would be a text of almost exclusive yellow markings. This means I find it nearly impossible to narrow my focus and provide only a few quotes, so the blurb from the back of the book will have to suffice in wetting your appetite: 

“The culture wars have distorted the dramatic story of how Americans came to worship freely. Many activists on the right maintain that the United States was founded as a “Christian nation.” Many on the left contend that the First Amendment was designed to boldly separate church and state. Neither of these claims is true, argues Beliefnet.com editor in chief Steven Waldman. With refreshing objectivity, Waldman narrates the real story of how our nation’s Founders forged a new approach to religious liberty. 

Founding Faith vividly describes the religious development of five Founders. Benjamin Franklin melded the Puritan theology of his youth and the Enlightenment philosophy of his adulthood. John Adams’s pungent views on religion stoked his revolutionary fervor and shaped his political strategy. George Washington came to view religious tolerance as a military necessity. Thomas Jefferson pursued a dramatic quest to “rescue” Jesus, in part by editing the Bible. Finally, it was James Madison who crafted an integrated vision of how to prevent tyranny while encouraging religious vibrancy.”

 This book is one that I wish everyone would read; with excellent information (massive amounts of footnotes and extensive bibliography to follow up on any details) and beautiful flow to the writing and layout (resulting in a fast read), it also provides common ground for people to meet each other in conversation. 

An acquaintance on Facebook recently told me, after a brief chat clearly showed our political differences of opinion, that we needed to stop before the dialogue could damage our friendship. A few years ago, I would have agreed wholeheartedly with that comment. But now, I find myself wondering if that’s where our political system has gone haywire? Is that part of what has led to such tremendous polarization? If friends and family cannot participate in civil conversation, and respect each other across and through our differences, how can we expect politicians to do so?

The seasons change, the wheel of life turns, and new visions emerge within and without … below are two photos from nearly the same angle and location on our deck, yet the view is so different. Time and awareness can change everything.

August 2015

January 2016

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*I bought Founding Faith after listening to “Liberating the Founders,” an interview with Waldman by On Being with Krista Tippett. If you don’t have time to listen to the hour-long podcast, even just skimming the transcript is a delight. 

A Seasonal Delight

Monsoon 2013

In the Sonoran Desert, let me tell you that I have a whole new appreciation for rain! Especially after the skin-chapping three months we just had of a hot, dry spring! So, I'm sharing my itty-bitty video of Sunday's rain. I always go out and stand in the rain for a few minutes; it seems disrespectful not to!



And look at this beautiful microburst video from July 1.



However, it's not just the extreme dryness of spring and then the rainfall in summer that's thrown me because the monsoon season in Tucson can also result in flash floods. Some of these in the past have been very destructive, washing away homes as well as cars.

Sure, I know. Most of you reading this are like I was before and rain storms are the norm for you and where you live. They're beautiful and fascinating and much appreciated for making the gardens grow. But trust me. This is my third Arizona monsoon and the rainfall becomes more of an event for me each year.

The first one, I'd just moved to Arizona so I found it interesting, but, hey, I came direct from Maine where it rains a LOT. And, besides, I was living up near Phoenix that year (2011) so was more amazed by the massive dust storms that came through. Here's a video clip one of those:



The second monsoon last year was wonderful, too, but I had enjoyed the dry spring because it was so unusual. Of course, I'm a wuss so I don't get out and drive when the rains are on! I have to rely on videos by those who are less...uh...cautious. And I worry about Ron until he gets home from work.



THIS YEAR? Oh yeah. After the overwhelming cumulative heat wave? Major gratitude for monsoon rains. It is no wonder that people around here have parties celebrating monsoon season. It's true. So, while I celebrate the rain with play and dance, I also respect its suddenness and ferocity. Then there's the lightning storms...

Who would have thought this about the desert? Reading about it ahead of time is one thing. Experiencing it is something else. Everywhere is different! Mother Nature shrugs and cries and turns into a whirling dervish, She wraps us in white blankets and shakes us free again. After all, snowstorms and ice storms in the north were common, and how many times were we without power for hours, even days?!

Anyway, to wrap this up, if you're the type who likes to get a little more education about different parts of our amazingly diverse country, check out this five-part series on the monsoon season in Arizona.

Beltane Blessings!

drink from the cup we swim within

Unable to stay away from the pitter patter of rain upon stone and tree and seat cushions who soak up the liquid jewels falling from the sky that earlier looked so menacing and now is opaque and comforting. 

Pouring into my heart more compassion long awaited, the knowing that is so familiar it makes my heart ache within an expanding chest, ribs flexing and softening as the rain fills my marrow with red delight. 

The patio is broad enough to allow my presence in dryness while I marvel at the abundant source of life. 

It comes from above! 

Raining down and bubbling up and puddling among the dense earth as it seeks a crack here, a nook there, for in the desert, finding a way deeper into the earth is a challenge, the soil like concrete, hardened by extremes of heat and arid breath like being baked in a kiln that is hundreds of miles in jagged circumference. 

But the rain fills the once-fired pot, even large as it is, and we drink from the precious cup that we swim within.

The cool breath of winter returns for a few minutes to remind me of the transitional seasonal swayings of She who dances among the cosmos and into the world She descends, dancing her tap shoes in the raindrops of love, and leaping across the sky, a graceful arc wherein She is the ballerina of heaven, and I can hear be-bop around the corner as the rhythm changes. 

I participate in her sock-hop where the gym becomes my back yard, and the girls’ full skirts are the dancing orange leaves twirling, held on strong stems of escorts that don’t want to let go, they hold hands and feel the beat of Goddess drums among the clouds, hidden yet heard.

Her message alternates between soothing dulcet whispers of cave-doves and the rambunctious trilling of the birds huddled within the protective branches of a creosote releasing its malodorous perfume into the moisture-laden air to remind me if I close my eyes that what sounds like a pine forest is definitely not.

My nose starts to drip like the tip of the agave frond already sharpened by heat and then frost, burned and withered and limp at the end of a magnificent sword leaf with razor edges in pastel shades that soothe like the gel of its sister aloe.

I shiver as a chill finds its way beneath the itchy gray wool of my poncho, creeping up my spine to flick the invisible hairs at the nape of my neck. 

Seems like all I can do is be here and relax, feel Her presence, and return to the space of being and writing. Bliss. 

To land in my familiar world of ink and paper, in flowing thought that echoes the bird haw-hawing on the nearby tree. 

Chirps and haws, flaps of wings. Do they know I’m here? 

Huddled in the only dry corner, a small space of witness to the world being plundered and saturated as She empties Her buckets into the board expansive cauldron of life; in spring, the mountains will erupt in a profusion of wildflowers, grateful for winter rains, storing the liquid gems in roots and underground pockets of rocky cisterns.

Breathing deeply, I feel the moisture on nose hair and delicate membranes that swell like a sponge to embrace the precious water floating in the air. 

At the top of the inhale, I pause and savor the cool refreshing moisture. 

All above is gray, all below is brown, yet the leaves already seem more vibrant and the totem pole cactus reveals a slick sheen upon its naked bumps as if polished to go to a dance forgetting its already here.

The clouds hover low among the mountains creating mystery and magic, hiding what is normally so apparent as it wraps the hard edges in pale felt scarves without color yet exuding a plethora of joy. 

Can joy be colorless? 

Can it dance the Divine without a rainbow shawl? 

Muted love is falling around us like the graceful gospel of Her melody playing around the elemental harp that is a desert’s guise. 

See Her eyes? There among the drifting spirals of mist, just above the veil of giggling song are Her orbs of granite and green. 

See Her smile as She releases the veil and all of Her charms are revealed; She will soon dance naked among the stars and desert cholla, jumping and resting, sublime in Her expressions of extreme. 

Fall-ing

Feliz Paseos Park

Yesterday I spent several hours walking the trails of Feliz Paseos Park, immersed in nature, joyful and at peace (and, yes, the sky really was that blue!). Yet this is not the fall season I’m used to; it remains unfamiliar with its own mysterious changes and colors ... bronze mountains deepen into solidity, red rocks sharpen, burnished copper leaves reveal themselves upon plants I don’t recognize, cacti seem to suck their reserves in tight, and balls of fluffy seeds seem anxious for a strong gust of liberating wind. Then, in contrast, this morning I fall into a memorial day-dream of autumnal familiarity rooted in decades of northern cycles ... 

      Molasses running through my veins, slow and rich, thick and dark, smelling of long walks deep in the woods where magic happens with every foot that is raised upon the path of knowing and the air dances in meditation upon the belly of joy and wonder as I ease into each moment glowing from within, shades of amber and pitch flowing in oozing alternation, warming in gentle waves. 

     The padded loam of un-tilled soil cushions my steps while It twinkles the winks of earthworms creating abundant life hidden from view by those unaware but I see their mystery as I stare down below and praise their gifts wherever I go. Inhaling the purple decay of leaves once in flight, now grounded in transition. I am happily lost, wandering among memories for a moment. 

     The dark chocolate depths of the forest flood me with sweet tasting peace, the pine trees bless me with a light rain of pointed confetti falling upon cheek and tangling in hair, the last of autumn leaves cling quivering upon stark bones the color of dreaming. Dark chocolate bites into my skin as a limb reaches out further than I thought, distance a deception here in the woods where we are all equally capable of witnessing change and sensation. Alternating patterns as the earthy cakes of heaven are made, a shake of cinnamon with a rusty tingle, a pinch of granulated sugar is the crunch of tan leaves fallen and disintegrating beneath feet wishing they were bare.

Feliz Paseos Park

     Fall that heralds the winter ... the delectable slowing where we can be most at home, the welcoming slumber of lengthening night and the cool bright days that sharpen our delight. The softening of crisp apples grown in the sun and baked in the heat of a dark oven until their juice thickens and flows with an exquisite concentration of nectar, melting without effort in eager open mouths. 

     Intensity abates and relaxation becomes a resting place deep within that is mirrored in nature and vice versa. Don’t struggle against the creamy dark chocolate that overlays the rainbow skittles, for each has its place, and soon enough the wheel shall turn into stimulation of seeds that become a new growth of life-sustaining offerings. 

     I let myself fall, face forward into the bed of leaves and needles that permeate my senses, begin to sink, to disappear, my skin wrinkles and shrinks, losing vibrancy and flexibility, disintegrating into the welcoming leaves beneath me as more glide onto my back, covering me like a patchwork quilt. I breathe in the verdant pine still humming within the fading shells and resonance rises up through my nose where tendrils of aromatic bliss wind into brain and mind before expanding downward through all my channels, spreading peace and release. The full moon smiles Her love as I become shadow, then scatter to and fro, my form no more. I sleep and am a vapor that lifts to touch the white face of the Divine then drifts down once more sinking into the Sacred, and I am simply One ... breathing.

Tucson Mountain Park

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[“dark chocolate” was today's ClarityWorks writing prompt; I had already written the first two paragraphs upon waking so when I saw the prompt, it fed another stream into the existing river of expression already flowing]