Corvine Musings

Just before dawn on a frigid winter morning, a large stand of tall pine trees appears to come alive.  In the semi-darkness, beginning at the tree tops, there is sudden undulant movement like a huge swarm of gigantic black wasps.  This nightmarish scene evokes a vision of the Gorgon, Medusa, with her ebon hair of writhing snakes.  Suddenly, as drawn breaks, the creatures begin to vocalize in shrieks, squawks, and a variety of other piercing sounds.  Another crow morning has commenced as rowdy dowdy  flying formations of black  aviators sweep through the aurorean sky.  A solo flyer leaves the raucous press circling upward then downward with joyful abandon.  His bright onyx eyes take in everything as he moves his head from side to side at varying angles to adjust for his monocular vision.  He narrows his circle as he spots a fresh road kill and begins his graceful descent.  His landing isn't as smooth, but he is accustomed to that.  As he begins to feed, a passing truck driver mutters to himself "there's bad luck today." The native American people knew better.  To them every creature was a 'thou.'   They observed how  their two  legged winged brothers lived communally sharing in the rearing of their young, ministering to their oldsters and fashioning primitive tools.  Omens of ill fated destiny or harbingers of dormant fulfillment?  

A Centenarian's Lament

Since this past August, I have been an anxious and reluctant patient.  My slumber was suddenly disturbed one morning by rumbling tremors deep within the earth I was resting upon.  My body felt like it was about to split apart like a lost ship crashing on a surf-tossed reef.  My spine, which supports the long nave, had multiple fractures.  A number of large stones plummeted down on to the marbled floor.  My shoulders, which hold up the main towers, swayed several times because I didn't have the strength to hold fast against the lurching assault. The large exquisitely carved pinnacles atop the main tower shattered and fell hundreds of feet to the ground near one of my shattered ribs.  The  experts told me there was a great deal of other damage as they trussed me up with  great quantities of heavy wire and other paraphernalia.  How different it was at my christening day over a hundred years ago.  Presidents Teddy Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson spoke of the glorious edifice I would become while ten thousand people cheered.

Endnote:  This is my first attempt at writing a prose poem.  I just started a course on writing these at the Writers' Center in Bethesda, MD.  The idea is to push me out of my comfort zone, so forthcoming ones will be somewhat on the 'wild side' (or at least flamboyant).

Night Pilgrim

Walking slowly and unsteadily in that huge pitch-black space watching the small points of light from other pilgrims' candles reminded me of a Japanese painting I once saw.  I think it was by Hokusai, but I'm not sure.  There were fishermen in small boats drifting across the water on an inky black night with only small lanterns to guide them. Trusting in each other's light, they felt no fear.  As I sought my bearings in the blackness, I turned around and looking up my gaze met the High Altar, softly illuminated.  I experienced a deep sense of serenity that had a protective quality about it, rather like a child being cradled in her mother's embrace.

Our three hour Advent Night Pilgrimage took place in Washington National Cathedral.  Reverend Carol Crumley, an Anglican priest, began with a prayerful meditation and then explained what we might expect from the 'dark pilgrimage'.  She is a shining presence for me having been co-leader and spiritual guide on my Iona pilgrimage two years ago.  There were many similarities between the two pilgrimages,  but the emphasis on darkness opened an entirely new perspective for me.  We began with this chant by the Irish poet John O'Donohue:  "You, dear Lord, resplendent  within our darkness" (Cantor), "Grant us, Grant us your light" (Response).

She then explained Lectio Divina (Divine reading).  As you read a scriptural passage, you note words or phrases that strike you and then stop.  You let the phrase infuse your being and pray that  the Lord will use the phrase to bring you closer or show you what is needed in your life.  Let go of any impressions or feelings that may have arisen and simply rest in God's loving presence.

We used Psalm 139 which begins: "Oh Lord, thou has searched me and know me......."  The King James version of the Bible was used and I am always struck by the poetic beauty and power of its language.  My special phrases were:  

" Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising; thou understandest my thought afar off" (verse 2) and "If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me and thy right hand shall hold me" (verses 9 and 10).  These verses were transformative for me.  They spoke directly to my heart, but it was difficult at first for me to articulate why.  That came later.              

We were each given a taper and Carol began the lighting of candles and each in turn received the light from another pilgrim.  From the Bethlehem Chapel in the crypt we slowly proceeded up the stairs to the huge darkened nave chanting "Holy Light."  The sensation of finding oneself in this inky black vaulted space with only small candle lights to guide us was overwhelming at first.  We stopped at the center of the nave and Reverend Carol recited prayers unique to the four cardinal directions beginning facing North.  As we turned to the West we saw the apse with the subtly illuminated High Altar.  After the Cantor intoned each prayer, we chanted the response "Holy Light."

As we processed through the Cathedral, we stopped three times.  The first was at the Advent Wreath in the center of the towering nave.  Reverend Carol emphasized the meaning of Advent as the beginning of a time of preparation not only for the coming of the Christ Child, but also for the long dark season beginning with the Winter Solstice. Many people view this time of year as something to be endured and painfully gotten through.  "When we come to search for God, let us be robed in light" wrote John O'Donohue.  Only then can we search for the "crevices and corners where the Mystery continues to dwell."

The winter darkness and bleakness has a positive side to it, a special kind of beauty.  The 'unwanted season' brings wisdom for those who find the insight to realize that withdrawal is an essential part of renewal.  Too much light can pull one away from the process of gestation.  This was my first realization.  I felt like I was enfolded in the love and protection of a nurturing womb, a safe place to reflect and be completely open in.  Thoughts of so many pieces of unfinished business on my spiritual journey arose, not like the crashing ocean's surf, but rather like the relentless lapping of waves upon the seashore's fine sand.

Our next stop was at President Woodrow Wilson's tomb.  Here we prayed for all of the departed with particular emphasis on those who had wounded us.  I found myself praying for my late father.  He and I always had a deeply troubled relationship; emotional and physical abuse of my younger disabled brother was at the core of it, but my mother and I suffered greatly too.  I hadn't been able to pray for him even at the time of his death eleven years before.  The words of the psalm, "thou understandest my thought afar off",  permeated my entire being; I felt enfolded in loving protective arms full of compassion and complete understanding.  At long last I was able to honestly say "I have no right to judge you.  I can now pray for you and forgiveness will come, perhaps slowly, but it will come."  December 15 was the anniversary of his death.  I kept a candle burning at home for him all of that day.

I had time to further reflect on this small miracle when we pilgrims were given our own quiet time of solitude in the darkness.  The wonder of what had just happened to me opened more avenues of grace filled reflection.  I have been interested in comparative religion for many years since my departure from the Catholic church.  The Cathedral has been not only my spiritual home, but a bridge to many other religious traditions, Judaism, Buddhism, the Islam of the Sufis, the religions of native peoples, and Hinduism.  I have been greatly enriched by all of them, but there are quite a number of loose ends.  While being cloaked in that sacred space, the connection finally became as clear as a diamond without a flaw.

Hinduism's practitioners draw me at a very deep level because of their belief in the sacredness of all life, no matter how small.  They believe that every living being, including animals, insects, and plants, has a unique eternal soul which was never born and will never die.  There aren't lower levels of souls for nonhuman forms of life.  We are all caught up in the great Samsaric cycle of birth and death through countless life times, meaning every action taken has a consequence for good or evil which determines one's next reincarnation to a higher or lower form.  We are given uncountable opportunities to attain the highest state, union with God.

I now realized that the ancient Hindu Vedic Scriptures which I have been studying include the key teachings of the major religious traditions and the Vedas date back more than 5,000 years.  Judaism gave us the one true God, but the Vedic tradition recognized the Supreme Lord long before.  He was called either Vishnu or Krishna.  Christ came into the world teaching the redemptive power of love and compassion, and that the spark of divinity lay deep within each of us.  The Vedas foretold the coming of Jesus as an incarnation of the Supreme Lord and speak of Krishna consciousness within each of us.  They identify the Buddha as another incarnation as well as Mohammad.  Islam honors Christ as a great prophet and his Mother as the ideal woman.  There is an entire chapter in the Koran devoted to Maryam, her Islamic name.  The message of the Bhagavad Gita (Song of the Lord) in the Vedas is very much akin to the Sermon on the Mount in the New Testament.  It provides a road map for living a grace filled life with the ultimate goal of union with the Beloved Lord.  To me it has been and continues to be the heart of my spiritual practice with its emphasis on the loving non-judging Beloved Lord who teaches the way of devotion by recognizing the innate limitations of each person.

Our last stop was at the lovely St. Mary's Chapel to the left of the High Altar.  Very high up above its altar, there is a lovely but unusual wooden statue of the Virgin and Child.  She is leaning forward and holding Him out as far as her arms will reach offering Him to us all, unconditionally.  Her pose speaks to me of complete inclusivity.  How often, unfortunately, He has been appropriated by exclusionary groups.  Here Reverend Carol led us in concluding prayers.  Before the closing chant, she told us what Meister Eckhart, the great fourteenth century Christian mystic, said:  "We are all mothers of Jesus."  Meister Eckhart recognized the ordinariness of Mary; after all she asked the angel how all of this was to be accomplished.  People of many faiths wonder with Mary how God may use ordinary people to bring His love into this world.  Whether we call Him/Her Christ, Krishna, Buddha, Allah or Gaia is just so much semantic posturing.  The Divine message has always been the same.  And, the journey is like a great river gaining strength and momentum from countless smaller streams feeding into it, propelling all beings to the boundless sea of Union with the Beloved.