Self portraits

I hate pictures of myself.

When seeing one, the only things I can focus on are all my physical flaws which are too numerous to have to face (no pun intended).

Trust me, I know exactly how shallow that sounds, but there you have it.

I have tremendous admiration for those people who have deformities beyond my understanding and limited capacity for self acceptance - like the woman whose face was literally ripped off by her friends chimpanzee.

Thanks be to God, I have not been tested by something so horrific because I can tell you right now, I would fail massively!

That being said, a recent assignment by a photography mentor was to take at least 3 self portraits and the Abbey was a wonderful place to fulfill that requirement with minimal pain!

And, since it was a time for personal reflection, what better way to symbolize that than by having all the images be reflections?
Genius, right?
The critic inside my head is hard to shut off since my immediate reaction to this one was - socks with sandals, what a dork! As self justification, it was cold, late at night (by monastery standards -probably 8:15pm or so!) and, if it's good enough for the monks who are far holier and wiser than moi, it was good enough for me!

The last one though is the one I love and, I suspect, it's an image I'll 'ponder' for quite awhile.

I caught a reflection of myself in the window going downstairs one night; a window looking out to the front of the Abbey with the BVM lit up - and I knew I wanted to try to capture what I saw.

As someone who has a fractured and wholly imperfect relationship with her mother, the realization that I could have, within me, the love and protection of Mary, is a real comfort.

(We Episcopalians are not known for our veneration of Mary; it's too far on the Catholic side of the Anglo-Catholic tradition blend to suit many of us - although we all know what an outlier I am!)

A friend looking at all these images shared his perceptions that my 'shadow' image (which is the first one I took) is eerily similar to the silhouette of the pure 'lit' Mary in the last one - and that none of us should be surprised to discover 'the holy' that has been inside us all along; we just have to see it.

These are images I not only can live with but be happy with too - and that feels like a start.

Note to self: remember this

So many people have asked me if I got what I expected from the retreat and I'm truly at a loss for an answer since I don't know what I thought I'd encounter.

If I'm honest, I can say that part of my fantasy included foggy walks amongst dew soaked ruins of a Gothic cloister (hey, I'm nothing if not dramatic!) so the stark unadorned limestone walls of the Abbey with a complete lack of ornamentation was a contrast to be reconciled.

I envisioned time for reading (got that), long periods of silence (check) and lots of opportunity for prayer (double check).

What I hadn't counted on was the pleasurable company of other travelers on their diverse spiritual journeys, being stretched by artwork and different ways of 'seeing', hearing words of instruction during workshops that reframed not only the human experience but my disordered relationship with food and being drawn into 'mystery' on an emotional level through music and 'traditions of being' that have endured for centuries.

Celtic spirituality speaks of 'thin places' - those places in which the boundaries of time and space become blurred and movement between the dimensions becomes more fluid than we usually perceive.

For me, the Abbey is a thin place.

I'll relate one experience, although I was blessed with several.

I don't wear a watch or use an alarm (either clock or cell phone).

I tell myself what time I need to wake up and, generally, within 5 -10 minutes of the appointed time, I wake myself.

One morning, my intent had been to sleep through Vigil (@ 3:30) and go to Lauds instead.

So, when I woke up at 2:30 am, fully awake, I was both surprised and curious.

I chose to take it as a sign from God that I was meant to get my ass out of bed and go down for Vigil and that I might as well even go early since I was already awake.

I stumbled down three flights of stairs to the guest chapel, located at the back of the Abbey; space shared with the main sanctuary but separated by a wrought iron rail defining 'guest' and 'monks' space.

I entered and found a solitary light illuminating the entire space.

I was alone.

The cavernous sanctuary, with choir stalls, organ and altar, was in complete darkness; a blackness that was impenetrable to my eye.

I knelt and was immediately and unexpectedly overcome with a sadness and sense of being utterly alone.

I began to cry; not the dainty moist eyes and sniffles of a heroine in a Jane Austen novel but the gut wrenching sobs of one from whom everything has been stripped away.

It was a feeling of nakedness before God and total vulnerability that bordered on being terrifying.

How long this state lasted I can't say.

All I know is that just as inexplicably, I was flooded with a warmth and the knowledge that I wasn't alone.

I felt a palatable presence; the silence had substance.

It wasn't the absence but the presence of something.

The silence had a density, a richness and it began to pervade my being, comforting me.

I raised my eyes and peered into the void, almost calling aloud, "Is someone there?"

Within minutes, I heard a soft sound on the tile floor, followed by the creak of wood yet my eyes were still unable to discern any other human form in the church.

It was a full 5 minutes before I saw the white cowled robe of a monk enter their portion of the sanctuary and turn on a small light, revealing that we were indeed the only two people in the space.

During Vigil, I sat listening to the monks chant the Psalms of praise to start the day and I wish I could say my thoughts were holy.

I was instead filled with a sense of my own importance, delighting in how special I must be to have been given this experience.

I mean, come on... it was a sign, right?

I didn't have to pay for airfare and go to Lourdes or Medjugorje

I felt like the character in the movie Field of Dreams who asks: "Is this heaven?" and hears the reply,"No, it's Iowa."

In fact, I was so blinded by my own sense of being chosen that, after Vigil, I completely overlooked the tile step going out of chapel, tripped up and fell flat on my face.

Gotta love that about God; he's got a way of reminding us about our place.

Quite literally, Pride goeth before the fall.

Made me feel right at home with Bernard of Clairvoux who said that "personally, he was more acquainted with the ways down than the ways up".

Work will give me plenty to kvetch about all too soon.

I needed to journal about this experience because I don't want it to be lost in the haze of my 'normal' existence.

I want to remember that in the silence was a presence.

At the heart of the silence was Him who is all stillness, all peace and all poise.

My soul can definitely use all three.

where to start?

I'm back and, as usual, re-entry has been hard.
I can't seem to get motivated to get on with my 'real' life!

I've been wide awake since 4 am and now, several hours later, it feels odd that I've not been chanting the Psalms in chapel at least 3 times!

It seems I'm more at home with this reflection, contemplation and silence thing than I ever would have thought.

Not that it came naturally.
In fact, the first night I was at the Abbey, it felt like I had car loads of screeching moneys driving around in my head on a NASCAR track!

The decision to push myself out of my comfort zone was more effective than I thought.

I have frequently said, in jest, "it's not pretty inside my head". I was never more keenly aware of it than the first night at New Mellary!

My thoughts would NOT quiet down and I slept poorly, which turned out to be a good thing since day begins at 3am with Vigil in the chapel.

Although, trust me, it does not look like this at that hour!

Here's a typical schedule:

3:30 - Vigil
4:00 - Lectio Divina
6:30 - Lauds
7:00 - Mass
7:30 - Breakfast (in silence)
9:15 - Terce
9:30 - Conference session (abut an aspect of Contemplative living in a busy World)
10:30 - Break
11:45 - Sext
12:00 - Lunch (in silence)
1:45 - None
2:00 - Conference session
5:30 - Vespers
6:00 - Supper in silence
6:30 - Discussion (optional)
7:30 - Compline and Grand Silence

My first thought was that there was NO way I was going to bed before 9pm!

Wrong; I probably didn't last beyond 8:30 any given day I was there!

There's much to think and pray about, on several fronts, some of which I'll bore you with and others, not so much.

I know I will privately be continuing the deepening dialogue between me and God.

One pictorial insight, if you will, for this post: these pictures were taken within minutes of each other from my room, looking across the courtyard into the monastery/the monks quarters.

The rooms seemed vacant and lifeless, then I noticed the light within.

It's always there.
If you lose sight of it, maybe you just need to consider changing your viewpoint!

I did - and it made a world of difference!

In fact, by the time I left, I was feeling all glowy and warm inside!

And if, or should I say when, it starts to fade...at least I know where to go to find it again!

What goes around...

I'm trying to take the high road here...
but being the better person is SO taxing.

I only have one request: next time you write me up for "not revealing the healing presence of Christ"(and honestly, who the hell actually talks like that??!) could you at least be honest enough to include YOUR role in the process.

Maybe it's me but demanding that a Social Worker come to the NICU immediately on the weekend to clear a baby for discharge when that child has been there for 10 days, the NICU social worker didn't do her job and write a consult on, or anywhere near, Day 5, and the mother isn't even in the damn building, isn't exactly the best way to start off an interaction.

And, when you call again, with a snarky voice and tell me to "get over here now", do you really think I'll have NO reaction when I jump through your hoops, only to be told that mom was "in the middle of a breast feeding lesson and I should come back in an hour"?

Lady, you're lucky "an eye roll" (which you apparently found so offensive) was the only physical reaction you got...

Especially when, after doing the consult which, let me remind you, was conducted ONLY to facilitate a discharge, the mom informs me that you think she should have another breast feeding lesson, stay overnight again and go home in the morning...would that be the morning on which the NICU SW could have been contacted to do her damn job and done the consult herself??

I've been told they're the money makers of the hospital and that's why we suck up to them but I'll say it now and say it loud - I HATE the NICU!


How's THAT for a healing presence??

Give me the ER any day!!

Just one more story from Rosebud - for now!

The other 'glimpse of grace', if you will, that we saw this past weekend concerned Alan.

Let me say right off the bat that I think all children are gifts from God.


I can say that even after 3 decades of working in a pediatric hospital!

My immediate association between watching Alan last Sunday at the give away and the story of Jesus in the temple talking to the elders is in no way meant to imply that there's anything 'messianic' about this 6 yr old boy.

However for me, the connections of these stories, once made, was very strong in that both scenarios involved a feast, a 'journey' with extended family and being 'found' among men generations older than the boy in question: a boy who seems to exhibit knowledge and skill far beyond his age and formal training.

I can't tell you the number of times Stacy (the grandmother who's raising him) turned to me or Ieshia (his sister), saying "Where's Alan?"

It felt that one minute he was sitting next to us and the next, he'd be gone.
And while other children his age were running around the back edges of the circle, playing in the South Dakota sky, Alan was drawn, as though magnetized, time and time again, back to the gathering of male drummers on the far side of the arbor.

Stacy even had to ask Ieshia to take a plate of food to Alan and remind him to eat, saying "he gets so lost in the music and drumming that he forgets."

A number of us have commented before, over the past two years as we've watched him dance, about the natural ability he seems to possess; how his movements and internal rhythms seem synchronized to the drums we've heard at wacipis (pow-wows).

That night, back in their home, Alan was asked to lead the prayer before we split a pizza.
He took out a wind instrument he received at the give away and said he was going to use that; then several seconds later, he seemed to change his mind and disappeared.

When he returned, he carried a small hand held drum, saying he wanted to use that instead.
For the next 2 minutes, he chanted and intoned in the Lakota tradition and I honestly can't say if he used 'formal' words or not.
I have no doubt that, in his fashion, he asked for blessings on what we were about to receive.
I also have no doubt that his invocations were heard and bestowed.

To those of us who observed him that day, his special abilities, passion and drive seemed divinely ordained.

It's easy to believe we might be witness to a very special gift for the Lakota people.

Now for the 'what HAPPENED' which is always subjective and therefore more powerful.

I'm not even sure I'll be able to find the 'right' words to sum up all we experienced this weekend but I wanted to attempt a post before the immediacy wore off and things returned to 'normal'.

At the moment, the only word that comes close to summing it up is 'magical'.

But then again...

I believe in 'signs'.
I believe that God and the universe He created are not silent and that, even in this age, there are 'messages' and 'reminders' to be received if we open our eyes, minds and hearts.
I believe there are forces at work beyond our understandings of time and dimension and that it can be terrifyingly awesome to be reminded of all we don't know and understand about how God works.

I believe we were allowed to witness several of them this weekend.

It started with the crack of dawn:

beautiful sunrises are nothing new in South Dakota. But this one was followed within 20 minutes by the sky filling with dark storm clouds

and, with no rain yet, a double rainbow filling the western sky.

On a day that was sure to include both laughter and tears, being blessed with a visible sign of Gods faithfulness was an auspicious beginning.

Rain clouds continued to decorate a blue sky even at the cemetery and, while the Episcopal clergy person was praying, fat raindrops began falling. Not a downfall or even a shower, but the definite presence of rain that threatened to build momentum and create a problem.

Minutes later however, as the medicine man began chanting in Lakota accompanied by the drum, burning sage and waving its perfume over the grave and mourners standing nearby, the rain stopped, the grey clouds dissipated and, as if on cue, a lone eagle flew overhead and hovered over the cemetery!

(this is not a picture from the cemetery since it felt intrusive to bring a camera to the spiritual/worship component of the day; I promise however, the effect was no less dramatic than this!)

Don's Lakota name was 'Warrior who stands alone' and the solitary eagle presenting itself to all of us as we stood on that hillside seemed to be incontrovertible evidence that his spirit was still with us. There wasn't a single person who was unaffected by such a powerful symbol.

We reminisced as we drove to Don and Maggie's farm for the giveaway, and talked about the wisdom of the Lakota tradition of mourning for a year and then celebrating the life of the one who died.

The 'give away', while it seems to have changed over the years - in that people no longer give away ALL their possessions, instead making many of the 'tributes' with which they'll honor people who have helped them - is still an important vehicle through which to channel much of the grief of loss.
For this whole first year after Dons death, Maggie and their daughter have been forced to stay engaged with other family and community members, coordinating who's making what, spending nights together working on quilts, planning quantities of food, making lists of who they want to acknowledge and honor, etc. I can only imagine that, during these events, stories and remembrances of Don and his time among them were shared, laughed about and wept over. It seems this tradition allows those in mourning, place and opportunities for sharing that grief and prevents them from sinking into quiet despair within their own dwellings.

It's as if they recognize the sleeplessness, the late nights and the unfocused grief that can plague after a death and intentionally have channeled those realities into productive and creative expression.

The custom of the giveaway and 'feed' is also a very dramatic way of enacting the reality that it is only through our vulnerability and dependence on our 'tribe' - and the grace of the Creator- that we get through the hardest times of life; it's a concrete way of expressing gratitude through feeding those who have fed us.

In the midst of the giveaway, Maggie pointed skyward and there, with a collective gasp, we saw TWO eagles - a male and female, according to those sitting next to me -flying over the farm and arbor.

I can't tell you what a gift that felt like, to me and those friends and family members sitting around me. I can't begin to imagine how it felt to Maggie.

The solitary eagle at the cemetery seeming to reveal that Dons spirit was still present and now two eagles, a 'couple', at the farm where so much of Don and Maggies life had been shared and lived in partnership.

Through tears, when one of the women sitting nearby proclaimed it was Dons way of telling Maggie they would always be together, she didn't need to work hard to convince me!

I don't know how frequently eagles fly around in South Dakota.

My collective time there, accumulated over 2 decades, would amount to no more than a few months.

But I do know that I've never seen an eagle before; let alone 3 in one day - in two places, miles apart, in circumstances and timing so perfectly suited to conjecture and interpretation.

It felt extraordinary at the time; it still does.

I'm back...

So much occurred this weekend on, basically, our single day in Rosebud that I've decided to split up the post about it into two components: WHAT happened: the events and facts of our day and What HAPPENED: the emotional impact and reflection about those events.

Here's the WHAT:

Because a college group was arriving and staying in ‘our’ dorm, Sandy, HFH Director, was kind enough to let us stay in one of the trailers on the south side of the campus.

No hot water and a disabled refrigerator and stove didn’t bother us a bit…the most unsettling thing for us was being on that side of the circle drive!!

While being grateful for a roof over our heads, I can honestly say that the whole trailer was in perpetual motion!

Between the constant South Dakota wind whipping across the plains, the trailer being spring loaded and the reality that it rocked whenever one of us walked or turned over in bed, it was like sleeping in an out of control hammock – in the middle of a wind tunnel!
Who would have guessed we’d need Dramamine for a night on the rez!

The next morning started early,

with an assist from a gorgeous sunrise.

We helped Maggie with last minute prep in the kitchen, then loaded up the van with star quilts and headed out to the cemetery for the unveiling of Dons grave marker.

The cemetery, next to the Episcopal Church in Soldier Creek, is a lovely spot on a hilltop where Don was buried last year next to family.

The ceremony honored both his upbringing in the Episcopal tradition, with prayers and words from Webster Two Hawk (one of the clergy on the reservation)as well as Don’s cultural heritage in the prayers and incantations of his brother-in-law, a recognized medicine man in the Lakota tradition.

After the service, everyone headed to Don and Maggie’s farm, Meadowlark Village, for a “Feed and Give away” which lasted for 5+ hours.

(For information about the historical roots of the 'giveaway', this article might be helpful).

Basically, for the past year, Maggie has been working night and day, preparing star quilts, and other tokens, to honor those people who were important to Don and his family during his entire lifetime - including the treatment team who followed him during the medical and physical changes which ultimately led to his death.


The amount of work involved in preparing for a giveaway is awe-inspiring.
Maggie made 60+ quilts; her sister in law made many others and even Jemma, their 9 yr old daughter made 5 contemporary quilts to honor her friends.

I don’t know about you but my past year hasn’t been nearly as productive!

Surprisingly, we were among those gifted with quilts...in yet another example of how much more we receive from our time on Rosebud than anything we could possibly contribute!

Don was a member of the Bigfoot Riders, a group of Lakota who journey on horseback every December and camp along the paths taken by their ancestors on their way to Wounded Knee. These present day men and women ride to honor their tribe members massacred by Federal troops in 1890. The events and pain of that day, and era, continue to speak to the Lakota reality today and that group was the first to be honored.

The President of Sinte Gleska University, Rodney Bordeaux,spoke of Dons work as Cultural Documentarian, in preserving and defining their language and heritage, his commitment to educating all people about the Lakota way of life, his love of children and, above all, his devotion to family.

Much of the event was accompanied by music of a drum group Don started decades ago in Santa Fe. To see Alan, at his age, playing with the same group was very moving.

Alan’s intuitive love of all things Lakota is truly heartwarming to see.
While guests remained seated in the shade of the arbor, family members served a wonderful meal of fried chicken, ham, roast beef, soup, fry bread, salads and desserts that was enough to last the day, actually the whole week! Food kept being distributed until it was completely gone and friends/family were expected to bring dishes and containers (watecca dishes) to use in taking left-overs home.

After the celebration at Don and Maggie’s, we had a long visit with Stacy and the kids back at their house. (Harold was announcing a softball tournament across the rez and wasn’t able to join us.)

Only the reality of a long drive the next day made us end the evening at 10pm and head back to Bishop Hare.

I should add that, in between all the events of the day, we also managed to deliver another 20 boxes of personal sized toiletries.
Because of how successful the toiletries drive had been in June, we were unable to bring it all with us on the Mission trip a few weeks ago.

This ‘extra’ trip allowed us to bring the overflow…much to the delight of All Nations, White Buffalo Calf Woman Society Shelter and Tree of Life Ministries.
Pastor Russell Masartis told us that Tree of Life serves 160 families every day they're open/four days a week. With unemployment topping 90% on the reservation, economic ‘hardship’ doesn’t begin to describe the conditions in which many people live.

For $1.00 a visit, people become ‘co-op members’ of the Tree of Life; that membership ‘fee’ entitles them to a hot meal, 15 items of clothing, a bag of other items as available (now our toiletries!) and participation in whatever educational or recreational events are being offered.

Tribal EMS/Firefighters also receive items from Tree of Life to distribute when they respond to emergency situations on the reservation throughout the year.

We have NO doubt that the ‘small’ items donated by our friends, congregations and Webster/ Rock Hill Ministries will have a HUGE impact on the quality of life for many people on the Rosebud.

In so many ways, it feels as if things are coming to fruition with our efforts on the rez - which is an odd feeling to have given the reality that so many changes are imminent and things are actually very tenuous.

The inevitable ying-yang of existence, I guess - which clearly won't get altered by me!

So there you have the WHAT!

Winter counts

One of the Lakota art forms that has fascinated me is the Winter count - a pictorial rendering of the tribes most important events.
Done on tanned hides with 'ink' from berries and, therefore, limited color, these images captured the life of the tribe by taking a single event to characterize a whole year.

A new exhibit at the museum devoted a whole room to them; it was wonderful to see them 'in person' rather than pictures of them in books.

Some of the earlier counts didn't reference the system of time keeping or dating that the European invaders used at all...
time, as we've learned, is VERY relative on the reservation! (I LOVE it - and fit right in.)



Others adapted the 'year'...

and archivists have interviewed people who provided oral interpretations of the symbols.

One that captured my attention was 1857: Good Honor Woman had a child without a father. First time this happened.

It made me terribly sad to realize how much their society - and ours - has changed in a relatively short period of time.

It also made me wonder, if I had only ONE event per year, what images I would use to characterize MY personal winter counts.