On Monastic Prayer, continued + 1,000 Hours

You know those alarm clocks that allow you to "wake up" to the sounds of nature. I had one as a kid, and I remember choosing the "Babbling Brook" setting.

Well, this morning we had our very own all-natural alarm clock as water began dripping from the roof into chapel during morning praise! It certainly woke us up!

What was even better were the lines from Psalm 32 we chanted, punctuated by the drip, drip, drip:

So let the faithful pray to you

in their time of need.

Even flood waters will never reach them.

Oh, all is one! (And ironic!)

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Speaking of nature, I am just about done with a new book by religion historian Karen Armstrong, Sacred Nature: Restoring Our Ancient Bond with the Natural World. 

She reminds us what so many others have reminded us: we humans are the ground we walk on. Let us be a bit more reverent; let us recognize our place in the cosmos. (See: Benedictine humility)

Here are two of my favorite quotes from the book.

Human beings have the freedom to make a voluntary act of islam (the "surrender" of ego) and to consciously shape their lives so that they reflect the source of being.

We can practice a simple exercise that will remind us of the kenosis [self-emptying] that is central to a fulfilled human life. This is not a prayer. It is simply a short, sharp reminder of the essential frailty of our humanity that enables us to see ourselves realistically and, hopefully, improve. Every day, first thing in the morning and at night, for just a few moments we should consider three things: how little we know; how frequently we fail in kindness to other beings; and how limited are our desires and yearnings, which so often begin and end in our self.

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Speaking of nature (again), J suggested that we take on a challenge: spend 1,000 hours outside over the course of the year. Doing simple math, i.e. 1,000/365, we have to spend an average of just under 2.75 hours outside each day to achieve this goal. We are banking on summer days and maybe a camping trip (or two) to help us along. 

I am still not so sure it will really be achievable for me, but it's certainly something worth striving for. Plus, the comprehensive spreadsheet I made to log our hours is delightful for my organized and goal-oriented self!

Here are some photos I have captured over the first 2% of the journey! (980 hours to go!)

Let us walk in the holy presence.

I love the contrast of the fog and these trees.

And I love when the horizon is indistinguishable.

Overall, it hasn't been too snowy of a winter here.

Old Monk + The Gingko

So many of us have memories of Old Monk, communal and individual, professional and personal, and all those memories somewhere in-between. 

The one I want to share here happened in October 2020, when we expected that she might only have a few months left after her cancer had metastasized. 

Old Monk decided the time had come to clean out her writing studio where she led numerous writing workshops, facilitated book and poetry discussions, and spent hours writing in solitude, too. She asked me to help her with the task.

So, on a Monday afternoon we took some boxes to the classroom-turned-artist studio at St. Mary's School. There, there were so many books of poetry, books on teaching poetry, books on writing, so many books. But, among the books were so many ideas. On one piece of paper scattered among many, as though it were nothing, I found in her scratchy scribble, "COLLEGE FOR POOR." Then, there was a list underneath:

Philosophy

Art History

Logic

Rhetoric

Poetry

American History

30 students

2 nights a week/90 minutes

The paper was caught between others, as though it were nothing, but it was illustrative of Old Monk's life: big ideas. Yet, it was just another idea among many of hers that would add something beautiful and just to the world.

That was Old Monk's life, adding beauty and justice to the world as a sign of God's love for us all. And doing it in a uniquely creative and prophetic way.

At one point, after we had boxed up the things she wanted to keep, Old Monk went to sit down. She said to me, "Come, sit down. Let's let our souls catch up to us."

Mary Lou did so much in her prodigious lifetime; I was fortunate enough that my life crossed her own, even if only at the very end. And even though she did so much: advancing movements and holy ideas, creating communities and ministries, writing books and poems and pamphlets and reflections, she still found a way to let her "soul catch up to her" each day with a disciplined morning routine of prayer and reflection. And all she did was done with such fidelity to and integrity for life. Her life reminds me of the quote about Saint Scholastica, Benedict's twin sister: She could do more because she loved more.

In that same afternoon, she put on a hat that had been sitting on a shelf in her studio. It said "Art—Break the Rules." She loved art, and she loved breaking the rules. I asked her for some bit of wisdom; I don't even remember the exact question, but she replied, wearing this ridiculous-but-perfectly-suited-to-her-personality hat and that characteristic grin.

"You gotta keep choosing life."

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Of course, Mary Lou did keep choosing life. She fought death all the way to the end; she fought death for two years more than her terminal prognosis. She fought death in so many ways throughout her 81 years here on earth. She committed herself to giving life to community, to the poor, to the nonviolent moment, to the gospel message, to furthering the cause of women (especially in the Church), to art, to feast and family, to all these parts of life that she cherished.

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Old Monk loved ginkgo trees, too. I saw this one during a walk on a fall afternoon in the city she loved so much.

On the Smithsonian Education website, it reads:
In Japanese decorative art, the ginkgo’s distinctive fan-shaped leaf has carried symbolism along with its singular beauty: the ginkgo has been a symbol of longevity (the tree can live for a thousand years) and of a more profound endurance (four ginkgos survived the blast at Hiroshima and are still growing today).

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a more profound endurance

and a more profound way of living

she could do more because she loved more

that was mary lou kownacki.

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Let us walk in the holy presence.

New Year, Same Liminality

My mentor and I are reading Pema Chödrön's new book, How We Live is How We Die. The contents are as challenging and scary to take in as the title suggests! The title reminds me of a line that one of our sisters sometimes quotes to me from another sister, "As you are in the novitiate, so you'll be in the infirmary."

It's hard to not think about death these days.

Another dear and greatly influential mentor of mine passed away last week. Dr. Robak's wisdom helped to set in motion a lot of necessary discernment and change in my life during my senior year of undergrad. I can't imagine I'd be where I am today without his presence.

And Old Monk also continues her transition back to stardust.

Rafiki is another wise mentor at a time like this: "It's the circle of life."

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We have only read the first three chapters from Pema, but the focus is impermanence. She writes, "Contemplating continual change is a poignant experience."

It feels especially poignant right now.

But, the reality of living in a constant liminal space does open us up to connection and compassion.

During this time Pema offers comfort:

These feelings [of sadness or anxiety that come from reflecting on the passage of time and reality of impermanence] aren't a sign of something being wrong. We don't have to push them away. We don't have to label them as negative or reject them in any way. Instead, we can develop openheartedness to our painful emotions around impermanence. We can learn to sit with these feelings, to become curious about them, to see what vulnerability has to offer. In that very fear, in that very melancholy, is our compassionate heart, our immeasurable wisdom, our connection to all other living beings on this planet, each of whom are going through their own bardos [in-between states]. When we stay present with our transitory experience and all that its fleetingness evokes, we get in touch with our braver self, our deepest nature.

May this new year be one of deep connection and deep compassion for and with all creation as we change and grow together.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

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A Christmas-Day walk to the lake offered us these scenes. 60-degree weather last week changed that landscape quite a bit though!