A New World

My favourite one...

So hard to believe only five days have passed since I last posted! And… so hard to believe five whole days have whipped by since I last posted! 

Today has been the first day of orientation, and I began to get a taste of the feast I've been admitted to. They spoke to us of how we are being trained for a trade. Ahhh...  And of how we are going to experience transformation. The language used had layer after layer of rich metaphor, and I felt my inner self sit up in rapt attention. Who can say where this journey will take any of us, but I could feel the Spirit dancing in the room and it was good!

The days leading up to this one were equally intense. They spoke to us today of culture shock, of the trauma of uprooting ourselves from home and friends and coming to this place where we do not yet know each other. Yes. I KNOW this state they speak of. I have been living days of exhausting overwhelm as I tried to sort my way through priorities - which matters more -  a bed to sleep in or internet to be connected with? Buying colourful curtains or throws to alleviate the relentlessly oppressive monochrome of my apartment, with its white walls and grey carpet, or... saving my money to avoid using my federal loan? Trying to find my physical way through a strange city at the same time as trying to navigate my inner priorities reduced me to tears more than once.

The beautiful stairs leading up to my apartment - perfect for a ceramic artist!

And yet… at the same time, there has been the incredible abundant generosity of a dear friend and her son who with his truck and her time and energy furnished my apartment and helped me navigate the maze of this new world. And my apartment which is amazingly spacious, interesting, and full of light. There are the beautiful tiles which decorate the risers on my outside stairs, with each step different. There are the innumerable small kindnesses and friendly actions of fellow students, of staff and faculty of the seminary. There are the many people on the street who return eye contact with a smile or a nod. And then there was the gift of an excellent mattress from a stranger with the same name as my sister…

The Spirit is at work here; clearly my job is to surrender to Her. Not so easy. Totally necessary. One lesson after another if I pay attention.

Arrival, First Wave

Yesterday I arrived in Berkeley. What a journey! Leaving Canada on August 15, I crossed the border with my car loaded to the gills. My beloved plants were confiscated because I had no document to certify them free and clear of soil and plant disease or pests. Dang! Should have checked that out months ago. I decided to forgive myself. The car, which had been a potential bureaucratic nightmare, turned out to be straightforward, thanks to my guardian angels, earth-bound and heavenly! (You know who you are!)

Then I was on the road to Portland, where I stayed for three days and squeezed too many visits with a bundle of dear friends into too short a time. Thankfully, I was staying with friends wise in the ways of vagabonds who are also introverts (that would be them in the past, and me at that moment). The peace within their home restored me each night. The visits with dear ones filled my heart. And, at the same time, the tension about this journey I'm on, built and built within me, until I was wound up tight as the high 'e' string on a violin! 

Fear. Salty and sour, heavy and flat. For a day and a half I forgot my true identity, as the fear whined and whistled around and through me. Finally I remembered my stones, my holy ground that calls me back into solid relationship with Creator and the earth from whence I arise. Sitting in that deep silence, I returned to a quiet heart, a peaceful mind. Breathing once again, I remembered my own soul and came home to myself. Oh blessed relief! Oh gratitude for spiritual practices! 

Monday, on the road once again, I made a lunch-stop in Eugene, a reunion with old friends. They asked me to read them a poem from my new book (did I mention the book launch in Portland?). I read one for them. And then another - which turned out to be for me. The best antidote to fear and self-doubt? Read a poem. Or two!  

Here's the one that turned out to be for me: (maybe it's for you as well?)

             QUESTIONS OF SURRENDER

What is surrender . . .  do I know yet?

I want to have it clear, like looking

into a cup of water and seeing

spidery cracks, runes of fortune

in the china curve, precise beneath the surface.

I want to know the sound, like hearing

the Tibetan monks chanting in the square,

over-tones layered up till the entire world drops

into that core of stillness. I want

my surrender to be a known path,

each stepping stone solid and firm –

above water, above ground.

But I see now

this ain’t no cakewalk,

I don’t get to know my way, the direction

of my going, not even the time of the day.

This blind trust that’s called for

rankles against my skeptical bones,

my comfort-seeking skin. Seems like

God could have arranged it

better than this,

this cook’s tour of unfriendly places,

sobering moments, and blind alleys . . .

All the same, there’s a suspicion

growing in me that I’ve found the point,

the nub, the uneasy centre of true

surrender. I’ve got to reach beyond

my little mind and bind myself

to the Almighty, mystifying and unpredictable

and waiting to stretch me

way out past the end of hope.

The last time...

Yesterday I led the service and gave the sermon at my church. The last time until I return. Our congregation is small - between 15 and 30 people on a Sunday, depending on all the variables that come along in life… It is a strong community, a loving community and I wanted to serve them with grace and clarity. 

I had promised myself to trust the sermon I wrote the day before, not to try and improve on it. I had promised myself to breathe all through the service, to stay grounded, to be with my people. And they held me up, just as they've been doing all along. The expression used - 'locally raised up' - usually refers to people who train and then serve locally. I am going away to train but as I kept my promises to myself, for them, I felt the people of my church raising me up. I felt the sweetness of Spirit flowing through me as I offered them my sermon, the one I wrote for them. 

At the end I was startled to find our priest, the one who gave me the query for my call, had slipped into the congregation during communion. He came forward and joined with our retired priest to bless me. They blessed me and sent me out, releasing me to my journey. And blessed is exactly how I felt. It was all intense, bittersweet, like a river of trust and Light flowing through me. 

Today, remembering how that was, I return to my mantra - All will be well and all will be well, and all manner of things shall be well...  Knowing God's got it, I see that all will unfold as it should.

Beginnings...

                         Journey – First Day

                  We step into the unknown,

                  we are pilgrims on the first day,

                  fresh and expectant and still

                  oh so rooted in our homes, the lives

                  we think we’re leaving behind

                  but secretly carry in our trunks,

                  or the pockets of our pants.

                  Our faces pivot, forward – the journey,

                  back – the familiar. Forward, back, 

                  forward...  We are 

                  the baby birds, fresh hatched

                  hunkered in those friendly fragments

                  shell of home,

                  fractured around us because

                  we chose to break out, to go see

                  what wonder awaits us. How

                  will our eyes be opened, when

                  will we encounter the magical,

                  the holy, the sacred? Will it

                  speak to us? Or simply

                  float by, magnificent and silent,

                  changing us forever, and

                  everyone will know it. We have

                  grand expectations, whether

                  we hide them or not. And what

                  comes towards us down the road,

                  growing in power with each eager step

                  we take, our glorious illusions, shedding

                  garments, one by one, till we come

                  face to face with you, Terrible Truth.

                                                   © Gyllian Davies

Starting Out...

This morning I woke with the flavour of a dream, and not the details. I felt peaceful, reassured, pleased with life - an excellent way to begin this blog and proceed on this journey! Out the window, summer was shining in all her early morning glory. And in the Kettle Valley where I've been living the past few weeks, the glory truly shines. Soon I will be leaving this beauty behind and waking to a different kind of beauty, deep in the city, yet still in the hills - for which I give thanks!

Between then and now there is a plethora of way-stops - Packing in a way that everything I want/need to take with me fits into my car… (my friends shake their heads in disbelief) Leave-taking from my communities and dear ones…  Then driving a LONG WAY!… In Portland, Oregon, celebrating a book launch of my newly published edition - "In a Time of Change; Poems for the Lost and the Found, The Hungry and the Hopeful" (named long before I ever dreamed this journey was waiting for me!), Driving more LONG WAY…  and finally… Arriving in Berkeley at "Holy Hill" - really! That's what  it's called!

In all of this I constantly remind myself to breathe. I ask for more hugs than usual. I softly chant my mantra to myself, a fusion from Julian of Norwich and a gift from a dear friend: "All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things shall be well. And… God's got it!"  And then I breathe again. Lots! 

And continually I remember the moment when I discovered a quiet, hidden part of myself weeping tears of relief that I am going to do this, going to seminary and entering into the discernment path for the priesthood. The sweet surprise of that moment lingers and sustains me.