A Prayer in Spring

"Pulgaria Mandala" ©Amy Livingstone
(soul-symbol mandala commission)

From my March Sacred Art Studio newsletter. To subscribe, visit www.sacredartstudio.net

A Prayer in Spring by Robert Frost

OH, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
To which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends he will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.

Spring is gradually emerging here in the Pacific Northwest. The birdsong is abundant, trees are in bud, and the daffodils, in spite of the recent snow, are blooming. New life is indeed emerging after the dark days of winter. I love the interiority and silence during the winter months and yet I feel my inner child again when I venture into the garden, seeking out new shoots of life peaking through the mossy beds covered with leafy debris left in place last Fall to enrich the soil. It's this joy that fills my soul in times of grief and sorrow.

In my last newsletter (and last post here), I was preparing for my annual Living with HeART women's retreat. Twelve of us spent the weekend exploring our sacred creativity, connecting our inner knowing with the ancient wisdom of the medicine wheel, and finding sanctuary from the busyness of our world. It was a holy time. When I returned, I learned that a very close friend had died suddenly while I was away. He had been a close companion and was like a brother to me for many years, so it was quite a shock. Yet he had expressed his world weariness and financial struggles for as long and I do feel in my heart that he has at last found some peace. There will be a gap where his presence once inhabited my daily life but in his death, he has also given me a renewed sense of urgency towards life and purpose. So, in my grief, I find myself a bit impatient with the minutia of daily life and feel an impulse to make some extravagant change as I did twenty years ago after the consecutive deaths of my brother and mother. (I moved to Portland alone with no job, no friends or family.) This time however, it is holding to place, to community, to art, to being, to service...right here, right now. So, I find myself ever more present to the beauty around me in any given moment and to that which is most essential. Which is love as Frost expresses so beautifully in his poem, "For this is love and nothing else is love." As I've shared previously, I do believe, that it is through our grief, that we are able to open our hearts to each other and to the world around us. May all beings be happy. May all beings be loved.

What is most in bud for you right now during this season of rebirth, Spring? As always, I welcome your thoughts.

For love of the EARTH!

The above painting or "Pulgaria Mandala" is a personalized soul-symbol mandala commission. These are unique, one-of-a-kind sacred artworks that are expressions of your soul and support you on your healing/spiritual journey. Read more about these mandalas here at the blog or contact me for more information.

Living with HeART, Earth

Sunday morning rainbow from home.

From my January/February Newsletter:

January has been a time of stillness and spaciousness. Although I have been working steadily in the studio, attending to design projects, and preparing for the upcoming Living with HeART retreat, the month has unfolded slowly. After our annual New Year's Day sweat lodge ceremony at People of the Heart, I emerged out of the womb of the earth and felt that initial impulse, as so many of us do at the start of a new year, to make haste and manifest all sorts of intentions. Instead, I stopped, took a breath, and eased into my days. I have also been reflecting on our ancestors who lived close to the rhythms of the earth. January was a time of restoration, to store energy in preparation for the start of a new harvest cycle. How far we have come from that reality in our fast-paced, 24/7 wired world. So, for me there has also been lots of sleeping this month, 'resting in the grace of the world' to quote the poet Wendell Berry. Energy is now mounting and shifting outward once again, just as we reach the ancient celebration of Imbolc on February 2nd (Read more here.) This is the midpoint between Winter solstice and Spring equinox when our ancestors would begin to prepare the seeds for planting. This is an ideal time to plant the seeds of intention for your new year. What is your soul longing for? What is the heart of your longing? Playfulness, passion, purpose, or perhaps deeper wisdom?

Discover this in a sacred space with a wonderful group of women. I'm excited about offering you the third annual Living with HeART retreat. With my co-leader, Judy Todd, we will be guiding you through the medicine wheel and the four seasons of a woman's life. Drawing on our innate creativity, we will rest, remember, and return renewed, ready to plant the seeds and manifest our soul purpose.

So, why does this matter given the demands of our lives in feeding ourselves and our families? I think most of us would agree that we are experiencing environmental degradation during this time on earth. For me, and many other theologians, the ecological crisis is a spiritual crisis. Scholar Karen Armstrong writes: "Perhaps every generation believes that it has reached a turning point of history but our problems seem particularly intractable and our future increasingly uncertain. . . .Unless there is some kind of spiritual revolution that can keep abreast of our technological genius, it is unlikely that we will save our planet."

This may sound dire, but I do have hope in human creativity. I believe that this spiritual (r)evolution will begin with each of us slowing down, being more present to life, reclaiming the Earth as holy, and drawing on all our creativity to serve our ailing, albeit beautiful world. That's my vision. Care to join me?

To register for the retreat, visit Judy's website. We look forward to sharing this sacred time with you.

For love of the EARTH!
Amy

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water,
and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

- Wendell Berry

For the Artist at the Start of Day

View from the studio. January 2012

For the Artist at the Start of Day
-John O’Donohue

May morning be astir with the harvest of night;
Your mind quickening to the eros of a new question,
Your eyes seduced by some unintended glimpse
That cut right through the surface to a source.

May this be a morning of innocent beginning,
When the gift within you slips clear
Of the sticky web of the personal
With its hurt and its hauntings,
And fixed fortress corners,

A morning when you become a pure vessel
For what wants to ascend from silence,

May your imagination know
The grace of perfect danger,

To reach beyond imitation,
And the wheel of repetition,

Deep into the call of all
The unfinished and unsolved

Until the veil of the unknown yields
And something original begins
To stir toward your senses
And grow stronger in your heart

In order to come to birth
In a clean line of form,
That claims from time
A rhythm not yet heard,
That calls space to
A different shape.

May it be its own force field
And dwell uniquely
Between the heart and the light

To surprise the hungry eye
By how deftly it fits
About its secret loss.

Living with HeART Retreat

3rd Annual Living with Heart Retreat for Women

Exploring our sacred creativity through the medicine wheel

I co-lead this annual retreat with Judy Todd.
Visit her website for more information.

Saturday–Sunday, February 18-19
Location: Hidden Lake Retreat, Eagle Creek, Oregon www.hiddenlakeretreat.org
Cost: $220 includes retreat, organic food, restful and cozy lodging, and artmaking supplies. Program facilitation is by donation at the end of the retreat.

Click here to email me for more information or to register.

Winter draws us inward to remember our deepest sources of creativity and renewal. Remembering takes time, stillness, and preparation—gifts we seldom give to ourselves in the midst of busy lives.

We have designed this retreat to help you slow down while diving deeply into your place of intuitive insights and original perceptions. Together we’ll draw inspiration from the natural world, the four sacred elements of earth/air/fire/water, and the ancient wisdom of earth-honoring traditions.

Earth, or Gaia, will be our muse as we journey around the medicine wheel, open new pathways to our place within the web of life, deepen our connection to the cycles of seasons, explore and co-create in sacred circles.

“The Living with HeART retreat reignited the creative flame in my soul! Since the retreat I have been enjoying making personal art that makes me smile and brings more joy into my life. I recommend this retreat and its leaders, Amy Livingstone and Judy Todd, who inspire love for the beauty in ourselves and our world.” —Rev. Jayna Gieber, 2011 retreat

Celebrating the Season of Light

During the holy month of December when many of us celebrate Hanukkah, Christmas, and/or Solstice, I've been reflecting on light. This time of year is often referred to as the 'Season of Light,' wherein we drape an array of lights throughout home and hearth. In the Jewish tradition, the menorah is brought out for ceremonial lighting. These days I've been imagining what it was like two thousand years ago for our ancestors before electricity and the ubiquitous presence of illuminated devices nestled neatly into the palms of our citizenry. Sitting before the blazing fire in the wood stove today, I was thinking of those dark nights many moon cycles ago. I reflected on the ancient Jewish celebration of Hanukkah and of the oil that 'should' have burned for only one day and the miracle that it lasted for eight. I imagined three holy men, or Magi who were Zoroastrian (from Persia, what is now known as Iran) priests and astronomers following the stars to honor the birth of a vessel born to bring light in a time of darkness. Jesus, bearer of love and hope. I envisioned our earth-honoring ancestors celebrating the darkest night of the year around a sacred fire while inviting the return of the light over the coming months.

While studying the world's spiritual traditions in graduate school, I was surprised and de-lighted to discover the many common threads that weave themselves throughout all our faith traditions including those with our earth-honoring brothers and sisters. These sacred texts affirmed for me that no matter what path we are called to follow, we are all interconnected in the web of creation. We are indeed all One. May all beings know peace, may all beings know love. May it be so.

Mother, Father, God, Universal Power
Remind us daily of the sanctity of all life.

Touch our hearts with the glorious oneness
of all creation,
As we strive to respect all the living beings
on this planet.

Penetrate our souls with the beauty
of this earth,
As we attune ourselves to the rhythm
and flow of the seasons.

Awaken our minds with the knowledge to
achieve a world in perfect harmony
And grant us the wisdom to realize that we
can have heaven on earth.

-Jo Poore (Earth Prayers from Around the World)

Beginnings and Endings

From my December Newsletter: sign up at www.sacredartstudio.net

At the End of the Year

The particular mind of the ocean
Filling the coastline’s longing

With such brief harvest
Of elegant, vanishing waves
Is like the mind of time
Opening us shapes of days.

As this year draws to an end,
We give thanks for the gifts it brought
And how they became inlaid within
Where neither time nor tide can touch them.

The days when the veil lifted
And the soul could see delight;
When a quiver caressed the heart
In the sheer exuberance of being here.

Surprises that came awake
In forgotten corners of old fields
Where expectation seemed to have quenched.

The slow, brooding times
When all was awkward
And the wave in the mind
Pierced every sore with salt.

The darkened days that stopped
The confidence of the dawn.
Days when beloved faces shone brighter
With light from beyond themselves;
And from the granite of some secret sorrow
A stream of buried tears loosened.

We bless this year for all we learned,
For all we loved and lost
And for the quiet way it brought us
Nearer to our invisible destination.

-John O’Donohue

And so we begin to wind down another year. Most of us celebrate the holy days in ways that honor our own unique tradition or struggle through the season nostalgic for remembrance of things past, anxious for the new year to come. I tend to vacillate between the two. We then begin the process of reflecting on the year and visioning for the next. Ending and beginnings. We humans are typically happiest at the beginning of any adventure whether it be the start of a new year, a new relationship, a new project, and subsequently feel sadness at its end. In his work with dying patients, theologian and Griefwalker, Stephen Jenkinson counsels that we need to “learn to love the ending as much as the beginning.” This is no easy task but one I am learning to explore as an essential element to life, in my relationships, and in my work as an artist. Perhaps it comes along with the spiritual journey that invites us to let go and trust in the process. That life is indeed guiding us towards or through a labyrinth of cycles to our soul’s destination.

I felt this recently with the completion of my large-scale painting based on the Garden narrative. As most of you know, this project began late last year with a vision in the wake of the Gulf oil spill and came to life over the past year. I made near daily pilgrimages to the studio to work on the piece and upon completing it, a void emerged. Now what? Of course, to complete the cycle of co-creation, it must be viewed and I am currently seeking a location for a show. However, I felt a sadness or emptiness where once this intense passion had been driving my artistic expression. So I have been sitting with that, noticing it. It’s in the waiting, the in-between spaces that become the spiritual practice. That place of gestation once again that seems to show up over and over again, certainly in my life. And what has emerged is a vision to take this piece into video of some sort. I envision a journey into the heart of the Creation and the diverse layers of symbolism that weave throughout it and why I feel it is an important contribution to the current ecological and theological discourse, especially among those who feel called to reject climate change, species extinction, and the environmental movement overall. (Click here for one example).

Once again I am discovering that in life an ending can be an opportunity for birthing a new beginning, a new vision. And once again I’m happily immersed in the creation of a new soul-symbol mandala commission and the ‘crone’ from my sculpture series that includes the maiden and the mother. And so, allowing for the sadness, “we give thanks to the gifts learned” to borrow from O’Donohue’s poem and hopefully in the process we can learn to love the ending as well as the beginning. Perhaps this is our task in both life and love.

World AIDS Day

©Amy Livingstone, Scarlet in A Wind, 1997

Twenty-five years ago I never thought I would see a sign that read, "The Beginning of the End of AIDS." Today is World AIDS Day and I just viewed part of the on-line panel discussion with former president Bill Clinton, Bono, physicians, scientists, and global activists working to end the AIDS pandemic. This sign was on the wall behind the panel. I was moved to tears by the end of the conversation when they read off the numerous organizations working to eradicate this horrific disease from the planet. They believe it is possible. Wow. Back in the early days of the epidemic, when my brother, his partner, and so many other young gay men were dying and first diagnosed there were few agencies (The Gay Men's Health Crisis was the only one in NYC) working on the frontlines of the disease and there was so much denial and fear. Even our political leaders refused to acknowledge what was happening. Reagan and Bush, Sr. never mentioned AIDS while in office and for a long time I blamed both of them for my brother's death. The late 80s. A different era.

As I've shared here before (click to read), art has always been my way of processing deep feelings, especially my grief in the wake of my brother's (and my mother) death. I credit art for saving my life during those dark years and you can see some paintings from my early years by clicking here. The painting shown above titled "Scarlet in A Wind" was inspired by the song a former friend of mine wrote for me about my loss and love for my beloved brother Richard. The red ribbon being the AIDS ribbon. As we mourn and remember all the precious beings who have been taken by this disease, may we also celebrate those angels among us who are working tirelessly to end the suffering of all those who continue to live with HIV/AIDS. May it be so.


Scarlet in a Wind

Sad ribbons blowing
Scarlet in a wind.
Sad ribbons blowing
Twisting ‘round her heart.
Thoughts flying skyward
Remembering you.

“Dearest angels in the sky
I had no time to say good-bye.
Your greedy wings took him away.
I didn’t know it would be today.
Didn’t you know that he wanted to stay?
All of my tears couldn’t keep you away.

Golden harps sang too soon.
Wind from your wings swept through the room.
Why did you need him so soon.
We needed time to grow and bloom.

All the things he might have been
are erasing in the night.
A father with child or a funny old man.
Now a dad lives on past his son.
Too soon. Too soon.

Tell him I love him.
Tell him I care.
Tell him one day
I will be there.”

© 1996, Joanne Nelsen