Circles of Friends and the Cloud of Witnesses

November 14th, 2024 | Click to Comment

Friends have always mattered, but I’m particularly aware of how important they are right now.  When the outer world is in upheaval, stirring up fear and anxiety within, the people whom we love and trust help steady us with their presence. Wise friends make it easier to calm the distracting agitation, hear the inner voice of wisdom, and act in a way that truly serves life.

A few days ago in the company of a trusted friend, I found myself releasing tears that I didn’t even know were there. I had no idea of the weight I carried until the shelter of our friendship allowed me to feel safe enough to acknowledge it. Feeling loved allows us to open our tender hearts. Each of us is carrying more than we know. Recognizing the state we’re in is how we release the burden of our human woundedness into the healing light.

Being aware of our inner state also helps us recognize both positive and negative aspects of ourselves, and to make decisions informed by what is best in us. It helps us recognize the difference between being manipulated and being informed. It allows us to know when our actions come from a place of clarity and wisdom, and when we’re being driven by destructive emotions and blinded by a too-narrow focus.

Outrage and judgment, grief and despair, are natural human emotions arising in many of us in response to the kind of leader this country has chosen to elevate. It’s important to make space in ourselves for these genuine emotions, and it is also important not to cling to them. We can allow emotion to move through us without our being consumed by it.

This is important, because however appropriate these emotional states may feel, they cannot sustain us. Neither can the agitation of an anxious mind, with its anticipation of doom and plans for catastrophe. We need a more steady source of fuel that does not burn us out. We need a connection to the quiet center within. The onslaught of analysis and outrage distracts us from connecting to the deeper wisdom that lets us know the next right step that is ours to take.

Many of us feel dismay at the prospect of dismantled safeguards and deconstructed institutions that may occur in the coming months. Nonetheless, the values that gave rise to those structures remain. Values such as education, justice, civility, and kindness are strengthened and preserved in the lived experience of individual people. We have the power to guard them at the micro-local level where we live our lives.

We all have a choice in where to place our attention and energy. I have limited ability to effect change at the national level, which is the focus of most news reporting. There are others in a better position than I to navigate those political waters; perhaps I can find ways to support them. Yet I do have agency. I trust that each of us has important work to do right where we are. In fact, that is the only place where we can work.

The fabric of American society is strained. Small tears are visible in many places. Our enemies exult in this. Finding what is ours to do, individually and in small groups, will yield actions that bring a new fiber into the weave of the beloved and vital fabric of our country. This new fiber, and the ways we find to thread it through the material of American life, will be created from a clear-eyed perception and response to the context of our everyday lives. It will be informed by the Source of life moving through us, grounding us in the ability to really see what is happening, surprising us with new possibilities, and supporting the day-by-day work of holding the fabric together. This fiber may be neither red nor blue. Part of the work involves recognizing that there is much more to a person than how they voted in the election. This, too, is something our enemies want us to deny.

We can’t know exactly what will happen in the coming months, much less years, and we waste our precious energy flinging ourselves at imagined outcomes. Our strength is needed for being present to whatever each moment requires of us. Our energy is needed for guarding our values. Our attention is needed for seeing others in their full humanity, remembering that our entire society is strengthened when we honor and guard the dignity of each individual. People are more complex than any one aspect of their lives.

And in the meantime, it is not only wise but glorious to take sustenance from this life, in the company of those we love, and sustained by the beauty of the natural world. We can be uplifted by those around us, and inspired by the words and the lives of those who have gone before us. There is a great cloud of witnesses who have shown us how to keep the faith. They are whispering, “Do not be afraid.”

Susan Christerson Brown

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Unclenching

October 29th, 2024 | Click to Comment

A hundred-plus years ago, my ancestors owned and operated a mineral springs spa in Kentucky. People came in search of rest and healing, and reported countless stories of renewed health and vigor resulting from their stay. My family knew how to welcome and care for their guests, and worked hard to create a place that was a balm for body and soul.

During election season, visits from politicians were banned from the spa. In July of 1925, a notice that politicians would be turned away from the property was published in the newspaper. The local paper was the primary source of news back then, but even without today’s electronically charged media environment, politics at the time were divisive and political discussions heated. 

My great-grandparents knew that the agitation stirred by political speeches, or even the presence of local politicians during election season, worked against the healing effect of their spa. They protected their guests, their business, and the unique value of what they could offer, by holding firm boundaries in a politically charged environment. This was yet another way they gave their patrons rest and helped restore their health.

Today, most of us are weary of this campaign and anxious about the election’s outcome. Polls tells us that supporters of both candidates feel that everything is on the line, that a loss will throw the country into crisis. Fear, hate (which is largely driven by fear), and the dehumanization of the opposition distort our view of one another. We can’t see clearly, think rationally, or respond effectively when our perception has been hijacked by these overwhelming emotional forces.

When we’re possessed by the power of these ancient archetypal energies, they drive our actions. We lose the ability to clearly perceive what’s really happening, and to effectively choose how to respond. Our instinctive survival modes take over: Fight, Flight, or Freeze. At that point, we become prone to manipulation.

I had all of this on my mind a few days ago when I saw a roly-poly bug on the porch. It reminded me of my childhood, when a roly-poly, or pill bug, could fascinate me on a timeless afternoon. How predictable it was, curling into a tight roll when I touched it, so that I could tumble it across the carport like a little ball.

I would watch for it to unclench, sometimes impatient with it for taking so long. I waited to see it expose the soft, flat underside of its grey oval body just long enough for the tiny filaments of its waving legs to find the ground again, the rounded shield of its back turned up once more, protecting it as it moved through the world. Its legs would carry it over any surface, but not when it was afraid. Curled up tight, in survival mode, it was as if the roly-poly were no longer a living thing. I was willing to watch for a long time, because it was a relief to see it uncurl and be on its way again under its own power.

It’s hard to make good decisions when we’re afraid. Our automatic responses to danger take over; the instincts patterned in our bodies drive us into survival mode. We easily lose connection to the quiet center, the still small voice, the source of wisdom and guidance.

When our country was divided on invading Iraq many years ago, it was the story of weapons of mass destruction allegedly hidden there that tipped the balance in this country. I for one gave up my opposition and acquiesced to the invasion, conceding that this military action must be necessary to keep the world safe. I believed the officials who painted a terrifying picture and presented themselves as the shield and defense that would protect us all.

In that fearful time, I became as predictable as a roly-poly. I was easily rolled into the corner of supporting, even if reluctantly, that invasion. Later we learned that those officials said whatever they needed to say to make this country align with the invasion they wanted. The reports of weapons of mass destruction were not credible, but by the time we learned that it was too late.

Fear, and the hate that it often undergirds, makes us more readily manipulated. When someone tries to make us afraid, it’s a good time to guard the connection to our own center. To give in to fear is to give up our own agency. It’s good to ask, in this moment, “Is my physical survival really in peril?” And if in this moment my life is not in immediate danger, then how can I unclench, get my feet on the ground, and move in the direction shown by the life-giving wisdom within?

Giving ourselves time away from the onslaught of the news is a good start for unclenching and reconnecting to the divine light shining within our own center. We can find a way to create for ourselves some inner version of a healing spa away from the political noise, even if it’s only for a few minutes a day. We need a quiet space to cultivate health and wholeness, restore our strength, and get our feet on solid ground.

Then we can return to the world with the clarity to see other people in their full humanity. We can cultivate the ability to keep our balance and not be manipulated. We can cultivate the love that transcends fear and hate. We can take action responsibly, claiming the agency to convey some bit of light into the darkness.

I have a photo of my young grandson when he was about five years old, kneeling beside a narrow garden bed alongside the garage at his old house. He’s wearing his purple baseball cap, a teal t-shirt, grey denim pants, and dark blue sneakers. Just past him a bright red tulip is open to the sun. His hands are loosely clasped at his knees and he’s leaning forward, a pleasant expectant look on his face, as he focuses on a purple hyacinth sitting low on the ground before him.

I want a world, a country, a culture, deserving of this child of my heart. Where the dignity and worth of each person is honored. Where we can somehow find a shared reverence for the value of life and of each other. And where we can regain attunement to what is ultimately true, acting out of the better angels of our nature.

Susan Christerson Brown

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Christmas Light

December 10th, 2023 | Click to Comment

Simplifying the Christmas season most always appeals to me. Dwelling in the quiet expectation of Advent helps make sense of the world. These shortened days demonstrate the rhythm of the seasons and the natural order of things.  It’s a time for paring down in order to focus on what matters most.

But one thing I nonetheless crave this time of year is Christmas lights! . In these weeks marking the longest nights of the year, I welcome the cheer of tiny lights.  Other traditions observe the festival of lights in their own meaningful contexts. Hannukah in the Jewish faith is centered on remembering the miracle of enduring light through the candles of the menorah. Diwali in Indian culture is all about lighting up the night. As the hours of darkness lengthen, the illumination shared by all of these grows ever more significant.

For me, the display of light represents the human effort that is part of the equation of bringing hope and cheer, love and goodness, into the world. The stringing of lights signifies the upwelling of what is best in humanity. Light is a beautiful gift that we share with one other, heartening one another through dark times.

Whether or not we say it aloud, the sharing of light reconnects us to a steady hope in the beauty of life, and reminds us that suffering is not the last word. Light is a powerful mystery, and points to a source beyond our everyday understanding. Even a tiny light helps us remember that we are not alone in the dark.

Yet without a connection to something beyond ourselves the bulbs flicker, the candle flames waver, the power goes out. The world is full of darkness, and we need strength, guidance, and courage from a source more enduring than our changing circumstances if we are to bring light. Part of what we do for one another is to hold this connection for those whose who have lost touch with it.

Cultivating light is like the two movements of the breath: breathing in the fullness of life from the source, and breathing out the manifestation of that love into this world. Jacob’s dream of a ladder connecting heaven and earth, with angels ascending and descending, offers a powerful image for this two-way movement—from earth toward heaven, and from heaven toward earth. Humanity and divinity move toward each other. They meet, and it changes everything.

Something within us is made of light, is a vessel for light, and moves us to bring light into the world. Every glowing bulb echoes this divine spark.

Susan Christerson Brown

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Claiming and Letting Go

November 7th, 2023 | Click to Comment

I’m learning that there’s an important discernment to be made about when it’s time to claim something and when it’s time to let it go. Another pair for Ecclesiastes. We do what we can to make things work, to play our part, to live well and care for others, but the outcome is out of our hands. This is true in love and work, art and politics, small projects and major endeavors.  

A photo taken as I was leaving my polling place after voting today

Life teaches us about differentiating between what is and is not our work to do; it accomplishes this by placing people and circumstances firmly outside our control. We can do harm to ourselves and others when we go flinging ourselves against what is. While the deepest desire of our heart can be a guiding star for our lives, our more casual or conditioned wants are a burden. Many of our ideas about how things ought to be bring more pain than guidance.  There’s a difference to discern between acting on our preferences and the right action to take.

Our habits of attention and patterns of emotion narrow our vision and cause us to focus on what distresses us. These habits create thorns that we believe indicate that something is terribly wrong and must be addressed. Our automatic way of moving through the world creates urgent problems to solve, and we believe that if we have agency at all we must solve them. We can’t see or feel anything else until that thorn is removed.

What we don’t realize is that we choose to prick ourselves with those thorns. The pain we put ourselves through is neither necessary nor helpful. We have the power to place our attention somewhere else, and to live differently.

Letting go is the practice that allows us to find out what is essential and what we’ve manufactured through our habits and conditioning. We develop our preferences and expectations over a lifetime, but when we make them a requirement for happiness these inclinations become a prison.

Letting go of who we think other people should be, and what we think should happen, is a lifetime learning project. And life helps us with it, showing us over and over again that people will be who they are and things will happen as they happen.

Our agency doesn’t extend to controlling people or events, yet we do have agency. Acting not from our habitual patterns but from our essential being—the higher, wiser Self who can see clearly what’s needed—is how we can act most effectively for good. Acting from this conscious awareness, rather than being driven by unconscious emotions, is the way to be accurately perceptive, genuinely strong, and truly loving.

We might never choose to do the deep work of this kind of discernment, except that life brings experiences of disappointment, pain, and failure that demand a reexamination of what we thought we knew. Over and over again, life invites us to loosen our grip on who we believe we are and what we believe matters. As we accept this invitation, the world grows larger than the parameters of our preferences. We realize that we don’t always know what’s best for us, and learn to hold less tightly to what we thought we wanted. And in the process, we come to see ourselves as part of a mystery more vast and beautiful than our smaller self could have ever imagined.  

Susan Christerson Brown

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The Impact of the Aspens

October 22nd, 2022 | 1 Comment

This fall I visited Denver and the iconic Rocky Mountains for the first time. I knew to anticipate a difference from the familiar green rolling ridges and limestone cliffs of the Appalachians. But the mind’s expectations hardly prepare body and soul for the encounter.

Depending on weather conditions, the mountains are a now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t backdrop beyond the Denver skyline. The changeable visibility might offer a view of distant snow-capped mountains, or the entire range can be obscured by clouds and smog. We were fortunate to have a clear day heading west out of the city on I70.

Even the foothills are jagged and rough, desolate brown on some slopes and filled with evergreens on others. My ears popped as we drove up the steep inclines into the mountains.

White-barked trees with golden leaves began to appear. They glowed as if lit from within, growing in clusters. Aspens. They’re all connected, I learned. Each sends out roots that can grow into new saplings. These were families of trees.

What a gift to see the aspens in their October glory. From a distance, they make threads of light among the dark firs on the mountainsides. The bright lines and pockets of color are like the Japanese art of kitsugi, repairing cracked pottery with liquid gold—brightening, elevating, and making unique the piece that has been broken.

Up close, the aspens shimmer in the breeze with a gathering, rising sound like tumbling water or the sudden flight of a tree full of birds. The leaves are golden coins winking in the sunlight, like the glittering disks of a thousand jeweled belly dancers, held aloft on slender white branches.

There were valleys filled with these trees, like huge golden pools surrounded by mountainsides of deep green. We passed the exit to Golden, Colorado, named for this exquisite swath of color. I no longer think only of beer when I hear that name.

Seeing the aspens comes at a price for an unacclimated lowlander. The body’s strength drains out like water at 11,000 feet. The low ache of a brain in need of oxygen, the effortful thought, the necessary slow pace of movement, the fluttering heart, all mark how it feels to move through these heights.

Physical energy and mental agility grow cloudy in the high mountains, at least in the short time when I was there. I didn’t so much claim an experience as submit to it. It was an encounter: with power, with beauty, with vastness, and even with desolation. We watched a storm gather on the side of a mountain, and found ourselves peppered with snow-encased hailstones on a mountain pass. Temperatures dropped, the sun came and went. A huge ranch spread over a barren-looking plateau seemed to me an image of loneliness. I can still see the woman in boots and jeans unlatching a wide metal gate, the driver’s door of her pickup standing open—and feel her dignity and grit. 

I felt the absence of how familiar terrain cushions our journey through this world. The enormity of the landscape jarred me awake, wide-eyed, as I took in what I could. The mountains inspired awe, and demanded a gathering of one’s own strength to meet them. They evoked humility, effortlessly demonstrating that life is more than I can imagine.

I’m grateful for every part of experiencing the mountains, but it’s the aspens that make me smile. Their gorgeous, golden color amidst the rugged landscape was a kind of generosity. Their inviting shimmer was like the gift of hospitality—a gift shared by those who welcomed us into their homes at the end of the day as well. Beauty and delight touch the heart when we’re traveling unfamiliar territory.

I want to remember the power of connection that I saw in the aspens, and the impact it makes on the landscape. I want to remember that I have the chance to foster that kind of community, beauty, and hospitality in the life I live. And I want to remember how much it matters.

Susan Christerson Brown

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Courage and Tenderness

January 19th, 2022 | Click to Comment

It takes some courage to take on what’s new, to try something new, to live into what’s new. Right now it takes courage to keep going through the rumbling storms into the new year. Marion Gilbert observes that this new year will be what every new year is: a continuation. That’s helpful. Remembering that a new year doesn’t arrive fully formed makes meeting it feel less daunting.

At the same time, a continuation brings a lot of old baggage. The heavy realities we carry forward weigh on what’s to come. I think of Jacob Marley’s chain, forged link by link. Bracing ourselves to endure its weight requires one particular kind of courage; allowing ourselves to release what’s not needed is another.

The long endurance that the COVID era requires is a new place to be. We’re having to dig deep for the extended perseverance it takes. Our reservoir of everyday coping strategies ran dry long ago, and we need the kind of spiritual sustenance that cannot be generated by force of will. It’s a fresh challenge, or at least a deepening one, to find those wells of replenishment and to continue dealing with the crucible of our current time.

However we characterize it, this malaise is not just our individual experience. Talking to one another makes it clear that we’re experiencing this collectively. At the same time, when the positivity rate is at record levels in Kentucky and people still can’t be bothered to wear a mask, it’s easier to see the divisions than to feel like we’re in this together. But that’s exactly why it troubles me to see bare-faced shoppers: I know we really are in it together. I pray for anyone who needs a hospital bed anytime soon.

Because I tend to look toward the positive aspects of things, something in me wants to resist saying that we’re in a hard place. I’d rather focus on finding some good that comes from all of this. But as the challenges go on and on there is simply no avoiding how difficult these days are, even for those of us not suffering on the front lines of public contact and health care.

In a recent column, David Brooks points out that Americans are driving less but deaths from traffic accidents are up. Belligerent behavior in hospitals, schools, and in public is on the rise. Substance abuse and overdose deaths are increasing. We’re giving less to charity.

Perhaps healing begins with acknowledging the truth of this painful era. There’s a kind of surrender that comes with looking directly at how things are, showing compassion for ourselves and others as we make our way through it. This kind of surrender is not the same as giving up. It’s more a matter of being honest about the condition we’re in.

Naming what’s real honors the loss we’re all experiencing. Acknowledging the painful realities that we’re trying to cope with brings a tenderness to how I move through the world. The vulnerability and fragility that I sense in myself and others feels both sad and true. It slows me down, and makes me appreciate the genuine moments of beauty and hope.

The courage to abide with what’s true makes us more receptive to what our ego would otherwise dismiss. It helps us to pay attention, to see what we would otherwise overlook, to be truly present. The tenderness evoked by these times helps us appreciate the beauty of caring for one another, of connecting with one another. It shows us how we need each other. Bringing presence to one another makes things better.

Tenderness helps me notice and appreciate the moments of beauty and connection that permeate every single day. Beauty is spiritual sustenance, and even sweeter when shared. As we honor what is true, we can help heal this world by bringing our attention to what is beautiful, sharing it with others, and enjoying those moments together.

Susan Christerson Brown

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Attending to What Matters

June 19th, 2021 | 2 Comments

A strong thunderstorm blew through the neighborhood a few days ago. It felled a massive maple tree that had offered shade on my regular walking route for years. But I’m just a newcomer. That maple had been part of the landscape for generations.

The huge tree seemed solid and enduring. The strength and stability amassed during all its years of growth appeared unassailable. But the power of the storm revealed otherwise. Its heartwood was rotten, and the appearance of strength belied the tree’s ill health.

The house beneath the tree was spared, fortunately, because of the direction of the wind. When the trunk splintered several feet above ground, it fell toward the street. Had it toppled in the other direction it would have crashed through the roof.

Now that the broken remains of the trunk are exposed to the light, it’s easy to see that the tree should have been removed years ago. But it would have been difficult to muster the will to remove such a magnificent presence. The branches offered welcome shade in the summer and glorious foliage in the fall. There must have been signs that the tree was unhealthy, though I certainly didn’t notice. It’s easy to let such things go for another week, another season, another year. Surely it will be ok a little longer. Until it isn’t.

Was it unimaginable that such a tree would violently break? Certainly not, though apparently the owner of the property didn’t see this coming. Or didn’t want to.

One of our most powerful resources is our attention. Where we direct our attention influences how we use our energy. “Where attention goes, energy flows.” What we pay attention to, and what we ignore, shapes our lives. We can choose what we will attend to, or allow our attention to be directed by longtime habits of thought, emotion, and behavior, along with the urgencies of daily life.

Internally, the things we habitually focus on (and ignore) compel us to keep repeating the same old patterns. Externally, all kinds of voices clamor for a foothold in our minds. Our wiser self knows what we need to pay attention to, but it takes real effort to hold on to that awareness. We need some kind of daily practice to stay connected to what our best self knows.  

When we’re not paying attention to our lives, we miss what’s really going on. We overlook the new growth asking to be cultivated, and ignore the danger of familiar but rotten practices whose time is finished.  

In order to be present to our lives we must be present to ourselves. There is no clarity about what’s happening in our interactions with others or in the events of our days unless we’re also aware of what’s going on within. Attending to our inner self allows us to see more clearly and respond more effectively to what’s happening in the world. It makes us less susceptible to manipulation, and frees us from the patterns that confine us.

Life is all about change. It’s easy to miss those changes unless we can be fully present, receptive to what’s really going on. Bringing our attention to what’s happening in this moment, rather than getting caught in our familiar thoughts and emotions, allows us to see what’s in front of us more clearly.

Maybe there’s something we need to do differently. Maybe there are aspects of how we live that were once solid but now need to be removed. Showing up fully, with the courage to pay attention, is an act of love. It’s when we’re truly present that we can perceive accurately, respond appropriately, and do what needs to be done.

Susan Christerson Brown

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The Water We’re Drinking

January 13th, 2021 | Click to Comment

We have few sources of cool, clear water to drink from in these days of upheaval. They’re found mostly in those rare places where friendship, love, and community have carved a basin. This is where water from the deep springs can pool.

The trustworthy holding and acceptance, the reminders of what we know but might have forgotten, the respite of a place safe enough to think and process and grieve together—these gatherings sustain me. This water gives me life.

We all need that sustenance. Yet there are toxic pools where people gather in their longing for community, for belonging. There are poisoned wells, watering the ugly desire to vanquish and overrun.  

Almost a year ago Carl Bernstein spoke of a “cold civil war.” It describes the state of our country. We’re living a clash of world views, of values. It feels like a siege.

The battle we didn’t want is here. It poses the question of who is best supplied, not just with material provisions, but with ideas and vision. Who has the fortitude to see clearly and respond appropriately, with strength and wisdom? Who invites others to join in a life-affirming movement.?

Fear or Love? That is the choice. Fear has its place. It can show us what needs attention. But it’s a terrible way to live. It limits our vision and our choices, and constrains our lives. How can we best live from the truth that love makes us free, and fear is a prison? How do we find our way to the water of life?

We need to find strength to live from love; we need the encouragement of others. What are the communities that truly give life? They matter. Find them, if you don’t have them. Hold onto them. Be clear about the water you’re drinking.

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Transitioning into the New Year

January 6th, 2021 | Click to Comment

I would love to be looking forward into the new year with energy and clarity. It would be great to be moving ahead, powered by a sense of direction and a spirit of taking charge. But what I’m feeling is that I’m behind already.

Over the holidays it felt wonderful to check out from the news and the routines and even the Zoom connections that carried me through the prior months. Resting from them makes clear the effort that they all require. Now the gears are creaking as I try to get going again.

Transitions are hard for toddlers, and maybe they don’t really get any easier. We simply learn to soldier on. With the new year underway, it’s time for plans and schedules. The unopened door into the work that I have yet to begin is daunting as always. I have to remind myself that the work most always ends up being do-able once I walk through that door. It’s just a matter of turning the knob and leaning in.

Like all of us, my particular circumstances are set against our larger societal challenges. Bearing up in the current climate requires some effort in itself. There’s a race out there between the vaccine distribution channels and the new, more contagious, strain of coronavirus. I had internalized what felt ok to do, the volume of traffic in a store that felt safe to enter. Not much felt ok. Now the level of contagion is worse and I no longer have that sense of what’s safe. The virus is moving faster and the vaccine seems to be rolling out in slow motion, getting no closer to me at all. It’s a terrible thing when trying to live with good, responsible judgment seems indistinguishable from living in fear. And now there’s the chaos in Washington, too.

For weeks I’ve held onto how Rabbi Ari Saks recently described the meaning of Hanukkah. It speaks directly to this time. He says that lighting the menorah celebrates a victory in the midst of a larger battle, the outcome of which is yet unknown. It’s an act of faith, a way of drawing strength and courage from the small sources of light along our path. It’s also an act of courage to name what we hope for, to tend it, and to work for it.

That’s where we are as this year begins. There is hope and good news, but the shot in the arm is not here yet. There’s a new vision and leadership, but the transfer hasn’t happened. We’re in between the promise and the manifestation, and we persevere.

Once a week I tune in for a guided meditation offered by a wise teacher named Marion Gilbert. During her Monday Meditations I experience my burdens being lifted. It shifts my perception in a way that lets me feel absolutely carried and supported, with a perspective that allows me to be completely at peace. It works on my psyche just like smoothing an animal’s fur.

My worrying mind wants to be in charge. It thinks it should be in charge, yet has no capacity to change much of anything. My strongest agency comes from where I place my attention and what I choose. The best choice is to find that solid place to stand where I can observe the mind doing what it does, and be aware all the while that reality is bigger than what the worrying mind is able to perceive. That’s when I can remember that I’m being carried into the new year, that it’s not all up to me, and that ultimately all will be well.

Peace be with you.

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Advent through the Lens of the Mandala

November 17th, 2020 | Click to Comment

This year as we move into the time of Advent, I’m offering a class exploring the symbolism and the healing power of the mandala. In this season of increasing darkness without the holiday observances we usually enjoy, we need some new way of inviting Advent to speak to our hearts. We can all use some encouragement, and my hope is that this class will help.

Perhaps you’re familiar with the tradition of lighting candles in an Advent wreath during the weeks leading up to Christmas. This ritual is especially comforting as the weather turns colder and the nights grow longer. Four candles in a circle, as if to mark the four corners of a square, represent characteristics to kindle in our own hearts. The Christ candle itself, the light of transformation, marks the center point.

The shape of the Advent wreath and its candles forms a mandala—a symbol of the sacred wholeness that is the essence of all creation, and of our own souls. “Mandala” is a Sanskrit word for circle, and designates an infinite variety of circular patterns. The combination of a circle and square is a common mandala design, representing a union of heaven and earth. This universal, archetypal symbol shows up throughout history and in every culture. It is one of the first shapes that young children draw, and it appears in our dreams as a sign of healing and wholeness.

In the spirit of lighting the Advent wreath, we’ll consider a different realm of life at each class meeting and name a particular quality we wish to kindle. If you wish, you can create your own tabletop mandala and enjoy the increasing light as we burn an additional candle each week.

We’ll also engage in a dialogue with the soul through creating a series of mandalas, whether with colored pencils, crayons, marker, paint, or collage. No artistic ability is required whatsoever.

Along the way, we’ll look at examples of mandalas in nature, art, and architecture, gain insight from C. G. Jung’s perspective on mandalas and what they represent, and discuss the symbolism that shows up in the mandalas we create.

As the year winds down toward the winter solstice and the celebration of Christmas, I hope you’ll join me in making space for a new way to invite meaning, inspiration, and hope to the season.

Details:

We’ll meet via Zoom on Monday evenings, 6:30 – 8:30, beginning on Monday, November 30. The final meeting with be Monday, December 21 (which happens to be the day of the winter solstice). The cost of the class is $80. To sign up, just write to me at susan@mildlymystical.com and let me know you’re interested.   

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