Mystical Murmurs: My Interfaith Life

One of my Lenten practices for this year has been to "sign off" Facebook until after Easter. I sent a little farewell message to all my friends, wished them a Holy Lent, and moved my little Facebook icon to the last screen on my cell phone, where, theoretically, I will forget to look at it.  I unpinned Facebook from my taskbar. I am now Facebookless. Don't get me wrong: I adore Facebook. I love the interaction with people I don't see often -- or ever -- (as well as with people I do). But, for me, it had become a terrible time-waster, and a distraction from other things that need doing. What's more, it kept my mind too busy all the time. I "had" to catch up with postings; I "had" to share lots of posts; and, worst of all, I "had" to have an opinion on everything I saw. I got tired of having an opinion.  And, let's face it, my (predictably liberal) opinions are a surprise to no one, especially to me. I got tired of the noise...

Although I admit to being a bookworm, most of the books I had during my undergrad and graduate-school years eventually found their way into the public library's book sale (because am I ever going to read Beowulf in Anglo-Saxon again? Seriously, I could hardly read it the first time). One of the few books I've saved is called English Villagers of the Thirteenth Century , by George C. Homans. I love this book, and I actually do refer to it, usually every time I find myself craving a simpler life in a more bucolic setting than the suburbs. There's something reassuring in the recurring feasts, fasts, and labors of the medieval agricultural year, and it comforts me to read about mead-making (or whatever) whilst riding on the commuter train listening to a woman yelling at her truculent teenager on her cell phone.  Was it really simpler in the old days? I have no idea, but that's my fantasy - rising early to watch the sun rise, drinking coffee on the porch at first cock-crow...

And from the cross he finds me, his gaze glassy, dimming (I'm crouching, hiding myself behind a nearby scrubby hillock), and says, words catching in his throat (and after a raspy, rattling inhale, one of his last?): "No words are needed. Feed my sheep."

I had a flash of grace tonight as I stepped out of the commuter train onto the platform. Usually, by Friday night, I'm in a vegetative state. Things are very unsettled at work -- we're in the midst of major changes in personnel and workflows, and many people are anxious about the changes they sense are coming. One staff member is retiring at the end of the month; two others have gone on leave for various reasons; yet another is hoping to retire in a few months.None of the retiring people, unfortunately, are me. But I digress.  After days of wind, low clouds and cold fog, when the train pulled away I had a breathtaking sunset view to the west: the lucid, clear turquoise sky, still illuminated against bare trees in the foreground. It was a blaze of blue that I wasn't expecting at the end of a trying week, and  a shade of blue that always reminds me of a Maxfield Parrish sky, as in the painting at left.  Maxfield Parrish was a 20th-century Philadelphia artist and illu...

No surprise, this. NOAA announced today that 2012 was the hottest year on record for the U.S., and one of the two top years for extremes of weather.  Read about it here . And now we seem all set to have another very mild winter, at least here in the Northeast.  Temperatures will climb all week, heading to a crescendo of 63 degrees on Sunday. That will be ...let's see ...January 13th. Looks like the hoodie is coming out again. Last winter, I wore my parka only 4 or 5 times. The height of the woodpile is still the same as last year. I have had only one fire, and that was on Christmas Day (for somewhat Dickensian, sentimental reasons). I feel really foolish lighting a fire and then opening the windows. Anyway, it's probably just as well, since I know my fireplace puts fine particulates into the air. The air is sufficiently screwed up already. I also saw pictures of the Mississippi River last week, along with the speculation that barge traffic would have to be stopped on por...

I woke up on January 1st feeling absurdly cheerful -- despite the fact that my winter break from work was virtually over, and the other externals of my life have not changed since the last time I posted.  Nothing is different. Everything is different. And this feeling of over-the-top optimism has lasted (at least, it is lasting for now). Probably one source of it is my sheer relief that the holidays are over (I'm an "Easter person," not a "Christmas person"), and I do fight depression as the days grow shorter, and the pre-Christmas pace of life becomes frantic. And, perhaps it was only in my head, but the late afternoon light seemed to me to have a different slant as I left work yesterday. A couple extra minutes of light! I'll take it. I did make some New Year's resolutions: more meditation, more study, less whining. We'll see how long they last.  Let's take a cleansing breath and get started.

On the verge of Christmas Eve, pundit conversations have turned from the horror of violence to the -- unbelievable! -- suggestion that teachers should be armed, kids' backpacks should be bulletproof ... I can hardly believe what I'm hearing. Instead of passing common sense gun-control legislation and addressing widespread mental health issues, it sounds to me as though we are giving up. Is violence now in control? Are we all going to retreat into bunkers, sandbag ourselves in, drink bottled water and eat from cans? Peer through bulletproof windows? Wear Kevlar vests to go pick up a half-gallon of milk? I don't want to live in fear. I don't want to live my life on defense. When do we become so afraid that there isn't anything left but fear? Haven't we seen, in the last horrific week, that most people are inclined toward compassion, toward acts of love and goodwill? I still believe most people are good, that a few sick individuals should not be allowed to s...