Mystical Murmurs: My Interfaith Life

I'm definitely in a post-holiday slump. It's the season of blah: the time between New Year's and the beginning of Lent. I don't do winter sports, and even if I did, there's been no snow! Spring seems a long way off, even in the fairly mild weather. I understand that the bare trees have their own beauty as they send fingers into the gray sky, but many days I fail to see it. I look forward to Lent, but even that's way out on the horizon. I guess I have a touch of SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder. My dad certainly had it, and my son does, as well. One restorative measure I can take is a day-long retreat. In early February, I may plan one. Another thing I can do is the Winter Feast for the Soul , a forty-day celebration of kindness, connectedness, and gratitude, which began on 1/15 and finishes up at the beginning of Lent. The program includes online, guided meditations in several faith traditions, including a set of interfaith meditations. The website lists lots

Just came across this on Facebook. It's about five minutes long, but well worth it if you're an animal-lover, especially if you've loved an older animal. http://vimeo.com/29632448

I'm relaxing tonight, dogs all around. Max and Amber, the 5-year-old standard poodle littermates, are on the bed with me. For some reason, they feel that they must lie on their sides with their legs stretched straight out, so that they occupy most of the available space. Every now and then, when they are dreaming of prey (poodles were originally hunting dogs in Germany -- no pink bows or painted toenails there), their legs twitch as if they are running, and they give a sotto voce "yip" every now and then. But the queen sits on the floor next to the bed. Shadow, my first standard poodle, is now fifteen and a half, and no longer gets up on the bed, mainly because she can't jump anymore, but also because she can't see where the bed ends and empty space begins. So she sits patiently on the floor. I'm a great fan of older dogs -- I could see adopting a few more. There's a wisdom in older animals, human and canine, that gradually replaces the exuberanc

And, with the Winter Solstice, into the light. Very gradually into the light.  It will be weeks before I notice a slight lengthening of the daylight, and it will feel like a tease.  Day will be longer, but the ground will still be frozen and, potentially, snow-covered. There are homey comforts to be enjoyed in winter, of course: sitting with dogs by the fire, being snowed in on a workday, Christmas Eve in church, a hot mug of spicy herbal tea. But December has sometimes been a hard month at my house.  Sixteen years ago I said farewell to my mom, Ruth Ann,  at her funeral on December 20th, as a snowstorm raged (now wasn't that fun!).  And on the 19th of this December, we said goodbye to my mother-in-law, Grace.  Fortunately this time, there was snow on the ground only, not piling up around us. So I have reason to dislike December. Clearly, I have difficulty keeping in mind the message of Christmas: it's hard, but it will pass; the Lord is Emanuel; He is here. Fear not.

It's my fault, as much as anyone's. What do I do now? I paid bills last night -- 10 of them, including a couple of charitable contributions.  This took me a whole twenty minutes on my computer, even stopping to let the dogs out and in again, and pausing to grab a can of Diet Coke. Then I went downstairs and turned on the TV. And there it was, right on CNN -- the Post Office is in worse shape than ever. Half of the processing centers (including a BIG one near me) may have to close.  People are going to lose jobs. This sucks. Merry Christmas, you're unemployed. What now? Go back to writing and mailing checks? Send Christmas cards? (I had to give that up years ago; besides, we have a wonderful parish Christmas card now that we all contribute a message to, and it goes to everyone on the mailing list. Too tempting to refuse). I'm afraid I'm not a good enough person to take a step backwards from e-checks, e-cards, and e-mail. Which makes me wonder ... what other k