Painting Growing New Roots by Julia Fehrenbacher
On further contemplation of the last post More Fences, I recalled how on that same walk, nature had its very own barrier, the thickest and most abundant crop of poison oak I've ever seen. It definitely kept me from trekking off the path and into the backwoods. I saw yet again the human world reflected in the natural world.
The more I think about barriers and fences, the more I realize that on a deeper level, I am trying to come to terms with them; to know when to let them stay in place, and when to move through them; to be able to be up against them and still feel free. It is tied up with my own inability to accept what is, and my inability to see that it is all good--to trust and to be in the present moment, without all the stories that cripple.
On a brighter note, this practice of cultivating acceptance is what fuels creativity, learning, connecting, and gives much meaning.
There is no solution-- no fences that I can tear down indefinitely, that I will not find creeping back up in some other way. There is no escape. That is what I am trying to digest. In this perception I sense freedom.
The other day, Elizabeth Cunningham, an amazing author and human being felt moved after reading my post Wanting, to email me a passage from her book The Passion of Mary Magdalen that speaks to accepting what is, with all the contrast. I am honored to include it here. (I will be featuring her in an upcoming blog, because everyone should know this woman through her writing, and everyone should meet her main character, Maeve, the Celtic brand of Mary Magdalen--an encounter they will surely never forget!
Maeve (aka Mary Magdalen) speaking of Jesus in an excerpt from The Passion of Mary Magdalen:
My beloved, (my Bridegroom and yours), is often thought of as a mediator, as if we need someone to make our case to his terrible god, to stand between divine wrath and human wickedness.
Why not imagine instead a tree, mediating earth and sky? The roots know the mystery of the depths, the dark, the taste of earth and the leaves know the mystery of the heights, the light, the taste of sun. Both are good. In the heart of the tree, where Isis found Osiris, the mysteries meet. They meet in your heart, too.
We are all mediators of divine and human nature.
As we drank and danced and embraced at the wedding, we glimpsed each other’s radiance, saw our own reflected. The next day, remarkably rested and fit, considering, we saw our differences again, our annoying traits, our conflicting wills.
But I am not here to condemn human nature or to exalt the divine. It’s all good, the grit in the oyster, the stone in the shoe. Stop to shake out the stone. Take a moment to wonder at this place you find yourself: between earth and sky.
Excerpt used by permission of the author.