Tribes and Poetry and the Focus of a Month

I am feeling that fragmented way that sometimes comes when I travel.  I feel like I need to just sit quietly for a few days and wait for parts of myself to return.  I feel like I need to weave myself back together again.

But my life doesn't give me that kind of time to focus.  I thought about carving a bit of time with an additional day off, but I knew I would need to go to campus for an hour or two, which would stretch to at least half a day.  I'll save the time off for some later point.

As I've traveled, from AWP a month ago to the creativity retreat last week, I've been thinking about tribes, the tribes we choose and the tribes that claim us.  I saw many AWP posts that talked about the ecstasy of being back with one's tribe, but I don't feel that way at AWP.  I'm a different kind of participant, with a very different kind of non-writing job for pay than most people there.  I still have a good time, but it's a much more industrial feel for me--it's not the sigh of relief, the "I'm home again!" feeling for me.

Last week's retreat was that way.  Let me preface by saying that I don't always feel that way.  I've been coming to this retreat since 2003, and I'm not sure why some years it's easy to settle in to the retreat rhythm and some years I never capture it.  This year I felt like I knew fewer people (in part, because we had a larger crowd with more new people), yet surprisingly, I had that return to the tribe feeling.

I don't have many areas of my life when I'm surrounded by people who are interested in the intersections of creativity and spirituality; in fact, this retreat might be the only place where I am in a larger group of those kinds of people.  There are a few at my local church, but at the retreat, I'm with 70+ people who are.  And we're interested in a wide variety of creative expressions.  It's exhilarating.

It does take me away from poetry writing, which is strange since the retreat almost always happens during National Poetry Month.  But it's great to be distracted by a retreat, not by the drudgery of administrative work.

Let me resolve to seize some time this week-end to do some writing/capturing of insights from the retreat.  As my online classes come to an end, let me also try to get back on track with my creative writing.  I feel like I can't even see the track anymore, much less get back on it.  But I know that I often feel that way at the crushing end of each semester of online teaching.

Leaving the Mountain, Resolving to Live in Brightness

It is time to head down the mountain, away from our beloved retreat community, back to regular life.

At the Create in Me retreat yesterday, a friend just happened to capture this amazing effect--no filters, no special additions, just sun streaming through the windows. As we head down the mountain, back from the retreat, let us live in brightness, let us be instruments of illumination!

Midway through the Retreat

By this time tomorrow, we'll have been on the road a bit of time.  We're hoping to leave by 5, since we both have to be at work on Monday.  I do find myself wishing that we could have gotten here early and that we could stay until after the closing service tomorrow.  Maybe next year.

The first day was wonderful.  A lot of folks expressed concern that I didn't have a chance to do much, that I was always taking pictures.  But I love walking around and taking pictures.  I love seeing what others are doing.

I don't point this out, but I've been going to this retreat for a very long time.  I've had a chance to experiment with many of the techniques we're offering.  And then there's the fact that I'd be left with the thing I created.

But the larger truth is that I love taking the pictures--I would prefer to do that.  If I wanted to sit in on a workshop or a drop in station, I would.

We also have a huge crowd this year.  I don't want to take up a seat that a new person might have wanted.

We had a great first day:  Bible study, worship planning, workshops, drop-in stations, worship service, lots of great chances to talk.  We have had amazing food, including some apple butter that had been cooking in a crock pot all day--on warm biscuits!

My mom and dad are here this year, which is a great treat.  Lots of us bring family members, which I think is a wonderful tribute to how meaningful the retreat can be.

Here's an intriguing nugget of information I got:  Luther Seminary is fully funding all students, including the online students.  Could I do seminary and stay employed?  I know that I could--I really have other questions, which I'll ponder at a later point.  They are the larger questions about what I want to do with the second part of my life.

I've always said that one of the biggest barriers to seminary is the debt I would incur.  If there's no debt, how does that change how I look at seminary?  I will do more thinking about that in the days to come.

I've had so many good conversations here.  I miss having good conversations about larger issues.

This retreat seems like a metaphor for so many things.  I'll leave with this Facebook post I made yesterday:  "Overheard at the Create in Me Retreat: "I thought I was making a pear, but maybe I'm making an apple." I'm willing to bet that this idea sums up many aspects of life for most of us."

First Night at the Retreat: Getting to Know You

I have safely made it to the mountain top!  I am at Lutheridge for the Create in Me retreat, my all time favorite retreat.  I have been attending this retreat since 2003, and I've only missed 2 years.  Each year focuses on a different part of the Triune God (Creator, Jesus, Holy Spirit), and this year is the Holy Spirit year.  We're focusing on the fruits of the spirit.

I am always intrigued by the first night exercises.  We need to have some getting-to-know-you exercises, which many of us dread.  Last night's was not bad.  First, we looked at the list of the fruits of the spirit, a list on the big screen:

We thought about which fruit we hoped would be rooted in us this week-end.  Then we were invited to choose a picture of the fruit that represented that quality.

I chose a pineapple for patience, because it takes 2 years for a pineapple to grow.  We moved around the room, introducing ourselves by exchanging pictures and explaining the fruit.  Of course, then we had a different picture in our hand.  It was interesting to think about how each fruit might symbolize patience (peaches require patience to get away from the stone, pomegranates require patience to get the seeds).

We then moved to the Arts Worship, which began with an arts meditation.  We got a picture from the fruit group that spoke to us, and then a picture from the other group:

Our worship leader read the text, Galations 5:  22-23.  Here are the two versions we heard last night.  First from the NIV version:

22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.
Then, The Message:

22-23 But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.

23 Legalism is helpless in bringing this about; it only gets in the way.
And then we were invited to peel the create:  we had 2 pictures which were actually printed on sticker paper, and we had a sheet of black paper.  We went to work and came up with a variety of approaches.

Here's mine:

We had time to talk about our creations, another great way of getting to know each other.  And then we did the rest of the service, which includes the anointing of hands to do holy work.

I'm looking forward to this time in the mountains, this time to think, this time to play.

On the Road Again

In an hour I leave for Lutheridge--it's time for the Create in Me retreat.  It likely won't be as cold this year as it was last year, but there is rain in the forecast.  Maybe I'll get the rain I was expecting from the Portland trip.  I'll put my extra pair of sneakers in the car.

I'm driving up with my church friend who went with me last year.  We travel well together, so I'm not worried.  This year my parents are coming to the retreat, which will change the dynamic a bit, but here too, I'm not worried.

I've been going to this retreat long enough that I have retreat friends--we sink into our friendship quickly each year.  I always look forward to seeing who will be there, and I miss the ones who aren't.  I find myself wondering if we can keep doing this into our old age.  I find myself wondering if we could find a place where we could do this every day of our old age.

I'm not looking forward to the long trip.  These days my back gets sore just from sleeping in my bed.  Sigh.  At least we start on a Thursday night.  That makes the long drive more worthwhile. The retreats that go from Friday night to Sunday are almost not enough time--even if I had a shorter drive, it's just not enough time.  There have been moments when I've thought that a Thursday night to Sunday is almost not enough time.

I love the focus of this retreat:  the intersections of creativity and spirituality, one of my favorite topics.  As always with topics that I love, I wonder if there's some way of having a work life that has more of that as part of it.  This has been a very stressful week at work, and I'm aware of how often I've been saying that this year.

My time grows short.  Let me go finish getting ready.  In the words of Bruce Springsteen, "I'll meet your further on up the road."

Autobiography of a Year of Frustrations for Judy Chicago

Before we get too far away from the Judy Chicago visit, I want to remember the series that catalogs her artistic despair and depression.  The last wall contained 140 drawings and sketches:

During the year of 1993-1994, she found herself depleted, both financially and artistically.  She had created Holocaust Project, only to find it difficult to find a place to display it.  Below she collects fragments from rejection letters:

She was without a studio because of building renovations, and she found herself feeling blocked.  She returned to a form that was manageable; they look like quick sketches/washes/drawings on smaller pieces of paper.

I was taken by their stark honesty:

I recognized some of the frustrations:

As I walked and looked and at times, felt like I should look away from an artist so exposed, I thought, wow, she's created some impressive work, and she still feels this way.  This is years after she created The Dinner Party, but also long before it found its home in Brooklyn.

When I first realized that the exhibit was much smaller than I anticipated, I felt a bit cheated.  It was mildly interesting to see the "rough drafts" of some of the plates from The Dinner Party, and I was happy to see some pieces from Birth Project again, although they weren't as revelatory for me as they were when I saw them in the 80's.

But as I've thought back, I've been most moved by the wall that was a catalog of frustrations.  It's a comfort to know that most of us suffer some of the kind of stuff--artistic stuff, relationship stuff, money stuff, time stuff--regardless of what we've already accomplished.

Poetry Tuesday: "Lessons from the Cathedral"

My writing time is short today, even though I've been up for awhile.  I needed to get some grading done, and I'll be leaving earlier today than usual to see if Publix has some bread and baked goods (because of Easter and the store being closed, the Monday bread run didn't work).

I wrote this poem last week after Notre Dame burned.  I don't know if it will work once that event fades from our memory, so I decided to post it here.



Lessons from the Cathedral 



The cathedral teaches
us that wood burns faster
than metal or stone, and ancient
wood has waited centuries
to show how brightly
it can blaze.

The falling spire pierces
not only the nave, but also our hardened
hearts. How will we now navigate?

The gargoyles keep their own counsel,
as they always have.
The rest of us watch the stained
glass illuminated by the flames
that frame the arches
and the cage of reconstruction.

Napoleon’s site of self-coronation
burns, but the work of daily life must
continue. I revise the accreditation
documents again. Others complete
their taxes, clean, make sure to feed
the children, the pets, all the helpless
creatures. Parisians gather to sing
the hymns we had forgotten
that we needed.