For International Women’s Day 2010

I don’t know about you, but when I was younger I used to get incredibly irritated by older people who ranted on about what things were like in their day.

Well you’ll have to indulge me for a moment…

Revisiting the ’70s

In the 1970s, the excitement and energy of second-wave feminism had many women on a high. Our priestesses were Simone de Beauvoir, Betty Friedan and Germaine Greer. We relished the extreme possibilities opened to us by Mary Daly and Andrea Dworkin.

We bought and contributed to vibrant feminist magazines, the polar opposite of those tedious home-making journals. There was a glorious explosion of feminist and lesbian fiction. Women met in consciousness-raising groups to discuss our lives.

The Personal is Political

We instinctively and intellectually knew the truth of it when Carol Hanisch wrote The Personal is Political. It all matters: what we wear, who we sleep with (or don’t), what we buy, how we raise our children, what we eat, the availability of contraception and abortion, our work, our financial independence, our religious beliefs and practices.

These ideas and ideals are still with us, translated by social justice groups to concepts like purchaser power, political boycott and workers’ rights.

Faith and spirituality

Most of us in the West at the beginning of the ’70s were familiar only with Christianity in all its patriarchal glory. Some had begun to flirt with Buddhism, and Maharishi Mahesh Yogi had given us transcendental meditation via the Beatles in the late ’60s. Britain at least was far less multi-cultural than today, and few of us were familiar with Islam or Hinduism.

Around this time, groups of women were exploring the origins of goddess worship and the history of witchcraft. Starhawk first published The Spiral Dance in 1979, exploring and affirming ancient/new female spirituality.

Christian women were pushing back against the patriarchs, exploring new language in worship, and fighting for the ordination of women. We still have a very long way to go, of course, especially in the Catholic church.

What the hell are we women doing now?

The women I knew then wanted more than equality. We wanted to reinvent the paradigms, to change society. Hell, we wanted revolution! Kate Millett said It’s more about changing the recipe of the cake than getting an equal slice.

So with this richness behind us, what in the name of the Goddess are women doing?

A search on Amazon this morning gave me 48,000 books under the search term feminism and 105,000 under diet. Our society is addicted to the underbelly of celebrity as explored by the tabloid press (which would not exist if we didn’t buy the papers and celebrity magazines). Young girls are clamouring for pink plastic tat bought at shops catering specifically for them, encouraged by their mothers. Female corporate lawyers are aping their male colleagues, aiming to earn the big bucks by billing 2,500 hours a year (that’s 9.6 hours a day folks, not including holidays, lunches or essential work not billable to clients).  Cosmetic surgery, for men as well as women, is rising inexorably and makeover shows are big business on television.

Why? In the West at least, we are mostly educated women. We have the history and tools to change ourselves and to change the world. We have the huge individual and collective power the internet gives us. Why don’t we change? Why do we allow ourselves to become indoctrinated? Why do I still hear women uttering that famous phrase Well I’m not a feminist but… as they protest injustice? Why on earth would any of us fear to be identified by the finest of the F-words?

Image of Egyptian Goddess statuette by ego technique

Elsewhere:

It’s not all hopeless. Natasha Walter’s book Living Dolls is making waves. Women for Women are helping women survivors of war. The BBC has a new series, Libbers, starting tonight. And I found out about the BBC series via this excellent exploration of feminism today at a blog that’s new to me, Everydaystranger. She also discusses an aspect I haven’t touched on above: the internecine  fighting that is the less glorious side of feminist politics.

Tweet This Post

Yesterday I went see the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition at London’s Natural History Museum. I didn’t take my own camera, but you can see a gallery of the spectacular photographs here.

I lost track of time as I wandered entranced past the images: a red kite hovering, river dolphins playing, and white hares boxing. I gazed into the eyes of a jaguar and a very cold fox. There were special junior photographer categories: this subtly amazing image won the ten years and under category. I’d love to be such a gifted photographer now, let alone as a child!

One image was conspicuous by its absence. The space where the overall winner had hung was replaced by a statement that the photograph Storybook Wolf had been disqualified because the photographer had allegedly used an animal model. The picture was posed.

I knew about this drama before I went, but I kept coming back to this enigmatic wall space. I realised something. Humans are animals, and we behave in many of the same ways: we kill to eat (at least carnivores do) and to protect, we mate, we fight, we care for our young, we often live in groups, we grow old and die.

But can you imagine an animal thinking I really want to win this prestigious photographic prize, I think I’ll hire a human to pose for me and pretend I tracked them down in the city street at night and caught them in their natural habitat?

Why do we distort our urge to create or observe what is beautiful? When does our calling to do great work become corrupted? How can we live with more integrity?

What do you think?

Image at the top of this post by Tim Parkinson

Elsewhere:

Blisschick is being challenging again at Radical Gratitude, quoting Meister Eckhart and Anthony de Mello, and asking us to be thankful even for the bad stuff. And Towanda quotes Henri Nouwen calling us to bring our pain home or risk not knowing our own truth. This seems to me linked to Blisschick’s post. Eckhart, de Mello and Nouwen, what a powerful trinity.

Tweet This Post

Isn’t the photograph gorgeous? How could anyone hate such a beautiful thing?

I hate them because bonsai are produced by snipping and clipping and binding and confining what nature would have grow glorious and luxuriant.

They seem to me a perfect metaphor for our humanity. We allow ourselves to live small lives. Thoreau famously wrote that we live lives of quiet desperation. They often look like such special  lives from the outside: perfectly formed and artfully displayed. But such shallow roots.

Today’s Gospel reading was the Transfiguration:

…he took Peter, John, and James and went up the mountain to pray. While he was praying his face changed in appearance and his clothing became dazzling white…Peter and his companions had been overcome by sleep, but becoming fully awake, they saw his glory…

Luke 9:28-36

Just imagine the lives we could live if we were to become fully awake to glory. Our roots would shatter those decorative pots and sink deep into the good earth, while our branches would stretch to the sun.

Image by cliff1066

Elsewhere:

Christine’s post about the Transfiguration gives us the transformation of the disciples who witnessed it, while Claire, in Transfigured, shares a beautiful and very personal meditation.

And thanks to everyone who spoke up last week for one or more of my books – I’ll be in touch with you very soon.

Tweet This Post

This morning during meditation, my monkey mind was especially chattery, and an image came to me. In the room of my mind, narrow jagged cracks were splitting open in the walls and through them, dark figures came scrambling towards me. Rather frightening, and a very vivid representation of distraction. (Of course, for the rest of the meditation I had to keep setting aside thoughts of how I would share that image with you in this post…)

What has this got to do with books?

I felt quite sad last night as I looked through my bookshelves. So many books I’ve never read, or read years ago and will never return to. And a couple I have duplicates of for some reason.

Every one of those books is a distraction, a reminder of what I won’t do or what is past. Every one a witness to my monkey mind. But I love them and I want them to go to good homes. I’m reflecting that giving things away is actually a subset of hospitality, my word for the year. Sharing ideas and potentialities is one of the most hospitable things we can do.

So below are details of 15 books I’m giving away, with Amazon links for further information.

If you want one or more, let me know which in the comments – by next Sunday 28 February. If there’s competition for a book, I’ll put the names in a hat (do I even own a hat?) and pick the winner. Then I’ll email to ask you for your snail mail addresses. Don’t worry if you’re not in the UK, I’m happy to post anywhere.

1. The Year of Living Biblically by A. J. Jacobs. A very funny and insightful record by a secular Jew living in New York of his year trying to take the Bible literally. A great “delve into it from time to time” book.
2. The Reflective Life by Ken Gire. Creating pauses in our lives to listen and become more sensitive to God in our everyday moments.
3. Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis. His classic autobiography.
4. The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis. His exploration of why, if God is good and all-powerful, do God’s creatures suffer. The pages are a bit yellowed, I’ve had this forever.
5. Julian, Woman of our Day edited by Robert Llewelyn. An anthology of work by eight authors exploring the mystical insights of Julian of Norwich.
6. In Search of a Way by Gerard Hughes. Hughes is a Jesuit priest. This is the story of his physical and spiritual journeying.
7. Transitions, The Challenge of Change by Barrie Hopson and others. A thin, practical workbook with a sense of humour and cool illustrations that will help you meet change more positively.
8. In Search of Stones by M. Scott Peck. Subtitled A Pilgrimage of Faith, Reason and Discovery, and described by the author of The Road Less Travelled as “the closest thing to an autobiography I will ever write”.
9. Befriending, a Self-Guided Retreat for Busy People by Joseph A Payne, O.P. A practical book full of suggestions, exercises, scripture and other treasures. Flicking through it, I came upon lines by Blake: And we are put on earth a little space, that we may learn to bear the beams of love.
10. The Good Life Guide: Saints, Snobs and Sanity by Bernard Basset. A book about prayer and life that tries to draw a distinction between pleasure and happiness and does so in a very unstuffy way. Some of the pages are a bit scuffed – I dropped it at some point.
11. Why Did I DO That? by George New and David Cormack. Subtitled Understanding and Mastering your Motives. Someone recommended it and gave it to me as a gift but I’ve never been able to get into it. It looks very sound though, lots of diagrams and questionnaires.
12. Angels in Art by Belinda Wilkinson. A beautiful and very tiny book with colour plates of angel paintings by some of the great masters, such as da Vinci’s Annunciation and Gauguin’s Jacob Wrestling with the Angel.
13. How Proust can change your life by Alain de Botton. An exploration of Proust’s writing, and how it applies to everyday life. Described (by people more educated than me who have actually read Proust) as intoxicating, stimulating, charming and amusing.
14. A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf. Let’s always remember the need for women to have financial, intellectual and creative freedom.
15. All God’s Creatures by Sister Seraphim. Old enough (1966) to be described as “gay” in the former sense of the word, these are the autobiographical writings of an eccentric, animal-loving Englishwoman who became a Russian Orthodox nun and takes “all creatures great and small” pretty literally. She rescues them as often as she can, like the live rabbit brought to the monastery as a gift for the dinner table. I inherited this book from my aunt, who seems to have inherited it in turn from the Surrey County Library.

Image by Vince Alongi
(check out his work – a very talented photographer)

Elsewhere:

Several links for the price of one: Christine’s Lenten Reflections signposts other moving Lenten journeys. By coincidence, she also mentions Jacob wrestling with the angel (book 12 above).

Tweet This Post

I love it when someone helps me see a different perspective.

Today’s Gospel is Luke 4:1-13, in which Jesus is tempted by the devil. You probably know it:

Filled with the holy Spirit, Jesus returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the desert for forty days, to be tempted by the devil. He ate nothing during those days, and when they were over he was hungry. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’”

Then he took him up and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in a single instant. The devil said to him, “I shall give to you all this power and their glory; for it has been handed over to me, and I may give it to whomever I wish. All this will be yours, if you worship me.” Jesus said to him in reply, “It is written: ‘You shall worship the Lord, your God, and him alone shall you serve.’”

Then he led him to Jerusalem, made him stand on the parapet of the temple, and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written: ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to guard you,’ and: ‘With their hands they will support you, lest you dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus said to him in reply, “It also says, ‘You shall not put the Lord, your God, to the test.’” When the devil had finished every temptation, he departed from him for a time.

In the sermon at Mass this morning, I heard something that gave me a different perspective: that the devil’s temptations were bound to fail because they were not relevant for Jesus. The devil was using temptations that he himself found tempting, but Jesus did not. The devil had recast Jesus in his own image, and understood nothing about the image of God.

I’m intrigued by this notion of how we all so often see things through the lens of our own selves and our own preoccupations. I know we do that, but so often forget it.  It’s so difficult to lay aside the restrictions of our own personalities. Even the devil couldn’t do it, for all his wiliness.

And how do we know in whose likeness the images we create might be?

Image by Alex Proimos

Elsewhere:

In Trying to Breathe, Mary Beth has introduced me to a very interesting initiative, Women for Women International. It helps women survivors of war. Given that it’s International Women’s Day on March 8th, this might be something for us all to look into.

Tweet This Post

As I begin to write these words it is just after 8.30 in the morning, as the office of Lauds is being said and sung a few miles away at Turvey Abbey Benedictine monastery.

Yesterday, I returned from Turvey after co-leading our first Enneagram weekend of the year, introducing a new group of people to this insightful system of personal and spiritual growth. And what a positive and thoughtful group they were.

At the same time, the six-week online course I’ve been part of, Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist, led by Christine at Abbey of the Arts has ended. I’m grateful to have been a part of this community of people, all of us ordinary yet extraordinary.

I am so full of hope and joy about the groundswell of desire for growth that I sense all around us, and not only because, in the Northern hemisphere at least, spring is beginning to break through the frozen ground. I’ve noticed that increasingly when I talk about what could be seen as a somewhat eccentric preoccupation with Benedictine life and with spiritual and creative growth, people I meet are interested and asking questions. There’s a different feeling around from the days a few years ago when colleagues would look at me as if I’d suddenly grown two heads. Or perhaps I’m simply less tentative in my self.

This morning I read a poem from the awakening hour section of Macrina Widerkehr’s book seven sacred pauses. It reflects perfectly this sense of grace and renewal that I’m aware of:

What lifts the heron leaning on the air
I praise without a name. A crouch, a flare,
a long stroke through the cumulus of trees,
a shaped thought at the sky – then gone. O rare!
Saint Francis, being happiest on his knees,
would have cried Father! Cry anything you please.
But praise. By any name or none. But praise
the white original burst that lights
the heron on his two soft kissing kites.
When saints praise heaven lit by doves and rays,
I sit by pond scums till the air recites
Its heron back. And doubt all else. But praise.

John Ciardi

What grace and renewal can you see in the moments that make up your life?

Image by S Wolfe

Elsewhere:

And as we approach the sacred time of Lent, Claire Bangasser talks about Cultivating our Soul, and Jan Richardson meditates upon Ashes and Sojourner Truth.

Tweet This Post

As my thoughts on dropping the pretence of our ego-selves continue, Chris Garrett’s post today on being yourself came at a good time.

He’s talking about authenticity online and he makes some good points around anonymity – that even if someone uses a pseudonym, they can still speak from the honesty of their hearts and you will get to know the real person regardless of the name they choose.

Then he goes on to talk about how well using the web seems to suit introverts, and something occurred to me. I’m a borderline introvert and I suspect that for many of us, it’s easier to drop the mask in writing. Perhaps that seems a bit counter-intuitive, because after all, in writing you have more time and opportunity to dissemble, to embroider the facts, rearrange the words or simply to show yourself in a good light.

But sitting here at my desk, I can take the time to reflect on what I really mean.

Sometimes, in real life, I’m far too affected by the energies of other people to be as real as I’d like. I play to the audience, I’m a bit of a people pleaser. Although I’m articulate, I often over-compensate for my shyness by being loud and hearty. Shudder.

So yes, I think that my written expression of myself and my thoughts is often more truthful than some of my day-to-day verbal interactions, even though for my own peace of mind and the privacy of others I set boundaries on what I will talk about here.

What about you, are you conscious of what masks you wear?

Image by Chiara Marra

Elsewhere:

At Nerdy Renegade News, Lisa uses some beautiful photographs and analogies to explore sinking deeper into the truth of life. Stop reading and do it, she says. Amen.

Tweet This Post

Well Kurt Cobain may know by now…

But seriously folks, after my last post about dropping the falseness of our egos, I’ve been thinking a lot about death. As you do.

I don’t think I’m afraid of death itself (although I’d be pretty pissed off if it happened anytime soon thank you very much, I hope I still have lots to do and be). What scares me, what none of us can envisage, is the whole thing around perpetual peace and harmony afterwards. I mean (whisper it) wouldn’t it get a bit, er, boring…?

Buddhists teach that we don’t have to wait until we’re dead to experience that state of perpetual tranquility, that Nirvana can be found during life, and entered into after death. It’s described as a state of bliss or peace.

The Christian words Heaven or Paradise are in some ways more human, the first often being used as a synonym for sky (ancient pagan sky gods, anyone?), and the second with its connotations of the Garden of Eden before naughty old Eve did her thing with the apple and got herself and poor blameless Adam chucked out. But again, the whole perfection thing of eternal life is a bit worrying. It’s completely alien to us.

It’s like the very first time you hear a piece of beautiful music. The music itself is just as magnificent the second, third and fourth times you listen to it, but to you it begins to become less awe-inspiring. You begin to take it for granted.

Our whole experience of life is of contrast. We know what is beautiful because we can compare it with what is ugly. We understand joy because we are also intimately acquainted with sorrow. What if there were no ugliness, no sorrow? How would we recognise life as perfect?

I think that’s partly why we find it so difficult to drop our ego selves and uncover the essence of who we are, even for short periods of time. It seems like such a risk, such a loss.

Image by Tony the Misfit
(gotta love a name like that)

Elsewhere:

Via a comment on Lucy’s blog, I recently discovered omfghardware, by Howard, who works in a hardware store. Each entry is like a tiny, perfect meditation.

And a funny end note: just before publishing this post, I used the search function on my blog to remind myself what I might have said before about death. (I don’t like to bore you by repeating myself, dear reader.)  The results came up under an enigmatic heading that made me smile: “You searched for Death”. Well no, not really…

Tweet This Post

Most mornings I get up and draw around me the cloak of sacred living.

Most days, the cloak lies discarded on the ground minutes after the first irritation or distraction of the day. Later, I will grasp at it again and try to pull it around me, but the folds get caught on brambles and barbed wire.

Some days, the cloak hangs completely forgotten in the wardrobe and never reaches my shoulders.

And on a few blessed occasions, it warms me all day long. Sometimes those are the days I consciously pull it around me in an act of surrender, sometimes they are the days I can let go and forget I’m wearing it.

Of course any discussion of cloaks would be incomplete without an excursion into the glorious world of Harry Potter and his invisibility cloak. I suspect there are times when this cloak would be a blessing to us all. It would allow us to make mischief or to retreat from prying eyes.

But what if the invisibility cloak had another symbolism? What if it’s purpose was to wipe away everything that gets in the way of our selves and the truly sacred? What if it rendered invisible our ego, our false self, all our defences? What if this cloak didn’t hang in our wardrobes but was a garment we lived in all the time?

What a blessed and hugely challenging life that would be, don’t you think?

Image by Jody McNary

Elsewhere:

I’ve just read this excellent post about listening for answers from God by my online friend Norman at Jewish Contemplatives. I love this: “…the only Road to walk is the one which God unrolls like a narrow carpet before you, a few steps, or one step at a time.   It is only wide enough to take you alone.” And his description of how the answers may come is something I suspect most of us have experienced and sometimes ignore. Sometimes we cast the cloak aside when we don’t like the answers.

Tweet This Post

Well how on earth to come up with such a list, to whittle down an amazing pool of world-wide talent to eight? I’m going to use geography and restrict my list to English artists. Of course I’m interpreting “artist” in the widest sense, and although some of these names are famous, some are not.

Here goes:

1. Rima Staines, who made my clock. Her life reflects her art, and vice versa.
2. Through Rima, I found dark folk musicians Telling the Bees (she did their website). Quintessentially English, they’re just beginning to get the recognition they deserve.
3. The inimitable Mr Crisp, who made his life the canvas for his art and style, proving that  you can be an artist in any way you want. He also wrote some very witty books.
4. Film maker Sally Potter, whose work is a wondrous festival of independent experimental intelligence.  Her most recent film, Rage, is for sale here. And I love this clip from The Tango Lesson from 1996, which Potter appeared in as well as directed.
5. Looking at clothing as art, we Brits are pretty bloody good at that! Although she’s mainstream now, Vivienne Westwood has never lost her early anarchic edge, and while Alexander McQueen and the insanely talented John Galliano (who was brought up in the UK even though born in Gibralter) are huge names, there are amazing young English designers pouring out of Central St Martin’s each year – here’s a link to their 2009 BA (Honours) Fashion runway show. Warning: serious fashionistas only, it’s over an hour long. Heidi Klum, eat your dull suburban little heart out!
6. OK, you got three for one under number 5, so this is the last:  writer Sara Maitland. Her work is extraordinary: intelligent, compelling, completely unpretentious and sometimes very funny. Enjoy her collection of short stories On Becoming a Fairy Godmother, or her autobiographical A Book of Silence.

Well all that Englishness has given me a yen for a cup of tea and a ginger biscuit. Those are my eight inspirational artists. Who are yours?

Elsewhere:

Go check out other *8Things entries at Magpie Girl.

Tweet This Post