Lament and Resurrection: A Reflection on Two Collages

Lament

These past few days have been painful for me. Hell, most of the past year and a half have been awful. But this week in particular the news hit me as though I were sucker punched and I know that I am not alone in feeling this way. There are a lot of postings on Facebook about hopelessness and despair. People seem to be giving up. It's so easy to let the current circumstances be the final word.

But they aren't. We need to keep reminding ourselves of that.

Still, on my way to work, my feelings of doom and gloom were growing in my gut. I felt I needed to get that "out" and so I imagined myself sitting down at my desk at work and creating a collage in my art journal using words and images that are making me feel this way. I was determined to start my morning this way.

And so I did.

I sat down at my round table and put on some quiet music and began looking for words and images that reflected my inner turmoil. Initially I found single words but was surprised to find whole sentences or phrases that were apropos - from magazines from the 90's no less:

• "Can you live with that?"
• "star-spangled confusion"
• "practicing to deceive"
• "The bell tolls for all"

But soon something surprised me as I moved through this process. I started seeing words and images that spoke to me in a comforting and hopeful way and so I decided that I needed to tear them out as well, making separate piles - one for "lament" and one for "resurrection" (although I hadn't named them as such at the time).

Resurrection

With the two piles of words I decided to make two collages. As I started to put these onthe pages, I was suddenly overcome with awe. I had actually torn out more positive images/words - and there amazing sentences that I came across:

• "Your love lasted through it all."
• "Find a world you thought was lost."
• "Plant a tree."
• "Change is in the wind."
• "A light in the abyss releases life." (I LOVE that one!)

Then there was this, a phrase I had torn out: "becoming a more tolerant, democratic society."

Such wondrous surprises and I just let the images and words wash over me and was overwhelmed with a sense of hope and dare I say it? Joy.

Here are a couple of other thoughts concerning my "Lament" and "Resurrection" collage:

1. I found an image of two separate and identical "crosses" created by the start of building a bridge across a wide chasm. I decided to cut the image in half and pasted a cross in each collage. I know what this means for me. I wonder what it might mean to others who see that?
2. I felt the need to use green crayons to blot out the blank, white spots in my "resurrection" collage and decided to leave the white spaces untouched in the "lament" collage. I have my reasons for that and others can draw their own conclusions as to why I made this choice.
3. I am struck by how large some of the "resurrection" words are compared to those in the "lament" collage. My eye is immediately drawn to "rebirth," "rise," "feast," "the song," and an image of two women smiling and dancing.

I have been turned around.

I am ready to face the future whatever it may hold, knowing that in the end, all will be well. The question is how am I going to be part of making that so.

Morning musings: The Kitchen

When I walk in the early morning passing by homes with lights that burn in what appears to be a kitchen window I feel a warmth as though I am in that space. I imagine it to be quiet in that room as one or two people move around slowly, taking time to wake and embrace the morning. I smell coffee and hear the shuffle of feet. Perhaps someone sits at the table reading a book or a newspaper and at the same time mindlessly draws a cup of coffee with both hands to her lips to take a sip.

Then I remember my own experiences of waking in the morning, a gentle light welcoming the beginnings of a new day. In one memory my grandfather has prepared his coffee and it is percolating on the kitchen counter top, bubbling cheerily. The smell is familiar and pleasant to me as a young girl although a sip of it is too bitter for me. I hear my grandfather’s laugh and see the twinkle in his eyes as he spies me in the morning hours. He slowly moves to a table by the window, coffee in hand. Mindful, always mindful, his movement seem to me. He pulls out a notebook, a pen, and his Bible. And this is the way he begins his day, nourished by the Word of God and his strong, black coffee.

I remember a trip to the finger lakes with Wayne and staying at a bed and breakfast where we are the only guests on this particular morning. We sit at a table in a long room of an old home with windows through which we see the last minutes of darkness give way to a beautiful autumn dawn. Familiar smells of breakfast wrap around the corner into the dining room. I feel warm and cozy sitting with my beloved. Our hostess talks with us a little taking care to respect our space, our precious time together and she serves us a breakfast prepared with what can only be described as love. Maybe there are waffles and toppings and eggs made to order, juice, and coffee and a selection of teas. Holding a cup of tea in my hands warms them and I feel the damp steam rising under my nose. I think how good it is to be here in this moment.

There are breakfasts at Holden Village which are quite different that these. Long, sturdy wooden tables fill the room around which eight or ten people can sit. We can see the kitchen from the dining room and the cooks and waitri hustling to get food onto the tables. It is not as quiet as the morning in my grandfather’s house or in the bed and breakfast, but still the conversation is subdued. People are still waking up. The smell of warm, freshly baked bread permeates the air as does coffee, of course. There are the pleasant sounds of hushed chatter as Holden villagers gather around the tables, picking up a mug of coffee or tea en route, talking about their plans for the day or something they saw on their way to the dining hall or mostly likely sharing opinions about the weather. We sing a prayer before we break our fast. And then the music of silverware clinking against the plates and bowls become a fugue with the conversational voices. It feels warm and welcoming and holy.

So, when I walk by kitchen windows that are softly aglow in the morning, thoughts and memories such as these fill my heart and I am aware of how grateful I am for the morning hours and the slow passage of time as life slowly wakes up, for the sense of comfort and well-being I also feel, and for the awareness of something sacred and holy that fills my being.

What experiences of holiness or sacredness do you have from being in or near the kitchen?