No Need to Contort Yourself

A young woman contorts her body under a desk. Her chin touches the floor and her body bends backwards so that it forms an arc with her feet also on the floor in front of her head.

Dear friends,

Yesterday was the first day of a writing class focused on liberating ourselves from the blocks that get in the way of our full and free expression, whether in writing or some other way. 

Last week I was hired to facilitate for a group that had to scrap the original agenda for a planned meeting and pivot quickly to tend to other needs that had arisen. With fewer than 24 hours between the request and the meeting, I had to scramble to get some things together; thankfully I have some well-honed tools and skills at the ready these days.  

As I was preparing to facilitate, I pulled out Tattoos on the Heart by Gregory Boyle. It has been awhile since I had picked up this trusted friend of a book. I came across this passage I had highlighted:

Jesus says, "You are the light of the world." I like even more what Jesus doesn't say. He does not say, "One day, if you are more perfect and try really hard, you'll be light." He doesn't say "If you play by the rules, cross your T's and dot your I's, then maybe you'll become light." No. He says, straight out, "You are light." It is the truth of who you are, waiting only for you to discover it... No need to contort yourself to be anything other than who you are.

Whatever your belief system, I hope you can lean into these words. You don't need to contort yourself, fit yourself into some box, follow a planned agenda that no longer serves you, or act the way someone else wants you to in order to claim your luminosity.

You are the light of the world. 

Period. No asterisk with exceptions. 

During the first writing class someone read aloud what they'd written during a 10-minute free writing time. The person's writing exposed pain and anger. Hearing their clear expression, even that of pain, was beautiful. Their light radiated through their honest and unfiltered sharing. 

You are the light of the world. 

Whether you are experiencing joy or sorrow, pain or comfort, anger or peace, you are light. My hope for you is that you see it. 

Shine, bright one, shine. 

~~~

If you struggle to access and see your own light, I hope you'll join me in March for a 4-week Nonviolent/Compassionate Communication class. This practice has helped me reconnect to my own light and to express myself with authenticity; I've witnessed many others have similar experiences. This 4-week online class starts March 9. Whether it's a refresher or a first time with these skills, come join me! 

Another powerful way to connect with your own light is through Heart Portraits. These intuitive art pieces literally show you the beauty of your heart. They are perfect for marking special occasions, times of transition, and, really, anytime. 

You are the light of the world. 

With gratitude for the ways you shine, 
Cory

P.S. In response to the above, a friend sent me. Listening to it felt like being curled up in a warm blanket and I thought you might appreciate it, too.

You Do Not Have to Be Good

Dear friends, 

Happy New Year! I hope these first days of 2023 have been kind to you.

I started the year by preaching at my church and then leaving for a weeklong artist residency co-sponsored by the Kentucky Foundation for Women and the Sisters of Loretto/Loretto Community. When I applied for the residency, I said I wanted to do a lot of writing. That's not what happened, but before I say more, let me back up. 

It is a great honor to share my reflections with my church community. It also always stresses me out. What if my theology is off? What if my message doesn't resonate with people? Since I've been given the privilege of doing this, I want to do it well. Between Christmas and the new year, I was still recovering from COVID and, to be honest, from the last several months of going, going, going. I was tired and didn't have a lot of energy to put toward my homily. As I was preparing, I kept telling my recovering-perfectionist self, "Good is good enough." I was sharing this with a friend, who looked at me and quoted from Mary Oliver's poem, "Wild Geese": You do not have to be good.  

I'll admit, "Good is good enough" was a stretch for me, so "You do not have to be good" was waaaaaaay out of my comfort zone. Still it was a helpful reminder that whether I offered a "good" homily or a "bad" one, it wouldn't likely change anyone's regard or love for me, and if it did, those probably weren't my people anyway. The homily seemed to be well-received, I had another conversation with a different friend about "Wild Geese," and I left for my residency.

On the first day, the poem still on my mind, I created a piece with the poem's opening line (pictured above and again below). I thought I was just getting it out of my system, so that I could then get to all the writing I had planned to do. 

I quickly learned that much of my residency work was actually to allow "Wild Geese" to work its way through me. What follows are the pieces I created from the first several lines: 

The poem continues: 
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.

And then:

(The word that goes off the piece is "imagination.")

The final lines are: 
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.


I am not worried about whether any of the above are "good." I am simply grateful to have had the time to play and create, to "let the soft animal of [my] body love what it loves." It loves to create. Doing so was liberating! 

I moved slowly through the week. I rested. I reflected. I wrote, mostly things that no eyes but my own will see. I painted, cut, and glued. I walked. I had a few conversations with people and a lot of conversations with the cows that surrounded my house. They were patient and curious listeners. 

Since I've returned, the world has continued to offer itself to my imagination. Even as I have worried and approached despair, the world has repeatedly reminded of my place in the family of things in surprising and delightful ways. I belong.  "Goodness" has no bearing on the truth of my belonging. 

You belong. Goodness has no bearing on the truth of your belonging. 

Do you believe it? 

~~~
Nonviolent/Compassionate Communication has been an integral part of my journey toward releasing judgments of "good" and "bad," a work in progress, for sure. Starting January 25, I'm offering a 4-week introductory class via Zoom, Meeting in the Field of Connection: Compassionate Communication. I am extending the Early Bird discount to January 18, one week from today. Whether for a refresher or as a first-time student of these skills and practices, I hope you'll join me! 

I am also so happy to be working with Drepung Gomang Center for Engaging Compassion to offer Seeking the Shalom of the City, an in-person program that explores places and times in Louisville's history through a social justice lens. We are starting next week- January 19! 

Join me or, if you know of others who would love these classes, please share with them!

With care, 
Cory

The Time Is Here to Grieve

During an artist residency sponsored by the Kentucky Foundation for Women and the Sisters of Loretto, and inspired by rich conversation with wise souls, I wrote the following piece.

While still at Loretto, in a sweet little house surrounded by pasture and curious cows, I recorded the poem, which you can listen to below.

---

The time is here to grieve. 

The time is here to open up  to change, to loss,  to “I’ve never lived in this world before.”

What do you know?  Practically nothing. 

What do you want?  For the pain to go away. 

 Then you must let it go. 

Holding onto the fear, the hurt, the sorrow,  stuffing them down into your body,  only inflames your being.  

Grasping at what cannot be contained  only exacerbates exhaustion. 

Clinging to the known,  even as it slips away,  only prolongs despair.  

Allow yourself despair.  Let it flow through you,  washing you,  dirty, clean,  wearing away your edges.  Softening. 

You cannot know the next life  while you are clutching.  You cannot see it  if you are only looking backward.  

Look around.  Who is here with you?  Who holds your hand?  The gentle, warm touch  may change nothing  except to remind you  that you are not alone. 

Look ahead.  Do you tremble at the fog?  Do you tense with every  “I don’t know“?  Are you willing to  step forward anyway? 

Look to Mother Earth.  Notice that She is steady  under your feet.  She is all around you,  cradling you.  She will not fall away,  even if you betray Her.  She will sustain you  with her tender-fierce  maternal care. 

If you let her. 

Stomp!  Wail!  

Fall to your knees  in the  relief  of  surrender. 

The time is now to cry.  The cry is now to Time.  

More time!  Mourn time.  

Grief flowing transforms.  Grief stagnant petrifies.  

What do you choose? 

River or fossil?