transcendessencedotcom

OK — so today was the first of two back to back holidays — celebration of the end of World War II today and Ascension Day tomorrow, Thursday, Plus it's a school vacation. We were asking the hotel manager about that this morning. I said, “It's too late for it to be the Easter vacation.” The manager replied, “Right This is Spring vacation.” I asked, “Oh, do they have spring vacation instead of Easter vacation?” “No, they have both of them, a week each. They get a week off every six weeks.” So I thought about that and said “So do they go to school year round?” “No, they get all of July and August off too.” By this time Nancy and I were looking incredulous, and the manager laughed — “Yes, French children don't have to work very hard, do they?” Nancy commented to me, “they're pretty civilized here — I knew it!”

When we went out this morning to walk around the neighborhood of the Pantheon, where we've been staying, everything seemed really quiet — very little traffic, automobile or pedestrian. It felt strange, after this bustling week. This is a very old area, dating back before the Middle Ages to the early settlement history of Paris, when it was ruled by the tribe called the “Franks.” The king and queen were Clovis and Clotilde, whom I remembered learning about in French history back in middle school (the school was run by French-speaking nuns from France).

Paris was miraculously saved from conquest in the 400s by Ste. Genevieve who later was considered the patron saint of France. Her abbey had been right where we were standing. The abbey church was destroyed after 1000 years of existence in the 1400s because right next to it the archbishop had built a new, much larger church to accommodate the students and faculty of the Sorbonne as it grew enormously, starting in the 1400s. The footprint and large pieces of those ancient buildings were still there, from 400 CE to 2013 — from the period of establishment of the Christian religion to today. That's almost too hard to comprehend!

The enormous building that we've been contemplating from our 7th floor window since we arrived here, the Pantheon, was built in the 1800s, to replace the church that had been built in the 1400s — three churches to honor St. Genevieve on top of the same hill, over a period of 1600 years! We also this morning visited the Pantheon, originally built as the Basilica of St. Genevieve. But the Pantheon,, shortly after its completion, was taken over by the French patriots, after the French Revolution in 1789 — the one in which King Louis XIV and Queen Marie-Antoinette had been beheaded by the Guillotine, the spiffy new invention of the day. The Revolutionaries stripped all religious symbols from the main portion of the church, and in their place put huge sculptures of revolutionary scenes and heroes. In an exhibit there were items that had been stripped from the church in making it a secular place of assembly and pride in the republic, free of kings and religion. These included cherubs and angels.

It was clear that the building had started as an ornately decorated religious shrine, and then had been transformed into a shrine to the Republic and to its heroes. Since then, many French political, military, and literary figures had been interred in graves in the crypt. It is truly a shrine that plays “homage to great men” — and one woman, Marie Curie, who is buried here with her husband and fellow scientist, Pierre. Thus we began to understand why our little hotel, next door, is named, “Hotel of the Great Men.” The whole historical morning, spent exploring a space of maybe 10 square blocks, was fascinating, and awe-inspiring. For someone who has spent her life in areas where “ancient” has described buildings and sites established in the 1700s to the 1900s, this little enclave of continuous habitation with buildings still intact, was truly mind-bending. It put me in the same compartment timewise as the people who established Christianity, a period of time and a sequence of events from which I've always felt seriously distant.

To put it another way, the past lives I've been told about by different psychics at different times have all involved France since the time of Christ, with me being in different convents and always managing, as i have in this lifetime as well, to be “kicked out.” Standing on the place of this particular convent, dating from 400, sent shivers down my spine!

Posted with Blogsy

Paris, Tuesday May 8, 2013

It still feels surreal to be here. But that's OK. Who says life has to make sense or be logical?

I've still been thinking about attending that High Mass on Sunday at Notre Dame. Normally, I think it would have brought back vestigial memories of a time long past in my life — one I'd voluntarily walked away from (after I was forced to start moving in that direction). And yet, the different parts of that service illustrated to me the very different spiritual tradition to which I now bbelong, after interfaith seminary and continuing to study to prepare talks for Unity Center of peace. As the texts talked about Jesus, I was deeply aware that I was no longer boxed in within one limited perspective about this great teacher and prophet. I now was able to appreciate the words and deeds of Jesus as those of a great, universally accepted and honored spiritual leader, one of the most enlightened and enlightening teachers given to the world among a long line of such holy beings. I now saw Jesus as a beloved role model for spiritual practitioners worldwide, from all faiths. This viewpoint made me feel my oneness with all, not my separation from the rest. I had a beautiful experience meditating during the service from within that vastly enriched viewpoint, and enjoyed myself.

Today felt like getting over a hump of sorts. I don't know why. Getting going this morning had been really difficult. I still felt stiff and bruised from yesterday. We visited the Musee d'Orsay — great exhibit of Impressionisst and post-impressionist art. Inn one room was a row of studies of dancers by Degas followed by another wall filled with studies of dancers by a bunch of artists contemporary with Degas. Every one of the studies on this latter wall was amazingly different in what it conveyed about the dancer who modeled, and none was even a third as beautiful as Degas' obviously inimitable eye and hand. Nancy had insisted that we buy a 5 day museum pass. I had objected, on the basis that we probably wouldn't see museums every day (and we haven't). But the pass allows us to bypass the hours long waiting in line for tourists who hadn't purchased the pass. The value of being able to walk right in ahead of at least 500 people waiting in line (wound around and around the courtyard…) — THAT was priceless!! I appreciated extravagantly Nancy's good sense !

Later, I was sitting at a sidewalk cafe resting while Nancy had gone to run a different errand (bless her!). All these tourist buses went by, and people were looking at us out the window, probably thinking that those of us savoring a beverage outside the cafe, were the 'locals.' I smiled to myself, thinking how fragile and changeable are our perceptions in every situation.

When we came back to the hotel, we realized that the streets around it were all closed off, and there were police in spotless dress uniforms guarding barricades. On the steps of the Pantheon (a French national monument) were lined up members of the French National Guard, in plumed hats, red white and blue uniforms from the 1700s, and shiny dress swords. People were lining up along the curb as if for a parade, and we joined them. Up the street swept a convoy of large, luxurious cars, some with diplomatic plates and other displaying French flags on their fenders. The cars swept into the plaza in front of the pantheon, stopping in line to disgorge men in impeccably tailored suits and women in power clothes. All walked quickly into the monument, as the national guard presented their shiny swords. We asked what was going on, and apparently, it was a state visit by the president of Poland. I don't know what ceremony was planned for the Pantheon. Nor did I really know that Poland has a President, or who he is! When everyone had hastily gone inside, we went down the street to buy a couple of groceries. We were in the 'co-op bio' — the health food co-op — no more than 10 minutes, and when we came out, the convoy of fancy cars, police motorcycles, and blaring police cars with the snazzily uniformed gendarmes within, were sweeping down the street the had just come up so short a time before. All that pomp and circumstance for a 5 or 6 minute ceremony! “Why bother?' I wondered.

Posted with Blogsy

Happy Easter 2013

.

Every year, late or early, Easter’s ushered in my Springs

With many memories of freezing in new “Easter clothes” —

Lightweight, pastel coats and hats

In which I shivered glumly

In New England’s stubborn winter wind;

Baskets filled with cellophane green “grass”

And jelly beans and chocolate eggs wrapped round in foil.

The pungent stinging smell  of  vinegar,

As we gathered round the table

Easter eve, and tried to tint our eggs with pretty colors, not just brown.

A large stuffed rabbit, plush and yellow, who hibernated year round in the attic

And emerged for one day, just on Easter.

In that time, though knowing about Jesus risen from the tomb,

The day meant nothing meaningful for me.

.

Now, many decades later, I’m reflecting on how crushing moments near to death –

Grieving, illness, losses, various catastrophes –

Have led me into times that felt like dying,

Showing how I might come back anew,

My spirit and my hold on life recharged, changed, deeper than they’d been before.

Now, as I reflect on loss and resurrection

And move up closer into Spirit,

I know why Easter’s so important and so right for spring:

Each year I spin into the force of Spirit more and more,

And dream  in heart’s deep love  — a dream of life enriched, renewed .

 . 

Reflection

This year, especially, my experience of Easter has moved away from my early memories, as I’ve found myself more deeply aware of the dynamic power of resurgence I experience each time I pass through disconnects and then emerge again into my personal  awareness..  Each time, though I’ve remained the same person,  I’ve also changed.  Each time,  I understand better this inexorable ebb and flow of vitality and vision – not unlike the incessant beating of new waves upon a sandy beach.  This rhythmic pattern of advancement following retreat defines a life on earth.  We are never stable.  We can’t remain in the same place, the same vision.  We must always change.   In this voyage of expanding awareness , we find and suck out luscious joy, the reward of living.  “Happy Easter” now has a whole new meaning in me:  “Happy Journey!”

Forgiveness April 10, 2009

Good Friday.  One lesson is forgiveness.

It’s harder than it sounds.

It takes changing from demands to understanding.

When I understood my mother’s fear

It led so quickly to compassion, then forgiveness,

After seven decades stalled, resentful.

Now, what about forgiveness for myself —

When I’m less than perfect,

Can’t muster total calm,

Need some help.

Can I understand myself — be compassionate for me–

wrap my soul in loving kindness?

I think the secret’s in recalling

That I’m living on a learner’s permit.

Reflection

I remember trying to teach my daughter how to drive a stick shift when she had her learner’s permit.  The experience was so disastrous, in a large college parking lot on Sunday afternoons, that I couldn’t stand to stay in the car with her lurches and the resulting grinding of gears.  It was my car she was tearing up, and I kept getting out and walking away.  I was more fortunate in my own learner’s permit stage, in that my parents’ car was an automatic shift.  My own mother, who was learning to drive at the same time I was, paid for a professional driving teacher, who regularly (figuratively) tore his hair out at my timid panic at driving over 10 miles an hour, even on a parkway, and repeated, despairingly, “If you’re born to be shot you’ll never be hung.  Drive faster!!!”  Over a lifetime, both my daughter and I have experienced many “learner’s permit” moments — times with life choices, relationship development, parenting, making financial decisions, accepting spiritual understanding, when we lurched and ground the gears outrageously.  And yet, we survived and grew (and even, eventually, learned to drive a car!).

Forgiveness is born of compassion, and generates peace.

.  All of us in physical bodies are experiencing whole lives as learners.  When I remember that I don’t know it all, it helps me at a deep level to remember the importance of compassion for others and to accept that  we all have the right to make mistakes in our search for growth.  Therefore, if we can each distance ourselves from our own hurt feelings, we can find it in our hearts to forgive those close to us as well as our own selves.  Doing so is the way to Inner and Outer Serenity.

The Hyacinths
January 31 2013
Rev. Rosemary C. Hyde, Ph.D.

Only January – but there they are,
The rounded symmetry of green leaves poking through the winter brown,
Thinking it’s time for spring …
It’s interesting. Once they’ve committed to their vision
They don’t go back into the ground.
They don’t say “Oops” – too early! Never mind!
From the heart of each green tuft struggles forth a fluff of curly pink and purple petals,
Burned brown along the edges by the cold.
As days go on, they grow; they find a way; they seem to thrive.
I check them daily, filled with admiration.
Each one proclaims, “I AM a miracle”….
My heart warms with love and gratefulness to know the Truth
Of them and me and all that is.

.A Gift from God

.

October 3 2012

.

Sometimes the gifts we get from God have unexpected wrappers,

Almost as if God has a sense of Humor.

Two days ago I fell and smashed my face and ankle.

I’m being watched (baby sat) for a concussion.

My face and ankle HURT!

It’s hard to hobble down the hallway to the bathroom

Using unaccustomed crutches – every step a stab of pain..

People see my purple blue and greenish swollen face,  and gasp.

They don’t see how God  — maybe laughing  gleefully — has turned things upside down —

How through the heart and hands and voice of  friends who come to help

I’m showered with a love so pure it takes my breath away –

Like being suddenly within the wondrous wash of color in a rainbow.

This love transforms me with the surging,  unifying power of all that is –

Knowing through me that the body’s wounds , though painful feeling —

Scaring people looking on– are just the  gift wrap.  Inside I am united with the gift – the love.

That’s all that matters.  And my heart is smiling —  grateful.

.

Reflection

.

As a volunteer caregiver, I’ve never understood the power of the love that I’ve expressed.  I’ve always thought I was just being me, doing my little bit, maybe feeling a little tired, a little irritated that the person who needed my assistance put some pressure on my conscience.  On the other side of the situation, when I’ve needed people’s help, I’ve felt like I was burdening the other person who was helping.  Those two perceptions, of course,  mirror each other in concrete time and space.  This time, as the person needing help, I’m beginning to see that what really happens in that relationship of helper and helped is God communicating with God, present in the people carrying out and receiving the act of helping.  The real action that blows me away takes place in God-space, not at all in our earth-bound physical reality – That earth- knowing is just the gift wrap for moments of unimaginable bliss and beauty.