Sophia Serve

Lenten Dining

With all the snow we’ve had lately, it’s difficult to remember that “Lent” means “spring.” Early snowdrops will have to really push.

Through forty snowy days, Christians contemplate all the events that lead up to Easter. I have a friend who always gives up chocolate through Lent. I, on the other hand, think Lent, like most seasons, is a fine time to eat rather than to fast.  We need to keep up our strength and push through to tulip time. After all, that’s what Jesus himself did. Look at all those empty plates.

Fiery Action

This wonderful image of playful, fiery activism just landed in my in-box. It's from a friend who embodies the love of our earth in ways that have inspired me for several decades. Sharon's inner beauty shines as clearly as does her Jack-o-Lantern. But it is her willingness and innate ability to show others how to sparkle as well, that aligns her, in my mind at least, to Andrew Harvey.

The Lost Symbol

"To live in the world without becoming aware of the meaning of the world is like wandering about in a great library without touching the books."
                The Secret Teachings of All Ages

That's how Dan Brown, aka The Da Vinci Code author, starts his latest book. Like his hero, Robert Langdon, I too have found that amazing things often hide in plain sight.

The other day I quit reading about all this Masonic lore long enough to visit some friends in Lexington, Mass. Before lunch we decided to take a walk over to the Heritage Center which, much to my amazement, contains a whole lot more than Revolutionary War books and Minute Man trivia. It's housed in the Massachusetts Masonic Center and I was suddenly surrounded by images of compasses and T squares, pyramids and all seeing eyes. 

And like the George Washington Masonic Memorial on a hill in Alexandria, VA (right) it, too, houses shelves of Masonic writings.

Besides learning more about D.C.'s monuments, some of which were crafted from Vermont White Granite, the quarry-source of which I can see from my upstairs window, I realized that the last time I stood in our Capitol Rotunda, I must not have looked up.

There it is--"The Apotheosis of George Washington." This 4,666 foot fresco created by Constantino Brumidi in 1865 forms a mystical circle whose title claims George Washington has "become God." Strange, isn't it, that we just recently learned that only 23% of Oklahoma's high school students even know he was our first president.

Besides intriguing me with magic squares and tatooed bad guys, The Lost Symbol inspired me to reread Exodus 34. That's the account of Moses, holding the two stone tablets, fresh back from his mountain-top conversation with God. Everybody says, "Look! The skin of his face is shining." But apparently the root word in Hebrew for shining skin could be read as either "horn" or "ray." When the Roman Catholic Church asked St. Jerome to translate the Hebrew into Latin, it came out "Moses' face was horned."

 

Michelangelo sculpted him that way. Other artists also turned Moses into a Pan or Hermes because of this mistake by Jerome, including this stained glass window in a Welsh church.

Language can be very slippery.  Horns? Rays of light?

I was amused by an account of a translation made in the 4th century which I learned about from Bart Ehrman in his book, Misquoting Jesus: The Story Behind Who Changed the Bible and Why. In the first part of the book of Hebrews (1:3) we read "Christ bears all things by the word of his power." The original scribe (and keep in mind that some of them couldn't even read but just copied lines; most did this intricate work by flickering candle light) used a verb that sounded similar in Greek: "Christ manifests all things by the word of his power." A couple hundred years later, a second scribe decided to change "manifests" to the more common reading "bears."  A couple of hundred years after that another scribe erased "bears" and put "manifest" back. And he added a note in the margin: "Fool and Knave! Leave the old reading, don't change it!" I notice in my version of that passage, it's neither "bears" or "manifests," but "sustains."  I think I like "manifests" better.

To manifest means to bring into being. To make evident. To be easily understood and readily perceived.

I suspect by his latest novel, Dan Brown will be manifesting increased tourism to Washington D.C., new interest in old mysteries, a deeper understanding of Masons and how they influenced our American history and architecture, an introduction (or for some of us, a re-introduction) to Noetics and lots of red-rimmed eyes for those of us who just couldn't put it down.

Celtic Healing Sounds

Yesterday a new chemical greeted my body. Red, this time, like Cherry Kool-Aid, it  slowly dripped through my IV tube carrying with it all sorts of "drinking the kool-aid" metaphors. It's real name is Doxorubicin Liposomal-affectionately known as doxol.

I leaned back in my infusion recliner thinking about all the dire possible side-effects: mouth, hand and foot sores. My PA put the fear of the Lord in me about them and made me swear on her stack of "Information for Patients Provided by your Health Care Team at Dartmouth- Hitchcock Medical Center" flyers to heed them for the next five days. Nothing over 75 degrees dare pass my lips or touch my skin--and sun? Well forget it! Fortunately rain's in the near forecast. And if it does appear, my sweet family in Colorado sent me a Mother's Day UV protection embedded long sleeved shirt. Images form: Ice tea. Ice coffee. Gazpacho!

Just then "Margaret the Harp Lady," as she refers to  herself, came smiling through the double doors, carrying her Celtic oblation. Margaret Stevens and I are old friends by now so she immediately sat down, cradling her wonderful lever lap harp. No more worrying about mouth sores for me!

Hand-held offering gifts come in many forms. Donah Drewett, another volunteer Reiki friend once teamed up with Margaret and presented me with the holy gift of 15 minutes of bliss. And another pastor-friend, Diane Root wrote me an e mail last night saying she would be holding a prayer-drumming session for me. I thought I could feel the vibrations miles away.

In between bathing me in Bach and washing me with the still waters of "Shenandoah," Margaret and I talked of Iona. We both think it's part of the otherworld. In fact, I read about a legend of St. Oren for whom this chapel is named.Columba, the Irish ex Druid, settled Iona, bringing Christianity to Scotland. Later one of his comrade monks died and was buried where St. Oren's chapel is now. After three days, the monks thought they heard something and dug him up. He was alive and screaming,"The Otherworld is Nothing like you imagined!" Then he collapsed. Being practical monks, they buried him again.

The words of Frank MacEown came back to me. In The Mist-Filled Path: Celtic Wisdom for Exiles, Wanderers and Seekers he said, "May you taste resurrection without the need of dying for it.  

  Music offers "sound resurrection." Margaret's harp anchored me as surely as if a Celtic cross had been driven through the footrest of my recliner.

How powerful is your magic sound?
~Mozart, The Magic Flute

Music. Muse. Don Campbell who wrote The Mozart Effect—all about tapping into the creative power of music to heal the body and strengthen the mind—says music warms up the brain. I say, “bring it on!” 

But why does Campbell recommend Mozart rather than other music?  All music can be good, when listened to intentionally. But, apparently, Mozart’s and Hayden’s pulses and patterns hit the brain with a clarity and elegance that can improve concentration, memory and spatial perception. Some monks in Brittany monasteries play music to their cows (as do some farmers in Vermont) but the monks claim Mozart gives more milk. Playing Mozart in some Immigration English classes tends to speed up learning. In Edmonton, Canada, Mozart’s string quartets have been proven to calm pedestrian traffic an reduce drug deals. And in Japan, the Ohara Brewery finds that Mozart makes the best sake—something about the density of yeast!

On p. 79 he shows how other kinds of music affects us. Interesting stuff!

I don't know about cows or yeast; I can only speak to Margaret's music. I had been sitting there thinking about how my new red “Kool Aid” might be affecting me in a couple of days.  Possible mouth sores and pressure point problems so I shouldn't put put my elbows on the table. Hmmm. They didn't say anything about fingers on the keyboard. I know, even if I could, I wouldn't be able to play the harp!

I kept watching the blood-red drips. And then everything shifted with Margaret's arrival.  My stress melted down, deep down through my cushy chair, through the floor, into the ground. And that feeling is still with me as I write this morning. Music IS powerful! And there’s something about Celtic music paired with prayer that is perhaps most powerful of all.

In The Book of Love Kathleen McGowan took some liberties with St. Patrick’s famous prayer. They fit so beautifully with Margaret’s Celtic harp music:

God’s hand to guard on me
God’s wisdom to guide me
God’s ear to hear me.
God’s eye to look before me
God’s might to uphold me
God’s word to speak through me.
God’s love to sustain me,
God’s shield to protect me.

May it be so.

Icons for the Ears

In April 27th’s  New Yorker, Elif Batuman tells in “The Bells” (ohhh I hear an internal rhyme) how people in the Russian Orthodox faith believe bells are “aural icons” not mere musical instruments. In fact, Russian bells sound, as Father Roman, a famous bell ringer, put it, “deep, sonorous and clear, for how can the voice of God be otherwise?” 

    

Big Ben weighs 13 tons but one in Russia called Tsar Kolokol actually weighed in at 200 tons!

Batuman tells the fascinating story of how eighteen Dailov monastery bells (from 22 pounds to thirteen tons) made it to a tower in Lowell House in Harvard Square in 1930 and how, after 78 years, they were returned to Russia last September. Thanks to a generous philanthropist, Harvard got a new set so they can still ring out victories against Yale games.

Happenstance and Geomancy

If I’m granted another lifetime, I may come back as a geomancer. Earth is alive and she’s talking to us and I’d like to learn how to listen even more closely to what she's saying.

What’s geomancy, you ask? 

Geomancy is commonly known as the “art of harmonious placement,” for it has been used to find the right time and place for all human activities.
~Richard Feather Anderson, The Power of Place

Before we built our labyrinth in the south meadow, our friend Laura and I dowsed to find its center. Just as medieval cathedral builders placed a pole in the earth to determine its altar placement and then built out from there, our labyrinth grew from its center pole.

  

(Illustration by Joel Speerstra

Hunab Ku,  p. 128.)

When the earth seems particularly aligned, when we sense wonderful energy flowing, each of us can, quite naturally, practice the ancient art of Earth magic. The Chinese called it Feng Shui—wind and fire. The chi, the dragon-energy under and around the earth, moves just right and creates harmony in all things. Since I was born in the Chinese year of the dragon, I take notice.

Hearths and Motherboards

When our furnace hiccoughed last week, we turned to our little efficient hearthstone wood stove to keep us warm—a good backup to propane for Vermont winters.

Having just finished reading The Mist-Filled Path: Celtic Wisdom for Exiles, Wanderers and Seekers, the words of Frank MacEowen filled my head. My favorites were the ones at the end of his poem, “Return”:
                May you taste resurrection
                        Without the need of dying for it.

                I love that concept.

I learned that most Celtic spiritual practices are rooted in peace. 

Nothing could have been more peaceful last week than sitting inside a snow-globe with a crackling fire, coals glowing bright red-orange. It almost  erased my concerns about how much a new motherboard would cost us—for that’s what the furnace-guy’s diagnosis proved to be. Motherboard. She who keeps our house warm and our water heated. Motherboard, akin to the Matrix, She who watches out for our safety while we sleep. Our new-fangled hearth.