Sunday, November 4, 2012

Candlelight: A Story Teller Visits the Youth Prison


Candlelight: A Story Teller Visits the Youth Prison



We gather in a circle, to hear from the story teller who has quietly appeared among us.  His quiet presence is greeted with respect; admiration for his time with us six months ago, his quiet message of hope, and healing, and his wisdom.

We share an opening prayer, a sense of being at peace with the universe, and with our souls.  And, a sense of coming together.

Each of us is invited to tell our names, where we had come from, and a bit about our own journeys.  All of our experiences, all of who we were, and are, and are becoming, are welcomed into this circle.   The chaos of our lives, our pain, our joys, are all welcomed and accepted, without limits.

In this prison, there are many stories of tragedy and pain, loss and suffering.  Some of those experiences are given voice today, in this circle, and are accepted and acknowledged.  There is no blame, no judgement today; only acceptance and compassion.  And, in the telling, there is healing, perhaps a sense of understanding and forgiveness.  

In my community, there are many prisons.  But, when I come here, I can see the physical fences, and the locked doors.  At least when I come here, the walls and the barriers to freedom are obvious.   For so many away from here, their walls and locks take other forms, and may not even be known to those who are locked away by the prisons in their lives.  

Some of the young men offer a hint of the pain in their lives, the violence, the drugs, the abandonment and anger; the absence of community.   Others nod in agreement; such pain is so common in this place of acknowledgement and healing.  They are here to change.  And in that work, they find direction and hope.  They do this together, united for a common purpose.  In this place, being aware of the possibility for change, for unconditional love, is part of the air they breathe.  

The storyteller’s visit is part of that change, that opening of doors to understanding, to acceptance, to personal salvation and love.  

Several young men offer their gifts of song, opening their hearts, and touching our lives with the beauty of the moment and their own journeys.

Others offer a wooden staff to the leader of the drumming circles here. She comes here and leads us in prayer and song, giving the young men, and me, her unconditional love and guidance through troubled seas.  The staff, adorned with beads, and feathers, and other symbols of hope and love, is a gift back to her of what she has given here. Their decorations and gifts and blessing of the staff fills the room with that sense of community.  We pass the staff around the circle, each of us offering a blessing, a wish, an acknowledgement of the power of others to change our lives.  The power of that sharing and healing fills all of our hearts with love.

The story teller told us of his life, and his sister’s recent death.  He spoke of the tragedies in her life, and how, through all the pain and loss, she still loved people unconditionally.  His loss and his pain are mirrored in the faces of the young men gathered in the circle.  A sense of knowing that pain, and compassion for others grows in the room.  This place is safe now, a sacred place for being in that pain, and having our own sparks of humanity accepted.  
Unconditional love is his message today.  In his native stories and tales, in his words about his own life, the message is repeated.  

In our lives, and our experiences, and in our pain and sufferings, we are preparing ourselves for the work ahead.  There will be times when our presence, and our unconditional love for others, will change lives.  What we are going through now is merely preparation for the gift giving we will do in the future.

One young man offers a song in memory of the storyteller’s sister, filling us all with sadness and hope and a bit of that unconditional love.  

Others give voice to their struggles, their anger, their work to become healthy men.  

The storyteller leads us in a dance around the circle, holding hands, all moving to a drum beat, singing an ancient, timeless song.  In movement, we become one; there are no leaders and no followers.  We became community, accepting and united.  

Stories are told, letting us nod and laugh together, hearing his tales, and joining together in the acknowledgment of his story.   His work brings us together, to a feeling of being one, of each of us having value, of being accepted for who we are, right now.  And, again, judgement is suspended. Unconditional love lights up the room.

Telling our stories is what we need to do in our lives.  In our stories, and in the stories of others, we find acceptance, and we find community.  As we drum together, sing together, and listen to our stories, we come together.  We are one.  

In my heart, I touch my own pain, my own losses, my own doubts and fears.  The storyteller’s songs of love and acceptance, and of his own pain and his own journey through life brings me renewal.   That spark of humanity, of the power and force of love as a healer, as a single candle that can light the entire room, is fed by his quiet presence in our lives.  

In all of our eyes today, I see acceptance, reconciliation, forgiveness, and unity in all of what we experience in our humanity.  We become a stronger community, telling our stories, finding acceptance and hope.


--Neal Lemery 11/4/2012

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Religion and Faith


“Religion, it must be understood, is not faith.  Religion is the story of faith.  It is an institutionalized system of symbols and metaphors (read rituals and myths) that provides a common language with a community of faith can share with each other their numinous encounter with the Divine Presence.  Religion is concerned not with genuine history, but with sacred history, which does not course through time like a river.  Rather, sacred history is like a hallowed tree whose roots dig deep into primordial time and whose branches weave in and out of genuine history with little concern for the boundaries of space and time.  Indeed, it is precisely at those moments when sacred and genuine history collide that religions are born.  The clash of monotheisms occur when faith, which is mysterious and ineffable and which eschews all catagorizations, becomes entangled in the gnarled branches of religion.”

---Azlan, Reza No god but God: the Origins, Evolution, and Future of Islam, p. xxv (prologue)(Random House Trade Paperback, 2005).

Friday, October 26, 2012

Dealing With Death


Dealing With Death

“How do I deal with this?  a friend asked the other day, as we talked about the death of his friend, at a very young age.

And, I don’t know.  I’ve lost friends, relatives, people I work with, neighbors, people I’ve admired, so many people in my life.  After all that loss, you think I would have figured it out, and knew the answer to his question.

But, I don’t.  I explore my relationship with God, I contemplate the Universe, I search for my place in the world, who I am, where I am going, my own death.  I sometimes I think I have answers, but I also still have questions, big questions.

The questions nag me in the middle of the night, or when I have a thought reminding me of a loved one who has died.  The other day, when my friend asked me this question, his eyes tearing up with his pain and his loss, and his quest for the answer to his question. My usual full bag of advice and counsel didn’t produce a ready answer.  

Great poets, great writers, great artists, great theologians, and me and my friend keep coming back to the pain, the questions, the wondering.   

Some say there is a plan.  Yet, the work of the angel of Death seems chaotic, haphazard, completely random.  

I can have a rich, yet fleeting, conversation with someone close to me, and then next thing I know, I’m sobbing because they are suddenly gone from my life.  Or, I know they are dying, but I am still not ready for that phone call, telling me their time has come now, and not when we had thought.  What I want to be rational and reasonable is never that, not when I’m trying to understand Death.  

Death always screws up my plans.

I’m never ready for it, never ready for the news, the loss, the stumbling around that I do when someone close to me departs this world.  I’d like to think I can manage death, but I can’t.  Oh, I’m practiced in helping to plan funerals, and even saying comforting words, and helping others out.  I’ve mastered the legalities, and sometimes, I think I know the spiritual “final answer”, but not really.  

I’m really not very good at all this, and the dark void in the pit of my soul still aches, and I still cry out my laments.  

Sure, I move on.  I go forward.  That is, after all, what we have to do in this life.  And, I like to think that part of that person’s goodness and spirit lives on as a spark in my own self, and that their love and their goodness is part of the tapestry that is my life and my work in this world.  And, yes, all that is comforting.

Yet, I still don’t really know what to do, how to “handle this”, and to move on.  

I can sit with my friend, who mourns and weeps, and let him know there is love and kindness and compassion left in this world.  I can offer that and let him take what he needs now, to ease the bleeding of his own heart, and the void of his own emptiness.  

Perhaps that is enough, that empathy and compassion.  Perhaps that is the humanity I can offer, and how we can all try to deal with Death and loss, and our own sense of righteous abandonment and anger.  

I can live my own life well, with few regrets, and with passion and zeal.  Then, when it is my time to leave here, those who are left behind will have seen all that in me, and find some strange form of comfort in that, knowing I lived well and full, and that love remained strong in my heart, for all to see.

---Neal Lemery 10/26/2012

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Cherokee prayer


O Great Spirit
Help me always
to speak the truth quietly.
To listen with an open mind
when others speak
and to remember the peace
that may be found in silence.


-Cherokee Prayer-

Monday, September 17, 2012

A Letter to My Young Friend in Prison


A Letter to My Young Friend in Prison

Dear ____________:

It was good to go deep with you today.  

As always, I found you working on several difficult issues, and moving forward with all of them.  You have healthy goals, and you have worthy dreams.  You always do.  

Young men worry about who they are, and what they want to accomplish, and what is their destiny.  And, actually, we all worry about that.  At least, I do.  

I don’t always count my blessings, and I can worry about things that I have no control over, or things that turn out to be pretty insignificant.  I struggle with feelings and emotions, and I get myself tied up in knots about things.  Another young man I know calls that “catastrophizing”.  A good term for that “tie my stomach in knots” feeling.  

So, when you struggle, and doubt, and worry, you are not alone.  And, when you see some people and situations in your life that need some fixing, and things aren’t getting fixed, that is normal.  

Each of us can only fix ourselves.  We aren’t the mechanics for other people.  We don’t lead their lives.  And, we aren’t the boss.  Well, we are the boss of ourselves.  We do have the ability to direct our own lives, and to manage our own affairs.  And, what other people do and what other people might think of us --- well, not much we can do about that.  

You are a normal guy.  You have normal worries, and normal doubts and normal insecurities.  You get frustrated when relationships and other things don’t get “fixed”.  That’s normal.  

I see you accomplishing a whole lot.  Certainly more than most 21 year old men I have known.  OK, you are in prison and you don’t have a lot of “freedom”.  Yet, you have done a great deal of hard work in getting your own house in order, and healing yourself.  You have educated yourself a great deal about who you are, where you come from, and who you want to be.  

Most young men haven’t done that.  Most young men haven’t laid out the high moral standards and ethics you have set for yourself.  The work you have done has been very valuable, and very important.  I think you see that, sometimes.  In a few years, you will see this time as a very rich, and a very valuable experience.  

As you do your heart work, know that I support you, and I believe in you.  I am grateful you have this opportunity, to know yourself better, and to gain information which will lead to even more self discovery, and to more healing of whatever wounds you discover. 

Part of that healing work involves forgiveness.  

I hope that you are doing some forgiveness of yourself in all this.  Forgiveness is a very good gift to give to yourself.  It is part of that struggle you have with accepting a gift.  

You want to “pay off your restitution”.  “Restitution” means “to restore, to put back”.  Part of restitution is forgiving yourself.  That will be harder to do than sending money off to the State.  But, more rewarding, and more freeing.  

You are doing all of this work for the right reasons: self understanding.  

Most every time I leave prison after a visit with you, I say to myself “Wow.  I don’t know if I could deal with that.”  

A lot of the stuff you talk about that you have experienced, well, I think I might just want to find a dark corner and pull a blanket over my head, and slip away into a bit of self imposed craziness.  

But, you don’t take that cheap route.  You dig in and work through the crap that you have to deal with sometimes, and you get it on.  You sort through it, and you do what is needed to be healthy, and sane, and whole.  

You may think you don’t get much support from other folks on what you are going through and what you are doing.  But, you do.  Your Team is out there, cheering you on.  

I try to be a good cheerleader, a good support person for you.  I don’t always do a great job, and I often don’t have the tools and the pompoms and the special cheerleader cheers that work for you.  But, I still show up and I still cheer you on.  

I believe in you and I believe in your journey.  

And, you teach me more about courage and decency and character than anything else in my life.  

I thank you for that, from deep in my heart.

Sincerely,


Neal C. Lemery

Friday, July 20, 2012

Petite Syrah, 2006, and Tierra Del Mar



“With celebration, comes friends.
With inspiration, comes creation.
With sophistication, comes elegance,
and with wine, comes life.”
      --Christine Andrew
On the beach, we walk
Midsummer calm, warmth of the sun,
the wind taking a much needed vacation.
The log calls us to sit, and open the wine
given by our son, in celebration of Father’s Day,
the real gift being the son in the life of his parents.
The sun dances in clearing skies, 
sparkling on the calm of the sea,
and the wide open silence of the beach.
We take the time to enjoy the moment,
the wine, the still of the air,
the slow murmur of the waves
far away, almost
low tide.

Saturday, June 30, 2012

The Rock of Resentment


The Rock of Resentment
He spoke of his anger, raging inside, and his feelings about his family, his childhood, the place where he was at now, and what he struggles with.  His eyes flashed, his voice strong, energized as he shared what was deep in his heart, the pain, and the success.
“And, I’ve found a place to put all that, all my resentment,” he said, tears welling up, his voice quavering.  
It was his Resentment Rock.  
“I give it all to the rock, every day, so I can sleep at night, so I have a place for all this,” he said.
“And, this morning, it broke.  It’s in two pieces now.”
Silence filled the room, everyone feeling the tension as the rock broke, imagining that moment in his life.
Someone in the group asked him how he felt now, now that the rock of resentment has broken.
“Oh, I’m free. The pressure is off, the tension is gone.”
“Relief, I guess.  Yeah, relief.  All that resentment that was inside of me, and now, inside the rock, is gone.  It went away.  I just feel lighter now,” he said, one tear making its way down his young face.  
“I can move on, now.”
Later, when we had finished our conversations as a group, he talked to a woman.  She had spoken in our group about a place she was making in her garden, a place to grieve, and an offering vessel she had made.  It was a place where people could come to pray, and leave an object, a symbol of their loss, their grieving.  It was a place of honoring one’s grief, and the memories of good times, and hard times. It was a place to honor what goes on, deep in our hearts.
“Could you put this there?” he asked.  “I want you to take the rock, and put it there, so I can let it be.  I need a place to leave the rock, a place for all my resentment to be.”
He took the two pieces of the rock out of his pocket, showing us how the two pieces fit, jagged edge to jagged edge.   He let me hold them.  The rocks felt heavy, my fingers sensing the burdens they contained.  
His hands trembled, as he put the two pieces in her hand. A large whoosh of air escaped from his chest.
“It’s time to let all that go, and move on with my life,” he whispered, tears soaking into my shirt. 
6/30/12