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Category: Abbess love notes

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Christmas Blessings ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

The Risk of Birth This is no time for a child to be born, With the earth betrayed by war & hate And a comet slashing the sky to warn That time runs out & the sun burns late. That was no time for a child to be born, In a land in the crushing grip of Rome; Honour & truth were trampled by scorn- Yet here did the Saviour make his home. When is the time for love to be born? The inn is full on the planet earth, And by a comet the sky is torn- Yet Love

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Winter Solstice ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

A major obstacle to creativity is wanting to be in the peak season of growth and generation at all times . . . but if we see the soul’s journey as cyclical, like the seasons . . . then we can accept the reality that periods of despair or fallowness are like winter – a resting time that offers us a period of creative hibernation, purification, and regeneration that prepare us for the births of spring. —Linda Leonard, The Call to Create Dearest monks and artists, This reflection is excerpted from our Sacred Seasons online retreat for the Celtic Wheel of the

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Wisdom of Mary and the Sacred Feminine (Advent retreat starts today!) ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks and artists, This reflection is an excerpt from the first day’s reflection in our Advent retreat online that begins today where we explore the various titles and names for Mary. Mary has gone by many names in the Christian tradition. My approach to these names is influenced strongly by Jungian thought on the archetypes. Archetypes are universal energies that we all experience through dreams and collective symbols. I am drawn to the names of Mary because I believe that their multitude of images points to images we hunger for and ultimately find within ourselves. Mary can be a

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Sacramentality of the Senses ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks and artists, The Catholic Mass, which is my own home tradition, is often described as “smells and bells.” A full liturgy will often meet and inspire every one of our senses: the scent of incense rising, bells ringing, stained glass windows, singing songs, embracing another at the kiss of peace, eating the bread and drinking wine. I have always loved the Catholic idea of sacramentality, which means that physical things participate in and reveal the presence of the holy. The liturgy with all of its sensual dimensions is sacramental, the marriage union between two lovers is sacramental, the

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Gratitude as a Spiritual Practice ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks and artists, The United States celebrates the feast of Thanksgiving this week. I have always loved this time of gratefulness and sharing with loved ones. My heart overflows with gratitude for this beautiful community we have created together. I delight daily in knowing there are dancing monks all over the world. The 5th century monk and mystic Benedict of Nursia counsels in his Rule for monastic life an attitude of contentment among his community. Whatever the circumstances they find themselves in, they are to find some satisfaction with what is in the moment. In a world of self-entitlement and

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Breath as Holy Pause ~ A love note from your online abbess

Every breath is a resurrection. —Gregory Orr (excerpt from poem “Concerning the Book that is the Body of the Beloved”) Dearest monks and artists, In the monastic tradition there is a practice called statio, which is the commitment to stop one thing before beginning another.  Imagine, instead of rushing from one appointment to the next, that between each one you pause, you breathe just five long slow breaths. Imagine how this might transform your movement from one activity to another. Or even when you move from one room to another, allow a brief pause on the threshold between spaces. God lives

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Writing on the Wild Edges ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dreaming of Stones In the world before waking I meet a winged one, feathered, untethered, who presses in my palm three precious stones, like St. Ita in her dream, but similarities end there, her with saintliness and certainty, me asking questions in the dark. All I know is I am not crafted from patience of rock or gravity of earth, nor flow of river, I am not otter with her hours devoted to play. I am none of these. At least not yet. The stones will still be singing centuries from now, made smooth by all kinds of weather. If

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