Thursday, April 26, 2007 at 1:01am
I awoke this morning
Column: Our Place in the Universe
I awoke one morning being loved by my husband. What a wonderful way to start the day. Like a warm blanket on a cool morning he pulled himself over me and embraced my being. I opened to his love and discovered a new dimension of lovemaking. After 25 years, you'd think most things would have been shared, but I have found a depth to love that reinvents the ordinary.
Between us exists the sacredness of creation — a vortex emerging to pull us deeper under the skin of reality. The sensual pleasure of lovemaking becomes the shell, that which is beneath it, the succulent meat within. Sometimes that feeling is there in the smallest, tenderly placed kiss, slowly lingering, burning away the residue of care and concern that often furrows the brow.
Our relationship was not always like this. There were times I was so angry, no love could get through. Angry with myself, unhappy with who I was, disappointed. And yet when faced with the beauty of creation or of a friend, my heart would open and I could feel the Beloved rushing to catch the wave. He knew my strengths and played to them, despite me. Knowing the love wasn't mine, it was easy to give during those times. One day I awoke to the reality that being able to offer a love that was bigger than myself was a wonderful gift to have — so I offered it to myself and found out that I was OK too.
In a recent interview with The Sun magazine, Irish poet John O'Donohue confirmed this, saying, "Most things that are true and lasting have a symmetry between inside and out. Your outward relationship toward your beloved, if it is not mirrored internally by a loving relationship with yourself, is reduced and limited. You end up scraping from him or her what you are not giving yourself. But if you are nourished at your own table, you do not need so desperately to be fed by someone else; consequently, you can be free and open with that person."
Later on that day I was writing to my Earth Literacy director for a recommendation. Contemplating whether I should go on to apply for a Ph.D. program, I wrote to her: "Sometimes I think, I know nothing, I have nothing of consequence to offer to the academic community." Unlike Maureen, all I can say in Latin is "ecum spirit tu tuo." And therefore I can't really teach or write or share, because I have no knowledge. Other times I feel, yes, I have a feeling. And with that feeling there's a connection that sometimes can make a difference. Again, there is that inside and that outside of the matter.
In my life the physical and the spiritual seem to come together through a sacred place. Like Moses receiving God through the burning bush, we are grounded in our spirituality or mysticism through the land. God called to him from within the bush, "Moses! Moses!" And Moses said, "Here I am." "Do not come any closer," God said. "Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground" (Exodus 3:4-5). Our feelings become manifest in the creation around us. Without recognizing that unique spiritual connection we have with the Beloved, there is really no difference between us and anything else. On the other hand, without everything else we would never be grounded, rooted and therefore able to grow and spread and bear fruit.
That is why I chose to study Earth Literacy. It is a discipline that can turn the facts and figures of science into the poetry or ritual of beauty. The ground on which we are standing is holy ground and needs to be understood and respected as such. In return, the Earth is constantly teaching us to understand and respect ourselves in relation to the whole.
Writing a column on spirituality and the environment once a week for UPI is also a discipline. To write well, I need to keep reading the many ideas and substance of others. To be inspired, I need to keep praying and be contemplative — that's when all the "thought" ideas get grounded in the beauty of reality, when the outside and the inside become one:
As the sun's invisible rays
becoming visible
through the clouds at sunrise,
As the space between our lips
empties into the vast space
of the Beloved's heart,
when someone asks
who it is that I love,
I will say, "It is you."
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her masters in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Anne E. Ulvestad
Between us exists the sacredness of creation — a vortex emerging to pull us deeper under the skin of reality. The sensual pleasure of lovemaking becomes the shell, that which is beneath it, the succulent meat within. Sometimes that feeling is there in the smallest, tenderly placed kiss, slowly lingering, burning away the residue of care and concern that often furrows the brow.
Our relationship was not always like this. There were times I was so angry, no love could get through. Angry with myself, unhappy with who I was, disappointed. And yet when faced with the beauty of creation or of a friend, my heart would open and I could feel the Beloved rushing to catch the wave. He knew my strengths and played to them, despite me. Knowing the love wasn't mine, it was easy to give during those times. One day I awoke to the reality that being able to offer a love that was bigger than myself was a wonderful gift to have — so I offered it to myself and found out that I was OK too.
In a recent interview with The Sun magazine, Irish poet John O'Donohue confirmed this, saying, "Most things that are true and lasting have a symmetry between inside and out. Your outward relationship toward your beloved, if it is not mirrored internally by a loving relationship with yourself, is reduced and limited. You end up scraping from him or her what you are not giving yourself. But if you are nourished at your own table, you do not need so desperately to be fed by someone else; consequently, you can be free and open with that person."
Later on that day I was writing to my Earth Literacy director for a recommendation. Contemplating whether I should go on to apply for a Ph.D. program, I wrote to her: "Sometimes I think, I know nothing, I have nothing of consequence to offer to the academic community." Unlike Maureen, all I can say in Latin is "ecum spirit tu tuo." And therefore I can't really teach or write or share, because I have no knowledge. Other times I feel, yes, I have a feeling. And with that feeling there's a connection that sometimes can make a difference. Again, there is that inside and that outside of the matter.
In my life the physical and the spiritual seem to come together through a sacred place. Like Moses receiving God through the burning bush, we are grounded in our spirituality or mysticism through the land. God called to him from within the bush, "Moses! Moses!" And Moses said, "Here I am." "Do not come any closer," God said. "Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground" (Exodus 3:4-5). Our feelings become manifest in the creation around us. Without recognizing that unique spiritual connection we have with the Beloved, there is really no difference between us and anything else. On the other hand, without everything else we would never be grounded, rooted and therefore able to grow and spread and bear fruit.
That is why I chose to study Earth Literacy. It is a discipline that can turn the facts and figures of science into the poetry or ritual of beauty. The ground on which we are standing is holy ground and needs to be understood and respected as such. In return, the Earth is constantly teaching us to understand and respect ourselves in relation to the whole.
Writing a column on spirituality and the environment once a week for UPI is also a discipline. To write well, I need to keep reading the many ideas and substance of others. To be inspired, I need to keep praying and be contemplative — that's when all the "thought" ideas get grounded in the beauty of reality, when the outside and the inside become one:
As the sun's invisible rays
becoming visible
through the clouds at sunrise,
As the space between our lips
empties into the vast space
of the Beloved's heart,
when someone asks
who it is that I love,
I will say, "It is you."
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her masters in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Anne E. Ulvestad