On, In, and Around Mondays: Draw that Circle Now

She opens the box.

It is books. A lot of poetry books. Sent to me by an editor friend.

I figure she will look through them, stack them up somewhere in the living room, walk away.

But no.

She makes a circle. "It's a poetry circle!" she exclaims. "For you!"

I am sorry I can't sit cross-legged in that space on the hardwood floor, but I love the idea, and I say so. I tell her, too, that it feels magical and inspiring. Perfect for writing.

I've been reading Get Rich Click, and getting too many ideas about both business and writing.

Last night, a bit overawed at the too-many-ideas, I thought of the Poetry Circle. I thought about how important it is to not get side-tracked with everybody else's ideas of what you should do, or even your own ideas when they are too many.

"Just draw a circle, Laura," I thought. "You can hop in, you can hop out. But when you're in, it's a sacred, quiet, focused place. Both powerful and peaceful, in its way."

_______

On, In and Around Mondays (which partly means you can post any day and still add a link) is an invitation to write from where you are. Tell us what is on, in, around (over, under, near, by...) you. Feel free to write any which way... compose a tight poem or just ramble for a few paragraphs. But we should feel a sense of place. Would you like to try? Write something 'in place' and add your link below.

If you could kindly link back here when you post, it will create a central meeting place. :)

<a href="http://seedlingsinstone.blogspot.com"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5083/5217906589_c7120874ca.jpg" width="308" height="69" alt="On In Around button" />

This post is also shared with Laura Boggess, for...

The Business of Spirituality

I can remember days when the simplest thing would set me to praise— sparrows alighting on forsythia, a certain slant of light beyond the roof. Too, I've had those moments when nothing seemed to penetrate; the most spectacular sunset only served to highlight a sinking feeling that had followed me through days or weeks. Worst of all, I've sat and watched the trees swing in the wind, my own spirit plagued by failure or disappointment over the world's tragedies, and I've wondered, "God, are you even there? Or is life just meaningless, something tossed about the way maple, pine and hemlock are just now flipping in the air?"

Most of us would recognize the first state of attentiveness and responsiveness as spiritual, vital. The latter two, we're not so sure.

Last week I started reading The Next Level, by James B. Wood, and I found comfort in the S-curve. Notes Wood, "The point of the S-curve is that growth is cyclical. Each period of growth is inevitably interrupted by a break, causing one curve to end and another to begin. The factors that contributed to a company's ascending the first curve are not the same ones required for it to climb the second curve. The first curve, if continued, will eventually lead to stagnation, deterioration, and ultimately death. Regardless of the amount of effort applied, the path of the original curve eventually peaks and declines. One cannot get from one level to the next by continuing on the same path."

We should not be surprised that when one curve begins to drop, "the growth of the next, and the void in between are focal points for tremendous personal and company stress."

I find this information comforting, because it suggests that conflict and despair can be signs of growth, in the sense that we're about to enter a new level, and thus are experiencing a requisite period of struggle. It also sets into question 1-2-3 formulas for spiritual growth— especially the thought that if you just keep trying, stay faithful to a particular mode of spiritual practice, all will eventually be well.

At least in the arena of business, Wood suggests we get to "the next level" by "generating new actions, adaptations and behaviors. A transformation, or reinvention, is necessary for survival." Perhaps this is true of spiritual life as well.


Lighthouse Window photo, by L.L. Barkat.