As I look out my door at the scads of leaves that lay, dry and brown, about an inch thick across what would otherwise be my front lawn, I remember the summer, when the trees were full, lush and green. Now, their bones are bare and exposed – and silence replaces the whisper of the wind rushing through dancing foliage.

Remembering moves me to reflect on my own summer adventures, the things I had hoped to invite into my life when the spring was last beginning, and the inner-journey that took place in the wintery time of darkness when 2009 had just been born.

This time of year invites us to consider where we have been, what we have done, and what we have learned through our experiences.  The obvious “end,” whose crunchy sound and fragrance echos under our every step, inspires us to remember the burgeoning earth in its springtime, the sweet fruit of our summer learnings, and the spiraling return to death that is an undeniable finale in this familiar cycle of living.

As fall leads us toward the ebony arms of winter, our final harvest is one of
wisdom – filled memories.  By reflecting, we harvest our passions, our pains, our joys and our sorrows.  We give meaning  and value to what we have experienced.

When the last harvest is complete, we are compelled to share these memories and reflections with each other – the treasures of life that are stories worth telling – and worth hearing!   Our reflections are full and rich and soul-stirring.  They are the culmination of another year-long cycle we are completing.

It is time to gather.

The “Holiday Season” is upon us.  Traditionally, in our modern western world, we gather in large numbers for parties and celebrations.  We work so hard to prepare for what ends up being a short amount of time with those we love, and often, because we are so many gathered in one place, we have little time to share with one another in a heartfelt way.

This year, I suggest something different.  Lets make time for tea.

I suppose you could replace tea with another beverage of your choice – but Tea is something so simple to prepare.  It offers a comfortable elegance that we are missing in our world today.   Its warmth soothes the soul and opens the heart.  Tea can be shared, along with a great conversation, in a single hour or two.   I think gathering for tea is an “old way” that deserves rebirth.

It is time to gather – in a new “old way.”

Over the next few months, I plan to share tea with a few close friends.  I look forward to gathering in intimate circles and weaving our tales of life together in interesting and artful ways. I delight in the anticipation of what I will hear from the hearts of those who are dear to me. Yes, I will make time for tea and for sharing in a deeper way this season.   Won’t you join me?

It is time to gather – to share our stories – and the kettle is on!

I’ve never been exceptionally fond of change.  I like structure and familiarity.  I value what I have come to know as “reliable.”  Consistency brings me comfort.  Still, in every year, Nature gifts us with a time for “letting go” and reminds us of the importance of change in nourishing the future.

As I watch the leaves scatter, I am aware of the pieces of my life that lay strewn across the canvas of my being at this moment – old friends who have moved on with little or no explanation, dreams and visions that never quite got off the ground, beliefs about life, and love, and relationship, that have been proven inaccurate – aspects of existence that have changed in ways I could not have predicted or prepared for.  All of this lies on the barren ground of my autumnal self, dis-integrating.

It is time to let go.  When fall comes, the trees pull in their sap, calling this source energy back to the roots and base.  They close off the connection from branch to leaf, and allow a “falling away” to occur.  I wonder if the leaf mourns the tree, or the tree grieves the exiting leaf. It looks so simple and easy.  All that is necessary is a gentle breeze to help detach one from the other, it seems.

It is Spirit that provides the breeze I need to make my own separations.  It is the breath of the Divine, arriving in a blustery gust, that sings to me, ” What has been will nourish what is yet to come. Let change happen.”

It is time to de-compose my story about sameness and change.  It is time for a falling away of what must become something else.  A gentle whisper, like the cool wind dancing leafy spirals across my yard, speaks of gratitude and sweet memories, and I feel the deepening.  I call my own life blood back to my roots, pulling from the center of my history, the strength to go within.

All that has been feeds all that I am, composing itself in spring, growing through the summers of my life, and de-composing again in fall to become rich, earthy compost that sustains my next becoming.

What is released is never truly gone.  It simply changes form to serve a greater purpose. Perhaps change is not so bad after all.

In the Harvest Season, which runs from mid-summer through much of the fall, there is a lot of discussion about abundance. I am finding myself very resistant to this word. I have so much abundance in my life

-an abundance of dirty clothes to wash
-an abundance of boxes to unpack from our recent move
-an abundance of phone calls to return
-an abundance of writing to complete
-an abundance of “stuff” requiring care

“Abundance” is not a word I am comfortable with right now!

Instead, I have been sitting with the word “enough.” That word feels much better to me. How much is enough? How much food is “enough?” How much money is “enough?” How much time with my children is “enough?” How much “stuff” is enough?” The list goes on.

Assuming “abundance” is “more than enough,” I must be clear about how much is “enough” before I can identify whether or not I have “more” than that! And, of course, to identify “enough” would require that I am able to make a distinction between “need” and “desire.”

Just imagine what it would be like to settle into “enough!”

What if you had:

- enough love.
- enough friendship to savor.
- enough adventure and exploration in your life.
- Enough work to be purpose-full.
- enough food, shelter, clothing, and clean water to feel safe.

Can you feel the sense of satisfaction that “enough” brings? How about the recognition of personal accomplishment, or the feeling of safety that follows recognition of “enough”? In a state of “enough,” it is easy to relax a little.
We can be more discerning about our purchases, our commitments and our time. “Enough” is a catalyst for environmentally sound decision-making, and provides space in one’s life for the state of “Being” rather than “Doing.”

As we move into the fall and winter, we will gradually sink deep into the arms of Morpheus and dream about what brings us happiness and joy. If we understand that we have enough, we can fully enjoy this time. We can read books that feed our souls, drink warm tea, and listen to music that uplifts our hearts. We can take long walks and observe the beauty of the natural world around us. “Enough” is an incredibly powerful calming agent.

Our ancestors went into the winter making sure they had “enough” to get them through till spring. They tallied what they had, determined what they needed, and worked collaboratively to create what was lacking, so that they could rest and feel safe.

So dear reader, here is my challenge to you: While the sun is still high and the days provide the light to see by, take an inventory of your life. Explore the difference between “need” and “desire.” Make yourself a list of the areas in which you have “enough” and commit to spending the next few weeks addressing only those areas where “enough” does not yet exist. Plan to go into the dark time with “enough” – so you can rest and rejuvenate your mind, body and spirit.

Incidentally, “Time” is the gift Spirit offers to those who make friends with “enough.”

Blessed be,

Ahriana

Yesterday I had the pleasure of speaking as part of an interfaith panel at Pine Creek High School. Although the panel presentation, in itself, contained unique moments worthy of discussion, it is what happened afterward that affected me so deeply.

As one group of students left the room and another began to enter, the teacher who was preparing to teach the next class approached several of us and invited us to stay. She explained that her class has been studying genocide and that she would be providing a very powerful demonstration she felt we would appreciate.

I was a bit intrigued, but my own children, who did not have school today, were waiting at the sitter’s for me to pick them up, so I graciously asked if I could stay for a few moments and sat by the door so that I could slide out without disturbing anyone when it was time for me to leave.

I intended to stay for ten minutes or so.

The only other person from the panel who stayed was the Rabbi,  a lovely chaplain from the Air Force Academy. He was gracious enough to offer me a closer chair next to him, and, as someone who has come to appreciate any opportunity to get to know folks from other faith traditions more personally, I could not help but accept. It was a very good choice and I am grateful for the Rabbi’s gesture because, without it, I might actually have missed something life changing.

The teacher began by laying out several black sheets on the open floor. The students were instructed to sit around them so they would have a better view. In a very matter-of-fact way, she then explained how she and a colleague had wanted to demonstrate the number of people who had been killed by genocide. After a lot of thought, they came up with an idea. They would buy a bag of rice and count how many grains were in a cup, then multiply the cups to get the correct numbers for various incidents throughout history. She explained that each grain of rice represented one human being and she directed our attention to the giant bins that contained what was needed for the exercise.

To begin, each person in attendance was presented with a handful of rice to hold. “What you have in your hand is about as many grains of rice as there are students in this high school (1500),” she explained. Then the teacher went to the CD player and introduced a haunting melody.

The music played and she began pouring rice on the ebony canvas.

I wish I had taken note of the exact numbers but the piles quickly became so immense that I could feel myself struggling with my emotions. At that moment, my logical mind was trying to wrap itself around a reality I could hardly comprehend.

“1.5 million.”  “150,000.”  “300,000.”   “7 million.”  “Hundreds of thousands in only 100 days.”   The figures were staggering. To actually look at the massive mounds of rice and recognize, in such a visceral way, how many men, women and children had died was almost too much to take in. “Turkey, Germany, Cambodia, Bosnia, Rwanda, and continuing to this very day in Darfur,” she said, as the piles grew and grew. The largest number? Native Americans. “Everything on this sheet -  twice!”

My emotions eventually got the better of me. Tears fell freely as I embraced the severity of what she was demonstrating.

I watched as young women with mascara-lined eyes wiped away the darkened streaks that ran down their cheeks. I observed vibrant young men leaning forward, heads resting into their hands, as if to hold back the thoughts that could not be spoken. This was a lesson they would never forget, and neither will I.

Toward the end, the rice we had been holding was collected. “It is believed” she explained, “that, in our lives, we will each have the chance to influence about as many people as you have grains of rice in your hand.”   We were asked to retain one grain and surrender the rest into a common container.

She paused and asked, “What kind of influence will you be?”

After allowing us a few moments to ponder, she changed the music to something more upbeat. One by one, she brought forth vessels of various sizes and shapes, containing varying amount of rice that represented numbers of individuals who had influenced the world in a positive way. Mother Theresa, – The Survivors of Auschwitz who shared their stories with the world, – The nine Prisoners of War that kept alive the memories of those who had not made it home. There were many examples.

She spoke about how one person could change the world and presented the data necessary to prove her point.

And when she had finished, each student was invited to glue their single grain of rice on a piece of paper and to write what they were feeling.

Slowly a few students came forward, running their fingers through the piles, and contemplating all that had been seen and heard. As they moved to their desks to write, I quietly placed my grain of rice in my pocket, said a soft goodbye to the Rabbi, and took my leave. I had feelings of my own to sort out and children who were waiting for me.

When I arrived home, I reached into my pocket, afraid I might have lost such a small treasure, and gratefully retrieved that single grain of rice. I placed it in a heart-shaped dish on my altar.

So you see, my friends, I could not simply leave it at that, for I too have some influence in the world. I know that I am blessed to have your ear and,  in some cases, your heart, so I must pass along the question that was asked yesterday.

What kind of an influence will you be on the world we share?

Whatever you choose, I hope you will remember how powerful you are and act accordingly.

You are LOVE and you are loved!

Ahriana

In America, we are a country comprised of people whose ancestry is varied and diverse. Few of us can trace the family tree back more than a few generations and, overall, we have little connection to the countries from which our great, great grandparents originated. While we know ourselves to be, for example, of Italian, English and Dutch heritage, (or whatever combination is appropriate for each individual), these are just words that describe where our ancestors traveled from when they came here. We know very little about these cultures or their respective traditions. Let’s face it – we’re mutts! Most of our spiritual traditions are revivalist in nature and have little to do with where we actually came from.

In meeting people from all over the world, one of the things that Mark and I found interesting was the common thread that our traditions had been interrupted. Whether by war, displacement or persecution, nearly everyone could identify a break in their cultural lineage. Even our Native American friends spoke of the loss of heritage that happened when they were under siege. It seems nearly everyone who attended is still struggling to recover “the old ways.” Some had gone to great lengths to research old folk tales, tattered books and still-standing villages to find a clue about how things used to be.

As I listened, it occurred to me that we might all be suffering from a need to “over-glorify” our ancestors in an effort to have solid roots. Yes, they left us a legacy. Yes, we benefit from the good they did. And (this is a very BIG “AND”) – we are also left with their mistakes. It is our ancestors who “claimed territory”, created hierarchies, marginalized one another, and drew invisible lines on a planet that had none, in order to define the differences between one “country” and another.

I am keenly aware that this “Gathering of Elders” was one in which many of the attendees were struggling to feel “legitimate.” In a time where unity is a common theme amongst spiritual people, we spent a lot of our time in India making comparisons rather than experiencing the “One Tribe” conclave I had hoped for.

I loved the people I met from around the world and truly look forward to crossing paths with them in the future. This is not really about the people – its about authenticity. When we create a sacred circle, where do we place the elements? Do we place them where they actually are in our surrounding area or where we have been taught they should be? Do our symbols come from the world we share, or from history books and pictures of sacred sites? Who are the “ancestors” we call on?

What our ancestors did well is this: They listened to the Earth. She was the original teacher that ALL of our ancestors learned from. The word indigenous was used a lot at this gathering to identify who came from where. We are ALL indigenous, aren’t we? Didn’t we all come from Earth? Is there someone out there who is not from here? (If so, speak up now because we have lots of questions!)

The Earth taught our ancestors. The Universe was the classroom in which the ‘traditions’ were born. She will teach us in the same way, if we just listen. She has always been the teacher and she holds the lessons that are appropriate for this time.

This is a Hindu event, and I was asked here to participate in the “American Dharma Congress,” a presentation designed to help Hindus explore the possibility that other faith traditions might be “allies in cause.” I spoke, this afternoon, on the topic of “Paganism in America.”

Did I mention how interesting it is that I am here on Halloween? This holiday, whose roots are deeply embedded in the rich soil of the Pagan culture, is a holy-day that invites us to offer gratitude for the gifts of our ancestors, to explore the value of death as a normal and healthy aspect of life, and to understand the importance of endings…and beginnings.

Voices, speaking from five different perspectives, were heard; Romani (Gypsy), Mohawk (Native American), Pagan, Feminist-Yogini, and Hindu.

We spoke about our related wounds, about marginalization and persecution. We spoke about our respective ways of connecting with the Divine in both its masculine and its feminine forms. We spoke about Mother Earth, ecology and sustainable living. We spoke about mysticism, science, and history. We listened and we learned – together.

On this day of endings and beginnings, we asked each other “what has died in order that we can be together in this way, and what will be born from our collaborative sharing?” We were reminded of all that we have to be grateful for in this very moment, which is not the moment of death, nor the moment of birth, but the present “now” that resides between them.

As is always the case for me, when I am blessed to be part of interfaith dialogue, I found myself brought to tears many times throughout the day. It is amazing to delve deeper into the recognition of our similarities. The common ground we discover reassures me that, at some time in our very distant past, we emerged from the same Divine Source – and no matter what path we follow to reconnect with that Source, we are destined to find each other as travel companions along the way!

So, at this very special moment in time, I offer thanks to the ancestors who have given their lives that we might follow our respective paths freely and openly. I am deeply grateful for the doorway that is opening between people of various traditions as a result of our heart-based recognition of each other, and I look forward, with great anticipation, to a future where labels such as Hindu and Pagan are replaced by such references as friend, companion and soul-kin.

On this very special Halloween, I wish you endings and beginnings that awaken you to your true and divine nature – and a few pieces of your favorite candy to sweeten the journey!

Blessed be,

Ahriana

Dear Friends,

October has arrived, and along with it, a myriad of magic including Jack-o-Lanterns, Ghouls, Ghosties and Witches. In many cultures, this is the time to celebrate death and honor the ancestors.

When I consider my own ancestry, which is largely European, I am reminded of the “Burning Times” – a period of roughly 400 years in which people accused of practicing certain arts were named “witches” and burned alive.  Many were healers, midwives, herbalist and practitioners of earth-based folk traditions.

Some were women who owned property of value.  Others were individuals whose spirituality was not aligned with those in power.  How did these “witches” become the hook-nosed Halloween hag we see today?

Perhaps the following, written by a 16 year old girl, will give some insight:

The Halloween Witch

Each year they parade her about … the traditional Halloween Witch. Misshapen green face, stringy scraps of hair, and a toothless mouth beneath her disfigured nose. Gnarled, knobby fingers twisted into a claw, protracting from a bent and twisted torso that lurches about on wobbly legs.

Most think this abject image to be the creation of a prejudiced mind, or merely a Halloween caricature. I disagree. I believe this to be how witches were really seen.

Consider that most witches: were women, were abducted in the night, and smuggled into dungeons or prisons under the secrecy of darkness, to be presented by the light of day as a confessed witch.

Few, if any, saw a frightened, normal looking woman being dragged into a secret room filled with instruments of torture. To be questioned until she confessed to anything that was suggested to her, and to give names or whatever would stop the questions.

Crowds saw the aberration denounced to the world as a self-proclaimed witch. As the witch was paraded through the town, en route to be burned, hanged, drowned, stoned, or disposed of in various other “forms of love,”  all created to free and save her soul from her depraved body. The jeering crowds viewed the results of hours of torture.

The face, bruised and broken by countless blows, bore a hue of sickly green. The once warm and loving smile gone -replaced by a grimace of broken teeth and torn gums that leers beneath a battered, disfigured nose. The disheveled hair conceals bleeding gaps of torn scalp from whence cruel hands had torn away the lovely tresses. Broken, twisted hands clutched the wagon for support. Fractured fingers locked like groping claws to steady her broken body. All semblance of humanity gone. This was truly a demon, a bride of Satan, a witch.

I revere this Halloween crone and hold her sacred above all. I honor her courage and listen to her warnings of the dark side of humanity. Each year I shed tears of respect and remember her involuntary sacrifice in the name of religion.

Written by Angel, 6/99

Do you pray for the healing of others?
Do you have family or spiritual traditions you value and practice?
Do you use herbal healing remedies or “mom’s secret cure for a cold?”
Do you own property someone else might wish was theirs?
Have you ever coached a birthing mother or been present to comfort the dying?
Have you ever had a difference of opinion with a neighbor, a friend or a spouse?

If so, by the standards of our ancestors, you might be a Witch.

Something to think about -hmmm?

“Never again the Burning Times!”

Blessed be,
Rev. Ahriana Platten
Director
Colorado Ecospiritual Center
October 3, 2008

Dear Friends,
Growing up in the Catholic church, I was taught about the holiness of the “House of God.”  Certain behaviors were allowed, others were not, when you entered this sacred building.  A church was a temple, dedicated to all that was sacred – a place you could go to open your heart – a safe and healing place where you could collaborate with the Divine Source.  I still feel this way each time I enter a sacred place-no matter its religious orientation.

Which brings me to the shocking fact that today, in my adult life, it seems that churches are not necessarily safe.  You may or may not know that there was a shooting at a Unitarian Universalist Church in Tennessee recently.  Less than a year ago, in Colorado Springs, there was a shooting at the New Life Church. In both places, life was lost and communities were shattered by grief and injury.  All of this is so far from what seems possible to me in a “House of God,” that I can hardly imagine it.

Imagining became easier last weekend.

On Sunday, I had the pleasure of speaking at a church here in my hometown. When I arrived at the church, the gentleman who was assisting with the service let me know that the office had received an “unusual call” and that they were taking some extra security precautions that morning. He explained that they were asking for local police to patrol and assigning extra ushers to watch for anything out of the ordinary. He didn’t say much more. He didn’t need to.  That was enough to set my imagination in motion.

Until that moment, there was something about the above-mentioned church shootings that was outside my own reality.  While I definitely felt compassion for those who were killed or injured, for the families, and for the communities who were so deeply affected – and even though I held them in my prayers – there was a distance between “them” and me.  This Sunday, that distance was as close as my own breath.

As I sat in the front of the church waiting for the service to begin, I wondered how we (humanity) came to such desperation.  How did we come to believe violence would fix things?  I wondered for how many years and decades and centuries we have struck out at one another when we feel disempowered, angry and fearful.  Sure, we can make this about one individual who was described as “distraught” – but, in truth, it is about all of us and the state of our society.  It is about our beliefs and our values.  Whether it is the person who “goes postal,” the man who attacks a church congregation, or a woman who throws a fist at a spouse, lover or child – it is about the violence we have grown so accustomed to in our world and our justifications for using violence to resolve our differences.

I began thinking about my children who so enjoy their video games – and how many of those games are all about fighting “the bad guy.”  There is no thought to it. Winning is all about eye-hand coordination and speed. The bad guy is determined by the game, not by the child.  How often do we let the opinion of others determine the “bad guys” in our lives.

I thought about the movies we watch and the media’s way of glorifying carnage – and wondered why we watch, over and over, paying good money to become more and more desensitized.

I considered whether I should say something to friends who came to share sacred space with me that morning – or should tell my sweet husband who was in the building with our darling little boy.

I wondered what I would do if someone came forward firing a gun. The whole scene played before my eyes and I ran several options through my mind. In the end, I sat, in the stillness of that “House of God”, and opened my heart to the Divine.  Call it faith.  Call it guidance.  Whatever it was, I felt completely peaceful and calm, ready to share the message Spirit would call forth from me. I recalled the phrase “There, but by the Grace of God, go I” and I thought of all the ministers I have come to know and love from so many different faith paths. I offered a short prayer for all of them, and for myself, and the service began.

I am happy to say that, with the exception of a stubborn CD that refused to play the right song, the service was uneventful. Nothing but smiling faces looking back at me. Message delivered. Hearts connected. Laughter shared. When it was over, I hugged my family and gave thanks for the Grace that blessed us with safety.

Now you might think that, after Sunday’s experience, I would have given up my childhood notions about the “House of God” but the reality is, I have not. Each of us has a responsibility to envision the world we desire to live in – and to live from that vision, allowing our vision to direct our choices and actions.

Last Sunday, I stood in the possibility of fear and violence.  It is not what I desire.  I clearly see a world where each Church and Temple is safe and sacred. I will live differently, in order to manifest that vision.  Can you see it?  Hold that vision strong. Together, we are creating our reality.

Blessed be,
Ahriana Platten
Director
Colorado Ecospiritual Center