Sukkot

I don't know if I've told ya'll this, but I work in the Office of Religious and Spiritual Life at Harvard Divinity School (I know, I know. Two jobs...but such is life). Anyway, on Wednesdays we have a service that is hosted by a different religious/spiritual group each week. This week was hosted by the Jewish Student Association, and it was one of the most amazing services I've ever been to.

In celebration of Sukkot (the feast of booths), we met under the Sukkah, a temporary structure erected during this seven-day holiday and removed after. Different students led songs, or offered prayers, but I was most struck by a classmate named Max's address in the middle. He spoke about the way the Sukkah recalls a wedding tent and how the Sukkot celebration itself is much like a wedding ceremony. Both are times for celebration, but both are also times marking transition.

Max talked about the way Sukkot is a time to celebrate the harvest, but also a time to look forward to what is next. A time to ask ourselves: So what? What is next? He compared this question to the way when a wedding ceremony is over, the question is: What will you do together with the rest of your life?

Max laughed as he considered that question. He smiled to himself, cocked his head to the side and said again, "So, what now?" My eyes welled with tears and I wondered to myself: "Yeah. What now, Sierra?" Then Max said: "Just like these New England trees, we are in transition," followed by a quote from someone whose name I cannot remember: "The only sin is to be stuck."

The honeymoon is over at HDS, but I am certainly not stuck. Max's words are such a relief as I realize that I am in transition, that I will always be in transition, and that thankfully, that means I am alive. I am still alive, still moving, still learning, still growing. Everyday a new idea pops into my head. Everyday a new theorist or a new article piques my interest. Everyday I am living the most perfect and beautiful life I could imagine.

-Sierra

p.s. I am attaching some photos just so you can get a glimpse of my lovely life here...and because my new phone has a camera and I'm just so excited to be able to share!

My two fantastic housemates! Mike and Ace!

Hunter and Tex's feet. I really like this photo. Hope they don't get mad.

What a boy!

As the Dog Days Dissipate.

I've been writing two different blog posts for the last week or so. One is about fear and the other is about the relief that autumn brings--escape from heat, return to books, and those sweet moments when I realize I have a new life here. However, it would be false to pretend that either one (fear or relief/contentedness) could stand alone. They are two parts of the same experience, two shades of the same color, two essential threads of the cloth of autumn.

A mentor once told me that autumn is frequently viewed as the season of release. The time to let things go. Given that statement, no wonder it is a time marked by fear and relief. I find it is always frightening to let go of something I am accustomed to or to relinquish control over something, whether or not it is good for me. And, yet to be free again, shew. That is quite a feeling. This fall, for me, is a time to release all the dreams I have for my life. Not to give up on them, but to just let them be for a while, to let myself be. And, to be here. It's terrifying. Thinking about PhD applications, or projects I might want to do, or the possible (and some inevitable) failures I will encounter can make my head spin. A healthy dose of that can be good, I find. But, I take great solace in Okhi Forest's words: "To be fearless is not to get rid of fear or to numb yourself to it, but to experience your fears even more strongly."

While these meditations on fear swirl about my brain, I also can't help but breathe a little easier. There's something visceral about the way cooler weather affects me. My posture is more relaxed, my sense of humor less cutting, my time less "valuable" (meaning I just hang out more readily). Oh! And, I like my fall clothes a lot better.

As I reflect on these dual processes at work, I wonder if perhaps they are not two separate entities at all. Maybe the former is a product of the latter. As I relax and become more comfortable with myself and my life, surely fears will come up (as they say, life isn't all beer and skittles). But perhaps by embracing fear and facing it head on, it reduces the power of fear over my life. Perhaps it is through fear that relief comes. Then again, maybe I'm reading too much philosophy and still recovering from the heat. ;)

Fearlessly, contentedly, authentically,

Sierra

The bees envy me.

This may seem like a ridiculous start to a blog entry. And it is. But just listen to it while you read.

As long as I can remember I've wanted for this to be someone's "song" for me. You know what I mean, heart-breaking-every-time-you-hear-it-you-think-of-your-sweetie-song. Why you may ask? Besides the fact that is adorable and classic, I have always found a lot that I figured would make someone think of me. Here's my logic:

How does seeing a redhead like Sierra turn your day around? Answer: Like sunshine on a cloudy day.
When was Sierra born? Answer: the month of may
What did I guess you'd say? Answer: my girl (aka: Sierra)

But lately, I feel like I don't need someone else to make this their love song for me. I think this is my love song for my life. Maybe that's cheesy, maybe it's an overstatement, but a girl can't stand around forever waiting for someone else to love her life, can she?

The other night I dreamed that I was rummaging through jars of honey while bees buzzed around my head. I was not panicky nor was I frightened. I was diligent. I was persistent. I was intelligent and I was pleased. It was as if this tedious and hard work was worthwhile even if I didn't find the right "jar". All summer, I've had bees on the brain. When a crew remodeled a facade of a building on campus, a bee hive was found and no one could walk on that lawn for a few days, so as to let the bees settle down. I also learned that a friends' painting company merely paints over the hives they find on homes. Bees seem to be everywhere for me right now.

Their metaphorical presence is not lost on me. They inspire me to work hard to create symmetry, form, beauty, and sweetness in my life. And, they remind to appreciate the sweetness I have found, especially in the camaraderie of my new friends Tex and Hunter (of course, I would move from Colorado to make friends with characters bearing such names as these) and in the joy and love I cherish daily from long time friends and family. As The Temptations would say: "I've got so much honey, the bees envy me."

Cuchulain, Ace, and Henry David Thoreau

Remember the celtic hero I told you about named Cuchulain? Well, according to many, he was the "greatest" Celtic hero. Here is a story about him that stood out to me (in mostly my own words):

As a youth, Cuchulain was once late to a dinner at a home protected by a giant dog. No one could ever pass this dog. The people inside were dining and they heard a great commotion outside their home. The great hound was clearly defending the home against some large force. Everyone gathered outside to see what was occurring. They saw a young boy fighting the great hound. With a loud cry, the hound fell to the ground dead. Cuchulain stood with one foot on the carcass. Everyone celebrated the young warrior, but then the clamor died down, "for there stood their host, silent and sorrowful over the body of his faithful friend, who had died for the safety of his house and would never guard it more" (Rolleston 184). Cuchulain offers to train a pup from that dog up as a great guard dog, however for the rest of his life he has a geis against eating flesh from his namesake (ie: the dog; which seems really random, but in fact, is very important). Later in his life, Cuchulain is coerced into eating dog meat and is killed in battle the next day (after fighting an entire army off for an extended period of time...he really does put many heroes to shame).

What I was most struck by in this story, though, was the host's ability to mourn the loss of an animal, which I feel is often missing from stories of heroes. This happens many times throughout Celtic mythology. It seems the Celts saw even in animal friends a connection to the earth and the divine. There's another tale where a dying warrior's horse is mortally wounded, but the horse still manages to lead the warrior's friends to the dead body of his master. The horse lays down next to the corpse, places his head on its lap, and closes his eyes.

I relate so profoundly to the deep connection between the animals and their human counterparts. My dear Ace is such an important part of my life and at times I don't think I can articulate how much I love him. He helps me to see so much of the world. Sometimes when I watch him interact with other dogs, I see how guarded he can be. Ace will rush at a foreign dog and bark as loud as possible, throwing his tail as high and possible, back and forth, back and forth, attempting to scare the other dog before it can scare him. This display allows him to stay isolated and to continue to be "safe". But I can't allow him to be reinforced for this behavior. When we're together, we sit and wait as the other dog walks by. Some days (like today), it is no big deal and Ace seems content to see another dog. Other days, he lets out a low whine and seems tortured by its very existence. Sometimes I think Ace and I have more in common than I could ever explain. I think he came to me because I needed him. Because I needed to be reminded of why those "safe" places aren't really safe. They're just isolated. So, in perhaps one of the most ironic couplings of all time, I am teaching him how to be open and to accept others. I am showing him how to be in the world. At the same time, he shows me how worthwhile it is because when Ace plays with another dog, he is the kind of happy I can only express by laughing. He is pure--alone and connection to another. And he reminds me to be likewise.

As I start my first official week of graduate school, I'll carry these thoughts with me. And for you, another thought from a wise man:

"All good things are wild and free..." -Henry David Thoreau

Geis

I just finished a book about Celtic mythology and I've been thinking about the concept of geis (pronouned: geh-sh). The idea is that each mythical character (particularly heroes) have geis (similar to a tapu, but not the same), which is something that they are forbidden to do. This geis is also frequently bestowed onto the hero by a Celtic goddess or fairy or other type of female "spirit", for lack of a better term. Some geisa (the plural form), as in the case of Fergus MacRoy who was not allowed to turn down a feast, seem pretty favorable. However, even this geis can create hardship as at one point Fergus cannot escort a couple he intends to protect to their destination because he is invited to feast at a city along the way. He stays, while they continue on and are consequently slaughtered.

So, lately, I've been pondering about what exactly my geis might be. Could it be being unable to refuse my pup a rub on the tummy? Could it be the curse of never living in Colorado again? What could it be?

Well, while I may have many geis (as the great Celtic hero Cuchulain did--I'll have more to say about him in my next entry), I think my most prominent one is the inability to turn down a good conversation. Does this get me in trouble? Sure. But, it also adds a great deal to my life.

For instance, take this last week. I was back in Colorado for my dear friend Amy's wedding. I made a quick dash down to Colorado Springs (sorry if I missed you while I was there! Next time!) and then headed back up for the pre-wedding and wedding festivities. It was an amazing ceremony, and then I stayed at Chloe's for an extra few days to just hang out. I saw so many people in such a short period of time, but I really enjoyed it. However, my geis followed me everywhere I went. I had so many wonderful conversations, but even in moments when I would have wanted to dash away for some alone time, I got caught up in another conversation. I'm not complaining, but it's something I've noticed about myself. I'd rather hear what others have to say and talk with people than sleep!

Ah, but so far, it's not a bad geis...I just hope it doesn't end in someone getting slaughtered...But, then again, I'm no Celtic hero!

Sillily,

Sierra

Thoughts for two friends

We had the great pleasure of meeting two lovely canine souls in Illinois, who are crossing through the great tunnel today. Tex and Princess, thanks for sharing your home and your bowls. You were good friends. Our hearts go out to the family that mourns them.

-Sierra and Ace

Coyote

Growing up in the Southwest, we talked about our history as something including Native American culture. Perhaps it was an easy way to paint a pretty picture or to make penance, but I think it was also perhaps an attempt to accept that "white culture" was not the primary way the Southwest was understood. Anyway, as a child, I was obsessed with Coyote myths--stories about coyotes and their place in Native culture. Coyote has generally been understood as a trickster always fooling his friends and even himself. What I find most intriguing about Coyote, though, is that he is also the animal most often called upon to do "brave deeds" such as to steal fire from the FireBeings to share with all the other animals, so that they are not cold.

As well, in a Navajo creation myth, Coyote is the one that prophesies that we must all die. When he says so, everyone gets angry, but he responds, " 'If we all go on living, and if all the women keep having babies, there will be too many people. There won't be any room. Nobody will be able to move around. There will be no space to plant corn.

'Isn't it better that each one of us should live here for just a while, until old age slows us down? ... Then we ought to move on. Leave everything behind for the young. Make room for the new generation.'
When the people heard what Mq'ii the Coyote had to say, they recognized the wisdom of his words. Grudgingly they agreed that he was right. And one by one they grew silent."

Even while Coyote is a jokester and someone to be cautious of, he still represents and communicates great wisdom humbly. Coyote, for me, is a powerful symbol of how one can live their life, and I believe Coyote is my spirit animal.

My favorite story about Coyote involves how he got to be the dusty color he is. Remember, the filter through which I recall it is twelves years after I was told the story in Chaco Canyon, New Mexico. My sixth grade class and I prepared a program about Native American legends. We told a tale, which is likely from the Cherokee tradition. I will paraphrase the story for you and only speak of the parts that I think are pertinent to my life right now (if you want a more complete idea, here is a good link).

One day, Green Coyote, hidden in the grass, spotted beautiful Blue Bird. He asked Blue Bird how he got to be so beautiful and blue. Blue Bird said that he had spent four days singing a little song and diving into the deep blue water. Then all his feathers fell off and on the fifth day they grew back in a brilliant blue. Green Coyote decided he wanted to be a beautiful blue color, too. So, he did exactly as Blue Bird had said, song and all. On the fifth day, Green Coyote became Blue Coyote! Now, this was a sight to see. Coyote loved the color of his coat and decided to run and show it off. As he ran, he looked from side to side to see if people noticed how beautiful and blue his coat was. Since he was running and looking from side to side, he did not notice a large stump. Bam! Coyote ran right into the stump and fell onto the dirt. When Coyote rose, he found that his coat had turned to a dingy, dusty color. And, this is why Coyote looks the way he does today.

Ace is a chow lab mix, so he has a lot of the darker pigment that Chow Chow's do (he also has a good deal of their personality, too. For instance, he generally loves to poke his head out the window and keep an eye on the neighborhood rather than socialize with new guests). This gives his tongue that blue, black quality you might have noticed. Less noticeable, but ever present, is the blue pigment that runs across his skin under his black coat. I have had many a Vet comment that it's hard to gauge different vital signs because of his dark skin (I'll have to default to someone more medicinally gifted to explain why). If you rub his coat backwards (gently!), you will see a blueish tint where the hair enters the skin.

Recently, I've realized that Ace is a blue coyote, still blue, happy and free. And, I feel so lucky to live with him.

Missing the Southwest

I've been eating Jalapeños and wearing turquoise, a sure sign that I miss the Southwest. I wrote down a few things that spoke to me of home. I'm going to share them, raw as they may still be.

Drought


My father philosophizes,
recounting a childhood of episodic happenings,
ice-covered street lights in New York,
seven sibling summers spent sharing
less than I had to myself in a day,
fourteen year olds' championship basketball games,
And I still have the trophy to prove who won.
"Remember to drink a lot of water.
That's people's problem. Too much coffee.
It dehydrates you. You already start behind."

As if a little more water would solve everything.
And maybe it could,
raising daughters under the speckled desert sky it made sense.
Water.
And now, as he ages it must ring truer still.
Water.
Red embers of Celtic whorls and temper
cooling as if they were a doused campfire
crackling as we drifted off
accompanied by coyote songs.

A humbled Saul,
turning to his Christ.


Roaming Home

We are of star dust,
heavenly suspended dirt,
wholly clay and wholly light.

We are the conversations between ancient gods,
spoken into being,
but called into life.

We are agents and creators of our lives
leaving what remains
to larger hands.

We roam
between sky and earth scenes
Seeking now one home, finding then another.

In ever-widening circle patterns
of wolves and owls calling in the desert
we find our center.

Even Clever Coyote
Had a place among the stars.

I just can't be thoughtful on such hot days

The heat is really getting to me. It finally cooled down last night, but here's a little something I wrote because I just don't think anyone can be serious when everyone is covered in sweat.

Ode to my A/C

I love you. Simply put.

I have never before truly cherished the blessing of your presence.

On hellish, humid days, you make life bearable.

You transform me from a panting demon to a loving companion.

Recirculated, cool, fresh--I embrace your mystery, giving thanks for your creation.

Your gentle hum pacifies my expiring temper 

and gentle as an afternoon in mountain air, you breathe new life into me.

Oh to stay with you forever, hidden from the torture of the heat, rising off the pavement.

Alas, I cannot.

And, somehow, I am grateful for even these hot days, knowing colder ones wait just around the corner.

As you flick on and off throughout my day, regulating each degree, i remember to be humble and thankful.

Awed by my A/C.

I was warned.

In college, my favorite professor once recalled an anecdote to a classroom of would-be-religion-scholars, "Cocktail parties are not always very fun if you're a religion professor. I spend most of my conversations trying not to talk about religion because as soon as someone finds out you are a religion professor, you get an earful. I try to tend to keep the conversation away from my work, or tell them that I teach ethics. Trust me, people have a lot to say about religion." We all laughed at his story, imagining this kind man avoiding the topic he loves more than anything.

I witnessed this very scenario later that year at Graduation. A classmate's uncle had cornered my professor and I could overhear him saying, "You know, it's the Muslims that are ruining America." I could discern a look of mild amusement mixed with concern and a desire to seem respectful on my professor's face. Arms crossed, he tilted his head to the side in a listening posture. As I sauntered off, I giggled to myself, thinking, "So, that's what he was talking about."

Flash forward two years. Here I am, starting Divinity School. Let me describe to you a typical conversation upon meeting someone new:
New Person (NP): Why did you move to Boston?
Me: I'm starting grad school this fall.
NP: Oh where?
Me: Harvard Divinity School.
NP: So are you going into ministry?
Me: No. That's not really the goal.
NP: So, what are your religious beliefs?

Four questions into knowing someone and they have asked me one of the most personal questions I can imagine. I'm an open person, so it doesn't really bother me. However, struggling to explain my faith to a stranger is always a delicate balance between honesty and over-exposure.

Then there are days like today. I worked my first full shift at work and within an hour of meeting two new co-workers, one said to me, "I'm probably one of the only anti-religious people you will meet who isn't bothered by pentecostals." I tried to hold back a cringe. "Do you define yourself as anti-religious or a-religious?" I asked, trying to understand what he could have meant.

"Well, I think that all religions are institutionally based and cause people to do bad things. I think religion is just a block to the way people experience spirituality. I mean, I'm a Zen Buddhist, which is like a mystical version of Buddhism. So, I know I don't practice what I espouse, but I still believe it."

I took a breath and slowly began, "Well, I don't know that it's that simple to talk about all religions as the same. I guess I think of religion and spirituality in the same way that I think of language and communication. We cannot communicate with one another without language, although we accept that the words we use fall short of what we really mean. In the same way, I think that religious institutions and practices help us facilitate whatever connection we have with the divine. I don't think that's a bad thing." I stopped myself short of divulging my own personal belief and looked up at him.

"I like that," he said. "Religion and language. That's good." And then we were off to serving iced coffee and tea to the many haggard customers seeking refuge from the heat.

So, despite my professor's warning and my desire to stay under the radar when possible, my religious thoughts are still standing front and center in most of my conversations. It seems like it will be an interesting year, comprised of awkward conversations and me learning how to negotiate a path between truth and saying too much.

This same professor has a book that will be released on July 19. I recommend it for anyone who is interested in religion, how faith works, or how divine intervention (ie: miracles) operates across traditions. He is an incredibly clear and interesting writer. Enjoy!