a list. (because i love them.)

Top Ten of the Past Two Weeks. (in no particular order.)

1.) boat trip with guests to stunning staffa. listening to fingals cave and trapezing the cliffs to see puffin birds.
2.) morning tea breaks. every single day. with scones.
3.) making lavender mint tea out of the herb garden.
4.) the smell of the musty library.
5.) cleansing ritual on the top of Dunn I mountain in the legendary fountain of eternal youth.
6.) planning and scheming justice and peace services. re-learning hymns.
7.) taking a run and doing yoga on a knoll overlooking the sea with sheep and cows looking on.
8.) putting lavender flowers in my hair.
9.) impromtu hikes with other staff... to port ban. stripping off our clothes and swimming in the frigid water.
10.) a fancy breakfast on a day off that started with eggs benedict and lasted 2.5 hours.

a nunnery.

last night was christina, a southern, tennessee seminary student with a hard rock story and a 'i want to be a pastor, but i don't know about the whole jesus-is-the-answer thing'' perspective--'s, birthday.

she wanted to drink scottish beer under the stars in the ruins of the nunnery.

so a triad of us had drinks, under the stars, in the cool of the night, on a blanket, with the village cat and a couple of chocolate macaroons.

honestly, it was beautifully, hauntingly, amazing.



we reckon the nuns would have been proud.

justice and peace.

this week i led a full morning service and a service of ''prayers for justice and peace.''

thursday justice and peace:

circle of chairs around a candle in the middle of abbey church.

opening responsive prayer.

opening silence.

reading of first half of hosea 14.

introduction of fist-opening exercise (copyrighted lex cariello).

guided meditation on internal existence of coercion, violence, and manipulation.

invitation for the reading aloud of phrases written on slips of paper around the center candle:

We pray for women and men making decisions affected by a lack of reproductive choice options.

We pray for members of the military and their families who feel bound to military service due to economic constraints.

We pray for change in corporations whose coercive advertising promote the abuse of alcohol and other substances.

We pray for change in corporations whose coercive advertising further consumerism.

We pray for women and men forced or coerced into sex.

We pray for children whose opportunity for access to education is dictated by structures of systemic oppression.

We pray for those who are affected by policies and social stigmas that restrict the liberation of diverse sexuality.

We pray for those who remain in emotionally, physically, or verbally abusive relationships.

reading of second half of hosea 14.

closing silence.

(or something like that.)

"specials."

Here, at iona, we love people with “special diets.” Because the majority of my day revolves around the distribution, cleaning up, and safe storage of food, I think about food and those who consume it constantly. As a guest at iona, if you are low sodium, gluten-free, no-onion, dairy-free, low sugar, light pepper, vegetarian, or pesctarian, we will accommodate you -- graciously. Not stigmatizing, or “othering” people’s dietary needs or choices is an active cornerstone of our hospitality.

What normally happens, as in this evening, is at the beginning of each meal, the menu is announced and the refectory is informed of the following:

“Tonight we will be having pasta bake with mushrooms and red sauce and bowls of salad with an oil and honey mustard sauce – there will be specials for Kath, Kate and Ross, and other specials for Julie, Ian, and James. There is also a special for Amelia. Specials will come out after the main meal.”

At this point, we, the housekeeping staff, bring out the trays of steaming hot food with our oven mitts that are connected like the pair of mittens with a string that your mom made you wear when you were six. After all “non-special” food has been distributed; the folks with special diets descend on the front cart to dish out their distinct, though frequently mono-colored dishes that have been painstakingly created by the kitchen to accommodate our “special” people.

This evening, however, at the front of the refectory, a disagreement emerged between members of the resident staff and guests attempting to lay claim to the special’s “specials.” We have, in fact, had to do a bit of crisis mental health work surrounding the self worth of guests when they arrive every week and confront, perhaps for the first time, perhaps again, from the recesses of their memory, that they are in fact, not special. Or, for those who, with their peanut allergies and lactose intolerance, have endured decades of marginalization and feelings of guilt when having to pick through and pile small mounds of toxic-violent food on their plates to the looks of disdain and annoyance of the kitchen mister-mistress, they have, perhaps, finally “come home” as it were: finally been told they were... “special.”

I walked quickly away from the pacifist outbreak of disagreement over which dietary requirement deserved the better looking dishes. A woman who had two days earlier rubbed me the wrong way by informing me that our method of cleaning via tea towels was unsanitary (I do two loads of sanitary was per day to have starch clean tea towels for each meal, fyi.), was claiming that because she was a vegetarian, she needed a special dish, and was attempting to claim the gluten free option from three other hungry residents. After three attempts to inform her that the non-special option was in fact, already vegetarian, I decided to let the wolves sort it out and flee to the kitchen, acting as if I had something else industrious to be doing, such as fill teapots.

Now don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love vegans, wannabe vegans, veggos, and any variety of the above. In fact, I wish I was special! I want to be special! Why did I not know that I could experiment with being vegan while I was here --

But back to this evening.

I left the kitchen when it appeared that everyone had dispersed and took my seat at the common table. As I forked my first bite of steaming pasta bake and brought it to my mouth, a gangly teenage boy, the same one that I have had to remind on two occasions during the week that he must wear shoes while in the kitchen, tapped me on the shoulder.

“Uhh, excuse me, do you know if the salad dressing have honey in it?”

(I gave him a blank stare of incredulity. This kid is a new vegan, negotiating the world of yeast extracts and international travel. I mentally contemplate the article about vegan-purists to whom honey is considered an animal by-product to be extricated from diet.)

After I double checked that the honey mustard was not in fact vegan friendly, I offered, because I am so hospitable olive oil from Palestine and red wine vinegar. Though this was through clenched teeth and my patience was about ran out, it wasn’t until a few minutes later when he asked if I would get him soy milk to add to his fruit crumble that I responded, “You can get the soy milk yourself! You know where it is….!!!” With the head warden across the table looking at me as if I was crazy…

a series of posts.

so here's a new series of posts.

email has been difficult to enter into, with it being a gigantic, sticky personal computer that approximately 35 people are vying for everyday. so, last night i resigned to writing handwritten letters, a discipline i have been wanting to take up for years, that perhaps might begin to emerge while i am here.

today is my day off.

and i am going to hand this mini laptop back to its owner.

last night, over dishes,
tears for self,
confusion,
and a carry out dinner in spanish
with cornel west
to plan a peace and justice service.

and craft room conversations about
our transgendered leader,
a father, a girlfriend.
over letter writing and cups of hot tea.


midnights on iona carry goodness.

this is where i work.

its called the "refectory" and is where the monks used to eat. though perhaps not apple pie and sweet potatoes, which we had today to celebrate american independence day(?).

i have a team of four: a swede, brit, scot, american, and me. we fold laundry, wash mugs, bath mats, rubber gloves, tea towels, rags, knickers, mop heads, teaspoons, and the floor.

we talk about politics, the world cup, justice, making music, and our understandings of god, organized faith, love, and other things that matter. and sometimes we don't talk at all.

and we talk about you, the people we love and spend our time with and who have shaped us into who we are.

here's to "remembering" as an art form and spiritual discipline.

a day in the life ( + earplugs are god's most brilliant invention.)

day in the life -- because it is so exciting and worthy of record. (note: sarcasm.) i get up from my cubicle. a room share of 5 women aged 24 to 65ish.

and then i look out my window to see if it is raining.
or windy.
or sunny.
or misty.

(and i hear sheep.)

and i boil a cup of tea and have a piece of toast over a book. then i walk the little path past big fat cows and bleeting sheep to the abbey where i work.

(see below view from herb garden.)

the journey there.

on a train ...

through a wood ...

to a ferry ...

and iona.
(though this was taken from the ferry and isn't iona.)

reading material.

a quote i like from what i have been reading:

''Creativity in all kinds , in art, in prayer, in justice-making, in human relationships, is born when people wrestle with angels, outside eden, on the border between heaven and earth, where they struggle to create a new form, a new song, a new template, a new ethic with all the disciplne and passion they can bring to bear. many of the old boundaries have shifted, and where they are now is risky, dangerous territory. we should expect to be wounded, as jacob was.''

kathy galloway, dreaming of eden: reflections on christianity and sexuality.

iona has a small printing press where they publish volumes from members of the community. perv on my reading, if you'd like: ''chasing the wild goose: the story of the iona community,'' ''journey,'' ''dreaming of eden,: reflections on christianity and secuality'' and ''yearning and bliss: meditations on authentic christian spirituality.''

... and of course, robert burns.

and there really isn't a better way to spend a day off than to sit on a bench overlooking the sea and sheep pastures with a cup of hot tea -- going from sleep to reading back to sleep, then journalling and re-filling your tea cup.

what am i doing here? ( + a laugh.)

I have a few minutes before tonights ''inner space'' service begins to jot a few lines about LIFE -- in the abbey.

first of all:

majority of my thought life has been revolving around getting into my dish washing- bed changing- toilet bowl cleaning routine: BUT, there is only so much of your brain that can be contained by such things, so I am experiencing the most brilliant amount of freedom to just BE. think. get inspired.

i have spent the majority of the past few days, while traps-ing through sheep terds from the sheep and cows that are allowed to roam free on the iona community property, feeling like god has marooned me somehow on this scrawny, craggy island for some kind of purpose. while i imagined iona to be remote, i was not quiiiiiite expecting the 3 hour train ride from glasgow, to the hour long ferry ride, to another hour long bus ride through cliffs and the only unmarked road, to another hour ferry ride.

i was also not expecting this incredibly grounding sense of calm -- calm and family -- when i arrived. while i didn't have this automatic dramatic spiritual breakthrough or sense of the divine, i almost, to be honest, felt like i came home, to a certain extent. i can't quote put my finger on it -- maybe it was the accomodation, whose bright colors, murals, kitschy spiritual art trinkets, piles of stones and mosaic furniture reminded me of the gesundheit collective i stayed in in college. maybe it was the presence of the STUFFED craft room, smell of the fresh lavender soap, or the fact that people on my housekeeping cohort already knew my name.

my sense, however, is that somewhere from giving god thanks for a rich, vegan, cuscous and curry and the moment of silence for thanksgiving offered collectively at the end of the meal, that this ''order'' -- one that celebrates and affirms life as much in the secular as in the sacred, (if there is a difference.) feels like people i have already known for a long time.

the inner space service i need to pop off to is being led by an american woman -- former struggling actress who now lives in vermont, who has promised to tell me the story of when she was taken to jail regarding some interlude with patriarchy, civil disobedience, and first class sections on airplanes. she has written a play: on women of the bible, and has involved my other residents: soul artist from sweden, canadian flautist, american poet.

YAY!

a poem passed on by a friend.

Evening
by Rainer Maria Rilke

The sky puts on the darkening blue coat
held for it by a row of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight,
one journeying to heaven, one that falls;

and leave you, not at home in either one,
not quite so still and dark as the darkened houses,
not calling to eternity with the passion
of what becomes a star each night, and rises;

and leave you (inexpressibly to unravel)
your life, with its immensity and fear,
so that, now bounded, now immeasurable,
it is alternatively stone in you and star.

first post in 2 years.

brilliant.

sifting through quotes from kirkgaard, merton, st. teresa the crazy, and manning, i can't discern how to begin.

but: this one from alaska sticks out. from a greeting card cliche, but.

...

life is either a daring adventure... or nothing.

helen keller.

make it happen.

(and i can't figure out how to erase my other blog posts, so if you read them: no judging.)


ps: i love that you are reading this.

In actuality...

Well, it actually IS winter...
and I actually AM in Sydney.

How ironic that this almost "annual" blog only involves itself in my life when I am in winter (contemplative, cold, burrowing), and in Sydney (a city that, in winter, is hardly itself.).

How do I find myself today? How do I approach this tiny corner of cyberspace at the moment?

Sydney in winter continues without showing any signs of ceasing. I find myself wishing for the warmth, for the freedom and fresh air of being able to go outside. I am sitting in a different place than the previous 2 posts: last one on Bower Street in Manly, last year on Lochness Court in Vienna, now on Cliff Street in Manly.

My email box is calling: absolutely shocking after having spent 4 weeks away from it. Correspondence can be a full time job: and though I love it, it doesn't come as easy as writing here, with whatever and whenever.

Tomorrow is full on with helping the boys and going to work after Grace's Charlotte's Web play at school. Work is flat out. Difficult as anything and sad. Seemingly unaffected by the joy and motivation of the Olympics, the clusters of abused, traumatized and poor are always there, lurking.

I wish that the spirit of the Olympics, the energy and optimism and discipline, could transform whole communties, but I guess that is the go, anyway: the spirit of the Olympics isn't inherently transformative. But what and where are people being transformed.... and by a spirit of what?

Of course, I know what the answer should be, but as far as physical validation, I guess I am not really getting it.

May it not be another year, another Winter Sydney day until I post again!

Winter Sydney

Well, today is a "Winter Sydney" kind of day (even though I am 7,000 miles away) which is probably what made me think of this blog. It has almost been a year since I last posted, and I will continue to only use this blog for recreational purposes until I have to use it out of necessity.

In class the last couple of days we have been doing some intense work in social work class. It has drudged up for me some of the work I have done over the year... a lot of issues that have not surfaced recently because of my preoccupation with the ever present surface boils of life.

Questions that linger include, how much do you talk about dynamics of relationships with people involved? Is it healthy or unhealthy to regularly discuss hurts, feelings, etc. in friendship? Is that too much like dating? Should there even be a difference in how relationship management is handled between the two?

I get tired of always being so intense and it being one way.

bleh. maybe I will have this blog be a private vent sesh.

am I anonymous here?

...and you know what she did?

I have a feeling that this blog is a very very bad idea.

What a scam, having people register before they are allowed to post a comment on another blog.

Biggest obstacle thus far: the blog name. chunky dunk, sweet gherkin, the nudie juice, live free... all names that have significance and are probably more appropriate than "eat mangoes naked," but true to supposed blog style, I a.) am someone who is embarrassed to have a blog, and b.) am going impulsive... who says this has to be my permanent blog name?

For your information, "eat mangoes naked" is excerpted from one of my favorite poems by "SARK" in which the succulence of juicy living is celebrated. it is situated right there along with "drink everything in a goblet," and "have breakfast in bed." god, I love her stuff.

As a side note, I actually do not particularly care for mangoes... I much prefer slurping passionfruit pulp or eating raspberries off my fingertips one by one. This summer however, while working at a gelato bar, I did come to crave fresh mango sorbetto. It is positively divine.