Digging

Brightly Shining in the Garden                                                                                                                   Catherine Al-Meten

It's not everyone who is fortunate enough to have a cousin/sister who is kind enough to let you store boxes in her basement for, let's just say, a long time. I first put nearly all my worldly possessions in her basement years ago when I was starting a new job on the East Coast. Nearly two years ago, I moved back to Oregon, and set up my home here in Astoria. Slowly but surely my cousin Sandra and I have been hauling things from the basement to my apartment. We're now down to boxes, which primarily means, I spend time sorting through papers and books, trying to decide what is worth keeping and what needs to be recycled or given away. 

Last night I got a call from her, asking if I'd like to go garage sailing with her. I'm not big into sales of any kind, but I like to be with her, so this morning we headed out. We stopped along the way to pick up her oldest daughter, Sarah, and the three of us headed for Starbucks for a cup of coffee and then to Freddy's garden section. I picked up some herbs and vegetable starters, and they selected some planters and plants to spruce up my cousin's backyard. We all headed back to her home to grab a quick bite to eat, and then I began hauling the terra cotta planters that I'd stored years ago, into my car. I decided, while I was there, I'd go through a box or two in the garage. And that's when I discovered something that my intuition had been signaling to investigate.

For the last week, I've been compiling the poetry I've been writing over the years.  In November, I'm going to do a poetry reading with my friend, Robert Neilson for the Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium, and I wanted to have a small collection of my poems published and bound for the occasion.  It's been quite a journey collecting poetry from over 4-5 decades. Poetry has been a part of my writing repertoire for as long as I can remember.  

Unlike some of  my poet friends who seem to spend time writing poetry daily, I write poetry in response to events about which I feel are beyond verbal expression.  Times when words seem to be full of too much noise or too little authentic sentiment. Times when I am struck by something deep that can't be spoken of openly or is beyond feeling. Times when I've been called upon to use words for a sacred occasion, or times when the writing I have been doing is so full too much raw data, academic structure, or profound and heavy ideas and concepts.  When the journey of writing has culminated in the completion of  months or years of work, I seek refuge and expression of feeling in and through poetry.  When the day has been too full, and the nights have been too long and lonely, I find connection in poetry.

All week as I've been rereading and sorting through some of my most recent poetry, I think of poems I wrote long ago. Have you ever had the experience of having a favorite piece of clothing that you've lost track of...maybe a hat, a dress, a handwoven shawl, or a special pair of earrings, a sweatshirt you got from your Dad or your husband?  Maybe because I've moved often and made it a habit to give away clothes on a regular basis, I don't usually attach much importance or sentimentality to pieces of clothing. But ever once in a while, I wonder, "Where did that shawl go?", "What happened to that beautiful pink dress I got in Paris?" or "What did I do with that box of clothes I bought for my husband at the end of the invasion of Kuwait?"  It's not so much I want the item of clothing as it is, I wonder about what might have happened to have made me lose track of parts of my life that had had  such poignant and passionate meaning to me. The shawl, was a goodbye gift from a man I loved long ago; guess he thought I'd need it to keep myself warm once he left. The dress was beautiful, a gift from a friend, and fit me better than anything I've ever worn before or since. If I could have one dress for all my life, it would be that one. 

I also ask the question about pieces of writing I have done in the past, and for the past week I have been having a niggling sensation that some of the poetry I was looking for was stored in that basement at my cousin's.    Today after dragging the terra-cotta pots out of the yard and then putting them in my car, I went down into the basement and began sorting through boxes and papers.  One has to be in the right frame of mind to just throw things away willy-nilly.  Especially for  those of us who love to write, the idea of throwing away paper without first looking at it, just seems almost impossible.   Thanks to the graciousness of my cousin, I have not been hurried through this process.  Today  as I was searching through folders and files and notebooks and journals, I made some wonderful discoveries.   

This will mean something to those of you who sometimes feel like you do not have anything to say or write about or that you will never have another brilliant idea as long as you live.  What I discovered today in the basement (what would Jung or Freud make of that?)   was not only  a great deal of poetry I was looking for, but also collections of dreams and symbols, essays, speeches and presentations, lectures, a couple of eulogies, and even wedding ceremonies-- all pieces of writing that I have done in the past and that were waiting for me to revisit  before deciding what to do with them. 

For nearly 20 years I have been keeping a daily dream and morning pages journal.   While most of what is in a journal of this type is not something I have ever want to see the light of day, I have valued the dream work that I have done over the years.  I make a point with my dream journals to review them monthly, quarterly, and yearly.  Periodically, I will write up the dreams just to give myself a written record and to follow and study the interaction between my subconscious, the unconscious, and the life I live and often those around me.  At this particular point in my life, I am bringing many things together.  Compiling my poetry, recording and compiling my lectures, and studying my dreams to see what kinds of material they may give me for another piece or two of work.   And sitting on my desk right now is a file filled with handwritten poetry that needs to be edited then transcribed to become part of the poetry of my life.

Also sitting on my desk is a compilation of  a lot of the very personal and essential work that I did when I was a seminarian. The wonderful seminary that I attended, the San Francisco Theological Seminary located in the hills of San Anselmo just north of San Francisco, is  one of the founding institutions of the Graduate Theological Union. SFTS  required that we students   do a deep, thorough, introspective, reflective, and honest exploration of ourselves, our theology, and our divine calling.   Unlike some who studied for a doctorate and felt it a waste of time, I believe my seminary experience was a life defining, profoundly  meaningful, and  significant turning point in my life.  That experience coupled with my experiences at Marylhurst University  where I studied spiritual traditions and ethics and applied theology, were seminal experiences that have allowed my  innermost being to rise up and touch and affect the way I look at everything,  the way I understand my life. It all has  allowed me to grasp the reality  that there are an infinite number of opportunities  for us to live a purposeful and meaningful lives. 

As I read over some of the essays, reflections, poetry, and other writing of that period of time,  I realize what I see before me are the seasons and passages of time.   What once I viewed as  random, unverifiable dreams and intuition have come clear, concrete, and surprising revelations, manifestations, experiences, events, and relationships.   While we may  never know what the future holds for us, we can be sure (at least from my perspective) that the seeds of our future are planted and recognizable through our dreams,  desires, intentions, and plans. More importantly, nothing is more important  than  our willingness to take risks, to take action, and to not give up on the truth of who we are. What we believe and understand may change over time,  but I think we're all guided to use our abilities, talents, and gifts and to take the steps needed to  live the best life we can.  


What I found today  in the basement were pieces of the trail and parts of me that led me to the person I am today.  Some of the pieces I can let go of--like knowledge of what happened to the dress or the shawl.  Other pieces of the past, I carry with me-- like a box of new clothes, the shaving kit, and  a fresh box of See's candy my husband.  What I do with what I found and kept, will be something to discover at some time in the future.   

Watching Over the Garden                                                                          Catherine Al-Meten

Our lives are full  of memories dreams and reflections to pull out and use in creating beauty through our art, through our work, in the way we treat ourselves and other people, and in what we choose to put our intentions and energy toward.

So now as I pot the plants, the herbs the vegetables in my terra cotta garden, I do so as I do much in life, hope for the best, set the intention to care for the seeds and plants, and trust that something good will grow from my efforts.  The miracle is, that it and we happens at all. What a blessing our lives are. How fortunate we are to have the gifts and abundance we do. How grateful I am. Amen