shame…

Every so often I google my name and that of “doxasoma” in an effort to keep track of things on the internets. While doing this I ran across a very old entry on someone’s forum about DoxaSoma which basically said I was going to hell. It was a very strict group of christians who were discussing yoga. There were several fearful, accusatory, judgmental posts about “christian yoga” and then a pasting of…

hubris…

It was probably the icon of Christ speaking loudest. As I looked at Him this weekend in the sanctuary of the church this word came to me. I may have asked, without realizing, why I’m so angry or perhaps when I walked in He could see it, as though I was wearing it for clothing. It’s not a soft wool sweater, my anger, it’s a red metal suit of armor, I have…

family: mother…

It’s a little embarrassing that I’m giddy about having ordered some icons. I feel as though I’m waiting for family to arrive from out of town. I’ll tell you that I ordered them from a bookshop I like a whole lot called Eighth Day Books because I’m all about supporting the independent spirit. The hard part is waiting. I’m so conditioned by my internet amazon.com addicition and big box store mentality that…

joy…

Joy comes in the morning, sometimes… I woke up in an oddly good mood. I don’t think it’s the addition of a new coffee maker but I won’t rule out that possibility.  It may be that I was up late last night. I sat in the quiet long after the kids were asleep and listened to the wind blowing. Dave is out of town this week. I miss him when he’s gone.…

community…

For whatever reason several of the local people I’ve approached about Orthodoxy have been less than accessible. I get it, I do. I’m busy too. I have not returned phone calls and emails because I’m overwhelmed. Overwhelmed is not my middle name…it’s my first name. Cranky is my middle name these days. Obviously I’m narcissistic enough to think it’s about me. I hope I grow out of this soon. I’m in my…

desperation…

I prayed this morning with no lack of desperation. At first I stepped into my regular morning prayers from my prayerbook. I gripped the pages and felt the desperation whisper to me, “not now..” and “you’re busy…” and “do this later…” I nearly threw it to the ground. I was not angry. I don’t think I was angry. I was overwhelmed and I was tired and rushed but not angry. The prayerbook…

anger…

What rises up in me most these days after praying, surprisingly, is anger. When I asked my priest about this he told me that this is to be expected. When we get into a habit of prayer, a turning away from sin, this is all part of the process of cleaning the “nous” as it were. This ought to be comforting I suppose. It’s not comforting. I’m not comforted. It just makes…