Unseen Love

Unseen Love

The passengers on the bus watched sympathetically as the attractive young
woman with the white cane made her way carefully up the steps. She paid
the driver and, using her hands to feel the location of the seats, walked
down the aisle and found the seat he'd told her was empty. Then she
settled in, placed her briefcase on her lap and rested her cane against
her leg.

It had been a year since Susan, thirty-four, became blind. Due to a
medical misdiagnosis she had been rendered sightless, and she was suddenly
thrown into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and self-pity. Once a
fiercely independent woman, Susan now felt condemned by this terrible
twist of fate to become a powerless, helpless burden on everyone around
her. "How could this have happened to me?" she would plead, her heart
knotted with anger.

But no matter how much she cried or ranted or prayed, she knew the painful
truth that her sight was never going to return. A cloud of depression hung
over Susan's once optimistic spirit. Just getting through each day was an
exercise in frustration and exhaustion. And all she had to cling to was
her husband Mark.

Mark was an Air Force officer and he loved Susan with all of his heart.
When she first lost her sight, he watched her sink into despair and was
determined to help his wife gain the strength and confidence she needed to
become independent again. Mark's military back-ground had trained him well
to deal with sensitive situations, and yet he knew this was the most
difficult battle he would ever face.

Finally, Susan felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get
there? She used to take the bus, but was now too frightened to get
around the city by herself. Mark volunteered to drive her to work each
day, even though they worked at opposite ends of the city. At first, this
comforted Susan and fulfilled Mark's need to protect his sightless wife
who was so insecure about performing the slightest task. Soon, however,
Mark realized that this arrangement wasn't working-it was hectic and
costly. Susan is going to have to start taking the bus again, he admitted
to himself. But just the thought of mentioning it to her made him cringe.
She was still so fragile, so angry. How would she react?

Just as Mark predicted, Susan was horrified at the idea of taking the bus
again. "I'm blind!" she responded bitterly. "How am I supposed to know
where I'm going? I feel like you're abandoning me." Mark's heart broke to
hear these words, but he knew what had to be done. He promised Susan that
each morning and evening he would ride the bus with her, for as long as it
took, until she got the hang of it.

And that is exactly what happened. For two solid weeks, Mark, military
uniform and all, accompanied Susan to and from work each day. He taught
her how to rely on her other senses, specifically her hearing, to
determine where she was and how to adapt to her new environment. He helped
her befriend the bus drivers who could watch out for her, and save her a
seat. He made her laugh, even on those not-so-good days when she would
trip exiting the bus, or drop her briefcase. Each morning they made the
journey together, and Mark would take a cab back to his office.

Although this routine was even more costly and exhausting than the
previous one, Mark knew it was only a matter of time before Susan would
be able to ride the bus on her own. He believed in her, in the Susan he
used to know before she'd lost her sight, who wasn't afraid of any
challenge and who would never, ever quit. Finally, Susan decided that she
was ready to try the trip on her own.

Monday morning arrived, and before she left, she threw her arms around
Mark, her temporary bus riding companion, her husband, and her best f
riend. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his
patience, his love. She said good-bye, and for the first time, they went
their separate ways. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday ... Each day on
her own went perfectly, and Susan never felt better. She was doing it! She
was going to work all by herself!

On Friday morning, Susan took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying
for her fare to exit the bus, the driver said, "Boy, I sure envy you."

Susan wasn't sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all, who
on earth would ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the
courage to live for the past year? Curious, she asked the driver, "Why do
you say that you envy me?"

The driver answered, "You know, every morning for the past week, a fine
looking gentleman in a military uniform has been standing across the
corner watching you when you get off the bus. He makes sure you cross the
street safely and he watches you until you enter your office building.
Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little salute and walks away. You
are one lucky lady."

Tears of happiness poured down Susan's cheeks. For, although She couldn't
physically see him, she had always felt Mark's presence. She was blessed,
for he had given her a gift more powerful than sight, a gift she didn't
need to see to believe - the gift of love that can bring light where
there had been darkness.

God watches over us in just the same way. We may not know He is present.
We may not be able to see His face, but He is there nonetheless.

Be blessed in this thought: "God Loves You - even when you are not
looking."

The beauty of life isn't how happy you are but how happy others are
because of you. Amen

With deep thanks to Chief Fredie Aswan

Personal Reflection: "Omnia vincit amor" - Love conquers all! The story above is a very touching account of what true love is between husband and wife. Love extends beyond the limitations of physical sickness or any form of human tragedy. Love builds much deeper relationships inspite of unforseen setbacks along the way. Love touches people around who see and feel the intensity and radicality of love. Love celebrates and rejoices the triumph of its mite over helplessness, hopelessness and despair. Love is a shining sun breaking forth a new brand day!

A Personal Tribute to Sister Aurora " Au-Au" Caspe, SPC 1958-2010

Memories that will last a lifetime - Remembering Sr. Au-Au - By Bobby P. Sagra

Sr. Au-Au Caspe was born in Cabatuan, Iloilo on August 24,1958. Her family is one of the distinguished families in town, her parents being both elementary school teachers. She grew up in another part of the town, quite away from where I grew up, but being in a small town we come to know each other more or less, especially at school. My first vivid recollection of Sr. Au-Au's personal touch and presence in my life was on September,1978 when she, together with Helen Grana and Pangga Grio attended my Investiture ceremony at the St. Nicolas de Tolentino Catholic Church in Cabatuan. They just graduated from their Nursing Courses at that time from St. Paul's College, Iloilo and being together in Cabatuan National Comprehensive High School I invited them to join my first big day as a seminarian of St. Vincent Seminary in Jaro, Iloilo City.

Years and years went by and I did not meet again Sr. Au-Au in person. I just got news from people who know her how she ended up deciding to join the St. Paul de Chartres Sisters (SPC) and finally made it to her final vows. I went on with my journey of discipleship, finally making it to the ordination to the Catholic priesthood and embarking on a missionary journey to the countries of Papua New Guinea and the Solomon Islands, and even having ended up to making my First Vows as a Benedictine monk of Our Lady of Guadalupe Abbey in Pecos, New Mexico.

In December 8,2007 I decided to leave the Catholic priesthood and monkhood and get married to Marilene Lusaya Torre, a single mom and a widow to the late Edgar Regidor Torre, to whom she has given birth to two children, Isabel Torre and Gabriel Torre. Being a friend and classmate of my wife, Sr. Au-Au gathered all their former classmates in CNCHS who are living in Manila and organized a dinner for us just a week before our wedding day. She herself spent half of the price of the dinner party. Observing her and talking briefly to her, I felt how full of charity and kindness her heart was. My wife and I still talk about that moment when we were so happy being near to her heart and prayers.

Last year, Sr. Au-Au celebrated her 25th Anniversary of Religious Profession. I told my wife to take the time and effort to be personally present there to express gratitude to God and to Sr. Au-Au for all her support of friendship and constant prayers in our married life. My wife went and took some beautiful pictures with Sr. Au-Au that day.

When my wife Marl told me over the phone about the passing away of Sr. Au-Au, my first thought was, God bless her soul, she has truly lived a full and abundant life until the end. Just before writing this, I took a quick glance of the Profile of Sr. Au-Au, especially her further studies, success in leadership and accomplishments. I know very well it was a great sacrifice both for her and her family that instead of contemplating to continue to work as a paid salary nurse and go abroad, she decided to become a nursing nun instead. God called her to become so and she responded with great generosity of self and love. Being a Cabatuananon, this is not surprising for me. The people of Cabatuan are great adventurers and achievers in any field of human endeavor. Truly, Sr. Au-Au will linger in our memory and hearts as a daughter of Cabatuan and a graduate of CNCHS we can be really proud of. She is not only a new heroine of our town. She is also our new saint in heaven. My most sincere condolences to the Caspe Family and to the religious community of the Sisters of St. Paul de Chartres.

Daniel's Story

Here is the story of Daniel. I was a volunteer to Childrens' Ministry in the Southwest Charismatic Conference at the Glorieta Conference Center in New Mexico, USA in 2007. In one of the sessions, a nun was asking the children if they celebrate birthdays. Everybody raised their hands except Daniel. Everybody gave smiles and joys except Daniel who just gave a frown. I noted that moment very well. After the session, the mother of Daniel came to see him. When Daniel was away playing with the other kids, the mother told me that Daniel's father left them when she was still conceiving Daniel in her womb. Then Daniel came and hugged his mother. Then the mother requested me to explain to Daniel why he has no father. At first I found it very difficult to explain why. I started by telling Daniel that it was the choice of his dad to leave him and his mom while he is still in the womb because he felt that he is unable to meet the responsibility. Then I told Daniel that I did not even know my own parents well enough because I grew up with my grandma. I also told him that he is more lucky than I am, because he has still his mom. At that moment, tears came from the eyes of Daniel, his mom and my eyes and we all hugged each other. Then Daniel's face was lighted up and there was peace and joy that prevailed among us. At the end of the Conference I met Daniel and his mom in the garden park and we had a picture taken.

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My Kensho Experience of God's Compassion

During the Zen-Ignatian Retreat at Maryridge Retreat House, Tagaytay City, Philippines last March,1988 I have the following experience...

When I began the retreat with Ruben Habito, who was a newly accredited zen teacher at that time I told him of my desire to experience God's love in the course of my 30 day retreat, March 1-30, 1988. He gave me the koan Mu to work on. I then began the strenuous journey of sitting, breathing in and breathing out, plus, of course the lingering aching back and legs, while trying to silence the mind and the tense body.

During daily sitting, the Zen Master provided hints like, "every in-breath is God's self-emptying, and every out-breath is your self-offering to God." During "teisho" (Zen Talk), he reminded us all to be aware of our every act - eating, strolling, sleeping, etc. In the "dokusan" (zen student before zen teacher) room, he kept encouraging us by saying, "Just be yourself" and "Let your senses open".

During one of Ruben Habito's teisho, he talked about God's compassion. I was struck by the presentation of the compassionate God present in every being, in every breath, in every step. The challenge he threw my way was, "Now, show me God's compassion in its concrete form!"

One afternoon, during the latter part of the second week, I went down Maryridge Hill where grasses, trees, benches and a view of Taal Volcano waited. On one of the benches, I saw a moving row of grass worms. I sqatted by a bench and watched the worms slowly and quietly crawling along. Suddenly I felt something on my right leg. My right hand swept down to brush it off. When I looked down, I saw (and felt) a fellow grassworm. It was coiled, aftraid and hurt by my rejection. At that very moment, my own childhood experience of being rejected flashed in my mind. I really felt one with that worm. I tried to comfort it by placing it alongside the row of marching worms, but it remained coiled. Following my natural instinct, I got a dry leaf, slid the worm on top of it, and slowly breathed with compassion on the round stiff mass. With relief and joy, I saw the worm moved. I put it back again with its fellow worms, who made room for it and the line became perfect again. At that moment I also felt the great compassion I had received from my superiors and friends who understood and accepted me as I am.

The next day at dukusan, I told Ruben Habito about the incident, saying there seems to be a fusion of mu, my breath and God's compassion. He nodded and shot another question at me, "What's the other name of God's compassion?" When I failed to respond immediately, he rang the bell for dismissal, but encouraged me by saying that I was close to grasping Mu.

That evening, I sensed one of my fellow retreatants wanted to talk, so I listened to him as had coffee together. At dokusan the next day I told Ruben Habito that I stayed with by brother in his time of need, and so the other name of God's compassion is a loving presence. He did not say I was right or wrong, but told me he wanted a concrete response. I went back to my sitting, to my search and to my awareness of every moment.

Later, during one of our sits, Ruben Habito uttered in a loud voice, "Every breath is full and complete...Every breath is God's compassion received and given." I began anew to put my whole self and whole being into every step of the kinhin (zen meditative walk) that followed. I began to realize the fullness of it all. Every step is as ordinary as myself, and as perfect as myself. At that very moment, I became aware that God's compassion is Bobby doing every act as full, completely full, but at the same time completely empty.

This experience was heightened the next afternoon. I was sitting under a tree when my eye fell on a fallen leaf. Instantaneously, there was complete identification, and I went right to Ruben Habito and told him the other name of God's compassion. He threw out some more koans, and when I responded without hesitation, he confirmed my "kensho" (zen awakening) experience. All creation walked with me the rest of the day. I savored the beauty of that reality.

In subsequent dokusan, I was confronted with the koan about the origin of Mu. It was evening and I was tired, and I did not want even to think about the answer, knowing that a direct concrete grasp of it is the Zen way of getting it. When I turned off the light in my room before retiring, I noticed how bright the moonlight was. I went to the window and there she was smiling at me. I asked her what her origin is. Her answer enveloped me completely. I returned her smile and went to bed.

When I went to dokusan the next day, I let myself be one with the moon and her response, and Ruben Habito joined me in the smile. He did, however, asked me to save one dying child in Africa. And that night as I went to bed again, in the clear moonlight, all the world joined me and I rested fully as I am.

I am most grateful for my experience which I can best describe as one of undifferentiation, as the Zen books say. I am not different from the universe. And in just doing every act as best I can in full awareness, I am receiving and giving God's compassion to all people. - Bobby Sagra

You are My Beloved--Be Still and Know...

You are My Beloved--Be Still and Know...
by Ruben Habito
(Perkins Chapel, Sept. 10, 2003)

Readings:
Isaiah 43:1-7
Psalm 46
Mark 1:9-11

When I was a theological student preparing for ordination in the Roman Catholic priesthood in the 1960’s and 70’s, one of my professors conveyed a point in class that continues to resonate with me today. This was in our class in Introduction to the New Testament, taught by an Austrian-born Jesuit priest who had spent years in China as a missionary, suffered torture and harassment, and was sent to the Philippines to join the Jesuits there after the Chinese government had closed its doors to Christian missionary activity. A diminutive man barely over five feet tall and into his seventies, he would stand on a platform in front of the classroom, and speak to us in a thundering voice with a thick European accent.

“The Bible,” he would say, “is a love letter, from God, to all of us.”

As a Biblical scholar and teacher, he was no less demanding in walking us through the rigors of Greek conjugation, and historical and form criticism, redaction criticism, and through the different hermeneutical strategies for understanding Biblical passages in their social and historical context. But while teaching us all these sophisticated tools for approaching the Bible, he succeeded in conveying to us a fundamental attitude in its reading, namely, that is not to be read in the way that one would dissect a biological specimen to analyze its contents in a dispassionate way. Rather, we take it, and read it as a beloved would read a letter from a lover.

The passages read today somehow highlight this message I heard from my Jesuit professor of long ago. I would like to invite each and everyone here today to just pause, and let these words resonate within ourselves, each in our own unique way.

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are mine.
“Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.”
“Fear not, for I am with you.” (Is. 43: 1, 4)

The words that Jesus heard as he was baptized in the Jordan, inaugurating his ministry, are likewise addressed to each and everyone of us, in a unique way. “You are my Beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” (Mk.1:11)

I have a well-grounded hunch, that each and everyone of us is where we are today, precisely because we have heard this voice in our lives in a particular way. The call to ministry is a call that is born out of love, and is a call to share that love with all that we have and all that we are. We are here at Perkins community in our respective ways, as students preparing for ministry, as faculty, as staff, as our concrete way of responding to that call of love.

Those of you who are here to prepare yourselves for ministry in the Christian community in different ways, taking up the call to undergo this rigorous and taxing, but sometimes exhilarating journey called the curriculum of studies, are hopefully able to find in one another as well as in the faculty and staff, true companions along the way. The word companion, by the way, is from the Latin, cum, with, and pan, bread---that is, one with whom one takes bread together. We are in the good company of persons who share a fundamental calling, coming out of a hearing of that message: You are my Beloved, in whom I am well pleased.

Incidentally this weekend, the faculty will meet in our annual conference, to discuss and share with one another about our calling as theological educators, in continuation of the same theme from last year. It is indeed a moving experience to hear one’s colleagues openly share about this very intimate dimension of their lives, and a very heartwarming experience to find resonances with one another on these matters.

We do not need to be reminded of the fact that taking up the call is not always a smooth ride. We inevitably run into situations wherein we are put to the test, not just in Hebrew grammar or Greek conjugations, but with issues that may cast doubt on the whole enterprise we have embarked upon. Do I really have a calling? We may come to a crisis of faith, a crisis of vocation at some point, before, or after graduation from Perkins. We are also not immune from personal tragedies of different kinds. In these situations we may be asking ourselves---where is the love?

As we open our eyes and ears to what is happening in the world around us, the world wherein we are called to witness to that love that we have heard in our hearts and are seeking to embody in our own lives, we cannot help recognize that the words of the Psalm read earlier ring true for us today in our world as it did in the Psalmist’s own time.

The nations are in turmoil, the kingdoms totter…(Ps. 46: 6)

We live in a world marked by tremendous suffering that many of our fellow human beings are bearing. Tomorrow, as we recall, is September 11, and the pain of that tragic event that happened two years ago is still felt by the entire world today. (We will commemorate the event at our liturgy tomorrow, and with a special service in the evening.) Rather than abating and being healed by the passage of time, subsequent actions and reactions by human beings, not excluding ourselves, in response to that tragic event, appear to have deepened the wounds and heightened the divisions in our human family.

We are witness to the continuing violence we humans perpetrate on one another on various levels, in our families, in our schools, in the inner cities, not to mention the more than thirty or so different regions of the world where actual warfare is being waged right at this moment. Looking at another kind of violence, World Health Organization statistics inform us that approximately 35,000 children under the age of five die daily in our world, due to causes related to hunger and malnutrition. We are also made aware of the violence to the Earth and to God’s creation, as we feel the effects of a deteriorating ecological situation. Indeed, in all this, where is the love? Perhaps we may even come to a point where we are led to ask, is there really a God in all this?

Confronted with the woundedness of creation and of our fellow human beings, not excluding our own personal woundedness, our hearts may be led to cry in anguish, “where is the love?”

Perhaps there have been moments when we could identify with Jesus on the Cross, as he cried out, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”
In such moments, as we feel most vulnerable, as we feel inundated by the our own personal pain, or by the pain of the whole creation, groaning for justice, crying out for salvation, longing for God, this cry of Jesus becomes our very own. “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”

In such moments, we can do nothing cry out in our powerlessness, one with the countless fellow creatures of ours who bear the cross of Jesus in their very bodies. My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?

If we find ourselves in such a dark night of the soul, the Psalmist invites us: let us not try to find some way of turning our attention away from the darkness and the pain, or to seek some kind of false consolation or diversion. We are invited not to succumb to the different weapons of mass distraction that our society provides for us, seeking momentary pleasures, burying ourselves in our work or even in our studies, taking up some mindless computer game that will ease away the pain or anxiety or turmoil we feel coming from within. Instead, we are invited to be still, and stay there in that darkness, and wait, and trust.

I am reminded of the story of someone who accidentally slipped walking by a steep cliff, and was about to fall into a ravine, but luckily was able to hang on to a branch that stuck out a rock near the top. Looking up to heaven, this person cries out, “O God, help me! Are you there? Help me!” A voice thunders from the heavens, saying, “I am your God. Have no fear. Trust in me. Let go.” The person hesitates for a moment, and looking up, cries out, “Is there anybody else out there?”

On a serious note, I am also reminded of a person dear to my heart, whose picture I always carry in my wallet. Her name is Simone Weil, a woman born of Jewish parentage, who joined those resisting tyranny as a nurse’s aide, and died at the age of 32 before the end of the Second World War. There are many things I could say about her, but here let allow me to justrecall two or three points.

She was a person extremely sensitive to the sufferings of her fellow humans, and sought a way of life that would help in the alleviation of this suffering.

She was a person who relentlessly asked the big questions about human existence. Her own life was a continuing religious search, and its motif was summed up in the title given to a collection of her letters and essays published after her death: Waiting on God. (The French, Attente de Dieu, invites the resonance not just of “waiting,” but also of “being attentive,” “paying attention,” “attending to.”

I was very inspired and thrilled the other day when, sitting in at a class in Interpretation of the New Testament of Professor Jaime Clark-Soles, I noted that one of her essays was on the required reading list. This is an essay entitled “Reflections on the Right Use of School Studies with a View to the Love of God.” This class became an occasion for me to read her essay once again after a lapse of more than twenty years. What does a person like Simone Weil have to say to us today, which also relates to a fundamental attitude in the Interpretation of the New Testament?

This essay conveys one central point: the development of the faculty of attention. Simone points out that studies “…are extremely effective in increasing the power of attention which will be available at the time of prayer, on condition that they be carried out for this purpose, and this purpose alone.” (Waiting on God, p.66) In other words, it is this same attentiveness that we are invited to give to our studies, as we are to give to God in prayer, as well as to our neighbor in seeking to know how to love them.

As we go through our dark night of the soul, Simone Weil suggests: stay there in all attentiveness, and listen. If we are patient enough to stay there and truly listen in that silence, perhaps we may hear a gentle, reassuring voice, addressing us, in the middle of our darkness and pain. These are the same words that Jesus heard throughout his life, including those bleakest moments as he hung on the Cross.
“You are My Beloved, in whom I am well pleased.”

As we are able to hear this voice addressed to us personally, in a most intimate way to ourself, we are also able to hear it as being addressed to each and everyone of our fellow human beings, fellow creatures of the Divine Grace that brought us out of nothingness into being.
You are my Beloved, in whom I am well pleased.

The Psalmist invites us to the same stance.
“…though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult…the nations are in turmoil, the kingdoms totter…
yet…God’s voice is uttered, the earth melts.

The Lord of hosts is with us. The God of Jacob is our refuge.
Come, behold the works of God. See what desolations have been wrought upon the earth. God makes wars cease to the ends of the earth. God breaks the bow, and shatters the spear, burns the shields with fire.
Be still, and know that I am God.
Be still and know that I am God, exalted among the nations, exalted in the earth. The Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge.” (Ps. 46)

I close with this image of Jacob, whom we all know is a person who wrestled with God. As we go through the ups and downs, the twists and turns of our daily tasks, seeking to be faithful to our calling, seeking guidance on the concrete ways we are called to minister to this wounded world, we may sometimes get hemmed in and feel trapped by the minutiae of issues put on our way, and find ourselves in the midst of a struggle. The figure of Jacob reminds us with Whom it is that we are struggling, with Whom it is that we are wrestling. In the midst of this struggle, the words of the Psalmist again address us at the deepest layers of our being.

“Be still, and know, that I am God.” And in that stillness, we might hear once more, in a more resounding way: “You are my Beloved, in whom I am well pleased.”

Personal Comments: Ruben Habito is one of the significant persons in my spiritual formation. I first met him in Maryridge Retreat House in Tagaytay City in March 1988when I participated in a 30 Day Zen-Ignatian Retreat conducted by him aided by Rosario Battung and another religious sister whose name I forgot. The last time I met Ruben was in Maria Kannon Zen Center in Dallas, Texas in February 2006 and I had the grace of going for Dokusan on the Koan Mu before him and confirmed by him. His last words for me before I headed back to Pecos Benedictine Monastery in Pecos, New Mexico was, "Be the compassion of God for others." In these few words he summarized his whole teaching of what living zen is all about - just living God's compassion, wherever I am, whatever I do. For me the key to this is that verse in Psalm 46, "Be still and know that I am God." Every day I have the sheer delight of looking at the stillness of the white mountain here, right from the window of my McCloud River apartment. Each time I take a glance my heart is lifted up to great amazement and wonder. The mountain takes everything, the changes of the season, the clouds, the rains, the sunshine, yet it stays still, calm and majestic. I remember a Koan that Ruben Habito used to ask us during that 30 day retreat in Tagaytay. How can you make the mountain in the middle of the lake move? It was on that retreat that I myself discovered and realized God as compassion and experienced a deep enlightenment of my soul. It was around the third week of the retreat. I was sitting on a bench outside while looking at the lake below. A worm came by crawling over my skin. I brushed it off and it fell to the ground. I felt sorry for the worm and took it back and let it rest on the palm of my hand. I comforted it and breathed onto it. Life was ignited in the worm and in me as I entered into "just being one" with it. Then I knew what love is, what compassion is all about and who God is! Today, that is also my stance for life, my vision for living and joy of being - to be the embodiment of God's compassion in the world. - Bobby Sagra

Good Relationship in Marriage

” A good relationship has a pattern like a dance and is built on some of the same rules. The partners do not need to hold on tightly, because they move in the same pattern, intricate but gay and swift and free, like a country dance. The joy of such a pattern is not only the joy of creation or the joy of participation, it is also the joy of living the moment.
But how does one learn this technique of the dance? Why is it so difficult? What makes us hesitate and stumble? It is fear, I think, that makes us cling nostalgically to the last moment or clutch greedily toward the next. But when the heart is flooded with love there is no room in it for fear, for doubt, for hesitation. And it is this lack of fear that makes for the dance. When each partner loves so completely that he has forgotten to ask himself whether or not he is loved in return; when he only knows that he loves and is moving to its music - then, and then only, are two people able to dance perfectly in tune to the same rhythm.
But should they not also be in tune with a larger rhythm, a natural swinging of the pendulum between sharing and solitude; the intimate and the abstract, the near and the far? And in this image of the pendulum swinging between opposite poles, is there not a clue to the problem of relationships as a whole? Is there not here a hint in understanding and acceptance of the eternal ebb and flow and inevitable intermittency of life’s relationships?
For the life of our emotions and our relationships is intermittent. When you love someone you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet it is exactly what most of us demand. We have little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity - in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.
Intermittency - an impossible lesson for human beings to learn. How can one learn to live through the ebb tides of one’s existence? It is easier to understand here on the beach, where the breathlessly still ebb tides reveal another life below the level which mortals usually reach; one has revelation of the secret kingdom at the bottom of the sea.
Here one finds, wading through warm ripples, great horse conches, white sand dollars, and myriads of bright-colored cochina clams glistening in the foam. So beautiful is the still hour of the sea’s withdrawal.
Perhaps this is the most important thing for me to take back from beach living: simply the memory that each cycle of the tide is valid; each cycle of a relationship is valid. And my shells? I can sweep them all into my pocket. They are only there to remind me that the sea recedes and returns eternally.”
- taken from Gift From the Sea
By Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Personal Comments - By Bobby Sagra

I just came home from a weekend holiday trip to Reno, Nevada where I attended the 60th Annual Convention & Trade Show of the California Groundwater Association, October 31-November 1, 2008 held at John Ascuaga’s Nugget Hotel. It is raining outside so I just decided to stay home and spend time in solitude. I remember I have still the book I borrowed from the McCloud Library entitled, Selections From Gift From the Sea written by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. After I have made a quick carpentry job on making a book shelf and eating my lunch, I sat and read through it. Over these past days my mind reflected upon what really matters in a relationship. My question got a clear answer above when Anne Morrow Lindbergh said that, “when the heart is flooded with love there is no room in it for fear, for doubt, for hesitation.” This month of November 2008 will be the eleventh month of the marriage between me and my wife Marl. While I was in my hotel room in Nugget I took time to browse over the scene from my window glass. Down below I saw cargo trains, iron tracks and small storage buildings. I continued browsing and my sight turned to the surrounding mountains and its clouds above. A flock of birds pass by or a domestic plane flies over. There is balance, beauty, harmony in life and in the relationship like marriage I am in, only if I am open to widen the horizon of my browsing heart and mind. In the above write up, Anne Morrow Lindbergh spoke of the principle of “Intermittency” as a lesson to learn especially in dealing with relationship in one’s life. What prompted me to confirm this as true is the experience of seeing two rainbows along the highway on our way back from Reno. A colorful rainbow can only be seen in the intermittent flow of rain, sunshine and a water pond or stream. It is for me another complete show of life’s wonderful flow and rhythm of things. A good mix of each cycle of life is needed to complete a good pattern of living. It is only in my own acceptance of life in its true cycle, rhythm, colors, sounds and myriad paradoxes that I can fully embrace whatever life brings in my field of relationship today. Nikki Giovanni said that “love is the greatest adventure.” I say in a very simple and candid way as far as I have experienced it that love is the only clearest explanation for everything that flows into life, into relationships and into the puzzle of its ebb and returning…, its eternal art of sacred permanence amidst the changing of its seasons and cycles.
In addition to Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s idea of Intermittency as a great foundation in understanding the problems of life and relationships I would like to suggest some basic attitudes one can have so as not to be overwhelmed and overturned from the focus and stability of the relationship. The first is that of honesty. I simply need to be honest with who I am, with what I feel and with what I believe in. I can share this with my wife or friend in a very spontaneous way. The second is that of openness to the myriad possibilities and challenges for growth in my life and in my married relationship. Then the third is the willingness to take action to accept my wife for who she is and to the courage to change the way I relate with her in a more positive, loving and healing ways as we continue to share the joy and the love of each new day in our relationship.
As we celebrate our 11th month Anniversary of Marriage I have only one wish and one prayer for my wife Marl, and that is, for her to be truly happy and grateful for the gift of life and of our love together as we spend the rest of our days in the mystery and wonder of life’s beauty and intermittency.