Right now I'm good. Cool. Relaxed. Ready. But where was this feeling three hours ago? My process of preparing myself, psychologically, spiritually, mentally, and physically for the Regional Subcommittee on Candidacy has been quite the journey. I don't want to forget all the different phases I have traveled through (repeatedly sometimes) to this night, two nights before my interview. Three hours ago I wanted to scream. I wanted to crawl out of my skin and run away. Hide. Something to get away from the pervasive feeling of unworthiness and fear.
One of the things that helped was actually accepting those feelings. (Cassie, this is a high-stakes interview! This is the FIRST really high-stakes interview you've had in your life! Of course you will be scared, nervous, concerned!) Once I validated my feelings, they magically became softer, more manageable, less powerful.
ah. breathe.
The other thing that helped was Aikido. Tonight was a basics class and I found myself teaching a lot. I was one of the more advanced students (which is unusual- usually I am closer to the "new" side.) I DO have knowledge and I CAN share it with others and when I do, it HELPS people. How neat. Sometimes, it is just important to remember that.
One of my bigger "growing edges" as we like to call them at Starr King, is claiming my "ministerial authority" (another term in seminary). On the reverse, I have problems with timidity. I had a realization today. I think a lot of my timidness comes from pursuing such a life-absorbing career at a relatively young age. A lot of things (like this interview process) are new to me, and I am very much in the learning stage, and less in the "I confidently know what I'm doing" stage. I can get there. I have gotten there. I just need to remember how I grew last year during my internship. How I was with people who faced a death of a loved one, or who were struggling with a teenage child. But one thing I am not willing to do is make my timid nature an evil. Even my more raw parts of myself can become great treasures for my ministry and I truly believe that being a beginner is a precious and valuable thing in society. When I translate timidity to being new, there is a resource for me as a minister. I can really connect with people as they enter life transitions, facing change and new beginnings.
There are parts of timidity I want to leave behind. Lack of self-knowledge and self-love. I can dismantle these by, wild guess, getting to know myself and loving myself more completely.
Another part of my process of preparing for this interview has been through dreams. Two nights ago I had a dream where I was in a car with a few other friends and we were trying to find this house where there was going to be a special ceremony (possibly Islamic ceremony, but I forget). This place was in unknown territory and we had this tiny map and it was dark and we couldn't see it very well. We were using our intuition, and suddenly the road became very very steep. So steep that the car could not motor itself up it; we had to push the car up the hill. The road was actually made of pizza dough. At the bottom of the hill, the dough was baked. It was easier to drive/ crawl up it- there was more texture and sturdiness. As we got closer to the top of the hill, the pizza dough was not quite baked all the way through. When you pulled on it, it would stretch. It was slower going, but it still worked. We still were able to get to the top of the hill by pulling on the more doughy dough.
Last week I caught myself wishing that I was thirty something and already formed. I had worked through all of my "growing edges" and was very settled in my body and who I was. I had magically skipped all the growing stages and was more of the finished product. I then became very sad. What a loss! What a tragedy to skip over all the lessons and experiences of growing and figuring out who one is! That is one of the most precious parts of life- and to wish it away??!
I think of myself as the dough that's towards the top of the hill- not quite baked all the way, still a little doughy. I'm not incapable. Even though the dough is more elastic than the baked dough at the bottom of the hill, it still assisted the caravan in getting to the top. It just took a little more time. There are times when I need more time. More time to learn and reflect. More time to savor the privilege of being a beginner.
And then, sometimes (more often than I realize) I DO have authority and I just gotta OWN it! (Prayers are appreciated if you read this before Sat, the 31st at 3 pm.)
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Language
Life post Rumi immersion doesn't always take me further away from my experiences in Turkey, but sometimes helps me to understand parts better. One memory has stuck around for a while and is begging "blog-space:"
After eating out at this exquisite restaurant in Konya (I am still not over the delicate and perfectly spiced eggplant dishes in Turkey!), some of us decided to go to this zikr several blocks from the Dervish Brothers House. This was our first "zikr out." We walked down this side entrance walk to the glass sliding door where we could hear the drumming. The zikr was well underway. There were restrooms outside and Laurie and I exchanged glances after using them- we'll just say they weren't the cleanest in the world, and the good, old fashioned squat down style. (Actually, I think the squat down style is much more efficient and ergonomically correct than seated toilets).
We had to wait just a few minutes before we could enter for some people to leave (they had reached the carrying capacity of the room). And, actually, It was a good think we went pee, because there was hardly any room to breathe inside, let alone have a full bladder! We sat down in the back (the women were in the back, and the men in the front, close to the instrumentalists and the Shayk.
It was a hot zikr. (Hot, not in temperature, but in energy). People were swaying their heads really strongly and some people were sweating. I just sat there, annoyed with my legs and wishing I could dig a hole in the floor so they would have some place to go. A woman started gasping for air behind me, more urgent and stronger than people do when in the midst of a chant. I looked back and realized she was in another room, separated by a half-wall, and I could not see her. From what I could see, people in the back room were surrounding her, helping her calm down. It was kind-of scary. I was actually convinced that she was in labor and about to give birth, right there, in the middle of a zikr. (I later realized this was not the case). I returned to absorbing the scene of the zikr around me.
After forty five minutes or so, the zikr ended and some people left, but others stayed, talking and sitting around. Shams, Cathy, and I waited to see if something else would happen. Something else surely did happen, and it was really fun trying to figure it out, as the clues dropped, one by one. A couple people came out with rolls of butcher paper, throwing the roll down the room and making a long strip of paper spread on the floor. Oh! Body painting?? Line dancing? They did this two other times to make three rows. People gathered around the rows. Then other people came out with plates full of fruit- oranges, apples, and bananas, mangoes, kiwis... Napkins and knives for cutting came out. Then, people just started cutting and peeling the fruit. Just as soon, pieces of fruit started getting passed around. I had already started on an orange for myself, so I refused the first couple of offers. But I soon realized that the point wasn't to fill up on fruit. The point was to give food to other people. Folks were almost funny with how much they wanted to share the fruit. There was so much fruit getting cut up and passed around, people couldn't eat all of it. People started tossing apples slices across the room to the other tables of paper. The people sitting next to Cathy, Shams, and I were from Germany or some Scandanavian country, we believe. They knew a little English, so we spoke a few words to each other. But more than words, what I remember about our interaction was our communicating through the sharing of food, and their seemingly silly (from my individualist U.S. perspective) desire to share with abandon.
After eating out at this exquisite restaurant in Konya (I am still not over the delicate and perfectly spiced eggplant dishes in Turkey!), some of us decided to go to this zikr several blocks from the Dervish Brothers House. This was our first "zikr out." We walked down this side entrance walk to the glass sliding door where we could hear the drumming. The zikr was well underway. There were restrooms outside and Laurie and I exchanged glances after using them- we'll just say they weren't the cleanest in the world, and the good, old fashioned squat down style. (Actually, I think the squat down style is much more efficient and ergonomically correct than seated toilets).
We had to wait just a few minutes before we could enter for some people to leave (they had reached the carrying capacity of the room). And, actually, It was a good think we went pee, because there was hardly any room to breathe inside, let alone have a full bladder! We sat down in the back (the women were in the back, and the men in the front, close to the instrumentalists and the Shayk.
It was a hot zikr. (Hot, not in temperature, but in energy). People were swaying their heads really strongly and some people were sweating. I just sat there, annoyed with my legs and wishing I could dig a hole in the floor so they would have some place to go. A woman started gasping for air behind me, more urgent and stronger than people do when in the midst of a chant. I looked back and realized she was in another room, separated by a half-wall, and I could not see her. From what I could see, people in the back room were surrounding her, helping her calm down. It was kind-of scary. I was actually convinced that she was in labor and about to give birth, right there, in the middle of a zikr. (I later realized this was not the case). I returned to absorbing the scene of the zikr around me.
After forty five minutes or so, the zikr ended and some people left, but others stayed, talking and sitting around. Shams, Cathy, and I waited to see if something else would happen. Something else surely did happen, and it was really fun trying to figure it out, as the clues dropped, one by one. A couple people came out with rolls of butcher paper, throwing the roll down the room and making a long strip of paper spread on the floor. Oh! Body painting?? Line dancing? They did this two other times to make three rows. People gathered around the rows. Then other people came out with plates full of fruit- oranges, apples, and bananas, mangoes, kiwis... Napkins and knives for cutting came out. Then, people just started cutting and peeling the fruit. Just as soon, pieces of fruit started getting passed around. I had already started on an orange for myself, so I refused the first couple of offers. But I soon realized that the point wasn't to fill up on fruit. The point was to give food to other people. Folks were almost funny with how much they wanted to share the fruit. There was so much fruit getting cut up and passed around, people couldn't eat all of it. People started tossing apples slices across the room to the other tables of paper. The people sitting next to Cathy, Shams, and I were from Germany or some Scandanavian country, we believe. They knew a little English, so we spoke a few words to each other. But more than words, what I remember about our interaction was our communicating through the sharing of food, and their seemingly silly (from my individualist U.S. perspective) desire to share with abandon.
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