Since I posted the Ring Out, Wild Bells video on December 28th, over 68,000 people have viewed it on facebook, and nearly 6,000 have viewed it on Youtube! A fun way to kick off the New Year, in service, in costume, and on purpose. I heard from many people about how it companioned them through ringing out 2020, and ringing in 2021.

For some time, I have planned to add to my Sunday Song and Rumination column (that I have written nearly every week for two and a half years), with a radio show, and now two episodes are up on my new podcast channel, as well as on Youtube.

In this episode, you will hear a Celtic folk duo from Ontario, named Scotia, playing a pipe and accordion version of my Ring Out, Wild Bells melody. On New Years Eve, other players in the village played this outside their homes and also rang the old church bells 245 times!!! What a beautiful story. And... to top it all off, they dressed up in Scottish steampunk. So fun.​

Next week, I will be back into writing, and will begin the radio show by walking through my album Behold, I Make All Things New. If that album has meant something to you, I would love for you to send me a voice message on my podcast platform. Just click "message" and follow the promptings. I really would love to have more interaction with you and hearing voice is so different than reading typed words!

Listen to the podcast by clicking on the image below! Or you can listen with the video above.

Many of you will be familiar with my song Ring Out, Wild Bells. Well... I spent a number of days professionally recording it during the first week of Advent. I hired my amazing mixing engineer to mix and master it, and then last week, I recorded a music video for it. 

The video is steampunk-themed, which I thought was fun, and fitting, because Tennyson, who penned the poem (from his requiem In Memoriam), was from the Victorian era, and steampunk is inspired by that age of early technology and style.

I shared a photo of me (pictured here) in steampunk attire, with a mandolin, and I was surprised by how many negative reactions I got, in private messages, in essence, suggesting that I wasn't being spiritual enough...

​On Christmas Eve, after passing through some hurt feelings, with a warm and open heart, I went live to tell a story from the Franciscan medieval age... based on a book my children have called The Clown of God by Tomie dePaola (1974), which is adapted and based on a legend.

There were jugglers in the medieval age, who were seen as sacred by the Franciscans.

Although I don't juggle in the video, the story of the jugglers wearing makeup and costume, in performance, to weave in some levity into a suffering world, was one the inspirations ... 

To see it as my job to thread some fun into and through and along with the grief of this year's suffering.

​You can watch the talk I gave in the video below.

To get ready for the brand new version and video of Ring Out, Wild Bells, you can download this gift...
​a PDF copy of the standard notation and lyrics: 

Because I am preparing to go live on facebook for Sunday Song this week, I have a very short reflection here today.

In this very Advent-y song, from Meditation with Children... you can hear my collaborator Noel Keating, show us again, how children intuit the Presence. The children who shared their meditation experiences to Noel, will forever be my teachers. Thanks to them, my Advent season, and my own inherent awareness, is forever richer.

Disclaimer:
I want to be clear, that I wrote this essay assuming nearly most of my listeners are in the “listen to the science” category.

I, and most of the people who listen to my music, are not the church goers who think the pandemic is a conspiracy created to threaten the freedom of religion.  

I wrote the essay for those of us who are honouring the recommendations suggested by our scientists and doctors.

In our case, we may run the risk of losing our whimsy and wonder, even if only because we’re trying to show we are not the church-goers breaking the shut-down rules. 

I’m sad that so many church people where I live are thinking they are being persecuted, when in point of fact, it looks like they’re really trying to be more special. 

The essay isn’t necessarily for them. I don’t know what to do about them, other than to lovingly hold their privilege close to the fire of real compassion. 

My reflection is meant for those of us who might default to cynicism at this time. And in doing so, a very unique Advent, could be wasted. 

 
I don’t know about you, but I’ve been hinging much of my ability to endure the fog that seems to be hovering over the world, on the fact that Advent was around the corner. This year, not only do our kids have typical calendars, but we also have a very detailed journey we’re going to be going on, with readings and crafts. Actually... 3 rituals per day, including incorporating more than usual, into our candle lighting before bedtime. 

I’m not a "crafty" mom. And I’m not a type-A person (I’m sure most of you have figured that out by now). But I have definitely hyped the lead-up to Advent with my kids this year, to the point where Advent itself feels like Christmas. They went to bed with such excitement that they told me their hearts felt “infinity big”.

Then one of our kids was looking at a book about animals this morning, and he called for me to come and see... he said... "Mom! Come here!!! Look!!! Even the animals and sea creatures in my book are saying 'Happy Advent'!"

Oh my dear child, may you hold onto that seeing!

Last night, we watched Mary Poppins Returns, and at one point, when nearly everyone is floating around in the sky, joyfully holding onto a balloon, Angela Lansbury's character says to Mary Poppins, "most of the grown-ups will have forgotten about this by morning". 

It is a strange time out there right now. As we navigate what 'post-truth' means. As we see people on the boiled down battlefield of science vs conspiracy.

Part of why many of us can't both look at science, cosmology, expanding concepts and theories, while also not being the "grown-ups who've forgotten by morning", is because we're STILL stuck in a this or that mindset. Maybe part of the reason there has been this mutation, this violence done to the precious realm of suspension of disbelief, (ie. ugly, often racist, lies, being deemed "what is true for me", a hijacking of those "speaking their truth" to a "centralized enforced truth" from the margins), is because the whole set-up has long been aimed at "forgetting about this by morning". For good reason, in part. If we could only eradicate with science, the out for blood and hellfire, petulant God, who gaslights, and needs appeasement, then maybe we have a chance at being free. That's pretty fair. But the new priesthood soon marched in, and a new mighty "god", still with white supremacy at the helm (built right in to the roots of evolution, and even conservation), moved in. 

Don't get me wrong. I am deeply, deeply grateful for science, and am not trying to debunk the work of science with this essay.

But I still wonder... will whimsy and wonder make it through this horrifically conflated, one-dimensional binary of "science vs conspiracy"? 

Let me explain...
The Shaman held a posture of lateral prayer, a "praying with" the whole of the animated creation, drawing from not only his or her incarnate power, but from the web of incarnation found within each and every thing, which makes up a remarkable Whole. It would not shock me at all to hear that Jesus was that kind of practitioner. One who could pray to the creator, not just "above", but who could see that "God's center is everywhere, and circumference is nowhere." 

So let's be honest. Science traditionally has had no room for the Shaman. And... let's be honest, enlightenment-influenced science has played a dramatic role in all of us "forgetting by morning"... and is in part, responsible for the colonization of indigenous seeing. It doesn't have to be that way, but it has often been that way, nonetheless.

Now it seems neither "side" has room for a lateral comprehension of incarnation... and seeing anything outside of this binary, has been described as "voodoo" more recently by the left, than by the right. It seems that this is a shared derogatory term from both the enlightened left, and the religious right. 

Voodou has an incredible history. It is a mix of African indigenous beliefs, Irish and Scottish druidic/Celtic Christian beliefs, and the indigenous beliefs of the Caribbean Basin region. Its rituals are remarkable, and in some aspects, not unlike the Sufi or Pentecostals very much embodying "trance dance", a form of healing dance that every single one of us has in our ancestry.

This is obviously not a treatise for not wearing a mask (by any means). Nor is it a treatise for not believing science. But it is some food for thought, for all of us who are being respectful, keeping our distance, not gathering, and wearing masks, to be very careful to remain vigilant, on behalf of our child-like ability, to believe in the Mystery of what we cannot see.

To guard the whimsy of our hearts, which is where the longing lives.

​As Merton said, "with God, a little bit of longing goes a long way."

In other words, what does it look like to listen to the science, AND believe in silly things... like the incarnation? Perhaps, for starters, it is that the Christ in me, sees the Christ in you... and I love you, and don't want to bring harm to you. That is at least for starters. But maybe we can ponder this more deeply throughout Advent. 

Clearly the world has been aching for living ritual for a very long time now. Since well before Covid. And living ritual was certainly in part, squelched by the enlightenment era, which still informs much of the sciences. So again, how do we hold all of this  more expansively?

Living ritual is best done when… gathered. But here we are… entering into the great swelling tide of the hope of Advent, in little bubbles of one, two, three, or a few more. So this is the raw material we have to work with. And if that raw material does not encounter the place in us that longs, we are in for some pretty major collective despair. (Which is why I'm risking writing this.)

For the bubbles of one. I wish for you, embrace. Wide, encircling, relieving, embrace. May you feel the very arms of the Creator around you, any time you stop and visit a tree, any time you stop to taste something wonderful, or even from the blankets that cover your body as you sleep. (In order for you to "get there", you must not "forget about this by morning".)

For the bubbles of two. I wish for you, laughter. May the potential binary of two, not get stuck at stalemate. May laughter and a bit of lightness lift you from the rut, and charm the moments of your days. (In order to get there, you must "move into the larger mind" - metanoia -  which also requires not "forgetting about this by morning".)

For the bubbles of three or more. I wish for you a balance of encounter, and space. I wish for you the ability to catch the moments of your children's built-in awareness. Because they still don't forget by morning.

And in practical terms... to the mom’s who just want to pee in peace, I wish for you that chance today.

For the blended families, and all their misunderstandings, and all the impossible things, I wish for you a fresh wind that might blow into the cobwebs, and transform old patterns and assumptions. Any hope of transformation requires an element of "magical thinking". 

For the children who are feeling like Covid is how its going to be from now on. I wish for you total embodiment, and life, and wonder, the world over.

And finally, may we who are struggling a bit in our bubbles, reach out and touch the world somehow, as she struggles from still more undertow, while the tidal wave of a new era continues to swell.  Innovative action, hearing a "call" to shift the reality of even one person, also requires the capacity for "not forgetting about this by morning".

May we reach out, and give big, if we are able. And find ways to move out of our own center, even if we are not able give in the traditional sense.

The suffering (Yemen, South Sudan, Nigeria, Somalia, Ethiopia, Kenya, Uganda, Chad, so many who are hungry in wealthy countries that spend upwards of 700 billion per year on weapons, and on, and on…) continues to decimate my heart. I have to let it all go through me, and let my ache join in the “one great Ache”, or I will be comatose in short order. A funny little balance to strike...  because "comatose" means "to be in a deep state of unconsciousness"... so that means when my little ache carries the load of of the great Ache, my little consciousness renders me unconscious. But when I let it flow into the big Ache, I can awaken to what is mine to do for the sake of the Whole. This paralysis and fragility is particularly apparent in spaces of comfort where hyper-individual salvation and success, and a lack of imagination, has wreaked enormous havoc on our planet.

From the depths of all our tender places,
O come, O come Emmanuel,
to and through this collective womb,
and out of our deep-down longing…
for whole-making.

Richard Rohr says, “the second coming of Christ is not one event, it is the rest of history”.

May we be open to this unfoldment, and this anointing, in new ways during the Advent of 2020.

It certainly isn’t business as usual… but then again… neither was it for Mary.

The song today comes from the Meditation With Children album I did with Irish author Noel Keating. This version of Hope Beyond all Hope, begins with quotations from some children's own experience sitting in meditation. When you listen, notice how they are naturally aware of the Presence. 

Our hope beyond all hope did come
To call us each, and everyone
To the surface of our consciousness
God dwells within, and always has
God dwells within, and always will

I wanted you to hear my version of this Bob Dylan song on this day... 

This is the last track on my upcoming album Hymns From the Icons. 

 
When I first heard Mary Gauthier sing this song live, I was a 25-year-old know-it-all, playing alt-country music on the festival circuit. I had heard the recording, and had loved it from the start, but when I her her perform it, I knew it was a timeless song, and that she would be an iconic legend of a songwriter in her lifetime. I didn't know-it-all back then (nor do I today), but something I did know, was that I was right about this song, and about Mary. 

If ever there was a song to sing, as we stand in the midst of a Great Turning, trying not to let fear get the better of us, on the brink of the most strangely charged US election in history, it is this one.

It is a song that cries out for Jubilee. 

Cynthia Bourgeault has one of the keenest eyes for etymological nuance (and nearly... pretty much everything else), and she teaches that the word mercy is rooted in the word commerce, or merchant. Meaning, exchange. So when I sing this, I hear her words "mercy is not something God has so much as it’s something that God is." (Read her book Wisdom Jesus... please!!!)

The story of severance, or separation, that is trying to end, (but also scrambling to remain), is one that would have us think we are separate from mercy.

​If only we knew we were swimming in it.

How much more mercy we might offer, and how much more we might receive.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. 

May we be merciful now, in these coming days and weeks.

And may mercy flow like wine at a wedding feast.

To listen on apple music, click here.
To listen on spotify, click here.

This week, for a number of reasons, I felt it would a good connecting thing, if I went live on Facebook.

​It was a precious time with a lovely group of people from around the world.

Some people aren't on facebook so I made it available on youtube as well. 

There is a Latin term that was mostly adopted by the early Celtic Christians that is hard to define. The word is peregrinatio.

Peregrinatio sort of means, "to leave one's homeland and wander for the love of God".

In Esther de Waal's classic book, The Celtic Way of Prayer, she tells a story of three 9th century Irishmen, drifting over the sea in coracles... without oars.

Although my pilgrimage to Iona had a distinct destination, and was a return to ancestral homelands, much about the journey, spiritually speaking, was a treasure hunt that required my heart to be profoundly set adrift in an oarless coracle. It still is. At this very moment, I am moored to my unmooring, while in the very same breath, returning this week to my fidelity to a sacred schedule, after being thrown off course these past number of months. I've been struggling to sleep, my eyes like frenzied, empty, sockets, partly thanks to my 4-year-old, but also because I have been drifting in the modern sense. Too much stimulation. Modern drifting is not the same as being adrift on a pereginatio, a wandering pilgrimage for the love of God. Modern drifting allows all the bells and whistles to speed up our monkey brains, so we can avoid the Great Ache, the longing for the Beloved, while perhaps only gazing at suffering through the lens of click bait.

It felt appropriate to begin a new practice at our farm, in this week that I am releasing this remarkable song written by Mike Scott and originally performed by The Waterboys. We got our candles out, and are allowing the natural rhythm of sunlight and darkness to guide our day. I recently read that darkness causes a natural release of melatonin, and so instead of having our electric lights on in the evening, we gather around our wood cook stove with a candle or two, and tell stories. Then we pray from the Carmina Gadelica "kindle in my heart a flame of love, for my friend, for my foe, for my kindred all."

The rhythm in this song reminds me of the natural rhythm of a day. For the percussion, I mic'd the plywood floor of my studio and connected a stone from Columba Bay, Iona, to an antler bone from this farm, on these Anishinaabe lands. 

While I sang it, I held a stone from Columba Bay in each hand, that I had bathed in Brigid's wellspring. It felt like all the things I had said or read, about the universal Christ, were incarnating in the elements I held in my hand. And why not...? Columba called Christ, the Lord of the Elements.

For me, this song is a symbol of ancestral recovery, but it is also a symbol of peace for the whole world. When I returned from Iona last year, one of the first songs I wrote was White, White, World. A lament. A confession. And as I move forward... just expect that I will be journeying in these realms of paradox. What I might call "confessional ancestral recovery"... the deep work that must be done in tandem. Uncolonizing myself from this wasteland in search of the secrets my ancestors long to whisper to me. Tuning my becoming to the great Mystery. While simultaneously aiding/getting out of the way, of those groups who are currently emancipating themselves from this hostile/civil system/wasteland that has held them hostage for so long. 

So this week, in the midst of the near desperate madness of these political times, I invoke the Deep Peace. And I daresay, the deep peace will always be paradoxical, because God is an anthem for equity.