In Spiration

Yesterday was a very important day in the Catholic liturgical year: It was Pentecost. Fifty days after Easter we celebrate the descending of Holy Spirit, just as Jesus had promised his disciples. With this arrival the disciples went from being afraid, isolated and inactive to being bold, mixing with people from many different cultures and proclaiming the freedom and truth that they had received.

Although not as dramatic, I felt a profound sense of fearlessness and joy yesterday, as I gathered with a group of others my age for an hour of praise and worship. Growing up I was afraid of the strange things that would happen to people when they "gave way to the spirit". I didn't understand it and I avoided it as much as I could.

Last fall I had the opportunity to go to a similar event of worship, called Duc in Altum (Latin for "Put out into the deep"). I was hesitant but I thought I should go. One of the things that usually happens to me at these emotional confrontations with God is I would uncontrollably begin to cry. And that is perhaps one of my greatest fears (and probably why I really disliked going); I was afraid to show my insecurities and vulnerability to others. I removed myself to the back of the church. I didn't leave, since I felt prompted to go to confession. I went to talk to a priest but I couldn't hold back the tears and I felt incredibly embarrassed. He comforted me though. He didn't judge me. He understood that I was hurt deep inside and that I needed the healing I was avoiding, because I didn't want to risk opening myself for anything. In the end he blessed me and gave me a poignant penance: to love myself and pray for healing.

I think something incredible began that misty, Autumn evening. Something that I can see unfolding little by little and that particularly struck me yesterday. Yesterday I was not afraid to cry and sing. Past bitterness and pain and anxiety seemed to be just washed away. The spirit is like the wind. He's always there, gently stirring, but He can't do much for us if we don't have our sails unfurled. We get so scared that we will be hurt again in this hurtful, confusing little world. But it is only in diving into the deep that we can find healing, from the one that will never disappoint or harm us. Once we do that we can be free of our fear and open our selves to the "fear of the Lord" instead, which is the beginning of spiritual growth (I want to explore this idea in a future post). Like many great things, it all starts with inspiration!

This year on Pentecost I felt very inspired, that is, filled with the Spirit. Not only did the presence of the Holy Spirit feel very close but He brought with Him many wonderful treasures. Just like the artists of old waited for their muse to bring them their inspiration, the Spirit leads us, gives ideas and prompts action. So besides joy, peace and healing I was so filled with artistic ideas yesterday, from things I want to sew to ideas for paintings. Now I just need to get some motivation!

A Feat of Fondant

I had wanted to make fondant for a while. I researched it and the first method I found looked rather daunting, since it uses many rare-sounding ingredients. But then I found one that simply entailed melting marshmallows (or using a jar of "fluff" spread) and then mixing a whole load of icing sugar into it. So that is what I did and it basically became of soft mass that was essentially an uber-sweet, giant marshmallow. I had to work with it chilled because as soon as it warmed up it was too soft of even lift onto a cake. I also hand to cover my hands with butter and roll it on tons of confectioner's sugar. It was an interesting process and I loved the way the cakes looked (even though I didn't have the patience to iron out all the bumps and make it perfect). But due to the fact that it was mind numbingly sweet and a bit of s sticky mess I don't think I'll be doing it again in the near future. It was definitely worth the try though!



After I baked and cut one of the cakes into a square I had a bunch of samll pieces left. So I thought I'd make it an island in a little, tropical scene.



I made a rainbow cake for my boyfriend's birthday because the theme to our relationship is "In rainbow and storm, together no matter what the weather" ^^



Here is a "shoe shot" of me with me birthday cake, followed by a close-up. I made it light pink with a white bow to look like a present. The raspberries are the real deal.

Celebrate and Stabilize

This is a poem I wrote last January and
just unearthed from my e-mail. It may not
be April any more, but I'm still in the
mood for poetry.
--------------------------------

Dear Celebration,

Looking at your picture, taking it in
Warm hues and comforting glance
A sign of hope written on skin
Spark of inspiration, like a dance

Much beauty and goodness, God-given
Even when ashen agonies take you
Know that in me joy you enliven
Many blessings are shown true

Messenger, of heaven-sewn tidings
Crystally shown in you for my eyes
Matters not what are other's findings
For you is where my love lies

Love,
Stability

JABBERWOCKY

By Lewis Carroll

(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

A Good Friday Reflection: The Crucifixtion in Art

Fr. Barron's Word On Fire has been such a rich source of solid teaching and inspiration for me recently. His articles and videos are so relevant and deep. Here is a particularly poignant article from his site:

http://www.wordonfire.org/WoF-Blog/WoF-Blog/April-2011/Holy-Week-Lingering-at-the-Foot-of-the-Cross.aspx

Hallelujah

Today instead of a poem I'd like to post a link to a song, one that is very appropriate for Easter. Based on Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," this is a beautiful song about Christ's death and resurrection by the very talented Kelley Mooney.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=guhr0Vh2hE0

Fern Hill

by Dylan Thomas

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.