Seeking the Sacred Earth

The sound of the coffee shop blender, the click of the chess tournament timers as one of fourteen players finished a move, my occasional sip on the sensory awakening hazelnut frozen cappuccino and the leaf blower outside, all help to set the stage for what would be an enjoyable morning.

Our son, Kyle, was one of the youngest casts of characters in this coffee shop. Customers seemed delighted to order while commenting on the intellectual wonder of playing chess. Albert Einstein, strong brain waves and the health benefits of playing chess were mentioned. I sat alone at a small round table, books, notebooks, knitting supplies, an array of pens, pencils and camera ready.  I experienced the sacred in the ordinary.

I appreciated the rare opportunity to plant myself in one place to read and observe. The book of choice was one given me by my friend Rev. Judy Drye, An Altar in the World, by Barbara Brown Taylor. What a joy to find companions in this beautiful dance with others who celebrate wonder. My life rises up in praise to God and I dance. We are seeking the sacred in the everyday. And, we have found it.

My earliest understanding of the sacred in the world around me, as well as the value of the arts, was at the age of six. My father, being an officer in the United States Navy, was commissioned on the U.S. Springfield and was sent to Villafrance, France. As I vividly recall, I found myself standing at the edge of the Mediterranean Sea with my parents. I can still hear the sound of the waves hitting the shallow walls that divided the water from the town that faced it. The waves seemed to push and leap with such force. I was struck by the power and the grace of the waves. Small fishing boats danced and rocked surrendering their every movement to the desires of the force under them. I could smell the fish and salt in the damp air. 

There were two older women sitting under a shallow shelter to escape the heat of the sun. I watched one of these women. She had gray hair pulled back in a tight bun. There was a dark colored fishing net draped across her lap and seemingly folded in some kind of order at her feet. She was mending the net. Her hands fascinated me. The skin of her hands was weathered and wrinkled yet seemed about to burst open to the fullness of the flesh within. She moved her hands with a consistent speed, aware of the task before her and seemingly little else. She never looked up. I was drawn to her “beauty.” She seemed timeless and noble. I believed that she knew some secret wisdom. I was a part of her in a mysterious way. 

Suddenly, I became aware of a light from a small doorway to the right of this woman who “knew a secret.” I could see paintings illuminated within. I turned to my mother and asked if I could enter. I walked in. The aroma of wet paint filled the room and was strangely silent. I looked. I saw. I stood in the silence and felt what I now call a holy moment.

Standing in a small gallery in a fishing village in France, I began a journey. My journey is one based on the ideas of our connection to each other (as I have experience in the holy moments); of my desire to experience life to the fullest (the glory of God is a person fully alive); and of there being values and experiences which go far beyond our abilities as human beings to fully comprehend. The sacred is all around us!

These ideas have developed into the belief that we are creatures who feel lost and isolated and in search of a connection; that most people go through life half asleep (blind to most of what is trying to present itself to us); and that these feelings of being lost and blind nurture the less human aspects of our nature. These beliefs have led me to a dedication to the immense value of the arts as they help us live in ambiguity. Yet, at the same time, the arts help us develop a sense of connection to all of humankind and to our spiritual selves. They help us ask difficult questions of ourselves and nurture the qualities that help us to be noble, strong, wise and good people.

Barbara Brown Taylor comments on those who seek more in their lives. She notes that those who “have drawn close to this More”, have done so “in nature, in love, in art, in grief.” (xvi) She goes on to suggest that “the last place most people look is right under their feet, in the everyday activities, accidents, and encounters of their lives.” (xvi) As to why we don’t realize this, she responds, “. . . the reason so many of us cannot see the red X that marks the spot, is because we are standing on it.” (xvii)

What we remember, what we know, is unique. There will be companions as well as strangers along the way. Respect the strangers and embrace the companions. We learn from both. I am learning to depend on Love and not my Ego. I am learning to depend on what I learn from the earth. I am learning to pay attention to the “woundedness” of the world which presents itself to me. I am learning, as has Taylor, that there is indeed “an altar in the world”.

In this section, you will find paintings of Bald Head Island, of skies, a sunrise and a sunset - the place I now call a sacred place on earth. You will also find photographs from my garden and of a day I spent with my husband. Gene is a farmer and as connected to the earth as anyone I know. He teaches me of the sacredness all around us. While I was with him, we headed to the fields to pick up two-ton trucks filled with wheat. The wheat was then stored in grain bins to await delivery to the grain market. The experience touched my soul. The beauty of earth, sun and wind surrounded us throughout the day. Beauty showed up in unexpected places. . .

Patterns created by dirt, hands, shoes and randomness

Music of clinks, bangs, hums, chokity, choke, rattle, rattle, clink

Honey bees, crickets and birds

Ever changing shadow of the town's water tower

Reaching across fields and out of the limits of our dwelling place

Scenes rushing by like an old "timey" movie projector

Dancing vibrations of the truck accompanied by the whirling plum of dust in the field

Walking across fields of wheat straw stubble

My hair falling down as I pulled out the hair pens

Allowing protection from the sun on the back of my neck

Conversations between two souls who love each other and the gifts of this earth

Spider webs not visible until they glowed in the late afternoon sun

What was not seen is now seen

Pouring gold from fields of grain brings to mind "Fields of Gold" by Sting

Sweep, sweep, the grain falls into darkness

There are poems to be written

And paintings to be born

The sacred can be found all around us. Praise be to God the Creator.  Amen.

Taylor, Barbara Brown. An Altar in the World. New York: Harper Collins, 2009. Print

Remember Who You Are

The fall semester was over yet the meetings continued. Tasks were to be completed, both large and small. Folders had to be filed, desk tops needed to be cleared, classrooms were to be put in order and doors locked for the time being.

Christmas! It felt as if I no longer had enough time to get ready. Maybe by following my new rule to simplify, the process would unfold to a satisfactory end. Taking time to share with those I love is supreme. Taking time for me should be equally important.

Where to begin? 

My gift from my husband Gene, of newly raked pine straw for our beds around the house, answered my question. Over the next few days I carried and spread the golden brown straw to create a comforting blanket of natural warmth and fragrance. Comfort and peace came to me through the healing task. 

Then what I call a “holy moment” came to me. A stubborn sprout of wild garlic would not be tamed by the hovering pine straw. I knelt down to push back the straw and to dig around the garlic plant with my bare hands. I dug and gently pulled. The fragrance of sap, soil and green filled my soul. Then I heard a voice.

“Remember who you are.”

No explanation was needed. No turning to question or ponder. I knew. I knew that this soil, this plant, the ground, the earth, nature have all been waiting for me to return and to remember what God has created me to be and to do. The whisper was a gentle reminder. Not a plea, for my soul is ready. Not a reprimand, because it was spoken in love.

“Remember who you are.”

Return to the soil, to creating, to giving myself to my gardens and to my art. Yes, it is time. Maybe some doors should remain locked. 

I stood and looked across the vast bed of straw. My son was arranging a border with old bricks to help me with my new bed design. My husband was gathering and delivering more pine straw.  I was blessed. 

_______________________

My understanding of this message has broadened since this experience. “Remember who you are.”

Remember who I am. 

In this remembering, there are times of letting go. It seems to me that we are called to let go of what is false, what limits our lives, what binds us, and what keeps us from remembering what we knew when we were born. We were created by God. We were created by Love.

In the image entitled The Rising – Untangling the Red Or, I have chosen to show a woman fully present with God. She has nothing to hide. There is no shame or guilt before the Love of God. She is offering to God all the false things that have bound her. She is blessed!

Remember who you are! You are blessed!

The Rising – Untangling the Red Orb, Oil on Canvas

As I practice the gift of remembering, I find myself intrigued with discovering my own stories. In so doing, I am discovering the stories of my family. Two years ago I completed what is to be the first book of an extensive series of books entitled The Hinton Family Chronicles. Book One – Humble Beginnings, opens in the late 1700s with the life of Johannah Johnson Lee from Lewis, New York and ends as my father arrives in St. Louis, is sworn into the Navy and boards a train to San Diego.

As this point, I am working on my mother’s story and the strong female figures in both of our stories, as the second book of The Hinton Family Chronicles. My mother, Mary Imogene Lambert, was born in Memphis, Tennessee in 1937. In the next two images, you will see my grandmothers in one image and my mother in a cotton field in the other. My mother tells stories of working in these fields and of roaming plowed ground looking for shards of dishes. She valued the beauty of the simple shards.

Hinton Family Chronicles, My Mother’s Story #1, Mixed Media on Watercolor Paper

Hinton Family Chronicles, My Mother’s Story #2, Mixed Media on Watercolor Paper

Having just learned this, I am delighted to see how my story and her story are connected through this simple relationship with shards. While I was in graduate school, I struggled initially with the content of my paintings and drawings. I began to create images using a tea set given to me by my mother. This tea set became symbolic of my life as a woman and the connection I had with my mother. One quiet Saturday afternoon in my studio, as I painted a still life of a piece of the tea set on a shelf, a heart-breaking event happened. Without warning, the shelf fell off the wall and the pieces fell to the counter below. Broken. Fragmented. Shards of what was dear to me. For one brief moment I wanted to cry out in sorrow . . . but only for one moment . . . for I had been in the silence for hours and now in the silence I heard God speak to me. “Out of the broken, fragmented, shards of your life, I will make something beautiful. Paint! Paint these shards and know. Know that I am God.” My heart began to beat rapidly for I was given a clear direction. In the silence, in the stillness, I understood the meaning of the shards of my life.

I am finding that the process of remembering and discovering my stories helps me better serve God. As I understand myself, I am more able to love. It is in this loving that I can be a part of the healing needed, both for myself and for the wounded of the world. And in turn, I am better equipped to see and embrace the glimpses of sacredness that surround me every day. What an amazing journey.

In the next section, Seeking the Sacred on Earth, you will find a nest symbolic of my journey of discovery. The nest was created out of strips of paper. Some strips had notes on them, documenting thoughts or actions wherein I acted out of my ego rather than love. Other strips document moments of love. Included are miscellaneous strips reminiscence of moments and events that have shaped my life this past year. All the notes are now hidden under a layer of paint, paper beads, shells, sea urchin quills, matches, wax and fragments from a chestnut tree. These items represent very personal moments wherein I saw my decision to love or to be unloving. The interior of the nest is filled with my hair on which have been laid two types of eggs. One type of egg has ruptured and is decaying. The other type of egg is beautiful and carries an engraved spiral, my personal symbol for God’s presence. The decaying eggs represent the unloving choices while the blue, spiral engraved eggs represent God’s presence, God’s love, in my life. The nest is held between sticks as an offering to God, similar to the gesture in The Rising. The base is loosely held in place by twine, reminiscent of the threads I am pulling from my face and eyes, the threads that wounded the innocent and the red yarn of The Rising. The meaning is complex.

The Wounded of the World

The place was the lawn outside the School of Art, East Carolina University. The year was 1994.  Enrolled in the graduate MFA program for painting and drawing, I was a single parent of three all around wonderful daughters and an artist fulfilling her dream. I was also a wounded soul. In between classes, I had gone outside to read and eat lunch. I also went to open my heart to God and to sort through the fears and wonders of it all.

My favorite spiritual reading at the time was WEAVINGS. One article spoke to me that day on the lawn and continues to speak to me today. The author, Wendy Wright, seemed to have heard my soul and our experiences are connected in a mysterious way. Her article was, Hints, Signs and Showings: The Compassion of God. “To presume to speak of the nature of God, even of a quality of God’s nature such as compassion, is a bold undertaking. To presume to know something of ultimate mystery, one must also be aware of all that one does not know. Yet there are hints. There are signs and showings.” (6)

Wright goes on to share of the time she ventured into a cloister of the monastic community of the Poor Claires. I visited the monastery of the Poor Claires in Assisi, Italy the following summer as a graduate teaching assistant. Standing before the nuns as they prayed for others was one of the holy moments in my life. The presence of God was real to me in that place. To acknowledge this experience, an image of the monastery from a nearby hill appears in one of my major thesis works. Wright shares of her moments inside the cloister, “I . . . breathe in the silence, as though it were the first air I have ever breathed.” (9) My experiences into and with silence had already taken a strong hold on my soul and the symbols of these experiences are embedded in my drawings and paintings. Spirals in my work are a symbolic reference to the presence of God I experience in the silence.

Then Wright writes about something else I had experienced. She asks this question,

“What is the weeping of the world asking of me?”

As I read of her encounters my heart began to beat rapidly. I was not alone in this question! I wanted to jump up from my position on the lawn and shout to the heavens.

Wright continues: “For weeks now I have wakened between three and four in the morning to the sound of weeping. Not to my infant or pre-school daughter’s cries but to what I can only describe as the weeping of the world. Sometimes it is distant and eerie, a vaguely troubling presence that can, with a minimum of effort, be explained away. Other times it is fully audible, the cacophony of crying separating itself into distant voices, each one carrying with it a full emotional burden. (10) . . . suddenly it all became very still and very clear. And I saw him. I saw the face of the crucified God. And I knew that he was with the weeping. I knew that the weeping was his weeping and that the weeping ones were him. And that there was no separation between our suffering and God’s suffering. . . . I knew that I had seen the face of God. . . . God is with us. God suffers with us. God is with our passion. Our passion, our suffering, is God’s own.” (11-12)

I too had experienced the sounds of the weeping of the world. In the midst of my own weeping, I heard the weeping of the world, the weeping of God. In the silence of creating or just being, I hear the weeping. The weeping has called me to be an advocate of those who weep – to become an advocate for the suffering of others. Consequently, I am addressing the issues of human trafficking and domestic violence with this art exhibition, as a beginning place to become a voice for the weeping of the world. No longer will I choose to be blind or silent to injustice!

Cheryl Hinton Hooks, Pulling Threads, Oil on Canvas

“My brothers and sisters, what good is it if people say they have faith but do nothing to show it? Claiming to have faith can’t save anyone, can it? Imagine a brother or sister who is naked and never has enough food to eat. What if one of you said, “Go in peace! Stay warm! Have a nice meal!”? What good is it if you don’t actually give them what their body needs?  In the same way, faith is dead when it doesn't result in faithful activity.” James 2: 15-17   

_________________

As a part of the United Methodist Women and a participant in the UMW Reading Program, I read many books on social action, including human trafficking. This led me to research the problem and to respond to the need. 

Here is my version of the type of horrific events happening around the whole each and every day.

_________________

A young girl walks to a public place with a basket of oranges. She has been told by the person with whom she now lives, to sell these oranges. The distorted face of a stranger sternly tells her she must earn money. She is to do whatever the buyer wants. So she walks timidly to an unfamiliar place. All she wants is to go home.

A stranger approaches her to buy an orange, and gives her a small coin, takes the orange and then takes her by the hand. Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all. But then, she is taken a short distance to a place of infinite and indescribable horror.

When the stranger is finished with her, he walks her back to the street. She walks as if in a nightmare. She whispers for someone to come and help her. That evening, the nightmare continues. She has been torn and someone begins to sew-up her private parts. She will be like “new” they say. All she knows is that she is in unbelievable pain. She has been touched, torn and sewn, where no one should be allowed to hurt her. Her screams seem silent.

After a few days, she is told to go to the street and sell oranges. The nightmare continues. She cries and prays. Does anyone hear her?

_________________

Do you hear the cries?

What are the wounded of the world asking of you?

Will you answer the calling?

Cheryl Hinton Hooks, Orange Girls, Oil on Canvas

Cheryl Hinton Hooks, Orange Girl, Oil on Hardboard

What do we know about human trafficking?

According to the United Nations Protocol to Prevent, Suppress and Punish Trafficking in Persons, human trafficking is the recruiting, transporting and harboring of persons by use of threat, force or deception for the purposes of exploitation. Traffickers take advantage of vulnerable persons with false promises or physical abduction, forcing them into contract slavery, forced labor and sexual trafficking.

According to the fact sheet published by the Administration for Children and Families Division of the United States Department of Health and Human Services, sex trafficking is a modern-day form of slavery in which a commercial sex act is induced by force, fraud, or coercion, or in which the person induced to perform such an act is under the age of 18 years. It is estimated that between 600,000 and 800,000 people are trafficked across international borders each year, 80 percent of them women and girls, mostly for sexual exploitation. Well over one hundred thousand children are trafficked yearly in America, according the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

Human Trafficking exists almost worldwide, including every state and nearly every city here in the United States, because the traffickers go where the money can be found. Sadly, major sports events, such as the Super Bowl, are routinely a place for human trafficking. Human trafficking can be found in manufacturing, farming, restaurants, the cleaning industry, the making of chocolate, and all kind of goods we enjoy daily.

According to the FBI, the average age range of a child first forced into prostitution is eleven to fourteen, with some as young as nine years of age. While not all prostitutes are victims of human trafficking, a survey of nine countries claims that 89% of the prostitutes were working against their will. All of humanity is hurt if even one person, female or male, is enslaved!

What can we do?

The first and most powerful answer is education. Yes, we need to be more educated about the problem, but by educating children worldwide, we can more effectively battle human trafficking. Empowering children through education is a wonderful place to start! We can use our smart phones to fight human trafficking. There are apps that will take a photo of the bar code on a product and will grade the product as to whether the company producing the product is working intentionally to eliminate slavery in their supply chain. Purchasing fair trade products is one of the best and safest ways to assure that whatever we are purchasing is not tainted with slavery. The International Fair Trade Association defines fair trade products as those that were obtained through fair wages, good working conditions, safety procedures and adequate health standards for all workers. Volunteering with a non-profit organization effectively fighting human trafficking is another effective way to help.

Unfortunately, the human trafficking dynamic parallels that of domestic violence.

According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, 3 in 10 women and 1 in10 men in the United States are victims of domestic violence at some point in their lives. In 2010, intimate partner violence results in an estimated 1,336 deaths - 82% of these deaths were female and 18% were males.

The Maryland Network Against Domestic Violence offers these guidelines, on their web site.

Types of Abuse

Domestic violence can take different forms, but its purpose is always the same: Abusers want to control their domestic partners through fear. They do this by abusing them physically, sexually, psychologically, verbally, and economically.

Physical Abuse: Hitting, Slapping, Kicking, Choking, Pushing, Punching, Beating

Verbal Abuse: Constant criticism, Mocking, Making humiliating remarks, Yelling, Swearing, Name calling, Interrupting

Sexual Abuse: Forcing sex on an unwilling partner; Demanding sexual acts that the victim does not want to perform; Degrading treatment

Isolation: Making it hard for the victim to see friends and relatives, Monitoring phone calls, Reading mail, Controlling where the victim goes, Taking the victim’s car keys, Destroying the victim’s passport

Coercion: Making the victim feel guilty, Sulking, Manipulating children and other family members; Always insisting on being right; Making up impossible rules and punishing the victim for breaking them

Harassment: Following or stalking, Embarrassing the victim in public, Constantly checking up on the victim, Refusing to leave when asked

Economic Control: Not paying bills, Refusing to give the victim money, Not letting the victim work, Interfering with the victim’s job; Prohibiting the victim from going to school; Not allowing the victim to learn a job skill; Refusing to work and support the family

Abusing Trust: Lying, Breaking promises, Withholding important information, Being unfaithful, Being overly jealous, Not sharing domestic responsibilities

Threats and Intimidation: Threatening to harm the victim, the children, family members and pets, Using physical size to intimidate, Shouting, Keeping weapons and threatening to use them

Emotional Withholding: Not expressing feelings, Not giving compliments, Not paying attention, Not respecting the victim’s feelings, rights and opinions, Not taking the victim’s concerns seriously

Destruction of Property: Destroying furniture, Punching walls, Throwing or breaking things, Abusing pets

Self-Destructive Behaviors: Abusing drugs or alcohol, Threatening self-harm or suicide, Driving recklessly, Deliberately doing things that will cause trouble

Cheryl Hinton Hooks, Despair, Oil on Hardboard

Cheryl Hinton Hooks, Fear, Oil on Hardboard

Cheryl Hinton Hooks, Numb, Oil on Hardboard

Energy of the Darkness

Energy of the darkness,

As you sit in the corner listening,

Head bowed,

Tears falling,

Reveal the darkness as opportunity.

Teach my daughter to see,

To overcome, even with limited light,

Embracing the energy of the night,

To face the dawn with peace and wisdom.

Energy of the darkness,

As you sit in the corner listening,

Lift your head,

And smile.

Cheryl Hinton Hooks

December 23, 2013

Who are Victims?

 

Statistically, Most Victims Are Women. Men can be victims too.

• 85% of all domestic violence victims are women who are abused by their husbands or boyfriends.
• Teenaged, pregnant and disabled women are especially at risk.
• Even though most victims are women, men can be victims, too.

Children Can Be Direct Or Indirect Victims

• They may be abused themselves.
• They may be forced to see their parent abused in front of them.
• The abuser may use threats to harm them as a means of controlling the victim.
• They grow up seeing abuse as the natural way for domestic partners to relate to each other.
• They grow up in an insecure environment filled with tension and violence.

Teenagers Experience Dating Violence

Teenagers are just as vulnerable to relationship violence and it is just as dangerous. Teenagers may not seek help because they distrust adults.

Anyone Can Be A Victim

• Studies have found no characteristic link between personality type and being a victim.
• Victims cannot stop the abuse by simply changing how they behave.
• Everyone deserves to be safe from domestic violence.

 

Who are Abusers?

 

Abusers Typically:

• Deny that the abuse has occurred or make light of a violent episode.
• Blame the victim, other people or outside events for the violent attack.

Abusers Don’t Act Because They Are Out of Control

• Abusers choose to respond to a situation violently. They are making a decision to behave in a violent manner.
• They know what they’re doing and what they want from their victims.
• They are not acting purely out of anger.
• They are not only reacting to stress.
• They are not helplessly under the control of drugs and alcohol.

Abuse Is a Learned Behavior

• It is not a natural reaction to an outside event.
• It is not normal to behave in a violent manner within a personal relationship.
• It may be learned from seeing abuse used as a successful tactic of control – often in the home in which the abuser grew up.
• It is reinforced when abusers are not arrested or prosecuted or otherwise held responsible for their acts.

Abusers May Even:

• Express remorse and beg for forgiveness with seemingly loving gestures.
• Be hard workers and good providers.
• Be witty, charming, attractive and intelligent.
• At times, be loving parents

 

Sources

Wright, Wendy M.  Hints, Signs and Showings:  The Compassion of God, WEAVINGS, November/December 1990:  6-12. Print.

http://aspe.hhs.gov/hsp/07/humantrafficking/litrev/#What

http://www.acf.hhs.gov/programs/orr/resource/about-human-trafficking

http://aspe.hhs.gov/hsp/07/humantrafficking/litrev/#What

http://www.fbi.gov/about-us/investigate/civilrights/human_trafficking

http://www.missingkids.com/home

http://www.cdc.gov/Features/IntimatePartnerViolence/

http://mnadv.org/