Tuesday, August 7

Serendipity Art

Serendipity means a "happy accident" or "pleasant surprise"; specifically, the accident of finding something good or useful without looking for it, according to Wikipedia. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serendipity

Serendipity Art is art that you find when you were not looking for art. It is like finding a gem glistening in a damp cave or along a shallow river bank.  One is at once elated, excited and quietly looking around to see if anyone else noticed it as well. 

One such place of Serendipity Art is at the Atkinson Library (location: 1960 W. Atkinson Ave., Milwaukee, WI 53209 (414) 286-3000 ). It opened in January 1961 as the first in a 10-year program to provide large regional libraries spread throughout the City of Milwaukee. The beauty of the building's unique architecture, highlighted by a beamed, cathedral vaulted ceiling, woodwork and modern stained glass windows, was enhanced by a renovation project in the spring of 1994. 

The branch manager of the library was quoted at the library's 50th anniversary:  "Atkinson Library has a strong African-American collection, excellent career and small business materials, engaging programs for all ages and 26 computers with Internet access. The vaulted ceilings, many windows and woodwork make the library an inviting place to gather." (Brian Williams-VanKlooster in a celebratory hand-out at the library.)

But this is only the ambience that allows one to find Seredipity Art. Two stunning sculptures - one inside, the other outside - capture the essence of serendipity art. Both were done by local Milwaukee artists according to library staff, but preliminary research did not reveal names either. Perhaps, it is art of local angels.

The first piece is called "Four Frredoms" and the library staff had a handout that described the symbolism of the piece.

FOUR FREEDOMS SCULPTURE
(written anonymously for the library semi-centennial to explain the sculpture)

An abstract sculpture. Each metal represents a different kind of freedom.

FREEDOM FROM WANT includes ornaments of the sun, half hidden by a rain cloud, the germinating seed, sheaf of grain, open book, flash of energy and five loaves and two fishes.

FREEDOM OF RELIGION consists of basic symbols of the six major religions (Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, Hinduism, and Confucianism)>

FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION is ornamented with a flying unicorn, a pajam-clad child with a book flying carpet, a ship at sea, a tree, and a flame of light.

FREEDOM FROM FEAR includes a brutalized figure of a man, armed with a club and rock emerging from an atomic explosion mushroom cloud.

Also depicted is a broken heart, finger of scorn, the prying eye, the lying tongue, fist and shackle, a listening ear and skull of death.

* * *
The second piece is a beautiful contemporary ethnic sculptured head that has no name. It stands in the middle of the library as a wondrous sentinel.
 

I was told that an anonymous neighborhood sculptor donated this piece to guard the library's extensive collection of African-American history - and so it does.

Serendipity Art can bring us into a location where we can be blessed with beauty and opportunity to know more about our fellow humans.

Look for Serendipity Art to lead you by your heart to places you will find insight and blessing. Sometimes, it will be found in the most unlikely of places.

Monday, May 14

A Story of Very Small Bear

[Note: A Story of Very Small Bear is a fictionalized account of real events by John-Brian Paprock. Just thought you should know...]

Not every toy and stuffed animal bought has the wondrous journey of the Velveteen Rabbit, although they all aspire to loved that much. Usually, reaching the high state of being loved and becoming real is reserved for the stuffed animals of children who must outgrow their beloved, yet will always cherish the memories of comfort afforded their youth. Even then, it is becoming more and more difficult for toys and stuffed animals to compete with video games and the Internet.  They are discarded sooner, before they can be loved enough to overcome the inanimate state in which they were created.

Occasionally, there are rare exceptions of the service of such comforting angels who come in the form of stuffed animals and become loved in such abundance that the length of time has little to do with the miraculous reality of protecting those that feel vulnerable or sickly. And it is no longer a precondition that the benefit only be available to the young, but to anyone of any age, if their need is sufficient.

This is a story of one lucky bear who happened to made at the right time and was displayed on the right shelf at the right angle to catch the attention of a hurried husband concerned for his wife's condition.

The bear wasn't particularly unique, being among many of his own ilk, except his eyes. His glistening deep blue plastic eyes sparkled real, or at least as real glass. Those blue eyes were sewn in such a compassionate expression it made the stitching of his embroidered smile seem equally compassionate. The husband, although hurried, was surprised how much the compassion expressed by a stuffed animal caught his attention.  He looked through the other small white bears gathered on the shelf (and even the shelf below). None of them had the compassion and earnestness of this special bear. 

As the husband carried the bear, he noticed that the bear had a hybrid stuffing that was sort-of beanie-baby type stuff and fluffy stuff.  His white fur was plush and soft. The husband found himself petting the bear's head as he stood in line at the store. He glanced around to see if anyone noticed and then, with some embarrassment, glanced down at the bear who seemed to be staring back at him knowingly, and with a compassion that made the husband less embarrassed and even a bit comforted.

"She will love this bear," he thought as he checked out and walked to the car. He glanced into the bag to see where the bear was among the groceries. On the right, next to a bunch of bananas and a bottle of ibuprofen sat the bear, smiling back at the husband as though he could hear the loving thoughts and feel the loving intentions.

 He arrived home, turning the kitchen light on with his elbow as he brought the bag of groceries and placed the bag on the counter.

"Is that you?" The inquiry came from the bedroom.

"Yes. It's me, sweetie. I got something special for you."

"Did you get milk?" He turned around and there she was in her pink bathrobe, grabbing the edge of the bag to peek. The all of the sudden she squealed (well, there may be more dignified words for the sound she made, but she did squeal).

"Awwww. He's so cute!" she said as she carefully pulled a small white furry animal from the bag. The bear was ecstatic for he knew he was made for her.  She delightfully and carefully placed in the palm of her hand so that he sat up as he did on the store shelf.  She stared into his face with such a smile. Her husband recognized her joy bubbling up as she began to giggle.

"Oh my, look at his eyes!" she exclaimed in a whisper as she stroked his fur around his ears with one finger. "They are so blue; almost as blue as yours, sweetie! Thank you!"  She turned and gave her husband a big hug and kissed him on the neck. He blushed a bit and giggled.

"I knew it as soon as I saw him," he said in a self-congratulatory manner. His smile was almost as big as hers.  The bear was inwardly at peace and immediately felt love for these humans. As she hugged her husband, she looked over his shoulder at the bear in her hand.

"He's perfect; just the right size. He is very small, but he is the exact size. He fits into my hand perfectly," she said with adoration as she closed her hand around the bear, softly. The bear let out an inward sigh that the humans could not hear. He felt completely safe and completely loved.

"Do you think the others will be jealous?" her husband asked jokingly, but this was a serious question to his wife.

"I don't think so," she said with a frown on her face. But as she brought the bear to her face for a close up view of his face, she shook her head.  "They will all love him. He's so cute and so full of love. He'll fit right in."

She ran back to the bedroom and introduced the bear to the other stuffed animals on the bed. Basil Bear was a new year bear 1998 and he was the elder of the bed.  There was Zachariah, a beanie-baby type lamb that comforted the wife through a major depression. And Purple Distressed Bear, who always helped when there was a lot of anxiety. And Yellow Bunny, whose name always seemed to be on the tip on the tongue and would always be remembered later. And Flower, a new bunny with pink ears with a flower embroidered on her belly. And a bedtime Topo Gigio, who only said the Lord's Prayer in Italian when his belly was pressed.

"And this is, um, well, this is Very Small Bear," she said as an introduction as she held her hand open palmed with the white bear to entire bed crew.  Her husband chuckled into his hand from the door. He was very happy that this small token of affection had brought so much joy. All of the sudden, she said, "I am so very tired."

"Is there anything I can get you?"

"No, please come to bed," she said as she curled into her side of the bed. The bed crew of animals at her head and neck in the middle. She held Very Small Bear in her hand. On her side, she looked at him closely, petting his head, staring at the compassionate expression and the sparkling blue eyes.  She sighed.  Her husband came over and helped her take off the robe and get tucked in.  She never let go of Very Small Bear. Looking into his face again and smashing their noses together, her husband could hear her giggle as she said, "You ARE a Very Small Bear."

He went to gather his books and the daily puzzle, go to the restroom and undress, so that he could lie next to his wife.  By the time he arrived at the bed, his wife was already asleep. It was not her fault she was so sleepy. The medicine made her very tired. She seemed to suffer so when she was awake. It was good that the medicine helped her sleep, he thought as he kissed her on the cheek and said softly, "Good night, my sweet wife."

She smiled but did not wake up. He notice that her hand was completely relaxed and yet Very Small Bear lay perfectly in her hand against her fingers with his head poking out.  It was almost as though he winked at the husband to reassure him that she would be fine; that all the love he felt for her was held in this very small soft furry stuffed animal body and, while in her hand, a transference of security, comfort, support and warmth flowed into her heart and melted away all illness, all pain in both of them.  The husband laid back, turned on his light and opened his book. Evey so often, he would glance over at Very Small Bear who joyfully continued his work through the night.

The amount of love Very Small Bear was almost too much to hold within his very small body. At one point, during the night, the wife's hand loosened enough, so that, when she turned, he fell to the floor.  He found himself quite animated, able to walk around.  He began to explore the area next to the bed, looking up at the wife and wondering how he was going to get back into her hand. 

The other animals of the bed, came to the edge and leaned over.  They had all sorts of questions, but none of them offered to help him back up to the bed. Finally, he asked directly for some help and they devised a way of reaching him with blankets and pillows cases and a few arms and legs. Topo Gigio said the Lord's Prayer in Italian, mostly because the wife grabbed him while she was sleeping. 

All of the sudden, she woke up, disrupting the bed crew's rescue plans. She ran into the bathroom. With the sound of the flushing toilet, she slowly walked back to the bed. She stopped abruptly and looked at her hands in the hallway light streaming into the bedroom.  "Where is Very Small Bear?"

She was distressed and began to look, calling for him, "Very Small Bear. Very Small Bear. Where are you?"

Her husband woke up and asked, "What's going on?"

"I can't find Very Small Bear," she said almost tearfully. And he began to look as well.  Just as he was reaching for the main light, she exclaimed "There you are! Don't wander too far away when you are on the floor. Remember, after all, you are a very small bear."

She pat him on the head and held him close to her. "Did she know?" thought Very Small Bear, but it really didn't matter. 

Very Small Bear felt he had found his purpose because of the ease of comfort he felt as she wrapped her fingers loosely around him. She kissed him on the head, curled back up on her side of the bed, and then quickly sat up. She leaned toward her husband and reached her empty hand for him.

"Thank you, my swee', so very much for the love of Very Small Bear. He fits perfectly and comfortably in my hand. It's like he was made for me. My heart feels better with him here. Thank you." She leaned over and kissed her husband.

He smiled and said softly, "Good night, my love, and good night, Very Small Bear."


the author sound asleep with the bed crew friends of Very Small Bear
some of the bed crew animals
  


a real very small bear
photo of baby polar bear
source: Facebook unknown

Sunday, April 22

Remembering Earth Day

The first Earth Day was established in 1970 by Wisconsin statesman Gaylord Nelson.  I was nine years old, but I already understood the natural world was a treasure that was freely accessible and glorious to behold.

photo by JBP c 2000

Some of my earliest memories are: shifting through the grass with my hand, following the ants and other small bugs crawling through the thatchwork at the base of the lawn; putting my face into red flower; playing with the garden snails after the Southern California rain brought them out in droves, giggling as they reacted to touch and breath; looking in Pacific tide pools filled with wondous diversity affected by every wave.

From the forest to the desert, from the ocean to the lakes, to the rivers, to the mountains, to the caves, I am truly blessed to live in a land rich in diverse natural beauty and a country with a rich history of those who care enough to help the future generations experience the same awe and wonder of nature.

It is in this love of God's creation that my love of photography emerges and extends to the interface of human creations and natural wonders, to the purely human creative urge from which all forms of art and expression find their beginnings and fruition.

But we have found out, after the industrial revolution of the 19th and early 20th Centuries, that our creative ability can have a devastating and polluting effect, poisoning the very elements of the natural and living world we need for any quality of human existence.  By the mid-20th Century, the damage we can inflict became painfully obvious to those who followed in the footsteps of John Muir and Teddy Roosevelt. The loss of the passenger pigeon through excessive hunting became a poignant example, among a growing supply of examples, that rang an alarm of an inter-connected and inter-dependent dying that would lead to our own human destruction.

Earth Day emerged as a single day every year for the remembrance of the beauty of creation and a call to action for every human being.

Litter and trash thrown along the roads and walkways, choked the scenic beauty of even the most rural parts of America, the Beautiful.  I remember the early Earth Day "celebrations" as days for picking up litter and trash. Now we have whole municipalities, states and nations dedicated to recycling as much as possible. In most places in America, there are laws that prohibit littering and encourage recycling.

In the 21st Century, the beauty and awesomeness of the natural world can be found in the densest of urban communities where parks and trees are demanded by citizens for quality of life. It can be found in the great expanses and wondrous scenic opportunities of national and state parks. Their protection and accessibility paid for by citizens through taxes, and encouraged by a clear conscience of voters, ensuring future generations and future centuries can bear witness to the natural world as we can today, one of the many Earth Days worth remembering.

photo by JBP c 2012

+ + +

For more information about Earth Day:
Earth Day: The History of A Movement
http://www.earthday.org/earth-day-history-movement
 
Some of Wisconsin heroes have been given special recognition:
Wisconsin Conservation Hall of Fame
http://wchf.org/
Over 70 Hall of Fame Inductees: Wisconsin has historically pioneered new concepts and ideas. A number of progressive steps toward the conservation of natural resources have originated in Wisconsin, including: the first rural zoning law in the U.S., the first pilot soil conservation demonstration project in the U.S., the first general conservation curriculum, and the first bond issue for outdoor recreation.

Thursday, April 5

Good Bye Cantebury Love

I remember the moment
I knew I loved you.
It was a moment that I did not capture in a photograph, but it is indelibly etched into my heart; such precious spiritual moments are rare enough.
 
Cantebury's Coffeeshop was fairly busy that day. The sun streamed into windows. I sat with my coffee, blowing off the steam. As I blew, you sat down across from me.  You were telling me something significant at the time, but I do not remember your words.  The noise of the store became a background hum as the piped Renaissance music lilted through the air.  

I remember,
inadvertantly,
you tossed your hair
as you crossed your legs and
sipped your hot Chai tea.

I was,
at that moment,
completely smitten. 

Instead of an acquaintance that was becoming a good friend, you glistened like a pearl of great price, sparkled like a precious gem on some routine jewelry that when noticed consumes the attention so that everything else fades into the background.

Its beauty only glows and grows,
until it becomes the source
of light in any room.




Everytime I sat across from you,
for the years that followed,
I smiled
(if you take the time to remember every time, you will see my smile).

I smiled
as I saw that same pearl and gem
shining
through your eyes
from your heart.





I attempted to get a photograph of that glow, that dazzling charm, that enticing and spiritual light. Several times, I almost caught it.





I always knew you were a gift to my lonely life and a companion for my journey. 
You had to leave for a while
shortly after that Cantebury afternoon.
When you returned, I knew I could not give you much,
but I did promise my heart and an adventure.


And years later, I am still smitten by 
that glistening pearl and
sparkling gem of your heart
that you were
that you are
that you will always be
to me.

I love you and will always love you
~o~
You no longer sit across from me
I will miss being in the presence of that Cantebury love
but the memory of that love
I discovered that afternoon
will endure

(photos and words by JBP April 5, 2012)

Sunday, March 11

Enigmatic AND Effective: Farewell to a Spiritual Light of Madison


Sunset at Holy Wisdom Monastery - March 6, 2012
Chuck Pfeifer's Farewell Dinner
photo by John-Brian Paprock
 Making Community Better Uniquely The Way God Made You



There are a few people in my life that have been crucial in my spiritual development. Charles D. Pfeifer has been one of those people. Past tense is used not because Chuck has passed on, but because he is leaving Madison, finally moving closer to his adult children and their families.  I am glad he will be an example of the good in humanity to his grandchildren.  That's part of the reason I am sad to see him go.

We have not been in much contact since his retirement from Madison Urban Ministry, but I have always known he was close by.  He has been a shining light among the people that make Madison shine among the cities of America.  I have made many referrals to him for spiritual counsel to those of similar thread.

There is so much about Madison and about me that would not have come about if Chuck was not seeking the good, the best of people and our community.  At the same time, he did not flinch in the face of true darkness that so often seeps into the cracks, blending into the floor or the walls.

During his 25+ years with Madison Urban Ministry, Chuck worked hard on the problems that seemed to be on the edge of people's consciousness and sometimes ignnored by their conscience - even if they were going to get around to helping with that problem at sometime. Chuck challenged the morality and the ethics of waiting around for someone else to do it. 


Charles "Chuck" Pfeifer
and Rev. John-Brian Paprock
March 6, 2012
photo by Christo
Under Chuck's sometimes reluctant leadership as executive director of Madison Urban Ministry: a model family program to help troubled families was started (aptly named Family Enhancement); as was a program to assist the elderly with home repairs and remodelling (Project Home); and, when I got involved, Chuck and MUM were in the midst of dynamic work to resolve homelessness in the Madison area.

I actually called Chuck 25 years ago, during the spring of 1987, when the date of my ordination to the priesthood was set.  I called about community ministry for the small mission in Madison I was being ordained to serve.  It turned out that as many things as we had in common, we seemed to have even more that set us apart.  Yet Chuck always seemed to dwell in our common-ness and I learned that, in actuality, we had much more in common at a deeper level.

We were from different Christian denominations, very different. He was a founding member of a progressive United Church of Christ congregation and I was an Orthodox deacon serving a mission chapel being ordained to Orthodox Christian priesthood. Yet our intellectualism left us both open-minded enough and curious enough to find ample common ground.  It also helped that were shared a similar heart, a deep and affectionate attitude to the poor and marginalized in society.

As a young Orthodox Christian man interested in serving humanity, I guess I was something of an anomaly.  Chuck was more interested in where my motivation for service was coming from.  After articulating my service motivation, he referred me to a couple of other people and institutions.  I found my way to serving in hospital chaplaincy and a few ecumenical activities, but it was the ideals of urban ministry that continued to intrigue me.

Charles "Chuck" Pfeifer
and Rev. John-Brian Paprock
March 6, 2012
photo by Christo

 When we had a nasty racial incident happen in Madison in the late 1980s, our self admired progressive city was confounded. Chuck and Madison Urban Ministry immediately moved to deal with the issues of racism.  We established a Race Relations Task Force and had clergy meetings, but the underlying problems of institutional racism proved to be a much larger issue than MUM had dealt with before.  Victories, even progress, was hard to identify at times. MUM itself would be transformed as we sought to heal racial inequalities and related problems.  25 years later and these issues still tug at the fabric of our society; as do all the issues that MUM had the foresight to grapple with.

Nevertheless, Chuck worked hard to have MUM reflect the needed changes we sought in our more-than-90% white city - a city that was seeing a dramatic increase in cultural diversity.  25 years later, that diversity continues to grow.  I was honored to serve as president the first intentionally culturally diverse board of directors of MUM.  It was an experience I will always treasure.

Chuck also surprised me by inviting Jim Forest, founder of the Orthdox Peace Fellowship, as the speaker at the MUM annual banquet that  year.  I have always felt honored and respected, safe, in my Orthodox Christian beliefs and with my cultural identity ever since.   

The depth of Chuck's spirituality and his continuing search for understanding of God's message to us made our discussions on spiritual and mystical topics treasured and memorable to me with their connectedness and in a certain quality that transcends information and even intellect, although we both use our intellects to arrive at that threshold.  There was always a pragmatism that grounded our conversations.

Compassion and love being principle qualities of spiritual development were not lost on a philosopher's intellect. Rather Chuck was able to demonstrate tremendous compassion and care. He was able to step off the platform of intellectual thought and direct his energy toward genuine concern.  This is a quality I admire and emulate, and, as a recipient, remain grateful.

So, I was personally invited to Chuck's farewell dinner. Among the invitees were many I recognized from ecumenical and interfaith activities over the years; many I admire for their spirit of good will for all people. I looked around at all the people and added my remarks to the accolades of the evening.  But, I asked myself, "do I fit in with this crowd?"

In my remarks that evening, I simply reminded everyone of the race relations era. I mentioned that when I met Chuck, I found it helpful to meet someone else who was a bit eccentric, even odd, that could do good in society. To which, everyone chuckled.  Then, I added that I most admired the questions he would ask.  "From one spiritual brother to another, keep asking questions," I said directly to Chuck and he nodded emphatically.

I reluctantly said good-bye to a gentle mystic philosopher, Charles D. Pfeifer, who ran an urban ministry and changed the direction of my own ministry, getting me to serve in a manner closer to the way God made me; a light that shines in my memory, helping me see the road ahead.

When I had the chance for a big mutual hug, I realized I had asked myself the wrong question earlier.  The question was not, "do I fit in with this crowd?" but "how do I fit in with this crowd?"  Chuck had always been my reminder and seeing Chuck brought me back to a core truth: I am already part of this community.  And he would ask, "So, what am I going to do about it?" 

Farewell Dinner for Chuck Pfeifer with aabout 100 of his invited friends
Sponsored by Holy Wisdom Monastery, Middleton, Wisconsin
March 6, 2012 ~ Photo by John-Brian Paprock


Thursday, October 20

Native Honor and Faith in the Mountains

How many generations in this country before one can say he is Native American?" I asked an Obijwe elder in Lac Courte Oreilles tribal reservation several years ago.

Native America from Black Hills of South Dakota to the Rocky Mountains of Idaho
photos by JBP 2006
When one loves this land like their mother, that is when he is Native as we are Native to this land," he said. He went to explain that loving the land was a wholistic integration with one's environment, both spiritual and physical. I have learned to walk spiritually in the natural world by engaging physical senses and spiritual awareness. It is not that different from walking in the man-made world, whether religious or secular. I have had powerful spiritual experiences where the natural world meets the world of humans in the honoring of sacred places, the building of sacred space and the simple harmonious interaction with the world around us.

Medicine Mountain, Big Horn Mountains, Wyoming
photos by JBP 2006
I am not sure what makes a place more sacred than another, but everyone should take a pilgrimage to any of the sacred places in North America. And just be there for a while.

My family and I had decided to drive from Madison, Wisconsin to Spokane, Washington for a small conference. I looked at maps and websites for interesting places we could stop, knowing the sacred has been recognized and marked by those that have gone before us.

There are a few native sacred sites that are protected by law.  There are others that are protected by secrecy. In the middle of the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming, high above almost everything else and several miles off from the parking lot, is the Medicine Wheel National Monument. It is an ancient ceremonial or astronomical site situated on a narrow ridge atop Medicine Mountain almost 10,000 feet above sea level.

Medicine Wheel aerial photo by Airphoto 2002
By ancestry, I am an American mutt, a human of mixed blood and genetic heritage.  If I was a pie chart, I am mostly of European ancestry, but have roots into the beginnings of the United States and Canada.  My great-great grandmother was native of the Mic Maq tribe in the Maritime Provinces of Canada.  I grew up largely unaware of this. I found out later that this was mostly due to a racial shame that was not discussed openly by my mother's family.  Blond and blue-eyed, my European ancestry was more obvious anyway. The Ojibwe always reminded me that I am "cha-mok-a-mon" - white man (literally "long knife" from first encounters with French trappers who carried a long knife).  Nevertheless, the Ojibwe elders helped me integrate many of the fractured pieces of who and what I am, have been and will become.

In the Black Hills of South Dakota is a place of ethnic pride. Crazy Horse Mountain honors Native America and is the vision of a Polish sculptor and his family!  Both sides of my family tree fully engaged in a mountain. I still smile when I consider the unusual ethnic combination outside of my family of origin.

We decided to stop at the Medicine Wheel high in the mountains.  The parking is several miles from the site. The walk is a continually climb, we were accompanied by yellow-winged grasshoppers that would click as they flew along the rocks. There were mountain flowers in bloom and a variety butterflies.

At the wheel, which is at at the edge of the mountain.  There is very little higher.  There was a sign and a national park ranger.  The sign was clear, only native americans were allowed into the actual wheel.  I spoke to the ranger and was allowed to enter into the center.  There, I prayed.

Five years later, there is a part of me still praying at that mountain top. 

Tuesday, September 27

Clarity and Reflection at Equinox

Fall Begins in a Reflection
Photograph by John Brian Paprock
Lake Wingra, Madison, Wisconisn 
September 2011

Upon the mirrored skin of a lazy creek at the edge of a spring-fed marsh lake, in a few fleeting moments, what is above can be seen in that which is below.

This has always been a reflecting time for me. A time for me to see things that have been in a new light, even as the day hours equal the night. 

From this time until the March equinox, we will be in natural darkness more than natural light.   

The light of the sun is precious and its lingering beauty moves to the southern horizon. 

At this time, the leaves begin their transformation. Their last breath, a punctuation of beauty that colors the trees in a broad paintbrush across the northern lands. 

The harvest begins in earnest as scholars erect pillars of academia.  All Hallow's Eve is around the corner and the Saints await our pleas for security. 

In reflection, at the changes of this season, we remember the places we died and the moments of our mortality.  And we reach for eternity in the light of fading days.

written near the autumnal equinox of 2011 by John-Brian Paprock  

Tuesday, June 21

Cathedrals are where Bishops and Angels sit in Los Angeles

Exterior of the impressive St. Leon Armenian Cathedral in Burbank
photos by John-Brian Paprock
The interior of St. Leon Armenian Cathedral in Burbank is inspiring.
photos by John-Brian Paprock
Los Angeles translates from Spanish to "The Angels."  In this megalopolis world city made of cities within cities, county lines that blur in the surrounding mountains, angels dwell. Certainly, they dwell in churches.  Cathedrals are churches that are elevated to a status of being the dwelling of bishops.  Usually at the population center of a bishop's diocese, they are usually known as large ornate edifices.  Every Orthodox and Catholic church usually has a bishop's seat, a large chair for the bishop when he visits and presides over liturgical functions. A cathedral is his permanent "seat." The faithful were encouraged to make a pilgrimage to their diocesan cathedral. Now, most cathedrals are welcoming of visiting faithful and open to others to visit.  During a September 2010 visit to Los Angeles, my wife and I were able to visit three cathedrals: St. Leon's Armenian Orthodox Cathedral, Our Lady of Angels Catholic Cathedral, and St. Ephrem Syriac Orthodox Cathedral.

These three were convenient "along the way" diversions; the kind of diversion from other items on a tourist itinerary that I have grown to appreciate.  My wife has learned to trust my intuitive and curious planning of such "along the way" diversions. There are always discoveries and insights when we allow our journey to include such sacred places.

We drove up on the Armenian cathedral  (pictured above) in the morning. I had heard that there were native Armenian stone craftsmen working on the building and on kachkars  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khachkar

Kachkars are large ornately carved stone crosses. It was relatively quiet there as workmen were putting finishing touches.  The Cathedral Stone Crosses were blessed and dedicated in a ceremony presided by the Armenian Bishop. http://www.armenianchurchwd.com/st-leon-cathedral-cross-stones-khatchkars-to-be-consecrated/

It was nourishing to wander around the Cathedral with so few people around; to be filled with the fragrance of incense from morning prayer and surrounded by ancient symbols of Christianity in such a modern building. The stone cutter did not speak English very well and I do not speak Armenian, but he was able to communicate that he was 4th generation craftsman. I was able to communicate how blessed I felt to touch the cross shapened by the loving and spiritual craft that is uniquely part of Armenian Orthodoxy.

Some may not fully understand the need for such monuments of the ancient church in the face of other needs. But when done correctly, a cathedral is not a museum of artifacts and history. It is a living spiritual and sacred space that can enrich and empower the seeker and the knower to climb to greater heights. At least, that is what they should do.  In the Orthodox and Catholic traditions, the creation of sacred space with sacred art and liturgy is so integrated with the spiritual life that they are inseparable.  As large as they can be, there is no "big box" church mentality.  Without the spiritual atmosphere integral to building space for the sacred to exist in this secular and material existence, all buildings made by man are empty and hollow structures that emphasize the profane or the secular or worse.  Nevertheless, inspired architecture can transcend purpose and bring us closer to the sacred regardless of human use.

So, the church building or the cathedral is intended to be a place that outwardly interacts with the world that surrounds it and hopefully can be a beacon of spiritual light and goodness in the neighborhood. Inwardly, from the Orthodox and Catholic perspective, it must be a place akin to heaven, like a ladder that leads the mind and heart upward even as the eye wanders to the pinnacle of the cross.
 
Of course, the City of Angels would have a Catholic Cathedral dedicated to the Lady of Angels in downtown LA
photos by John-Brian Paprock
Where the Armenian Cathedral is brand new, yet brings a deep sense of personal nourishment by tapping into the deep reservoir of the ancient faith of the Armenian people, Our Lady of Angels Catholic Cathedral in downtown Los Angeles carried its tradition in a modern context. The beautiful abstract architecture almost pulls one from the purpose of the building, were it not for the nuances of more intimate spaces where pieces of the extensive Catholic heritage of Los Angeles can be seen and felt. The angel theme is played over and over again, along with other Catholic themes.  We happened to visit during a ceremony for the Knights of Jerusalem, and the solemn public ritual was filled with reverence, even from the distance we watched. 

I found great comfort in the old statue of Our Lady of Angels, with cherubs dancing around and under Mary's cloak as she holds the baby Jesus. I remembered spending a long time looking at each of the cherubim and their faces when I was a child. Those child faces of the cherubs seemed safe and protected in the folds of Mary's cloak. Until I saw it at this visit, I remembered it as a dream or an image from a movie. Seeing it again, brought back a feeling of protection and safety I felt those times my family would visit the cathedral during the early 1960s. Regardless of my childhood tragedies, traumas and difficulties, I always felt there was an angelic presence that preserved me. That familiar feeling came back to me at this cathedral in that intimate side altar where this historic statue was kept behind plexiglass.  It was difficult to photograph at all - even harder when my eyes teared up over and over again.  

Angels are the theme, but the well-used grounds were filled with other art and beauty.
photos by John-Brian Paprock (except worship photo by Teresa  Paprock)
 Perhaps St. Ephrem Cathedral is more modest in physical comparison with the other cathedrals we visited, but the spirit was strong in more intimate places. We missed morning services and arrived to find the building empty, yet a door was open.  It was a welcoming experience even without the attendance of clergy.  We even looked for clergy and knocked on several doors, but the nursery school and day care providers were the only people there and had their hands full with the children. It was clear that this community service was integral to the Cathedral's work in the neighborhood, as the children were as diverse as the surrounding urban society.  

The Syriac Orthodox Cathedral of St Ephrem in Burbank
photos by John-Brian Paprock
The interior of St Ephrem Cathedral  in Burbank  is full of intimate spaces
photos by John-Brian Paprock
It was the intimacy that gave us comfort in our prayers at the Cathedral. We lit candles and added our prayers to the space already filled with prayer and incense earlier. It was as though we were able to participate in the spiritual extensions of those prayers.  I have had this experience before in sacred places - time collapses and the beneficent quality of all the prayers, hopes and dreams in that place are almost tangible. Every place dedicated to bring us closer to sublime divinity should evoke such feeling. The truth is that they are not all so blessed.  After visiting thousands of historic churches and sacred places of diverse traditions and even religions, there is something of a mystery in the reason that some places are spiritually enriched while others are spiritally bankrupt. Sometimes, the presence of holy ones can be felt like angel wings glancing the cheek can felt if one can be quieted and centered and willing to be spiritually nourished.  I am glad in my heart that most of these places are still available and open to the seeker and the knower. I am glad in my heart that we had the chance to visit many of these special places, including the three Cathedrals of Los Angeles. If every place and time could be so nourishing, so nuturing, so compelling, so transcendent, then perhaps humanity would not need these places of angels and bishops to remind them of the deeply spiritual reality always available to us if we seek to know it.

Friday, June 17

The Missions of Southern California

[All photographs in these collages are by John-Brian Paprock, except those by Teresa Paprock. - September 2010 - all rights reserved]

Mision de San Juan Capistrano - Teresa got a great picture of John-Brian taking pictures.
 At the beginning of September 2010, I was given the opportunity to visit Southern California.  It was both exhilarating and difficult, being a place of my early childhood that I had not returned since the middle of 1966. We moved to the Windy City, Chicago - close to the childhood home of my mother who spent her entire childhood in Oak Park.  My father was raised in the Detroit area.  So, as I planned the trip, I had the business of the trip that needed time and attention. There was family, paternally on my side and maternally on my wife's side, and there was the places and spaces, the nooks and cranies, that teased my memory of my earliest days.
 
A few of the places I recalled were the Missions that established the pathways and towns of a coastal land that eventually became known as Cailfornia.  Especially fond memories of San Juan Capistrano, even though we went at the wrong time of year to see the swallows when I was a child.  So, even though my wife and I arrived at the proper time of year, the swallows had long since moved to other more stable nesting sites.  Nevertheless, the Mision de San Juan Capistrano continued to have the familiar forms that I recalled, even as there were developments and changes.  The Mission is a national treasure, full of spiritual light and perfumed with the prayers of millions who have made the pilgrimage.

The Mission church maintains its historic ambience while being a fully functioning Catholic chapel where people of all faiths have been sending their prayers to heaven - so many prayers that it seemed, in some places, to have worn down the veil that separates this world from that divine abode. With our own prayers on our lips, we also lit candles at San Juan Capitrano.


The dedicated chapels at San Juan Capistrano include the Shrine of St. Peregrine, healer of cancer, whose staute is worn where the faithful have reached out to the marble to touch the saint. Teresa captured a wonderful photograph of faith lighting candles with John-Brian looking from behind the candle box. 
 It was a beautiful, very hot day. The exterior with the mission bells and arches seemed to glow in the sunlight.




Mision de San Juan Capistrano - September 2010

 On the drive from Orange County to a family visit in San Diego area, we were able to visit two more Missions.  Mision San Luis Rey, which I remembered from my childhood.  And Mision San Diego de Alcala, which I have a vague memory of stopping at when my Grandfather lived in San Diego. It was a special way to be reunited with the first part of the world I ever knew.



Mision San Luis Rey features Native American baths with open mouths for water.  I immediately remember my father's fascination and remember trying to see what he was seeing.
 

We arrived in San Diego a bit later than we hoped but we were still able to see the architecture and charm of one of the principal missions that formed California.

Even with a very warm day in September, some of the locals greeted us.  Koi from the fountain pond at San Jaun Capistrano. The others from the walk to the ancient baths at San Luis Rey 


Sunday, March 6

Foggy New Year

The foggy night was an early January thaw this winter.  On December 31, 2010, I stepped out into a magical chill with lights coloring the night and brought my camera to capture some of the beauty. It reminded me of my youth when the quiet of night was a time of reflection and solace from a chaotic home.  The beauty of night is in the lights, not the darkness.

Saturday, February 19

Ancient Places - Sacred Places

I don't know when the convergence of the ancient and the contemporary began to inspire me.  Perhaps it was those spiritual breezes in a place that seemed to bring me to another time. The kind of breezes, that when I close my eyes, I can see, feel, smell, and hear the murmurs of history reverberating through the very atmosphere of a place.  Perhaps, what is most enduring to me is also most endearing.

In every place, especially every place where human feet have trod, there is a story: there is history; there is legacy.  Sometimes all that is left is the name of a place; perhaps, a few symbolic markers or trinkets.  Sometimes the natural beauty of a place is breathtaking.  Sometimes the human craft, architecture and artistry combined, to create a sense of awe. Sometimes, it is the story or the purpose that can propel a person through time, transcending the normal barriers of linear extistence. The age of structures is not important as the transendence of time, the reaching beyond this current life, is not about age, but about spirit. So, when I travel, I usually research the area, the city, the region for those places of history - but always looking for that place of transcendence.

I believe everyone should be conscious of their own history, their family history, their ancestry.  Also, I  believe it is important to be conscious of the history of the land where one lives, knowing all the sacred places and places of spiritual healing and refreshment.

This led me and my wife on a journey to write a book on sacred places of all the people where we live. Well, we thought of the Midwest primarily - starting in our own back yard: Wisconsin.  Over ten years ago, I began indepth research of historic and ancient places of religious and spiritual significance in Wisconsin. This resulted in the book by my wife Teres and I called "Sacred Sites of Wisconsin," published at the end of 2001 by Wisconsin Trails Books - ten years ago.  Later, we did the same for Minnesota.  I began researching other states (Iowa, Illinois and Michigan primarily), but the publisher changed hands and the plans were postponed. 

My wife thought of all those photographs I took of all the places we had visited in 2000.  She suggested a photography book in honor fo the tenth anniversary of "Sacred Sites of Wisconsin."  So, I have been working on that in between other projects, uploading a few thousands 35mm negatives with mixed results.  Hopefully, we will have something soon.

Since that experience, almost every trip we have taken has included some sacred places - and I bring my camera.

Trail Books was eventually  bought by Big Earth publishing in Colorado.

Both books are available at all the major book outlets on the web, including Amazon.com  or contact us: inroads@minister.com

Friday, September 17

cedar sun memorial

Recorded July 15, 2010 at the memorial arbor vitae (cedar) planted at the time of my mother death on the tenth anniversary of her death. It was peaceful and quiet, a bird was singing, and the wind blew the cedar fragrance around.

Miriam Nancy Jean (nee) Summers died July 15, 2000. Four arbor vitae were planted for each of her adult children. They are part of a church arboreteum in Madison, Wisconsin. My mother loved the beauty of nature.This is a tribute to the beauty she taught me to see, hear, feel... It's only a few seconds are recorded as I recorded with the digital camera.

These cedars were planted ten years ago. They were barely knee high then.  Now, they are large enough to give me a hug.  Reflecting on the light filtering through the cedar branches, I was struck by the beauty. Sometimes it is in the diffused light, the filtered solar intent, that we can appreciate the source of life.  And, in this case, the maternal source of my own life.  After ten years, I miss her. I would not have wanted her to live the painful cancerous existence and delirum that was most of her final days, but sometimes I want to revert to a childhood moment when all I needed was my mother's attention.  I remember her motherly affection, her love and nuturance at the painful times that with a single hug and kiss, and maybe a sweet lullaby, the whole world with all its mean kids and skinned knees was safe.  She would beg her to sing a song that she learned from her grandmother (nee Morris), the Four Leaf Clover Song. My fondest memories are of this lullaby and my mother playing a n ylon stringed guitar and singing in her rich opera trained voice. I don't know if the song had another name, but we added it to her obituary ten years ago. I sung it to my son every night throughout his childhood - most of which he has known without his grandmother.     
FOUR LEAF CLOVER SONG
~ Irish Folk Song ~

Oh I know a place where the sun is like gold
And the cherry trees bloom like snow
And down underneath is the lovliest nook
Where the four leaf clovers grow

One leaf is for faith and one is for hope
One is for love, you know
But God put another there just for luck
If you look, you will find where they grow

But you must have faith and you must have hope
You must love and be kind and so
If you watch, if you wait, you will find the place
Where the four leaf clovers grow

Thursday, August 19

Great Lakes - Touching the Water

Touching the water of all the Great Lakes was done in memoriam of my father, Nathanael Kenneth Edward Paprock, who was born in Detroit, lived more than two thirds of his life around the Great Lakes, and, as a young man, he joined the US Navy. He loved the lakes and the water and the beauty.  He died in Texas 1st of April, 2009. 

These images are from two road trips taken in May of 2009 and July 2010.

In May 2009, we went from Madison to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to Chapel Rock on Lake Superior shore - then to the Mackinaw Straits, which connect Lake Huron to Lake Michigan. The next day we went to Indiana Dunes on the southern shore of Lake Michigan.



In July of 2010, we went from Madison to Detroit, the Detroit River, Belle Isle and Lake St Clair - which is between Lake Huron and Lake Erie. Then north to Port Huron then across Ontario's southern shores to Niagara River, the Falls and the Fort, which is on the southern shore of Lake Ontario. 


Then we went to Dunkirk, New York - a small city of my father's youth on the southeastern shore of Lake Erie.  On the route back to Madison along the southern shore of Lake Erie, we stopped at Erie, Pennsylvania and in Ohio: Cleveland for lunch (no pics), Marblehead and Kelly's Island, and the Glass Pavilion in Toledo.


These collages are from photos taken by John Brian Paprock (with those taken of John Brian by Teresa and/or Christopher).  All rights are reserved. 

Monday, August 2

Pilgrimage and Honoring Ancestors II

This summer afforded an opportunity to continue in honor and  remembrance of my father by visiting the remaining Great Lakes.  Shortly after his death in 2009, I was able to stop at Lake Superior, the Mackinaw Straits between Lakes Michigan and Huron, and the southern beaches of Lake Michigan at Indiana Dunes.

This summer, I talked my wife into visiting three Great Lakes, two countries, significant stops in four states and several large cities in a circumnavigation of Lake Erie.  Preparing for this journey, I had the good fortune of making internet connections to some cousins and second cousins which led to some genealogical information.   There is no question that my great-grandparents (on both sides of my father's family) were immigrants from Poland.  Back then it was divided up - most of Poland came under Prussian dominance. Among the first waves of Polish immigrants were my ancestors, coming to America at the end of the 19th Century. 

One of them settled in Poletown, a very large Polish neighborhood in Detroit.  My grandfather was born there at the edge of the 20th Century.  My father was born there in 1938 and all of his pre-college education was in the Detroit area. 

Another of them came through Buffalo, NY - where my eldest uncle was born in 1920.  But that Polish family eventually settled in Dunkirk, NY - where four of the six children of my father's family were born.

I found this out from a photograph of my father when he was a boy, smiling and genuinely happy.  The single word on the back was "Dunkirk."  My father rarely spoke of his childhood and then with disdain.  Throughout my childhood, we never made an effort to see any of the places of his youth.  As far I can tell, he never visited those places intentionally as an adult.

When I was a child, his parents and siblings all lived in southern California (or moved there).  My grandparents are buried in San Diego's military cemetery.

Nevertheless, we made the pilgrimage to the few addresses I could find from internet research.  Some of my siblings and cousins were excited and ask for "lots of pictures."

But, the trip had to have some adventure for my wife and son, being towed along on this pilgrimage.  So, we added visits to Motown and downtown Detroit, Belle Island, Port Huron, across the Ontario peninsula, Niagara, Buffalo, Erie (PA), Cleveland, and Toledo.  Although the last four ended up receiving only passing nods on the return to Wisconsin.

In the midst of everything, I became aware of a strange connectedness to a history my father barely mentioned and I rarely considered beyond a random Pollock joke.  My father did not pass along any tribal or ethnic pride. I am still uncertain about what my ancestry has to do with who and what I am today. 

It seems so distant.  Lake Erie could be on the other side of the world.  If it was, perhaps the pilgrimage would have had some greater exotica, some greater panache.  It was still an adventure.  And my family, my son, knows.  And we have touched the water of all the Great Lakes in honor of my paternal ancestry.

Monday, June 14

To My Son on His Graduation




June 13, 2010

Dear Christopher,

On your graduation day, I am so proud of you. You overcame obstacles and worked hard, in your own way and persevered. You found your voice and clarified your interests. I am impressed with the young man you have become. Still, I see the baby I held on my arm, the toddler I carried in a backpack, the boy I showed the amazing things of the natural world around us. I remember the summer I teaching you art and the first camera I gave you. We had many more good times than bad, more highlights than dark days, and we made it through difficulties smiling and joking, most of the time, eventually. I have been so honored to be your father through your childhood. It has been a pleasure to assist you in your endeavors and help you in your pursuits. Sometimes, I miss the little Christopher – I hope you don’t mind.

I am glad you have had so many opportunities to explore your skills and talents, but the fun has just begun! Although this day marks the completion of twelve grades of school, in many ways, you will find, your learning has just begun! It has been quite a journey for both of us and yet your journey has only begun! As you have grown (and continue to grow) in your individuality, your own person, I too have grown (and to continue to grow) in my own personhood. – I hope we both keep growing up as trees toward the sun. reaching higher every summer and stronger every winter.

There is so much more in my heart to share with you as your father. I wanted to share all of it now, but I cannot. I will always be your father, spreading my spiritual wings to guard you and shining a light ahead so that you can make the best decisions along the way.

As I write this, there is a little sadness alongside the tremendous pride I feel. It is only the realization that the boy that you were has grown up into the young man at the precipice of the future. But, in some ways, I will always see that little boy in you – hopefully, you will, too.

Congratulations my son, my precious one, my little megwich! You did it! You made it!

May God bless you now and always.

Love,

Dad

Friday, May 28

Conclusion of a Seventh Seven-Year Cycle

There I was, on the seventh day of the week, plumbing the depths of my experience, debating the rationale for my life, and trying to gauge the value of my efforts over the years. I have completed my seventh seven-year cycle. I have begun the eighth - which is also a return to the beginning.

In the natural world, every ending is only the beginning. Grab a hoop and hold it with one hand. Then trace the hoop. The end of the hoop journey is the beginning. This circular movement is what we call a cycle. The cycle in nature, where time and events are circular, is abundantly clear. We overlay a manner of keeping track of linear time - the calendar - lest we lose track of the length of history and the constant planning into the future. Without the calendar, with its dates and years, we would be compelled to continually live in the present with only reminiscent notions of legendary events and romantic intrigue of prophetic poetry.

The reckoning of days into weeks, months and years is inspired by the Creator, who created both the cyclic and the linear. The circle and line are our simplest and best symbolic representation. Often I find myself at the intersection of the circle and the line, a spiral in every direction I look.

In the beginning God said, Let there be light. And there was light! And God separated the light from the darkness. The light He called day and the darkness, night. And God said it was good. The evening and the morning were the first day. [paraphrase from Genesis]

The cycle of day and night was now quantified. The six days of creation and the day of God's rest became our weekly recount of creation itself. The orbits of the moon help to quantify the months. The fullness of the cycles of seasons help us to quantify the years. One after another after another. Seven days becomes seven years, and so on ad infinitum.

On this most recent anniversary of my birth, I was reflective and hopeful. Given the conclusion of a seven year cycle, I felt that most of the elements of my life were incomplete and un-concluded. I found myself hoping that all the difficulties, shortcomings, obstacles and tragedies would be left behind as I looked toward a horizon full of unobstructed light in the haziness of a pleasant summer afternoon.

God separated the light from the darkness and our eyes are completely oriented to the contrasts. Our eyes are so tuned that we are able to distinguish thousands of shades of gray. But in giving us light, God gave us the refracting light that spills the rainbow of color throughout the myriads shades of gray, making the subtlest of tint and tonal difference discernible. As an artist and photographer, I still prefer drama and romance of the obvious contrasts. Yet I am compelled and mesmerized by the details around me.

As I reflect on the amount of information from all my senses that is dumped into my brain to be labelled and placed into to pattern recognition boxes, I wonder about purpose and value. We tend to automatically filter this massive amount of details based upon our experiences, our education, our preferences. We are trained to ignore large portions of sensual data in favor of a limited set that falls into recognizable patterns. The older we get, the more we rely on these filters.

The sifting and winnowing of experience in linear history is essential for clarity of thought, intention and action. But the renewing of my senses, my mind, my soul is only possible in the cyclical and ever-present moment where encounter with the divine is truly possible.

Take a breath in a place of peace, where nature thrives in its rhythm of interconnecting circles of life, given by the light, the air, the water and the earth. Allow the natural cleansing action of your breath to renew the soul's life within you. ....and God breathed life into the man He created. [another paraphrase from Genesis]

As I have begun my eighth cycle, may I be energized for another seven by the renewal of the Giver of life. May I be able to discern the path ahead of me by the Giver of light. May I be refreshed by the gentle winds of the Holy Spirit so that I may be willing to accept new patterns of insight. In all of this, my greatest hope is to know the healing power of Love in every step I take into the future from this present place - so that all of broken creation may come to wholeness - that which I have encounter throughout the linear history of my life and that which I know only through the encounter of others.