Everything That Lives Is Holy

Ninth and final page of my altered book: The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

The final quote in my book comes from William Blake's poem, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. I used this quote because it summarizes my altered book project so well. All that my eyes have seen and all that the eyes of those women represented in this book have seen is holy. We don't often think of suffering and pain as a holy experience, but it is. To sit with women's insanity and to hear their stories is a sacred experience. They are moments of holiness that shake the borders of God's kingdom. They are moments that rattle the doors and slap at the windows and demand entry into God's presence. And God makes space and breathes into those moments a holiness that defies corruption. Here is the quote from the final page of my altered book:

"For everything that lives is Holy"

The Eye Sees

Eighth page of my altered book: The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

The design of this altered book was inspired by William Blake. a 19th century poet and artist. He illustrated most of his poetry and then printed and published his own work. The quote comes from the title page of Visions of the Daughters of Albion. It sums up the contents of this altered book.

"The Eye sees more than the Heart knows"

An Ancient Beauty

Seventh page of my altered book: The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

Warning: This page contains profanities. Nevertheless, it represents some of the women with whom I work at the State Hospital. For them, there is no censoring of language when they are in the midst of their suffering and pain. And yes, some curse at God. Not because they don't believe in God but because they do, and they wonder what God is doing for them in their efforts to recover or be whole. They have been oppressed for so long that sometimes God seems to be an oppressor too. Much as they would like to believe differently, they struggle. And at times, it comes out loud, clear, and profane. Here is the poem:

An ancient beauty

Pees in her pull-up

Damn Mother Fucker Bitches

She glares at Jesus

And gouges her eyes

Her Golden Smile

Sixth page of my altered book: The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

I created this page with a particular woman in mind. A lovely woman whose mental illness often made it difficult for me to follow her story. But in the midst of her telling, I discovered one thing for certain. She loved God. She loved Jesus. There were times I met with her that I wanted a miraculous healing to take place. But of course, that didn't happen. Instead, I gave her my listening ears. And I listened hard because she had something to say no matter how unintelligible it may have been at the time. Here is the poem I wrote in her honor:

Her golden smile

Whispers absurdities,

Unholy prophecies.

Jesus hangs on her wall,

And with a darker eye,

She sees his mouth move.

Her Life is One of Destitution

Fifth page of my altered book: The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

There is something about being stuck in ways of living that attract hopelessness. When one is trapped in a body of emotional pain and suffering, escape feels impossible. How does one erase pain? How does one get out of the trap? When God is silent, what is a woman to do? She finds ways to cure herself in the only way she knows to survive.

This is the dilemma of many of the women in the hospital. They survive as only they know how and they hate themselves for it. This is their lament. Here is the poem for this page spread:

Her name is homeless PROSTITUTION.

Her life is one of DESTITUTION.

She cuts herself as a SOLUTION,

And looks to God for RESTITUTION.

God, Is That You?

Fourth page of my altered book: The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

One of the many things that leads to suffering is abuse, of all kinds. For many patients in the hospital, abuse began when they were children. The consequences of their abuse lives ever in their present. Their stories want to be heard. They want their stories to be heard. But too often their stories are full of fear and pain, and they cannot speak a word of them. So in behalf of those who are unable to speak their pain, I write it for them. Here is the poem from this page:

A footstep mars the hallway.

And darkness bars the doorway.

God, is that you?

Fear creeps into her bed

And abuses her head.

But her eyes stand wide open.

They Say She Has Delusions

Third page of my altered book: The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

Sometimes there is a kind of seeing that doesn't quite jive with what is supposedly reality. It's a somewhat distorted perspective, and yet this sort of twisted vision or view is very real to those who experience reality through a different lens. Speaking from my own experience, I can say that there have been moments when reality seemed so clearly to be a particular way only for me to discover at some time distant to the event, that what I thought was clearly real was a fabrication of my mind. And yet, I knew something in that moment. So who's to say what is real in any given moment. And do certain things not exist because I don't see them as another does? When I meet with patients, I do my best to respect their reality. It may not make a lot of sense to me, but their pain is real. Here is the poem from this page:

They say she has delusions.

There's a God conspiracy.

Was Jesus schizophrenic?

But she knows something,

By seeing sideways.

God Birthed Her

Second page of my altered book: The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

In my work, I see and experience a lot of tears. Too many tears. They are tears full of suffering, abuse, pain, fear, oppression, grief, and utter despair. Mostly, I can hold the space for all those bloody tears, but once in awhile I notice that inner stirring which tells me that a few of those bloody tears have gotten in and mixed with my own bloody tears. In those moments, I know what it is to feel the pain of being a human woman. Here is the poem from this page:

From Adam's clay womb

God birthed her

To weep bloody tears

From bloodied eyes

Into God's bloodied side

Patriarchal Muzzle

First page of my altered book: The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

This is the first page spread from my altered book, entitled The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity. It is based on my experiences with the women at the state hospital. The poetry does not represent any one single woman, but could represent all or some or a select few or perhaps two. The poetry reflects what I have heard and seen from their experiences. But the words are mine, an interpretation of sorts. It reflects my experiences of their experiences.

Be warned. Some of the page spreads are not easy to read. Some might offend. Some might disturb. One page spread contains uncensored expletives. Thus, you have been warned ahead of time.

Here is the poem on this page:

A patriarchal muzzle

Pierces her nose

And pinches her lips

The prophetic eyes

Speak silent sorrow

The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

Inside title page of my altered book: The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

This is the title page of my altered book. Its title is The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity. This book is a tribute to the women at the Oregon State Hospital. They lament for many reasons: rape, sexual abuse, prostitution, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, borderline personality, drug abuse, alcohol dependence, guilt, shame, oppression in many forms. This altered book gives voice to their cries as they experience and perceive the world. For today, enjoy the title page. More pages to be posted over the next few days.

An Offering from the Ash Heap

Reflections from the Ash Heap

My altered book: The Lamenting Prophetic Witness through the Eyes of Women's Insanity

In my work as a chaplain, I hear the pain and suffering of the mentally ill. In their voices I hear lament. Their lamentations are not intentionally directed toward God. At least, not usually. Nevertheless, their laments are directed God-ward. After all that is the reason they are talking to me. They want their pain to have meaning, purpose. Their suffering is so deep that for it not to have some meaning is too utterly dark and dreadful. And that's what lamenting does: it speaks out of that dreadful darkness, it speaks what the light dare not say. The lament is bold; it is risky. The lament is shameless because it has nothing to lose.

As a poet, William Blake gave voice to lament, and he gave that lamenting voice to women. The lament of women is frightening; it is shrill. The wail of a woman's lament cools the blood and raises chill bumps. Not long ago, Blake's poetry inspired an art project. I wanted to give voice to the women in the state psychiatric hospital. I wanted to give voice to their laments in the tradition of Blake. I did so via an altered book.

In this altered book, I use art and poetry to render an artistic expression of these women's voices, their lamenting voices. The art is my own and the poetry is my own, but my inspiration comes from the deepness of their pain, their suffering, their laments. It is a work that has the power to resonate with women everywhere.

Over the next week, I will be posting images from my altered book. It is my offering from the Ash Heap of this Lenten journey.