Hardy begonia

We recently received a letter from someone who last visited Light Morning 15-20 years ago. She was reaching out, in a time of need, to a place and a group of people that she had obviously harbored in a sheltered area of her heart for a long time. Below are a few brief passages from her letter, followed by Joyce’s response.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten me after all these years, and I hope you won’t mind too much if I write to you regarding some of the things I’m concerned about again. I have no idea what any of you must think of me, but I’ve always felt a special bond toward all of you and have felt closer to you in certain ways than to anyone else or any other group of people I’ve known in my lifetime…

“I’m extremely depressed, have given up all hope, and can’t even find the motivation to meditate any more. This is a surprise to me because I’ve waited for these “end-days” all my life, knowing that it would mean a new beginning for an ideal world. I know that a large part of my grief is that I’m grieving with the spirit of Mother Nature. But this feeling of hopelessness is fairly new to me…

“I don’t mean to take advantage of your kindness, but I truly feel you are my brothers and sisters and I really need some help. I feel that God has forsaken me! Please write back if you get a chance. I trust you fully and care about you, even though I never see you any more. I hope you can feel the same toward me.

“P.S. Hope you can read this! I got a thorn in my finger today from the garden and can’t get it out.”

It was so good to get your letter, despite the pain. I am sitting here at my desk, watching several spicebush swallowtails working the hosta and the coneflowers outside my window. The beauty is intense, yet carries with it the sadness of which you speak. How long can Nature tolerate our foolishness? Will everything so fragile and precious be destroyed? Or will we somehow “get it” before it’s altogether too late?

No easy answers for me, I’m afraid. I do believe in the immense power of Good. Things look mighty grim, but somehow I do expect a turning. It seems we rarely turn voluntarily, so I expect some awful times. People hurting badly. Looking (finally!) with the clear eyes and hearts that so often accompany grief. And wanting to be part of that goodness.

I need to be ready, then, to show folks the beauty that I’m still seeing. So I try to keep myself in good enough shape to still be seeing it. There are times I lose sight of it-even now, with all the caring and the exquisite beauty surrounding me. So I know it’s a tough assignment.

I’d be lost if I were alone. I’m glad you reached out for support. For you to know we’re here, and for us to know that you’re there, and that lots of other folks are spread around in various obscure nooks and crannies of this planet-this is helpful; maybe even enough.

I’m one who needs regular reminders of what this goodness is about, so I choose to live with people who prioritize holding this awareness. Most people can’t live in a communal setting like this, but they do want to touch base from time to time. So we keep Light Morning open, during the warmer months of the year, for people to visit. A few days. A few weeks. It can help.

Perhaps what I’m trying to say is that the planet will reflect back to us our personal despair. To the extent that we give up, we will see Her giving up. Our constancy in the face of darkness, therefore, becomes an act not of denial, but of defiance. You are a warrior! Don’t go under! It’s important!

We rely pretty heavily these days on our dreams. Also on meditation. When we get out of whack, we hustle up to Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts, for an incredibly intense 10-day course at the Vipassana Meditation Center. It’s hard work, and I always sort of dread it, but it’s certainly effective. They don’t charge for this, by the way.

There’s another group in West Virginia, the Bhavana Society, who also offer meditation courses. (And likewise don’t charge.) We’ve never been there. I hear it’s not quite as grueling as V.M.C., but it’s still Vipassana, and still very good. Perhaps you could find your way to one of these places.

Or come visit us sometime, before you lose faith entirely. (Which I know you haven’t or you wouldn’t have bothered to write!) We still garden and chop firewood and all of that, though we also use computers now, and even have a web page (!) so that folks out there who are looking for support can find us.

We’re a mix of old and new; high tech and low. We’re building a big new community shelter called Rivendell that has several guest rooms, and plenty of room to dance, and we still hold pancake breakfasts every Sunday, as well as various other shindigs. And sometimes there are bears in the yard.

So come see us if you can. Meanwhile, may the creatures outside your window help keep hope alive in your heart. They are so beautiful. So precious. So are you!

Karen

How a visitor experiences Light Morning is a largely unpredictable meshing of the personal intent they bring with them, plus the “institutional” intent, or vortex, or energy field they find when they arrive. The former has to do with a visitor’s readiness and willingness to move into the “stretch zone.” The latter is a mysterious creature, shaped by the dreams and aspirations of all those who have touched or been touched by this place over the years. For Karen, these two intents came together in a surprisingly powerful way. She shared the following story toward the end of her most recent visit.

For me, visiting Light Morning is like eating potato chips. I can’t have just one! Within the past year I have visited three times. And I feel pretty sure that I’ll be back again.

The first visit was quite brief. My partner, Bob, and I had been visiting another community in the county and were on our way to visit yet another in West Virginia. Just before we left, though, a friend suggested that we check out Light Morning. He felt that we might have some things in common with them. We must have left three messages on their voice mail that day in hopes of stopping by on our way to West Virginia. Robert finally returned our calls that evening, invited us to lunch the next day, and emailed directions.

The drive to Light Morning was an adventure-a lot of curvy, back-country, mountain roads. “They sure are ‘out there’,” we thought. We parked and walked down the drive to the community shelter. Robert met up with us and gave us the short, “10-cent tour” of the grounds, filling us in on as much of the history of the place and the people as he could in the brief time we had before lunch. It was autumn, the trees were at their peak of color, the weather was perfect, and the grounds were beautiful.

Then we sat down to lunch. We had brought our “community booklet” as well as a short resume, which we shared with everybody. During lunch, Joyce, Robert, and Ron were very interested in finding out more about who we were and what our passions are. The food was delicious, thanks to Jonathon, the cook and gardener, who hurriedly said hello before he left for his chess-teaching job in Roanoke.

Everyone was so friendly and easy to get along with, surprisingly so for having just met. I felt like I had landed on another planet. Or better yet, into a magical fairyland. After hugs all around, and the precious gift of a freshly picked persimmon, we were on our way. I felt like I was walking on air and was filled to overflowing with positive, bubbly feelings. This was definitely a place I wanted to explore further, as did Bob.

We got to the next community in West Virginia and immediately decided to drive home. Once home, Bob and I both wrote letters to Light Morning expressing our desire to visit for a couple of weeks or so. Unfortunately, it was late October and their visitor season was ending. Unless we could visit within the next few weeks, we’d have to wait until the spring. We decided to wait.

In the meantime, we corresponded with Joyce, Robert, and Jonathon, getting to know each other a little better as well as finding out more about Light Morning. We planned on visiting for two or three weeks in May. May rolled around pretty quickly. Bob’s landscaping business got really busy, so he decided to wait until possibly August to visit.

I couldn’t wait! I had been looking forward to this visit all winter, so I decided to go alone. The first week I was mainly getting used to being in a new place and plugging into the routine. I was overwhelmed with all the attention everyone gave me, as well as their interest in finding out all about me. I was not used to talking and sharing so much about myself. I probably talked about myself more in that week than I usually do within a year!

I was also not used to spending that much time with so many other people. At home, I spend most of my time alone at work, or home with or without Bob. I was actually relieved when another visitor arrived so that I wouldn’t feel like I was on the “hot seat” anymore.

By the second week I was in the groove and enjoying myself. By the beginning of the third week I was getting a little homesick. That last week flew by, of course, and when the time came to leave I was wishing I could stay longer.

Returning home was quite an experience. It felt like culture shock. I live just outside a big city, so all the noise, pollution, cars, and congestion were suddenly intense. Bob and I were happy to see each other and I was overflowing with things I wanted to share. I realized that I had learned a lot about myself and had grown so much during my three weeks at Light Morning. I wrote him a 15- page letter; a summary of the journal I had kept during my visit.

Bob was overwhelmed with all the information. He was possibly feeling a little threatened, too, that I had had such a great time alone, away from home, and that I was already wanting to return to Light Morning for a longer, two-month visit, most likely during July and August-just three weeks away. So we spent the next few weeks trying to get back on line and in the groove, so to speak. Meanwhile, I was communicating with everyone at Light Morning and preparing for my next visit.

My intention for a longer visit was to more fully explore what life is like at Light Morning; to find out more about the place, the people, and their purpose. It sounds pretty simple, but boy, I sure didn’t know what I was getting into!! My earlier, three-week visit had been like a “honeymoon,” while my current visit has literally and figuratively been more like “living together.”

Spending two months here has given me a clearer perspective on what living at Light Morning is really like, as well as who these people really are. We got to share some of our shadow sides, our “bad” days, our struggles and triumphs, our daily habits, both good and bad, and our pet peeves. (Everyone knows the “best” way to clean the dishes and, of course, they’re all different!)

If I thought I had discovered a lot about myself during my three-week visit, I have learned a ton during this visit. I now have enough material to sift thru, work on, and resolve for possibly the rest of my life! Early on in the visit, during a conversation with Jonathon, it became clear that this was a good place for me to work on any problem areas in my life, and especially in my relationships. So I jumped right in and started sharing the troubles that Bob and I had been experiencing.

All of a sudden Light Morning (both the place and the people), as well as my dream world, turned into a forum for working on my relationship issues. I was sucked into the “vortex” that Robert had mentioned was here; a vortex that tends to bring up peoples’ unresolved issues in such a way that they can be processed right away. My feeling at first was, “Sink or swim!”

The amount of time, interest, and help that everybody gave me as I worked on my issues and dreams was tremendous! It felt like these people, whom I had only known for a few weeks, were suddenly becoming the best friends I’d ever had. If there’s ever a place to be pulled into this vortex and be “compelled” to work on one’s unresolved issues, this is the place. Which is probably why so many people have a similar experience whenever they spend a good chunk of time here.

Aside from the daily schedule of bread labor, meditation, and meals, then, much of my time has been spent on discovering repetitive patterns in my life, especially in my relationships, and realizing what initially caused the patterns to be created. Surprisingly enough, many of my realizations grew out of working with my dreams. Before coming to Light Morning, I had almost no appreciation for how much the dreams that I wake up with in the morning could help me deal with the problems that I face in my daily life. Now I’m hooked! Never again will I discard my dreams as useless and irrelevant.

All these discoveries have given me a new perspective on my relationships both with other people and with myself. I’m beginning to see that, ultimately, my relationships with others are an outward reflection of my inner self. On the one hand, it’s overwhelming to acknowledge that I am responsible for whatever occurs between me and another person. Yet this same realization also gives me the power to re-create and transform myself, and, in so doing, to re-create and transform all my relationships with others. The true challenge will be keeping this knowledge alive and present on a day-to-day basis; to use it as a theme to live by; and to find other people who are supportive of and open to this perspective and this work in their own lives.

The inner work I’ve been doing here at Light Morning has been very challenging. At times, I’ve felt as though I’m on an emotional roller coaster. In fact, it got so intense at one point that I decided to “take a break” by visiting a friend in a nearby city and watching movies for a couple of days! Yet I am truly excited about the growth, the knowledge, and the healing that I’ve gained. I know I’m a better person for it. I also know that my own healing and growth will ripple out towards everyone in my life and, possibly, from them to others, and then on and on, like dropping a pebble into a pond.

So during the last week of my most recent stay here, would I say it is worthwhile to make the time to visit Light Morning? Definitely! I would encourage anyone interested in community life, in sustainability, and in dreams, meditation, and other forms of spiritual practice to check out the life and people of Light Morning. Just be prepared (especially if you’ll be here for any length of time) to grow and to learn a lot about yourself and about how you create the world around you!

Maybe I’ll even see you here!

Summer fruit

Every community, I believe, weaves an intricate web of forces that strive to maintain an equilibrium of magic. Over time, a community develops a sense of identity and purpose. Much like an ecosystem’s complex, self-regulating system of checks and balances, it will preserve its core focus, sometimes even in the face of drastic interference.

Though I suspect this is true for other intentional communities as well, my observations grow out of my experiences here at Light Morning. In particular, it has been fascinating to watch how my community has adapted and preserved its unique qualities through a tumultuous influx and exodus of new members over the past couple of years. My hope is that by better understanding the patterns and purposes that flow through this place, we will realize our individual and collective potential more clearly, thereby enhancing the magical environment that sustains us.

It is quite challenging to describe the magic at Light Morning. It sometimes feels as though one is living out the life of a character from a great novel, in which the imagery, symbols, plot, setting, themes, and other literary elements all support and complement the protagonist as he or she grows, changes, and develops, often in the face of personal crises. I used to feel that such novels, though aesthetically pleasing, were ultimately too contrived, since the synchronistic events of the stories seemed too perfect to represent the reality of our chaotic, insignificant lives. Light Morning has shown me otherwise.

Through years of careful effort and attention, an emerging consensual reality has constructed a spiritual oasis here, where the boundaries between the inner and outer worlds, between who we are and what we see, begin to dissolve. It’s not that we use mysterious psychic powers to create lives more steeped with meaning. Rather, I have discovered that we naturally live in a world that is so imbued with interconnectedness that, with but a modest investment of interest and observation, we suddenly realize just how special our lives truly are.

Surrounded by a culture, however, that appears bent upon distracting us from the deep significance of daily life, it takes a concerted effort to stay awake to this subtle, indigenous magic. Indeed, I am still shocked to find how quickly I am swept into the old, sleepy currents and routines whenever I leave Light Morning for any extended period of time. It is always with great relief that I find myself once again entering the beautiful cathedral of trees along our driveway as I return to this haven of awakening.

The beauty is seductive, often overcoming strangers as they round the last bend of the driveway, past the old pear tree, and see our new community shelter, overlooking the blue-green hills on the other side of Free State Creek. The well-kept buildings, lawns, and gardens are a subliminal, reassuring message that visitors, too, will be treated with special care here and that their own beauty, their own sense of purpose and belonging, will likewise emerge at Light Morning.

The more I dwell within this vortex, the more I appreciate how essential visitor flow is to maintaining the magic of my community. Which brings me to the hypothesis that visitors are such an essential component to our purpose here that the universe will contrive to maintain this flow even when external circumstances seem to resist. This phenomenon was strikingly demonstrated several years ago, during the dramatic arrival and subsequent departure of so many new residents.

Over the winter and spring of 1999 Light Morning tripled in size! It went from a community of six adults and one child to, at its peak, a community of fifteen adults and six children. (For a more complete account of what precipitated this sudden transition, see my article, “Adapting to Overnight Change,” in the Winter 1999 issue of “Communities Magazine”.) In short, it was a bold experiment, an attempt to break through a threshold that has historically kept Light Morning’s population at a low level.

Now that we are back down to five adults (our eldest member having passed on and our youngest having flown the nest), one might conclude that the experiment was a failure. While we did not achieve our intended objectives, the learning process was invaluable, revealing more of the mystery that keeps this place alive and humming.

In retrospect, I see that a pivotal point was reached when the community decided to close its doors to any more visitors, once its population had tripled. The founding members, overwhelmed by the sudden influx, had neither the time, the energy, nor the willingness to orient or coach anyone else. Most of the recently arrived residents, meanwhile, had their hands full trying to adapt to their new communal environment and had little or no interest in visitors.

One of them, however, was disturbed by this decision. Alan had been a friend of the community for several years. Significantly, both he and I had visited Light Morning prior to moving in, unlike the other new members who had never spent time here as visitors. Closing the door furthered Alan’s disenchantment, which culminated in his departure the following spring. By then, the rest of the recently arrived residents had either already moved on to other projects and places or were just about to do so.

Having lived in semi-intentional communal situations for the previous eight years I was familiar with such patterns of departure. Almost like a revolving door, one spins out and others follow. So with a painful sense of deja vu I watched as, one by one, all my potential partners left me behind.

How, you might wonder, did I manage to keep my spirits up and continue to stay anchored at Light Morning during this difficult time? Why didn’t I simply follow the rest of them out that revolving door?

What kept me connected was a transformative insight that came when one of the new families started to look elsewhere. I suddenly (and quite gracefully) realized that it was inappropriate for me to view all the new residents as future lifetime members of the community. Regardless of my original hopes and intentions, these people were truly needing to experience Light Morning as visitors, and, as such, they were behaving quite naturally.

They were, moreover, helping Light Morning to fulfill one of its basic missions–assisting people through transitional times by providing a supportive environment in which they can find their “path with heart.” This is precisely what I had signed up for when I chose to live at Light Morning. Once I was able to let go of my expectations and attachments that these particular people would be my long-term communal partners, I was ready and willing to help them find their best next steps.

Naturally, I had more than a few moments of sadness, despair, and regret. But to remain attached only fed my misery, while letting go and honoring these peoples’ emerging dreams and volitions allowed me to play a meaningful role as they envisioned their future. Indeed, I am always pleased and proud to hear of the positive steps my former fellow residents have taken since departing Light Morning, and I choose to believe that in some mysterious way their experiences here have helped inform the current direction of their lives.

In looking back, then, at our decision to cut off the stream of visitors during the flood-tide summer of 1999, it’s as though the intangible inner workings of Light Morning found a way to create visitors out of those already present during that tumultuous season. Perhaps this is a farfetched hypothesis, but of one thing I feel certain–a valuable service was rendered to each of the folks who graced our land, if only for a short while

It took some time for Light Morning to assimilate and recuperate from those two trying years and to clarify and renew its willingness to share the cocoon-like environment we’re spinning here with others. So the visitor door is once again open and is getting steady use. The flow seems just about right, neither too many visitors nor too few.

Ultimately, it’s only by patiently nurturing such a healthy, sustainable visitor flow that the next generation of this community’s core group members will be called to its vision. Those who respond to the calling, moreover, will need their invaluable visitor experiences to refer to as they negotiate the difficult transition to a long-term commitment. Visiting Light Morning, then, is not a stage which can simply be skipped over on the way to residency.

This was certainly true for me. My desire to create a warm, nurturing environment for our guests is a natural and direct outgrowth of the unconditional gift of love, concern, and attention that I received when I first showed up here as a visitor five years ago, with my marriage and life in disarray. The visceral appreciation I have for that gift, and for the magical equilibrium that’s at the heart of Light Morning, moves me to share it with others.