Autumn Leaves

"To be able to perceive how in the falling of the leaves the ascent of the spirit takes place, how the spiritual is the counter-manifestation of the fading sense-perceptible; this should as a perceptive feeling for the spirit — ensoul the human being in autumn! Then he would prepare himself in the right way precisely for Christmastide.” Rudolf Steiner

I am back in the States, my country is at least open for a few more months. I scheduled a brief rest before I go back to the rigours of daily living and survival, searching for a place to live, regular work and finishing the projects I started whilst in  Europe. One of the reasons I chose to stop for a while in New York was because Autumn is my least favorite time in Southern California where I have some business to attend to when I return. It is usually very hot, windy, full of fire and dust, and everything is a dull dry brownish tan. As I am feeling very rootless these days, the thought of being hot and dry was a bit more than I could take, so I decided to use a credit I had at a retreat center in New York State, just north west of the big city. Arriving in the city very early in the morning, was a bit jarring to my senses, because the port authority transit center felt a bit like I was in Las Vegas, so many lights. I could have eaten Chinese food or pizza at 5 am in the morning if I liked.

As soon as the bus left the city, I was able to breathe again, and the sunrise was beautiful. I kept thinking how amazing this land was before the Europeans mowed it down. The autumn leaves I longed to see did not disappoint, and the weather has been a spectacular warm and clear symphony of color. Such a contrast to the blaring lights and advertisements of the city. One visual I did enjoy was a marquis that flashed ads for upcoming events or popular sentiments. There is a play now in New York celebrating atheism "OMG There is No God" is the new sensation on Broadway. What followed the ad for that was another big ad that said, "To our atheist friends, thank God you're wrong." 

After I went to Sunday Services at the Spring Valley Christian Community, I was surprised that there were Michaelmass colors for the vestments. I then realized we were still in the Michaelmass season, I am still not focused on dates from all of my travel. As I walked to and from the dorm to the Church in all of the red and golden splendor, I felt an aliveness I have not felt in a while. Why, I thought, does this feel so alive when actually the trees are shedding their leaves, to go dormant for the winter?

In our current marketing of materialism, Christmas has been hijacked as a means to pay store rents for the entire year. Each year, it seems as if Autumn is skipped in order to start the drum beat towards "holiday shopping." One nationally syndicated radio station group starts with "Holiday" music it seems to me on November 1st, and only has a repertoire of about 10 songs they play incessantly. I usually reach my jingle threshold around mid December. The religious right screams about the "war on Christmas" and seems to think by making retail store personnel say Merry Christmas all will be made right in the world. As I was looking for a good quote for Michaelmass I came across the one at the beginning of this post.

I am always fascinated at how the adversaries distract from the Spirit and the Christ. Once, after I had returned to the states from living in Europe for a year, during the crush of Christmas I found sacrilegious. I thought how could this frenzy have anything at all to do with the hope and triumph that the Incarnation provided? And what of the preparation for the Christ? I just do not think this is what he had in mind. And now I learned, there is actually a beautiful way to prepare our hearts, to make room in the inn so to speak, for the Christ Child, and it involves the beautiful leaves I see before me.

We all fear death, but in essence, death is the opportunity to grow, progress and ultimately be with the Christ and the Father. Why is it we resist this so, why do we fear it? As the quote says, the leaves remind us, in the falling leaves is the ascent of the Human spirit. And not only do they remind of this, they do it in a blaze of color. 

The words of the Michaelmass service talk of the fact that Michael is the "Countenance of the Christ." He makes way for the coming of the Cosmic Christ. I am also starting to comprehend why the Archangel Michael is often portrayed with the Black Madonna. It seems as if it a double message, that we must prepare our hearts to encompass the Christ within. I can see now the falling leaves, in their blaze of color show us that the material, as beautiful as it is, can only be temporary, what is real and lasting is the Spirit. Focusing on this, to make room for the birth of the Christ Child, seems ever so beautiful and meaningful to me, it brings a new depth to this seemingly ignored season of preparation.

The Entrance to the Shrine at Czestochowa, The Archangel Michael over a Mosaic Black Madonna

I recall that blaring bill board in New York, proclaiming a new play on Atheism, and the message afterwards. I look at the glory in front of me, and Thank God, that he is real, he does exist in every cell, atom and ray light on earth. 

The Museum of Icons

Elusea Kikoska Prelip Icon Gallery

Each day I have been here in Prilep, I am treated to another cultural treasure of Macedonia. While the world is familiar with the incredible Christian treasures of the Vatican, Spain, Italy and France, what few appreciate is that the Slavic people, particularly those of the Southern nations actually made the flourishing of Western Christianity and it’s art possible. With the advent of Islam in the 7^th Century and the spreading of political Arabism that followed, the first line of attack happened in Eastern Europe. The Ottoman Turks occupied for some areas up to 600 years.

The Balkans lands were some of the first areas of evangelization by the Apostle Paul beyond the Palestinian territories. Today, you can read books and see maps of where Paul journeyed, where we see Ephesus, modern day Turkey and Macedonia. He visited these lands before his sojourn into Rome. One of the letters in the Revelation is also addressed by John to Macedonia.

I had the pleasure on my last extensive trip to Macedonia to go to the area where the Apostle Paul had a mission. It was a beautiful green meadow on the shore of a lake Palruci near Givgelia. 

There were signs everywhere, and I was told that there had been a monastery on the grounds dating from the fourth century, but the Bulgarians had decimated the ancient structure during one of the many wars fought on this land. Currently a combination of private and public efforts were trying to raise money to build a new church on the area, modeled after the original one, but as with many things to do with culture and history, we will have to wait for a while as other financial needs take precedence.

Site of Future Church commemorating the Apostle Paul's Journey in Macedonia

As my cousin takes her job as my personal tour guide for Prilep very seriously, and arranges daily excursions for me to local points of interest. I had the extreme honor of having a private tour of the local Museum of the Icon, or as the locals call it here, The Gallery of the Icon. We drove to the site, which happened to be across from the main church where my grandmother had been baptized. From the outside, one would hardly know what the building that housed the museum contained. The sign was small with missing letters, and externally the structure resembled a warehouse. The curator, who was waiting for us, greeted us with offers of thick Macedonian coffee and then let us into the main exhibition room.

Breathtaking hardly describes what was hidden inside this obscure building. An entire religious history of the Macedonian people sat quietly inside the hall. I had been visiting other shrines and monasteries surrounding Prilep, and a trend I had noticed was that the eyes of many of the frescos had been worn away. I attributed this to years of exposure to the elements. There was a large Icon of Christ in the museum collection that also had his eyes worn away. The curator told me that this was done by the Ottoman Turkish invaders, who actually feared the icon and felt that if the eyes were removed, then the power the icon had could be diminished. The curator went on to tell me that during the past century, over 100,000 religious books, Bibles and icons had been purposefully destroyed by the Greeks, Serbs and Bulgarians. I found this astonishing, since they are all Orthodox Christian nations. When I asked why, the curator smiled, answered while my cousin translated, “They wanted to destroy the soul of the Macedonian people, but we are not so weak, the essence of who we are survives.”

I am always moved by the severe cruelty of which humans are capable, particularly in the realm of faith. No religion is innocent of oppressing another religion, even within the same doctrine. It seems that part of warfare includes behaviors specifically designed to devastate the souls of the opponents. What can the inspiration for this be? As I gazed on the Icons dating from the 12^th century, knowing the turbulent history of the Macedonians, I started to think of the development of Christianity.

On another journey to China, I passed the time in the Airport waiting for my tour group to arrive reading about the history of the Christ Impulse in Russia. When the Czar at the time when Christianity was introduced to Russia felt there needed to be a unifying religion for the nation, he sent emissaries to visit Rome, Greece and Bulgaria. The emissaries experienced the rituals and teachings of Catholicism, Orthodoxy and Islam. The Russians chose Orthodoxy, because they felt the Iconography, music and contemplative nature of the ritual was the most beautiful when compared with Islam and Catholicism, the rest as they say is history. Orthodox Christianity is a very sentient religion; all the senses are awakened in the liturgy; music, icons, incense, the communion and the sacred kiss of the Icons. What I have noticed here is that the genuflecting includes the touching of the ground. For me this seems to be a recognition of the bringing of the Spirit through the human into the Earth, but that is just me, I have yet to ask someone why they do this.

As I walked through the Prilep Icon museum, the guide points out the particulars in each of the Icons, while my language skills are rudimentary at best; I find I understand conversations when I know something about the topic. As he describes the well-known attributes and narratives of Bible stories painted on these old Icons, and histories of the Saints, I understand most of what he is saying. What I particularly appreciate is how Mary is identified, as the “Bogoroditza” or God Birther. 

As my studies into the Black Madonna and significance of art as a revelation of the Spiritual World revealed, I marvel at this Macedonian term I have never heard before. I think of The Virgin of Guadalupe with her black sash around her waist indicating she is pregnant, and the flower over her womb, a glyph for the “Son of God.” My mind starts to whirl and reel with the significance and relatedness across continents and oceans of the spiritual symbolism  in Christian Art. My studies revealed The Madonna is the image and symbol of the highest capacity and perfection of the Human. My exploration into the significance of the Black Madonna indicated to me the symbolism of these works of Art; the message is we are to use our wills to birth the Christ within. Maybe my Macedonian roots have helped me with this insight, as they get right to the point and call Mary what she actually is, of what we are actually capable. We are to be God Birthers.

Maybe this is why humans inspired by evil destroy one another’s religious art. If you cloud another’s consciousness of what they are capable of, bringing the Kingdom of God to earth through your thoughts, feelings and deeds, if you take away the consciousness of the freedom this brings, then you can oppress completely. 

I think of the spate of Church burnings in the American South against African American congregations. I think of the bombing of the Birmingham Alabama church that killed four young girls. I think of the attempt of Communism throughout Eastern Europe that outlawed Christianity, and how my cousins in Bulgaria had to be baptized in a dark basement in the middle of the night for fear they would loose their jobs and benefits. I think of the insane self styled preacher from the Westboro Church who publically proclaims his desire to burn the Koran (which by the way a brave skateboarder whizzed by him and snatched the Koran before the preacher could torch it) And then I contemplate the growing cynicism and ignorance of the Christ by the young, the new evangelistic zeal of atheism. I received a post yesterday on my Facebook page from a dear young friend of mine; a proud atheist, and the picture showed a hospital nursery filled with babies in bassinets. The meme read, “All children are born atheists.” I thought to myself, how completely wrong, since babies are so close to the Spiritual world from which they came, and they are filled with Christ for the first three years of their lives until the "I" comes in and other things distract from our true nature.

Violence takes many forms, not all of them involving physical contact. What strikes me deeply is that by oppressing another’s faith and symbols of their true nature, the perpetrator is actually denying the existence of God. This denial is not only towards the victim, but also towards the self. The familiar “What would Jesus Do” is absent when you try to block another’s soul, their essence, their relationship with their source of life. This of course is futile, and always emboldens the oppressed. The Islamic nations seem resigned to extensive physical violence, but if one mocks their Prophet or disrespects their book, then it is a rallying cry to rise up. In the case of the Macedonians, the destruction of their churches and Icons only seemed to strengthen their resolve and dedication, but also in the things that are truly lasting. While sacred, Icons are simply paint on wood, but what they symbolize, the relationship between humanity and the divine, this is everlasting and can not be severed, even when the human dismisses the connection. Yet another great insight from my ancestors.

The original Christians who were severely and violently persecuted by Rome were thought to be crazy by their pagan neighbors. The persecutions were instigated mainly to draw attention away from the failures of the Roman government who was faltering under debt from extensive foreign wars (sound familiar?) The local governors protested the persecutions to Rome, mainly because the Christians were model citizens, they paid their taxes, were quiet and law abiding, and they also were very useful in that they cared for the poor and infirmed, really cleaning up the streets of the less fortunate and relieving the government of that responsibility. Rome was insistent, instituting laws requiring public sacrifice to Roman gods and Caesar. The Christians refused, and decades of violent repercussions followed. The Pagans constantly questioned them, why would you endure such torture, just sacrifice in public and be done with it? Why indeed?

The persecution of the Christians under communism is well known. I marvel that after only 23 years of the fall of the Soviet Union, the youth seem so disinterested in religion; some are even hostile to the practice. While in Russia the Church has taken on suppressive political practices, I do not see this here in Macedonia. When I consider the extent to which foreign invaders tried to destroy the Church here, I am taken aback as to how lightly the struggle for Christianity has been taken by the youth. And yet the people have endured, the beautiful Icons remain, and the Churches and Monasteries are open. My cousin told me that the Monasteries are where the young go to get off of recreational drugs. These reformed addicts tend to stay very close to the Church and serve her well. Maybe the rise and hollow lie of materialism has to be numbed with drugs, which are also a lie, and the wound can only be healed with intimacy and rituals of the Christ.

I come to an Icon with the face of a Black Christ on a cloak. Part of the local Christian Saint Lore, a holy man had no time to visit a sick parishioner. He took off his cloak, rubbed his face on it and gave it to the petitioner, who promptly delivered the cloak to the sick believer. He rubbed his face on the cloak and was instantly healed, after which the face of the Black Christ appeared upon the material. I asked the curator why the face was Black, was it intentionally painted Black or was this color due to age? The curator smiled and replied, “Christ was a Palestinian, he was naturally dark, and this is what he looked like.” Simple, direct, truthful, and full of faith. Maybe this is what happens when you watch your people’s cultural heart be decimated so many times. The curator smiled and said that many people have tried to destroy the soul of the Macedonian people but they are still here.

This obscure museum in a residential neighborhood has no parking lot, nothing to identify it unless you are looking. And yet, it has the largest and most valuable collection of Icons in all the Balkans. A Stark metaphor for the Christ actually, you only see him if you are looking. In Anthroposophy, we are taught that the Slavs held the line so to speak, at great cost, from the invading Turks, so that the Christ Impulse could flourish in Western Europe. The monasteries in Eastern Europe were the cradle of culture, seemingly standing still for centuries under Ottoman rule, and then Communist oppression. They are free now, testaments to the hope and endurance that Christ experienced and offers to us. The eyes of the Apostles and of Christ may be erased from past invasions, but the spirit remains, strengthened through centuries of unbelievable trials.

 Anthroposophy also teaches that the next cultural epoch will be Slavic centered. I think of this when I encounter my friends and family here, the future is here, forming. In some ways I see them taking the best of both worlds and melding it into a unique culture. I often feel this way myself, I have a Slavic heart and soul, but a western mind and will, I feel part of everywhere and yet I feel I belong no where, most of what inspires me is obscure and actually ahead of it’s time.

The challenge is for us all, to use our hearts, minds and souls, our thoughts, will and feelings to be as the Icons beckon us to be; God Birthers. Our next challenge is to recognize in our neighbor, the Christ that is trying to emerge, and to celebrate and honor this in the other. How different our world would be if we saw each of us as birther’s of God.

We were led out of the museum, the alarm was set, coffee was again offered, and we drove away from this incredible treasure of culture, of heart and soul, here in the rural Pelagonia tobacco growing center of Macedonia.

For more information on the tradition of Macedonian Religious Art http://www.academia.edu/3241204/Medieval_Tradition_of_the_Icon_Painting_in_Macedonia

Sunday Ritual

As an American, I keep wondering what is my culture. Years ago when I was working on a thesis, part of the query concerned the spiritual values of my culture. In older cultures such as the one I am visiting now, behaviors seem to be integrated into the fabric of life. In my culture we are constantly trying to invent our culture, and it is usually based on some sort of consumption. The two unifying events are Thanksgiving and the Superbowl, both of which involve contact team sport and gorging on food. At least the former involves sitting down to a table hopefully with loved ones.

This Sunday I accompanied my cousins to the cemetery. Every Sunday they go to the grave of her father and other relatives. I dutifully accompanied her, and as with everything else here, the events unfolded with no hint before hand. We went to pick up her mother, and then a neighbor and another cousin. I had only expected her mother. Each woman carried a bag filled with sweets, candles and cleaning supplies. The women exchanged greetings and traded candles and sweets with one another. As we entered the cemetery, there were roadside sellers that had flowers and candles. As we sat in front of the family plot and elderly man came and greeted our group, it seemed as if they knew him well, he gave them some candles and they in turn offered some sweets, which he gladly accepted.

I watched everyone; my family and others sweep and clean the tombstones. They brought bottles of water to douse the marble cases with, and each person had a small broom with which they swept away any leaves or dust. Some of the graves were from the 19^th century, others were fresh. Many of the tombs had pictures or etchings of the dead on the face, others large monuments to the profession or interest of the person depicted. My elderly cousin, who lay next to the father of Valentina, had a marble soccer ball on his stone. One of the graves in the next plot had a three foot tall tooth, and I deducted he must have been a dentist.

It was quiet and sunny, this early Sunday morning. Everyone was readying for the week, and this ritual of visiting the dead with candles and sweets seemed as natural as having morning coffee with friends. As we left the cemetery, my cousin offered some home made cake to the gatekeeper, and we went off to church to attend what was left of mass.

Again, I was struck by the ritual of it all, walking into the courtyard, buying candles, placing them in front of icons. Effortlessly, without much visible thought in the ritual, I watched people come and do the same. What is different from my memory is after they cross themselves, the touch the ground. This church is the one where my grandmother was baptized. It was built in 1836 and houses very ornate carved wooden altars, lecterns and icon frames. The priest singing the liturgy has a ponytail, in which I from California take great amusement. After mass, we go to my cousin’s house to share coffee and sweets that each person in our cemetery group has brought.

I ponder the rituals of death in my own culture. We ignore the fact that death is with us at all times, and yet our entertainment options in cinema, computer games and television is a constant stream of death and killing. Why is death considered entertainment? Here in Prilep, death is part of daily life, a weekly ritual with coffee and sweets. The dead seem always with the living, there are flyers posted in the town square and the church of obituaries and death notices. I did not see the wailing I have experienced at Orthodox funerals in the United States. My cousin’s father has been dead since 2011, so it has not been so long. His tomb is ornate, a dark brown marble with a tasteful etching of his bust on the front. His elderly wife sits in front of the tomb, with her candles and sweets. I wonder does she think about the day when her body will lie next to him? For now she has friends and neighbors, she tutors her grand daughter in math, and makes sure everyone around her eats more than they could possibly fit into their stomachs. She is always sweet and smiling, interested in every detail of her communities life.

Death of our bodies is the portal to the next life, but also to the Christ. In my sanitary culture that takes the elderly, infirmed and dying away from all to see, that now rarely has funerals, I wonder and ponder about the consequence to the soul life. I also wonder if this practice is why we seem so preoccupied with death in our entertainment sphere, and why we idolize celebrity death, as well as rally around catastrophic death through massacres and natural disasters.

A wise teacher once told me, “We act as if we get out of this alive.” I always find a death of a loved one inspires me to live life more fully, to treasure my loved ones more dearly. I often find I am alone in this, and have been so often rejected when I try to reach out to others to connect, to hold on, to cherish and communicate. Maybe one reason this community is so close is precisely because they are aware of, and practice in their weekly rituals, an acknowledgement of the dead.

World War II Memorial, Prilep Macedonia

Christ came to take the fear from dying. Christ came to show that death is part of life, and a doorway to another life. Christ also came to Earth to experience death, to be intimate with humanity and to understand what we experience. Until Christ came, the process of death was not known or understood by the spiritual world. He came to not only give life, but to comprehend death. We meet him when we die, and I constantly ponder why we cling to this life often at the expense of others, why we think we can outsmart or escape death with enough weapons and money. Maybe these people who have a tradition of acknowledging the dead each and every day, and on Sundays with candles and cake, seem to know the true meaning of death. We grieve the loss, miss the physical companionship, but can celebrate the new phase. In the meantime, they polish the tombs and share their sweets with anyone who wishes to partake.

Treskavec Monastery , Prilep Macedonia

Before a tragic fire last February, the Treskavec Monastery was one of two ancient Monasteries in the Republic of Macedonia where pilgrims could spend the night in true historic fashion.

The church there is called "Uspenie Bagorodichena" which means The Assumption of the Mother of God. It is interesting to me how in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, Mary is called the Mother of God. In the west she is always called Virgin, but in the East, she is Theotokos or God Bearer.

My cousin Dr Valentina Veleska took some time off from her Orthodontic practice, hired a taxi to take me and her assistants to this remote mountain destination for a visit. I could see the mountains from Valentina's home, so it was a treat to actually go there and see what she had been telling me about. 

As we climbed the newly paved road, literally two weeks old, to the Thirteenth Century Church, the surrounding mountains seemed very familiar to me from Southern California. Before the road was paved, pilgrims would walk a five hour hike to the mountain top, near a peak called the Golden Apple. The entire valley spreads beneath the breath taking view, and I hope to actually walk it the next time I come to visit. I think the action of walking up these pristine rugged hills would be an excellent preparation for entering the quiet meditative sanctuary of the Church. 

We were greeted by the caretaker of the monastery, the husband of my cousin's assistant, who took us on a private tour of the grounds. While the guest quarters were demolished, the Church was untouched. As I entered the ancient structure, under the figure of Mary and greens adorning the door, I felt like I was at the portal of time, and my typical experience in Slavic countries awaited me. 

I find the Slavs in general and the Macedonians in particular, to be hidden treasures. When you can penetrate the exterior, gems await. As we went through the bent entrance, an ornate medieval Orthodox church filled with symbolic fresco's awaited. I joked with Katia, my cousins assistant, "I feel like I am Indiana Jones," as I entered this ancient cradle of Christianity, untouched by the ravages of time and revolution, waiting for centuries, it seemed to be waiting to be discovered by me.

What touched me most, was how universal the symbolism is in regards to Christian art. Inside the first Cupola, the Evangelist Gospel representatives adorned the corners of the structure. I of course sought out the Bull for Luke. In a hidden chamber next to the entrance, I was treated to a fresco of the four Gospel author's as well as local saints and rulers. I recognized so many of the stories I learned as a child and have seen depicted in art all over the world. How is it that these images have repeated themselves since the dawn of the Christian era over several continents, with consistent themes? For me, this has deep meaning and significance, that the messages are universal, and meant to invite us into knowledge and grace if we would only look.

The silence enveloped us like velvet, as it was damp and cold that day, our breath could be seen where the beams of light penetrated through the windows. The fresco's dated from the 13th through the 16th century. This is significant because the Turkish invasions and occupations of the Balkans started in the middle of the 14th century. The monasteries were the cradle of Slavic culture, maintaining letters, poetry, art,  music but most importantly hope. My cousin told me this location was chosen mainly because it would provide a safe haven from the Ottoman invaders. But miracles are also associated with this location. An apparition of Mary is recorded, and miracles associated with the main Icon in the Sanctuary. 

The Macedonians are hospitable in every aspect of their lives. Every house, shop or office I have visited, dark thick coffee is immediately offered, conversation follows before any sort of business can occur. When visiting the local police station to register as a guest, the clerk pulled out a mini gas heater and made coffee right on her desk, with cups and sugar ready for anyone who came to the office. 

I have been teased by my friends and family that I am not a real Macedonian since I do not drink coffee, but "chai" is enthusiastically offered as a substitute for my delicate California tree hugging palate. In the case of the Treskavec Monastery, I think I got a better deal, for a local herbal tea was served to cater to my caffeine revulsion, and it was more delicious and meaningful than coffee. I was told that it was harvested locally and the English translation was "soul of the mother tea." I tasted a strong Thyme flavor, the herbs were brought to me, and I was right. What is so interesting is Thyme has an affinity for the Thymus Gland which sits next to the heart, the herb is associated with the heart and with courage. The fact that the Church nestle in the center of Macedonia is dedicated to Mary, and the tea was the "soul of the mother," related to the heart, was not lost on me.

The courage of the people of Macedonia, the resilience in the face of incredible oppression, violence and odds continues to reveal itself to me at every corner in which I turn. After so much suffering and injustice, the people still remain kind, generous, and always wanting to extend hospitality in each and every situation. This speaks to the character of the culture, in our age of terror, that the response to tragedy and oppression is hospitality and the preservation of culture. The Monastery is a testament to this soul of the people. It has burned three times, and yet the Church remains, the people are gathering together to raise funds to rebuild. In the skeleton of the retreat rooms, the Church stands, services are offered on a regular basis, and the care taker makes sure to give visitors the "soul of the Mother tea."

I did not want to leave. I also hope the building is renovated soon, as I would love to stay there for an extended period of time to sit in the presence of these ancient icons of hope and endurance. The locals have had concerts, and international funding has been set up, where you can help restore this kernel of the soul of the Macedonian People, the courageous soul that bears the Christ within.

For donations to the restoration effort, go to the Komerciajalna banka AD Skopje, you can also follow the progress on the Treskavec Monastery by going to http://treskavec.blogspot.com/ where the above information is also located. We were told that it could take two to five years for the restoration. With your help, this could happen sooner!