The Empty Cup

A (mid)weekly blessing for those who gave it all

Dear fellow pilgrim,

It was my daughter who saw it before I did.

My cup had emptied, slowly, quietly.

I had been pouring and pouring, the way some of us creatives do, not quite noticing that the cup had dried. While I still tried to squeeze some more from where things laid bare, our seven year old named what I could not: my cup of love had quietly emptied.

And she did so the way only the wisdom of children can, with a smile on her face:

“You need to refill some love, mommy.”

😎❤️‍🩹

Do you know those precious moments when you feel seen? Seen deep inside? This was such a moment. My eyes welled up and I stopped in my tracks.

I breathed. And then I embraced my daughter and the empty cup she had just handed me.

So, dear fellow weary pilgrim, this is a blessing for all who know that feeling. When the cup goes empty. When there is nothing left to pour, even if we are still trying.

And for all who know that it needs an empty cup in order to refill.

Perhaps your cup has emptied from caring for someone you love. From carrying too much sorrow. From trying to keep a family, a community, or a small corner of this world from falling apart.

Perhaps you have simply been pouring for too long.

Often, when the cup is empty, our first impulse is to fill it as quickly as we can. Or to try harder. Or to become more efficient. Or to reach for whatever might allow us to keep going.

I wonder if an empty cup may be asking something else of us.

To lean into the emptiness.

To sit with it for a little while without trying to fix it.

To listen for what can only be heard when we stop pouring.

The psalms teach us, that everything has its time. So do the seasons.

Writers cannot only write — they need to rest from writing. But seeking rest is not an interruption of the work. It is part of the work.

The same is true for mothers and fathers, caregivers and teachers, gardeners and artists. The earth itself does not remain forever in bloom. The fields lie fallow. Trees release what they can no longer carry. Even the light withdraws and begins again.

Sometimes our children understand this before we do.

And so I am learning, again, to let myself lean into the season when the cup goes empty and the soul seeks reprieve.

And I am looking forward for a month of summer joy come August, where I will put down the pen so new words can slowly take hold in me again.

But before I tell you a little more about our summer break, let me offer a blessing first:

A blessing for the empty cup

May you not mistake your emptiness

for failure.

May you stop pouring

before you disappear.

May the empty place be spacious

not haunted.

May what has been strained

begin to loosen.

May you be held

without having to hold everything.

And may the cup remain empty

until something living and true

is there to fill it again.

—AF

This blessing also carries two small announcements:

(1) Sabbath

During August, our weekly blessings will keep sabbath for a few weeks while Chuck, our little one, and I travel to Germany to spend time with my family, rest, and visit some of the monastic places that have nourished our lives and work.

The (mid)weekly blessings will return the week after Labor Day. If you happen to miss them, feel free to visit our growing library of blessings :-)

Also, we will not disappear entirely. A few digital postcards from Germany may find their way to you from the road as well as some invitations for our upcoming program, e.g. before we leave, a weekend letter will introduce you to our upcoming “Cloister Path,”: a new way of walking together through the rooms of the inner life. So do look out for this.

(2) Fill my cup

While we travel, we would love to read you, what you have to say or what inspires you.

Send us something — or leave it in the comments — that has helped you to fill your cup when it ran empty: a poem or a text of your own, a photograph, a drawing, a piece of music, or the name and link of something another person created that carried you through a dry time.

We would love to make room in our regular Cloister notes to let the wisdom, beauty, and lived experience of this community become more visible among us.

Please tell me whether what you send may be shared or whether it is simply for us. I will always ask again before publishing someone’s personal work.

Dear fellow pilgrims, what fills your cup when it has run dry?

Peace and blessings,

Almut with Chuck and Hannah

PS: Which word or line or encounter has moved your heart today?

Thank you for reading, sharing and supporting Cloister Notes, a letter for dancing monks, weary pilgrims and wounded healers.

If you have been moved by today’s words, please consider becoming a sustaining member to support this labor of love and keep the words coming.

🙏

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More Readings from The Cloister

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Look at the Sparrow

The Lily, the Bird, and the Ache of Comparison -- a Parable and a Blessing inspired by Kierkegaard

Untangle and Reduce. A Lesson from the garden

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