When I was in the field of human ecology, engaged in work with youth in care, there was a tension formed by two schools of thought, or beliefs, about what the work was to be done. Some believed it was working with individuals one to one. Others believed it was working with the group as a whole.
Then there was an enlightened view, and wording of it, that grasped the experience as working with the individual in the group.
In one of his short stories Camus describes how a painter who had not much faith in his own talents anyhow, is suddenly besieged by friends and “fans” who successfully prevent him from doing any worthwhile painting at all. In despair he finally retires to an attic where he works at what is to be his masterpiece in complete solitude. Finally he collapses, and the masterpiece is found to be a perfect and absolute blank, except that in the center of it one word is written in a microscopic hand; and this one word was clearly enough written except for one letter. Had he written solitaire or solidaire? (p.40, Zaehner)
In the chapter “Solitary or Solidary,” in his book Matter and Spirit, Their convergence in Eastern Religions, Marx, and Teilhard de Chardin (c.1963), R.C. Zaehner continues,
This is true of religion too. Does it concern itself primarily with individual salvation (however this word is understood) or with that of the “nation,” the “Church,” and beyond that of the whole human race?
One letter difference – and the whole perspective shifts. Solitaire or Solidaire?
What was the artist’s insight?
Alone? All together?
What captures my attention is the beliefs we hold. Beliefs – that which we hold as true -- are usually what separates us from each other: ideas fastened to systems; ideals nailed to floors; received opinions laden with pedigree and family crest. These beliefs are trotted out like cute children at Sunday picnics to prove the fertility and fidelity of their parents.
It seems a strange choice -- we’d rather live by belief than by direct perception or apprehension. My sense is we do fine sipping tea or coffee, noticing the weather, feeling the ground underfoot, touching the arm near us with our extended fingers.
What would life be like experiencing without belief? Or, is everything as it is because we believe it to be that way?
The dirt road, the dog crossing from side to side, the water in the ditch moving downhill – these observations take place in their own light. We, each one of us, take place in our own light. That light, whatever we name its source, is felt belonging.
What shows itself in that light is worth looking at. Never mind trying to fit what you see into a belief that intends to carry experience somewhere else. Each experience belongs where it is, at its originating spot, in its own light.
Solitaire? or, Solidaire? Alone, or, All together?
An enlightened view would see the experience as living alone together, being alone with others.
It’s not a matter of belief. It’s the spirit of felt experience.
See for yourself. Allow what arises to converge.
Thursday, March 07, 2002
Most times, just sitting is enough.
One's own words are as senseless as are the words of others.
Silence helps.
Light rain–the mountain
forest is wrapped in mist,
slowly the fog changes
to clouds and haze.
Along the boundless
river bank, many crows.
I walk to a hill overlooking
the valley to sit in zazen.
- Ryokan (1758-1831)(dailyzen)
A letter from Sam saying he hopes something concrete comes from the idea of the laura, "but it does sound a little vague."
I try to email him thanking him for putting his finger right on it. It is returned several times. Bad address. Just like him.
He's right. It's vague. It's not a piece of sculpture hardened by fire and form. It's not a poem tight inside meter and rhyme. It's not jell-o cohering to itself.
Zazen isn't vague. Nothing comes of it.
That's something to sit with.
One's own words are as senseless as are the words of others.
Silence helps.
Light rain–the mountain
forest is wrapped in mist,
slowly the fog changes
to clouds and haze.
Along the boundless
river bank, many crows.
I walk to a hill overlooking
the valley to sit in zazen.
- Ryokan (1758-1831)(dailyzen)
A letter from Sam saying he hopes something concrete comes from the idea of the laura, "but it does sound a little vague."
I try to email him thanking him for putting his finger right on it. It is returned several times. Bad address. Just like him.
He's right. It's vague. It's not a piece of sculpture hardened by fire and form. It's not a poem tight inside meter and rhyme. It's not jell-o cohering to itself.
Zazen isn't vague. Nothing comes of it.
That's something to sit with.
Wednesday, March 06, 2002
What remains when everything falls away?
Adrift, does God, still, remain? Or, is it our singing?
As for me, I delight
in the everyday Way,
among mist-wrapped
vines and rocky caves.
Here in the wilderness
I am completely free,
with my friends,
the white clouds, idling forever.
There are roads,
but they do not reach the world;
since I am mindless,
who can rouse my thoughts?
On a bed of stone
I sit, alone in the night,
while the round moon
climbs up Cold Mountain.
- Han Shan, (dailyzen.com)
At night a character wakes in the film saying, “I have no face!”
He is coming to the conclusion of a long story.
In the film “Sunshine” by István Szabó, a Hungarian Jewish family wrestles with assimilation during the troubling times Nazi, Fascist, Communist, and reactionary forces brought. They’ve lived and died through the corruption of culture, human life, and politics when ideals were both a crime and a curse.
Ivan Sors, the 4th generation son in the film, passes beyond the facts of desolation and deceit experienced by his family. In a letter found at end written by his great grandfather he reads:
Never give up your religion, not for God; God is present in all religions. But if your life becomes a struggle for acceptance you’ll always be unhappy. Religion may not be perfect, but is a well-built boat that could stay balanced and carry you to the other shore.
Our life is nothing but a boat adrift on water balanced by permanent uncertainty. I think of you with all my love. Your father, Emmanuel Sonnenschein
When Ivan delivers graveside remarks for a colleague turned victim of harsh political justice, he recalls a quotation from his father’s desk, We are afraid of seeing clearly and being seen clearly. He begins to understand what remains when all falls away.
His grandmother, Valéria Sors, tells him, Politics has made a mess of our lives. Still, life was beautiful. I’ve enjoyed waking every morning. I’ve always tried to photograph what’s beautiful in life, but it hasn’t always been easy.
This practice -- appreciating each thing in its own light!
At end, alone, returning to the family name Sonnenschein (Sunshine), Ivan walks away. Everything lost, but one thing. He realizes the family gift was preserved by his grandmother, the only one in our family who had the gift of breathing freely.
………..
Here, I think about what remains when everything is lost. Loss is full of fear – like waking faceless. Yet, it is an ongoing gift, a subtracting gift taking from us all we’ve added, changed, or accumulated. What is the source of this gift? Why do we fear the night?
We are each alone in the night. There -- free from the tempting twosomes of victory and defeat, success and failure, popularity and disgrace, profit and loss, approval and disapproval – we encounter what is alone there to be seen.
Monks pray at night. Hermits sit in dark silence. In the wars we wage, those on watch pace their posts with sharp awareness expected from those trusted to acknowledge and attend every sound.
Attending alone every sound, you disappear.
Alone, what remains?
What remains attending? Consider this!
Do so breathing freely!
This consideration is similar to Ivan’s. It moves from “I have no face,” to facing what is freely there waiting to be realized. This consideration is not about doing something or nothing, not about finding the one thing. Ivan, like his father, grandfather, great grandfather, and great great grandfather, loses everything, just as others lost everything they were promised. But now he feels he no longer hides. He goes on, realizing the family gift.
When all else falls away, what, still, remains?
God? Or our singing?
What would we call it?
Did I hear myself say something?
No. Nothing.
As film credits roll, a final song is sung, “Please God, May We Always Go On Singing.”
Nothing, but singing, please God!
Adrift, does God, still, remain? Or, is it our singing?
As for me, I delight
in the everyday Way,
among mist-wrapped
vines and rocky caves.
Here in the wilderness
I am completely free,
with my friends,
the white clouds, idling forever.
There are roads,
but they do not reach the world;
since I am mindless,
who can rouse my thoughts?
On a bed of stone
I sit, alone in the night,
while the round moon
climbs up Cold Mountain.
- Han Shan, (dailyzen.com)
At night a character wakes in the film saying, “I have no face!”
He is coming to the conclusion of a long story.
In the film “Sunshine” by István Szabó, a Hungarian Jewish family wrestles with assimilation during the troubling times Nazi, Fascist, Communist, and reactionary forces brought. They’ve lived and died through the corruption of culture, human life, and politics when ideals were both a crime and a curse.
Ivan Sors, the 4th generation son in the film, passes beyond the facts of desolation and deceit experienced by his family. In a letter found at end written by his great grandfather he reads:
Never give up your religion, not for God; God is present in all religions. But if your life becomes a struggle for acceptance you’ll always be unhappy. Religion may not be perfect, but is a well-built boat that could stay balanced and carry you to the other shore.
Our life is nothing but a boat adrift on water balanced by permanent uncertainty. I think of you with all my love. Your father, Emmanuel Sonnenschein
When Ivan delivers graveside remarks for a colleague turned victim of harsh political justice, he recalls a quotation from his father’s desk, We are afraid of seeing clearly and being seen clearly. He begins to understand what remains when all falls away.
His grandmother, Valéria Sors, tells him, Politics has made a mess of our lives. Still, life was beautiful. I’ve enjoyed waking every morning. I’ve always tried to photograph what’s beautiful in life, but it hasn’t always been easy.
This practice -- appreciating each thing in its own light!
At end, alone, returning to the family name Sonnenschein (Sunshine), Ivan walks away. Everything lost, but one thing. He realizes the family gift was preserved by his grandmother, the only one in our family who had the gift of breathing freely.
………..
Here, I think about what remains when everything is lost. Loss is full of fear – like waking faceless. Yet, it is an ongoing gift, a subtracting gift taking from us all we’ve added, changed, or accumulated. What is the source of this gift? Why do we fear the night?
We are each alone in the night. There -- free from the tempting twosomes of victory and defeat, success and failure, popularity and disgrace, profit and loss, approval and disapproval – we encounter what is alone there to be seen.
Monks pray at night. Hermits sit in dark silence. In the wars we wage, those on watch pace their posts with sharp awareness expected from those trusted to acknowledge and attend every sound.
Attending alone every sound, you disappear.
Alone, what remains?
What remains attending? Consider this!
Do so breathing freely!
This consideration is similar to Ivan’s. It moves from “I have no face,” to facing what is freely there waiting to be realized. This consideration is not about doing something or nothing, not about finding the one thing. Ivan, like his father, grandfather, great grandfather, and great great grandfather, loses everything, just as others lost everything they were promised. But now he feels he no longer hides. He goes on, realizing the family gift.
When all else falls away, what, still, remains?
God? Or our singing?
What would we call it?
Did I hear myself say something?
No. Nothing.
As film credits roll, a final song is sung, “Please God, May We Always Go On Singing.”
Nothing, but singing, please God!
Tuesday, March 05, 2002
Allah and Yahweh, two names of God, are disappearing.
Question: Where is God not found? Answer: Where you are not looking.
Filed at 4:40 a.m. ET
JERUSALEM (AP) -- In back-to-back attacks early Tuesday, a Palestinian man opened fire on a crowded Tel Aviv nightclub, a suicide bomber blew himself up on an Israeli bus and gunmen ambushed Israeli motorists in the West Bank. In all, five Israelis and two Palestinian assailants were killed.
In the past four days of fighting, 32 Palestinians and 27 Israelis have been killed, one of the sharpest escalations since violence erupted in September 2000.(nytimes, web edition, 5Mar02)
Theology is flawed. Theology’s flaw is that it hides the name of God. God’s name is and has been more obvious and accessible than the guardians of God have admitted. Now, danger and misperception threaten.
God’s name is missing in the report of 59 killed in four days. Allah and Yahweh are missing in action.
The danger and misperception is that two peoples, Arabs and Jews, mispronounce the name of God. The mispronunciations, “shooting” and “bombing,” are used in fervent prayer. The Middle East has abandoned the true name of God for these substitute names. Loading the substitute names of God with bullets and nails, shells and powder, tanks and bulldozers, the faithful in Israel and Palestine pray for God’s death. God is worried. God is dying.
God has true names, many true names. God has more true names than there are stars or grains of sand, or even sets of arms and legs in the billions upon billions of creatures that have ever, do now, or will ever live. Allah and Yahweh are but two names.
There is a curious reality that surrounds these names. Because God is beyond human comprehension, theology tries to make comprehensible to our limited human intellect what we can understand about God. Of course any theologian worth his or her salt would admit (off the record) that what we can understand is very little. But they neglect to tell us something we can understand.
They neglect to tell us that God uses our name. Your name, my name, everyone’s name – these are also the names of God. There it is! Your name is God’s name. So, what are you going to do with your name? What will you do with God?
What about Allah and Yahweh? Two perfectly good names! Two perfectly good expressions of God!
Allah and Yahweh are dying – much the same way words and names die from misuse, overuse, or abuse. To many people, this is sad.
And it is sad. It would seem more honest if the Arabs and Jews – or for that case, Americans, Europeans, Asians, Africans, Salvadorans, Columbians, etc -- were to proclaim that they kill and maim in the name of property, or military dominance, or even in the name of ethnic superiority. No, they kill and maim in the name of Allah and Yahweh, in the names of their prophets and anointed ones. This is a great strain on names of God. So much so that these names are crumbling and deteriorating under the weight of so much hatred and dishonor.
And without a name, can God (whether Great or G-d) continue to dwell in our midst, in what we consider our land? Allah and Yahweh, two fine names, are being abandoned.
If they are abandoned, what remains? What names will be invoked before detonating explosives, dropping bombs, or squeezing triggers? Will each person call out his or her own names? Moshe be praised? Abdul is great? Benjamin is one? Yosef is most high? George is the man? Miguel is macho?
In my youth I was taught that the Name of God was Holy. I was told that at the name of God every head should bow, every knee bend, and every heart be glad. I feel I am growing very old, too forgetful, a wide distance growing between that teaching and the raw experiences perpetrated in the name of God. I’m afraid that God has changed. God is turning away from these names, is turning away from our names, and returning to the Silence Beyond the Void.
(The Judeo-Christian West, having abandoned its contemplative tradition, wonders and worries senselessly why so many are turning to Buddhism, meditation, and Zen. Perhaps one reason is that Buddhist practice suggests a clear roadmap to the silence beyond the void. The longing is deep for what we’ve called God, and has no end! It might be that the practice of silence, going beyond, and emptiness, is a way of following the way of abandonment, surrender, and conversion of life. A way between what was and what will be – practicing looking to, listening for, and finding the sacred & wholly ordinary – right here, right now.)
Without God’s names able to be heard by our ears and spoken by our mouths will we be able to hear anything, to speak anything of value or worth? Or will our hearing and speaking become that of the stone deaf and iron mute? Will our communication be reduced to dollar signs, real estate signs, stock market symbols, and body counts? Some, I’m certain, would make the claim that such pragmatic semiotics of contemporary culture would be an improvement over desiccated syntactics of ancient religion.
I don’t know. I’d rather hear “Allah is Great!” and, “Yahweh is One!” than either of the other substitutes saying, “Allah murders,” “Yahweh destroys,” “I martyr myself,” “I sacrifice you,” “The asking price is,” “Stocks fell today,” “The euro and peso are up,” and, finally, “59 expressions of God are dead today.”
Will Allah and Yahweh be dead tomorrow? Will anyone even notice?
Where is God not found? Where are you not looking?
Monday, March 04, 2002
It rained most the day. Mushroom soup in bowls. A single vigil candle in lantern outside by steps, grounded, shows way for Sunday Evening Practice. Sangha sits. Six people, one dog, one cat.
If you ask me to tell what community is, I say this: Community is ordinary contact, ordinary connection, ordinary conversation.
Form is fragile; emptiness holds nothing. Around table, water and bread -- and soup. Bakery goods circling talk of community.
Community is simple. Intend it, there it is. See it there, it is created. Call it, the eyes of those there, loving where they are, turn to see what you are asking.
I invite community the way an owl invites moonlight. Only the call. Just the call. If moon stays behind passing cloud; if cloud lets hide night mouse; if tumbling water runs down mountain furrow where snow disappears under last autumns leaves in silver light -- these phases of glowing fact assure -- every call received.
Even ladybug crawling along wire has no other thought but to crawl along the wire.
This is the contemplative's calling -- no other thought.
What we've known as the complex world of human affairs and ideas -- a world strewn with desolate illusion and fractious impertinence -- that world is no more.
Ladybug makes her way along lengthy loop returning to crossing point from which she departs. This is a clue.
Bells under cedar tree wrangle with wind. Night tucks asleep tired bodies, exhausted minds.
My prayer, if that is what it is called, follows: You who live, live here, live who you are with love!
No country, no church, no membership card, no documented paperwork, no protest, no affiliation, no this, no that -- only prayer. Prayer is all of community one receives.
You who live, live here, live who you are with love!
The call to no other, to be no other, to live alone what we are -- this call is heard finding all form fragile, emptiness holding nothing, returning open graciousness. Love.
I resign. I turn in. I enter the non-existing country of nescience. I surrender disappearing into the words ama nescire -- love to be unknown!
The moon, the owl, the mouse, and the mountain stream -- each lives there -- each dwells silent recognition. What once I was is gone unknown there.
Therefore will I be whole again,
And be made new again,
And again be made as a child.
For the night is dark.
But off in the east I see low light.
I smell the dawn.
And will find my God in the thwarted love that breaks between us!
(--final lines of poem "In Savage Wastes" by Brother Antoninus, {William Everson})
Receiving -- all one receives -- community.
No one is alone.
If you ask me to tell what community is, I say this: Community is ordinary contact, ordinary connection, ordinary conversation.
Form is fragile; emptiness holds nothing. Around table, water and bread -- and soup. Bakery goods circling talk of community.
Community is simple. Intend it, there it is. See it there, it is created. Call it, the eyes of those there, loving where they are, turn to see what you are asking.
I invite community the way an owl invites moonlight. Only the call. Just the call. If moon stays behind passing cloud; if cloud lets hide night mouse; if tumbling water runs down mountain furrow where snow disappears under last autumns leaves in silver light -- these phases of glowing fact assure -- every call received.
Even ladybug crawling along wire has no other thought but to crawl along the wire.
This is the contemplative's calling -- no other thought.
What we've known as the complex world of human affairs and ideas -- a world strewn with desolate illusion and fractious impertinence -- that world is no more.
Ladybug makes her way along lengthy loop returning to crossing point from which she departs. This is a clue.
Bells under cedar tree wrangle with wind. Night tucks asleep tired bodies, exhausted minds.
My prayer, if that is what it is called, follows: You who live, live here, live who you are with love!
No country, no church, no membership card, no documented paperwork, no protest, no affiliation, no this, no that -- only prayer. Prayer is all of community one receives.
You who live, live here, live who you are with love!
The call to no other, to be no other, to live alone what we are -- this call is heard finding all form fragile, emptiness holding nothing, returning open graciousness. Love.
I resign. I turn in. I enter the non-existing country of nescience. I surrender disappearing into the words ama nescire -- love to be unknown!
The moon, the owl, the mouse, and the mountain stream -- each lives there -- each dwells silent recognition. What once I was is gone unknown there.
Therefore will I be whole again,
And be made new again,
And again be made as a child.
For the night is dark.
But off in the east I see low light.
I smell the dawn.
And will find my God in the thwarted love that breaks between us!
(--final lines of poem "In Savage Wastes" by Brother Antoninus, {William Everson})
Receiving -- all one receives -- community.
No one is alone.
Sunday, March 03, 2002
A woman sat by the fire in the shop yesterday, crying.
Daily activity is nothing
Other than harmony within.
When each thing I do is
Without taking or rejecting,
There is no contradiction anywhere.
For whom is the majesty
Of red and purple robes?
The summit of the inner being
Has never been defiled
By the dust of the world.
- P’ang Yun (dailyzen)
She didn’t know what or how to think about the war the United States is fighting. She’d been exchanging emails with her sister, always in a series of twos:
One series is personal – the love and laughter they share with each other.
The second is philosophical, a moral and ethical complaint. They voice their strong difference about Mr. Bush and his rhetorical, secretive posture toward military, governmental, and conflicting private benefits from his policy direction in matters of energy, money, and political survival.
Her tears come with the ambiguity and consternation surrounding the second consideration. She wants to trust the president and his advisors in the grave matters of anti-terrorism and setting firewalls of greater security for Americans and all peoples committed to freedom. But she is confused by this administration’s tainted relationships with Enron as well as other secret deals, corporate interests, and smell of greed and private benefit, not to mention the odor that remains from the last election with its flagrant Rhenquist/Scalia Supreme Court selection of Bush over a more measured judicial process.
She said she cried because when you want to trust and you sorely doubt the object of that trust, there is a deep wound to the heart and the soul.
Someone else said the nation is reeling not only from the Sept.11th attacks, but also from alienation of affection and breach of promise. The others looked at him. Well, he said, the switch from flag as symbol of sorrow for victims of the terrorist attacks, to the flag as let’s go kill evildoers. And, he said, the confusion our leaders seem to be capitalizing on – are we brandishing our supreme power to assist democracy and freedom or to make the world safe for power-brokering millionaires and royal families in Saudi Arabia and Texas?
It was time to close the shop for the day – not because of the turn of conversation, but because I, too, was weary of the day and the issue. Another woman shook her head saying that as with all instances of relationship and domestic matters, she felt to allow love and deceit to occupy the same space in mind and heart – even in a household – much less in a nation, makes you punch-drunk crazy.
The elderly man visiting his daughter pulled at his white whiskers. He’d been telling us the difference between methane, propane, natural gas, coal, oil, and firewood as energy issues. And he actually seemed to know what he was talking about – science, able to concentrate on real and verifiable data, does seem to have a clarity missing from political issues. He wondered just what right those in the G.A.O. had trying to force Dick Cheney to disclose the names advising the administration about how best to run the country.
He too felt that a divided heart and split mind is cause for grief and sorrow. The confusion, he felt, is real.
After flashing the shop lights and throwing everyone out -- much to their enjoyment -- I tallied the register receipts and made a mental note to get rid of the business and live as a hermit.
The fire was grousing under a single charred log with no place to go. Rent was overdue. And aside from dozens of people all day talking and confiding, laughing and sharing dreams and dilemmas, family concerns and artistic breakthroughs, tales of personal history and resolutions for future change – aside from all this, we’re broke, without prospect, and tired.
I took in the flag, turned the open sign to closed, shut the lights by the bookcases, locked the back door, rang the bell once, and pulled the outside door closed and locked.
At French & Brawn, where I stopped for vegetarian bullion and sea salt for the next day’s soup, I met Jim M. of tides research at checkout counter.
“How’re things going down there at the shop?” he asked. I muttered something about quiet; this time of year; we’re still open -- fishing for something to say that would nail it. Jim said, “Well, it’s staying lighter latter!” and looked for some appreciation of the fact from me. I agreed that was good. “Spring is coming,” he said in that knowing hopeful way.
I had to respond, so I said quite by surprise, “I guess you just have to stay on your feet and soon enough the bell will ring,” He looked at me, and smiled. “You don’t mind if I use that, do you?”
“No, Jim, its yours,” I said,
Like someone with glazed eyes listening to the crowd’s muffled shouts, aware of a thirst for water, a blurred figure throwing gloved fists at his face, uncertain of a ghost sound clanging its approach through a rainy wind -- thinking with what is left of thought – surely, certainly, soon it will be heard.
Even so -- in the meditation room next morning, another woman finishing her morning prayers, another hand wiping eyes -- the sound of tears.
“The fragility!” she says.
Daily activity is nothing
Other than harmony within.
When each thing I do is
Without taking or rejecting,
There is no contradiction anywhere.
For whom is the majesty
Of red and purple robes?
The summit of the inner being
Has never been defiled
By the dust of the world.
- P’ang Yun (dailyzen)
She didn’t know what or how to think about the war the United States is fighting. She’d been exchanging emails with her sister, always in a series of twos:
One series is personal – the love and laughter they share with each other.
The second is philosophical, a moral and ethical complaint. They voice their strong difference about Mr. Bush and his rhetorical, secretive posture toward military, governmental, and conflicting private benefits from his policy direction in matters of energy, money, and political survival.
Her tears come with the ambiguity and consternation surrounding the second consideration. She wants to trust the president and his advisors in the grave matters of anti-terrorism and setting firewalls of greater security for Americans and all peoples committed to freedom. But she is confused by this administration’s tainted relationships with Enron as well as other secret deals, corporate interests, and smell of greed and private benefit, not to mention the odor that remains from the last election with its flagrant Rhenquist/Scalia Supreme Court selection of Bush over a more measured judicial process.
She said she cried because when you want to trust and you sorely doubt the object of that trust, there is a deep wound to the heart and the soul.
Someone else said the nation is reeling not only from the Sept.11th attacks, but also from alienation of affection and breach of promise. The others looked at him. Well, he said, the switch from flag as symbol of sorrow for victims of the terrorist attacks, to the flag as let’s go kill evildoers. And, he said, the confusion our leaders seem to be capitalizing on – are we brandishing our supreme power to assist democracy and freedom or to make the world safe for power-brokering millionaires and royal families in Saudi Arabia and Texas?
It was time to close the shop for the day – not because of the turn of conversation, but because I, too, was weary of the day and the issue. Another woman shook her head saying that as with all instances of relationship and domestic matters, she felt to allow love and deceit to occupy the same space in mind and heart – even in a household – much less in a nation, makes you punch-drunk crazy.
The elderly man visiting his daughter pulled at his white whiskers. He’d been telling us the difference between methane, propane, natural gas, coal, oil, and firewood as energy issues. And he actually seemed to know what he was talking about – science, able to concentrate on real and verifiable data, does seem to have a clarity missing from political issues. He wondered just what right those in the G.A.O. had trying to force Dick Cheney to disclose the names advising the administration about how best to run the country.
He too felt that a divided heart and split mind is cause for grief and sorrow. The confusion, he felt, is real.
After flashing the shop lights and throwing everyone out -- much to their enjoyment -- I tallied the register receipts and made a mental note to get rid of the business and live as a hermit.
The fire was grousing under a single charred log with no place to go. Rent was overdue. And aside from dozens of people all day talking and confiding, laughing and sharing dreams and dilemmas, family concerns and artistic breakthroughs, tales of personal history and resolutions for future change – aside from all this, we’re broke, without prospect, and tired.
I took in the flag, turned the open sign to closed, shut the lights by the bookcases, locked the back door, rang the bell once, and pulled the outside door closed and locked.
At French & Brawn, where I stopped for vegetarian bullion and sea salt for the next day’s soup, I met Jim M. of tides research at checkout counter.
“How’re things going down there at the shop?” he asked. I muttered something about quiet; this time of year; we’re still open -- fishing for something to say that would nail it. Jim said, “Well, it’s staying lighter latter!” and looked for some appreciation of the fact from me. I agreed that was good. “Spring is coming,” he said in that knowing hopeful way.
I had to respond, so I said quite by surprise, “I guess you just have to stay on your feet and soon enough the bell will ring,” He looked at me, and smiled. “You don’t mind if I use that, do you?”
“No, Jim, its yours,” I said,
Like someone with glazed eyes listening to the crowd’s muffled shouts, aware of a thirst for water, a blurred figure throwing gloved fists at his face, uncertain of a ghost sound clanging its approach through a rainy wind -- thinking with what is left of thought – surely, certainly, soon it will be heard.
Even so -- in the meditation room next morning, another woman finishing her morning prayers, another hand wiping eyes -- the sound of tears.
“The fragility!” she says.
Saturday, March 02, 2002
We're often out of our minds. But not often enough.
It is pitiful that we are
living in a treasure mountain
but cannot see it.
If we develop an
enlightenment seeking mind,
everything becomes the
practice of enlightenment,
even if we are in the midst
of the various worlds of samsara.
- Dogen (1200-1253) (dailyzen.com)
A mind, a seeking mind, an enlightenment, an enlightenment seeking mind -- seeking what is making its way through. Thomas Berry in his book Buddhism (c.1967) writes, "Samsara designates the phenomenal or the conditioned world; Nirvana designates the transcendent, the unconditioned world."
Berry quotes Nagarjuna (India, 2nd C. CE) whose verse presents "...the blissful mystery empty of all that men can really explain," --
There is really no difference
between Nirvana and Samsara.
There is really no difference
between Samsara and Nirvana.
That which defines Nirvana
Also defines Samsara.
Between these two we cannot find
Even a slight difference.
(p.125)
Is this what Jesus and the Samaritan woman conversed about at the well?
His words sound different as poetry than they do as prose.
"I am," Jesus mused, "he," he paused, "the one," he contemplated, "who is," he continued on, "speaking with," and then finally, as if caught by insight, -- "you."
Is Jesus considering God -- the one who will be worshipped in spirit and truth -- as being in, or rather, as being the conversation that is taking place between him and the woman?
The woman is feisty, aware, and wise. She engages and plays with this Jew at the well. Jesus, too, is feisty, aware and similarly wise as he engages and plays with this Samaritan at the well. Together they turn in conversation about the truth of their lives. Together they question, pry, and parry the backgrounds each is emerging from. At end she gives him what he gives her.
They give each other water for the journey, deep water for the mind, living water for a thirst that is "blissful mystery empty of all that men [and women] can really explain." They drink of the gift each reveals in the presence of the other -- the gift of spirit and truth.
In that same chapter Berry calls "Homeless Wisdom," he writes:
The final expression of the Heart Sutra is the exclamation: "Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone completely beyond. Such an awakening! Svaha!" This awakening must be understood as a transition from illusion to reality. It is not a vision of something. It is a final release from all that keeps man from the going-over. This Sutra has no satisfactory word for what is attained beyond by this passage. With a certain deliberate care it limits itself to a description of the receding shore of this world which now is seen as sunyata, emptiness. (p.119)
This emptiness is what we might refer to as transparent reality, that which is seen as it is -- nothing added, nothing subtracted -- a clear, unobstructed view (spirit) of what is (truth). It is the play of the conversation between the Jew and the Samaritan.
It is the conversation we need to continue today. It is the pathway that will have to be cut into the ground by our footsteps as we visit each other and sip from the well together.
The impermanence of things, Berry says, is seen as emptiness. When Jesus' friends returned with food, they found him at completion of the conversation with the woman. Jesus told them, "I have food to eat of which you do not know." And, "My food is to do the will of the one who sent me to finish his work." (Jn.4: 32, 34)
The food for thought is outside our minds. It is the conversation taking place between man and woman, earth and water, spirit and truth.
The treasure mountain, the enlightenment seeking mind, is now sipping water -- maybe coffee or tea -- right there in your hand. Right there in the hand of the one sitting with you.
Soon enough, we'll see.
Svaha! (That is, Rejoice!)
It is pitiful that we are
living in a treasure mountain
but cannot see it.
If we develop an
enlightenment seeking mind,
everything becomes the
practice of enlightenment,
even if we are in the midst
of the various worlds of samsara.
- Dogen (1200-1253) (dailyzen.com)
A mind, a seeking mind, an enlightenment, an enlightenment seeking mind -- seeking what is making its way through. Thomas Berry in his book Buddhism (c.1967) writes, "Samsara designates the phenomenal or the conditioned world; Nirvana designates the transcendent, the unconditioned world."
Berry quotes Nagarjuna (India, 2nd C. CE) whose verse presents "...the blissful mystery empty of all that men can really explain," --
There is really no difference
between Nirvana and Samsara.
There is really no difference
between Samsara and Nirvana.
That which defines Nirvana
Also defines Samsara.
Between these two we cannot find
Even a slight difference.
(p.125)
Is this what Jesus and the Samaritan woman conversed about at the well?
His words sound different as poetry than they do as prose.
"I am," Jesus mused, "he," he paused, "the one," he contemplated, "who is," he continued on, "speaking with," and then finally, as if caught by insight, -- "you."
Is Jesus considering God -- the one who will be worshipped in spirit and truth -- as being in, or rather, as being the conversation that is taking place between him and the woman?
The woman is feisty, aware, and wise. She engages and plays with this Jew at the well. Jesus, too, is feisty, aware and similarly wise as he engages and plays with this Samaritan at the well. Together they turn in conversation about the truth of their lives. Together they question, pry, and parry the backgrounds each is emerging from. At end she gives him what he gives her.
They give each other water for the journey, deep water for the mind, living water for a thirst that is "blissful mystery empty of all that men [and women] can really explain." They drink of the gift each reveals in the presence of the other -- the gift of spirit and truth.
In that same chapter Berry calls "Homeless Wisdom," he writes:
The final expression of the Heart Sutra is the exclamation: "Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone completely beyond. Such an awakening! Svaha!" This awakening must be understood as a transition from illusion to reality. It is not a vision of something. It is a final release from all that keeps man from the going-over. This Sutra has no satisfactory word for what is attained beyond by this passage. With a certain deliberate care it limits itself to a description of the receding shore of this world which now is seen as sunyata, emptiness. (p.119)
This emptiness is what we might refer to as transparent reality, that which is seen as it is -- nothing added, nothing subtracted -- a clear, unobstructed view (spirit) of what is (truth). It is the play of the conversation between the Jew and the Samaritan.
It is the conversation we need to continue today. It is the pathway that will have to be cut into the ground by our footsteps as we visit each other and sip from the well together.
The impermanence of things, Berry says, is seen as emptiness. When Jesus' friends returned with food, they found him at completion of the conversation with the woman. Jesus told them, "I have food to eat of which you do not know." And, "My food is to do the will of the one who sent me to finish his work." (Jn.4: 32, 34)
The food for thought is outside our minds. It is the conversation taking place between man and woman, earth and water, spirit and truth.
The treasure mountain, the enlightenment seeking mind, is now sipping water -- maybe coffee or tea -- right there in your hand. Right there in the hand of the one sitting with you.
Soon enough, we'll see.
Svaha! (That is, Rejoice!)
Friday, March 01, 2002
Gift of a Hermit Nun
"I think that in finding the critical distance our friendship can remain." (from letter)
.......................
Notes toward a poem and a haiku:
“critical distance”:
Gk. kritikos=able to discern; to sift apart; to see or understand the difference
L. distare= to stand apart; separated in a relationship other than spatial; far apart.
“Christ”:
Gk. Christos=(fr. chriein=to anoint)=1:Messiah 2: Jesus 3: an ideal type of humanity 4 Christian Science: the ideal truth that comes as a divine manifestation of God to destroy incarnate error.
[Webster’s Seventh]
……………………………………
1. Poem
Silence, the critical
distance between us
is the One
with us;
Silence holds us together
apart,
where I leave you in Silence,
where
I trust, together, we will
find
The Word Silence we cannot find
in words
2. Haiku
Alone, tired end
of winter -- Say no more -- say
yes once, but, for All
"I think that in finding the critical distance our friendship can remain." (from letter)
.......................
Notes toward a poem and a haiku:
“critical distance”:
Gk. kritikos=able to discern; to sift apart; to see or understand the difference
L. distare= to stand apart; separated in a relationship other than spatial; far apart.
“Christ”:
Gk. Christos=(fr. chriein=to anoint)=1:Messiah 2: Jesus 3: an ideal type of humanity 4 Christian Science: the ideal truth that comes as a divine manifestation of God to destroy incarnate error.
[Webster’s Seventh]
……………………………………
1. Poem
Silence, the critical
distance between us
is the One
with us;
Silence holds us together
apart,
where I leave you in Silence,
where
I trust, together, we will
find
The Word Silence we cannot find
in words
2. Haiku
Alone, tired end
of winter -- Say no more -- say
yes once, but, for All
Thursday, February 28, 2002
To live a religious life in the world today -- first, stay silent. That will work. No one will know what you are doing. And that's good.
To live a spiritual life in the world today -- next, open your mouth. That too will work. No one will understand the babble that tries to word the incomprehensible. Try anyway.
To live an ordinary life in the world today -- finally, practice a poem created while walking beyond your strength.
I've crossed the sea after Truth.
Knowledge, that snare, must be defied.
Here and there, I've worn out heaps of sandals.
Now -- moonlit water in the clear abyss.
(--Kakua, 12c)
There will be those who love their life -- and they will love yours.
There will be those who fear their life -- and they will fear yours.
There will be those who wander mumbling to themselves things true & improbable. Invite them in.
I have never found anyone touched by God to appear sane.
They're not. What they are is something more valuable -- they're safe, and sound.
They're the ones to sit with for a stretch of mind and time.
They've seen
what we are
not seeing.
God is no other than love.
And love will not forget the sound of our voice attempting to pronounce its name.
As the wind blows, there’s no pinning down its direction, it takes our hesitation away with it.
There we stand,
without what we thought
lost.
How can I tell you what I've seen?
Fall, stand -- it's clear at once.
Wearing my cowl backwards, I
Trample the old path. And the new.
(--Kakua)
To live a spiritual life in the world today -- next, open your mouth. That too will work. No one will understand the babble that tries to word the incomprehensible. Try anyway.
To live an ordinary life in the world today -- finally, practice a poem created while walking beyond your strength.
I've crossed the sea after Truth.
Knowledge, that snare, must be defied.
Here and there, I've worn out heaps of sandals.
Now -- moonlit water in the clear abyss.
(--Kakua, 12c)
There will be those who love their life -- and they will love yours.
There will be those who fear their life -- and they will fear yours.
There will be those who wander mumbling to themselves things true & improbable. Invite them in.
I have never found anyone touched by God to appear sane.
They're not. What they are is something more valuable -- they're safe, and sound.
They're the ones to sit with for a stretch of mind and time.
They've seen
what we are
not seeing.
God is no other than love.
And love will not forget the sound of our voice attempting to pronounce its name.
As the wind blows, there’s no pinning down its direction, it takes our hesitation away with it.
There we stand,
without what we thought
lost.
How can I tell you what I've seen?
Fall, stand -- it's clear at once.
Wearing my cowl backwards, I
Trample the old path. And the new.
(--Kakua)
Wednesday, February 27, 2002
For Christians, the words expressing longing and struggle to comprehend and embody Christ might sound awkward. Patterns of thought change century after century, and the wording of a core reality needs constant and refreshing expression.
The core reality doesn't disappear with new wording. Rather, it appears in new light. This requires courageous faith, good will toward God, and good will toward one's own exploration.
Christian theology says God doesn't change. God is there as we change. For Buddhists, change is all there is. Transparent awareness reveals what our rational minds cannot grasp. For both, the exploration asks for caring and careful attention.
The proposal for Meetingbrook Laura of Hermits asks into such attention.
We pray for courageous faith, good will all around.
Tuesday, February 26, 2002
A Proposal for Intentional Community:
Meetingbrook Laura of Hermits
Camden, Maine USA, and dwelling places elsewhere
Meetingbrook proposes a laura of hermits, an intentional community, a loosely knit association of individuals seeking what might be called Zen Contemplative Ecology.
For the purpose of Meetingbrook’s proposal, “laura” means the pathways and waterways connecting us on our journey. A laura is:
1. a gathering of individuals living their own lives in their own dwellings;
2. peripheral to a central location shared for communal use;
3. building community with distinct yet similar shared intention to deepen one’s life;
4. each engaged in idiorhythmic practice (i.e. according to one’s own rhythms and schedule) -- whether prayer, meditation, contemplation, energy work, healing unease, encouraging physical, intellectual, spiritual health & balance;
5. with periodic sharing of each person’s conversation & practice in community;
6. devoted to the common intent of cultivating peace, compassion, engaged service, merciful reconciliation, and lovingkindness;
7. welcoming hospitality and generosity of spirit within and toward others.
8. A Zen Contemplative Ecology is, for this proposal, the practice of seeing directly & clearly -- now, safe, & whole -- interrelationships of individuals in community, sentient beings in nourishing environments, and a cosmotheandric awareness (of earth & nature itself, divine presence, and human family) that caringly and carefully makes room for each other..
A Meetingbrook Laura of Hermits -- welcomes individuals, couples, & families. Members of any or no religion are welcome. Members of sanghas, orders, followers of specific teachers, are welcome. Those on any particular spiritual path, those willing to allow others to practice their own religious and spiritual path, are welcome. Inclusive, autonomous, & generous hearted people, are welcome. Those who appreciate diversity and a plurality of seeking, those realizing and embodying what is natural, sacred, and human – the immeasurable gift of existence and life beyond compare -- are welcome.
The mere prospect of connecting what already touches us is attractive. Identifying, consciously and intentionally as part of Meetingbrook Laura of Hermits, deepens the affection and mystery of living life alone with others. Whether you prefer: to live alone on one’s own; live with others; or live alone together – we will explore how to dwell engaging solitude and community – a dedicating of life and love -- with God, each other, oneself.
If interested, come join us for some exploratory conversations toward the creation invited by a Meetingbrook Laura of Hermits. If nothing else, it might provide thoughtful considerations, laughter & a spate of belonging!
If interested in such an exploration, please call 236-4346, leave name and #. or email laura@meetingbrook.org
Thanks, Bill Halpin and Saskia Huising 25Feb2002
Meetingbrook Laura of Hermits
Camden, Maine USA, and dwelling places elsewhere
Meetingbrook proposes a laura of hermits, an intentional community, a loosely knit association of individuals seeking what might be called Zen Contemplative Ecology.
For the purpose of Meetingbrook’s proposal, “laura” means the pathways and waterways connecting us on our journey. A laura is:
1. a gathering of individuals living their own lives in their own dwellings;
2. peripheral to a central location shared for communal use;
3. building community with distinct yet similar shared intention to deepen one’s life;
4. each engaged in idiorhythmic practice (i.e. according to one’s own rhythms and schedule) -- whether prayer, meditation, contemplation, energy work, healing unease, encouraging physical, intellectual, spiritual health & balance;
5. with periodic sharing of each person’s conversation & practice in community;
6. devoted to the common intent of cultivating peace, compassion, engaged service, merciful reconciliation, and lovingkindness;
7. welcoming hospitality and generosity of spirit within and toward others.
8. A Zen Contemplative Ecology is, for this proposal, the practice of seeing directly & clearly -- now, safe, & whole -- interrelationships of individuals in community, sentient beings in nourishing environments, and a cosmotheandric awareness (of earth & nature itself, divine presence, and human family) that caringly and carefully makes room for each other..
A Meetingbrook Laura of Hermits -- welcomes individuals, couples, & families. Members of any or no religion are welcome. Members of sanghas, orders, followers of specific teachers, are welcome. Those on any particular spiritual path, those willing to allow others to practice their own religious and spiritual path, are welcome. Inclusive, autonomous, & generous hearted people, are welcome. Those who appreciate diversity and a plurality of seeking, those realizing and embodying what is natural, sacred, and human – the immeasurable gift of existence and life beyond compare -- are welcome.
The mere prospect of connecting what already touches us is attractive. Identifying, consciously and intentionally as part of Meetingbrook Laura of Hermits, deepens the affection and mystery of living life alone with others. Whether you prefer: to live alone on one’s own; live with others; or live alone together – we will explore how to dwell engaging solitude and community – a dedicating of life and love -- with God, each other, oneself.
If interested, come join us for some exploratory conversations toward the creation invited by a Meetingbrook Laura of Hermits. If nothing else, it might provide thoughtful considerations, laughter & a spate of belonging!
If interested in such an exploration, please call 236-4346, leave name and #. or email laura@meetingbrook.org
Thanks, Bill Halpin and Saskia Huising 25Feb2002
Sunday, February 24, 2002
It is time to rethink the word "severity." It wishes to be known by a designation other than "strict in judgment, discipline, or punishment."
Or, what do we really think life is?
This morning, consider every breath. Every blink of the eye. Even the dozens of ladybugs at window suddenly awakened by warm February sun on attic eave. Sando snoozing. Saskia baking. The verity of Sunday morning at the edge of silence.
If we are the universe, there is much we do not yet understand.
If Awakened Buddha, Compassionate Father, Incarnated Christ, Sacred Spirit, Divine Radiance, Eternal Love, Blessed Mother -- (whichever designation brightens our eyes) -- if that personification longs to indwell this reality, there is still much we have to comprehend in order to ourselves inhabit this reality.
If life can be stripped of all denial so that we can begin to love -- there is much to let fall away. When we let this happen, there arrives a transparence that is itself true. .
In 1986, there were 22thousand cases of AIDS worldwide. In 2001 there were 38million cases worldwide. There have been 19million deaths in that time.
"We are each grains of sand on a beach," Joel Rothschild says, "And God is the beach." His book is Signals, An Inspiring Story of Life After Life.
"We are the heartbeat of the universe. There is a biological connection. Every moment in every life matters," says Rothschild speaking with Michael Thoms on New Dimensions Radio.
At the hermitage we pray for all who suffer in body, mind, or spirit. Especially those who are dying, those who will die today, and those who have died with no one to pray for them.
"Se-verity" -- wishes to be known as truth itself, or perhaps, itself true -- another edge of silence. ["Se" in Latin means "itself." "Veritas" in Latin means "truth."]
What is itself true? Or, what is true to itself? And, what can we say about the severity (the itself true) of love?
Even Pilate asked Jesus about severity. Following Jesus' assertion that anyone experiencing the reality he himself embodied, that person will testify to the truth. Pilate asked the reality standing before him, "'Truth,' what is truth?" Jesus remained in silence. Pilate was left to his own reflection.
Our very life depends on our reflection.
A moment of silence might help.
Or, what do we really think life is?
This morning, consider every breath. Every blink of the eye. Even the dozens of ladybugs at window suddenly awakened by warm February sun on attic eave. Sando snoozing. Saskia baking. The verity of Sunday morning at the edge of silence.
If we are the universe, there is much we do not yet understand.
If Awakened Buddha, Compassionate Father, Incarnated Christ, Sacred Spirit, Divine Radiance, Eternal Love, Blessed Mother -- (whichever designation brightens our eyes) -- if that personification longs to indwell this reality, there is still much we have to comprehend in order to ourselves inhabit this reality.
If life can be stripped of all denial so that we can begin to love -- there is much to let fall away. When we let this happen, there arrives a transparence that is itself true. .
In 1986, there were 22thousand cases of AIDS worldwide. In 2001 there were 38million cases worldwide. There have been 19million deaths in that time.
"We are each grains of sand on a beach," Joel Rothschild says, "And God is the beach." His book is Signals, An Inspiring Story of Life After Life.
"We are the heartbeat of the universe. There is a biological connection. Every moment in every life matters," says Rothschild speaking with Michael Thoms on New Dimensions Radio.
At the hermitage we pray for all who suffer in body, mind, or spirit. Especially those who are dying, those who will die today, and those who have died with no one to pray for them.
"Se-verity" -- wishes to be known as truth itself, or perhaps, itself true -- another edge of silence. ["Se" in Latin means "itself." "Veritas" in Latin means "truth."]
What is itself true? Or, what is true to itself? And, what can we say about the severity (the itself true) of love?
Even Pilate asked Jesus about severity. Following Jesus' assertion that anyone experiencing the reality he himself embodied, that person will testify to the truth. Pilate asked the reality standing before him, "'Truth,' what is truth?" Jesus remained in silence. Pilate was left to his own reflection.
Our very life depends on our reflection.
A moment of silence might help.
Saturday, February 23, 2002
Keep our mouths shut? How long?
Do not tell the vision to anyone until the son of man has been raised from the dead. (Mt.17:9)
What does "raised from the dead" mean?
Yes, there is the notion of resurrection that arises. But are there ways of perceiving this notion that are not typically associated with the return to life of a body once dead or even the continuance of life beyond death? Perhaps, also for us to consider is -- raised from deadening ignorance, unawareness, blind grasping onto what others say and believe -- maybe it means entering this very life we live with eyes open, finally, after a long time of not embodying exactly who I am, who you are, who we are.
It might mean -- until the felt and awakened reality of Christ draws us up into a humble and transparent embodiment of Christ. It might mean -- letting fall forms and ideas, notions of inside and outside, us and them, divine and human, sinner and saint -- all the dualistic, separating, either/or's of our mind's making.
Don’t seek favor
Don’t clamber after fame.
Giving up and getting are empty:
Both the same.
This floating life
Is petals falling,
Emptied past the eye.
Serving the state
Is a dream;
Serving yourself
Is the same. -
Ch’en Ts’ao-an (dailyzen)
No tents. Just attend him, just fully engage the reality he is attending and engaging. Do what he is doing -- deepening his dwelling, finding root, allowing cloud to enfold and overcome -- trusting the grace of a loving community of all beings in God's sacred voice.
Jesus, Moses, and Elijah are in the cloud. Peter, James, and John are outside the cloud. So it seems in the script. But does inside and outside really represent what is taking place here in this story?
On the high mountain, where Jesus is made luminous, Peter wants to build three tents. The voice from the cloud interrupts -- "listen to him" -- listen to the one with whom the voice is well pleased. The three disciples are in the drama; they are part of the story. They are actors as much as the other three are. It is a single and singular event. We're there too. Not outside. Not inside. In fact, we are the story.
Standing in light, three are glowing. Prostrate on ground, three are frightened.
The cloud is God's tabernacle. It is the manifestation of His presence promised for the last time (Rev.21:3) It is here a theophany. The one whom God hides in His pavilion belongs very closely to Him (Ps.27:5). If Jesus is taken up into the cloud with the two divine messengers of the last time, this means that He brings final deliverance and that He brings it now. (Lohmeyer, quoted in Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, Kittel, Vol.IV, pp.908-909).
Jesus touches the three on the ground. (What a lovely place to be. It's where we encounter the sacred.)
He says, "Rise, and do not be afraid." Matthew then writes, "And when the disciples raised their eyes, they saw no one else but Jesus alone."
No one else. Jesus alone with them. They alone with him.
This brief, bright, surprise of the Christ touching them. Saying, be without fear. Saying, be what you are. Saying, be what you see.
Places, everyone!
Ok, rise and shine!
Now. Are we ready to speak?
Do not tell the vision to anyone until the son of man has been raised from the dead. (Mt.17:9)
What does "raised from the dead" mean?
Yes, there is the notion of resurrection that arises. But are there ways of perceiving this notion that are not typically associated with the return to life of a body once dead or even the continuance of life beyond death? Perhaps, also for us to consider is -- raised from deadening ignorance, unawareness, blind grasping onto what others say and believe -- maybe it means entering this very life we live with eyes open, finally, after a long time of not embodying exactly who I am, who you are, who we are.
It might mean -- until the felt and awakened reality of Christ draws us up into a humble and transparent embodiment of Christ. It might mean -- letting fall forms and ideas, notions of inside and outside, us and them, divine and human, sinner and saint -- all the dualistic, separating, either/or's of our mind's making.
Don’t seek favor
Don’t clamber after fame.
Giving up and getting are empty:
Both the same.
This floating life
Is petals falling,
Emptied past the eye.
Serving the state
Is a dream;
Serving yourself
Is the same. -
Ch’en Ts’ao-an (dailyzen)
No tents. Just attend him, just fully engage the reality he is attending and engaging. Do what he is doing -- deepening his dwelling, finding root, allowing cloud to enfold and overcome -- trusting the grace of a loving community of all beings in God's sacred voice.
Jesus, Moses, and Elijah are in the cloud. Peter, James, and John are outside the cloud. So it seems in the script. But does inside and outside really represent what is taking place here in this story?
On the high mountain, where Jesus is made luminous, Peter wants to build three tents. The voice from the cloud interrupts -- "listen to him" -- listen to the one with whom the voice is well pleased. The three disciples are in the drama; they are part of the story. They are actors as much as the other three are. It is a single and singular event. We're there too. Not outside. Not inside. In fact, we are the story.
Standing in light, three are glowing. Prostrate on ground, three are frightened.
The cloud is God's tabernacle. It is the manifestation of His presence promised for the last time (Rev.21:3) It is here a theophany. The one whom God hides in His pavilion belongs very closely to Him (Ps.27:5). If Jesus is taken up into the cloud with the two divine messengers of the last time, this means that He brings final deliverance and that He brings it now. (Lohmeyer, quoted in Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, Kittel, Vol.IV, pp.908-909).
Jesus touches the three on the ground. (What a lovely place to be. It's where we encounter the sacred.)
He says, "Rise, and do not be afraid." Matthew then writes, "And when the disciples raised their eyes, they saw no one else but Jesus alone."
No one else. Jesus alone with them. They alone with him.
This brief, bright, surprise of the Christ touching them. Saying, be without fear. Saying, be what you are. Saying, be what you see.
Places, everyone!
Ok, rise and shine!
Now. Are we ready to speak?
Thursday, February 21, 2002
I've been thinking about dying. I'm alive. It's not over yet...
The front page of the Rockland paper has a picture of a man, Jim H., now terminally ill with stomach cancer, but once a student in a Philosophy course I taught in Thomaston where he was police chief. The last night of class he said he'd put off the Ethics course until last, that when he realized he wouldn't get a list of ethical standards for his department from the course he was worried he'd wasted his time. But, he'd come to find out the course was just what he needed -- made him think, tore away many of the neat categories of right and wrong he'd been used to, exposed him to some hard questions, grounded ethical thinking in an evolving consciousness poetry seems to access as good as anything, and finally it was a good enough course -- he liked it.
And I liked him. His papers had the experience and maturity of someone who'd been around, whose ideas of how the world should be were tempered by how people were, and he was a student set in a career that saw people, situations, and responses to both that were real and gritty -- and not hypothetical, not nearly.
Jim is aware of his mortality. More so than most of us, he knows that he's going to die. We all do. But his time is defined by an illness with no respect for time, age, person, or place.
I know I will die. Just when, and how -- I don't know. There are days I think I won't see dusk. But it is February and all ailments take on more sinister outcomes during this awkward month especially considering this curious winter. Being of Irish-American heritage I've adopted the point of view, especially having no health insurance, that you are born, live, get sick, and die. Absent accident or catastrophic natural or terrorist events, that formula seems accurate.
I wince when I read obituaries -- those claiming that so and so fought a valiant, hard, or long battle against their illness, losing -- or unexpectedly, of natural causes, suddenly, succumbed, or wordlessly we are left to wonder just what it was that immediately preceded their death. Was it suicide? Murder? (This category we're usually told.) Or was it a simply loss of the will to continue living, a sighing of an out breath, a turning of a head, no recognizable symptoms of anything, a closing of eyes, and... death?
Then what? Ah, there's the rub! What then?
Here is where several billion words have been written and spoken -- about death, afterlife, grieving of those remaining behind, the spiritual, psyhchological, and religious verities proclaimed sincerely by those who claim a very certain knowledge or faith. Assurances are asked for and received, comforting expectations are shared and are comforting, beliefs are led out to be seen and reviewed -- and they too are nodded to in their passing review. These activities of settling into the fact of one's life and pending death are good activities, usually done by sensitive and caring people with individuals who come to realize that love, kindness, and respect is what we need to reckon with the final considerations. No matter what assurances and comfort we find, death is an unknown.
In the newspaper article Jim said, "The rest of my life depends on me, a personal attitude, a positive attitude." Jim mentioned a couple of regrets about his life: "I didn't stop the Vietnam war," he said. "And I didn't stop world famine." The article also said that he keeps in sight a small printed message on his wall -- "I am baptized. I am a child of God." .
There's a new war now. And a new hunger.
Jim H. is still alive. It's not over yet.
Seeing through the fog and the raindrops on the window, I know there is a foghorn out there, somewhere.
Perhaps -- if we look together...
The front page of the Rockland paper has a picture of a man, Jim H., now terminally ill with stomach cancer, but once a student in a Philosophy course I taught in Thomaston where he was police chief. The last night of class he said he'd put off the Ethics course until last, that when he realized he wouldn't get a list of ethical standards for his department from the course he was worried he'd wasted his time. But, he'd come to find out the course was just what he needed -- made him think, tore away many of the neat categories of right and wrong he'd been used to, exposed him to some hard questions, grounded ethical thinking in an evolving consciousness poetry seems to access as good as anything, and finally it was a good enough course -- he liked it.
And I liked him. His papers had the experience and maturity of someone who'd been around, whose ideas of how the world should be were tempered by how people were, and he was a student set in a career that saw people, situations, and responses to both that were real and gritty -- and not hypothetical, not nearly.
Jim is aware of his mortality. More so than most of us, he knows that he's going to die. We all do. But his time is defined by an illness with no respect for time, age, person, or place.
I know I will die. Just when, and how -- I don't know. There are days I think I won't see dusk. But it is February and all ailments take on more sinister outcomes during this awkward month especially considering this curious winter. Being of Irish-American heritage I've adopted the point of view, especially having no health insurance, that you are born, live, get sick, and die. Absent accident or catastrophic natural or terrorist events, that formula seems accurate.
I wince when I read obituaries -- those claiming that so and so fought a valiant, hard, or long battle against their illness, losing -- or unexpectedly, of natural causes, suddenly, succumbed, or wordlessly we are left to wonder just what it was that immediately preceded their death. Was it suicide? Murder? (This category we're usually told.) Or was it a simply loss of the will to continue living, a sighing of an out breath, a turning of a head, no recognizable symptoms of anything, a closing of eyes, and... death?
Then what? Ah, there's the rub! What then?
Here is where several billion words have been written and spoken -- about death, afterlife, grieving of those remaining behind, the spiritual, psyhchological, and religious verities proclaimed sincerely by those who claim a very certain knowledge or faith. Assurances are asked for and received, comforting expectations are shared and are comforting, beliefs are led out to be seen and reviewed -- and they too are nodded to in their passing review. These activities of settling into the fact of one's life and pending death are good activities, usually done by sensitive and caring people with individuals who come to realize that love, kindness, and respect is what we need to reckon with the final considerations. No matter what assurances and comfort we find, death is an unknown.
In the newspaper article Jim said, "The rest of my life depends on me, a personal attitude, a positive attitude." Jim mentioned a couple of regrets about his life: "I didn't stop the Vietnam war," he said. "And I didn't stop world famine." The article also said that he keeps in sight a small printed message on his wall -- "I am baptized. I am a child of God." .
There's a new war now. And a new hunger.
Jim H. is still alive. It's not over yet.
Seeing through the fog and the raindrops on the window, I know there is a foghorn out there, somewhere.
Perhaps -- if we look together...
Wednesday, February 20, 2002
If we had that mind in us which was in Christ Jesus, would we see what is there -- without fear, illusion, or judgment. Would that free us?
The intellectual life of man consists almost wholly in his substitution of a conceptual order for the perceptual order in which his experience originally comes. (William James)
There was a progression of quotes I once followed in order and properly attributed. From Edmund Husserl, to William Carlos Williams, to Robert Creeley, to my own conclusion. They went: "To the things themselves." "No ideas but in things." "And things are made of words." Finally, "Silence makes no-thing clear."
The perceptual order sees what is there. The conceptual order looks elsewhere.
We long to see what is right here, right in front of us. Yes, the obvious and visible and finite -- but also the hidden, the formless, the beyond that stretches from here. This kind of mind, this kind of seeing -- is hard to word. We are often reduced to mumbling, and sometimes to silence. There, in stark and desolate bewilderment, we are given a profound invitation -- let go, surrender, and fall into freedom!
Christ help us!
If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is: infinite. (William Blake, plate 14 in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell )
...................................................................................................
Please note: Meetingbrook Bookshop & Bakery --
·
Will be closed weekdays the last two weeks in February,
Monday – Friday
Feb.18th-22nd
Feb. 25th – Mar.1st
We will be open on weekends
Saturday and Sunday
Feb.23rd –24th
Mar. 2nd- 3rd.
No weekday evening events will be held during this time.
Sunday Evening Practice will be held at the hermitage.
Evening events will resume with Tuesday Evening Buddhist Studies, Mar.5th.
The intellectual life of man consists almost wholly in his substitution of a conceptual order for the perceptual order in which his experience originally comes. (William James)
There was a progression of quotes I once followed in order and properly attributed. From Edmund Husserl, to William Carlos Williams, to Robert Creeley, to my own conclusion. They went: "To the things themselves." "No ideas but in things." "And things are made of words." Finally, "Silence makes no-thing clear."
The perceptual order sees what is there. The conceptual order looks elsewhere.
We long to see what is right here, right in front of us. Yes, the obvious and visible and finite -- but also the hidden, the formless, the beyond that stretches from here. This kind of mind, this kind of seeing -- is hard to word. We are often reduced to mumbling, and sometimes to silence. There, in stark and desolate bewilderment, we are given a profound invitation -- let go, surrender, and fall into freedom!
Christ help us!
If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is: infinite. (William Blake, plate 14 in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell )
...................................................................................................
Please note: Meetingbrook Bookshop & Bakery --
·
Will be closed weekdays the last two weeks in February,
Monday – Friday
Feb.18th-22nd
Feb. 25th – Mar.1st
We will be open on weekends
Saturday and Sunday
Feb.23rd –24th
Mar. 2nd- 3rd.
No weekday evening events will be held during this time.
Sunday Evening Practice will be held at the hermitage.
Evening events will resume with Tuesday Evening Buddhist Studies, Mar.5th.
Tuesday, February 19, 2002
What would peace look like? We might have to look through words a while before coming to see itself as "itsown."
Graham Greene in his novel The Heart of the Matter (1948):
"That's what I say," she said. "If I go away, you'll have your peace."
"You haven't any conception," he accused her angrily, "of what peace means." It was as if she had spoken slightingly of a woman he loved. For he dreamed of peace by day and night. Once in sleep it had appeared to him as the great glowing shoulder of the moon heaving across his window like an iceberg, artic and destructive in the moment before the world was struck: by day he tried to win a few moments of its company, crouched under the rusting handcuffs in the locked office, reading the reports from the sub-stations. Peace seemed to him the most beautiful word in the language: My peace I give to you, my peace I leave with you: O Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, grant us thy peace. In the Mass he pressed his fingers against his eyes to keep the tears of longing in. (pp.60-61)
Cordwood in towers by oak tree. Cedar branch in warm February sunlight. The day cannot imagine itself other than it is. It is fine.
I've begun to think about Meetingbrook in terms of practicing Zen Catholic Ecology.
What might that look like? What is Zen Catholic Ecology?
What of the words? Zen -- A seeing and saying that adds nothing, subtracts nothing. Catholic -- A whole-safe comprehension that turns one into one. Ecology -- A dwelling inquiry that asks into the interrelationships of organisms and their environments.
A theme runs through the three words for me -- a theme that originates before split and separation -- a theme embodied in each of the words, namely: Practice seeing, whole and safe, each as its own dwelling place.
Perhaps a new word, "itsown," wishes to come into our language. I have long liked the word "itself" as pointing to that which cannot be other than what it is. It has served to suggest to me a corresponding place for the notion of "God" in theistic parlance, and "What Is" in nontheistic parlance. The "Itself" -- whether God or Ultimate Reality -- cannot be divided, but can be seen in diverse manifestation.
"Itsown" --as a new word, yet to cry aloud in its own voice -- suggests not only that which belongs to itself, i.e. "its own", but that which sows itself wherever it appears, i.e. "it sown." This suggestive quality of "itsown" reminds me of peace.
Peace is when each belongs to Itself as Itsown.
Graham Greene in his novel The Heart of the Matter (1948):
"That's what I say," she said. "If I go away, you'll have your peace."
"You haven't any conception," he accused her angrily, "of what peace means." It was as if she had spoken slightingly of a woman he loved. For he dreamed of peace by day and night. Once in sleep it had appeared to him as the great glowing shoulder of the moon heaving across his window like an iceberg, artic and destructive in the moment before the world was struck: by day he tried to win a few moments of its company, crouched under the rusting handcuffs in the locked office, reading the reports from the sub-stations. Peace seemed to him the most beautiful word in the language: My peace I give to you, my peace I leave with you: O Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, grant us thy peace. In the Mass he pressed his fingers against his eyes to keep the tears of longing in. (pp.60-61)
Cordwood in towers by oak tree. Cedar branch in warm February sunlight. The day cannot imagine itself other than it is. It is fine.
I've begun to think about Meetingbrook in terms of practicing Zen Catholic Ecology.
What might that look like? What is Zen Catholic Ecology?
What of the words? Zen -- A seeing and saying that adds nothing, subtracts nothing. Catholic -- A whole-safe comprehension that turns one into one. Ecology -- A dwelling inquiry that asks into the interrelationships of organisms and their environments.
A theme runs through the three words for me -- a theme that originates before split and separation -- a theme embodied in each of the words, namely: Practice seeing, whole and safe, each as its own dwelling place.
Perhaps a new word, "itsown," wishes to come into our language. I have long liked the word "itself" as pointing to that which cannot be other than what it is. It has served to suggest to me a corresponding place for the notion of "God" in theistic parlance, and "What Is" in nontheistic parlance. The "Itself" -- whether God or Ultimate Reality -- cannot be divided, but can be seen in diverse manifestation.
"Itsown" --as a new word, yet to cry aloud in its own voice -- suggests not only that which belongs to itself, i.e. "its own", but that which sows itself wherever it appears, i.e. "it sown." This suggestive quality of "itsown" reminds me of peace.
Peace is when each belongs to Itself as Itsown.
Please note: Meetingbrook Bookshop & Bakery --
·
Will be closed weekdays the last two weeks in February,
Monday – Friday
Feb.18th-22nd
Feb. 25th – Mar.1st
We will be open on weekends
Saturday and Sunday
Feb.23rd –24th
Mar. 2nd- 3rd.
No weekday evening events will be held during this time.
Sunday Evening Practice will be held at the hermitage.
Evening events will resume with Tuesday Evening Buddhist Studies, Mar.5th.
...............................................................................
Sunday, February 17, 2002
Turn stones into bread? The devil tempts Jesus. Never mind baking bread -- perform magic, go for the big sell, the fast profit, the easy return on small investment.
Jesus had it. He'd had enough of the foolish parlor tricks stipulated by the power broker in this world. Then he said it:
He responded, "It is written, 'Human beings are not to live on bread alone, but on every word that comes out of God's mouth.' " (Mt.4:4)
Morning Lectio at our monthly Saturday retreat was taken with this utterance.
The Os Dei, L.=the mouth of God. As we understand the story of the creation of the universe and all in it, God spoke the word of creation. Or, attempting to relate the origins of what we experience as matter and form, we have no idea what and how anything occurred "in the beginning." So, we say, "In the beginning there was the divine word and wisdom." (Jn.1:1)
Then, whatever is, and all that is, flows from the Os Dei, the mouth of God -- the ever-present origin. This is the word of God, these are are the words of God. Each thing, each being, each manifestation, each instance -- this is what emanates and emerges from the mouth of God.
Stones are stones. Bread is bread. Each is itself. Each longs to be itself.
Beware the suggestion to become something else, to be other than what we are at root. .
Jesus seems to be saying we are not about magic and myth, not about the mindless or the mental -- but rather, we are part of the expression of God.
As part of the expression of God we are invited to watch and look, listen and speak, engage and serve each and everything encountered and experienced in this world, on this earth, before, and within one's body.
Jesus embodied Christ-Nature, Christ-Mind. In the story of his encounter with the devil, (with false action and manipulated reality), Jesus teaches us to recognize the false and choose what is true. "Not by bread alone," but by the Alone -- which excludes nothing and includes everything, that which is the root and sustenance of creation as it reveals itself .
What we call God -- or, the Alone -- is here, now, the ever-present origin. God presents all we need -- just like that, just like this. Jesus saw and felt this presence, this awareness, and he tells us we are inside and surrounded by what God is speaking.
The Os Dei is silence, stillness, and solitary seeing. The Os Dei is communicative, moving, and communal Christ consciousness. By any other name, "Christ" is the permeating intelligence and compassion longed for by all that is human. God's presence, or, the creating word of God is a way of relating this grounded reality.
If we accept a particular facile answer as the whole, as substitute for a universal compassionate understanding that moves within and incorporates all creation -- we trip over the false promise of self-serving greed, our particular devil at this time in the world. The wisdom of one who would be Christ accepts no substitution -- wisdom longs for the good of each and all, a longing that will not be satisfied until Alone-With-Others (God with us) inhabits our consciousness, our hearts, and our lives.
No war against evil can substitute for Christ. The wisdom of compassion says: Human beings, if you don't live compassionately with every person and being now in the world, you will inevitably perish in the ignorance of false and fatal warfare, crusades, military and secret retribution, campaigns of terror against terrorism.
Can we hear the sound of that plea?
Christ, the Os Dei, longs to be that sound in our creation.
O Lord, open my lips; and my mouth shall declare your praise! (Ps.51:15)
O Christ, open mouth of God, help us praise the presence of every being!
Fresh, rising, worked in morning mist, scent of yeast, fragrance of heat forming crust, the very revelation of creation for all to taste.
Bread anyone?
Jesus had it. He'd had enough of the foolish parlor tricks stipulated by the power broker in this world. Then he said it:
He responded, "It is written, 'Human beings are not to live on bread alone, but on every word that comes out of God's mouth.' " (Mt.4:4)
Morning Lectio at our monthly Saturday retreat was taken with this utterance.
The Os Dei, L.=the mouth of God. As we understand the story of the creation of the universe and all in it, God spoke the word of creation. Or, attempting to relate the origins of what we experience as matter and form, we have no idea what and how anything occurred "in the beginning." So, we say, "In the beginning there was the divine word and wisdom." (Jn.1:1)
Then, whatever is, and all that is, flows from the Os Dei, the mouth of God -- the ever-present origin. This is the word of God, these are are the words of God. Each thing, each being, each manifestation, each instance -- this is what emanates and emerges from the mouth of God.
Stones are stones. Bread is bread. Each is itself. Each longs to be itself.
Beware the suggestion to become something else, to be other than what we are at root. .
Jesus seems to be saying we are not about magic and myth, not about the mindless or the mental -- but rather, we are part of the expression of God.
As part of the expression of God we are invited to watch and look, listen and speak, engage and serve each and everything encountered and experienced in this world, on this earth, before, and within one's body.
Jesus embodied Christ-Nature, Christ-Mind. In the story of his encounter with the devil, (with false action and manipulated reality), Jesus teaches us to recognize the false and choose what is true. "Not by bread alone," but by the Alone -- which excludes nothing and includes everything, that which is the root and sustenance of creation as it reveals itself .
What we call God -- or, the Alone -- is here, now, the ever-present origin. God presents all we need -- just like that, just like this. Jesus saw and felt this presence, this awareness, and he tells us we are inside and surrounded by what God is speaking.
The Os Dei is silence, stillness, and solitary seeing. The Os Dei is communicative, moving, and communal Christ consciousness. By any other name, "Christ" is the permeating intelligence and compassion longed for by all that is human. God's presence, or, the creating word of God is a way of relating this grounded reality.
If we accept a particular facile answer as the whole, as substitute for a universal compassionate understanding that moves within and incorporates all creation -- we trip over the false promise of self-serving greed, our particular devil at this time in the world. The wisdom of one who would be Christ accepts no substitution -- wisdom longs for the good of each and all, a longing that will not be satisfied until Alone-With-Others (God with us) inhabits our consciousness, our hearts, and our lives.
No war against evil can substitute for Christ. The wisdom of compassion says: Human beings, if you don't live compassionately with every person and being now in the world, you will inevitably perish in the ignorance of false and fatal warfare, crusades, military and secret retribution, campaigns of terror against terrorism.
Can we hear the sound of that plea?
Christ, the Os Dei, longs to be that sound in our creation.
O Lord, open my lips; and my mouth shall declare your praise! (Ps.51:15)
O Christ, open mouth of God, help us praise the presence of every being!
Fresh, rising, worked in morning mist, scent of yeast, fragrance of heat forming crust, the very revelation of creation for all to taste.
Bread anyone?
Thursday, February 14, 2002
The Beloved, through the energy of Love
brought forth the world.
From the rising to the setting sun,
Love radiates out to the nations
perfect in beauty.
...
I know every creature, every plant,
every mineral;
I know you -- your every need
and your fears;
The Earth and all that is in it
belongs to the Whole, to be
tended by all in co-operation
with Love.
(from Psalm 50, as presented by Nan Merrill in Psalms For Praying, An Invitation to Wholeness, pp.96-97)
Jim said in response to the question "Really...What is Love?" at Wednesday Evening Conversation, "Love is allowing God to flow through you."
To the thought "God is what is there," Charlotte corrected "here!" Jesus, by dying on the "T" makes it and separation and death disappear -- so that, There becomes here -- and God is what is here.
Saskia added, "By entering the flow we present God here. Trust, the letting go on, and the letting go into, the Love-of-God flowing through us -- that's trust."
It seems to me that the phrase "Love-of-God" is the very flow of the reality that originates and sustains life and existence. As we come to feel it and know it, we enter and even dissolve into it. What we have named "God" and "Love" with the possessive "of" -- can be seen in another way. The "Love-of-God" is what we are, what we are meant to be, the very reality of existence we are not other than..
Earlier in the day Virginia told that Seinfeld once said his show was all about language and words. She, Hugh, and I were assembling the new chair for Saskia purchased in Bangor enroute home from Presque Isle and the County. Talking about our stay-over in St. Andrews By The Sea, New Brunswick, I told them about our ruminations about the missing third part. There's a wonderful sailboat with its business for sale there, and a house perfect for the hermitage also for sale up the hill from the wharf. This process --from separateness, to consolidation, to enfoldment, to disappearance -- seems to be a sequence of meetingbrook meditation that applies to spiritual as well as physical life.
My friends, search for the still voice
that dwells in the Silence.
If you call upon Me in times of trouble,
I am ever present to you.
You will know Me in your hearts,
As you honor my love for you.
(Merrill, Ps.50, p.98)
Allowing is suffering, is letting -- that's the definition meaning of the word patior, (L.=to suffer, experience, undergo, permit, allow). Suffering is not synonymous with pain. Suffering is allowing. So, when Jim says, "Love is allowing God to flow through you," there is a suggestion of suffering God through one's being, one's person. Much the same way Jesus said, "Suffer [let] the children to come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." (Mk.10:14) To prevent, or hinder, the free flow of love through anyone, especially the young, is a real sorrow. To dam (damn?) anyone, to attempt to block the flow of the Love-of-God, is a foolish, cruel, and terrible activity to attempt. To open, unblock, let flow again what has been dammed (damned?) is healing, kind, and gracious activity.
All who surrender to the love of
the Great Mystery,
whose hearts are merciful and kind,
will go in beauty and walk with grace;
And all who reverence Love's Eternal Flame,
will know Love's Companioning Presence.
(Merrill, Ps 50, p.99)
It's St. Valentine's Day. Give chocolates! Bow in gratitude to the life and love that flows through each one of us!
The Earth and all that is in it belongs to the Whole, to be tended by all in co-operation with Love.
Tend well! Let love go on!
brought forth the world.
From the rising to the setting sun,
Love radiates out to the nations
perfect in beauty.
...
I know every creature, every plant,
every mineral;
I know you -- your every need
and your fears;
The Earth and all that is in it
belongs to the Whole, to be
tended by all in co-operation
with Love.
(from Psalm 50, as presented by Nan Merrill in Psalms For Praying, An Invitation to Wholeness, pp.96-97)
Jim said in response to the question "Really...What is Love?" at Wednesday Evening Conversation, "Love is allowing God to flow through you."
To the thought "God is what is there," Charlotte corrected "here!" Jesus, by dying on the "T" makes it and separation and death disappear -- so that, There becomes here -- and God is what is here.
Saskia added, "By entering the flow we present God here. Trust, the letting go on, and the letting go into, the Love-of-God flowing through us -- that's trust."
It seems to me that the phrase "Love-of-God" is the very flow of the reality that originates and sustains life and existence. As we come to feel it and know it, we enter and even dissolve into it. What we have named "God" and "Love" with the possessive "of" -- can be seen in another way. The "Love-of-God" is what we are, what we are meant to be, the very reality of existence we are not other than..
Earlier in the day Virginia told that Seinfeld once said his show was all about language and words. She, Hugh, and I were assembling the new chair for Saskia purchased in Bangor enroute home from Presque Isle and the County. Talking about our stay-over in St. Andrews By The Sea, New Brunswick, I told them about our ruminations about the missing third part. There's a wonderful sailboat with its business for sale there, and a house perfect for the hermitage also for sale up the hill from the wharf. This process --from separateness, to consolidation, to enfoldment, to disappearance -- seems to be a sequence of meetingbrook meditation that applies to spiritual as well as physical life.
My friends, search for the still voice
that dwells in the Silence.
If you call upon Me in times of trouble,
I am ever present to you.
You will know Me in your hearts,
As you honor my love for you.
(Merrill, Ps.50, p.98)
Allowing is suffering, is letting -- that's the definition meaning of the word patior, (L.=to suffer, experience, undergo, permit, allow). Suffering is not synonymous with pain. Suffering is allowing. So, when Jim says, "Love is allowing God to flow through you," there is a suggestion of suffering God through one's being, one's person. Much the same way Jesus said, "Suffer [let] the children to come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." (Mk.10:14) To prevent, or hinder, the free flow of love through anyone, especially the young, is a real sorrow. To dam (damn?) anyone, to attempt to block the flow of the Love-of-God, is a foolish, cruel, and terrible activity to attempt. To open, unblock, let flow again what has been dammed (damned?) is healing, kind, and gracious activity.
All who surrender to the love of
the Great Mystery,
whose hearts are merciful and kind,
will go in beauty and walk with grace;
And all who reverence Love's Eternal Flame,
will know Love's Companioning Presence.
(Merrill, Ps 50, p.99)
It's St. Valentine's Day. Give chocolates! Bow in gratitude to the life and love that flows through each one of us!
The Earth and all that is in it belongs to the Whole, to be tended by all in co-operation with Love.
Tend well! Let love go on!
Wednesday, February 13, 2002
Desperate times demand desperate measures. When does despair become a virtue? Is it when hope turns to face you, and you have disappeared?
Comprehending the fundamental,
Embracing the spirit,
Roam the root of heaven and earth,
Wander beyond the dust and dirt,
Travel to work with noninvolvement.
Take care not to let mechanical
Intelligence burden your mind;
Watch what is not temporal
And remain unmoved by things.
- Lao tzu (in dailyzen)
In a time of censure, suicide, and slaughter, I propose a more radical penance practice -- namely, disappearing in place of Christ!
VI
Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn
Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings
And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth
This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue rocks
But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the other yew be shaken and reply.
Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit
of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.
(final part, from poem "Ash Wednesday" by T.S.Eliot)
Dean, concert singer doubling as bookstore clerk, would often reach for a quote from Pema Chodron, about hope -- that it was something you hung on to, clung to -- but it too must be dropped. He'd say this over coffee. He wondered why Christians placed so much value in hope. Wasn't it wanting something other, something separate that wasn't necessary? Suffer me not to be separated.
Lent begins. Let the suffering begin! Or, put differently, let the allowing begin. To suffer is to allow, to let what is taking place be what it truly is. And what is taking place? What truly is? What is turning itself into itself in this existence?
Perhaps, just perhaps, it truly is the body of Christ taking place in this world.
Although I do not hope to turn. These are desperate times. Canadian figure skaters are denied the gold they demonstrated belonged to them. Catholic priests are deconstructing the privilege and power they once assumed was theirs no matter what. Politicians poise to saw off the limb of easy money that held them aloft from the ground of honest brokering. The heresy of having a different opinion about war, murder, infallibility, and nearness to God -- has been moved from ecclesiastical sanctuaries and relocated in the oval office, justice department, and pentagon -- linking heresy with treason, and usurping the national flag as new icon of redemption.
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth.
I am desperate. I despair. I cannot see myself...without hope...where does one turn?
It is Ash Wednesday, Lent, and the slow emptying begins.
Perhaps it is not hope, but something wonders -- If what we call "Christ" takes place in this world, will anyone who answers 'yes' or 'no' come to realize their separation? -- or, their true self, their Christ-self?
As for me, disappearing might be a virtue to consider.
This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
At least, it's a place to begin.
Comprehending the fundamental,
Embracing the spirit,
Roam the root of heaven and earth,
Wander beyond the dust and dirt,
Travel to work with noninvolvement.
Take care not to let mechanical
Intelligence burden your mind;
Watch what is not temporal
And remain unmoved by things.
- Lao tzu (in dailyzen)
In a time of censure, suicide, and slaughter, I propose a more radical penance practice -- namely, disappearing in place of Christ!
VI
Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn
Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings
And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth
This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue rocks
But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the other yew be shaken and reply.
Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit
of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.
(final part, from poem "Ash Wednesday" by T.S.Eliot)
Dean, concert singer doubling as bookstore clerk, would often reach for a quote from Pema Chodron, about hope -- that it was something you hung on to, clung to -- but it too must be dropped. He'd say this over coffee. He wondered why Christians placed so much value in hope. Wasn't it wanting something other, something separate that wasn't necessary? Suffer me not to be separated.
Lent begins. Let the suffering begin! Or, put differently, let the allowing begin. To suffer is to allow, to let what is taking place be what it truly is. And what is taking place? What truly is? What is turning itself into itself in this existence?
Perhaps, just perhaps, it truly is the body of Christ taking place in this world.
Although I do not hope to turn. These are desperate times. Canadian figure skaters are denied the gold they demonstrated belonged to them. Catholic priests are deconstructing the privilege and power they once assumed was theirs no matter what. Politicians poise to saw off the limb of easy money that held them aloft from the ground of honest brokering. The heresy of having a different opinion about war, murder, infallibility, and nearness to God -- has been moved from ecclesiastical sanctuaries and relocated in the oval office, justice department, and pentagon -- linking heresy with treason, and usurping the national flag as new icon of redemption.
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth.
I am desperate. I despair. I cannot see myself...without hope...where does one turn?
It is Ash Wednesday, Lent, and the slow emptying begins.
Perhaps it is not hope, but something wonders -- If what we call "Christ" takes place in this world, will anyone who answers 'yes' or 'no' come to realize their separation? -- or, their true self, their Christ-self?
As for me, disappearing might be a virtue to consider.
This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
At least, it's a place to begin.
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