Cat scratches at opening along window facing Sally's land in meditation cabin. The real resident of zendo stays hidden. As we chant Lauds, Mu-ge reminds mice of impermanence at the same time mice remind him of life's invisibility.
The French philosopher, Michel Henry (1922-2002), interprets Descartes's "I think, I am" as "I feel myself thinking, I am."
You gain an illuminating insight into the very nature of things, which now appear to you as so many fairy-like flowers having no graspable reality. Here is manifested the unsophisticated self which is the Original Face of your being; here is shown all bare the most beautiful landscape of your birthplace. There is but one straight passage open and unobstructed through and through. This is where you surrender all, your body, your life, and all that belongs to your inmost self. This is where you gain peace, ease, non-doing, and inexpressible delight.
- Yengo (1566-1642)
Feeling is all. Thinking is no more than attempt to put context and coincidence onto feeling. Like men in confinement in the loneliness of abandonment -- looking for a face that looks back into theirs.
Small Fundamental Essay
What many people fail to understand
about the art and science of mechanics
is that you may know perfectly what happens
under the hood of your car when you turn on
the ignition, and you may comprehend
to a nicety how the combination of pump
and pressure tank and heating coils produces
hot water when you turn the tap, and yet
the wonder never ceases. That this can be
-- and is -- is what bestirs the mind and heart.
Ours is a faith that never starts a war
nor rips a living child from its warm womb,
a faith that needs no ghastly hierophant
hung dead upon a cross to speak for us.
It is faith in the miracle of the possible,
faith in the peaceful knowledge of what is true.
(Poem: "Small Fundamental Essay" by Hayden Carruth from Toward the Distant Islands: New & Selected Poems. Copper Canyon Press. {The Writer's Almanac})
If home at all, there is no home but what is true. For that place, God is needed.
There are some places only God is. Avoid these places. They are the end of you.
Comes emptiness with no reflection mirroring anything.
Mute peering through plexiglass.
God looking out for own image.
Friday, May 05, 2006
In the interview, the applicant says: "Prison sucks." It's up to them now.
What is it then that keeps him in this room, except the certainty that it's still the best thing to do, the feeling that the whole absurd simplicity of the world has sought refuge here.
"Will you be back again?" she says. "I know you have work to do. Just from time to time..."
But where am I now? And how can I separate this deserted cafe from that room in my past? I don't know any longer whether I'm living or remembering. The beams from the lighthouse are here. And the Arab stands in front of me telling me that he is going to close. I have to leave. I no longer want to make such dangerous descents. It is true, as I take a last look at the bay and its light, that what wells up in me is not the hope of better days but a serene and primitive indifference to everything and to myself. But I must break this too limp and easy curve. I need my lucidity. Yes, everything is simple. It's men who complicate things. Don't let them tell us any stories. Don't let them say about the man condemned to death: "He is going to pay his debt to society," but: "They're going to chop his head off." It may seem like nothing. But it does make a little difference. There are some people who prefer to look their destiny straight in the eye.
(-- "Between Yes and No" from The Wrong Side and the Right Side, a collection of essays by Albert Camus)
We long for an environment that marries serving to service. That is sacred longing.
Even in hell -- we're asked to be human.
"Nothing human disgusts me, unless it is unkind or violent." So says Hannah in "Night of the Iguana."
So say we all.
What is it then that keeps him in this room, except the certainty that it's still the best thing to do, the feeling that the whole absurd simplicity of the world has sought refuge here.
"Will you be back again?" she says. "I know you have work to do. Just from time to time..."
But where am I now? And how can I separate this deserted cafe from that room in my past? I don't know any longer whether I'm living or remembering. The beams from the lighthouse are here. And the Arab stands in front of me telling me that he is going to close. I have to leave. I no longer want to make such dangerous descents. It is true, as I take a last look at the bay and its light, that what wells up in me is not the hope of better days but a serene and primitive indifference to everything and to myself. But I must break this too limp and easy curve. I need my lucidity. Yes, everything is simple. It's men who complicate things. Don't let them tell us any stories. Don't let them say about the man condemned to death: "He is going to pay his debt to society," but: "They're going to chop his head off." It may seem like nothing. But it does make a little difference. There are some people who prefer to look their destiny straight in the eye.
(-- "Between Yes and No" from The Wrong Side and the Right Side, a collection of essays by Albert Camus)
We long for an environment that marries serving to service. That is sacred longing.
Even in hell -- we're asked to be human.
"Nothing human disgusts me, unless it is unkind or violent." So says Hannah in "Night of the Iguana."
So say we all.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Twenty five years. Mother's deathday.
It is presented right to your face, and at this moment the whole thing is handed over to you. Look into your whole being. Let your body and mind be turned into an inanimate object of nature like stone or a piece a wood; when in a state of perfect motionlessness, an awareness is attained. All the signs of life will depart, and also every trace of limitation will vanish. Not a single idea will disturb your consciousness, when all of a sudden you will come to realize a light abounding in full gladness.
- Yengo (1566-1642) (dailyzen.com)
They say awareness is a horizon of light.
Life gazing through itself.
Manifest practice.
It is presented right to your face, and at this moment the whole thing is handed over to you. Look into your whole being. Let your body and mind be turned into an inanimate object of nature like stone or a piece a wood; when in a state of perfect motionlessness, an awareness is attained. All the signs of life will depart, and also every trace of limitation will vanish. Not a single idea will disturb your consciousness, when all of a sudden you will come to realize a light abounding in full gladness.
- Yengo (1566-1642) (dailyzen.com)
They say awareness is a horizon of light.
Life gazing through itself.
Manifest practice.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Where else is there to go?
Nowhere else.
Reaching my hut built of quiet mystery,
I sweep clouds away and settle into repose.
There's no one left to climb with me beyond
Slippery moss and frail vines to this peak
Where autumn winds bluster and breeze
And spring grasses grow lush and green.
You're traveling beyond hope of return
- Hsieh Ling-yun (385-433 C.E.)
The practice is this: what you are -- be that with open awareness.
What else is there to be?
Nothing else.
Nowhere else.
Reaching my hut built of quiet mystery,
I sweep clouds away and settle into repose.
There's no one left to climb with me beyond
Slippery moss and frail vines to this peak
Where autumn winds bluster and breeze
And spring grasses grow lush and green.
You're traveling beyond hope of return
- Hsieh Ling-yun (385-433 C.E.)
The practice is this: what you are -- be that with open awareness.
What else is there to be?
Nothing else.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Redwing blackbird lands on thin branch by cabin.
What is it in this teaching we call
"Sitting in meditation?
In this teaching, "sitting" means
Without any obstruction anywhere,
Outwardly and under all circumstances,
Not to activate thoughts.
"Meditation" is internally to see the original nature
And not become confused.
- Huineng
Comes May.
On the incarnation of the Word
The Word of God, incorporeal, incorruptible and immaterial, entered our world. Yet it was not as if he had been remote from it up to that time. For there is no part of the world that was ever without his presence; together with his Father, he continually filled all things and places.
(From a discourse by Saint Athanasius, bishop)
Wind on lake along Megunticook range lifts waves on morning drive to Belfast eucharist.
Everywhere. All things.
Man with colored patch pants buys coffee at Chase's Daily.
As do I.
With muffin.
Listing.
What is it in this teaching we call
"Sitting in meditation?
In this teaching, "sitting" means
Without any obstruction anywhere,
Outwardly and under all circumstances,
Not to activate thoughts.
"Meditation" is internally to see the original nature
And not become confused.
- Huineng
Comes May.
On the incarnation of the Word
The Word of God, incorporeal, incorruptible and immaterial, entered our world. Yet it was not as if he had been remote from it up to that time. For there is no part of the world that was ever without his presence; together with his Father, he continually filled all things and places.
(From a discourse by Saint Athanasius, bishop)
Wind on lake along Megunticook range lifts waves on morning drive to Belfast eucharist.
Everywhere. All things.
Man with colored patch pants buys coffee at Chase's Daily.
As do I.
With muffin.
Listing.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Faith without practice is unconceiving.
Practice, some say, makes perfect. Jesus said, "You, therefore, must be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect." (Matt.5:48) Practice, then, so that you do not fall into the habit of separation.
Christianity, if it is to rise from the ashes of its spiritual demise, must be conceived through the good auspices of Mary knowing Joseph in the loving of Jesus. (Of course it is a loaded sentence. It is May 1st: Joseph the Worker; Month of Mary; Eastertide of the Mystery of Jesus and Resurrection).
What is good news? What evangel (i.e. glad tidings) are we capable of hearing? Are we willing to practice?
Walter Kaufmann writes: The "justification by faith" seems to Nietzsche an inversion of Jesus' evangel. He never tires of insisting that the legacy of Jesus was essentially a practice, and he is convinced -- presumably by Dostoyevsky -- that "even today such a life is possible, for certain human beings even necessary: genuine original Christianity will be possible at all times." (A 39) The Christian religion, however, seems to him to be founded on Paul's denial of this proposition -- a denial which Nietzsche would explain by saying that Paul knew that for him such a life was not possible. Nor was it possible for St. Augustine, Luther, or Calvin. Paul is for Nietzsche "the first Christian" (M 68); the discoverer of faith as a remedy against the incapacity for what one deems to be right action; the man who made it possible for pagans the world over to persist in their own way of life while calling themselves Christians.
(pp.293-294, in Nietzsche, Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist, c.1950, Princeton University Press)
"Pagan" is the usual translation of the Islamic term mushrik, which refers to 'one who worships something other than God'. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paganism)
(Pagan, from "pagus" -- "country-dweller," classically refers to someone with no interest in religion, especially monotheistic religion, but is likely to be polytheistic, or nature directed.)
Whether theistic, non-theistic, or someone attuned to nature -- there is a longing for what is true. The goal, or intention, we find ourselves considering, is: How practice what is true?
Practice is work. Likewise, and paradoxically, it is effortless.
South and north, sharing a single mountain gate,
Above and below, two temples both named T'ien-chu.
Dwelling therein is an old dharma master,
Built tall and skinny like stork or swan.
I do not know what practice he engages in,
But his green eyes reflect the mountain valleys.
Just looking into them makes one feel fresh and pure,
As if all one's baneful vexations had been cleansed.
- Su Shih (1073)
No static intellectual assent can suffice. No act of faith can penetrate the earth as lovers interpenetrate one another with longing for their true nature.
When they found him on the other side, they said to him, "Rabbi, when did you come here?"
Jesus answered:
"I tell you most solemnly,
you are not looking for me because you have seen the signs
but because you had all the bread you wanted to eat.
Do not work for food that cannot last,
but work for food that endures to eternal life,
the kind of food the Son of Man is offering you,
for on him the Father, God himself, has set his seal."
Then they said to him, "What must we do if we are to do the works that God wants?" Jesus gave them this answer, "This is working for God: you must believe in the one he has sent".
(from John 6:22 - 29)
(I have a suspicion an alternate translation of that final phrase could be: "...you must behave as the one he has sent.")
It has long been bane to hear excuse, rationalization, obfuscating explanation, or appeal to secret knowing beyond ordinary minds. I'd rather a clear, direct, and diaphanous act of compassion and courage than any rhetorical deflection.
Friedrich Nietzsche writes:
What the Gospels make instinctive is precisely the reverse of all heroic struggle, of all taste for conflict: the very incapacity for resistance is here converted into something moral: ("resist not evil !"--the most profound sentence in the Gospels, perhaps the true key to them), to wit, the blessedness of peace, of gentleness, the inability to be an enemy. What is the meaning of "glad tidings"?--The true life, the life eternal has been found--it is not merely promised, it is here, it is in you; it is the life that lies in love free from all retreats and exclusions, from all keeping of distances. Every one is the child of God--Jesus claims nothing for himself alone--as the child of God each man is the equal of every other man. . . .Imagine making Jesus a hero!--And what a tremendous misunderstanding appears in the word "genius"! Our whole conception of the "spiritual," the whole conception of our civilization, could have had no meaning in the world that Jesus lived in. In the strict sense of the physiologist, a quite different word ought to be used here. . . . We all know that there is a morbid sensibility of the tactile nerves which causes those suffering from it to recoil from every touch, and from every effort to grasp a solid object. Brought to its logical conclusion, such a physiological habitus becomes an instinctive hatred of all reality, a flight into the "intangible," into the "incomprehensible"; a distaste for all formulae, for all conceptions of time and space, for everything established--customs, institutions, the church--; a feeling of being at home in a world in which no sort of reality survives, a merely "inner" world, a "true" world, an "eternal" world. . . . "The Kingdom of God is within you". . . .
(from 29, "THE ANTICHRIST, by Freidrich Nietzsche, Published 1895, translation by H.L. Mencken, Published 1920. http://www.fns.org.uk/ac.htm)
Reading Nietzsche surprises.
It is curious to intuit that "hatred of all reality" is becoming standard tactic in government and religion. "God" (the supreme example of "resist not evil") is shackled and tortured by policy and power. "Christ" has identity stolen and is fronted by barkers who bait and switch. They offer their arrogance as template -- calling connivance "compassion" and misappropriation "our corporate mission, accomplished."
Seasonal symbols -- lilies and fronds, paschal candles and lupin seed -- are insufficient to penetrate the psyches of a distracted and distraught populace. Wombs and minds fall barren when they cannot conceive what is taking place. Artificial insemination with othering values takes place without full consent. Our will is weakened. We allow drunken leers into our privacy and they have their way with docile, compliant, and trusting ignorance. No abortion permitted. Offspring belong to men admitting no mistakes. Women are hidden behind screen of politesse. An unreflecting brood are glimpsed playing seesaw, up and down, captive imagination. Nietzsche went mad. God went dead. Power and will substitute for "hustera" -- Greek, for "uturus." Menopause, cessation of menstruation, is celebrated by our caretakers. Our enfeebled desire fails to bring out from us that which longs to find light. Virtue, for both men and women, becomes pseudocyesis -- an imaginary and false conception.
(With apologies for pun: A Meno-pause.)
So, we pause. For Meno and Socrates we turn to Plato:
Meno is a Socratic dialogue written by Plato. Written in the Socratic dialectic style, it attempts to determine the definition of virtue, meaning in this case virtue in general, rather than particular virtues (e.g., justice, temperance, etc.). The goal is a common definition that applies equally to all particular virtues.
The dialogue starts with Meno asking Socrates to tell him what virtue is. Socrates, in his usual style, professes ignorance. Meno suggests that there are many different types of virtues, for example, some are appropriate for men, some for women, some for slaves, others for children. Socrates does not accept this explanation, but instead wants to know what is the common quality that makes all these different things virtues.
The conversation continues, with Socrates and Meno able to list many particular virtues, but unable to find the thing which they all have in common and which makes them all virtues -- until Meno proposes desire for good (in the moral sense) things as the definition.
Socrates questions this definition, suggesting that no one knowingly desires evil, and thus the desire for good is common in all men. Meno adds that the good things must be obtained in the right way, so being wealthy would be a virtue if the wealth were obtained in a just way. Socrates spots a circular argument at this point, with virtue being defined as that which is obtained in a virtuous way. Meno gives up at this point, saying:
"For my soul and my tongue are really torpid, and I do not know how to answer you; and though I have been delivered of an infinite variety of speeches about virtue before now, and to many persons -- and very good ones they were, as I thought -- at this moment I cannot even say what virtue is." (80b)
At this point, Meno introduces an epistemological problem: "And how will you enquire, Socrates, into that which you do not know? What will you put forth as the subject of enquiry? And if you find what you want, how will you ever know that this is the thing which you did not know?" In other words, how is one to know when one has arrived at the truth when one does not know what the truth is?
Socrates suggests that all acquisition of knowledge is in fact a matter of anamnesis (sometimes translated as recollection, reminiscence, or recall). We never really learn anything; we already know it and only need a reminder. A famous demonstration of this theory ensues: Socrates, through gentle prodding of one of Meno's slaves, elicits a simple geometrical theorem from the boy, though the boy had not before even considered the matter.
Since no one really learns anything, there are no teachers or students, so virtue cannot be taught. This means Meno must redefine virtue.
Without defining virtue, the Meno concludes with Socrates saying:
"Then, Meno, the conclusion is that virtue comes to the virtuous by the gift of god. But we shall never know the certain truth until, before asking how virtue is given, we enquire into the actual nature of virtue [something that Plato doesn't discuss in detail until The Republic]. I fear that I must go away, but do you, now that you are persuaded yourself, persuade our friend Anytus. And do not let him be so exasperated; if you can conciliate him, you will have done good service to the Athenian people." (100b)
(http://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/Meno)
To conciliate means:
1. To overcome the distrust or animosity of; appease.
2. To regain or try to regain (friendship or goodwill) by pleasant behavior.
3. To make or attempt to make compatible; reconcile.
(http://www.thefreedictionary.com/dict.asp?Word=conciliate)
I consider religion to be the unceasing inquiry into, and continual practice of, what is true.
Authentic and aware individuals long to be loved, to be made love to, by what is true. Throughout history and mythology this "what is true" has often been called God, Holy Spirit, Word of Life. It has also been called Thusness, Suchness, Tat Tvam Asi, Beloved, Karuna (Compassion), and Prajna (Wisdom). The Holy One.
Mercy.
Justice.
Love itself.
Conceive this.
Birth here.
Embody now.
Trust what is true.
No pause.
Practice.
As Nietzsche might say: Practice what is true in you.
Actually.
Practice, some say, makes perfect. Jesus said, "You, therefore, must be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect." (Matt.5:48) Practice, then, so that you do not fall into the habit of separation.
Christianity, if it is to rise from the ashes of its spiritual demise, must be conceived through the good auspices of Mary knowing Joseph in the loving of Jesus. (Of course it is a loaded sentence. It is May 1st: Joseph the Worker; Month of Mary; Eastertide of the Mystery of Jesus and Resurrection).
What is good news? What evangel (i.e. glad tidings) are we capable of hearing? Are we willing to practice?
Walter Kaufmann writes: The "justification by faith" seems to Nietzsche an inversion of Jesus' evangel. He never tires of insisting that the legacy of Jesus was essentially a practice, and he is convinced -- presumably by Dostoyevsky -- that "even today such a life is possible, for certain human beings even necessary: genuine original Christianity will be possible at all times." (A 39) The Christian religion, however, seems to him to be founded on Paul's denial of this proposition -- a denial which Nietzsche would explain by saying that Paul knew that for him such a life was not possible. Nor was it possible for St. Augustine, Luther, or Calvin. Paul is for Nietzsche "the first Christian" (M 68); the discoverer of faith as a remedy against the incapacity for what one deems to be right action; the man who made it possible for pagans the world over to persist in their own way of life while calling themselves Christians.
(pp.293-294, in Nietzsche, Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist, c.1950, Princeton University Press)
"Pagan" is the usual translation of the Islamic term mushrik, which refers to 'one who worships something other than God'. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paganism)
(Pagan, from "pagus" -- "country-dweller," classically refers to someone with no interest in religion, especially monotheistic religion, but is likely to be polytheistic, or nature directed.)
Whether theistic, non-theistic, or someone attuned to nature -- there is a longing for what is true. The goal, or intention, we find ourselves considering, is: How practice what is true?
Practice is work. Likewise, and paradoxically, it is effortless.
South and north, sharing a single mountain gate,
Above and below, two temples both named T'ien-chu.
Dwelling therein is an old dharma master,
Built tall and skinny like stork or swan.
I do not know what practice he engages in,
But his green eyes reflect the mountain valleys.
Just looking into them makes one feel fresh and pure,
As if all one's baneful vexations had been cleansed.
- Su Shih (1073)
No static intellectual assent can suffice. No act of faith can penetrate the earth as lovers interpenetrate one another with longing for their true nature.
When they found him on the other side, they said to him, "Rabbi, when did you come here?"
Jesus answered:
"I tell you most solemnly,
you are not looking for me because you have seen the signs
but because you had all the bread you wanted to eat.
Do not work for food that cannot last,
but work for food that endures to eternal life,
the kind of food the Son of Man is offering you,
for on him the Father, God himself, has set his seal."
Then they said to him, "What must we do if we are to do the works that God wants?" Jesus gave them this answer, "This is working for God: you must believe in the one he has sent".
(from John 6:22 - 29)
(I have a suspicion an alternate translation of that final phrase could be: "...you must behave as the one he has sent.")
It has long been bane to hear excuse, rationalization, obfuscating explanation, or appeal to secret knowing beyond ordinary minds. I'd rather a clear, direct, and diaphanous act of compassion and courage than any rhetorical deflection.
Friedrich Nietzsche writes:
What the Gospels make instinctive is precisely the reverse of all heroic struggle, of all taste for conflict: the very incapacity for resistance is here converted into something moral: ("resist not evil !"--the most profound sentence in the Gospels, perhaps the true key to them), to wit, the blessedness of peace, of gentleness, the inability to be an enemy. What is the meaning of "glad tidings"?--The true life, the life eternal has been found--it is not merely promised, it is here, it is in you; it is the life that lies in love free from all retreats and exclusions, from all keeping of distances. Every one is the child of God--Jesus claims nothing for himself alone--as the child of God each man is the equal of every other man. . . .Imagine making Jesus a hero!--And what a tremendous misunderstanding appears in the word "genius"! Our whole conception of the "spiritual," the whole conception of our civilization, could have had no meaning in the world that Jesus lived in. In the strict sense of the physiologist, a quite different word ought to be used here. . . . We all know that there is a morbid sensibility of the tactile nerves which causes those suffering from it to recoil from every touch, and from every effort to grasp a solid object. Brought to its logical conclusion, such a physiological habitus becomes an instinctive hatred of all reality, a flight into the "intangible," into the "incomprehensible"; a distaste for all formulae, for all conceptions of time and space, for everything established--customs, institutions, the church--; a feeling of being at home in a world in which no sort of reality survives, a merely "inner" world, a "true" world, an "eternal" world. . . . "The Kingdom of God is within you". . . .
(from 29, "THE ANTICHRIST, by Freidrich Nietzsche, Published 1895, translation by H.L. Mencken, Published 1920. http://www.fns.org.uk/ac.htm)
Reading Nietzsche surprises.
It is curious to intuit that "hatred of all reality" is becoming standard tactic in government and religion. "God" (the supreme example of "resist not evil") is shackled and tortured by policy and power. "Christ" has identity stolen and is fronted by barkers who bait and switch. They offer their arrogance as template -- calling connivance "compassion" and misappropriation "our corporate mission, accomplished."
Seasonal symbols -- lilies and fronds, paschal candles and lupin seed -- are insufficient to penetrate the psyches of a distracted and distraught populace. Wombs and minds fall barren when they cannot conceive what is taking place. Artificial insemination with othering values takes place without full consent. Our will is weakened. We allow drunken leers into our privacy and they have their way with docile, compliant, and trusting ignorance. No abortion permitted. Offspring belong to men admitting no mistakes. Women are hidden behind screen of politesse. An unreflecting brood are glimpsed playing seesaw, up and down, captive imagination. Nietzsche went mad. God went dead. Power and will substitute for "hustera" -- Greek, for "uturus." Menopause, cessation of menstruation, is celebrated by our caretakers. Our enfeebled desire fails to bring out from us that which longs to find light. Virtue, for both men and women, becomes pseudocyesis -- an imaginary and false conception.
(With apologies for pun: A Meno-pause.)
So, we pause. For Meno and Socrates we turn to Plato:
Meno is a Socratic dialogue written by Plato. Written in the Socratic dialectic style, it attempts to determine the definition of virtue, meaning in this case virtue in general, rather than particular virtues (e.g., justice, temperance, etc.). The goal is a common definition that applies equally to all particular virtues.
The dialogue starts with Meno asking Socrates to tell him what virtue is. Socrates, in his usual style, professes ignorance. Meno suggests that there are many different types of virtues, for example, some are appropriate for men, some for women, some for slaves, others for children. Socrates does not accept this explanation, but instead wants to know what is the common quality that makes all these different things virtues.
The conversation continues, with Socrates and Meno able to list many particular virtues, but unable to find the thing which they all have in common and which makes them all virtues -- until Meno proposes desire for good (in the moral sense) things as the definition.
Socrates questions this definition, suggesting that no one knowingly desires evil, and thus the desire for good is common in all men. Meno adds that the good things must be obtained in the right way, so being wealthy would be a virtue if the wealth were obtained in a just way. Socrates spots a circular argument at this point, with virtue being defined as that which is obtained in a virtuous way. Meno gives up at this point, saying:
"For my soul and my tongue are really torpid, and I do not know how to answer you; and though I have been delivered of an infinite variety of speeches about virtue before now, and to many persons -- and very good ones they were, as I thought -- at this moment I cannot even say what virtue is." (80b)
At this point, Meno introduces an epistemological problem: "And how will you enquire, Socrates, into that which you do not know? What will you put forth as the subject of enquiry? And if you find what you want, how will you ever know that this is the thing which you did not know?" In other words, how is one to know when one has arrived at the truth when one does not know what the truth is?
Socrates suggests that all acquisition of knowledge is in fact a matter of anamnesis (sometimes translated as recollection, reminiscence, or recall). We never really learn anything; we already know it and only need a reminder. A famous demonstration of this theory ensues: Socrates, through gentle prodding of one of Meno's slaves, elicits a simple geometrical theorem from the boy, though the boy had not before even considered the matter.
Since no one really learns anything, there are no teachers or students, so virtue cannot be taught. This means Meno must redefine virtue.
Without defining virtue, the Meno concludes with Socrates saying:
"Then, Meno, the conclusion is that virtue comes to the virtuous by the gift of god. But we shall never know the certain truth until, before asking how virtue is given, we enquire into the actual nature of virtue [something that Plato doesn't discuss in detail until The Republic]. I fear that I must go away, but do you, now that you are persuaded yourself, persuade our friend Anytus. And do not let him be so exasperated; if you can conciliate him, you will have done good service to the Athenian people." (100b)
(http://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/Meno)
To conciliate means:
1. To overcome the distrust or animosity of; appease.
2. To regain or try to regain (friendship or goodwill) by pleasant behavior.
3. To make or attempt to make compatible; reconcile.
(http://www.thefreedictionary.com/dict.asp?Word=conciliate)
I consider religion to be the unceasing inquiry into, and continual practice of, what is true.
Authentic and aware individuals long to be loved, to be made love to, by what is true. Throughout history and mythology this "what is true" has often been called God, Holy Spirit, Word of Life. It has also been called Thusness, Suchness, Tat Tvam Asi, Beloved, Karuna (Compassion), and Prajna (Wisdom). The Holy One.
Mercy.
Justice.
Love itself.
Conceive this.
Birth here.
Embody now.
Trust what is true.
No pause.
Practice.
As Nietzsche might say: Practice what is true in you.
Actually.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Everyone we speak with is Buddha. Trying our patience. Asking us to find right mind to engage what is being presented to us. Watching us recreate the disintegrating world.
To be free from the noise,
I built a little thatched cottage
Far away in the depth of the mountains.
Wandering here and there I carry no thought.
When spring comes I watch the birds;
In summer I bathe in the running stream;
In autumn I climb the highest peaks;
During the winter I am warming up in the sun.
Thus I enjoy the real flavor of the seasons.
Let the sun and the moon revolve by themselves!
When I have time I read the sutras,
When I am tired I sleep on my straw bed.
The meaning of the teaching is
Profound and vast like the ocean.
When I reveal it in my brush-work,
Its merits are limitless.
Should I explain this secret teaching to you
The solid mountain, I am afraid, would blow away.
- Shih t'ao (1641-1717)
God experiencing God through our senses -- says Jory at table.
We hold goal and boundary in our mind and heart. Yet, there is no goal. Nor any boundaries. We are befuddled by this realization.
Nevertheless, we stop at red lights. We imagine we understand Christ in myriad appearances. We say two and two equals four -- decidedly confident we are on to something. I'll discard two and take one.
"My life has been one continuous mistake." That's what Dogen wrote in his Shobogenzo. The thought cheers me. Therefore, I practice.
I live this life by practicing this life, one mistake at a time. Soon I will come to realize there is nothing to hold on to. No identity explaining anything. God is. I am not. A bluff? I call. Show all cards.
Then, I'll let go.
There is no secret teaching.
The mountain is safe.
Come home.
To be free from the noise,
I built a little thatched cottage
Far away in the depth of the mountains.
Wandering here and there I carry no thought.
When spring comes I watch the birds;
In summer I bathe in the running stream;
In autumn I climb the highest peaks;
During the winter I am warming up in the sun.
Thus I enjoy the real flavor of the seasons.
Let the sun and the moon revolve by themselves!
When I have time I read the sutras,
When I am tired I sleep on my straw bed.
The meaning of the teaching is
Profound and vast like the ocean.
When I reveal it in my brush-work,
Its merits are limitless.
Should I explain this secret teaching to you
The solid mountain, I am afraid, would blow away.
- Shih t'ao (1641-1717)
God experiencing God through our senses -- says Jory at table.
We hold goal and boundary in our mind and heart. Yet, there is no goal. Nor any boundaries. We are befuddled by this realization.
Nevertheless, we stop at red lights. We imagine we understand Christ in myriad appearances. We say two and two equals four -- decidedly confident we are on to something. I'll discard two and take one.
"My life has been one continuous mistake." That's what Dogen wrote in his Shobogenzo. The thought cheers me. Therefore, I practice.
I live this life by practicing this life, one mistake at a time. Soon I will come to realize there is nothing to hold on to. No identity explaining anything. God is. I am not. A bluff? I call. Show all cards.
Then, I'll let go.
There is no secret teaching.
The mountain is safe.
Come home.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
There is no end to mind. But "end," the monk said, is also a concept. There is no concept to mind. No end; no concept. There is no mind.
There is only what there is.
As to the roaming of sages,
They move in utter emptiness,
Let their minds meander in the great nothingness;
They run beyond convention
And go through where there is no gateway.
They listen to the soundless
And look at the formless,
They are not constrained by society
And not bound to its customs.
- Lao-tze
There is no proof anything is other than what it is. Without proof we are left only with the curious notion of trust.
"Do you trust yourself? -- I asked a few people in prison. They answered "No!" They're right. Trust isn't segregated. Trust is relational. Only if one person trusts herself can anyone else trust himself. But if no one trusts themselves, how comes trust into being?
There must be some one who is trust itself. From that ground point everything else takes direction.
Sitting outside shop this morning, sipping coffee, looking out over harbor, sunlight on face, all alone.
I trust one thing. I trust what is trust itself.
There is only what there is.
As to the roaming of sages,
They move in utter emptiness,
Let their minds meander in the great nothingness;
They run beyond convention
And go through where there is no gateway.
They listen to the soundless
And look at the formless,
They are not constrained by society
And not bound to its customs.
- Lao-tze
There is no proof anything is other than what it is. Without proof we are left only with the curious notion of trust.
"Do you trust yourself? -- I asked a few people in prison. They answered "No!" They're right. Trust isn't segregated. Trust is relational. Only if one person trusts herself can anyone else trust himself. But if no one trusts themselves, how comes trust into being?
There must be some one who is trust itself. From that ground point everything else takes direction.
Sitting outside shop this morning, sipping coffee, looking out over harbor, sunlight on face, all alone.
I trust one thing. I trust what is trust itself.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Three inmates worry the chaplain's position will be filled by someone who will, chink by chink, have moral integrity broken away. So, we talk about how anyone retains moral integrity in an unraveling time.
Cold cliffs, more beautiful the deeper you enter
Yet no one travels this road.
White clouds idle about the tall crags;
On the green peak a single monkey wails.
What other companions do I need?
I grow old doing as I please.
Though face and form alter with the years,
I hold fast to the pearl of the mind.
- Hanshan (8th century)
The pearl is awareness without either pretense or penury. No pretending means awareness threads do unravel; one must hold the thread ready for new creation. No penury means faith that what is whole in itself (no matter how unseen) is ever at origin of each encounter; one trusts the goal of integrity to hold despite every movement to the contrary.
There are rumors around the prison that my hat is in the ring for a look/see.
It was a fine interview these three offered -- heart-felt and spot on.
A man this afternoon told of the following conversation he had with a woman in hospice. "What's wrong with me," she asked. He looked at her, and said, "You're dying." She thought a bit. "I want it to be over with as soon as possible." He smiles and says to her, "You've always been impatient and in a hurry."
He tells me this, observing the delight he feels, the permission to speak honestly and openly about death with those dying.
Tonight we're told a woman we know is found wandering and confused in a shopping center out of state. Saskia listens to the caller. They try to piece together contacts and strategy.
For all who are lost. For all imprisoned. For all sick, worried, and afraid. For all who reach out to be of assistance.
For all who do not know they are wandering, lost. For those who think they know, and don't. For all who believe themselves immune to compassion in favor of duty, lesson teaching, or power abuse. For those who long for justice and mercy.
We pray during the necessary unraveling.
May each thread be restorative.
Cold cliffs, more beautiful the deeper you enter
Yet no one travels this road.
White clouds idle about the tall crags;
On the green peak a single monkey wails.
What other companions do I need?
I grow old doing as I please.
Though face and form alter with the years,
I hold fast to the pearl of the mind.
- Hanshan (8th century)
The pearl is awareness without either pretense or penury. No pretending means awareness threads do unravel; one must hold the thread ready for new creation. No penury means faith that what is whole in itself (no matter how unseen) is ever at origin of each encounter; one trusts the goal of integrity to hold despite every movement to the contrary.
There are rumors around the prison that my hat is in the ring for a look/see.
It was a fine interview these three offered -- heart-felt and spot on.
A man this afternoon told of the following conversation he had with a woman in hospice. "What's wrong with me," she asked. He looked at her, and said, "You're dying." She thought a bit. "I want it to be over with as soon as possible." He smiles and says to her, "You've always been impatient and in a hurry."
He tells me this, observing the delight he feels, the permission to speak honestly and openly about death with those dying.
Tonight we're told a woman we know is found wandering and confused in a shopping center out of state. Saskia listens to the caller. They try to piece together contacts and strategy.
For all who are lost. For all imprisoned. For all sick, worried, and afraid. For all who reach out to be of assistance.
For all who do not know they are wandering, lost. For those who think they know, and don't. For all who believe themselves immune to compassion in favor of duty, lesson teaching, or power abuse. For those who long for justice and mercy.
We pray during the necessary unraveling.
May each thread be restorative.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Saw lovely house in Belfast. It would make fine consolidation. (Lick finger. Hold it in air. Which way the wind?)
My teacher said to me,
"The treasure house within you contains everything,
and you are free to use it.
You don't need to seek outside."
- Dazhu (487-593)
Within is suitable address. Receive visitors there.
Lord our God, we are tired by the work of the day. Refresh us with peaceful sleep and, forever renewed by the help you give, let us always be dedicated to you in body and mind. (Final prayer, Compline)
So it is we are dismissed.
According to the word.
Pronouncing the house of being.
My teacher said to me,
"The treasure house within you contains everything,
and you are free to use it.
You don't need to seek outside."
- Dazhu (487-593)
Within is suitable address. Receive visitors there.
Lord our God, we are tired by the work of the day. Refresh us with peaceful sleep and, forever renewed by the help you give, let us always be dedicated to you in body and mind. (Final prayer, Compline)
So it is we are dismissed.
According to the word.
Pronouncing the house of being.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
There's far too much interest in the beyond and the behind, the up ahead and far back. I prefer the awe of what is near now.
People who study Buddhism should seek real,
True perception and understanding for now.
If you attain real, true perception and understanding,
Birth and death don't affect you
You are free to go or stay.
You needn't seek wonders,
For wonders come of themselves.
- Linji (d. 867)
The sorrow and the joy -- the pathos of real events without distancing by analytical or cynical -- this is where dwells true heart/mind.
According to [Michel] Henry, life can never be seen from the exterior, as it never appears in the exteriority of the world. Life feels itself and experiences itself in its invisible interiority and in its radical immanence.
(in Wikipedia, on Michel Henry, French Philosopher, 1922-2002)
Cesco shakes, his collar jangling. Mu-ge curls on desktop.
Water in water bowl.
Affirming awareness.
Feels life.
People who study Buddhism should seek real,
True perception and understanding for now.
If you attain real, true perception and understanding,
Birth and death don't affect you
You are free to go or stay.
You needn't seek wonders,
For wonders come of themselves.
- Linji (d. 867)
The sorrow and the joy -- the pathos of real events without distancing by analytical or cynical -- this is where dwells true heart/mind.
According to [Michel] Henry, life can never be seen from the exterior, as it never appears in the exteriority of the world. Life feels itself and experiences itself in its invisible interiority and in its radical immanence.
(in Wikipedia, on Michel Henry, French Philosopher, 1922-2002)
Cesco shakes, his collar jangling. Mu-ge curls on desktop.
Water in water bowl.
Affirming awareness.
Feels life.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Docks went in today at Camden Harbor in front of shop. Tonight we tie dinghy string to rail. There is a vivid and astounding rainbow arching Penobscot Bay. Spot of sunlight alone on North Haven captured eyes.
Mind set free in the Dharma-realm,
I sit at the moon-filled window
Watching the mountains with my ears,
Hearing the stream with open eyes.
Each molecule preaches perfect law,
Each moment chants true sutra:
The most fleeting thought is timeless,
A single hair's enough to stir the sea.
- Shutaku (1308-1388)
Out from restaurant children and parents to watch as double bow stretched this feast of Mark. Mark wrote about Jesus. I don't think Jesus considered anyone his enemy.
Listen, O God, to my voice;
keep me safe from fear of the enemy.
(from Psalm 64)
The "fear of the enemy" just might be the enemy's fear. Anyone who considers themselves the enemy of others is someone in whom fear has taken residence. They mistakenly consider themselves a manipulation of fear. Fear is in control. An enemy is one operating under the influence of fear.
Without fear, there are no enemies.
Do not accept the fear many sell. We are not buying.
Watch. Listen. Chant. Unstir the sea.
Home, we sit zazen.
Without fear.
Practicing joy.
Mind set free in the Dharma-realm,
I sit at the moon-filled window
Watching the mountains with my ears,
Hearing the stream with open eyes.
Each molecule preaches perfect law,
Each moment chants true sutra:
The most fleeting thought is timeless,
A single hair's enough to stir the sea.
- Shutaku (1308-1388)
Out from restaurant children and parents to watch as double bow stretched this feast of Mark. Mark wrote about Jesus. I don't think Jesus considered anyone his enemy.
Listen, O God, to my voice;
keep me safe from fear of the enemy.
(from Psalm 64)
The "fear of the enemy" just might be the enemy's fear. Anyone who considers themselves the enemy of others is someone in whom fear has taken residence. They mistakenly consider themselves a manipulation of fear. Fear is in control. An enemy is one operating under the influence of fear.
Without fear, there are no enemies.
Do not accept the fear many sell. We are not buying.
Watch. Listen. Chant. Unstir the sea.
Home, we sit zazen.
Without fear.
Practicing joy.
Monday, April 24, 2006
We are invited: "If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts." (Psalm 95)
To allow the heart to feel, to delight when so, to sorrow when so -- this is the invitation to life.
Better than a hundred years of mischief
Is one day spent in contemplation.
Better than a hundred years of ignorance
Is one day spent in reflection.
Better than a hundred years in idleness
Is one day spent in determination.
Better to live one day wondering
How all things arise and pass away.
- Buddha in the Dhammapada
A woman called me on Sunday to tell me she was not dead. I was glad, I told her, it keeps my slate clean, never before hearing the voice of someone dead. She was pleased to be not dead, even if someone with the same name as hers was. It was no one I knew. Yet, the information had been passed in the shop. I directed her to the obituary of a namesake she'd not known.
I might be wrong about the voice of the Lord. I heard chickadee and lapping waves, splashing rain and sound of cat descending stairs. Saskia heard the voice of someone dear, of a surprise, and happily so.
We are so. And so we are in one another's lives.
As the deer longs for streams of water, so my soul longs for you, O God.
My being thirsts for God, the living God. When can I go and see the face of God?
My tears have been my food day and night, as they ask daily, "Where is your God?"
(From Psalm 42)
We hear voices all the time. We long for, and thirst after, the sounds of life that sustain us through moments and hours, days and years.
We tell our stories, our hearts break. They heal. We have a choice. We retain softness.
Where is this God?
Speak now.
To allow the heart to feel, to delight when so, to sorrow when so -- this is the invitation to life.
Better than a hundred years of mischief
Is one day spent in contemplation.
Better than a hundred years of ignorance
Is one day spent in reflection.
Better than a hundred years in idleness
Is one day spent in determination.
Better to live one day wondering
How all things arise and pass away.
- Buddha in the Dhammapada
A woman called me on Sunday to tell me she was not dead. I was glad, I told her, it keeps my slate clean, never before hearing the voice of someone dead. She was pleased to be not dead, even if someone with the same name as hers was. It was no one I knew. Yet, the information had been passed in the shop. I directed her to the obituary of a namesake she'd not known.
I might be wrong about the voice of the Lord. I heard chickadee and lapping waves, splashing rain and sound of cat descending stairs. Saskia heard the voice of someone dear, of a surprise, and happily so.
We are so. And so we are in one another's lives.
As the deer longs for streams of water, so my soul longs for you, O God.
My being thirsts for God, the living God. When can I go and see the face of God?
My tears have been my food day and night, as they ask daily, "Where is your God?"
(From Psalm 42)
We hear voices all the time. We long for, and thirst after, the sounds of life that sustain us through moments and hours, days and years.
We tell our stories, our hearts break. They heal. We have a choice. We retain softness.
Where is this God?
Speak now.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
We need to look. We need to converse. We need to get into and through contemporary difficulties. We need to fall through the ice of our dissatisfaction and swim the current together to safe and sane society. It is spring. It is Easter. The waters are open and flowing.
In shop earlier, a revolving conversation including Susan, Tommy, Bob, Jan, Annie, Sam&Susan, Jeff, and Ed.
'Christ' is one imbued with, and communicating of, the life of God. That life irradiates love by kindness, understanding, tolerance, thoughtfulness, service and awe at the continual revelation of God-with-and-within -- exceeding human limits, yet inspiring to journey beyond -- into the present moment, present person, and present mystery.
The great path has no gates,
Thousands of roads enter it.
When one passes through this gateless gate
He walks freely between heaven and earth.
- Mu-mon 1228
So many want a heaven far ahead in time. Heaven is, rather, at hand.
Those oblivious to the responsibility of incarnating God's-life and Christ-presence thereby fail to care for the earth, exclude sentient dwellers, and ignore sacred tabernacle which is gift and grace of present reality. They try to convince us this world is forsaken, expendable, and merely a testing ground to endure contaminants and ignore the tainted soil of sin.
So many far-away and one-day-soon thinkers!
We need near and now seers!
Those who, in their prayer, practice the loving gaze of God's light co-create the original gift and grace of matter and spirit in this existence. The ever-present origin of eternal revelation is at hand for our touch, for our reception.
The whole group of believers was united, heart and soul; no one claimed for his own use anything that he had, as everything they owned was held in common.
The apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus with great power, and they were all given great respect.
None of their members was ever in want, as all those who owned land or houses would sell them, and bring the money from them, to present it to the apostles; it was then distributed to any members who might be in need.
(Acts 4:32 - 35)
Whatever the resurrection is, it will not be realized unless and until more and more people come to the very earth where-upon they dwell, come to flesh, and incarnate the vision of God where we dwell.
The 'vision of God' is not some reward far-away and some-day-soon earned by those who've been good. When we are willing to look at one another with love, to see with humility the unfolding revelation of God in the unfolding revelation of another person, and to behold the heart of passion and pathos in the human theater of everyday experience -- then we will embody the vision of God, seeing as God sees.
Open.
Flowing.
(Looking every way at once.)
Pray we see clearly the way we live!
In shop earlier, a revolving conversation including Susan, Tommy, Bob, Jan, Annie, Sam&Susan, Jeff, and Ed.
'Christ' is one imbued with, and communicating of, the life of God. That life irradiates love by kindness, understanding, tolerance, thoughtfulness, service and awe at the continual revelation of God-with-and-within -- exceeding human limits, yet inspiring to journey beyond -- into the present moment, present person, and present mystery.
The great path has no gates,
Thousands of roads enter it.
When one passes through this gateless gate
He walks freely between heaven and earth.
- Mu-mon 1228
So many want a heaven far ahead in time. Heaven is, rather, at hand.
Those oblivious to the responsibility of incarnating God's-life and Christ-presence thereby fail to care for the earth, exclude sentient dwellers, and ignore sacred tabernacle which is gift and grace of present reality. They try to convince us this world is forsaken, expendable, and merely a testing ground to endure contaminants and ignore the tainted soil of sin.
So many far-away and one-day-soon thinkers!
We need near and now seers!
Those who, in their prayer, practice the loving gaze of God's light co-create the original gift and grace of matter and spirit in this existence. The ever-present origin of eternal revelation is at hand for our touch, for our reception.
The whole group of believers was united, heart and soul; no one claimed for his own use anything that he had, as everything they owned was held in common.
The apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus with great power, and they were all given great respect.
None of their members was ever in want, as all those who owned land or houses would sell them, and bring the money from them, to present it to the apostles; it was then distributed to any members who might be in need.
(Acts 4:32 - 35)
Whatever the resurrection is, it will not be realized unless and until more and more people come to the very earth where-upon they dwell, come to flesh, and incarnate the vision of God where we dwell.
The 'vision of God' is not some reward far-away and some-day-soon earned by those who've been good. When we are willing to look at one another with love, to see with humility the unfolding revelation of God in the unfolding revelation of another person, and to behold the heart of passion and pathos in the human theater of everyday experience -- then we will embody the vision of God, seeing as God sees.
Open.
Flowing.
(Looking every way at once.)
Pray we see clearly the way we live!
Saturday, April 22, 2006
It is best to trust oneself.
Sixty-six times have these eyes
Beheld the changing scene of autumn.
I have said enough about moonlight,
Ask no more.
Only listen to the voice
Of pines and cedars when no wind stirs.
- Ryonen (1797-1863)
It is too difficult to sort through the motivations and ambitions of others. So, we allow all things to come to rest. No ulterior purpose, only the thing-in-itself. It is painfully easy to forget there is no other.
I constantly saw the false and the bad, and finally the absurd and the senseless, standing in universal admiration and honour....[Dover edition, p. xviii. The World as Will and Representation,(c.1818) by Arthur Schopenhauer, 1788-1860]
It will have to come to forgivenesss, ultimately. We cannot sustain doubt forever. Suspicion of this man, that woman, the deceit and duplicity, even with the most sincere desire to obscure troubling behavior for as long as possible. We'd prefer to court communion. To have no secrets. To shunt distracting need and desire and fall into river of the human-sacred. But we are scared. Will we be stripped of our uniqueness? Or, only the illusion we've held of it?
The Tao Te Ching's Chapter 23 goes as follows:
To talk little is natural.
High winds do not last all morning.
Heavy rain does not last all day.
Why is this?
Heaven and earth!
If heaven and earth cannot make things eternal, how is it possible for man?
He who follows the Tao is at one with the Tao.
He is virtuous experiences Virtue.
He who loses the way feels lost.
When you are at one with the Tao, the Tao welcomes you.
When you are one with Virtue, the Virtue is always there.
When you are at one with loss, the loss is experienced willingly.
He who does not trust enough will not be trusted.
http://www.nokama.com/tao/index.cfm?fuseaction=chapter&ch=23
Say yes to being trusted.
Sixty-six times have these eyes
Beheld the changing scene of autumn.
I have said enough about moonlight,
Ask no more.
Only listen to the voice
Of pines and cedars when no wind stirs.
- Ryonen (1797-1863)
It is too difficult to sort through the motivations and ambitions of others. So, we allow all things to come to rest. No ulterior purpose, only the thing-in-itself. It is painfully easy to forget there is no other.
I constantly saw the false and the bad, and finally the absurd and the senseless, standing in universal admiration and honour....[Dover edition, p. xviii. The World as Will and Representation,(c.1818) by Arthur Schopenhauer, 1788-1860]
It will have to come to forgivenesss, ultimately. We cannot sustain doubt forever. Suspicion of this man, that woman, the deceit and duplicity, even with the most sincere desire to obscure troubling behavior for as long as possible. We'd prefer to court communion. To have no secrets. To shunt distracting need and desire and fall into river of the human-sacred. But we are scared. Will we be stripped of our uniqueness? Or, only the illusion we've held of it?
The Tao Te Ching's Chapter 23 goes as follows:
To talk little is natural.
High winds do not last all morning.
Heavy rain does not last all day.
Why is this?
Heaven and earth!
If heaven and earth cannot make things eternal, how is it possible for man?
He who follows the Tao is at one with the Tao.
He is virtuous experiences Virtue.
He who loses the way feels lost.
When you are at one with the Tao, the Tao welcomes you.
When you are one with Virtue, the Virtue is always there.
When you are at one with loss, the loss is experienced willingly.
He who does not trust enough will not be trusted.
http://www.nokama.com/tao/index.cfm?fuseaction=chapter&ch=23
Say yes to being trusted.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Salt air at harbor. Spaghetti with sausage and salad in harbor room, six of us watch Wim Wender's "Wings of Desire."
Bamboo shadows sweep the stairs,
Yet not a mote of dust is stirred;
Moonbeams pierce to the bottom of the pool,
Yet in the water not a trace remains.
- Zen Dust
Entering creation, becoming human, resurrection is awareness God is dwelling here.
When we were baptised into Christ and clothed ourselves in him, we were transformed into the likeness of the Son of God. Having destined us to be his adopted sons, God gave us a likeness to Christ in his glory, and living as we do in communion with Christ, God's anointed, we ourselves are rightly called "the anointed ones".
(From the Jerusalem Catecheses)
Earlier we read about the Hamsa meditation:
The Hamsa meditation is also known as the "I am that" meditation. This means that the Hamsa meditation gives us an awareness of the connection between the divinity within each of us and the greater infinite divinity. The mantra is also sometimes called the SoHam meditation since it makes little difference which syllable comes first. Once Ramana Maharshi had his disciples contemplating his favourite spiritual practice of questioning and self-inquiry, asking themselves "What Am I?" One of his students, as if in answer, said, 'So ham'. He said true. So hum! So ha!
From Letting Go of the Person You Used to Be, c. 2003 by Lama Surya Das)
I liked the ending of "Wings."
How loving another creates aloneness.
Relational.
Necessity.
Being.
Time.
So ha!
Bamboo shadows sweep the stairs,
Yet not a mote of dust is stirred;
Moonbeams pierce to the bottom of the pool,
Yet in the water not a trace remains.
- Zen Dust
Entering creation, becoming human, resurrection is awareness God is dwelling here.
When we were baptised into Christ and clothed ourselves in him, we were transformed into the likeness of the Son of God. Having destined us to be his adopted sons, God gave us a likeness to Christ in his glory, and living as we do in communion with Christ, God's anointed, we ourselves are rightly called "the anointed ones".
(From the Jerusalem Catecheses)
Earlier we read about the Hamsa meditation:
The Hamsa meditation is also known as the "I am that" meditation. This means that the Hamsa meditation gives us an awareness of the connection between the divinity within each of us and the greater infinite divinity. The mantra is also sometimes called the SoHam meditation since it makes little difference which syllable comes first. Once Ramana Maharshi had his disciples contemplating his favourite spiritual practice of questioning and self-inquiry, asking themselves "What Am I?" One of his students, as if in answer, said, 'So ham'. He said true. So hum! So ha!
From Letting Go of the Person You Used to Be, c. 2003 by Lama Surya Das)
I liked the ending of "Wings."
How loving another creates aloneness.
Relational.
Necessity.
Being.
Time.
So ha!
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Perhaps the self-as-itself is the constant repetition of the sacred in the present moment. (I don't know.)
Sitting on this frosty seat,
No further dream of fame.
The forest, the mountain follow their ancient ways,
And through the long spring day,
Not even the shadow of a bird.
- Reizan (-1411)
Maria, Tom, Saskia, Delia, Jesse and I read Thomas Sheehan, John O'Donahue, and Robert E. Kennedy during conversation tonight. We like the loving gaze, vital inquiry, and don't-know mind.
To accept the gift of not knowing and to live it implies risk and a sense of feeling abandoned. For his part, the poet Stephen Dunn warns us that the loss of any cherished way of looking at God, any shift in emphasis, is painful. When we put aside the certitudes that have upheld us, we always face the risk of total doubt. When he changed his gaze from looking at the known, Dunn writes of the risk he knew he was taking. As if to convince himself to shift, he tells us he talked to himself: "I'm saying this to myself: the sacred cannot be found unless you give up some old version of it. And when you do, mon semblable, mon frere, I swear there'll be an emptiness it'll take a lifetime to fill."
(Robert Kennedy, noting Stephen Dunn's "Riffs and Reciprocities" (New York: W.W. Norton) cited in AP Review, March/April 1998, V27, 15. From Santa Clara Lecture, Santa Clara University, April 9, 2000, "Zen's Gift to Christianity," by Robert E. Kennedy, S.J.)
To do this, to give up some old version of the sacred, places us in the dwelling place of the itself-sacred. This dwelling place is what is revealing itself now, always.
We don't disappear. The world doesn't disappear. Each is merely seen through. Each is present. Each is accounted with esteem. Perhaps faith is affirmation of what is yet not obvious. It is sacred "yes."
William McDonald writes in "Kierkegaard's Religion":
But the choice of faith is not made once and for all. It is essential that faith be constantly renewed by means of repeated avowals of faith. One's very selfhood depends upon this repetition, for according to Anti-Climacus, the self "is a relation which relates itself to itself" (The Sickness Unto Death). But unless this self acknowledges a "power which constituted it," it falls into a despair which undoes its selfhood. Therefore, in order to maintain itself as a relation which relates itself to itself, the self must constantly renew its faith in "the power which posited it." There is no mediation between the individual self and God by priest or by logical system (contra Catholicism and Hegelianism respectively). There is only the individual's own repetition of faith. This repetition of faith is the way the self relates itself to itself and to the power which constituted it, i.e. the repetition of faith is the self.
(William McDonald, "Soren Kierkegaard," in Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/kierkegaard/)
Seeing itself with the sacred-itself.
A lovely emptiness -- one clear...seeing another.
Sitting on this frosty seat,
No further dream of fame.
The forest, the mountain follow their ancient ways,
And through the long spring day,
Not even the shadow of a bird.
- Reizan (-1411)
Maria, Tom, Saskia, Delia, Jesse and I read Thomas Sheehan, John O'Donahue, and Robert E. Kennedy during conversation tonight. We like the loving gaze, vital inquiry, and don't-know mind.
To accept the gift of not knowing and to live it implies risk and a sense of feeling abandoned. For his part, the poet Stephen Dunn warns us that the loss of any cherished way of looking at God, any shift in emphasis, is painful. When we put aside the certitudes that have upheld us, we always face the risk of total doubt. When he changed his gaze from looking at the known, Dunn writes of the risk he knew he was taking. As if to convince himself to shift, he tells us he talked to himself: "I'm saying this to myself: the sacred cannot be found unless you give up some old version of it. And when you do, mon semblable, mon frere, I swear there'll be an emptiness it'll take a lifetime to fill."
(Robert Kennedy, noting Stephen Dunn's "Riffs and Reciprocities" (New York: W.W. Norton) cited in AP Review, March/April 1998, V27, 15. From Santa Clara Lecture, Santa Clara University, April 9, 2000, "Zen's Gift to Christianity," by Robert E. Kennedy, S.J.)
To do this, to give up some old version of the sacred, places us in the dwelling place of the itself-sacred. This dwelling place is what is revealing itself now, always.
We don't disappear. The world doesn't disappear. Each is merely seen through. Each is present. Each is accounted with esteem. Perhaps faith is affirmation of what is yet not obvious. It is sacred "yes."
William McDonald writes in "Kierkegaard's Religion":
But the choice of faith is not made once and for all. It is essential that faith be constantly renewed by means of repeated avowals of faith. One's very selfhood depends upon this repetition, for according to Anti-Climacus, the self "is a relation which relates itself to itself" (The Sickness Unto Death). But unless this self acknowledges a "power which constituted it," it falls into a despair which undoes its selfhood. Therefore, in order to maintain itself as a relation which relates itself to itself, the self must constantly renew its faith in "the power which posited it." There is no mediation between the individual self and God by priest or by logical system (contra Catholicism and Hegelianism respectively). There is only the individual's own repetition of faith. This repetition of faith is the way the self relates itself to itself and to the power which constituted it, i.e. the repetition of faith is the self.
(William McDonald, "Soren Kierkegaard," in Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/kierkegaard/)
Seeing itself with the sacred-itself.
A lovely emptiness -- one clear...seeing another.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
The gaze, especially the loving gaze, evokes life, light, and love. It is startling awareness something has changed -- consciousness has transfigured.
Archaic Torso of Apollo
We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,
gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.
Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:
would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.
(Poem "Archaic Torso of Apollo" by Rainer Maria Rilke, Translated by Stephen Mitchell)
Hologram of transfigured awareness awakens new and reverential sight.
Any genuine story, authentic myth, or profound metaphor seen or heard with open awareness is seen to say: "Now you are practicing learning to look, 'You must change your life.'"
Resurrection shifts from one man shattering death's chains to invitation for anyone to realize presence of what-is-called God pervading physical universe, much the way traditional believers hold Jesus incarnated the very Word of creation.
When we look, we are looked at. Seeing loving gaze invites vision of God.
Be careful what we look at -- we might get it.
We are being...looked at with love.
Archaic Torso of Apollo
We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,
gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.
Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:
would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.
(Poem "Archaic Torso of Apollo" by Rainer Maria Rilke, Translated by Stephen Mitchell)
Hologram of transfigured awareness awakens new and reverential sight.
Any genuine story, authentic myth, or profound metaphor seen or heard with open awareness is seen to say: "Now you are practicing learning to look, 'You must change your life.'"
Resurrection shifts from one man shattering death's chains to invitation for anyone to realize presence of what-is-called God pervading physical universe, much the way traditional believers hold Jesus incarnated the very Word of creation.
When we look, we are looked at. Seeing loving gaze invites vision of God.
Be careful what we look at -- we might get it.
We are being...looked at with love.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Our broken and disjointed phrases uttered to and about one another are signs of a depth not yet clarified.
If you meet a fencing master on the road,
You may give him your sword,
If you meet a poet,
You may offer him your poem.
When you meet others,
Say only a part of what you intend.
Never give the whole thing at once.
- Mu-mon 1228 (dailyzen.com)
While silence might be at ground of being, it took us as human beings a long time to come to word. It still does.
The truth is that Easter is awkward. The stories themselves are angular and strange -- a tormented saga about a judicial murder and a horrific public execution is followed by a series of events that challenge not only our assumptions about how the natural world works, but also our desire to read a story with a good strong ending. Jesus returns from death, but he is not a ghost or a resuscitated corpse -- so what is it we are talking about? (Williams)
That's how Dr. Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury, began a Saturday 26 March 2005 article for the Daily Telegraph.
Do the Gospel writers wording their narratives about the resurrection say only part of what they intend? Are they unable to give the whole thing at once because the whole thing remains only remotely discernible, then and now?
John has the poignant story of Mary Magdalene, alone in tears at the deserted grave hearing her name spoken in a voice she knows. People hurry between the tomb and the city and the Galilean mountains, sharing baffling incidents, sometimes interrupted by Jesus inexplicably being there among them. Finally Jesus is seen no more; what is left is the fellowship of disciples trying to put it all into words.
When someone stumbles and searches for words, especially someone who is otherwise fluent and coherent, you may well conclude that something has happened for which their experience hasn't prepared them.
Shakespeare famously gives Leontes, in The Winter's Tale, a speech of frighteningly disjointed words and phrases when he first suspects his wife of unfaithfulness. Something has crossed his horizon for which nothing beforehand has provided a structure. The new feelings are utterly real, utterly painful and chaotic. The broken and disjointed phrases show how deep they go.
And we know that this is literature reflecting life. We can all think of those times when we feel we have nothing to say that will help or make sense -- not because there is literally nothing to say but because there is too much. (Williams)
In an unlikely metaphor grounded in my Easter Vigil experience -- the whole creation story was told while I was unconscious. To all intents, I was there. Ears functional. But the light was out. I'd gone irreceptive. Something happened -- as told in the reading, and undergone with me -- that bypasses understanding. When I walked wraithfully through abbey's darkened cloister sighting up ahead burning new-fire still dance-glowing from library hearth, I pass an equally wraith-like monk in white choir-robe along moonlit glassed-in portico walking other way. My fainting was an event that had never happened before. I could not think about it -- I could only walk through it.
The resurrection isn't a happy ending to a sad story. It is the beginning of a new story, a new phase in the life of the disciples -- potentially a new phase for the reader too.
That seems to be what the abrupt end of Mark's gospel suggests. The women ran away in terror, and... "Well?" we ask impatiently. And the writer lifts his head and says, "Why do you think I'm writing this? And what are you going to do about it? Because nothing is the same now."?
So it is natural enough that the Easter stories don't settle as comfortably in the mind and imagination as the Christmas ones. But when someone moistens their lips and looks at us awkwardly and says, "I don't quite know how to tell you this", we are right to suspect that what's coming is not just an interesting bit of information or a mere historical anecdote. And we listen that bit harder.
Faith is not, after all, about getting to the point where everything is clear and settled. It is about stepping into a disorienting new world: the stories you know how to tell about yourself and your world may need to be interrupted and questioned. Familiar things and persons have to be looked at with a new depth of attention.
If Easter is awkward, it is because it is always a shock to be told who we really are and what we really might be.
(from, "Easter - the awkward time of year": article by Rowan Williams) http://www.archbishopofcanterbury.org/sermons_speeches/2005/050326.htm
At Southwick Easter Sunday afternoon, several of us cut and carried wood from felled trees for Erica. Michael took the electric chainsaw to a severed trunk and -- after saying what his options were -- decided to carve a cross out of the top the six foot stump. He surprised everybody, especially, no doubt, hisself. Cross immediately gathered surroundings to itself. Surpise transposed Easter into icon gazing out through silence.
It is a disorienting new world
If you meet a fencing master on the road,
You may give him your sword,
If you meet a poet,
You may offer him your poem.
When you meet others,
Say only a part of what you intend.
Never give the whole thing at once.
- Mu-mon 1228 (dailyzen.com)
While silence might be at ground of being, it took us as human beings a long time to come to word. It still does.
The truth is that Easter is awkward. The stories themselves are angular and strange -- a tormented saga about a judicial murder and a horrific public execution is followed by a series of events that challenge not only our assumptions about how the natural world works, but also our desire to read a story with a good strong ending. Jesus returns from death, but he is not a ghost or a resuscitated corpse -- so what is it we are talking about? (Williams)
That's how Dr. Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury, began a Saturday 26 March 2005 article for the Daily Telegraph.
Do the Gospel writers wording their narratives about the resurrection say only part of what they intend? Are they unable to give the whole thing at once because the whole thing remains only remotely discernible, then and now?
John has the poignant story of Mary Magdalene, alone in tears at the deserted grave hearing her name spoken in a voice she knows. People hurry between the tomb and the city and the Galilean mountains, sharing baffling incidents, sometimes interrupted by Jesus inexplicably being there among them. Finally Jesus is seen no more; what is left is the fellowship of disciples trying to put it all into words.
When someone stumbles and searches for words, especially someone who is otherwise fluent and coherent, you may well conclude that something has happened for which their experience hasn't prepared them.
Shakespeare famously gives Leontes, in The Winter's Tale, a speech of frighteningly disjointed words and phrases when he first suspects his wife of unfaithfulness. Something has crossed his horizon for which nothing beforehand has provided a structure. The new feelings are utterly real, utterly painful and chaotic. The broken and disjointed phrases show how deep they go.
And we know that this is literature reflecting life. We can all think of those times when we feel we have nothing to say that will help or make sense -- not because there is literally nothing to say but because there is too much. (Williams)
In an unlikely metaphor grounded in my Easter Vigil experience -- the whole creation story was told while I was unconscious. To all intents, I was there. Ears functional. But the light was out. I'd gone irreceptive. Something happened -- as told in the reading, and undergone with me -- that bypasses understanding. When I walked wraithfully through abbey's darkened cloister sighting up ahead burning new-fire still dance-glowing from library hearth, I pass an equally wraith-like monk in white choir-robe along moonlit glassed-in portico walking other way. My fainting was an event that had never happened before. I could not think about it -- I could only walk through it.
The resurrection isn't a happy ending to a sad story. It is the beginning of a new story, a new phase in the life of the disciples -- potentially a new phase for the reader too.
That seems to be what the abrupt end of Mark's gospel suggests. The women ran away in terror, and... "Well?" we ask impatiently. And the writer lifts his head and says, "Why do you think I'm writing this? And what are you going to do about it? Because nothing is the same now."?
So it is natural enough that the Easter stories don't settle as comfortably in the mind and imagination as the Christmas ones. But when someone moistens their lips and looks at us awkwardly and says, "I don't quite know how to tell you this", we are right to suspect that what's coming is not just an interesting bit of information or a mere historical anecdote. And we listen that bit harder.
Faith is not, after all, about getting to the point where everything is clear and settled. It is about stepping into a disorienting new world: the stories you know how to tell about yourself and your world may need to be interrupted and questioned. Familiar things and persons have to be looked at with a new depth of attention.
If Easter is awkward, it is because it is always a shock to be told who we really are and what we really might be.
(from, "Easter - the awkward time of year": article by Rowan Williams) http://www.archbishopofcanterbury.org/sermons_speeches/2005/050326.htm
At Southwick Easter Sunday afternoon, several of us cut and carried wood from felled trees for Erica. Michael took the electric chainsaw to a severed trunk and -- after saying what his options were -- decided to carve a cross out of the top the six foot stump. He surprised everybody, especially, no doubt, hisself. Cross immediately gathered surroundings to itself. Surpise transposed Easter into icon gazing out through silence.
It is a disorienting new world
Monday, April 17, 2006
I faint during first reading at Easter vigil. Luckily I was sitting. I come to and realize something was different. The dizziness that had come over me was gone. So were the beads from my hand. I'd heard about the second day of creation, now the abbot, after what seemed like an odd silence, was saying "Let us pray!" And my head was against the choir stall. I get up and leave for a while. The flu has caught up to me.
Lodging in the world, the body is like a dream,
If one lives in peace, a day can be like a year.
Trying to sleep, I toss and turn on the worn out mat,
And pace around and around
In my tattered monk’s shawl.
The Master suggests I make my bed
Among the wind and bamboo,
And have a drink beside the waters of the rocky spring.
A nod of the head, and all worldly affairs seem wrong.
Laughing at myself,
I understand the wisdom of the Master.
- Su Shih 1073
I went back to retreat house to bed for some minutes, then take long slow walk back from my room to abbey church. One kind gentlemen had come to find me. A second, when back in rear seat, brings some losanges to occupy my mouth. The night passes with no other surprise than a new view of resurrection.
I'd brought Thomas Sheehan's book given by Sylvia into retreat at Trappists. I note the words about Simon's (i.e. Peter's) denial:
Simon had learned one major lesson from the preaching of Jesus: The apocalyptic line had been crossed, the dead past was over, God's future had already begun. As we have seen, the name for the crossing of that apocalyptic line was "forgiveness": the gift of God himself to his people, his arrival among them. Therefore, the entire point of the kingdom was to live God's future now. But this did not mean looking up ahead toward the future in an effort to glimpse the imminent arrival of God, for he was no longer up ahead in time, any more than he was up above in heaven. He was with his people, in their very midst: "The kingdom of God is among you." In that sense there was no more waiting, for forgiveness meant that the future--God himself--was becoming present among those who opened a space for him. Crossing the line into the future meant no longer searching for God in the great Beyond, but living the present-future with one simple rule: "Be merciful as your Father is merciful" (Luke 6:36).
Simon's sin, his denial of Jesus, consisted in fleeing from and forgetting what he and all Jesus' followers had become: the place where the future becomes present. His sin lay not in abandoning Jesus but in abandoning himself. If anything, he did not deny Jesus enough.
Simon's sin was to have momentarily forgotten where Jesus dwelled, in fact where Simon himself had dwelled. Simon put his hopes on Jesus rather than on what Jesus was about. "Follow me," the prophet had said, and he meant " ... into God's present-future." But Simon was a literalist. As the soldiers dragged his master away, he got up his courage and "followed at a distance" (Luke 22:54). In so doing he began walking back into the past. The Gospel records Jesus as saying: "No one who puts his hand to the plow and then looks back is fit for the kingdom of God" (Luke 9:62). Ironically, Simon was doing just that--looking back toward the dead past--when he followed Jesus from the Garden of Gethsemane through the dark streets of Jerusalem.
Simon's sin did not lie in abandoning Jesus in Gethsemane or in denying him a few hours later but in following Jesus to the courtyard of the Sanhedrin. His fault was not that he denied Jesus but that he affirmed him too much and feared that if Jesus died, God's kingdom would come undone. Simon had focused his attention so intensely on Jesus that he ended up taking Jesus for the kingdom and thereby mistaking the kingdom itself. In his desperate effort not to lose Jesus, Simon lost himself and his grip on the presence of God.
Once, when Jesus had told his disciples that his death was inevitable, Simon took him aside and tried to argue him out of it. But Jesus rebuked him: "Get behind me, Satan! You are on the side of men, not the side of God" (Mark 8:33). The point was clear: The only way to save Jesus was to let him die, and then to go on living the kind of life that Jesus had led, a life set entirely on the present-future, on God-with-man. For the rest, "Leave the dead to bury their dead" (Matthew 8:22).
This, I believe, was the real denial: Simon forgot that the kingdom of God-with-man was not any one person, no matter how extraordinary that person might be, that the kingdom could not be incarnated in any hero, not even in Jesus. By following his master to the courtyard of the Sanhedrin, Simon was setting his heart on Jesus rather than on the kingdom. He was turning Jesus into the last thing the prophet wanted to be: a hero and an idol, an obstacle to God-with-man. Simon failed to see that the future had been given unconditionally and could not collapse with the death of one man--because the kingdom was not Jesus but God.
(from pp. 122-124, The First Coming: How the Kingdom of God Became Christianity (1986--electronic edition 2000), by Thomas Sheehan.
Returning home tonight, two weaknesses of my body have been invaded and compromised. Teeth hurt; and acute pain in lower back leaves me unable to walk.
Just that, and the experience of a lovely retreat.
Noting a number of unexceptional absurdities during long, quiet, look these two weeks.
I laugh at myself.
The wisdom of the master has been missed.
Lodging in the world, the body is like a dream,
If one lives in peace, a day can be like a year.
Trying to sleep, I toss and turn on the worn out mat,
And pace around and around
In my tattered monk’s shawl.
The Master suggests I make my bed
Among the wind and bamboo,
And have a drink beside the waters of the rocky spring.
A nod of the head, and all worldly affairs seem wrong.
Laughing at myself,
I understand the wisdom of the Master.
- Su Shih 1073
I went back to retreat house to bed for some minutes, then take long slow walk back from my room to abbey church. One kind gentlemen had come to find me. A second, when back in rear seat, brings some losanges to occupy my mouth. The night passes with no other surprise than a new view of resurrection.
I'd brought Thomas Sheehan's book given by Sylvia into retreat at Trappists. I note the words about Simon's (i.e. Peter's) denial:
Simon had learned one major lesson from the preaching of Jesus: The apocalyptic line had been crossed, the dead past was over, God's future had already begun. As we have seen, the name for the crossing of that apocalyptic line was "forgiveness": the gift of God himself to his people, his arrival among them. Therefore, the entire point of the kingdom was to live God's future now. But this did not mean looking up ahead toward the future in an effort to glimpse the imminent arrival of God, for he was no longer up ahead in time, any more than he was up above in heaven. He was with his people, in their very midst: "The kingdom of God is among you." In that sense there was no more waiting, for forgiveness meant that the future--God himself--was becoming present among those who opened a space for him. Crossing the line into the future meant no longer searching for God in the great Beyond, but living the present-future with one simple rule: "Be merciful as your Father is merciful" (Luke 6:36).
Simon's sin, his denial of Jesus, consisted in fleeing from and forgetting what he and all Jesus' followers had become: the place where the future becomes present. His sin lay not in abandoning Jesus but in abandoning himself. If anything, he did not deny Jesus enough.
Simon's sin was to have momentarily forgotten where Jesus dwelled, in fact where Simon himself had dwelled. Simon put his hopes on Jesus rather than on what Jesus was about. "Follow me," the prophet had said, and he meant " ... into God's present-future." But Simon was a literalist. As the soldiers dragged his master away, he got up his courage and "followed at a distance" (Luke 22:54). In so doing he began walking back into the past. The Gospel records Jesus as saying: "No one who puts his hand to the plow and then looks back is fit for the kingdom of God" (Luke 9:62). Ironically, Simon was doing just that--looking back toward the dead past--when he followed Jesus from the Garden of Gethsemane through the dark streets of Jerusalem.
Simon's sin did not lie in abandoning Jesus in Gethsemane or in denying him a few hours later but in following Jesus to the courtyard of the Sanhedrin. His fault was not that he denied Jesus but that he affirmed him too much and feared that if Jesus died, God's kingdom would come undone. Simon had focused his attention so intensely on Jesus that he ended up taking Jesus for the kingdom and thereby mistaking the kingdom itself. In his desperate effort not to lose Jesus, Simon lost himself and his grip on the presence of God.
Once, when Jesus had told his disciples that his death was inevitable, Simon took him aside and tried to argue him out of it. But Jesus rebuked him: "Get behind me, Satan! You are on the side of men, not the side of God" (Mark 8:33). The point was clear: The only way to save Jesus was to let him die, and then to go on living the kind of life that Jesus had led, a life set entirely on the present-future, on God-with-man. For the rest, "Leave the dead to bury their dead" (Matthew 8:22).
This, I believe, was the real denial: Simon forgot that the kingdom of God-with-man was not any one person, no matter how extraordinary that person might be, that the kingdom could not be incarnated in any hero, not even in Jesus. By following his master to the courtyard of the Sanhedrin, Simon was setting his heart on Jesus rather than on the kingdom. He was turning Jesus into the last thing the prophet wanted to be: a hero and an idol, an obstacle to God-with-man. Simon failed to see that the future had been given unconditionally and could not collapse with the death of one man--because the kingdom was not Jesus but God.
(from pp. 122-124, The First Coming: How the Kingdom of God Became Christianity (1986--electronic edition 2000), by Thomas Sheehan.
Returning home tonight, two weaknesses of my body have been invaded and compromised. Teeth hurt; and acute pain in lower back leaves me unable to walk.
Just that, and the experience of a lovely retreat.
Noting a number of unexceptional absurdities during long, quiet, look these two weeks.
I laugh at myself.
The wisdom of the master has been missed.
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