Sick, Sore, and Sorry For Myself

Don't you be sorry for me though, all I have is a lingering cold, which has kept me confined to quarters for a few days.

(Cough, cough.)

I am extraordinarily fortunate to be able to do this. Midday, sitting up in bed, a virtual pile of books to devour, some great music to listen to, a few games to play ... All on my iPad, which I came close to giving a name to, once. I shall muse on it. '"Boswell" might fit the bill ...

Well, Bos, do your duty. This Blog was started for my friends (such as are interested, I thank you) and my family as a true-ish record of my life which I fondly imagine my descendents scouring with interest when I am gone.

No, really, I only have a COLD. My interest in my own mortality is prompted by my recent study of Buddhist practice, where the reality of impermanence is much to the fore. And a good thing too.

I shall remain a Catholic, if they'll have me, because I rather like ritual, and I love the people. I would almost certainly love Buddhists too, but there aren't any around here.

I was listening to a Dharma talk by Jack Kornfield the other day, and he, a GREAT story-teller recalled being contacted by Cosmopolitan (or Time, I forget) for hints on, "How to make New Year's Resolutions More Permanent". To which he replied, gently, "Buddhists aren't really into permanence."

Besides, and I am thinking of my former denomination-skipping activities here, the real truth lies within you. Jesus and The Buddah both taught this. Sit still, hold the silence, quieten your mind, open your heart and you will find your own truth, descendants, that's what I say.

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Peering Into The Dark

The singing bowl rings and five of us do whatever we do to slip into silence.

I imagine myself, arms outstretched, yelling ""Here I am!" And God plops down beside me and says, "There's no need to shout. I missed you. Where have you been?" "Busy." I reply,  knowing he knows. 

There IS no dialogue, of course, no words. That's just how it FEELS. 

For years I used to struggle to find the core. Holy people meditate for hours, I squirm after twenty minutes. I guess not being numbered among the holy, let's me off the hook. I have learned the trick of it now, this entering into liminal space, which is another way of saying " going out on the edge". It's not a question of fighting against the constant noise in my head, the ever-present demands of the ego and the distractions of the whatever-it-is that's happening around and about - it's not paying attention to it.

It's that simple. Like not paying attention in class. You know that something's going on up front, but you have chosen to place yourself elsewhere. 

Where? That's the nub of it. Where in those twenty minutes, am I? 

I think it's more a question of "Who?"

Everything slips away. I am aware only of my breath, which falls and rises, and I am still. 

"My house being all stilled." Is how St John of the Cross described it. I read that so many, many years ago, and could not comprehend it, but was deeply, deeply attracted to the very idea of an end to striving, an end to trying make sense of a chaotic world, of  just being still.

In the warm, dark brightness beyond the material world, I AM. I realise in an instant that I am loved, so deeply. I know that I have nothing to prove, nowhere to go, nothing to achieve, no-one to impress: I am complete. 

This is spirituality at it's most profound.

Thomas Merton describes religion as the "finger pointing to the moon." That's all. Much of the trappings and ceremonials, priestcraft and busying about imposing rules, completely misses the point. These are not IT. Stay with this, ignore the sign posts, choose to judge, or hate, or dominate, and you'll never know how wonderful and complete and loved you are. 

And you'll have NOTHING to give to anyone else.

After our twenty minutes elsewhere, the five of us talk quietly about where we are, and where we've been. Two of the group are priests. One a theologian, which matters not at all here. One of the priests manages to put into words what I feel. 

"There is much in my religion that I can no longer teach. It's not about following the rules, it's about accepting that God is at the centre of everything.  Waiting."

Is THIS Love?

I am thinking about soul stuff again.  The wisdom- tradition handed down to us by St Francis of Assissi is that the soul resides below the heart. I like this, because the soul is the dwelling place of God- within, and when waiting for God, who always comes, this is from where. I have never seen a blinding light, heard a booming voice, or even had a conversation with an Angel. He comes as a gentle upwelling, and an out-flowing : of joy, and laughter or sorrow, and tears, it all depends, and always fits.  Trumpets and Angel-song is for Christmas, and for babies I find: a different reality. If, of course, I am describing any kind of reality at all - you know me, believing what I like - I am open to the possibility of error. (But not very...)  I never claim to be good, because, in fact, I am not. Not for the want of trying, to be fair, but something about me always reassesrts itself when I am at my goodest - An inbuilt tendency to rebellion that is part of me, and is impervious to persuasion, or prayer. The Church calls it 'original sin' and has come up with a myth to explain it, which works, in a funny sort of way.  And yet, and yet... Let me try to make sense of it. I am as I am because I am a conscious being with a conscience. This is elementary stuff,  I know. In addition I am graced by an amazing set of circumstances that brings me to you now, happy, fulfilled, imperfect, good enough, sometimes... Forgiven at others. In short, at peace.  So the myth. It's all too easy to get tangled up in the free-will thing, which is always too simplistic and rarely satisfying. (Pretty much knocked on the head by neuro-science too, for the record.) I am thinking that perhaps after all, we didn't screw up in the beginning because God let us, just to be disappointed in us.  Eve, the proto-mother in the myth, was sinless when deceived by the voice of the serpent into biting into the apple. In order to be disobedient, she would have had to be capable of knowing what disobedience WAS:this is a foundational tenet of human justice, one can hardly suppose it to be absent from the divine. She didn't, so she wasn't, so the whole thing is more about finding a way out of a state of sublime innocence than laying all the troubles of this world on the actions of a woman - for which all women must be eternally blamed.  Look, I know this is heresy, but as I intimated earlier, rebellion is in my nature, and better out than in, say I. I am not feeling the least bit condemned: though I am pretty sure if this were the seventeenth century, I wouldn't be blogging it...  There is one Question God-within invites all who can, to answer when called to judgement: "Is this what Love would do?" Pretty fundamental, if you ask me. Many of the dearest people I know have no truck with conventional religion, and really, who can blame them? Not me. The news is full of grudge-taking revenge attacks by adherents to this or that god-bent, by faith-full people inventing new and worse ways of harming each other, in order, usually, to attach God to their pursuit of power, or wealth.  All equally convinced of the rightness of their cause, never asking, "Is THIS Love?"  I long ago realised that I had to give up the notion of an 'anything' God. I mean by that a God  OF justice or a God Of love. A being that will necessarily attach himself to any of my causes, or shield me from any of the stuff that comes to everyone else. (I mean, how just would that be?) He isn't OF anything - She just IS.  With Eve, I walked out of belief in the easy life in the Garden. I have sorrow and joy, I love and lose, I am well and sick, I am good and bad... I enjoy and endure and enjoy again. This is to be human - to be conscious with a conscience and it is GOOD. So what then, is 'faith' all about..? It is knowing that God is not a distant Other. But a living, loving Inner. Here, dwelling among us, upholding us  and  experiencing his creation through us. He, not me, is the innocent one. She is Love. He is perfectly presented to us as a baby, born to live a precarious life in a troubled world, with an inevitable and messy death. just like the rest of us. Thankfully, that is NOT the whole story.

Correction!

I was a little jaded when I write the last post but one, and feel duty bound to give way to the right brain to redress the balance. I allude to this dated neuroscience metaphor, because all that remains true of it, is that my left brain really doesn't know what my right brain is doing...

It doesn't matter. First Tenet of Quodlibettan Spirituality, 'You can believe what you like and get away with it.'  I don't offer this profundity with any great conviction, but as a working hypothesis. I turned away two door-to-door peddlers of enlightenment this morning, and am more convinced than  I was yesterday, that I'm on to something.

I write only for amusement, mine if I'm lucky, yours if you are, but there are many good blogs out there that offer something far more interesting. I have used Fr Michael Hudson's 'OrdinaryMindfulness' before, as he pulls me ever closer to the Centre, and for this purpose I quote him today.


 God is sung best in a psalm without words


The quote below is from Eckart Tolle (with a mashup from one of the Desert Fathers, John the Solitary). This is what we used for our lectio this morning in the Monday group.

Tolle can sometimes seem bone dry--but 'bone dry' can also be the same thing as 'clear and to the point.'

One of the great ironies of mindful practices is that they can appear to be self-focused and self-absorbed. Yet the sweetest fruit of mindful practice is freedom from this very thing--the sticky gravity of our small selves.

Through mindfulness we see the many habits and patterns that keep us stuck. Over time, recognizing and recognizing and recognizing these habits and patterns, it becomes easier and easier and easier to let them go.

Tolle is very helpful describing how this works.
---

Since ancient times, spiritual masters of all traditions have pointed to the Now as the key to the spiritual dimension. Despite this, it seems to have remained a secret.

With the timeless dimension comes a different kind of knowing, one that does not “kill” the spirit that lives within every creature and every thing. A knowing that does not destroy the sacredness and mystery of life but contains a deep love and reverence for all that is. A knowing of which the mind knows nothing.

If you find it hard to enter the Now directly, start by observing the habitual tendency of your mind to want to escape from the Now. You will observe that the future is usually imagined as either better or worse than the present. If the imagined future is better, it gives you hope or pleasurable anticipation. If it is worse, it creates anxiety. Both are illusory. Through self-observation, more presence comes into your life automatically. The moment you realize you are not present, you are present. Whenever you are able to observe your mind, you are no longer trapped in it. Another factor has come in, something that is not of the mind: the witnessing presence.

Be present as the watcher of your mind — of your thoughts and emotions as well as your reactions in various situations. Be at least as interested in your reactions as in the situation or person that causes you to react. Notice also how often your attention is in the past or future. Don’t judge or analyze what you observe. Watch the thought, feel the emotion, observe the reaction. Don’t make a personal problem out of them. You will then feel something more powerful than any of those things that you observe: the still, observing presence itself behind the content of your mind, the silent watcher.
---



There is a silence of the tongue,
and a silence of the body;
a silence of soul
and a silence of mind.
There is silence of spirit, too—
and, of course,
the vast silence of God.

Within this silence
we sing God best
in psalms without words.

--John the Solitary
Posted by Michael Hudson at 6:23 AM
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Living In Sin

I thought, for most of my life, that  the word 'sin' meant, literally, 'wallowing in filth' or, frankly, worse. I was amazed to discover that the meaning is a term borrowed from the butts, and means, 'missing the mark' . Picture with me, an archer aiming for the circle at the centre of the target, and not hitting it.  It's evident that when it's missed, it's missed, whether by a fraction of an inch, or a mile.

I find this comforting. To extend the metaphor, it seems to me, to make amends, all you have to do, is  to sigh deeply, walk  around picking up spent arrows for a bit, charge the quiver, and take aim once more.

There's no wallowing in mud, or drowning in self pity or holding oneself in a perpetual state of unforgiveness, stances I find some of my Faith Full friends in pretty much all the time. Do I not take 'sin' seriously then? I do, I really do. Not because I live my life by 'A Things To Don't List', but because doing harm to myself and others ( a good description of sin if you don't possess a bow and arrow) doesn't make me happy.

Shock. Horror. What an utterly selfish point of view! Yup. I have discovered that if I'm unhappy, I am more likely to head for the Things To Don't List and begin working on a few of the items in earnest. I will spare you the details, I might make you blush.

The Christ knew this.

'Love your neighbour as you love yourself.'

Give yourself a break, throw away the Things To Don't List and start picking up the arrows. Some times you'll hit the mark, sometimes you won't. So what?

I must still be thinking of what Charlie Chaplin didn't say on his seventieth birthday.

How Not To Get Mad

My brother, in his youth, left the British Communist Party because it wasn't left wing enough, and then by a series of possibly random events, largely to do with disillusionment, became a Born Again Christian. He is very happy in his beliefs, and generally comforted by them, which makes me happy too, because I love him.

Aaha! Aaha! I used to say, with the arrogance of a woman who knows the answer, when I read Pilate's, 'What is truth?' Now I am as convinced as I want to be, that Pilate was on to something.

Pontius, I don't know.  I used to know, and thought it extremely important that everybody else did too. Perhaps, if he'd lived as long as I have, Pilate would have saved his breath to cool his porridge. You can just make it up as you go along. As long as you can convince yourself, you can believe whatever you like and get away with it. Once I discovered this particular construct, I let go of a lot of junk that never made an iota of difference to me or anyone else, except as the means of separation from others, generally with the aim of engendering superiority.

I remain  a theist. As a theist I began a journey out of certainty, and I like it here.  Many of my friends are theists too; ready to stand up and be laughed at, though there are still enough of us to count. I'm not even a serious doubter. I say the Nicene Creed with fervour, and pray every day, but there's a growing list of things that I don't believe in, which can be summed up as anything that makes me mad at you. 

I'm through with being told what to believe, and to return the compliment, I won't tell anyone else what to believe either. Except, perhaps, my brother... .

So my brother wants to engage me in a little Dawkins-bashing.

'Dawkins, I say to him, 'Is entitled to be as disagreeable, contentious, angry and dismissive as he likes.  YOU are not.'

The Christ didn't say, 'Worship me.' He said, 'Follow me.'

Go on, I dare you.



Think: Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.