Today I ran 5 miles to get to my new gym's lunch-hour pilates class. I'm really bad at anything requiring flexibility, but have finally internalized that it's more about getting out there and trying really hard than looking good while doing it.
A year ago, I never would have considered running the three blocks it took to get to my old gym. I walked once in awhile, but usually drove the few times I went. In body and mind, I am miles away from where I was then.
I started 2011 in an emotional wilderness and decided to try running as a way toward peace of mind. I nearly failed. I learned that in order to start a running life, you have to bring ALL you have in body, mind and spirit. I did not believe that I had enough to bring at first, but I kept at it, finding more that I had been holding back.
Bringing it all to the table in order to be blessed is the lesson of Exodus 39:33-43, one of my favorite Biblical passages. At first glance, it is just a list of items required for the Tabernacle -- but to me, it's a beautiful poem of devotion.
The details, one would think, would be irrelevant to the larger story, which is that a group of people build a house for God to live in, which by itself isn't remarkable, until He does -- in the form of a mysterious, sparkly cloud.
Given that exciting reality, it is confusing why the author(s) spend so little time talking about the Cloud and so much time listing all of the details of what items go into making the tabernacle.
I love the poetry of the line, "its buttons, its boards, its bars..."
39:33 And they brought the tabernacle to Moses, the tent, and
all its furniture, its buttons, its boards, its bars, and its
pillars, and its sockets,
And the covering of rams' skins dyed red, and the covering
of badgers' skins, and the vail of the covering,
The ark of the testimony, and its staffs, and the
mercy-seat,
The table, [and] all its vessels, and the show-bread,
The pure candlestick, [with] its lamps, [even with] the
lamps to be set in order, and all its vessels, and the oil for
light,
And the golden altar, and the anointing oil, and the sweet
incense, and the hanging for the tabernacle-door,
The brazen altar, and its grate of brass, its staffs, and
all its vessels, the laver and its foot,
The hangings of the court, its pillars, and its sockets,
and the hanging for the court-gate, its cords, and its pins,
and all the vessels of the service of the tabernacle, for the
tent of the congregation,
The clothes of service to do service in the holy [place],
and the holy garments for Aaron the priest, and his sons'
garments, to minister in the priest's office.
According to all that the LORD commanded Moses, so the
children of Israel made all the work.
And Moses looked upon all the work, and behold, they had
done it as the LORD had commanded, even so had they done it:
and Moses blessed them.
After reading it a few times, I realized I was way more attracted to the intricacy of the list than the mystery of the Cloud.
The passage is about something miraculous indeed: how people who are in a vulnerable place figure out a way out of the wilderness by devoting themselves to making beautiful things. They bring it all to a place they call Sacred, and the Sacred comes to meet them there. They are confident it will happen, and love it into being.
In the past year, I've started to conceive of building my body as a home worthy enough for my divine self. I'm having to love it into being with self-confidence, which is challenging, but possible.
I'm glad to be finishing 2011 in a stronger place than where I started. I hope you are, too. Here's to a wonderful year of blessings to come!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
swifter than the mind
Hit a milestone today: >10 miles in one stretch. I saw a lot of scenery, and almost outran the battery life on my iTouch. It was a good day.
From the Isa Upanishad:
That One, though motionless, is swifter than the mind. The senses can never overtake It, for It ever goes before. Though immovable, It travels faster than those who run. It moves and It moves not. It is far and also It is near. It is within and also It is without all this. It is near to those who have the power to understand It, for It dwells in the heart of every one.
From the Isa Upanishad:
That One, though motionless, is swifter than the mind. The senses can never overtake It, for It ever goes before. Though immovable, It travels faster than those who run. It moves and It moves not. It is far and also It is near. It is within and also It is without all this. It is near to those who have the power to understand It, for It dwells in the heart of every one.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Her Perfect Beauty
I ran just three little miles today, but picked them out of the earth like flowers in the honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe, whose feast day is tomorrow. Her story reminds us that the lowly are the most precious in their ability to realize the extraordinary beauty of the Eternal.
Here's an excerpt from the account of her appearance to Juan Diego, a Mexica Aztec indian peasant, in 1531. Called the Nican Mopohua, it was written in the 16th century in the Nahuatl poetry tradition, which offers some of the most beautiful poetry in the history of the Americas:
7. As he approached the small hill called Tepeyac, as the day was already breaking,
8. he heard singing from the small hill, like the song of many fine birds; when their voices ceased it was as if the hill answered with songs even more gentle, more joyful than those of the coyoltototl, the tzinitzcan and of other delicate song birds.
9. Juan stopped to look around. He said to himself: "Am I worthy of what I hear? Perhaps I am only dreaming it? Perhaps I am only seeing it as in dream?
10. Where am I? Where do I find myself? Could this be the place that the old ones, our ancestors, spoke about; the land of flowers, the land of corn, of our meat and our sustenance? Could this be the heavenly land?"
11. He stood looking up towards the top of the hill, from the side where the sun rises, from where the beautiful celestial song came.
12. When the song suddenly ceased, when it could no longer be heard, then he began to hear someone calling him from the top of the little hill: "Juanito, Juan Dieguito!"
13. Then he dared to go where he was being called. Nothing troubled his heart: he was not anxious about anything. Rather, he felt extremely joyous and happy; he made his way up to the small hill to see where he was being called.
14. When he came to the summit of the little hill, a Maiden was standing there. When she saw him,
15. She told him to come closer.
16. When he arrived in front of Her, He greatly admired in what manner, above all comprehension, her perfect beauty was expressed.
17. Her dress shone like the sun, as if it were gleaming,
18. and the stone, the rock on which she was standing, seemed to be sending forth beams of light;
19. Her splendor looked like that of precious stones, as "ajorca" (though even more beautiful),
20. the ground sparkled as the rays of a rainbow in the mist.
Here's an excerpt from the account of her appearance to Juan Diego, a Mexica Aztec indian peasant, in 1531. Called the Nican Mopohua, it was written in the 16th century in the Nahuatl poetry tradition, which offers some of the most beautiful poetry in the history of the Americas:
7. As he approached the small hill called Tepeyac, as the day was already breaking,
8. he heard singing from the small hill, like the song of many fine birds; when their voices ceased it was as if the hill answered with songs even more gentle, more joyful than those of the coyoltototl, the tzinitzcan and of other delicate song birds.
9. Juan stopped to look around. He said to himself: "Am I worthy of what I hear? Perhaps I am only dreaming it? Perhaps I am only seeing it as in dream?
10. Where am I? Where do I find myself? Could this be the place that the old ones, our ancestors, spoke about; the land of flowers, the land of corn, of our meat and our sustenance? Could this be the heavenly land?"
11. He stood looking up towards the top of the hill, from the side where the sun rises, from where the beautiful celestial song came.
12. When the song suddenly ceased, when it could no longer be heard, then he began to hear someone calling him from the top of the little hill: "Juanito, Juan Dieguito!"
13. Then he dared to go where he was being called. Nothing troubled his heart: he was not anxious about anything. Rather, he felt extremely joyous and happy; he made his way up to the small hill to see where he was being called.
14. When he came to the summit of the little hill, a Maiden was standing there. When she saw him,
15. She told him to come closer.
16. When he arrived in front of Her, He greatly admired in what manner, above all comprehension, her perfect beauty was expressed.
17. Her dress shone like the sun, as if it were gleaming,
18. and the stone, the rock on which she was standing, seemed to be sending forth beams of light;
19. Her splendor looked like that of precious stones, as "ajorca" (though even more beautiful),
20. the ground sparkled as the rays of a rainbow in the mist.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Running in the cold proved quite a struggle this morning in terms of breathing, but perhaps there was a blessing in it: my body made me slow down and pay attention.
From Denise Levertov:
"The Breathing"
An absolute
patience.
Trees stand
up to their knees in
fog. The fog
slowly flows
uphill.
White
cobwebs, the grass
leaning where deer
have looked for apples.
The woods
from brook to where
the top of the hill looks
over the fog, send up
not one bird.
So absolute, it is
no other than
happiness itself, a breathing
too quiet to hear.
From Denise Levertov:
"The Breathing"
An absolute
patience.
Trees stand
up to their knees in
fog. The fog
slowly flows
uphill.
White
cobwebs, the grass
leaning where deer
have looked for apples.
The woods
from brook to where
the top of the hill looks
over the fog, send up
not one bird.
So absolute, it is
no other than
happiness itself, a breathing
too quiet to hear.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Seeds feed awhile on ground,
then lift up into the sun.
So you should taste the filtered light
and work your way toward wisdom
with no personal covering.
That's how you came here, like a star
without a name. Move across the night sky
with those anonymous lights.
-Rumi, trans. by Coleman Barks (1994)
then lift up into the sun.
So you should taste the filtered light
and work your way toward wisdom
with no personal covering.
That's how you came here, like a star
without a name. Move across the night sky
with those anonymous lights.
-Rumi, trans. by Coleman Barks (1994)
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Hungry
From Gwendolyn Brooks:
I am very hungry. I am incomplete.
And none can give me any word but Wait,
The puny light. I keep my eyes pointed in;
Hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt
Drag out to their last dregs and I resume
On such legs as are left me, in such heart
As I can manage, remember to go home...
from her poem, "My Dreams, My Works, Must Wait Till After Hell"
I am very hungry. I am incomplete.
And none can give me any word but Wait,
The puny light. I keep my eyes pointed in;
Hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt
Drag out to their last dregs and I resume
On such legs as are left me, in such heart
As I can manage, remember to go home...
from her poem, "My Dreams, My Works, Must Wait Till After Hell"
Thursday, November 10, 2011
I'll go first
I'll be on the road first--
then you'll go
then you'll follow the road
I'll be the first to cross
all the desert lands
all the canyon lands
I'll pass swiftly over
the Earth's smooth face--
she won't hinder me
no matter what truly lies
on her smooth face:
up in the sky
I shall go
I shall [run].
-ancient Nahuatl poem from Central Mexico
I'll be on the road first--
then you'll go
then you'll follow the road
I'll be the first to cross
all the desert lands
all the canyon lands
I'll pass swiftly over
the Earth's smooth face--
she won't hinder me
no matter what truly lies
on her smooth face:
up in the sky
I shall go
I shall [run].
-ancient Nahuatl poem from Central Mexico
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Strong Fragile House
Today I had to suffer running a couple of miles out of breath and unfocused before mentally and physically hitting my stride. Instead of giving up, I had to accept my frailty with humility and keep going.
In both Judaism and Orthodox Christianity, the Eternal is born from frailty. Be it a word uttered from the mouth or a child born from a womb, the infinite seems vulnerable at the start.
Jewish mystics in Northeast Spain in the 13th century believed that an entire heaven is born each time a new word or phrase is uttered in the act of studying the Torah. According to the Zohar, the rabbis also believed that God consulted the Torah four times before enacting Creation, making studying an expression of Eternal love. For Jews, to study is to fashion eternity anew, and you don't have to be God to do the work: the order of the universe can change from one student's humble word.
In Orthodox Christianity, study is less important than meditating on acts of divine love, in which God assumes a lowly position. Theotokos (Mary) has a special place in the cosmos because of her mystic womb that delivered the Eternal into the world as a helpless child. For the Orthodox, pondering the miracle of that moment has saving power.
For my running life, I take strength knowing that the limits of my abilities do not diminish my capacity to touch the Eternal in myself. Perhaps they make me more attuned to the small voice that calls to me, saying:
my love is building a building
around you,a frail slippery
house,a strong fragile house
--.e.e cummings
From St. Vladimir's Seminary Men's Choir, a beautiful Theotokion (hymn to Mary):
In both Judaism and Orthodox Christianity, the Eternal is born from frailty. Be it a word uttered from the mouth or a child born from a womb, the infinite seems vulnerable at the start.
Jewish mystics in Northeast Spain in the 13th century believed that an entire heaven is born each time a new word or phrase is uttered in the act of studying the Torah. According to the Zohar, the rabbis also believed that God consulted the Torah four times before enacting Creation, making studying an expression of Eternal love. For Jews, to study is to fashion eternity anew, and you don't have to be God to do the work: the order of the universe can change from one student's humble word.
In Orthodox Christianity, study is less important than meditating on acts of divine love, in which God assumes a lowly position. Theotokos (Mary) has a special place in the cosmos because of her mystic womb that delivered the Eternal into the world as a helpless child. For the Orthodox, pondering the miracle of that moment has saving power.
For my running life, I take strength knowing that the limits of my abilities do not diminish my capacity to touch the Eternal in myself. Perhaps they make me more attuned to the small voice that calls to me, saying:
my love is building a building
around you,a frail slippery
house,a strong fragile house
--.e.e cummings
From St. Vladimir's Seminary Men's Choir, a beautiful Theotokion (hymn to Mary):
Friday, November 4, 2011
Today I am...
no woman at all but an excuse for wind –
passage of light-and-shade we know
wind by – just as his pond was no pond
but a globe at his feet turning to show
how the liquid, dry, go topsy-turvy, how far
sky goes down in water
....
Coming your way.
-from an untitled poem by Mimi Khalvati
no woman at all but an excuse for wind –
passage of light-and-shade we know
wind by – just as his pond was no pond
but a globe at his feet turning to show
how the liquid, dry, go topsy-turvy, how far
sky goes down in water
....
Coming your way.
-from an untitled poem by Mimi Khalvati
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Running Out
It may very well be the beginning of a new universe on the day that we can be truly ourselves.
Adrienne Rich in her poem, "Yom Kippur 1984," asks us to consider that day:
What would it mean not to feel lonely or afraid
far from your own or those you have called your own?
What is a woman in solitude: a queer woman or man?
In the empty street, on the empty beach, in the desert
what in this world as it is can solitude mean?
....
when we who refuse to be women and men as women and men are chartered, tell our stories of solitude spent in multitude
in that world as it may be, newborn and haunted, what will solitude mean?
Adrienne Rich in her poem, "Yom Kippur 1984," asks us to consider that day:
What would it mean not to feel lonely or afraid
far from your own or those you have called your own?
What is a woman in solitude: a queer woman or man?
In the empty street, on the empty beach, in the desert
what in this world as it is can solitude mean?
....
when we who refuse to be women and men as women and men are chartered, tell our stories of solitude spent in multitude
in that world as it may be, newborn and haunted, what will solitude mean?
Monday, October 31, 2011
To Move Together
Runner's Prayer for All Souls Day (Nov 2):
That we might feel the spirits of our loved ones with us as we run toward the greater Love.
From Adrienne Rich:
...to move openly together
in the pull of gravity, which is not simple,
which carries the feathered grass a long way down the upbreathing air.
From from the Lauds Divine Office (morning service) at Mont St. Michel, a beautiful singing of Psalms 148-150:
That we might feel the spirits of our loved ones with us as we run toward the greater Love.
From Adrienne Rich:
...to move openly together
in the pull of gravity, which is not simple,
which carries the feathered grass a long way down the upbreathing air.
From from the Lauds Divine Office (morning service) at Mont St. Michel, a beautiful singing of Psalms 148-150:
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
“I feel more like myself when I’m out running. I’m a good animal.”
-Julia Chase-Brand, quoted in a NY Times article today about the strides she has made (and continues to make) for women's running. Bravo, Julia!
-Julia Chase-Brand, quoted in a NY Times article today about the strides she has made (and continues to make) for women's running. Bravo, Julia!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
The Impalpable Mist
I'm a slow runner, and I like being a slow runner getting passed by old and young alike. But in running and exhaling, I become part of that which is impassable: the air, the water, and the mist. In that way, I become immortal.
From Carl Sandburg:
"The Mist"
I am the mist, the impalpable mist,
Back of the thing you seek.
My arms are long,
Long as the reach of time and space.
Some toil and toil, believing,
Looking now and again on my face,
Catching a vital, olden glory.
But no one passes me,
I tangle and snare them all.
I am the cause of the Sphinx,
The voiceless, baffled, patient Sphinx.
I was at the first of things,
I will be at the last.
I am the primal mist
And no man passes me;
My long impalpable arms
Bar them all.
From Carl Sandburg:
"The Mist"
I am the mist, the impalpable mist,
Back of the thing you seek.
My arms are long,
Long as the reach of time and space.
Some toil and toil, believing,
Looking now and again on my face,
Catching a vital, olden glory.
But no one passes me,
I tangle and snare them all.
I am the cause of the Sphinx,
The voiceless, baffled, patient Sphinx.
I was at the first of things,
I will be at the last.
I am the primal mist
And no man passes me;
My long impalpable arms
Bar them all.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
I wish I had played more today.
From Mary Oliver:
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
From Mary Oliver:
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
From Rumi, a poem reminding us that less is more.
You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?
I've heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!
You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?
I've heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Words of wisdom from poet Nikhil Parekh from his poem, "There Were None":
But there were none on the trajectory of this Omnisciently wonderful Universe; who didn’t uncontrollably burn in the fire of immortally consecrating love; at every single stage; at every single moment; at every single breath; at every single footstep; and at all times; in the tenure of their inevitably destined lifetime….
But there were none on the trajectory of this Omnisciently wonderful Universe; who didn’t uncontrollably burn in the fire of immortally consecrating love; at every single stage; at every single moment; at every single breath; at every single footstep; and at all times; in the tenure of their inevitably destined lifetime….
Sunday, October 9, 2011
O Clouds, Unfold!
I'm thankful that I will not have to live a year of years, as Enoch did in the Book of Genesis:
Altogether, Enoch lived 365 years (5:23),
but it would be nice not to have to die, which Genesis also implies of him:
[He] walked with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.
The Torah is vague on what happened to Enoch, but unlike anyone else in Biblical history, he did something extraordinary: he "walked with God" for almost 400 years.
About Enoch, I have so many questions, but one thing seems clear: he had an intimate relationship with the divine that achieved mythic proportions among those who remembered him.
It's possible to assume that Enoch never lost his way, since he walked with God. To examine Enoch's life from a Zen Buddhist perspective, however, the opposite would be true. The Zen experience of Enlightenment is called satori, which basically means to get irredeemably lost from everything familiar and thereby find the path toward true understanding.
Enoch achieved eternal bliss in his lifetime, perhaps, because he lost himself entirely. By abandoning the ego, he achieved the Zen goal of waking up from the illusory duality of life and death and accepted the embrace of the Eternal. All that an ancient Hebraic mind could understand and record of this miracle was that God took him away.
Knowing I will neither achieve the length of Enoch's life nor the miracle of his end, I will content myself with the sleeping fool's journey, putting one foot in front of the other and struggling to wake up. Running shoes on feet, I will press on with a laughable intensity, hoping not for Enoch's exit but Elijah's (2 Kings 2:11), going out in a blaze of glory. As William Blake writes,
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight...
Altogether, Enoch lived 365 years (5:23),
but it would be nice not to have to die, which Genesis also implies of him:
[He] walked with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.
The Torah is vague on what happened to Enoch, but unlike anyone else in Biblical history, he did something extraordinary: he "walked with God" for almost 400 years.
About Enoch, I have so many questions, but one thing seems clear: he had an intimate relationship with the divine that achieved mythic proportions among those who remembered him.
It's possible to assume that Enoch never lost his way, since he walked with God. To examine Enoch's life from a Zen Buddhist perspective, however, the opposite would be true. The Zen experience of Enlightenment is called satori, which basically means to get irredeemably lost from everything familiar and thereby find the path toward true understanding.
Enoch achieved eternal bliss in his lifetime, perhaps, because he lost himself entirely. By abandoning the ego, he achieved the Zen goal of waking up from the illusory duality of life and death and accepted the embrace of the Eternal. All that an ancient Hebraic mind could understand and record of this miracle was that God took him away.
Knowing I will neither achieve the length of Enoch's life nor the miracle of his end, I will content myself with the sleeping fool's journey, putting one foot in front of the other and struggling to wake up. Running shoes on feet, I will press on with a laughable intensity, hoping not for Enoch's exit but Elijah's (2 Kings 2:11), going out in a blaze of glory. As William Blake writes,
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight...
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Until the Water is Clear
I ran an easy 5k today, focused and relaxed. The opposite is true of my run two days ago, in which I was a mental disaster. The difference between Sunday and today is that I wasn't expecting anything this time.
From the Tao Te Ching, Chapter 15:
Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?
The Master doesn't seek fulfillment.
Not seeking, not expecting,
she is present, and can welcome all things.
Lao Tzu refers to the Tao as the Great Mother who sustains us and is present in all things. In honor of Her, here's a song from one of my favorite Malian singers, Habib Koite:
My child
what is wrong?
Your mother hasn't gone far
She will be here any minute
From the Tao Te Ching, Chapter 15:
Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?
The Master doesn't seek fulfillment.
Not seeking, not expecting,
she is present, and can welcome all things.
Lao Tzu refers to the Tao as the Great Mother who sustains us and is present in all things. In honor of Her, here's a song from one of my favorite Malian singers, Habib Koite:
My child
what is wrong?
Your mother hasn't gone far
She will be here any minute
Sunday, October 2, 2011
House of Love
Meditating today on my favorite verse from the Hebrew Bible:
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever. -Psalm 23:6
But what is the House of the Lord? Rumi writes,
This is the house of Love, which is without bound and
end.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever. -Psalm 23:6
But what is the House of the Lord? Rumi writes,
This is the house of Love, which is without bound and
end.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Who By Fire
I took a class field trip today to a Hindu temple, where devotees are celebrating the beginning of the 9-day holiday of Navratri. The holiday is dedicated to celebrating the power of the feminine divine, or shakti, who takes many incarnations.
Later I went to my local Jewish temple for erev Rosh Hashanah, which begins the ten Days of Awe in the Jewish liturgical year.
In both religious celebrations, the focus is on the power of God, but also on grace, in the divine gaze of the shakti and in the mercy of Adonai.
Most importantly, there is also an emphasis on tasting the sweetness of the present moment.
Zora Neale Hurston writes,
There are years that ask questions and years that answer.
I've always loved that quote from Their Eyes were Watching God, which occurs at the beginning of the novel. By the end, you realize that in Janie Starks's life, whether the years have ended with question marks or periods matters little. The text of those years has a depth and importance that transcends the punctuation, and has brought her home.
On Rosh Hashanah, the liturgy requires that we ask questions. Questions are what begin and ultimately fill the books of our years, as our relationship with God is rarely a dialogue. Perhaps from an outside perspective, it would seem that we greet our years with honey because it makes them easier to swallow. In Judaism, however, the sweetness lies in the questioning.
From Leonard Cohen, a classic:
Happy New Year!
Later I went to my local Jewish temple for erev Rosh Hashanah, which begins the ten Days of Awe in the Jewish liturgical year.
In both religious celebrations, the focus is on the power of God, but also on grace, in the divine gaze of the shakti and in the mercy of Adonai.
Most importantly, there is also an emphasis on tasting the sweetness of the present moment.
Zora Neale Hurston writes,
There are years that ask questions and years that answer.
I've always loved that quote from Their Eyes were Watching God, which occurs at the beginning of the novel. By the end, you realize that in Janie Starks's life, whether the years have ended with question marks or periods matters little. The text of those years has a depth and importance that transcends the punctuation, and has brought her home.
On Rosh Hashanah, the liturgy requires that we ask questions. Questions are what begin and ultimately fill the books of our years, as our relationship with God is rarely a dialogue. Perhaps from an outside perspective, it would seem that we greet our years with honey because it makes them easier to swallow. In Judaism, however, the sweetness lies in the questioning.
From Leonard Cohen, a classic:
Happy New Year!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Uncreated Light
While spending the last two Sundays steeped in a mystical world of incense, bells and icons in my local Greek Orthodox Church in order to be better able to teach about Orthodoxy in my world religions class, I encountered something unexpected: a new way of thinking about light.
According to Orthodox Christian theology, it is possible to see and experience the presence of God, which is called the Uncreated Light. This is what the Orthodox consider to be divine grace. Whatever your suffering, you are still worthy of entering into the endless folds of the uncreated, Eternal Light. In doing so, you will undergo a process of deification where you are transformed into divinity for the purpose of healing the world.
In 14th century, Greek monks on Mt. Athos developed a way of meditating that gave them the ability to see this Light. With chins resting against their chests and gaze turned inward, they scandalized Western Christians who disbelieved in the possibility that God would clothe a person in divinity through His energies. The monks considered themselves having found a secret path to Love, a gateless gate with no door or key. When not meditating, they sang hymns of mystical union written centuries earlier by Saint Symeon the New Theologian,
He Himself is discovered within me, resplendent....Entirely intertwined with me, He embraces me entirely. He gives Himself totally to me, the unworthy one...
The monks' quest for the Uncreated Light reminds me of the Zen quest for enlightenment, which usually begins with a question pointing out the futility of created things:
The world is such a wide world, why do you answer a bell and don ceremonial robes?
The message here is that if we want to draw from the deeper well of divine energy in meeting life's challenges, we may need to re-commit ourselves to the journey toward Love, seeking that which is behind, or beyond, the created. Far from being powerless to do so, we have the ability to transcend the lives we lead in our work clothes (ceremonial robes) performing our expected duties (answering bells).
Let's take some time this week in whatever way we can, to do what the 14th century monks did: figure out how try on the brilliant robes of grace.
Whether teaching, healing, running, ministering, or taking care of other duties, the world will be a better place if each of us does so while, as the Psalmist writes,
...dressed in a robe of light (104:2).
From Saint Symeon:
Do not say that men cannot perceive the divine light, or that it is impossible in this age!
Never is it found to be impossible, my friends.
On the contrary, it is entirely possible when one desires it.
(Hymn 27, 125-132)
According to Orthodox Christian theology, it is possible to see and experience the presence of God, which is called the Uncreated Light. This is what the Orthodox consider to be divine grace. Whatever your suffering, you are still worthy of entering into the endless folds of the uncreated, Eternal Light. In doing so, you will undergo a process of deification where you are transformed into divinity for the purpose of healing the world.
In 14th century, Greek monks on Mt. Athos developed a way of meditating that gave them the ability to see this Light. With chins resting against their chests and gaze turned inward, they scandalized Western Christians who disbelieved in the possibility that God would clothe a person in divinity through His energies. The monks considered themselves having found a secret path to Love, a gateless gate with no door or key. When not meditating, they sang hymns of mystical union written centuries earlier by Saint Symeon the New Theologian,
He Himself is discovered within me, resplendent....Entirely intertwined with me, He embraces me entirely. He gives Himself totally to me, the unworthy one...
The monks' quest for the Uncreated Light reminds me of the Zen quest for enlightenment, which usually begins with a question pointing out the futility of created things:
The world is such a wide world, why do you answer a bell and don ceremonial robes?
The message here is that if we want to draw from the deeper well of divine energy in meeting life's challenges, we may need to re-commit ourselves to the journey toward Love, seeking that which is behind, or beyond, the created. Far from being powerless to do so, we have the ability to transcend the lives we lead in our work clothes (ceremonial robes) performing our expected duties (answering bells).
Let's take some time this week in whatever way we can, to do what the 14th century monks did: figure out how try on the brilliant robes of grace.
Whether teaching, healing, running, ministering, or taking care of other duties, the world will be a better place if each of us does so while, as the Psalmist writes,
...dressed in a robe of light (104:2).
From Saint Symeon:
Do not say that men cannot perceive the divine light, or that it is impossible in this age!
Never is it found to be impossible, my friends.
On the contrary, it is entirely possible when one desires it.
(Hymn 27, 125-132)
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Vanishing
Attaining the annihilation of the self is the true aim of the bodhisattva, or enlightened one. It doesn't mean becoming nothing, it means becoming the depth of all things.
How is it possible to be the depth that can hold the universe? No one is capable of being that alone, or for any extended length of time. It takes thousands of people collectively being that depth for one person to arrive.
As we enter in and out of selflessness, we experience renewal. Sometimes we get lucky because others help us to feel needed, and that need allows us let go of our selfishness to help -- in those times, our becoming the depth is a gift we are given.
On long runs, I sometimes feel as though I am un-becoming; losing the "me" that I hold onto so tightly in my life. It is a good feeling. Brought down to my most essential elements, it becomes clear that even those are not really mine. The blood, the heart, and the breath are water that will return to their source.
From Mary Oliver:
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
--from her poem, "Sleeping in the Forest"
From Foday Musa Suso and Philip Glass, a beautiful song called, "Spring Waterfall":
How is it possible to be the depth that can hold the universe? No one is capable of being that alone, or for any extended length of time. It takes thousands of people collectively being that depth for one person to arrive.
As we enter in and out of selflessness, we experience renewal. Sometimes we get lucky because others help us to feel needed, and that need allows us let go of our selfishness to help -- in those times, our becoming the depth is a gift we are given.
On long runs, I sometimes feel as though I am un-becoming; losing the "me" that I hold onto so tightly in my life. It is a good feeling. Brought down to my most essential elements, it becomes clear that even those are not really mine. The blood, the heart, and the breath are water that will return to their source.
From Mary Oliver:
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
--from her poem, "Sleeping in the Forest"
From Foday Musa Suso and Philip Glass, a beautiful song called, "Spring Waterfall":
Sunday, September 18, 2011
May You Open Your Eyes
Blessings that you will cross safely the week ahead! I just found this poem from Lucille Clifton, one of my favorites:
"Blessing the Boats," by Lucille Clifton.
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love you back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that.
"Blessing the Boats," by Lucille Clifton.
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love you back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that.
Worthy of the Grace
The liturgy was written by Saint John Chrysostom, a 4th century Greek theologian who is famous on one hand for his eloquence and humility, but on the other for chastising early Christians who felt moved to practice Jewish traditions. He wanted a complete separation between people who felt unified in worshiping God despite theological differences.
While Chrysostom wrote beautiful liturgy, in other writings he called Jews "pigs" and "drunkards." The anti-Jewish tone that he helped institutionalize in Church theology, which was based on his interpretations of the Gospels, is deeply regrettable. Perhaps he needed his own words as much (or more) than anyone else:
...forgive me everything wherein I have offended you every day of my life.
The mystical love of God expressed through the Eucharist is the focus of Orthodox Christian worship, as is a petition for God's mercy. Ironically, the liturgy seemed very Jewish in some ways: not the words so much as the structure, and the running theme of awe in response to God's love. When the blood of Christ (communion wine) was paraded around the sanctuary, I thought of how the Torah is paraded in synagogues around the world.
The Orthodox prayer for forgiveness and the repeated "kyrie eleisons" (Lord have mercy), which I found so touching today remind me of a poem from the beloved Russian poet Anna Akhmatova:
Forgive me that I ignored the sun, and that I lived in sorrow.
Forgive, forgive, that I mistook too many others for you.
I've loved that poem since I found it in college, and have always considered it a prayer.
Perhaps the most moving part of the service was when the Father called for parishioners from other parts of the world to recite loudly the Lord's Prayer, Jesus' adaptation of Jewish liturgical prayer for his followers, in their native languages. One at a time, the prayer was repeated over and over in Greek, Church Slavonic, Russian, Ukranian, Spanish, Arabic, French and English.
After the service today, I took in a long run -- one in which my legs were aching severely by the end. I started visualizing myself as running a monk's run, which had something in my mind to do with complete surrender. To what, exactly, I wasn't sure, but that wasn't the point. All that seemed to matter was becoming worthy of that which I was doing, and of the gift of my body, and the health that running brings. Saint John may have understood this desire when he wrote,
...make me worthy of the grace.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Teach Me Wisdom
Here's a beautiful meditation for tomorrow from Psalm 50, which I came across while reading the Russian Orthodox liturgy for Compline, the evening service:
Behold, You desire truth in the inward being. Teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
Behold, You desire truth in the inward being. Teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Because I Could Not Stop
I called my parents at 8:30 this morning because I knew they were in the Newark airport getting ready to board a plane that would fly up into a brilliant blue sky.
In terms of probabilities, the odds of an air emergency happening this morning were the same as the odds any other morning, but I was on edge.
Last night, I watched Flight 93, a movie about the United airlines flight that departed from Newark ten years ago today with four hijackers on board. Although the passengers made a heroic attempt to re-take the plane, the hijackers ran it into the ground.
This morning, I wanted my parents home. In a role reversal surprising for me, I told them to be sure to call when they landed.
After we finished talking, what made sense to me was to get out of the house and go to a place where I could literally immerse myself in something as profound as this day, the ten-year anniversary of September 11, 2001.
I told my three-year-old, who was on the couch watching cartoons, that we were going to the ocean. Fortunately, she thought that was a great idea.
As far as impossibly beautiful waning summer days at the beach go, this one was perfect. It was everything to feel alive, to swim with my child, and in some small way, to commune with the spirits of the dead.
On the two-hour drive back home, I realized how important it had been for me to spend the day in motion. I thought about Emily Dickinson's words,
Because I could not stop for Death...
Ten years ago, I walked into a convenience store on my way to work in the morning and saw a fuzzy image of the north tower of the World Trade Center in flames. I didn't understand the significance of what was happening, and when I got to work a few minutes later, I delivered the news that no one had yet heard. We turned the radio on and listened as the second plane hit.
One thing I learned from September 11 is that each second has a depth and power that makes it entirely new and able to completely alter our lives. Just as the power of the universe is in every atom, it is also in every moment. Whether it will create or destroy us, we have no way of knowing.
Emily Dickinson writes that Immortality can fit into a horse-drawn carriage. In present-day terms, maybe she would agree that it would just as easily fit into a cozy, VW Golf on its way to the beach or into an airplane taking off on a brilliant blue-sky day. Certainly she would find affinity in Indian spiritual leader Sri Chimoy's words,
My eternal days are found in speeding time...
As powerful and final as some moments can be, at least Immortality moves with us. In the company of the Eternal, we will never be alone.
In terms of probabilities, the odds of an air emergency happening this morning were the same as the odds any other morning, but I was on edge.
Last night, I watched Flight 93, a movie about the United airlines flight that departed from Newark ten years ago today with four hijackers on board. Although the passengers made a heroic attempt to re-take the plane, the hijackers ran it into the ground.
This morning, I wanted my parents home. In a role reversal surprising for me, I told them to be sure to call when they landed.
After we finished talking, what made sense to me was to get out of the house and go to a place where I could literally immerse myself in something as profound as this day, the ten-year anniversary of September 11, 2001.
I told my three-year-old, who was on the couch watching cartoons, that we were going to the ocean. Fortunately, she thought that was a great idea.
As far as impossibly beautiful waning summer days at the beach go, this one was perfect. It was everything to feel alive, to swim with my child, and in some small way, to commune with the spirits of the dead.
On the two-hour drive back home, I realized how important it had been for me to spend the day in motion. I thought about Emily Dickinson's words,
Because I could not stop for Death...
Ten years ago, I walked into a convenience store on my way to work in the morning and saw a fuzzy image of the north tower of the World Trade Center in flames. I didn't understand the significance of what was happening, and when I got to work a few minutes later, I delivered the news that no one had yet heard. We turned the radio on and listened as the second plane hit.
One thing I learned from September 11 is that each second has a depth and power that makes it entirely new and able to completely alter our lives. Just as the power of the universe is in every atom, it is also in every moment. Whether it will create or destroy us, we have no way of knowing.
Emily Dickinson writes that Immortality can fit into a horse-drawn carriage. In present-day terms, maybe she would agree that it would just as easily fit into a cozy, VW Golf on its way to the beach or into an airplane taking off on a brilliant blue-sky day. Certainly she would find affinity in Indian spiritual leader Sri Chimoy's words,
My eternal days are found in speeding time...
As powerful and final as some moments can be, at least Immortality moves with us. In the company of the Eternal, we will never be alone.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
You Who Are Perfect
Most of us try to find ourselves in good places -- for example, in our running, our work, our families and our travels. While these may be fulfilling aspects of our lives, they aren't the houses for who we are.
According to the Book of Deuteronomy, all of this looking is missing the point:
You will be blessed when you come in and blessed when you go out.
-Deuteronomy 28:6
If we are blessed no matter where we go, then we are less like seekers and more like seasons. Wherever we are, we are where we are supposed to be, in tune with everything else in the universe.
As the season changes from summer to fall this September, let us reflect on our state of blessedness, which exists no matter our situation. You are, as W.S. Merwin writes, "perfect in the dew."
To the Light of September
By W. S. Merwin
When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not
and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
endless summer
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground
but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later
you
who fly with them
you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night
perfect in the dew
Source: Poetry (September 2003).
According to the Book of Deuteronomy, all of this looking is missing the point:
You will be blessed when you come in and blessed when you go out.
-Deuteronomy 28:6
If we are blessed no matter where we go, then we are less like seekers and more like seasons. Wherever we are, we are where we are supposed to be, in tune with everything else in the universe.
As the season changes from summer to fall this September, let us reflect on our state of blessedness, which exists no matter our situation. You are, as W.S. Merwin writes, "perfect in the dew."
To the Light of September
By W. S. Merwin
When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not
and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
endless summer
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground
but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later
you
who fly with them
you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night
perfect in the dew
Source: Poetry (September 2003).
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Our Real Journey
A mentor recently reminded me of this:
"The Real Work," by Wendell Berry
It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.
"The Real Work," by Wendell Berry
It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
If You Ain't Right Within
Ran eight miles today and have no pain -- sweet!
While running I listened to The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, my favorite album, and caught her reference to Psalm 73 for the first time. I think it applies to runner's envy, which I get sometimes, since I am a slow runner with bad knees on a college campus with lots of fast runners:
Surely God is good...
to those who are pure in heart.
But as for me, my feet had almost slipped;
I had nearly lost my foothold.
For I envied the arrogant...
They have no struggles;
their bodies are healthy and strong.
They are free from common human burdens;
they are not plagued by human ills.
Unfortunately, the Psalm is about condemning the wicked (which does not apply here) and is pretty intolerant. But it is also about not desiring what you don't have, and learning to love what you do have:
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.
Although this Psalmist is tormented much more by his own inadequacy than I am by mine, I appreciate the peace that he finds despite his weaknesses.
As a rising star (who happened to be female) in the hip hop world cutting an album that would change history, Lauryn Hill had her own reasons for choosing Psalm 73. I don't blame her. As for me, I pick Psalm 131:
Psalm 131
A song of ascents.
My heart is not proud, LORD,
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.
But I have calmed and quieted myself,
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.
May you find calm in the week ahead!
While running I listened to The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, my favorite album, and caught her reference to Psalm 73 for the first time. I think it applies to runner's envy, which I get sometimes, since I am a slow runner with bad knees on a college campus with lots of fast runners:
Surely God is good...
to those who are pure in heart.
But as for me, my feet had almost slipped;
I had nearly lost my foothold.
For I envied the arrogant...
They have no struggles;
their bodies are healthy and strong.
They are free from common human burdens;
they are not plagued by human ills.
Unfortunately, the Psalm is about condemning the wicked (which does not apply here) and is pretty intolerant. But it is also about not desiring what you don't have, and learning to love what you do have:
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.
Although this Psalmist is tormented much more by his own inadequacy than I am by mine, I appreciate the peace that he finds despite his weaknesses.
As a rising star (who happened to be female) in the hip hop world cutting an album that would change history, Lauryn Hill had her own reasons for choosing Psalm 73. I don't blame her. As for me, I pick Psalm 131:
Psalm 131
A song of ascents.
My heart is not proud, LORD,
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.
But I have calmed and quieted myself,
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.
May you find calm in the week ahead!
Saturday, August 27, 2011
God Be in My Head
I decided not to go running out in the hurricane winds today, but I wanted to. Instead, I immersed myself in the energy of the outdoors by sitting on the porch, a favorite Southern pastime I learned from my grandparents.
Whether I run or not on a given day usually has more to do with my mind than the weather. Getting my head in the right place to start a run can sometimes be a great challenge.
I've been reading about Yoruba religious tradition, where the head and mind are taken very seriously. In Yoruba religion it is believed that the divine (personal god, or orisha) dwells in the head of every person. Yoruba practitioners understand that as our heads harbor our personalities and our memories, so they harbor our sacred selves.
This reminds me of a hymn that I used to hear in Duke Chapel as an undergraduate when my roommate was in the choir. Sometimes I would make it out of bed early enough to go to the service that started at 11am!
"God Be in My Head"
lyrics: Sarum Primer 16th century
music: John Rutter
God be in my head, and in my understanding
God be in mine eyes, and in my looking
God be in my mouth and in my speaking
God be in my heart, and in my thinking
God be at mine end, and at my departing.
I couldn't find a video of the Duke Chapel Choir singing it, but here's another choir that does it almost as beautifully:
I'm going to use this song as my runner's prayer for tomorrow. Hopefully, the god in my head will feel like running. :)
Whether I run or not on a given day usually has more to do with my mind than the weather. Getting my head in the right place to start a run can sometimes be a great challenge.
I've been reading about Yoruba religious tradition, where the head and mind are taken very seriously. In Yoruba religion it is believed that the divine (personal god, or orisha) dwells in the head of every person. Yoruba practitioners understand that as our heads harbor our personalities and our memories, so they harbor our sacred selves.
This reminds me of a hymn that I used to hear in Duke Chapel as an undergraduate when my roommate was in the choir. Sometimes I would make it out of bed early enough to go to the service that started at 11am!
"God Be in My Head"
lyrics: Sarum Primer 16th century
music: John Rutter
God be in my head, and in my understanding
God be in mine eyes, and in my looking
God be in my mouth and in my speaking
God be in my heart, and in my thinking
God be at mine end, and at my departing.
I couldn't find a video of the Duke Chapel Choir singing it, but here's another choir that does it almost as beautifully:
I'm going to use this song as my runner's prayer for tomorrow. Hopefully, the god in my head will feel like running. :)
Friday, August 26, 2011
Tongs T-tongs Tongs Tongs
For tomorrow:
Here's a brain-teaser from the Pirkei Avot, or "Sayings of the Fathers," a beloved wisdom text in Judaism:
If tongs are needed for a person to make tongs, then who created the first tongs?
Yes, I'm talking about the domestic appliance.
The question comes from a passage regarding what God created on the twilight of the eve of the Sabbath:
Ten things were created at twilight of Shabbat eve. These are: the mouth of the earth [that swallowed Korach]; the mouth of [Miriam's] well; the mouth of [Balaam's] ass; the rainbow; the manna; [Moses'] staff; the shamir; the writing, the inscription and the tablets [of the Ten Commandments]. Some say also the burial place of Moses and the ram of our father Abraham. And some say also the spirits of destruction as well as the original tongs, for tongs are made with tongs.
If you're interested in the passage, here's a commentary.
The twilight of Shabbat eve is just before sundown on Friday, when the world for Jews transitions from mundane to sacred time. The atmosphere is liminal and somewhat magical. If you're trying to get home before sundown, your senses are operating on over-drive. If you're God trying to finish up the work of Creation at the last minute, crazy things can happen. Like tongs.
Sometimes we need to distract ourselves with absurd questions or playful projects because doing so is the only thing that makes sense. Creative distractions can help free us up mentally to realize within ourselves the ability to carry on.
God's creations on Shabbat eve listed by the rabbis seem as though He was free-associating a bit with the universe. After a whole week trying to design the cosmos, getting all the essentials in place, perhaps the world seemed nonsensical. Why not then create a talking-donkey's mouth? Or a magical worm that could cut through stone (shamir)?
And of course, tongs to create tongs, dor v'dor (Hebrew, "from generation to generation") of tongs!
By then, God may have sensed (without saying so, since he reportedly said the opposite) that the world He'd created was already broken (if all was perfect, would we need tongs?), and at this, He wanted to laugh.
Tongs might very well be God's post-modern touch on the Ultimate masterpiece. I like to think so.
Shabbat shalom!
PS: Here's a video of Israeli blacksmith Uri Hofi (notice the Hebrew writing on his shirt) forging the first half of a pair of tongs. Listen to the rhythm!
Here's a brain-teaser from the Pirkei Avot, or "Sayings of the Fathers," a beloved wisdom text in Judaism:
If tongs are needed for a person to make tongs, then who created the first tongs?
Yes, I'm talking about the domestic appliance.
The question comes from a passage regarding what God created on the twilight of the eve of the Sabbath:
Ten things were created at twilight of Shabbat eve. These are: the mouth of the earth [that swallowed Korach]; the mouth of [Miriam's] well; the mouth of [Balaam's] ass; the rainbow; the manna; [Moses'] staff; the shamir; the writing, the inscription and the tablets [of the Ten Commandments]. Some say also the burial place of Moses and the ram of our father Abraham. And some say also the spirits of destruction as well as the original tongs, for tongs are made with tongs.
If you're interested in the passage, here's a commentary.
The twilight of Shabbat eve is just before sundown on Friday, when the world for Jews transitions from mundane to sacred time. The atmosphere is liminal and somewhat magical. If you're trying to get home before sundown, your senses are operating on over-drive. If you're God trying to finish up the work of Creation at the last minute, crazy things can happen. Like tongs.
Sometimes we need to distract ourselves with absurd questions or playful projects because doing so is the only thing that makes sense. Creative distractions can help free us up mentally to realize within ourselves the ability to carry on.
God's creations on Shabbat eve listed by the rabbis seem as though He was free-associating a bit with the universe. After a whole week trying to design the cosmos, getting all the essentials in place, perhaps the world seemed nonsensical. Why not then create a talking-donkey's mouth? Or a magical worm that could cut through stone (shamir)?
And of course, tongs to create tongs, dor v'dor (Hebrew, "from generation to generation") of tongs!
By then, God may have sensed (without saying so, since he reportedly said the opposite) that the world He'd created was already broken (if all was perfect, would we need tongs?), and at this, He wanted to laugh.
Tongs might very well be God's post-modern touch on the Ultimate masterpiece. I like to think so.
Shabbat shalom!
PS: Here's a video of Israeli blacksmith Uri Hofi (notice the Hebrew writing on his shirt) forging the first half of a pair of tongs. Listen to the rhythm!
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Every Day and Hour
For tomorrow: Pursue the endless path.
The more I run, the more I realize that it is no longer about the miles. Achieving mile goals is what kept me running early on, but now I'm starting to see the experience as a continuum -- quite literally, an endless path.
I've never really felt that running would lead to some sort of enlightened state of being, even though it is a profoundly spiritual pursuit. One of my literary heroes, Jorge Luis Borges, writes that we will never truly be finished becoming who we are:
You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a prior dream, and that dream lies within another, and so on, to infinity, which is the number of grains of sand. The path that you are to take is endless, and you will die before you have truly awakened.
The hope we have is not in reaching our goal; it is in experiencing the aesthetic beauty of the here and now that is textured anew from moment to moment. As Borges writes,
...every day is different and maybe every hour as well.
Happy Birthday, Sr. Borges!
The more I run, the more I realize that it is no longer about the miles. Achieving mile goals is what kept me running early on, but now I'm starting to see the experience as a continuum -- quite literally, an endless path.
I've never really felt that running would lead to some sort of enlightened state of being, even though it is a profoundly spiritual pursuit. One of my literary heroes, Jorge Luis Borges, writes that we will never truly be finished becoming who we are:
You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a prior dream, and that dream lies within another, and so on, to infinity, which is the number of grains of sand. The path that you are to take is endless, and you will die before you have truly awakened.
The hope we have is not in reaching our goal; it is in experiencing the aesthetic beauty of the here and now that is textured anew from moment to moment. As Borges writes,
...every day is different and maybe every hour as well.
Happy Birthday, Sr. Borges!
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
What Was Already There
For tomorrow: Pause and let others pass.
One sidewalk
May hide another, as when you're asleep there, and
One song hide another song; a pounding upstairs
Hide the beating of drums. One friend may hide another, you sit at the
foot of a tree
With one and when you get up to leave there is another
Whom you'd have preferred to talk to all along. One teacher,
One doctor, one ecstasy, one illness, one woman, one man
May hide another. Pause to let the first one pass.
You think, Now it is safe to cross and you are hit by the next one. It
can be important
To have waited at least a moment to see what was already there.
-Kenneth Koch, from his wonderful poem, "One Train May Hide Another"
One sidewalk
May hide another, as when you're asleep there, and
One song hide another song; a pounding upstairs
Hide the beating of drums. One friend may hide another, you sit at the
foot of a tree
With one and when you get up to leave there is another
Whom you'd have preferred to talk to all along. One teacher,
One doctor, one ecstasy, one illness, one woman, one man
May hide another. Pause to let the first one pass.
You think, Now it is safe to cross and you are hit by the next one. It
can be important
To have waited at least a moment to see what was already there.
-Kenneth Koch, from his wonderful poem, "One Train May Hide Another"
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Birthday Eve
It's my birthday eve! I'm very happy to have made it another year around the sun.
For August 22:
How can I possibly sleep
This moonlit evening?
Come, my friends,
Let’s sing and dance
All night long.
-Ryokan, zen poet
For August 22:
How can I possibly sleep
This moonlit evening?
Come, my friends,
Let’s sing and dance
All night long.
-Ryokan, zen poet
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Live the Questions Now
For Thursday, August 18:
...I would like to beg you dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.
Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903
in Letters to a Young Poet
...I would like to beg you dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.
Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903
in Letters to a Young Poet
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Life of Life
For Wednesday, August 17:
Look to this day:
For it is life, the very life of life.
In its brief course
Lie all the verities and realities of your existence.
-Kalidasa, Hindu poet, 5th century CE
Look to this day:
For it is life, the very life of life.
In its brief course
Lie all the verities and realities of your existence.
-Kalidasa, Hindu poet, 5th century CE
Monday, August 15, 2011
St. Thomas à Becket
For Tuesday, August 16: Choose the path of non-being.
One of my favorite plays is Jean Anouilh's Becket, about the 12th-century assassination of Archbishop St. Thomas à Becket of Canterbury by the henchmen of friend-turned-enemy Henry II. The play explores the psychology of friendship and the poisoning that lust for power has on human relationships.
King Henry, although he appoints Becket in his position, grows bitterly resentful of Becket's loyalty to God. He tries to challenge him at every turn, even poking fun at his commitment to honesty:
BECKET. It's true, my Lord.
Although affirming that his morality is merely aesthetics, Becket is the epitome of a Taoist Master. He yields to the fate that he has been given, and walks a path of non-being. Although he has the power of the Church, he accepts that he has nothing:
KING. Have you been touched by grace?
BECKET. Not by the one you think. I am not worthy of it.
As recorded in the Tao Te Ching, the characteristics of the Master are the following:
He has nothing,
thus has nothing to lose.
What he desires is non-desire;
what he learns is to unlearn.
He simply reminds people
of who they have always been.
I love Becket's character, despite the unhappy ending of the play, because he lives an authentic life. He is deeply aware of his flaws, but attains a serenity of being that makes him the true winner in the struggle. His presence reminds others of who they are. Unfortunately, Henry II can't bear to be reminded of himself, which is why he has him killed.
For me, there is a lesson here that it is worthy to live an authentic life because of what it means for our relationships. In being ourselves, we have the potential to remind others who they have always been. Hopefully, this will be to their benefit. While the real-life Henry II chose a murderous path, thousands of people flocked to Canterbury to visit St. Thomas's tomb -- in life and death, he touched them all.
From the Tao Te Ching, Chapter 16:
Empty your mind of all thoughts.
Let your heart be at peace.
Watch the turmoil of beings,
but contemplate their return.
Each separate being in the universe
returns to the common source.
Returning to the source is serenity.
One of my favorite plays is Jean Anouilh's Becket, about the 12th-century assassination of Archbishop St. Thomas à Becket of Canterbury by the henchmen of friend-turned-enemy Henry II. The play explores the psychology of friendship and the poisoning that lust for power has on human relationships.
King Henry, although he appoints Becket in his position, grows bitterly resentful of Becket's loyalty to God. He tries to challenge him at every turn, even poking fun at his commitment to honesty:
KING. [ . . . .] You can't tell a lie. I know you. Not because you're afraid of lies—I think you must be the only man I know who isn't afraid of anything—not even Heaven—but because it's distasteful to you. You consider it inelegant. What looks like morality in you is nothing more than esthetics. Is that true or isn't it?
BECKET. It's true, my Lord.
Although affirming that his morality is merely aesthetics, Becket is the epitome of a Taoist Master. He yields to the fate that he has been given, and walks a path of non-being. Although he has the power of the Church, he accepts that he has nothing:
KING. Have you been touched by grace?
BECKET. Not by the one you think. I am not worthy of it.
As recorded in the Tao Te Ching, the characteristics of the Master are the following:
He has nothing,
thus has nothing to lose.
What he desires is non-desire;
what he learns is to unlearn.
He simply reminds people
of who they have always been.
I love Becket's character, despite the unhappy ending of the play, because he lives an authentic life. He is deeply aware of his flaws, but attains a serenity of being that makes him the true winner in the struggle. His presence reminds others of who they are. Unfortunately, Henry II can't bear to be reminded of himself, which is why he has him killed.
For me, there is a lesson here that it is worthy to live an authentic life because of what it means for our relationships. In being ourselves, we have the potential to remind others who they have always been. Hopefully, this will be to their benefit. While the real-life Henry II chose a murderous path, thousands of people flocked to Canterbury to visit St. Thomas's tomb -- in life and death, he touched them all.
From the Tao Te Ching, Chapter 16:
Empty your mind of all thoughts.
Let your heart be at peace.
Watch the turmoil of beings,
but contemplate their return.
Each separate being in the universe
returns to the common source.
Returning to the source is serenity.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Break on Through
For Monday, August 15:
There are days when I fear that I am inadequately living out my calling to be a loving partner and parent, when I find myself lost and unable to communicate my feelings. Keeping on the course, despite these shortcomings and the critical voices in my head, is a choice that is presented to me every day.
In the Book of Deuteronomy, an inarticulate and self-conscious prophet by the name of Moses urges the people of Israel to choose blessings over curses, life over death (30:19). In order to do this, they must seek the Eternal in all that they do, including walking, eating, praying, speaking to their children, and -- pardon the creative license here-- running. :)
I imagine that Moses said all of this in a cold sweat, terrified by his inadequacy. He never wanted to be a prophet because he was afraid that no one would listen to him. At one point, he actually cries out to God, "If they don't listen to me, then what?!"
There's a Jewish saying taken from Deuteronomy: "L'dor v'dor," which means, "From generation to generation." It refers to Moses telling the people to love God and His teachings deeply in mind and body and to pass this love on to their children. This phrase has echoed in Jewish consciousness for centuries, poignantly from a stutterer who was afraid of his own voice.
Moses speaks to me not as a famous religious figure or prophet, but as someone who managed to break through the voices in his head to do what he was called to do.
As Jim Morrison reminds us:
Tried to run
Tried to hide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side, yeah!
There are days when I fear that I am inadequately living out my calling to be a loving partner and parent, when I find myself lost and unable to communicate my feelings. Keeping on the course, despite these shortcomings and the critical voices in my head, is a choice that is presented to me every day.
In the Book of Deuteronomy, an inarticulate and self-conscious prophet by the name of Moses urges the people of Israel to choose blessings over curses, life over death (30:19). In order to do this, they must seek the Eternal in all that they do, including walking, eating, praying, speaking to their children, and -- pardon the creative license here-- running. :)
I imagine that Moses said all of this in a cold sweat, terrified by his inadequacy. He never wanted to be a prophet because he was afraid that no one would listen to him. At one point, he actually cries out to God, "If they don't listen to me, then what?!"
There's a Jewish saying taken from Deuteronomy: "L'dor v'dor," which means, "From generation to generation." It refers to Moses telling the people to love God and His teachings deeply in mind and body and to pass this love on to their children. This phrase has echoed in Jewish consciousness for centuries, poignantly from a stutterer who was afraid of his own voice.
Moses speaks to me not as a famous religious figure or prophet, but as someone who managed to break through the voices in his head to do what he was called to do.
As Jim Morrison reminds us:
Tried to run
Tried to hide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side, yeah!
Friday, August 12, 2011
To Become Beautiful
For Saturday, August 12: Name and claim what gives you joy.
Inspired by conversations with a recent house guest, I revisited the words of June Jordan, a personal hero, on the connection between truth and beauty:
To tell the truth is to become beautiful, to begin to love yourself, value yourself. And that's political, in its most profound way.
--June Jordan
Sometimes truths are described as "ugly," or "bitter." In this context, though, June Jordan speaks of personal truth, the eternal truth that you are, even though others try to negate you. In other words, that you exist and are beautiful and worthy, even though racism, sexism and heterosexism may work to undermine your confidence. For a bisexual African-American woman in her time, her words were "worry words" for a society that regarded her as anything but beautiful.
To speak your personal truth is to be counter-cultural, even today. It requires a level of self-love that involves body, mind, spirit and speech; and yet, we are dynamic beings whose bodies, emotions and moods change. Our creeping doubts about our abilities obscure the deep truth that we know about ourselves. In those times when we do feel in touch with our personal truth, we have to grasp and hold on to it tightly.
Perhaps another way of saying, "personal truth" is, "inner joy." Our inner joy is the truth of who we are, and getting in touch with this joy makes us beautiful.
To speak of our inner joy, to give it a name and claim it, might very well be the great project of our lives.
From Carl Sandburg:
Let a joy keep you.
Reach out your hands
And take it when it runs by,
...
Joy always,
Joy everywhere—
Let joy kill you!
Keep away from the little deaths.
Inspired by conversations with a recent house guest, I revisited the words of June Jordan, a personal hero, on the connection between truth and beauty:
To tell the truth is to become beautiful, to begin to love yourself, value yourself. And that's political, in its most profound way.
--June Jordan
Sometimes truths are described as "ugly," or "bitter." In this context, though, June Jordan speaks of personal truth, the eternal truth that you are, even though others try to negate you. In other words, that you exist and are beautiful and worthy, even though racism, sexism and heterosexism may work to undermine your confidence. For a bisexual African-American woman in her time, her words were "worry words" for a society that regarded her as anything but beautiful.
To speak your personal truth is to be counter-cultural, even today. It requires a level of self-love that involves body, mind, spirit and speech; and yet, we are dynamic beings whose bodies, emotions and moods change. Our creeping doubts about our abilities obscure the deep truth that we know about ourselves. In those times when we do feel in touch with our personal truth, we have to grasp and hold on to it tightly.
Perhaps another way of saying, "personal truth" is, "inner joy." Our inner joy is the truth of who we are, and getting in touch with this joy makes us beautiful.
To speak of our inner joy, to give it a name and claim it, might very well be the great project of our lives.
From Carl Sandburg:
Let a joy keep you.
Reach out your hands
And take it when it runs by,
...
Joy always,
Joy everywhere—
Let joy kill you!
Keep away from the little deaths.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Nothing at All
For Friday, August 12:
I have nothing at all --
But this tranquility!
This coolness!
--Kobayashi Issa, Zen poet
I have nothing at all --
But this tranquility!
This coolness!
--Kobayashi Issa, Zen poet
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
What Comes Before
Meditation for Thursday, August 11: Find a doorway into silence and give thanks.
The rabbinic sages interpreting the Torah, or Hebrew Bible, asked a silly question: Why does the first book of the Torah, Bereishit (this is the Hebrew word for Genesis and is pronounced, bray-SHEET) start with the letter bet, the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet? They asked, shouldn't the book that is about the creation of the universe start with the first letter, alef?
The rabbis assumed that the language of the Torah, Hebrew, is the holiest language, and even the letters themselves are imbued with sacred light, written with black fire on white fire. They prized both literal and figurative readings of the text and looked actively for hidden meanings.
Figuring that God could not make a mistake, they decided that Bereishit must start with a B for a reason. From a silly question, they came to a profound conclusion: The beginning of things as we know them is not the true beginning. There is always something we won't know or understand about the Original nature of the universe. God gives us the story starting from page 2, and about the rest, He keeps silent.
What comes before the first book of Creation, then, is the Mystery of Creation -- the Silent "A". Perhaps a Buddhist might call it non-existence, the true nature of all things.
In our relationships and daily interactions with others, there is an element of mystery, as we cannot know everything about another person and what they are going though. We may find that respecting this mystery helps us to become more connected and compassionate people.
We might also consider that we ourselves are a mystery, as we do not know fully where we were before we were born, what makes us pulse with life, and what will happen when we die. In exploring these essential questions, we find deep silence.
I am trying lately to get back in touch with silence. In my running, this means becoming aware of the silent, non-existence at the heart of my being that rests between the beats of the pulse and the inhales and exhales of the breath. In my work, this means to be aware that being a teacher does not mean that I am supposed to talk about all that I know, or think I know.
In getting ready to start the new school year, teaching is very much in the forefront of my mind. I think about it whether I am running, lying down, or getting up. It weaves into my praying.
I like the ending of Mary Oliver's poem, "Praying," because it sums up how I am coming to feel about teaching:
this isn't
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
I hope that both my teaching and my running practice this year will be doorways into thanks and silence. This is my prayer.
The rabbinic sages interpreting the Torah, or Hebrew Bible, asked a silly question: Why does the first book of the Torah, Bereishit (this is the Hebrew word for Genesis and is pronounced, bray-SHEET) start with the letter bet, the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet? They asked, shouldn't the book that is about the creation of the universe start with the first letter, alef?
The rabbis assumed that the language of the Torah, Hebrew, is the holiest language, and even the letters themselves are imbued with sacred light, written with black fire on white fire. They prized both literal and figurative readings of the text and looked actively for hidden meanings.
Figuring that God could not make a mistake, they decided that Bereishit must start with a B for a reason. From a silly question, they came to a profound conclusion: The beginning of things as we know them is not the true beginning. There is always something we won't know or understand about the Original nature of the universe. God gives us the story starting from page 2, and about the rest, He keeps silent.
What comes before the first book of Creation, then, is the Mystery of Creation -- the Silent "A". Perhaps a Buddhist might call it non-existence, the true nature of all things.
In our relationships and daily interactions with others, there is an element of mystery, as we cannot know everything about another person and what they are going though. We may find that respecting this mystery helps us to become more connected and compassionate people.
We might also consider that we ourselves are a mystery, as we do not know fully where we were before we were born, what makes us pulse with life, and what will happen when we die. In exploring these essential questions, we find deep silence.
I am trying lately to get back in touch with silence. In my running, this means becoming aware of the silent, non-existence at the heart of my being that rests between the beats of the pulse and the inhales and exhales of the breath. In my work, this means to be aware that being a teacher does not mean that I am supposed to talk about all that I know, or think I know.
In getting ready to start the new school year, teaching is very much in the forefront of my mind. I think about it whether I am running, lying down, or getting up. It weaves into my praying.
I like the ending of Mary Oliver's poem, "Praying," because it sums up how I am coming to feel about teaching:
this isn't
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
I hope that both my teaching and my running practice this year will be doorways into thanks and silence. This is my prayer.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Ave Verum Corpus
Meditation for Wednesday, August 10: In you is the unity of heaven and earth.
I have always been fascinated with transubstantiation, the belief in Roman Catholicism that the Eucharist (communion wine and wafer) is the real physical presence of Christ. In taking communion, believers are literally taking God inside, transforming themselves into places where Heaven unites with Earth.
The first time I witnessed communion, I was four years old, attending mass with my cousins in my hometown's only Catholic church. The church sits on the rise of the highest hill in the downtown area, offering a beautiful view of the sky and mountains around. Fittingly, the call letters of the nearby AM radio station, WHKP, stand for the phrase, "Where the Heavens Kiss the Peaks."
Watching my cousins drink from the cup and take the wafers into their mouths deeply attracted me to the mystery. Not being Catholic, though, I didn't get to taste God in my mouth that morning.
Perhaps it is ironic that one of my favorite hymns is Ave Verum Corpus, composed in the 14th century to be sung during Catholic mass as the priest elevates the host (body of Christ) for consecration. The title means, "Hail, true Body."
I see universal importance in the meaning of the Eucharist as an injunction to be fully present in every moment as best we can. Catholics believe that God is Fully Present in the Eucharist, which is an incredibly powerful thing. If God can do it, can we?
For Buddhist monks who walk meditatively in gardens, paying heed to every physical sensation, thought, motion and breath, being fully present is its own reward. There is also the expectation that it will lead one to having greater compassion for others.
Being present with ourselves as we run is about cultivating the kind of awareness that connects mind with body. Doing so can only make us more whole, more real. In that way, we can become the great unity of all things.
Hail, true body!
I have always been fascinated with transubstantiation, the belief in Roman Catholicism that the Eucharist (communion wine and wafer) is the real physical presence of Christ. In taking communion, believers are literally taking God inside, transforming themselves into places where Heaven unites with Earth.
The first time I witnessed communion, I was four years old, attending mass with my cousins in my hometown's only Catholic church. The church sits on the rise of the highest hill in the downtown area, offering a beautiful view of the sky and mountains around. Fittingly, the call letters of the nearby AM radio station, WHKP, stand for the phrase, "Where the Heavens Kiss the Peaks."
Watching my cousins drink from the cup and take the wafers into their mouths deeply attracted me to the mystery. Not being Catholic, though, I didn't get to taste God in my mouth that morning.
Perhaps it is ironic that one of my favorite hymns is Ave Verum Corpus, composed in the 14th century to be sung during Catholic mass as the priest elevates the host (body of Christ) for consecration. The title means, "Hail, true Body."
I see universal importance in the meaning of the Eucharist as an injunction to be fully present in every moment as best we can. Catholics believe that God is Fully Present in the Eucharist, which is an incredibly powerful thing. If God can do it, can we?
For Buddhist monks who walk meditatively in gardens, paying heed to every physical sensation, thought, motion and breath, being fully present is its own reward. There is also the expectation that it will lead one to having greater compassion for others.
Being present with ourselves as we run is about cultivating the kind of awareness that connects mind with body. Doing so can only make us more whole, more real. In that way, we can become the great unity of all things.
Hail, true body!
Monday, August 8, 2011
Arise, Shine
Meditation for Tuesday, August 9: Accept yourself as a source of light.
In our every action and breath, we emanate light. This is an idea we've inherited from devout mystics during the Middle Ages across the Middle East, Africa and Europe, male and female, Jewish, Christian and Muslim. Although diverse in gender, ethnicity and religious tradition, they shared an addiction to experiencing the love of the divine directly. They did so by looking within.
"Drunken" Sufi mystics in medieval Iran were so named because their yearning and love for God caused them to act crazy, or drunk, in the eyes of others. Many were impassioned writers who produced beautiful poetry. Hafiz is one of the most famous. His name means, "One who has memorized the Qur'an."
Here are a couple of poems from his radiant pen:
"My Brilliant Image"
One day the sun admitted,
I am just a shadow.
I wish I could show you
The Infinite Incandescence (Tej)
That has cast my brilliant image!
I wish I could show you,
When you are lonely or in darkness,
The astonishing Light
Of your own Being!
"Several Times in the Last Week"
Ever since Happiness heard your name
It has been running through the streets
Trying to find you.
And several times in the last week,
God Himself has even come to my door-
Asking me for your address!
Once I said,
“God,
I thought You knew everything.
Why are You asking me
Where Your lovers live?”
And the Beloved replied,
Indeed, Hafiz, I do know Everything –
But it is fun playing dumb once in a while.
And I love intimate chat
And the warmth of your heart’s fire.
Maybe we should make this poem into a song-
I think it has potential!
How far does this refrain sound,
For I know it is a Truth:
Ever since Happiness heard your name,
It has been running through the streets
Trying to find you.
And several times in the last week,
God Himself has come to my door-
So sweetly asking for your address,
Wanting the beautiful warmth of your heart’s fire.
One of my favorite songs of all time is Steel Pulse's, "Your House," a very simple song about a lover wanting to live with his Beloved. It reminds me of the poem above where God is seeking out the warmth and light of the individual soul.
On your next run, whether it is joyful or difficult, try to visualize yourself as light emanating from its Source.
From Isaiah, Chapter 60, verse 1:
Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.
In our every action and breath, we emanate light. This is an idea we've inherited from devout mystics during the Middle Ages across the Middle East, Africa and Europe, male and female, Jewish, Christian and Muslim. Although diverse in gender, ethnicity and religious tradition, they shared an addiction to experiencing the love of the divine directly. They did so by looking within.
"Drunken" Sufi mystics in medieval Iran were so named because their yearning and love for God caused them to act crazy, or drunk, in the eyes of others. Many were impassioned writers who produced beautiful poetry. Hafiz is one of the most famous. His name means, "One who has memorized the Qur'an."
Here are a couple of poems from his radiant pen:
"My Brilliant Image"
One day the sun admitted,
I am just a shadow.
I wish I could show you
The Infinite Incandescence (Tej)
That has cast my brilliant image!
I wish I could show you,
When you are lonely or in darkness,
The astonishing Light
Of your own Being!
"Several Times in the Last Week"
Ever since Happiness heard your name
It has been running through the streets
Trying to find you.
And several times in the last week,
God Himself has even come to my door-
Asking me for your address!
Once I said,
“God,
I thought You knew everything.
Why are You asking me
Where Your lovers live?”
And the Beloved replied,
Indeed, Hafiz, I do know Everything –
But it is fun playing dumb once in a while.
And I love intimate chat
And the warmth of your heart’s fire.
Maybe we should make this poem into a song-
I think it has potential!
How far does this refrain sound,
For I know it is a Truth:
Ever since Happiness heard your name,
It has been running through the streets
Trying to find you.
And several times in the last week,
God Himself has come to my door-
So sweetly asking for your address,
Wanting the beautiful warmth of your heart’s fire.
One of my favorite songs of all time is Steel Pulse's, "Your House," a very simple song about a lover wanting to live with his Beloved. It reminds me of the poem above where God is seeking out the warmth and light of the individual soul.
On your next run, whether it is joyful or difficult, try to visualize yourself as light emanating from its Source.
From Isaiah, Chapter 60, verse 1:
Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.
All Paths
Meditation for Monday, August 8:
Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
Say not, "I have found the path of the soul. "Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.
--Kahlil Gibran
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Tobina!
Meditation for Sunday, August 7: When things are going well, and when they aren't, dance!
I just spent about half an hour searching for a song I remember hearing almost a year ago on NPR, and am so excited to have found it again. The artist is Daddy Owen from the Democratic Republic of Congo, and the genre is lingala, a type of central African dance music. NPR featured it on All Things Considered last year as the #1 song booming out of Nairobi, Kenya's dancehalls and churches:
To quote the person who posted it to YouTube, the lyrics roughly mean, "When things are going well and when they aren't, praise the Lord and... TOBINA! (DANCE!!!!)"
Nuff said. Enjoy your weekend.
I just spent about half an hour searching for a song I remember hearing almost a year ago on NPR, and am so excited to have found it again. The artist is Daddy Owen from the Democratic Republic of Congo, and the genre is lingala, a type of central African dance music. NPR featured it on All Things Considered last year as the #1 song booming out of Nairobi, Kenya's dancehalls and churches:
To quote the person who posted it to YouTube, the lyrics roughly mean, "When things are going well and when they aren't, praise the Lord and... TOBINA! (DANCE!!!!)"
Nuff said. Enjoy your weekend.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Cardboard Sign Sutra
Meditation for Saturday, August 6: Drink from the living well of the present.
Yesterday, halfway through my run, I decided to take a spontaneous detour through Duke Divinity School and Duke Chapel, to refresh myself with water from the Div School water fountain and to enjoy standing over the massive floor air conditioning vents in the dark serenity of the chapel. Even in the few, quiet breaths of time I spent in those places, they offered me an oasis from the blistering hot day.
Today, I encountered an oasis of a spiritual kind, upon receiving a blessing from a man standing in the traffic median soliciting money. He had a sign that read, "If I can smile, so can you!" And I thought, how true. When I gave him $2, he said to me, "Bless you, ma'am. I pray that you receive this back one hundred times over when you need it."
The experience reminded me of the Flower Sutra, a story from the Buddha's ministry (sutra roughly translated means "teaching," but literally means, "thread that holds things together;" think of the medical term, suture). One day, the Buddha tells his disciples he has nothing more to say to them, and holds up a flower. One of his disciples smiles with understanding, and to this disciple, the Buddha promises his legacy.
The cardboard sign with writing on it was not as hard to decode as a flower, but it made me smile with understanding. Upon reading it, I realized the richness of the present moment, in which I had everything in the world to smile about. As I smiled, I sensed myself touching the eternal.
When we awaken to the present as I did in the car today, is the deepest well we will ever encounter. Like an oasis in the desert, we should receive it with joy.
From the Book of Isaiah, chapter 55, verse 1:
Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come...
Yesterday, halfway through my run, I decided to take a spontaneous detour through Duke Divinity School and Duke Chapel, to refresh myself with water from the Div School water fountain and to enjoy standing over the massive floor air conditioning vents in the dark serenity of the chapel. Even in the few, quiet breaths of time I spent in those places, they offered me an oasis from the blistering hot day.
Today, I encountered an oasis of a spiritual kind, upon receiving a blessing from a man standing in the traffic median soliciting money. He had a sign that read, "If I can smile, so can you!" And I thought, how true. When I gave him $2, he said to me, "Bless you, ma'am. I pray that you receive this back one hundred times over when you need it."
The experience reminded me of the Flower Sutra, a story from the Buddha's ministry (sutra roughly translated means "teaching," but literally means, "thread that holds things together;" think of the medical term, suture). One day, the Buddha tells his disciples he has nothing more to say to them, and holds up a flower. One of his disciples smiles with understanding, and to this disciple, the Buddha promises his legacy.
The cardboard sign with writing on it was not as hard to decode as a flower, but it made me smile with understanding. Upon reading it, I realized the richness of the present moment, in which I had everything in the world to smile about. As I smiled, I sensed myself touching the eternal.
When we awaken to the present as I did in the car today, is the deepest well we will ever encounter. Like an oasis in the desert, we should receive it with joy.
From the Book of Isaiah, chapter 55, verse 1:
Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come...
Thursday, August 4, 2011
No Greater Love
Meditation for Friday, August 5: Believe in yourself with your full heart.
Today, I ran 6.7 miles, up from 1 mile in mid-June. I never believed that I could be a runner until this year. Belief is a powerful thing.
In a 2006 lecture I watched on YouTube today, religion scholar Karen Armstrong discusses the meaning of the word, "believe" in three languages:
* The English "believe" comes from the Old English, belyfan, "to hold dear, love"
* The Latin "credo" is thought to come from kerd-dhe- (Indo-European), meaning, "to put one's heart"
* The Greek, "pisteuo," means "to trust"
I am most taken with the idea that love is central to the meaning of belief. In none of these definitions is there a sense of intellectually grasping or knowing. Rather, holding, trusting, loving are the required elements.
Mahayana Buddhists, who view compassion as the central focus of their religion, have chosen to refuse entering nirvana until every last person has reached it. This could mean endless cycles of death and re-birth, lifetimes upon lifetimes spent in service to helping individuals awaken to the Buddha's teachings that suffering can be overcome.
Jesus is quoted in the Gospel of John as saying, "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends (John 15:13). Mahayana monks model Jesus' example of love in the ultimate sense.
To choose compassion and helping the masses over nirvana is an incredible statement of love -- but also, imagine how much these monks have to believe in themselves in order to take on the responsibility of helping billions of people achieve enlightenment!
Before this year, I never really trusted myself enough to take on the physical, mental and emotional challenge of distance running; now, I know that I believe in myself to do it. When we believe fully in ourselves, it is an act of great love. This love can transform us into becoming better runners, and it also can help us move the world to a more perfect place.
From Marianne Williamson:
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
Amen!
Today, I ran 6.7 miles, up from 1 mile in mid-June. I never believed that I could be a runner until this year. Belief is a powerful thing.
In a 2006 lecture I watched on YouTube today, religion scholar Karen Armstrong discusses the meaning of the word, "believe" in three languages:
* The English "believe" comes from the Old English, belyfan, "to hold dear, love"
* The Latin "credo" is thought to come from kerd-dhe- (Indo-European), meaning, "to put one's heart"
* The Greek, "pisteuo," means "to trust"
I am most taken with the idea that love is central to the meaning of belief. In none of these definitions is there a sense of intellectually grasping or knowing. Rather, holding, trusting, loving are the required elements.
Mahayana Buddhists, who view compassion as the central focus of their religion, have chosen to refuse entering nirvana until every last person has reached it. This could mean endless cycles of death and re-birth, lifetimes upon lifetimes spent in service to helping individuals awaken to the Buddha's teachings that suffering can be overcome.
Jesus is quoted in the Gospel of John as saying, "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends (John 15:13). Mahayana monks model Jesus' example of love in the ultimate sense.
To choose compassion and helping the masses over nirvana is an incredible statement of love -- but also, imagine how much these monks have to believe in themselves in order to take on the responsibility of helping billions of people achieve enlightenment!
Before this year, I never really trusted myself enough to take on the physical, mental and emotional challenge of distance running; now, I know that I believe in myself to do it. When we believe fully in ourselves, it is an act of great love. This love can transform us into becoming better runners, and it also can help us move the world to a more perfect place.
From Marianne Williamson:
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
Amen!
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Free Flight
Meditation for Thursday, August 4: Find new meaning in your routine.
The search for meaning is an act of the theological imagination, but we often focus too much on the larger questions -- the afterlife, the grand scheme, etc. In doing so, we miss the vital importance of finding meaning in our mundane activities.
In Zen Buddhism, the search for meaning begins with the mundane and with the breaking free of language. If we bind ourselves too closely to concepts and entrenched modes of thought, we can never reach enlightenment. Finding new meaning in your running routine is part of caring for your spirit and your life. Let it come to you without words.
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless...
-Walt Whitman
The search for meaning is an act of the theological imagination, but we often focus too much on the larger questions -- the afterlife, the grand scheme, etc. In doing so, we miss the vital importance of finding meaning in our mundane activities.
In Zen Buddhism, the search for meaning begins with the mundane and with the breaking free of language. If we bind ourselves too closely to concepts and entrenched modes of thought, we can never reach enlightenment. Finding new meaning in your running routine is part of caring for your spirit and your life. Let it come to you without words.
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless...
-Walt Whitman
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Mind is Moving
Meditation for Wednesday, August 3: Let others renew you.
On my 6-mile run this morning, I met a die-hard runner with stringy hair in his late 50s-early 60s who had a very compelling, Easy Rider/Jesus look about him. As he passed by, he told me to lower my arms a bit, saying it would make things easier. He looked strong and fast (in addition to the Dennis Hopper-Jesus thing), so I did what he said. Instantly, my shoulders felt lighter and my chest opened up, allowing me to take deeper breaths. From taking his advice, I gained renewed energy.
As much as I enjoy the solitude of running, I needed this human interaction to help me improve. I may have figured it out eventually, but the change made such a difference in my running experience that I am very glad he found me when he did.
Renewal comes in many forms, and it's often unexpected. Sometimes, all that is required is a minor adjustment like moving your arms. However, it is possible to look at it another way. I'm reminded of a Zen Buddhist koan:
We have to empty ourselves a little in order to receive the words of someone else, but that's a good thing. We know from the Tao Te Ching that it is the emptiness inside that makes the pot useful.
Here's a poem about emptiness, and what it means to hold it, by Jane Hirschfeld:
On my 6-mile run this morning, I met a die-hard runner with stringy hair in his late 50s-early 60s who had a very compelling, Easy Rider/Jesus look about him. As he passed by, he told me to lower my arms a bit, saying it would make things easier. He looked strong and fast (in addition to the Dennis Hopper-Jesus thing), so I did what he said. Instantly, my shoulders felt lighter and my chest opened up, allowing me to take deeper breaths. From taking his advice, I gained renewed energy.
As much as I enjoy the solitude of running, I needed this human interaction to help me improve. I may have figured it out eventually, but the change made such a difference in my running experience that I am very glad he found me when he did.
Renewal comes in many forms, and it's often unexpected. Sometimes, all that is required is a minor adjustment like moving your arms. However, it is possible to look at it another way. I'm reminded of a Zen Buddhist koan:
Two monks were arguing about a flag. One said: `The flag is moving.' The other said: `The wind is moving.'Rather than my arms being the most significant factor in causing the change, a Zen analysis might be that my mind's opening to the master's advice is what made the difference.
The sixth patriarch happened to be passing by. He told them: `Not the wind, not the flag; mind is moving.'
We have to empty ourselves a little in order to receive the words of someone else, but that's a good thing. We know from the Tao Te Ching that it is the emptiness inside that makes the pot useful.
Here's a poem about emptiness, and what it means to hold it, by Jane Hirschfeld:
| "A Hand" A hand is not four fingers and a thumb. Nor is it palm and knuckles, not ligaments or the fat's yellow pillow, not tendons, star of the wristbone, meander of veins. A hand is not the thick thatch of its lines with their infinite dramas, nor what it has written, not on the page, not on the ecstatic body. Nor is the hand its meadows of holding, of shaping— not sponge of rising yeast-bread, not rotor pin's smoothness, not ink. The maple's green hands do not cup the proliferant rain. What empties itself falls into the place that is open. A hand turned upward holds only a single, transparent question. Unanswerable, humming like bees, it rises, swarms, departs. | ||||
| --Jane Hirschfeld | ||||
Monday, August 1, 2011
Runner's Prayer
If you don't feel like reading my longer posts (sometimes I don't :) ), I am also going to be offering short Runner's Prayers from time to time, when I find a good one. Spontaneous is the key word here. I'm not going to try too hard!
Speaking of.... here's a good one:
Spontaneous me, Nature,
The loving day, the mounting sun
-Walt Whitman
Speaking of.... here's a good one:
Spontaneous me, Nature,
The loving day, the mounting sun
-Walt Whitman
The Root of the Light
Meditation for Tuesday, August 2: Ask for mercy.
In thinking about what to write tonight, a phrase from Christian liturgy came to my mind: Kyrie Eleison. It is Greek for "Lord, have mercy," and it reminds me of the opening of almost every chapter of the Quran, which reads, "In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate."
I have noticed sometimes when running that my heaviest burdens come to the forefront of my mind. Perhaps it is because I am alone with myself that I begin to think about things I regret having done, including times I have not been emotionally present with loved ones and times I have lashed out in anger.
To be able to run with a free mind and spirit, we may have to be willing to ask for mercy from those we have caused to suffer.
Although it is not in my own religious tradition, I find the Kyrie to be very moving. The opening lines hearken to God the Mystery, with a simple petition:
Lord, King and Father unbegotten, True Essence of the Godhead,
have mercy on us.
Lord, Fount of light and Creator of all things,
have mercy on us.
I appreciate the reference to God in this prayer as the Fount of Light. The petitioner, in chanting the prayer, is beckoning the Light to come near.
To expand on this idea from another tradition, the Tao Te Ching offers that,
The heavy is the root of the light.
The literal meaning of this line is that heavy and light are opposites necessary for one another. But I prefer a more figurative reading: when we become aware of our need for mercy, we may be in a dark place, but that awareness makes us as capable as a root is generative. In that place, we are ready to grow with renewed, inner light.
May you have joy on your run tomorrow, in the knowledge that within you is the root of the Light, and that you are deeply loved.
In thinking about what to write tonight, a phrase from Christian liturgy came to my mind: Kyrie Eleison. It is Greek for "Lord, have mercy," and it reminds me of the opening of almost every chapter of the Quran, which reads, "In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate."
I have noticed sometimes when running that my heaviest burdens come to the forefront of my mind. Perhaps it is because I am alone with myself that I begin to think about things I regret having done, including times I have not been emotionally present with loved ones and times I have lashed out in anger.
To be able to run with a free mind and spirit, we may have to be willing to ask for mercy from those we have caused to suffer.
Although it is not in my own religious tradition, I find the Kyrie to be very moving. The opening lines hearken to God the Mystery, with a simple petition:
Lord, King and Father unbegotten, True Essence of the Godhead,
have mercy on us.
Lord, Fount of light and Creator of all things,
have mercy on us.
I appreciate the reference to God in this prayer as the Fount of Light. The petitioner, in chanting the prayer, is beckoning the Light to come near.
To expand on this idea from another tradition, the Tao Te Ching offers that,
The heavy is the root of the light.
The literal meaning of this line is that heavy and light are opposites necessary for one another. But I prefer a more figurative reading: when we become aware of our need for mercy, we may be in a dark place, but that awareness makes us as capable as a root is generative. In that place, we are ready to grow with renewed, inner light.
May you have joy on your run tomorrow, in the knowledge that within you is the root of the Light, and that you are deeply loved.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Sunflowers
Meditation for Monday, August 1: Claim something in nature as your own.
My maternal grandmother and I have claimed two recurring events in nature as ours: the first is a certain kind of rain that comes on a wind in summer, and the second is an almost brashly bright, moonlit night.
When I visit her there will be times when she will say, "it is our kind of rain today," or, "look up and see our moon." I feel such profound love from her in these moments.
We do not claim the rain or the moonlight as owners of objects to consume, rather, we claim them as lovers of beauty taking in the sacred.
Vincent Van Gogh, known for the fierce energy of his paintings, once said,
"The sunflower is mine, in a way."
Van Gogh's paintings are a testament that sunflowers and the night sky were so deeply his. In claiming them as sacred for himself, he then gave them back to the world in a way only he could.
I would challenge you to claim something in nature as Van Gogh did sunflowers. When we take in something beautiful and sacred as though it is ours alone, the experience connects us to the eternal. Whatever happens in us as a result of that connection, we can return to others. If the world is indeed broken, perhaps this is one way that we can begin to repair it.
My maternal grandmother and I have claimed two recurring events in nature as ours: the first is a certain kind of rain that comes on a wind in summer, and the second is an almost brashly bright, moonlit night.
When I visit her there will be times when she will say, "it is our kind of rain today," or, "look up and see our moon." I feel such profound love from her in these moments.
We do not claim the rain or the moonlight as owners of objects to consume, rather, we claim them as lovers of beauty taking in the sacred.
Vincent Van Gogh, known for the fierce energy of his paintings, once said,
"The sunflower is mine, in a way."
Van Gogh's paintings are a testament that sunflowers and the night sky were so deeply his. In claiming them as sacred for himself, he then gave them back to the world in a way only he could.
I would challenge you to claim something in nature as Van Gogh did sunflowers. When we take in something beautiful and sacred as though it is ours alone, the experience connects us to the eternal. Whatever happens in us as a result of that connection, we can return to others. If the world is indeed broken, perhaps this is one way that we can begin to repair it.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Spiritual Exercises
Meditation for Sunday, July 31: Care for your spirit with play. And shake those cherry blossoms.
St. Ignatius of Loyola is one of the most famous Catholic reformers of the 16th century because he founded the Society of Jesus, or Jesuits. The Jesuits were so successful partly because of his Spiritual Exercises, a book which he wrote for lay and clerical men and women wanting to pursue a more devout, Catholic life.
Loyola's book set out a rigorous, daily approach to prayer that involved incessant list-making and tallying the times one had sinful thoughts or behavior throughout the day. This book served as a manual for Jesuit missionaries who spread like wildfire through the Americas, Africa and Asia from the 16th-18th centuries.
Some people approach running the way St. Ignatius approached prayer -- in a rigorous and disciplined manner. I am the opposite. I actually run similar to how I pray, which is in a more spontaneous and inspired fashion. I'm not advocating that one way of running is better than another, and I might become a more methodical runner some day. Currently though, while I know that I want to run frequently, I don't plan for how far, or how long.
What I do think we need as runners and human beings is more time set aside for play. So even if you are fiercely methodical about your running, don't forget to work in a little playful running once in awhile.
Here's a haiku I found today that I would like to offer as a runner's prayer:
Looking over my shoulder
my behind was covered
with cherry blossoms.
The haiku was written by one of my own spiritual guides, Allen Ginsberg, who studied zen poetry. May his memory be for a blessing. Now with that prayer in mind, dear reader, go forth and shake your cherry blossoms, because you are beautifully and wonderfully made. :)
St. Ignatius of Loyola is one of the most famous Catholic reformers of the 16th century because he founded the Society of Jesus, or Jesuits. The Jesuits were so successful partly because of his Spiritual Exercises, a book which he wrote for lay and clerical men and women wanting to pursue a more devout, Catholic life.
Loyola's book set out a rigorous, daily approach to prayer that involved incessant list-making and tallying the times one had sinful thoughts or behavior throughout the day. This book served as a manual for Jesuit missionaries who spread like wildfire through the Americas, Africa and Asia from the 16th-18th centuries.
Some people approach running the way St. Ignatius approached prayer -- in a rigorous and disciplined manner. I am the opposite. I actually run similar to how I pray, which is in a more spontaneous and inspired fashion. I'm not advocating that one way of running is better than another, and I might become a more methodical runner some day. Currently though, while I know that I want to run frequently, I don't plan for how far, or how long.
What I do think we need as runners and human beings is more time set aside for play. So even if you are fiercely methodical about your running, don't forget to work in a little playful running once in awhile.
Here's a haiku I found today that I would like to offer as a runner's prayer:
Looking over my shoulder
my behind was covered
with cherry blossoms.
The haiku was written by one of my own spiritual guides, Allen Ginsberg, who studied zen poetry. May his memory be for a blessing. Now with that prayer in mind, dear reader, go forth and shake your cherry blossoms, because you are beautifully and wonderfully made. :)
Friday, July 29, 2011
The Unfathomable Path
Meditation for Saturday, July 30: Let the path make you radiant.
I'm posting the meditation for tomorrow early because I'm going offline for the evening. Tomorrow's meditation comes from an ancient book of Chinese wisdom, the Tao Te Ching.
From Chapter 21:
The Tao is dark and unfathomable.
How can it make her radiant?
Because she lets it.
The Chinese character 道 (Tao) means "Way," and is used in this text to refer to the nameless, eternal Way of all nature and life. The Way is unfathomable, with no end, no definition, yet it abides in all living things. When we let ourselves wander without preconceived notions, we find this Way.
When we run, where the path leads is less important than finding it within, feeling in sync with it. It may be rugged, with dark moments, but if we endure with it, it will make us radiant. When you feel the glow after accomplishing a particularly challenging run, consider it a blessing from the eternal!
I'm posting the meditation for tomorrow early because I'm going offline for the evening. Tomorrow's meditation comes from an ancient book of Chinese wisdom, the Tao Te Ching.
From Chapter 21:
The Tao is dark and unfathomable.
How can it make her radiant?
Because she lets it.
The Chinese character 道 (Tao) means "Way," and is used in this text to refer to the nameless, eternal Way of all nature and life. The Way is unfathomable, with no end, no definition, yet it abides in all living things. When we let ourselves wander without preconceived notions, we find this Way.
When we run, where the path leads is less important than finding it within, feeling in sync with it. It may be rugged, with dark moments, but if we endure with it, it will make us radiant. When you feel the glow after accomplishing a particularly challenging run, consider it a blessing from the eternal!
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Road to the Divine
Meditation for Friday, July 29: Follow your senses
Running can be humbling, and it was for me today. I ran farther than I ever have before, but in the last mile, I developed a side stitch that almost made me end the run. Fortunately, I found the other side of the pain and made it through. When I finished, I smiled.
Novice zen monks entering a monastery are tasked with menial jobs, usually washing the floors. In some monasteries, it is back-breaking work requiring bending over and running back and forth pressing a wet sponge to the ground. The station is lowly, the pain piercing, and the monks have to learn how to understand it as something temporary. The Buddha taught that everything is impermanent, including pain.
In his diary, The Drowned Book (trans. by Coleman Barks), 13th-century Sufi mystic Bauhauddin, the father of Rumi, stresses the importance of being aware of your senses. Like the Buddha, Bauhauddin believed in the impermanence of pain. Being a mystic, he also saw the senses as the ultimate road to the divine.
From The Drowned Book, Book 1, verse 10:
I see the essence of being alive as water flowing from the invisible to here, and then back to there. My senses know they came from nowhere and will go back to nowhere. I recognize the one step from existence to non and from nonexistence to here. When I deeply know my senses, I feel in them the way to God and the purpose of living.
Running can be humbling, and it was for me today. I ran farther than I ever have before, but in the last mile, I developed a side stitch that almost made me end the run. Fortunately, I found the other side of the pain and made it through. When I finished, I smiled.
Novice zen monks entering a monastery are tasked with menial jobs, usually washing the floors. In some monasteries, it is back-breaking work requiring bending over and running back and forth pressing a wet sponge to the ground. The station is lowly, the pain piercing, and the monks have to learn how to understand it as something temporary. The Buddha taught that everything is impermanent, including pain.
In his diary, The Drowned Book (trans. by Coleman Barks), 13th-century Sufi mystic Bauhauddin, the father of Rumi, stresses the importance of being aware of your senses. Like the Buddha, Bauhauddin believed in the impermanence of pain. Being a mystic, he also saw the senses as the ultimate road to the divine.
From The Drowned Book, Book 1, verse 10:
I see the essence of being alive as water flowing from the invisible to here, and then back to there. My senses know they came from nowhere and will go back to nowhere. I recognize the one step from existence to non and from nonexistence to here. When I deeply know my senses, I feel in them the way to God and the purpose of living.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Where the Sacred Resides
Meditation for Thursday, July 28: Find and claim your sanctuary.
Yesterday, I ran by a church and noticed the word "Sanctuary" on the sign. I've seen the sign hundreds of times, but this is the first time that I have held on to that word. I like etymologies, so I looked it up.
The original meaning is "sacred room," a hidden chamber where the holy resides. By the 1500s, people in England were also using it to mean "refuge."
One reason some of us enjoy running is because we find sanctuary in the outdoors. Still, there are 100-degree days and snowstorms, and other times when we have to fight the elements.
Because we also dwell deeply in and contend mightly with our bodies and our psyches, perhaps there are hidden sanctuaries there. What if we considered very literally that the chambers of the heart were sacred rooms? How would we feel, then, to hear it beat?
I have always appreciated how yoga instructors encourage my mind-body awareness by asking me to think of my body in ways I normally wouldn't; for example, to visualize my spine lengthening and my breath traveling from the top of my head to my toes. Yoga is based on the principle that heat is required to unite parts of the body back to the whole, divine self, which includes the mind. To practice yoga is to join the parts together, to build the Sanctuary with a capital S: your original Self.
Here is a poem exploring the meaning of finding sanctuary, and how elusive it can be.
"Sanctuary"
People pray to each other. The way I say "you" to someone else,
respectfully, intimately, desperately. The way someone says
"you" to me, hopefully, expectantly, intensely ...
—Huub Oosterhuis
You who I don’t know I don’t know how to talk to you
—What is it like for you there?
Here ... well, wanting solitude; and talk; friendship—
The uses of solitude. To imagine; to hear.
Learning braille. To imagine other solitudes.
But they will not be mine;
to wait, in the quiet; not to scatter the voices—
What are you afraid of?
What will happen. All this leaving. And meetings, yes. But death.
What happens when you die?
“... not scatter the voices,”
Drown out. Not make a house, out of my own words. To be quiet in
another throat; other eyes; listen for what it is like there. What
word. What silence. Allowing. Uncertain: to drift, in the
restlessness ... Repose. To run like water—
What is it like there, right now?
Listen: the crowding of the street; the room. Everyone hunches in
against the crowding; holding their breath: against dread.
What do you dread?
What happens when you die?
What do you dread, in this room, now?
Not listening. Now. Not watching. Safe inside my own skin.
To die, not having listened. Not having asked ... To have scattered
life.
Yes I know: the thread you have to keep finding, over again, to
follow it back to life; I know. Impossible, sometimes.
--Jean Valentine
Yesterday, I ran by a church and noticed the word "Sanctuary" on the sign. I've seen the sign hundreds of times, but this is the first time that I have held on to that word. I like etymologies, so I looked it up.
The original meaning is "sacred room," a hidden chamber where the holy resides. By the 1500s, people in England were also using it to mean "refuge."
One reason some of us enjoy running is because we find sanctuary in the outdoors. Still, there are 100-degree days and snowstorms, and other times when we have to fight the elements.
Because we also dwell deeply in and contend mightly with our bodies and our psyches, perhaps there are hidden sanctuaries there. What if we considered very literally that the chambers of the heart were sacred rooms? How would we feel, then, to hear it beat?
I have always appreciated how yoga instructors encourage my mind-body awareness by asking me to think of my body in ways I normally wouldn't; for example, to visualize my spine lengthening and my breath traveling from the top of my head to my toes. Yoga is based on the principle that heat is required to unite parts of the body back to the whole, divine self, which includes the mind. To practice yoga is to join the parts together, to build the Sanctuary with a capital S: your original Self.
Here is a poem exploring the meaning of finding sanctuary, and how elusive it can be.
"Sanctuary"
People pray to each other. The way I say "you" to someone else,
respectfully, intimately, desperately. The way someone says
"you" to me, hopefully, expectantly, intensely ...
—Huub Oosterhuis
You who I don’t know I don’t know how to talk to you
—What is it like for you there?
Here ... well, wanting solitude; and talk; friendship—
The uses of solitude. To imagine; to hear.
Learning braille. To imagine other solitudes.
But they will not be mine;
to wait, in the quiet; not to scatter the voices—
What are you afraid of?
What will happen. All this leaving. And meetings, yes. But death.
What happens when you die?
“... not scatter the voices,”
Drown out. Not make a house, out of my own words. To be quiet in
another throat; other eyes; listen for what it is like there. What
word. What silence. Allowing. Uncertain: to drift, in the
restlessness ... Repose. To run like water—
What is it like there, right now?
Listen: the crowding of the street; the room. Everyone hunches in
against the crowding; holding their breath: against dread.
What do you dread?
What happens when you die?
What do you dread, in this room, now?
Not listening. Now. Not watching. Safe inside my own skin.
To die, not having listened. Not having asked ... To have scattered
life.
Yes I know: the thread you have to keep finding, over again, to
follow it back to life; I know. Impossible, sometimes.
--Jean Valentine
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Who We Are
Whether your run today is fast or slow, good or bad, press on.
The major philosophical message of the Bhagavad Gita, one of the most beloved Hindu scriptures, can be summed up in the following line from Shakespeare's Macbeth:
"Fair is foul, and foul is fair"
-Act 1, Scene 1
In the Bhagavad Gita, Lord Krishna reveals himself as the Godhead to a warrior in anguish. The crux of what Krishna explains to the warrior is that he must perform his duty with no attachment to the outcome. He must fight because he is a fighter.
Whether the fight is fair or foul is of no matter; in fact, "fair" and "foul" are both illusions. The only reality that exists is the Ultimate Reality -- which is eternally One, transcending all categories. The meaning of life is to seek and find it.
We have that Reality inside of us. The Islamic mystic poet Rumi writes of it as a field:
"Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing there is a field. I will meet you there."
Similar to Rumi, medieval Christian mystic, ecologist, and musician Hildegard von Bingen describes eternal reality as the "greenness." When we feel ourselves, our breath, and our energy in sync with nature, we arrive there.
Krishna, Rumi and Hildegard summon us to do whatever we can in the space of our little lives -- in our fields, in our fighting, in our actions, and in our hearts -- to submit to the Great Mystery. In so doing, we will find ourselves.
Should our egos get too involved in our running, we'll always be struggling with the outcomes of our performance. Instead, we should run for the sake of running, because that is who we are. Implicit in the sound of our heartbeat and breath is that we are echoing a universal rhythm.
I am a slow runner. At my pace, I would never win a race. On days when I can accept this, I feel like I can run forever. On days when I want to be faster, I lose my focus and get frustrated. Either way, I run. My blood circulates with vitality. The grass grows, and the world moves on.
The major philosophical message of the Bhagavad Gita, one of the most beloved Hindu scriptures, can be summed up in the following line from Shakespeare's Macbeth:
"Fair is foul, and foul is fair"
-Act 1, Scene 1
In the Bhagavad Gita, Lord Krishna reveals himself as the Godhead to a warrior in anguish. The crux of what Krishna explains to the warrior is that he must perform his duty with no attachment to the outcome. He must fight because he is a fighter.
Whether the fight is fair or foul is of no matter; in fact, "fair" and "foul" are both illusions. The only reality that exists is the Ultimate Reality -- which is eternally One, transcending all categories. The meaning of life is to seek and find it.
We have that Reality inside of us. The Islamic mystic poet Rumi writes of it as a field:
"Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing there is a field. I will meet you there."
Similar to Rumi, medieval Christian mystic, ecologist, and musician Hildegard von Bingen describes eternal reality as the "greenness." When we feel ourselves, our breath, and our energy in sync with nature, we arrive there.
Krishna, Rumi and Hildegard summon us to do whatever we can in the space of our little lives -- in our fields, in our fighting, in our actions, and in our hearts -- to submit to the Great Mystery. In so doing, we will find ourselves.
Should our egos get too involved in our running, we'll always be struggling with the outcomes of our performance. Instead, we should run for the sake of running, because that is who we are. Implicit in the sound of our heartbeat and breath is that we are echoing a universal rhythm.
I am a slow runner. At my pace, I would never win a race. On days when I can accept this, I feel like I can run forever. On days when I want to be faster, I lose my focus and get frustrated. Either way, I run. My blood circulates with vitality. The grass grows, and the world moves on.
The Dust We Eat
I went running a couple of days ago and felt a new kind of solitude. I was the only person out on the course because it was almost 100 degrees. My face felt as though it might melt away from the pavement's radiating heat. I tried to ignore the heat and dust, but ultimately, I recognized that I am mortal, and I cut my run in half.
Here's a meditation by one of my favorite poets for those of us who are running outside in this summer season. It reminds me of a zen poem about a monk who finds enlightenment while gazing at peach blossoms. Whether it be in peach blossoms or on dusty roads, may we find peace wherever we can.
"From Blossoms"
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
- Li-Young Lee
Here's a meditation by one of my favorite poets for those of us who are running outside in this summer season. It reminds me of a zen poem about a monk who finds enlightenment while gazing at peach blossoms. Whether it be in peach blossoms or on dusty roads, may we find peace wherever we can.
"From Blossoms"
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
- Li-Young Lee
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