One of the Christmas greetings I received this year contained a poem attributed to Wilfred A. Peterson from his book, The Art of Living. It goes like this:
"Christmas
is not in tinsel and lights and outer show.
The secret lies in an inner glow.
It's lighting a fire inside the heart.
Good will and joy a vital part.
It's higher thought and a greater plan.
It's glorious dream in the soul of man."
These sentiments could refer to those who have celebrated or are celebrating Hanukkah, Christmas, or Kwanzaa. Indeed, they're appropriate all year around.
Blessings to all!
Monday, December 28, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Prayer of Compassion
One of our local Episcopal churches held a "Blue Christmas" service yesterday. It was intended to bring "healing and hope" to those who were meeting a variety of difficulties at this point in their lives.
The idea prompted a short prayer:
Com-passion -- "with passion" --
May our prayers tonight for those who seem to suffer
Be aflame with Thy Glorious Light.
May those who cry out with grief, with pain, with sadness
Hear the Music of Thy Being
And find themselves at peace in the Arms of Love.
The idea prompted a short prayer:
Com-passion -- "with passion" --
May our prayers tonight for those who seem to suffer
Be aflame with Thy Glorious Light.
May those who cry out with grief, with pain, with sadness
Hear the Music of Thy Being
And find themselves at peace in the Arms of Love.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
"It's a Wonderful Life"
The 1946 movie It's a Wonderful Life was broadcast again on TV last night. In it, James Stewart plays George Bailey, a distraught businessman who has decided to commit suicide because his life seems worthless. An angel is sent to rescue him.
This movie is shown on TV at least once every year about this time. And it's great that it is -- its message can't be heard too often: It's the seemingly "little" things that make one's life a success, the little things we hardly notice, the ramifications of which may be huge.
In the last post I talked about interconnections. If a single life form is destroyed, this can in turn destroy an entire ecosystem. Conversely, a species saved from extinction can protect that ecosystem. And similarly, simple acts of kindness, compassion, love can have enormous effects on entire communities and beyond.
George Bailey didn't commit suicide. His guardian angel showed him what a different world -- a very loveless one -- would have appeared if George had not been there.
Many people, like George Bailey in the movie, want to do "big things" in their lifetimes. And again, as for George Bailey, it may appear as though things don't work out that way. How about a change of perspective here? Can we really know what "big" means? The ineffable Infinite: now that's big!
Jesus said, "I of myself can do nothing; 'tis the Father that doeth the work." Trust in the Infinite to do the grand things. Walk with awareness to do what you are called to do, not because you're striving to "do good," but because you're allowing the Father's Goodness to be expressed as your "little" acts of kindness and love.
This movie is shown on TV at least once every year about this time. And it's great that it is -- its message can't be heard too often: It's the seemingly "little" things that make one's life a success, the little things we hardly notice, the ramifications of which may be huge.
In the last post I talked about interconnections. If a single life form is destroyed, this can in turn destroy an entire ecosystem. Conversely, a species saved from extinction can protect that ecosystem. And similarly, simple acts of kindness, compassion, love can have enormous effects on entire communities and beyond.
George Bailey didn't commit suicide. His guardian angel showed him what a different world -- a very loveless one -- would have appeared if George had not been there.
Many people, like George Bailey in the movie, want to do "big things" in their lifetimes. And again, as for George Bailey, it may appear as though things don't work out that way. How about a change of perspective here? Can we really know what "big" means? The ineffable Infinite: now that's big!
Jesus said, "I of myself can do nothing; 'tis the Father that doeth the work." Trust in the Infinite to do the grand things. Walk with awareness to do what you are called to do, not because you're striving to "do good," but because you're allowing the Father's Goodness to be expressed as your "little" acts of kindness and love.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
God Bless the Copenhagen Conference
This coming week, delegates from some 200 nations will enter into talks in Copenhagen. There, they hope to replace the U.N. Kyoto Protocol with new agreements that will more effectively offset the climate change that is already affecting our world.
Despite considerable agreement within the scientific community that global climate change is well underway, there's still a great deal of dissension regarding what the nations of the world can or should do about these changes.
In all the arguments -- between conservatives and liberals, developed and developing nations, advocates of radically reducing CO2 emissions and those who feel climate change is a myth or would be happening regardless of humanity's actions -- it seems to me that one issue is frequently sidestepped: that of the interconnectedness of every aspect of the ecosphere and the respect and good stewardship required of humanity.
Undeniably, the world in which we appear to live is miraculous, whether one believes in a deity or not. And every detail, down to the vibrating (singing!) atoms, is intricately interwoven with every other, into a magnificent tapestry. Within this extraordinary interconnection, nothing can be touched without affecting every other aspect. A species becomes extinct: a wondrous detail is lost, and ripples run throughout all that that species lived with, and far beyond. As John Donne wrote in his Meditation XVII, "No man is an island, entire of itself, every man is a piece of the continent . . . ."
The ecosphere is a grand, glittering wonder for those able to perceive it as such. How asleep so many men and women seem to be, to not cognize the beauty, the delicacy, the power, and the patterns that surround them.
At a deeper level, are that which we perceive as the "outer" world and mankind's "inner" world of mentality and emotion so very separate? What pollution of people's thoughts, what smog of their egos and inner dramas, are reflected in the poisoned world of chemical waste and coal-fired smoke-stacks?
The issues to be met at Copenhagen, and by each of us at home, seem complicated and far-reaching. To begin to resolve the climate crisis will mean to allow a radical restructuring of the way in which mankind inhabits, and takes care of, this planet. Ultimately, it will call for new societies, new economies, new approaches and perceptions. And especially, it will call for a fundamental change within men and women, a cleaning up of the mental detritus that has kept us locked in what appears to be a limited and fractured world.
But as the birds soar, so can we soar to places of the heart and soul, to vast vistas of compassion and love.
Pray for those at Copenhagen: that they may listen and hear, propose and create, with clarity, insight, wisdom, and -- yes -- with recognition and wonder at the divine tapestry that includes us all.
Despite considerable agreement within the scientific community that global climate change is well underway, there's still a great deal of dissension regarding what the nations of the world can or should do about these changes.
In all the arguments -- between conservatives and liberals, developed and developing nations, advocates of radically reducing CO2 emissions and those who feel climate change is a myth or would be happening regardless of humanity's actions -- it seems to me that one issue is frequently sidestepped: that of the interconnectedness of every aspect of the ecosphere and the respect and good stewardship required of humanity.
Undeniably, the world in which we appear to live is miraculous, whether one believes in a deity or not. And every detail, down to the vibrating (singing!) atoms, is intricately interwoven with every other, into a magnificent tapestry. Within this extraordinary interconnection, nothing can be touched without affecting every other aspect. A species becomes extinct: a wondrous detail is lost, and ripples run throughout all that that species lived with, and far beyond. As John Donne wrote in his Meditation XVII, "No man is an island, entire of itself, every man is a piece of the continent . . . ."
The ecosphere is a grand, glittering wonder for those able to perceive it as such. How asleep so many men and women seem to be, to not cognize the beauty, the delicacy, the power, and the patterns that surround them.
At a deeper level, are that which we perceive as the "outer" world and mankind's "inner" world of mentality and emotion so very separate? What pollution of people's thoughts, what smog of their egos and inner dramas, are reflected in the poisoned world of chemical waste and coal-fired smoke-stacks?
The issues to be met at Copenhagen, and by each of us at home, seem complicated and far-reaching. To begin to resolve the climate crisis will mean to allow a radical restructuring of the way in which mankind inhabits, and takes care of, this planet. Ultimately, it will call for new societies, new economies, new approaches and perceptions. And especially, it will call for a fundamental change within men and women, a cleaning up of the mental detritus that has kept us locked in what appears to be a limited and fractured world.
But as the birds soar, so can we soar to places of the heart and soul, to vast vistas of compassion and love.
Pray for those at Copenhagen: that they may listen and hear, propose and create, with clarity, insight, wisdom, and -- yes -- with recognition and wonder at the divine tapestry that includes us all.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Shopping to Change the World
The day after Thanksgiving is "Black Friday," and the Christmas shopping season is off and running.
Perhaps you've heard this before. . . and it's still as important as ever: This year, try a different kind of gift, a charitable gift. You may not have to go shopping at all -- no crowds, no tensions, no sore feet or lack of parking spaces, etc. And, no need to worry about whether the recipient will like your gift or already has one.
Start with your Christmas cards. Many charitable organizations sell lovely cards: UNICEF, National Audubon Society, National Wildlife Federation, Syracuse Cultural Workers, and many, many more.
If you would like to give a gift of food, perhaps as a "stocking stuffer" or hostess gift, consider Fair Trade coffee, tea and chocolate. These products are grown on small (non-corporate) farms or plantations using sustainable methods. The products are sold at fair market value or above, giving these independent farmers the opportunity to make a decent living.
Most important are the gifts you want to give to family, good friends, colleagues. This year, give to one of the organizations that is fighting poverty around the globe. They do this not just by one-time handouts of food (though in a disaster, this is important also). Rather, they assist poor people to support themselves and permanently improve their lives. The organization may teach people new trades and provide a market for the goods created, or may supply animals to give farmers a new start. A number of organizations are doing this now; my favorite is Heifer International.
This group provides farm animals to people and then trains them in sound agricultural methods. Once the recipient has established himself and the animals have reproduced, the farmer then passes the gift along to someone else in the community, usually at a touching "pass it on" ceremony.
Heifer may have originated the idea of a "gift catalog," where one can "purchase" a flock of chicks (for a contribution of $20), a hive of bees ($30), tree seedlings ($60) and on through goats and sheep, llamas and water buffalo. These gifts enable a family to enrich their diets (e.g., eggs and milk) and sell the excess to improve their housing and send their children to school.
You can reach Heifer International at (800)698-2511 or www.heifer.org/catalog.
Finally, for kids consider a subscription to Ranger Rick magazine from the National Wildlife Federation. Through that same organization, you can "adopt" an animal (mostly belonging to endangered species) and receive a small plush version of the same beast as an acknowledgment of your support. I believe the World Wildlife Fund has a similar program.
All these are gifts that can bring extra meaning to the holidays for both giver and recipient. They move us away from a focus on "things." They're a way of acknowledging the interconnection of all the citizens of this small, fragile world, animal and human alike, and a way of bringing into manifestation an expression of the Love and Abundance that embrace all.
Perhaps you've heard this before. . . and it's still as important as ever: This year, try a different kind of gift, a charitable gift. You may not have to go shopping at all -- no crowds, no tensions, no sore feet or lack of parking spaces, etc. And, no need to worry about whether the recipient will like your gift or already has one.
Start with your Christmas cards. Many charitable organizations sell lovely cards: UNICEF, National Audubon Society, National Wildlife Federation, Syracuse Cultural Workers, and many, many more.
If you would like to give a gift of food, perhaps as a "stocking stuffer" or hostess gift, consider Fair Trade coffee, tea and chocolate. These products are grown on small (non-corporate) farms or plantations using sustainable methods. The products are sold at fair market value or above, giving these independent farmers the opportunity to make a decent living.
Most important are the gifts you want to give to family, good friends, colleagues. This year, give to one of the organizations that is fighting poverty around the globe. They do this not just by one-time handouts of food (though in a disaster, this is important also). Rather, they assist poor people to support themselves and permanently improve their lives. The organization may teach people new trades and provide a market for the goods created, or may supply animals to give farmers a new start. A number of organizations are doing this now; my favorite is Heifer International.
This group provides farm animals to people and then trains them in sound agricultural methods. Once the recipient has established himself and the animals have reproduced, the farmer then passes the gift along to someone else in the community, usually at a touching "pass it on" ceremony.
Heifer may have originated the idea of a "gift catalog," where one can "purchase" a flock of chicks (for a contribution of $20), a hive of bees ($30), tree seedlings ($60) and on through goats and sheep, llamas and water buffalo. These gifts enable a family to enrich their diets (e.g., eggs and milk) and sell the excess to improve their housing and send their children to school.
You can reach Heifer International at (800)698-2511 or www.heifer.org/catalog.
Finally, for kids consider a subscription to Ranger Rick magazine from the National Wildlife Federation. Through that same organization, you can "adopt" an animal (mostly belonging to endangered species) and receive a small plush version of the same beast as an acknowledgment of your support. I believe the World Wildlife Fund has a similar program.
All these are gifts that can bring extra meaning to the holidays for both giver and recipient. They move us away from a focus on "things." They're a way of acknowledging the interconnection of all the citizens of this small, fragile world, animal and human alike, and a way of bringing into manifestation an expression of the Love and Abundance that embrace all.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Rules for Gratitude
1. Gratitude requires action, not just words. This can be as simple as buying a few extra cans of food when you shop to give to the local food bank. "Pay it forward."
2. Gratitude is best celebrated every moment. Pay attention to the details. Make a game of finding as many blessings for which to be grateful as you possibly can.
3. Gratitude and acknowledgment go hand in hand. Tell people how wonderful they are. Smile often!
4. Gratitude opens the door to many more blessings.
5. Somewhere I heard or read that only two prayers are ever necessary. (Forgive me, whoever you are -- I can't recall the source of this wonderful thought!) One prayer is "Yes!" and the other is "Thank You!"
6. Gratitude points to Grace. Take your objects of gratitude to the symbolic, idea level. Then, delicious food becomes the symbolic expression of the amazing, infinite Substance that sustains all at every moment. (The food still tastes good, too.)
The Indo-European root of the word "gratitude" is gwere, which means "to praise aloud." Open your purse, open your lips, your arms, your heart. There is true gratitude.
2. Gratitude is best celebrated every moment. Pay attention to the details. Make a game of finding as many blessings for which to be grateful as you possibly can.
3. Gratitude and acknowledgment go hand in hand. Tell people how wonderful they are. Smile often!
4. Gratitude opens the door to many more blessings.
5. Somewhere I heard or read that only two prayers are ever necessary. (Forgive me, whoever you are -- I can't recall the source of this wonderful thought!) One prayer is "Yes!" and the other is "Thank You!"
6. Gratitude points to Grace. Take your objects of gratitude to the symbolic, idea level. Then, delicious food becomes the symbolic expression of the amazing, infinite Substance that sustains all at every moment. (The food still tastes good, too.)
The Indo-European root of the word "gratitude" is gwere, which means "to praise aloud." Open your purse, open your lips, your arms, your heart. There is true gratitude.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Little Religion
I think I've always had a religious bent, though it's taken a lot of twists and turns. As a child, I would bury dead birds in coffee cans lined with Kleenex, and read Bible verses over them.
My earliest memories of "church" (at the suburban Methodist church my parents attended) have to do with the organ. I can recall asking my mother why we couldn't see the music come out of the holes in the big pipes. Other early memories include the sound of walking on the flat brown linoleum that covered the church hallways and fellowship room, and the smell of coffee from the giant urns there.
On the backs of the wooden pews were small holders for pledge cards, with little yellow pencils for people to fill out the cards. There may have also been envelopes for the weekly collection. At any rate, I can recall drawing and writing on these with the pencils, or perhaps on the index cards my mother kept in her purse. For I didn't understand the sermons and felt very bored and restless.
I did like singing hymns. I was in the children's choir and enjoyed wearing the white choir robe. At Christmas time, all the candles were magic for me. The Sunday-school children would put on one of those excruciating Christmas pageants for the congregation. All I remember about these is that one time some little kid threw up.
At Easter, I went to church with my parents wearing new patent leather "mary-jane" shoes and white gloves and a hat just like a grown-up lady. Only I hated wearing hats, always, and doubtless tried my mother's patience with my protests. I liked the Easter candles and music also.
There was, of course, Sunday School. One summer I also attended Vacation Bible School and recall only that we made "flannel boards" -- blue flannel for the sky and tan flannel for the ground, wrapped around a piece of cardboard. Then we cut various Biblical characters out of paper -- like paper dolls -- and put flannel on their backs so they would stick to the flannel boards (sort of like primitive Velcro). I had a shepherd and a bunch of sheep, which I enjoyed moving around on the board.
In 7th or 8th grade, my classmates and I were prepared for Methodist "coming of age" -- Confirmation. We were given a little Catechism book, which I believe we were supposed to memorize, and we went to class once a week with the minister of our church. At that age, I was already starting to really search. As I recall it, I would ask the pastor questions about the real meaning of various passages in the Catechism, but he never seemed to answer them. He usually just quoted the Catechism back to me by rote, leaving me frustrated and still wanting Answers.
I guess it was after these classes that I decided I was an agnostic and wanted nothing more to do with the church. So, that was the end of religious phase #1.
My earliest memories of "church" (at the suburban Methodist church my parents attended) have to do with the organ. I can recall asking my mother why we couldn't see the music come out of the holes in the big pipes. Other early memories include the sound of walking on the flat brown linoleum that covered the church hallways and fellowship room, and the smell of coffee from the giant urns there.
On the backs of the wooden pews were small holders for pledge cards, with little yellow pencils for people to fill out the cards. There may have also been envelopes for the weekly collection. At any rate, I can recall drawing and writing on these with the pencils, or perhaps on the index cards my mother kept in her purse. For I didn't understand the sermons and felt very bored and restless.
I did like singing hymns. I was in the children's choir and enjoyed wearing the white choir robe. At Christmas time, all the candles were magic for me. The Sunday-school children would put on one of those excruciating Christmas pageants for the congregation. All I remember about these is that one time some little kid threw up.
At Easter, I went to church with my parents wearing new patent leather "mary-jane" shoes and white gloves and a hat just like a grown-up lady. Only I hated wearing hats, always, and doubtless tried my mother's patience with my protests. I liked the Easter candles and music also.
There was, of course, Sunday School. One summer I also attended Vacation Bible School and recall only that we made "flannel boards" -- blue flannel for the sky and tan flannel for the ground, wrapped around a piece of cardboard. Then we cut various Biblical characters out of paper -- like paper dolls -- and put flannel on their backs so they would stick to the flannel boards (sort of like primitive Velcro). I had a shepherd and a bunch of sheep, which I enjoyed moving around on the board.
In 7th or 8th grade, my classmates and I were prepared for Methodist "coming of age" -- Confirmation. We were given a little Catechism book, which I believe we were supposed to memorize, and we went to class once a week with the minister of our church. At that age, I was already starting to really search. As I recall it, I would ask the pastor questions about the real meaning of various passages in the Catechism, but he never seemed to answer them. He usually just quoted the Catechism back to me by rote, leaving me frustrated and still wanting Answers.
I guess it was after these classes that I decided I was an agnostic and wanted nothing more to do with the church. So, that was the end of religious phase #1.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Laughing Worship
Remember the department in the Reader's Digest called "Laughter -- the Best Medicine"? And the story of Norman Cousins, who watched comedy movies and otherwise laughed his way into recovery from a serious illness?
Laughter just plain feels good (overly obvious statement). But I wonder if genuine laughter isn't getting lost to some degree in our multi-tasking culture, along with so many other values that might be summarized as "stop and smell the roses." Appreciating beauty and enjoying laughter have to be among the greatest gifts we receive during our sojourn on earth. Angels, I would imagine, must certainly laugh when they're not busy playing harps or rescuing lost souls.
Then there's the blessing of being able to laugh at ourselves and our circumstances. Laughter definitely helps to reduce a catastrophizing ego to silence (at least temporarily). And laughter for sure helps to change perspective and banish "little" troubles without having to think about it.
I recently encountered (twice in two days!) an exercise sometimes referred to as "laughing yoga." A friend of mine introduced it to a group we both belong to. The idea is as follows: the group stands up, everyone walks around the room -- and laughs. There are a couple of ways to orchestrate this. One is to shake hands with each other as you meander around the room, look into each other's eyes, and laugh. A variation is to raise your arms over your head and laugh.
At first this tends to feel horribly artificial, but very soon you feel so silly doing it that you start to laugh in earnest. It really helps to have the whole group laughing -- the laughs are deliciously contagious. After "time" is called, it takes a few minutes for the laughter to settle. And one feels incredibly energized, as well as light, clear and aware.
Try this out sometime soon. It's excellent for waking up a dull party or a sleepy business meeting (or a sleepy congregation?).
Kenneth G. Mills has said, "I could never believe in a God who couldn't dance." I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I altered that to include "I could never believe in a God who couldn't laugh."
God bless the fool -- in everyone!
Laughter just plain feels good (overly obvious statement). But I wonder if genuine laughter isn't getting lost to some degree in our multi-tasking culture, along with so many other values that might be summarized as "stop and smell the roses." Appreciating beauty and enjoying laughter have to be among the greatest gifts we receive during our sojourn on earth. Angels, I would imagine, must certainly laugh when they're not busy playing harps or rescuing lost souls.
Then there's the blessing of being able to laugh at ourselves and our circumstances. Laughter definitely helps to reduce a catastrophizing ego to silence (at least temporarily). And laughter for sure helps to change perspective and banish "little" troubles without having to think about it.
I recently encountered (twice in two days!) an exercise sometimes referred to as "laughing yoga." A friend of mine introduced it to a group we both belong to. The idea is as follows: the group stands up, everyone walks around the room -- and laughs. There are a couple of ways to orchestrate this. One is to shake hands with each other as you meander around the room, look into each other's eyes, and laugh. A variation is to raise your arms over your head and laugh.
At first this tends to feel horribly artificial, but very soon you feel so silly doing it that you start to laugh in earnest. It really helps to have the whole group laughing -- the laughs are deliciously contagious. After "time" is called, it takes a few minutes for the laughter to settle. And one feels incredibly energized, as well as light, clear and aware.
Try this out sometime soon. It's excellent for waking up a dull party or a sleepy business meeting (or a sleepy congregation?).
Kenneth G. Mills has said, "I could never believe in a God who couldn't dance." I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I altered that to include "I could never believe in a God who couldn't laugh."
God bless the fool -- in everyone!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
To God, with Love
Looking through a drawer of old files, I came upon a group of poems I had written some time ago, poems that might be called Love songs to God. Like this one:
Everything they say is true.
All the saints in their swoons and visions,
The poets in their passion,
The writers of the Bible, called ancient and distant:
"It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God."
The power of His Face,
Flung suddenly before me and called the world,
Is blinding.
I want to close my eyes yet peek between my fingers,
Hungry for one more blissful glimpse,
Yet gasping in an awe that tears at me with joy more piercing than pain.
My body flutters in the Wind,
The thunder of His Love is deafening;
I want to sing. . . .
God, please stay
And let me tiptoe into the midst of Thee,
A celebrant of this strange vast service
Called Life.
Another snippet, perhaps the beginning of an unfinished piece:
Winnower, winnower, winnower of my life,
Sift out all the grains of service
From all the chaff of strife.
Love, love, always love, and may that love repeatedly take form as service.
Everything they say is true.
All the saints in their swoons and visions,
The poets in their passion,
The writers of the Bible, called ancient and distant:
"It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God."
The power of His Face,
Flung suddenly before me and called the world,
Is blinding.
I want to close my eyes yet peek between my fingers,
Hungry for one more blissful glimpse,
Yet gasping in an awe that tears at me with joy more piercing than pain.
My body flutters in the Wind,
The thunder of His Love is deafening;
I want to sing. . . .
God, please stay
And let me tiptoe into the midst of Thee,
A celebrant of this strange vast service
Called Life.
Another snippet, perhaps the beginning of an unfinished piece:
Winnower, winnower, winnower of my life,
Sift out all the grains of service
From all the chaff of strife.
Love, love, always love, and may that love repeatedly take form as service.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Let's Go to the Movies!
When you think you're stuck in some sort of problem or difficulty, what's a good way to gain perspective? One that I've found useful is to step back and think of the circumstances as being a movie (often very dramatic!). Then you can watch the movie while magically starring in it at the same time.
Another image I first heard used by Canadian philosopher Kenneth G. Mills is that of the "space suit." Because our identity is so much greater than the appearance of a material form, the personal body can be seen as a symbol walking about on God's page (Anton, this is yours!). We don this space suit in order to engage life on earth. Having put on our flesh-and-blood costume, we can have the experience of being in the movie of maya (illusion) without getting entangled in it.
And the movie can be great fun, especially when viewed with the special and freeing attitude called Wonder.
Recently, another dear friend of mine (we have known each other since 2nd grade, and continue to correspond) quoted for me a 37-year-old letter of mine she had rediscovered while searching for something among some old papers. I wrote it to her when I was attending Lone Mountain College. I'd forgotten all about the events I described for her until I read the letter; now the memories have re-surfaced. What a rich, delightful experience living in San Francisco had been!
Here's part of my letter:
". . . a fellow in my Gestalt Workshop class decided he wanted me to be in a movie he was making for another course of his, so one day I went over to the roof of a nearby house where one of his cameramen lived and we did some filming.
"I and a bunch of other people were supposedly visiting relatives who had come to sponge off of a young woman who is getting rich as the Donut King (she dresses up as a man and pretends to be her own cousin in order to Succeed in Business). We take over her house and create a small riot. I happily snoop around (in the story I'm a kleptomaniac) and stick little objects into my pocket and purse and otherwise bug her.
"In the story, she finally goes off in despair, leaving all the relatives asleep, and comes back dressed as a man to throw us all out. At this point, there was a small change in plan, as we had frightened the little old lady downstairs, who didn't know what the hell we were doing on the roof and called San Francisco's finest to her aid.
"I had my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, when I heard this voice say, 'Okay, everybody, what's going on up here?' and I looked at two policemen emerging through an upstairs window onto the roof. The director explained we were filming a movie and one of the policemen (both were very young) said, 'Oh, yeah? Take my picture!' and struck a pose.
"Then, remembering he was supposed to be authoritative, he tried to look serious and said, 'Well, anyway, don't you know how much you people scared this poor old lady? You'll all have to leave now; she doesn't want you here any more.'
"The director, ever enterprising, shouted 'Make the best of it! Keep shooting!' So the movie ended with scenes of all of us being herded out by the policemen. Actually, this fitted in pretty well with the story -- the Donut King could have just called the police to help her-him out with the relatives, so the whole thing should be fine.
"Just think -- my film debut raided by the fuzz!" (end of letter excerpt)
Have fun in your movie today!
P.S. - Today marks the anniversary of the passing of my Mentor, Kenneth G. Mills. On October 8, 2004 he took off his space suit after many years of loving service to those of us on the world stage. As Dr. Mills said to me upon the passing of my father, "He has ceased to be contained by his limits." Rest in Joy, Beloved One.
Another image I first heard used by Canadian philosopher Kenneth G. Mills is that of the "space suit." Because our identity is so much greater than the appearance of a material form, the personal body can be seen as a symbol walking about on God's page (Anton, this is yours!). We don this space suit in order to engage life on earth. Having put on our flesh-and-blood costume, we can have the experience of being in the movie of maya (illusion) without getting entangled in it.
And the movie can be great fun, especially when viewed with the special and freeing attitude called Wonder.
Recently, another dear friend of mine (we have known each other since 2nd grade, and continue to correspond) quoted for me a 37-year-old letter of mine she had rediscovered while searching for something among some old papers. I wrote it to her when I was attending Lone Mountain College. I'd forgotten all about the events I described for her until I read the letter; now the memories have re-surfaced. What a rich, delightful experience living in San Francisco had been!
Here's part of my letter:
". . . a fellow in my Gestalt Workshop class decided he wanted me to be in a movie he was making for another course of his, so one day I went over to the roof of a nearby house where one of his cameramen lived and we did some filming.
"I and a bunch of other people were supposedly visiting relatives who had come to sponge off of a young woman who is getting rich as the Donut King (she dresses up as a man and pretends to be her own cousin in order to Succeed in Business). We take over her house and create a small riot. I happily snoop around (in the story I'm a kleptomaniac) and stick little objects into my pocket and purse and otherwise bug her.
"In the story, she finally goes off in despair, leaving all the relatives asleep, and comes back dressed as a man to throw us all out. At this point, there was a small change in plan, as we had frightened the little old lady downstairs, who didn't know what the hell we were doing on the roof and called San Francisco's finest to her aid.
"I had my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, when I heard this voice say, 'Okay, everybody, what's going on up here?' and I looked at two policemen emerging through an upstairs window onto the roof. The director explained we were filming a movie and one of the policemen (both were very young) said, 'Oh, yeah? Take my picture!' and struck a pose.
"Then, remembering he was supposed to be authoritative, he tried to look serious and said, 'Well, anyway, don't you know how much you people scared this poor old lady? You'll all have to leave now; she doesn't want you here any more.'
"The director, ever enterprising, shouted 'Make the best of it! Keep shooting!' So the movie ended with scenes of all of us being herded out by the policemen. Actually, this fitted in pretty well with the story -- the Donut King could have just called the police to help her-him out with the relatives, so the whole thing should be fine.
"Just think -- my film debut raided by the fuzz!" (end of letter excerpt)
Have fun in your movie today!
P.S. - Today marks the anniversary of the passing of my Mentor, Kenneth G. Mills. On October 8, 2004 he took off his space suit after many years of loving service to those of us on the world stage. As Dr. Mills said to me upon the passing of my father, "He has ceased to be contained by his limits." Rest in Joy, Beloved One.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Surprised by Joy
It seems that more and more people today are longing for meaning, for an answer, for something greater than themselves and their stressful lives. Feeling this longing as a vague uneasiness, some people may brush it aside, buy more things, drink too much, or otherwise attempt to distract themselves. Others, who are more aware that the unease is spiritual, may find a church or explore yoga, energy healing, meditation or collective consciousness.
I've been revisiting some of the books that were especially important to me years ago as pointers toward the meaning of my own unease and longing. I've also recently been reading with great interest several newish books on contemporary religious philosophy.
For example, world religions expert Huston Smith has noted in his book Why Religion Matters (published in 2001 by HarperCollins) that "whether we realize it or not, simply to be human is to long for release from mundane existence, with its confining walls of finitude and mortality."
Author C.S. Lewis called this longing "Joy." (He lived from 1898 to 1963, and was the author of the Narnia series for young people and adult Christian works such as The Screwtape Letters.) Lewis writes in the preface to his partial autobiography, Surprised by Joy (published by Harvest Books in 1955), "I have been emboldened to write of it [Joy] because I notice that a man seldom mentions what he had supposed to be his most idiosyncratic sensations without receiving from at least one (often more) of those present the reply, 'What! Have you felt that too? I always thought I was the only one!'" Yes! Sound familiar?
Lewis states that Joy was an experience of "intense desire," triggered several times when he was a boy, and he "desired with almost sickening intensity something never to be described." He also called the experience "something quite different from ordinary life and even from ordinary pleasure; something, as they would now say, 'in another dimension.'"
Lewis again experienced Joy as an adult, when he was being drawn inexorably from atheism to theism to Christianity. At that point, he realized that Joy itself was not what was longed for (though he notes that the experience is so intense that one searches for ways to repeat it again and again), but rather was a pointer to Something much greater, a reminder of the Divine.
I was fascinated by Lewis' book when I read it in college, for his descriptions of Joy perfectly matched experiences of my own which also had begun in childhood.
I had enrolled in 1972 at Lone Mountain College in San Francisco. Though it was nominally a Catholic school (we were "Les enfants du Sacre Couer"), many of Lone Mountain's courses bore a definite "New Age" flavor.
All students at Lone Mountain were required to take at least one religious studies course in order to graduate. But this class was not at all what I expected. We were allowed to pretty much create our own syllabus, and with some guidance from the teacher, I launched into an ambitious study of Paul Tillich, Pierre Theilard de Chardin, Martin Buber, and others. (My final paper in the course was a comparison of the thought of Theilard de Chardin with the ideas of Fritz Perls, founder of Gestalt Therapy.)
Probably most important, I encountered Surprised by Joy. I identified immediately and with considerable excitement with Lewis' descriptions of Joy, and also with his turning from atheism to Christianity. As the Lone Mountain course progressed, I began to think more and more, "You know, maybe there's something here for me after all."
This was the beginning for me of feeling "led," a leading which 2 years later was to bring me to the doors of an interdenominational Protestant seminary, and to another Door beyond that. But that's a story for future posts (it's rather a long one).
I've been revisiting some of the books that were especially important to me years ago as pointers toward the meaning of my own unease and longing. I've also recently been reading with great interest several newish books on contemporary religious philosophy.
For example, world religions expert Huston Smith has noted in his book Why Religion Matters (published in 2001 by HarperCollins) that "whether we realize it or not, simply to be human is to long for release from mundane existence, with its confining walls of finitude and mortality."
Author C.S. Lewis called this longing "Joy." (He lived from 1898 to 1963, and was the author of the Narnia series for young people and adult Christian works such as The Screwtape Letters.) Lewis writes in the preface to his partial autobiography, Surprised by Joy (published by Harvest Books in 1955), "I have been emboldened to write of it [Joy] because I notice that a man seldom mentions what he had supposed to be his most idiosyncratic sensations without receiving from at least one (often more) of those present the reply, 'What! Have you felt that too? I always thought I was the only one!'" Yes! Sound familiar?
Lewis states that Joy was an experience of "intense desire," triggered several times when he was a boy, and he "desired with almost sickening intensity something never to be described." He also called the experience "something quite different from ordinary life and even from ordinary pleasure; something, as they would now say, 'in another dimension.'"
Lewis again experienced Joy as an adult, when he was being drawn inexorably from atheism to theism to Christianity. At that point, he realized that Joy itself was not what was longed for (though he notes that the experience is so intense that one searches for ways to repeat it again and again), but rather was a pointer to Something much greater, a reminder of the Divine.
I was fascinated by Lewis' book when I read it in college, for his descriptions of Joy perfectly matched experiences of my own which also had begun in childhood.
I had enrolled in 1972 at Lone Mountain College in San Francisco. Though it was nominally a Catholic school (we were "Les enfants du Sacre Couer"), many of Lone Mountain's courses bore a definite "New Age" flavor.
All students at Lone Mountain were required to take at least one religious studies course in order to graduate. But this class was not at all what I expected. We were allowed to pretty much create our own syllabus, and with some guidance from the teacher, I launched into an ambitious study of Paul Tillich, Pierre Theilard de Chardin, Martin Buber, and others. (My final paper in the course was a comparison of the thought of Theilard de Chardin with the ideas of Fritz Perls, founder of Gestalt Therapy.)
Probably most important, I encountered Surprised by Joy. I identified immediately and with considerable excitement with Lewis' descriptions of Joy, and also with his turning from atheism to Christianity. As the Lone Mountain course progressed, I began to think more and more, "You know, maybe there's something here for me after all."
This was the beginning for me of feeling "led," a leading which 2 years later was to bring me to the doors of an interdenominational Protestant seminary, and to another Door beyond that. But that's a story for future posts (it's rather a long one).
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