Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
God Bless the Japanese People
As you pray with compassion for the stricken people of Japan, hold in your heart these words of philosopher Kenneth G. Mills:
"No collapse of anything material touches the indestructibility of the Divine."
"No collapse of anything material touches the indestructibility of the Divine."
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Can You Be a Sacred Activist?
"If the fire of the mystic's passion for God could be married to the activist's passion to enact change, then a new kind of human being would be born."
So writes Andrew Harvey -- poet, translator, mystical scholar and spiritual teacher -- in his 2009 book, The Hope: A Guide to Sacred Activism (Hay House). He calls such contemporary luminaries as the Dalai Lama, Nelson Mandela, and Martin Luther King Jr. "sacred activists": people who unite the fire of social activism and that of spiritual passion into a "third fire" of "wisdom and love in action."
But he doesn't leave sacred activism in the hands of just a few outstanding beings. The title of his first chapter indicates this: "Ten Things You Can Do Right Now." In another chapter, he outlines five forms of service.
Throughout the book, Harvey describes his experiences on his own spiritual path, writing with great ardor and poetic beauty of his love of the Divine. He puts forth a number of spiritual practices for mind, body, and heart that he has adopted, and prescribes these exercises for all sacred activists to provide both steadiness and compassion in the face of the crisis the world is undergoing.
Harvey writes with excruciating vividness about the death the human race is experiencing -- a death signaled by such factors as environmental devastation, nuclear proliferation, and the population explosion. He speaks of the "cosmic heartbreak" engendered by the necessity of honestly confronting what appears as this death. Yet through this death, he believes, can come a birth, ". . .the Birth of a new Divine Humanity that is taking place as a passionate response to the Death that millions of us are now waking up to."
The rest of the book describes the tools that will enable sacred acitivists to work as midwives to this birth.
I found Harvey's final chapter, "The Law of Networks of Grace," to be particularly hopeful and exciting. He uses the metaphor (from Deepak Chopra) of a caterpillar's death in its cocoon that enables the butterly to come forth. The forming of the butterfly is made possible by clusters of what scientists call "imaginal cells" which emerge from the liquified remains of the caterpillar. Harvey likens these cells to small groups of 6 to 12 people, praying and meditating together and executing together various actions promoting social causes both local and global. These "cells" form the "networks of grace" that can lead to the birth of a new society and a new humankind.
As of the book's writing in 2009, Harvey was working with 40 others to formulate a global curriculum to be distributed throughout the world to guide people everywhere in becoming sacred activists.
Do you have the courage, the love, and the compassion to set about finding 6 people today in your own community to band together as a "cell" of such activists?
So writes Andrew Harvey -- poet, translator, mystical scholar and spiritual teacher -- in his 2009 book, The Hope: A Guide to Sacred Activism (Hay House). He calls such contemporary luminaries as the Dalai Lama, Nelson Mandela, and Martin Luther King Jr. "sacred activists": people who unite the fire of social activism and that of spiritual passion into a "third fire" of "wisdom and love in action."
But he doesn't leave sacred activism in the hands of just a few outstanding beings. The title of his first chapter indicates this: "Ten Things You Can Do Right Now." In another chapter, he outlines five forms of service.
Throughout the book, Harvey describes his experiences on his own spiritual path, writing with great ardor and poetic beauty of his love of the Divine. He puts forth a number of spiritual practices for mind, body, and heart that he has adopted, and prescribes these exercises for all sacred activists to provide both steadiness and compassion in the face of the crisis the world is undergoing.
Harvey writes with excruciating vividness about the death the human race is experiencing -- a death signaled by such factors as environmental devastation, nuclear proliferation, and the population explosion. He speaks of the "cosmic heartbreak" engendered by the necessity of honestly confronting what appears as this death. Yet through this death, he believes, can come a birth, ". . .the Birth of a new Divine Humanity that is taking place as a passionate response to the Death that millions of us are now waking up to."
The rest of the book describes the tools that will enable sacred acitivists to work as midwives to this birth.
I found Harvey's final chapter, "The Law of Networks of Grace," to be particularly hopeful and exciting. He uses the metaphor (from Deepak Chopra) of a caterpillar's death in its cocoon that enables the butterly to come forth. The forming of the butterfly is made possible by clusters of what scientists call "imaginal cells" which emerge from the liquified remains of the caterpillar. Harvey likens these cells to small groups of 6 to 12 people, praying and meditating together and executing together various actions promoting social causes both local and global. These "cells" form the "networks of grace" that can lead to the birth of a new society and a new humankind.
As of the book's writing in 2009, Harvey was working with 40 others to formulate a global curriculum to be distributed throughout the world to guide people everywhere in becoming sacred activists.
Do you have the courage, the love, and the compassion to set about finding 6 people today in your own community to band together as a "cell" of such activists?
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Should You Write an "Ethical Will"?
Before a person dies, he usually writes some sort of will, leaving his various material and financial assets to family, friends, charity or to "posterity." But another type of asset can be tragically lost forever with a person's passing -- the nonmaterial gains from a lifetime of experience.
I think it can be said that just about everyone has this type of wealth to bequeath. And this is where the "ethical will" comes in. This document hands on a person's values and beliefs. It states what has been most important to him, what star he has used to guide the ship of his life.
An ethical will can include stories of those happenings which were most crucial in forming or changing the course of one's life. Here, too, go descriptions of the lessons learned from various life experiences. The stories can also relate those events when the writer stood up for his values.
Conversely, the will can tell of regrets, of moments when values were not held strongly enough. It can offer advice to those who come after. And it can express the writer's gratitude.
Writing an ethical will is an opportunity for reflection on the meaning of life, so religious and spiritual values often play a large part in the manuscript. The writer might also muse about those things he will miss when he is gone, and can communicate his hopes for the future of those who receive the will.
An ethical will thus provides a priceless snapshot of all that was best about a person. But it doesn't necessarily have to be written only at the end of a lifetime. Any major transition can prompt its composition: the birth of a child, diagnosis of (or recovery from) a serious illness, retirement or other milestone. And the will can certainly be altered and added to as the lifetime continues.
An ethical will can be as simple as handwriting on a single piece of paper or as elaborate as a video or audio production.
Barry K. Baines, MD, an expert on end-of-life care, has written a book entitled Ethical Wills: Putting Your Values on Paper (Perseus Publishing, 2002). He is one of the pioneers in the field of ethical wills, and I credit his work for the birth of my own interest in this practice.
I highly recommend taking a few hours to settle into stillness and consider what values, beliefs, advice, and celebration you might wish to express in such a document. It's a most rewarding exercise for yourself as well as for those who may live after you.
I think it can be said that just about everyone has this type of wealth to bequeath. And this is where the "ethical will" comes in. This document hands on a person's values and beliefs. It states what has been most important to him, what star he has used to guide the ship of his life.
An ethical will can include stories of those happenings which were most crucial in forming or changing the course of one's life. Here, too, go descriptions of the lessons learned from various life experiences. The stories can also relate those events when the writer stood up for his values.
Conversely, the will can tell of regrets, of moments when values were not held strongly enough. It can offer advice to those who come after. And it can express the writer's gratitude.
Writing an ethical will is an opportunity for reflection on the meaning of life, so religious and spiritual values often play a large part in the manuscript. The writer might also muse about those things he will miss when he is gone, and can communicate his hopes for the future of those who receive the will.
An ethical will thus provides a priceless snapshot of all that was best about a person. But it doesn't necessarily have to be written only at the end of a lifetime. Any major transition can prompt its composition: the birth of a child, diagnosis of (or recovery from) a serious illness, retirement or other milestone. And the will can certainly be altered and added to as the lifetime continues.
An ethical will can be as simple as handwriting on a single piece of paper or as elaborate as a video or audio production.
Barry K. Baines, MD, an expert on end-of-life care, has written a book entitled Ethical Wills: Putting Your Values on Paper (Perseus Publishing, 2002). He is one of the pioneers in the field of ethical wills, and I credit his work for the birth of my own interest in this practice.
I highly recommend taking a few hours to settle into stillness and consider what values, beliefs, advice, and celebration you might wish to express in such a document. It's a most rewarding exercise for yourself as well as for those who may live after you.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Cosmic Love Song
I'm still enjoying the book For Lovers of God Everywhere (published by Hay House, 2009), which I mentioned in my last post. Two things that move me greatly about the mystic poets: their passion, and the exquisite symbolism of "union with the Beloved" for the ecstatic state.
A lovely example of this cosmic romance is an excerpt from "The Dark Night" by St. John of the Cross (originally translated by Robert Bly; found on page 160 of For Lovers. . .):
"In the delicious night,
In privacy, where no one saw me,
Nor did I see one thing, I had no light or guide
But the fire that burned inside my chest.
That fire showed me
The way more clearly than the blaze of noon
To where, waiting for me,
Was the One I knew so well,
In that place where no one ever is.
I stood still; I forgot who I was,
My face leaning against Him,
Everything stopped, abandoned me,
My being was gone, forgotten
Among the white lilies."
A lovely example of this cosmic romance is an excerpt from "The Dark Night" by St. John of the Cross (originally translated by Robert Bly; found on page 160 of For Lovers. . .):
"In the delicious night,
In privacy, where no one saw me,
Nor did I see one thing, I had no light or guide
But the fire that burned inside my chest.
That fire showed me
The way more clearly than the blaze of noon
To where, waiting for me,
Was the One I knew so well,
In that place where no one ever is.
I stood still; I forgot who I was,
My face leaning against Him,
Everything stopped, abandoned me,
My being was gone, forgotten
Among the white lilies."
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Who Are You?
In a book called For Lovers of God Everywhere (Poems of the Christian Mystics, by Roger Housden; Hay House, 2009) I came across an excerpt of a poem by the modern mystic Thomas Merton.
The poem moved me because I had recently read in several different contexts about the importance of uncovering every aspect of oneself: confronting the "shadow self," or "smiling at fear" (the latter from Buddhist Pema Chodron). This "work on oneself" in meditation or reflection is valuable in unmasking hidden aspects of the ego and in developing compassion.
Nonetheless, it was refreshing to read Merton's spare words exhorting movement beyond all thought to a different level of self-revelation and acceptance.
Here's the poem, entitled "In Silence" (excerpt):
Be still.
Listen to the stones of the wall.
Be silent, they try
To speak your
Name.
Listen
To the living walls.
Who are you?
Who
Are you? Whose
Silence are you?
Who (be quiet)
Are you (as these stones
Are quiet). Do not
Think of what you are
Still less of
What you may one day be.
Rather
Be what you are (but who?) be
The unthinkable one
You do not know.
The poem moved me because I had recently read in several different contexts about the importance of uncovering every aspect of oneself: confronting the "shadow self," or "smiling at fear" (the latter from Buddhist Pema Chodron). This "work on oneself" in meditation or reflection is valuable in unmasking hidden aspects of the ego and in developing compassion.
Nonetheless, it was refreshing to read Merton's spare words exhorting movement beyond all thought to a different level of self-revelation and acceptance.
Here's the poem, entitled "In Silence" (excerpt):
Be still.
Listen to the stones of the wall.
Be silent, they try
To speak your
Name.
Listen
To the living walls.
Who are you?
Who
Are you? Whose
Silence are you?
Who (be quiet)
Are you (as these stones
Are quiet). Do not
Think of what you are
Still less of
What you may one day be.
Rather
Be what you are (but who?) be
The unthinkable one
You do not know.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Why Are Words So Important?
The working English vocabulary of the average 14-year-old has dropped from 25,000 to 10,000 words within the last 50 years. So reports David W. Orr, Paul Sears Distinguished Professor of Environmental Studies and Politics at Oberlin College, in his paper "Verbicide" (copyright 1999 by Oberlin College). Why be concerned? Orr goes on to note that "This is not merely a decline in numbers of words, but in the capacity to think."
"Verbicide," incidentally, literally means "the murder of a word." It is defined by Dictionary.com as "the willful distortion or depreciation of the original meaning of a word." Apparently this term was first used by C.S. Lewis.
Orr also points out that the loss of vocabulary is greatest in those areas which have to do with "large issues such as philosophy, religion, public policy, and nature." Indeed, "We are losing the capacity for articulate intelligence about the things that matter most," says Orr.
Orr's fascinating and disturbing article can be read on the Oberlin College website at www.oberlin.edu/news-info/00oct/verbicide.html.
I'd like to point out several important benefits, cultural and spiritual, in having a strong knowledge of words.
Knowing the exact meaning of words and having a large cache of them to draw upon to express oneself creates a fluency of communication and a clear agreement between speaker and listener, writer and reader, as to the meaning of the communication. Words bring us together.
Language is also the underpinning of culture. Words inform our habits and our ways of being. Our "culture" of consumerism is, unfortunately, constantly being reinforced by language.
Maintaining correct language is an excellent source of self-discipline. Fine exercises for anyone include learning a new word every day, and using a dictionary frequently to come to understand usage, meaning, and nuance. Correct, elegant language promotes formality, which is seemingly dying these days at the hands of casualness. And, with the death of formality comes, apparently, a loss of civility and respect as well.
Training in the accurate use of an abundant vocabulary prepares one for higher understanding. Words have layers of meaning. They carry with them all the joys of ideas and of symbolism, metaphor and analogy. The "higher" meaning of many words, the language of spirit, points to a Reality beyond that of the objective. Interestingly, the archaic meanings and the Latin, Greek and Indo-European roots of words often point toward deeper, spiritual meanings.
Words can only point, since even the highest language cannot describe the Indescribable, Ineffable One. Yet careful use of high language can be a constant spiritual discipline. Looking always for the correct word when speaking or writing can remind one of the Truth, of the Standpoint that frees: When I use this word, does it underline for me and my hearers inner meaning and correct Identity? In other words, when I use this word, am I speaking as the I AM would speak? When I use the word "I," am I speaking as ego personality or knowingly as the divine Self, disguised as a human?
At the highest pinnacle of language stands the Logos: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was ((is)) God." Realizing this makes the use of words a sacred, holy experience. What a privilege, what a responsibility, what a wonder!
"Verbicide," incidentally, literally means "the murder of a word." It is defined by Dictionary.com as "the willful distortion or depreciation of the original meaning of a word." Apparently this term was first used by C.S. Lewis.
Orr also points out that the loss of vocabulary is greatest in those areas which have to do with "large issues such as philosophy, religion, public policy, and nature." Indeed, "We are losing the capacity for articulate intelligence about the things that matter most," says Orr.
Orr's fascinating and disturbing article can be read on the Oberlin College website at www.oberlin.edu/news-info/00oct/verbicide.html.
I'd like to point out several important benefits, cultural and spiritual, in having a strong knowledge of words.
Knowing the exact meaning of words and having a large cache of them to draw upon to express oneself creates a fluency of communication and a clear agreement between speaker and listener, writer and reader, as to the meaning of the communication. Words bring us together.
Language is also the underpinning of culture. Words inform our habits and our ways of being. Our "culture" of consumerism is, unfortunately, constantly being reinforced by language.
Maintaining correct language is an excellent source of self-discipline. Fine exercises for anyone include learning a new word every day, and using a dictionary frequently to come to understand usage, meaning, and nuance. Correct, elegant language promotes formality, which is seemingly dying these days at the hands of casualness. And, with the death of formality comes, apparently, a loss of civility and respect as well.
Training in the accurate use of an abundant vocabulary prepares one for higher understanding. Words have layers of meaning. They carry with them all the joys of ideas and of symbolism, metaphor and analogy. The "higher" meaning of many words, the language of spirit, points to a Reality beyond that of the objective. Interestingly, the archaic meanings and the Latin, Greek and Indo-European roots of words often point toward deeper, spiritual meanings.
Words can only point, since even the highest language cannot describe the Indescribable, Ineffable One. Yet careful use of high language can be a constant spiritual discipline. Looking always for the correct word when speaking or writing can remind one of the Truth, of the Standpoint that frees: When I use this word, does it underline for me and my hearers inner meaning and correct Identity? In other words, when I use this word, am I speaking as the I AM would speak? When I use the word "I," am I speaking as ego personality or knowingly as the divine Self, disguised as a human?
At the highest pinnacle of language stands the Logos: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was ((is)) God." Realizing this makes the use of words a sacred, holy experience. What a privilege, what a responsibility, what a wonder!
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
What Was It Like?
It has been said, "When the student is ready, the Teacher appears." After meeting Kenneth G. Mills, I felt that everything that had happened to me in California was a preparation for finding him: The introduction to Christian Science, which was part of his background as well; learning a bit about esotericism, so that I more easily understood some of the references in his lectures; and especially the decision to enter PSR, which got me to "the right place at the right time" in order to meet him. And there was no question for me but that he was to be my spiritual mentor.
That type of serendipity continued as I followed my new path. I took a leave of absence from PSR, but never returned there. A year later, I moved to Tucson, Arizona, after Dr. Mills bought a home there, so I could continue studying with him. Along the way, I learned editing skills, and had always enjoyed writing, so these became my livelihood. After six years in Tucson, I moved again, this time to the New York metro area. From there, I drove to Toronto with other mentees each weekend to see him.
What was it like to have Dr. Mills as a mentor?
He was energetic beyond belief, like a lightning bolt caught seemingly in a human form. He was fierce; he was funny. He was sharp, unerring in his intuition. He was always surprising, yet always constant in his Standpoint.
He was passionate, compassionate, fiery, gentle. He was contagiously enthusiastic and always encouraging. He was elegant, and drew out the finest in whomever he met. His love was unfailing, unshakeable, and huge.
He was always real -- he "walked his talk," and his talk was Cosmic in its scope. He was profound; he was soaring. He was courageous; he was humble.
In his spontaneity, he was obedient, always, to his God-Being.
As for me, I was (and still am!) madly in love with him. I was in love with his love, and with the experience of Infinity that he opened. I often felt shy and awkward in his powerful presence, yet at the same time strongly motivated to let go of the personal and stand as the Self. Some of my bad habits (resentment, self-deprecation) gradually melted away. It was so easy to want to try harder, do better, while all the time realizing the truth of the Bible verse, "I of myself can do nothing; 'tis the Father (or, as Dr. Mills would say, "the Wonder of the Invisible") that doeth the work."
Dr. Mills was the quintessential model. At the same time, he always appreciated and drew out what was each one's authentic and unique expression of the Self. Being with him demanded self-examination, honesty, obedience, willingness to change and drop what was not suitable to a child of God. The work was not easy, but the rewards were immense.
I learned; I grew. I stumbled and fumbled -- and sometimes flew. That taste of flight, of true freedom from human delusion, was food like no other.
Dr. Mills' love, his wisdom, the understanding I had gained from him, carried me through emergency surgery for a detached retina, through the deaths of my parents, through bouts of deep depression that had dogged me for most of my life. Others who were mentees of his became my dear friends, and they too supported me, and I them, at times of trouble and challenge.
Dr. Mills passed in October of 2004. The grief I felt was excruciating, as though a piece of myself had been torn away. All that he gave me, and so many others, is still very much present, though. And I carry with me the Standpoint he showed us and the powerful experiences that come from viewing -- and living -- "out from the Star."
It was time to begin another new path. And in some ways I had come "full circle;" I was ordained as a minister after all.
Though what Dr. Mills gave was not for everyone, his gifts to me and thousands of others are invaluable. His wisdom is now an aspect of my spiritual being, and I am forever grateful for the privilege of being guided by him. My prayer is always that I may "pay forward" what he gave and bless many others as he blessed me.
That type of serendipity continued as I followed my new path. I took a leave of absence from PSR, but never returned there. A year later, I moved to Tucson, Arizona, after Dr. Mills bought a home there, so I could continue studying with him. Along the way, I learned editing skills, and had always enjoyed writing, so these became my livelihood. After six years in Tucson, I moved again, this time to the New York metro area. From there, I drove to Toronto with other mentees each weekend to see him.
What was it like to have Dr. Mills as a mentor?
He was energetic beyond belief, like a lightning bolt caught seemingly in a human form. He was fierce; he was funny. He was sharp, unerring in his intuition. He was always surprising, yet always constant in his Standpoint.
He was passionate, compassionate, fiery, gentle. He was contagiously enthusiastic and always encouraging. He was elegant, and drew out the finest in whomever he met. His love was unfailing, unshakeable, and huge.
He was always real -- he "walked his talk," and his talk was Cosmic in its scope. He was profound; he was soaring. He was courageous; he was humble.
In his spontaneity, he was obedient, always, to his God-Being.
As for me, I was (and still am!) madly in love with him. I was in love with his love, and with the experience of Infinity that he opened. I often felt shy and awkward in his powerful presence, yet at the same time strongly motivated to let go of the personal and stand as the Self. Some of my bad habits (resentment, self-deprecation) gradually melted away. It was so easy to want to try harder, do better, while all the time realizing the truth of the Bible verse, "I of myself can do nothing; 'tis the Father (or, as Dr. Mills would say, "the Wonder of the Invisible") that doeth the work."
Dr. Mills was the quintessential model. At the same time, he always appreciated and drew out what was each one's authentic and unique expression of the Self. Being with him demanded self-examination, honesty, obedience, willingness to change and drop what was not suitable to a child of God. The work was not easy, but the rewards were immense.
I learned; I grew. I stumbled and fumbled -- and sometimes flew. That taste of flight, of true freedom from human delusion, was food like no other.
Dr. Mills' love, his wisdom, the understanding I had gained from him, carried me through emergency surgery for a detached retina, through the deaths of my parents, through bouts of deep depression that had dogged me for most of my life. Others who were mentees of his became my dear friends, and they too supported me, and I them, at times of trouble and challenge.
Dr. Mills passed in October of 2004. The grief I felt was excruciating, as though a piece of myself had been torn away. All that he gave me, and so many others, is still very much present, though. And I carry with me the Standpoint he showed us and the powerful experiences that come from viewing -- and living -- "out from the Star."
It was time to begin another new path. And in some ways I had come "full circle;" I was ordained as a minister after all.
Though what Dr. Mills gave was not for everyone, his gifts to me and thousands of others are invaluable. His wisdom is now an aspect of my spiritual being, and I am forever grateful for the privilege of being guided by him. My prayer is always that I may "pay forward" what he gave and bless many others as he blessed me.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Kenneth G. Mills, Renaissance Man
You will find Kenneth G. Mills mentioned quite frequently in this blog. I am most grateful to have had him as my spiritual mentor, and I learned a tremendous amount from him. He always had much to give. Having told the story of my first meeting with him, I felt it appropriate to introduce him formally.
Dr. Mills has been called a contemporary "Renaissance man." Born in St. Stephen, New Brunswick, Canada, he studied piano for many years and found considerable success as a concert pianist. He was intuitively prompted to give up concertizing in 1963, but continued as a prominent piano teacher and adjudicator.
Then, in 1965, Dr. Mills received a strange message from two different sources. First a medium and then a Buddhist monk visiting in Toronto both told him that he "must learn to speak the Word again." Puzzled, he nevertheless made a vow within himself that, if asked, he would speak about the considerations of the heart.
Shortly thereafter, people did indeed begin asking him to talk with them, sharing their deepest questions. Over the next few years, more and more people approached him; sometimes strangers would knock on his door, seeking answers. Ultimately, he began seeing people as a group because there were too many who were interested to speak with each one separately.
A few weeks before I met him in Berkeley in early 1975, Mr. Mills agreed to give up his piano teaching altogether and devote full time to speaking and mentoring. His visits with individuals and more formal lectures to groups were always given spontaneously, never written or planned out ahead of time. Sometimes he spoke in spontaneous poetry. Mr. Mills' speaking was called "Unfoldment," because, as he once explained to his mother, "It's like a rose." So he became known as a metaphysician and philosopher.
The Unfoldments were transcribed, and soon books of Mr. Mills' lectures and poetry were published. Books continued to come out every few years, so that author and poet Kenneth G. Mills published a total of 16 books (two of which were released posthumously -- and there may be more!).
Mr. Mills' creativity continued to blossom and to be expressed in more and more different ways. In 1976, he founded the Star-Scape Singers, a choral group of 10 men and women whose unique sound astonished critics wherever they sang. He continued to conduct this group for many years, touring with them to high acclaim throughout Europe, the Baltic states, Russia, the U.S. (including Carnegie Hall) and Canada. Much of Star-Scape's repertoire was composed by Mr. Mills, often in conjunction with singer Christopher Dedrick. Eventually, Mr. Mills began composing for piano and then for full orchestra as well.
He was also a designer, creating a line of haute couture women's fashions, as well as designing gardens and several homes. He took up painting in early 1993, producing over 200 large canvases.
Throughout all these artistic and musical excursions, Mr. Mills continued to offer the Unfoldment and to mentor those who came to him. In 1997 he was named Honorary PRIME Mentor of Canada. The Senate of Canada presented him with an "Award of Excellence for Outstanding Achievement in Humanities, Education, Philosophy and the Arts" in October 1998, and at about the same time he was granted an honorary Doctor of Humanities degree from Wolfe's University in Canada.
Kenneth G. Mills, Renaissance man, passed away on October 8, 2004. Those of us whose lives were so profoundly changed by his speaking and mentoring miss him greatly. Thousands of people will never forget his grace, his humor, his unstoppable energy, his interest in so much and so many, and most of all, his radiant love.
Dr. Mills has been called a contemporary "Renaissance man." Born in St. Stephen, New Brunswick, Canada, he studied piano for many years and found considerable success as a concert pianist. He was intuitively prompted to give up concertizing in 1963, but continued as a prominent piano teacher and adjudicator.
Then, in 1965, Dr. Mills received a strange message from two different sources. First a medium and then a Buddhist monk visiting in Toronto both told him that he "must learn to speak the Word again." Puzzled, he nevertheless made a vow within himself that, if asked, he would speak about the considerations of the heart.
Shortly thereafter, people did indeed begin asking him to talk with them, sharing their deepest questions. Over the next few years, more and more people approached him; sometimes strangers would knock on his door, seeking answers. Ultimately, he began seeing people as a group because there were too many who were interested to speak with each one separately.
A few weeks before I met him in Berkeley in early 1975, Mr. Mills agreed to give up his piano teaching altogether and devote full time to speaking and mentoring. His visits with individuals and more formal lectures to groups were always given spontaneously, never written or planned out ahead of time. Sometimes he spoke in spontaneous poetry. Mr. Mills' speaking was called "Unfoldment," because, as he once explained to his mother, "It's like a rose." So he became known as a metaphysician and philosopher.
The Unfoldments were transcribed, and soon books of Mr. Mills' lectures and poetry were published. Books continued to come out every few years, so that author and poet Kenneth G. Mills published a total of 16 books (two of which were released posthumously -- and there may be more!).
Mr. Mills' creativity continued to blossom and to be expressed in more and more different ways. In 1976, he founded the Star-Scape Singers, a choral group of 10 men and women whose unique sound astonished critics wherever they sang. He continued to conduct this group for many years, touring with them to high acclaim throughout Europe, the Baltic states, Russia, the U.S. (including Carnegie Hall) and Canada. Much of Star-Scape's repertoire was composed by Mr. Mills, often in conjunction with singer Christopher Dedrick. Eventually, Mr. Mills began composing for piano and then for full orchestra as well.
He was also a designer, creating a line of haute couture women's fashions, as well as designing gardens and several homes. He took up painting in early 1993, producing over 200 large canvases.
Throughout all these artistic and musical excursions, Mr. Mills continued to offer the Unfoldment and to mentor those who came to him. In 1997 he was named Honorary PRIME Mentor of Canada. The Senate of Canada presented him with an "Award of Excellence for Outstanding Achievement in Humanities, Education, Philosophy and the Arts" in October 1998, and at about the same time he was granted an honorary Doctor of Humanities degree from Wolfe's University in Canada.
Kenneth G. Mills, Renaissance man, passed away on October 8, 2004. Those of us whose lives were so profoundly changed by his speaking and mentoring miss him greatly. Thousands of people will never forget his grace, his humor, his unstoppable energy, his interest in so much and so many, and most of all, his radiant love.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
The End of One Journey, the Beginning of Another -- Part 2
What I heard Mr. Mills saying -- both aloud to those in the room, and also silently, direct to my heart -- was (I'm paraphrasing): Your searching, and your spiritual pain, are over. You don't have to seek that which you have never lost. And how can you lose what you are? Infinity is right here, right now, and It is All, thus It is your True Identity.
I didn't speak directly with Mr. Mills during the open house. When it ended, I began to walk through the neighborhood, up and down the hills of Berkeley, past lovely homes and gardens.
My mind seemed totally still in a way I had never experienced before -- completely without thoughts. And as I walked, my life up until that day seemed to be streaming away down the hill behind me. Somehow I knew that I had just stepped over the threshold into a new life, and that my "old life" was gone. The vivid sensation could have been almost frightening, except somehow I also knew that all was well. I felt very excited by the prospect of what I could not yet see.
Then, bubbling up out of the profound stillness came a few small thoughts, one at a time: "But what about school?" "But what about money?" And as each thought popped up, a melodious voice from somewhere said, "So what?" "So what?" And the small thoughts subsided. I guess that this could be described as having been thrust totally into "Now," so that any questions about the future seemed irrelevant.
Finally, my walk took me back around near Mr. Mills' apartment and PSR. And there was Joseph, heading toward the campus. He stopped, looked at me, and with some wonderment said, "What has happened to you? Your face looks totally changed!" I said to him, "Joseph, I have only one question. If I'm not going to die (which seemed to me a possibility, since I had just been given The Answer), then what am I to do? How can I be of service to the world?" He didn't know what to say; he just gave me a big hug.
It was difficult for me to return to the dormitory, for school was part of my "old life." I felt slightly discombobulated -- without the former established direction, it seemed hard to know just what to do. I needed some practice, I guess, in being totally "in the Now." I was supposed to go to a church gathering that afternoon, but I just couldn't go.
Finally, not knowing what else to do, I walked back to Mr. Mills' apartment and simply stood outside the door. Joseph had been visiting, and when he came out and found me standing there, he took me inside to meet Mr. Mills in person. The first thing I said to him was, "I feel brand new!"
And so, my new journey had begun.
I didn't speak directly with Mr. Mills during the open house. When it ended, I began to walk through the neighborhood, up and down the hills of Berkeley, past lovely homes and gardens.
My mind seemed totally still in a way I had never experienced before -- completely without thoughts. And as I walked, my life up until that day seemed to be streaming away down the hill behind me. Somehow I knew that I had just stepped over the threshold into a new life, and that my "old life" was gone. The vivid sensation could have been almost frightening, except somehow I also knew that all was well. I felt very excited by the prospect of what I could not yet see.
Then, bubbling up out of the profound stillness came a few small thoughts, one at a time: "But what about school?" "But what about money?" And as each thought popped up, a melodious voice from somewhere said, "So what?" "So what?" And the small thoughts subsided. I guess that this could be described as having been thrust totally into "Now," so that any questions about the future seemed irrelevant.
Finally, my walk took me back around near Mr. Mills' apartment and PSR. And there was Joseph, heading toward the campus. He stopped, looked at me, and with some wonderment said, "What has happened to you? Your face looks totally changed!" I said to him, "Joseph, I have only one question. If I'm not going to die (which seemed to me a possibility, since I had just been given The Answer), then what am I to do? How can I be of service to the world?" He didn't know what to say; he just gave me a big hug.
It was difficult for me to return to the dormitory, for school was part of my "old life." I felt slightly discombobulated -- without the former established direction, it seemed hard to know just what to do. I needed some practice, I guess, in being totally "in the Now." I was supposed to go to a church gathering that afternoon, but I just couldn't go.
Finally, not knowing what else to do, I walked back to Mr. Mills' apartment and simply stood outside the door. Joseph had been visiting, and when he came out and found me standing there, he took me inside to meet Mr. Mills in person. The first thing I said to him was, "I feel brand new!"
And so, my new journey had begun.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
The End of One Journey, the Beginning of Another
The new year seems like an apt time to celebrate one of the most potent experiences of newness I have ever had.
As described in the most recent installment of my spiritual adventures (posted way back last September!), I had enrolled in Pacific School of Religion (PSR) in Berkeley, California to pursue an "M.Div." degree.
PSR was a highly-respected seminary, and rightly so, with a fine faculty. Yet I found I wasn't happy there. After the exciting experiences of being "led" or "called," I missed the mystical flavor that had come to permeate my life. Here there were no spiritual experiences, but rather study of Old Testament history and exegesis of New Testament passages.
During the winter, I started meeting with two men early each morning for meditation. This satisfied some of my mystical longing. One of the men, Marty, was a fellow student in the M.Div. program. The other, Joseph, was a Franciscan friar who lived in a PSR dormitory but was involved in a different program of study through the Graduate Theological Union. Each morning, Joseph would usher us into our meditative state by ringing a pair of Tibetan "ting-sha" bells. We meditated for about half an hour.
Then, one day, Joseph arrived with an invitation. He said a most wonderful man he had met during a visit to Canada was coming to Berkeley to give a series of lectures. Joseph was sure Marty and I would find the talks very meaningful.
I felt hesitant. This was Berkeley in the 1970s, with announcements of lectures by Shri-so-and-so and Guru-such-and-such tacked to every telephone pole. Also, there was a charge for this lecture series, and as a student on scholarship, I seemingly had little money for such.
But Joseph, God bless him, persisted. He said to me, "Look, there's an open house tomorrow morning, at no charge. Come and meet Mr. Mills, and then you can decide." And he showed us a photo of this gentleman. Odd, I thought -- he looks familiar.
So the next morning, dressed in my only skirt, with a nice blouse (Joseph told us that Mr. Mills appreciated formality -- a rarity in Berkeley at the time) and headed off to the open house in an apartment near campus. Mr. Mills, impeccably dressed in a finely tailored suit, entered the living room where a couple of dozen people, mostly PSR students, were sitting. He began to speak; he wasn't giving a lecture, exactly, but neither was he simply chatting with individuals. And from his first words, something very strange was happening to me.
In his very first sentence, Mr. Mills said, ". . .a meeting to melt the ice so that water could be what it is. . . ." Not long before this, I had attended one of the "self-discovery" workshops so popular in California at the time. An exercise at the workshop was to draw a picture showing ourselves in a symbolic form. I drew a large block of ice, melting and watering flowers all around it. How could Mr. Mills know of this drawing? But to me, it seemed he did.
Later in his talk, he spoke of a mirror breaking, with some of his words closely paralleling my words in a poem I had written years before. A common subject, yes, and yet . . . .
But it was much more than these small coincidences that brought an extraordinary stillness into my mind. There was something in his presence, in the sound of his voice, perhaps -- I couldn't identify where the feeling came from. Somehow what he was saying -- or not saying? -- brought a profound, a gigantic sense of meaning, as though he were answering every deep question I had ever entertained. As though -- right there in that small apartment in Berkeley, California -- this man named Mr. Mills had just handed me the very secrets of the Universe.
(To be continued in the next post)
As described in the most recent installment of my spiritual adventures (posted way back last September!), I had enrolled in Pacific School of Religion (PSR) in Berkeley, California to pursue an "M.Div." degree.
PSR was a highly-respected seminary, and rightly so, with a fine faculty. Yet I found I wasn't happy there. After the exciting experiences of being "led" or "called," I missed the mystical flavor that had come to permeate my life. Here there were no spiritual experiences, but rather study of Old Testament history and exegesis of New Testament passages.
During the winter, I started meeting with two men early each morning for meditation. This satisfied some of my mystical longing. One of the men, Marty, was a fellow student in the M.Div. program. The other, Joseph, was a Franciscan friar who lived in a PSR dormitory but was involved in a different program of study through the Graduate Theological Union. Each morning, Joseph would usher us into our meditative state by ringing a pair of Tibetan "ting-sha" bells. We meditated for about half an hour.
Then, one day, Joseph arrived with an invitation. He said a most wonderful man he had met during a visit to Canada was coming to Berkeley to give a series of lectures. Joseph was sure Marty and I would find the talks very meaningful.
I felt hesitant. This was Berkeley in the 1970s, with announcements of lectures by Shri-so-and-so and Guru-such-and-such tacked to every telephone pole. Also, there was a charge for this lecture series, and as a student on scholarship, I seemingly had little money for such.
But Joseph, God bless him, persisted. He said to me, "Look, there's an open house tomorrow morning, at no charge. Come and meet Mr. Mills, and then you can decide." And he showed us a photo of this gentleman. Odd, I thought -- he looks familiar.
So the next morning, dressed in my only skirt, with a nice blouse (Joseph told us that Mr. Mills appreciated formality -- a rarity in Berkeley at the time) and headed off to the open house in an apartment near campus. Mr. Mills, impeccably dressed in a finely tailored suit, entered the living room where a couple of dozen people, mostly PSR students, were sitting. He began to speak; he wasn't giving a lecture, exactly, but neither was he simply chatting with individuals. And from his first words, something very strange was happening to me.
In his very first sentence, Mr. Mills said, ". . .a meeting to melt the ice so that water could be what it is. . . ." Not long before this, I had attended one of the "self-discovery" workshops so popular in California at the time. An exercise at the workshop was to draw a picture showing ourselves in a symbolic form. I drew a large block of ice, melting and watering flowers all around it. How could Mr. Mills know of this drawing? But to me, it seemed he did.
Later in his talk, he spoke of a mirror breaking, with some of his words closely paralleling my words in a poem I had written years before. A common subject, yes, and yet . . . .
But it was much more than these small coincidences that brought an extraordinary stillness into my mind. There was something in his presence, in the sound of his voice, perhaps -- I couldn't identify where the feeling came from. Somehow what he was saying -- or not saying? -- brought a profound, a gigantic sense of meaning, as though he were answering every deep question I had ever entertained. As though -- right there in that small apartment in Berkeley, California -- this man named Mr. Mills had just handed me the very secrets of the Universe.
(To be continued in the next post)
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