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.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
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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