Thoughts
Spirituality needs prayers and poems - but not only prayers and poems. Sometimes what we most need is to see a glimpse of god in the moments of our lives - to see the connections between spirituality and life as we live it. In "thoughts," we bring you dispatches from these moments.
Snowmen (snow and plastic)
Building a snowman is an experience that creates a memory. Buying a plastic snowman is a transaction that generates a short term display item, a mid-term storage problem and 250,000 years or so of landfill material.
Building a snowman is an experience that creates a memory. Buying a plastic snowman is a transaction that generates a short term display item, a mid-term storage problem and 250,000 years or so of landfill material.
Smiling
I cross paths with a stranger on the sidewalk; we smile, and both walk away the better for the brief intersection of our lives.
A smile costs nothing – except, perhaps, the effort of setting aside your quarrels with the world for a moment. This, too, is an exchange without downside!
I cross paths with a stranger on the sidewalk; we smile, and both walk away the better for the brief intersection of our lives.
A smile costs nothing – except, perhaps, the effort of setting aside your quarrels with the world for a moment. This, too, is an exchange without downside!
Dealing with the knock on the door
It's dark, and I'm at home, relaxed, watching TV with my wife and stepdaughter, finished with the pasta, finishing the wine.
The doorbell rings. And when I answer it, I find that it brings bad news - a threat, in the form of a claim, a lawsuit.
I read the pages, seeing a description of myself and my actions that I don't recognize as reflecting 'me' at all. Long after everyone else is asleep, I'm assembling evidence showing that these claims are false. But I know that the claim will be there when I wake up tomorrow - and the next day - and for months or years beyond, until a judge decides which version of 'me' has legal standing.
That night, when I go to bed, I make a vow: I will not let this thing intrude into my life with my family. I will not let the bile in those pages sour me. I will be tender with my wife, and joyous in my days.
When I awaken the next morning, I see a random email from a business colleague - the kind of email that confuses noise with action, one which is designed to impede rather than facilitate progress.
But I will not react in this manner. I make another vow: kindness in all my encounters, humour where the opportunity exists.
I am above all, a man - father, husband, member of the community. My actions exist in these contexts, and not as an extension of the knock at the door. Each person I speak with has their own doors; each encounter lives on its own, without a link back to the accusations in the legal notice. I will honour my neighbours, my family and myself by living completely and fairly in our connections. I will seek God in the Moment, and not be dulled, distracted or blinkered by the shadows. I will cage the accusations and the fury they provoke inside their own space, and open that box when I am called to respond. The knock on the door will not echo through the balance of my day!
It's dark, and I'm at home, relaxed, watching TV with my wife and stepdaughter, finished with the pasta, finishing the wine.
The doorbell rings. And when I answer it, I find that it brings bad news - a threat, in the form of a claim, a lawsuit.
I read the pages, seeing a description of myself and my actions that I don't recognize as reflecting 'me' at all. Long after everyone else is asleep, I'm assembling evidence showing that these claims are false. But I know that the claim will be there when I wake up tomorrow - and the next day - and for months or years beyond, until a judge decides which version of 'me' has legal standing.
That night, when I go to bed, I make a vow: I will not let this thing intrude into my life with my family. I will not let the bile in those pages sour me. I will be tender with my wife, and joyous in my days.
When I awaken the next morning, I see a random email from a business colleague - the kind of email that confuses noise with action, one which is designed to impede rather than facilitate progress.
But I will not react in this manner. I make another vow: kindness in all my encounters, humour where the opportunity exists.
I am above all, a man - father, husband, member of the community. My actions exist in these contexts, and not as an extension of the knock at the door. Each person I speak with has their own doors; each encounter lives on its own, without a link back to the accusations in the legal notice. I will honour my neighbours, my family and myself by living completely and fairly in our connections. I will seek God in the Moment, and not be dulled, distracted or blinkered by the shadows. I will cage the accusations and the fury they provoke inside their own space, and open that box when I am called to respond. The knock on the door will not echo through the balance of my day!
What makes 'bitter old people' bitter?
I'm becoming more irascible.
It's not a conscious choice or anything. I don't identify 'grumpiness' as an objective. But I'm starting to understand how people I used to ignore (or scoff at) feel.
I've spent some time thinking about the problem of the transmutation, and I think I have at least part of an answer.
In the Philosophy section of this site, there is a post entitled "Existence" context and interval." It argues that we live and perceive reality through a succession of contexts, separated by intervals: "the reality of our lives is the intervals that separate one context from the next...the interplay between interval and context defines the totality of our journeys through life."
Suppose that you were to wake up one day, and find that you had lost the ability to grasp this interplay - that intervals have become too short, that contexts slip away before their content is grasped. What would be your response? I'm pretty sure that I know what mine would be - I would become somewhat disoriented, and when that happened, I'd compensate by pushing back on anyone who was puzzled by my inability to act appropriately in context.
I think that this captures at least some of the reason why older people (or younger people, though I believe this is less common) become embittered. If there isn't enough time to grasp one's own context - if the intervals that define the evolution of one moment into the next slip by so rapidly that we can't grasp either moment or change - then at least some of us will become angry and bitter. As our population ages, I expect this will become a more common problem, one which requires us to offer more understanding, since we're not able to adjust the pace of change - the intervals - in a way that will reduce pressure on older people, and on the rest of us as well!
I'm becoming more irascible.
It's not a conscious choice or anything. I don't identify 'grumpiness' as an objective. But I'm starting to understand how people I used to ignore (or scoff at) feel.
I've spent some time thinking about the problem of the transmutation, and I think I have at least part of an answer.
In the Philosophy section of this site, there is a post entitled "Existence" context and interval." It argues that we live and perceive reality through a succession of contexts, separated by intervals: "the reality of our lives is the intervals that separate one context from the next...the interplay between interval and context defines the totality of our journeys through life."
Suppose that you were to wake up one day, and find that you had lost the ability to grasp this interplay - that intervals have become too short, that contexts slip away before their content is grasped. What would be your response? I'm pretty sure that I know what mine would be - I would become somewhat disoriented, and when that happened, I'd compensate by pushing back on anyone who was puzzled by my inability to act appropriately in context.
I think that this captures at least some of the reason why older people (or younger people, though I believe this is less common) become embittered. If there isn't enough time to grasp one's own context - if the intervals that define the evolution of one moment into the next slip by so rapidly that we can't grasp either moment or change - then at least some of us will become angry and bitter. As our population ages, I expect this will become a more common problem, one which requires us to offer more understanding, since we're not able to adjust the pace of change - the intervals - in a way that will reduce pressure on older people, and on the rest of us as well!
The awesomeness of emptiness
I started thinking about a Zen koan the other day. It wasn't one of those that I 'get', or at least, connect with - but it did lead me to think about what enlightenment, or emptiness, means in a Zen context. Here's how the thread went:
It's extraordinarily difficult to achieve this perspective even for an instant, and maintaining this connectedness through the tasks of daily life is probably beyond nearly everyone's spiritual capacity. But emptiness an awesome perspective to contemplate, and a compelling way to frame spiritual inspiration!
I started thinking about a Zen koan the other day. It wasn't one of those that I 'get', or at least, connect with - but it did lead me to think about what enlightenment, or emptiness, means in a Zen context. Here's how the thread went:
- Imagine yourself.
- Imagine yourself on a team. Your teammates can be anyone you choose: family, friends, colleagues, people you admire...
- Now, imagine that you accept that you and your teammates are all combined seamlessly in a whole. Not that you individually contribute to the whole, but rather, that you are so interconnected that there's no meaningful line between where you end and where your teammates begin.
- Now imagine a second 'other' team, made up of people you dislike, people you envy, people who make you uncomfortable, rivals of all sorts.
- Imagine that you accept them wholeheartedly into your team (this may take some time). They, too, are seamlessly integrated; there's no point at which you begin and your teammates end, or where you end and they begin.
- Add to your team all of the people you see but don't know, all of those you hear or hear about but don't see, and the billions who you don't and will never come across. Add them to your team, too, so that you and they are all part of a single entirety of people.
- Now extend your entirety to include all that is of this earth - animals, insects, water, air, mountains, trees, microbes, the planet itself - and all that is not of this earth - stars, moons, distant planets, your own imagination and the thoughts and dreams of all other humans.
- Try to imagine all of the animals, insects, water, air, mountains, trees, microbes, planet, stars, moons, planet, thoughts and imaginations - as merging into your entirety, so that 'you' are present everywhere, at all times - not as wave within the ocean, but as the ocean itself, not as a moment in the silence, but as all silence.
It's extraordinarily difficult to achieve this perspective even for an instant, and maintaining this connectedness through the tasks of daily life is probably beyond nearly everyone's spiritual capacity. But emptiness an awesome perspective to contemplate, and a compelling way to frame spiritual inspiration!
Mass/social media in a spiritual world
In the Philosophy page on this site, I wrote about the Butterfly Effect, observing that "we are central to our own experiences and moments, and integral to the experiences and moments of those who are adjacent to us - and since their experiences and moments in turn help shape the experiences and moments of people who are adjacent to them, each of us has a tangible if diminishing effect on people we are only distantly connected with, and ultimately, on the totality of experiences and moments."
It's worth noting that this observation also hints at how disruptive mass and social media can be. With tools that amplify presence, people can be proximate (albeit fleetingly) to a great many lives. If (as is often the case) their presence is negative, they create a disproportionate negative impact on the experiences and moments of others - which ultimately accumulates as a negative impact on the whole of our lives and world.
Does this mean that we should limit our exposure to social and mass media? Maybe. It at least means that we need to actively manage our inputs from these sources, to provide the space and context needed to see God in our moments, and not be submersed in waves of too-present and too-negative inputs. Whatever one might glean from sources that profit from false or depressing 'news', the world is not an overwhelmingly-negative sphere; there is at least a semblance of balance between good and bad, light and dark, hard and soft, etc., and we need the full range of inputs to experience all that life offers, and consequently, all of where God exists in our lives.
Parenthetically, the above suggests that the current debate on whether news channels should be required to present a modicum of political balance is wrongly focused. We'd be much better served by insisting on a balance between positive and negative input.
In the Philosophy page on this site, I wrote about the Butterfly Effect, observing that "we are central to our own experiences and moments, and integral to the experiences and moments of those who are adjacent to us - and since their experiences and moments in turn help shape the experiences and moments of people who are adjacent to them, each of us has a tangible if diminishing effect on people we are only distantly connected with, and ultimately, on the totality of experiences and moments."
It's worth noting that this observation also hints at how disruptive mass and social media can be. With tools that amplify presence, people can be proximate (albeit fleetingly) to a great many lives. If (as is often the case) their presence is negative, they create a disproportionate negative impact on the experiences and moments of others - which ultimately accumulates as a negative impact on the whole of our lives and world.
Does this mean that we should limit our exposure to social and mass media? Maybe. It at least means that we need to actively manage our inputs from these sources, to provide the space and context needed to see God in our moments, and not be submersed in waves of too-present and too-negative inputs. Whatever one might glean from sources that profit from false or depressing 'news', the world is not an overwhelmingly-negative sphere; there is at least a semblance of balance between good and bad, light and dark, hard and soft, etc., and we need the full range of inputs to experience all that life offers, and consequently, all of where God exists in our lives.
Parenthetically, the above suggests that the current debate on whether news channels should be required to present a modicum of political balance is wrongly focused. We'd be much better served by insisting on a balance between positive and negative input.
Ghosts
Even when my dad was alive, many of my conversations with him were imaginary.
Occasionally, I would get to talk with him - I'd have a call or a visit to reanimate our conversations. And of course, now I can't do that.
However, the imaginary dialogues continue; I still will 'talk' with my dad, much as I did between our calls and sporadic visits. And these dialogues can sometimes feel as real as they ever did.
Isn't the whole idea of a 'ghost' a kind of naive representation of this dialogue with someone who not only isn't there, but can't be - in the way that historical portraits of God approximate the spiritual presence that we celebrate in God in the Moment? Maybe the issue with ghosts isn't that they are a superstition that can be debunked by scientific fact, but rather, that they are a sort of simple portrait of a scenario that is common to most of us, but harder to categorize than it is to observe, or even engage with? I'm quite sure that ghosts don't exist as spectres that are best approximated by empty sheets, just as I'm certain that God doesn't exist as a white, male, omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent being. But that isn't the same as saying that neither exist at all - just that they don't exist as the cartoonish constructs that we have been presented with. The enemy of belief here isn't existence, it's the credible representation of that existence!
Even when my dad was alive, many of my conversations with him were imaginary.
Occasionally, I would get to talk with him - I'd have a call or a visit to reanimate our conversations. And of course, now I can't do that.
However, the imaginary dialogues continue; I still will 'talk' with my dad, much as I did between our calls and sporadic visits. And these dialogues can sometimes feel as real as they ever did.
Isn't the whole idea of a 'ghost' a kind of naive representation of this dialogue with someone who not only isn't there, but can't be - in the way that historical portraits of God approximate the spiritual presence that we celebrate in God in the Moment? Maybe the issue with ghosts isn't that they are a superstition that can be debunked by scientific fact, but rather, that they are a sort of simple portrait of a scenario that is common to most of us, but harder to categorize than it is to observe, or even engage with? I'm quite sure that ghosts don't exist as spectres that are best approximated by empty sheets, just as I'm certain that God doesn't exist as a white, male, omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent being. But that isn't the same as saying that neither exist at all - just that they don't exist as the cartoonish constructs that we have been presented with. The enemy of belief here isn't existence, it's the credible representation of that existence!
Strategy and execution in a spiritual context
I was walking downtown on the weekend, and an earnest young man - one of a group of guys - asked me to accept a Qaran. I took the volume and thanked him; he requested that I read it, and I promised to do so.
I'm embarrassed to admin that I haven't yet opened it up. When I do, I'm guessing that I will find passages that are deep, spiritual, impactful, and poetic, as I did when I studied the Bible years ago. Works like these are meant to inspire, and their millions of adherents bear testimony to their elegance and relevance.
However, as the header to this page says, "spirituality needs prayers and poems, but not only prayers and poems" - and the extension of traditional religion beyond inspiration can be problematic for both adherents and agnostics. I remember passages read in church that seemed to glow with a transcendent truth, but that was not the extent of the experience. Instead, there were a multitude of rules and rituals. These did not have the effect of infusing the congregation with spiritual fervor. Instead, they seemed to have the effect of creating roles and authority for individuals who attach to the poetry of spirituality and appropriate its persuasive power.
This dichotomy is not unique to religion. In business, we describe it as the difference between strategy - the path by which we will attain the shining vision of our mission - and tactics, the actions we take in pursuit of strategy. The parallels are clear: in business-speak, the words of the prophets define a strategic context for spirituality, and the actions of the clerics (and their followers) represent tactics. As in business, the tactics are often at odds with the original vision: in practical terms, individual or group agendas are superimposed over the core aspiration, and 'the message' from the religious text is excerpted to provide nominal justification for acts that serve profane (in either the "secular" or "vulgar" meaning of the word) rather than spiritual ends.
The header I quoted from earlier also says "sometimes what we most need is to see a glimpse of god in the moments of our lives - to see the connections between spirituality and life as we live it." Regardless of whether our context is the Bible or the Qaran, art or literature, ancient scrolls or posts from the Internet, what's important is that we are able to connect the transcendent and eternal with the spirituality that can - does - and should infuse god in our lives. There should be no dichotomy between strategy and execution in a spiritual context. The knowledge of god in our lives connects the essential and the immediate, illuminating the beauty and potential of each of our moments.
I was walking downtown on the weekend, and an earnest young man - one of a group of guys - asked me to accept a Qaran. I took the volume and thanked him; he requested that I read it, and I promised to do so.
I'm embarrassed to admin that I haven't yet opened it up. When I do, I'm guessing that I will find passages that are deep, spiritual, impactful, and poetic, as I did when I studied the Bible years ago. Works like these are meant to inspire, and their millions of adherents bear testimony to their elegance and relevance.
However, as the header to this page says, "spirituality needs prayers and poems, but not only prayers and poems" - and the extension of traditional religion beyond inspiration can be problematic for both adherents and agnostics. I remember passages read in church that seemed to glow with a transcendent truth, but that was not the extent of the experience. Instead, there were a multitude of rules and rituals. These did not have the effect of infusing the congregation with spiritual fervor. Instead, they seemed to have the effect of creating roles and authority for individuals who attach to the poetry of spirituality and appropriate its persuasive power.
This dichotomy is not unique to religion. In business, we describe it as the difference between strategy - the path by which we will attain the shining vision of our mission - and tactics, the actions we take in pursuit of strategy. The parallels are clear: in business-speak, the words of the prophets define a strategic context for spirituality, and the actions of the clerics (and their followers) represent tactics. As in business, the tactics are often at odds with the original vision: in practical terms, individual or group agendas are superimposed over the core aspiration, and 'the message' from the religious text is excerpted to provide nominal justification for acts that serve profane (in either the "secular" or "vulgar" meaning of the word) rather than spiritual ends.
The header I quoted from earlier also says "sometimes what we most need is to see a glimpse of god in the moments of our lives - to see the connections between spirituality and life as we live it." Regardless of whether our context is the Bible or the Qaran, art or literature, ancient scrolls or posts from the Internet, what's important is that we are able to connect the transcendent and eternal with the spirituality that can - does - and should infuse god in our lives. There should be no dichotomy between strategy and execution in a spiritual context. The knowledge of god in our lives connects the essential and the immediate, illuminating the beauty and potential of each of our moments.
Roots
I walked past a guy who lives in my neighborhood yesterday, sitting on a bench by the side of the road.
He's an odd fellow - keeps to himself, with nothing in particular to occupy his time, appears to walk long distances, sometimes seen poring over a stack of magazines.
The first few times I ran across him, he was in the laundromat across from my apartment. On my second or third visit, I asked the older guy who ran the place if the odd fellow was a permanent fixture. He replied with something to the effect of "I let him help me with things," and the discussion faded away.
The laundromat has been gone for well over a decade, and the odd fellow still wanders around the main street, without (apparently) a nest to light in. I don't look at him very carefully, but I couldn't say he looks any different than he looked 20 years ago - same beard, same clear eyes, same overall bearing.
And yet, something has changed. When I first met him, I reacted to his presence in its immediacy, without any connection to the surroundings. "Odd person!" I thought. He did not fit in my context, consequently, I saw him as simply out of place, misshapen for the environment.
With the perspective that I've gained over the years, I've come to understand that he's part of the organic whole of the neighborhood. He doesn't actually have any direct impact on my life, but he belongs in the broader picture of the place I inhabit. I suppose you could say that I've grown roots here, and that with that connection has come a level of tolerance that I lacked as a newcomer.
There's something very powerful about roots if they help to encourage tolerance - because tolerance itself is a very powerful force in our world. It may not inspire poetry in the way that love and beauty does, but tolerance is an indispensable attribute, and it becomes more so every day, as zealots from all corners of the world attempt to impose their ideals on others, through demagoguery, violence, terrorism, or other forms of (economic, cultural, political, religious) oppression. We need the strength to stand up to those who would warp our worlds, without extending our umbrage to those who simply inhabit the same neighborhoods as the demagogues, terrorists and oppressors. We have roots that extend beyond the soil we trod, into the fabric of our humanity. May we recognize its importance, and act on the tolerance it engenders.
I walked past a guy who lives in my neighborhood yesterday, sitting on a bench by the side of the road.
He's an odd fellow - keeps to himself, with nothing in particular to occupy his time, appears to walk long distances, sometimes seen poring over a stack of magazines.
The first few times I ran across him, he was in the laundromat across from my apartment. On my second or third visit, I asked the older guy who ran the place if the odd fellow was a permanent fixture. He replied with something to the effect of "I let him help me with things," and the discussion faded away.
The laundromat has been gone for well over a decade, and the odd fellow still wanders around the main street, without (apparently) a nest to light in. I don't look at him very carefully, but I couldn't say he looks any different than he looked 20 years ago - same beard, same clear eyes, same overall bearing.
And yet, something has changed. When I first met him, I reacted to his presence in its immediacy, without any connection to the surroundings. "Odd person!" I thought. He did not fit in my context, consequently, I saw him as simply out of place, misshapen for the environment.
With the perspective that I've gained over the years, I've come to understand that he's part of the organic whole of the neighborhood. He doesn't actually have any direct impact on my life, but he belongs in the broader picture of the place I inhabit. I suppose you could say that I've grown roots here, and that with that connection has come a level of tolerance that I lacked as a newcomer.
There's something very powerful about roots if they help to encourage tolerance - because tolerance itself is a very powerful force in our world. It may not inspire poetry in the way that love and beauty does, but tolerance is an indispensable attribute, and it becomes more so every day, as zealots from all corners of the world attempt to impose their ideals on others, through demagoguery, violence, terrorism, or other forms of (economic, cultural, political, religious) oppression. We need the strength to stand up to those who would warp our worlds, without extending our umbrage to those who simply inhabit the same neighborhoods as the demagogues, terrorists and oppressors. We have roots that extend beyond the soil we trod, into the fabric of our humanity. May we recognize its importance, and act on the tolerance it engenders.
You is, you are, you say
There is a progression that's important to living an authentic life. It's captured in the somewhat-ungrammatical phrase "You is, you are, you say."
"You is" is the ungrammatical part of the phrase, and is at the core of the progression. The implication is that you reach inside yourself to understand your true nature - what makes you good, what makes you special, how you can connect and relate to the people and world around you. Everyone has their own "you is." And of course, not all of it is good or special or aligned with how you would most like to be interacting with your world.
That's where "you are" comes in. When you have reached inside your essence - your soul - to discover what's intrinsic to you, you make a choice about what parts of that being you want to expose to the world. All of us contain the best and the worst of ourselves, and a number of urges and thoughts and dreams and inclinations that are somewhere between the best and the worst. The point of "you are" is to select the parts of "you is" that you want to have as parts of your presence in the world. For example, most of us are patient only to a degree, and kind to a degree as well. If we see someone who is struggling with something (physically, mentally, emotionally), are we patient enough to show kindness? To extend the thought another step, we all value family and friends to a greater or lesser extent. How much impact does that have on our willingness to exercise kindness rather than impatience? What are the limits to this? What impact does, say, a hard day at work, a lack of money, a second drink have on the "you are" we show to the world? Or similarly, most of us are lazy and/or frugal to some extent, and most of us appreciate nature to some extent. If we have something to dispose of, do we take the extra effort to dispose of it without littering? Do we take more effort to ensure that it is deposited in the appropriate recycling/composting stream? Do we start by doing research and making extra investment to ensure that we're buying products that aren't harmful (or are less harmful) to the environment, from companies that have a commitment to corporate social responsibility? "You are" isn't a single set of answers...but it should be a single set of principles that you lean on when you need to make a choice about how you act, how you interact with the people and planet around you.
The final step is "you say" - the means you use to communicate yourself to the people and world around you. It isn't all about "saying" - in fact, it's largely about doing - but that's not really the important part of the "You is, you are, you say" message. Instead, it's the place of "you say" in the sequence. To live a life that has substance (let alone meaning and spiritual presence), you need to be before you proclaim what you are. There's no room in life for the cynical business phrase "fake it 'til you make it." The proof of what you've "made" is in every word you speak and every action you take. Without understanding "you is" and determining how "you are," what "you say" will lack a meaningful connection to your essence, your soul - you'll drift rather than drive.
Everyone has a different "you is" and a different set of issues that impact how "you are." But all of us can reach within ourselves and make the decisions we need to make to live a healthy, meaningful live. #YouIsYouAreYouSay!
There is a progression that's important to living an authentic life. It's captured in the somewhat-ungrammatical phrase "You is, you are, you say."
"You is" is the ungrammatical part of the phrase, and is at the core of the progression. The implication is that you reach inside yourself to understand your true nature - what makes you good, what makes you special, how you can connect and relate to the people and world around you. Everyone has their own "you is." And of course, not all of it is good or special or aligned with how you would most like to be interacting with your world.
That's where "you are" comes in. When you have reached inside your essence - your soul - to discover what's intrinsic to you, you make a choice about what parts of that being you want to expose to the world. All of us contain the best and the worst of ourselves, and a number of urges and thoughts and dreams and inclinations that are somewhere between the best and the worst. The point of "you are" is to select the parts of "you is" that you want to have as parts of your presence in the world. For example, most of us are patient only to a degree, and kind to a degree as well. If we see someone who is struggling with something (physically, mentally, emotionally), are we patient enough to show kindness? To extend the thought another step, we all value family and friends to a greater or lesser extent. How much impact does that have on our willingness to exercise kindness rather than impatience? What are the limits to this? What impact does, say, a hard day at work, a lack of money, a second drink have on the "you are" we show to the world? Or similarly, most of us are lazy and/or frugal to some extent, and most of us appreciate nature to some extent. If we have something to dispose of, do we take the extra effort to dispose of it without littering? Do we take more effort to ensure that it is deposited in the appropriate recycling/composting stream? Do we start by doing research and making extra investment to ensure that we're buying products that aren't harmful (or are less harmful) to the environment, from companies that have a commitment to corporate social responsibility? "You are" isn't a single set of answers...but it should be a single set of principles that you lean on when you need to make a choice about how you act, how you interact with the people and planet around you.
The final step is "you say" - the means you use to communicate yourself to the people and world around you. It isn't all about "saying" - in fact, it's largely about doing - but that's not really the important part of the "You is, you are, you say" message. Instead, it's the place of "you say" in the sequence. To live a life that has substance (let alone meaning and spiritual presence), you need to be before you proclaim what you are. There's no room in life for the cynical business phrase "fake it 'til you make it." The proof of what you've "made" is in every word you speak and every action you take. Without understanding "you is" and determining how "you are," what "you say" will lack a meaningful connection to your essence, your soul - you'll drift rather than drive.
Everyone has a different "you is" and a different set of issues that impact how "you are." But all of us can reach within ourselves and make the decisions we need to make to live a healthy, meaningful live. #YouIsYouAreYouSay!
Indistinct Presence
I was engaged in a conversation about how every picture of Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster is grainy and fuzzy recently, and the thought came to me: "what if it isn't the pictures? What if the Yeti or Nessy just lack defined presence, but exist as kind of a hazy presence - so the pictures are accurate, and it's the presence itself that's grainy and fuzzy?
Now of course, it's far more likely that there's no Loch Ness Monster or Yeti than that they exist as quasi-distinct entities. But...there's a non-zero chance that existence with precise definition is possible. And if that's the case, there may well be an entire class of things - or multiple classes of "things" - that exist, but in a form that is hard to reconcile with our experience of defined shapes and limits.
It occurs to me that faith - or God - might well belong to this class of non-distinct entities. There are times when we feel a presence, or when we are certain that faith is connecting with something, but can't establish precisely what that "something" is. We are in the position of the photographer with the grainy photo of something that might be extraordinary. Often, we try not to refer to "it" directly, so as not to open ourselves up to questions on specific characteristics of "it" that we can't answer. But...what if it isn't the film of our perception, but rather, the nature of what we are connecting with, that makes this kind of specificity impossible?
I was engaged in a conversation about how every picture of Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster is grainy and fuzzy recently, and the thought came to me: "what if it isn't the pictures? What if the Yeti or Nessy just lack defined presence, but exist as kind of a hazy presence - so the pictures are accurate, and it's the presence itself that's grainy and fuzzy?
Now of course, it's far more likely that there's no Loch Ness Monster or Yeti than that they exist as quasi-distinct entities. But...there's a non-zero chance that existence with precise definition is possible. And if that's the case, there may well be an entire class of things - or multiple classes of "things" - that exist, but in a form that is hard to reconcile with our experience of defined shapes and limits.
It occurs to me that faith - or God - might well belong to this class of non-distinct entities. There are times when we feel a presence, or when we are certain that faith is connecting with something, but can't establish precisely what that "something" is. We are in the position of the photographer with the grainy photo of something that might be extraordinary. Often, we try not to refer to "it" directly, so as not to open ourselves up to questions on specific characteristics of "it" that we can't answer. But...what if it isn't the film of our perception, but rather, the nature of what we are connecting with, that makes this kind of specificity impossible?
Intimacy and forgiveness
One of the important defining aspects of intimacy is our experience with a "whole person". When we have an intimate relationship, we don't just see someone as they present themselves in a specific context, or for a particular night; we have shared experiences, and we build on these experiences to develop deeper understanding of who the person is, their strengths and their flaws, the good and bad points that are assembled into the complete human.
The person with whom each of us has the most intimate relationship is ourselves. We know the totality of moments and events and actions and feelings that comprise our current being. And we are sometimes interrupted by the echoes of our past selves - by a time when we weren't kind to someone else, when we were cowardly or ignorant when we should have been brave or aware, when we squandered an opportunity to learn something or understand someone, instead choosing to party, to coast past the chance, to waste time.
These moments can be very difficult. It isn't possible to explain the entire context of the echo to anyone else - it, like us, has been shaped by both an event and the ensuing time. And when we feel embarrassed or ashamed by a past event, and react in an usual way to a current situation, it becomes hard even for those who know and appreciate us to understand our actions.
At some point, we need to find a dual approach to these echoes. We don't want to simply ignore them, because it isn't helpful - they'll return anyway. We need to both learn from them and to forgive our past selves. It's a tricky balance - but an important one for peace and growth.
One of the important defining aspects of intimacy is our experience with a "whole person". When we have an intimate relationship, we don't just see someone as they present themselves in a specific context, or for a particular night; we have shared experiences, and we build on these experiences to develop deeper understanding of who the person is, their strengths and their flaws, the good and bad points that are assembled into the complete human.
The person with whom each of us has the most intimate relationship is ourselves. We know the totality of moments and events and actions and feelings that comprise our current being. And we are sometimes interrupted by the echoes of our past selves - by a time when we weren't kind to someone else, when we were cowardly or ignorant when we should have been brave or aware, when we squandered an opportunity to learn something or understand someone, instead choosing to party, to coast past the chance, to waste time.
These moments can be very difficult. It isn't possible to explain the entire context of the echo to anyone else - it, like us, has been shaped by both an event and the ensuing time. And when we feel embarrassed or ashamed by a past event, and react in an usual way to a current situation, it becomes hard even for those who know and appreciate us to understand our actions.
At some point, we need to find a dual approach to these echoes. We don't want to simply ignore them, because it isn't helpful - they'll return anyway. We need to both learn from them and to forgive our past selves. It's a tricky balance - but an important one for peace and growth.
The unspoken truth behind philosophy and religion
It may be true that babies experience a unified reality – or that the simplest of older people perceive life as a single stream of conscious events – but for the vast majority of humanity, each moment in life is far more complex than its factual context. We are surrounded by – shaped and prodded by – in some cases, enlightened by, or in others, besieged by – a swirl of moments remembered, of the emotions that caused or are caused by those emotions, by the impulse to revise or relive actions in response to these moments, memories, and emotions.
In some cases, we use repetition of specific actions and outcomes to create predictable skills; this takes the form of training, and is useful for a wide range of activities, including sport, music, military tactics, cooking…
However, these call-and-response reflexes are of less use in helping us to navigate our relationship with our world – with other humans, with humanity as a whole, with the natural world, and with the (real or imagined, depending on how one characterizes the swirl of moments, emotions, compulsions, etc.) spiritual world.
All of religious and philosophical thought can be seen as stemming from a desire to bring order or harmony to this swirl. Meditation attempts to unify all threads of real and imagined being into a single consciousness. Plato attempts to provide order (or at least, explanation) via relationships between paired opposites. Christianity (and other religions) use a complex hierarchy to organize different motivations and activities; the legal system uses a similar approach.
What are the keys to understanding these approaches? They have some common characteristics: many attempt to define right and wrong, and many try to provide an explanation for inspiration to act in a particular means. In fact, both of these compunctions are widespread enough to suggest that they represent core truth, or requirement, in religious/philosophical thought. As a result, it might be that at some very deep (likely unknowable) level, the innate meaning or purpose of the swirl is to prompt us to contemplate right and wrong, and to wonder at the source of this compulsion.
The “why” is a question for another set of thoughts, though. This is the “what” – “what underlies philosophy and religion?” And it seems clear that the “what” is the swirl of moments and emotions that conscious human beings experience at all moments in our lives, and the basic need to reconcile through and with them our positions with respect to others and the world around us.
It may be true that babies experience a unified reality – or that the simplest of older people perceive life as a single stream of conscious events – but for the vast majority of humanity, each moment in life is far more complex than its factual context. We are surrounded by – shaped and prodded by – in some cases, enlightened by, or in others, besieged by – a swirl of moments remembered, of the emotions that caused or are caused by those emotions, by the impulse to revise or relive actions in response to these moments, memories, and emotions.
In some cases, we use repetition of specific actions and outcomes to create predictable skills; this takes the form of training, and is useful for a wide range of activities, including sport, music, military tactics, cooking…
However, these call-and-response reflexes are of less use in helping us to navigate our relationship with our world – with other humans, with humanity as a whole, with the natural world, and with the (real or imagined, depending on how one characterizes the swirl of moments, emotions, compulsions, etc.) spiritual world.
All of religious and philosophical thought can be seen as stemming from a desire to bring order or harmony to this swirl. Meditation attempts to unify all threads of real and imagined being into a single consciousness. Plato attempts to provide order (or at least, explanation) via relationships between paired opposites. Christianity (and other religions) use a complex hierarchy to organize different motivations and activities; the legal system uses a similar approach.
What are the keys to understanding these approaches? They have some common characteristics: many attempt to define right and wrong, and many try to provide an explanation for inspiration to act in a particular means. In fact, both of these compunctions are widespread enough to suggest that they represent core truth, or requirement, in religious/philosophical thought. As a result, it might be that at some very deep (likely unknowable) level, the innate meaning or purpose of the swirl is to prompt us to contemplate right and wrong, and to wonder at the source of this compulsion.
The “why” is a question for another set of thoughts, though. This is the “what” – “what underlies philosophy and religion?” And it seems clear that the “what” is the swirl of moments and emotions that conscious human beings experience at all moments in our lives, and the basic need to reconcile through and with them our positions with respect to others and the world around us.
Importance
I am lying in bed, but not asleep. I toss and turn, scheming to right the wrongs that have been visited on me in a commercial transaction.
"This thing that troubles you,” I hear myself say, “is less important than sleep.”
“But I have been wronged,” I respond, “I have been cheated. I am plotting to extract justice.”
“This redress that you are seeking. Is it more important than the air that you breathe? Is it more important than the food that you eat? Does it mean more to you than the love of your family, the respect of your peers and colleagues, the goodwill of your neighbors and community?”
“No.”
“Do you need it to breathe more freely, or to have enough food for your family? Will you feel worthy of love, of respect, and of goodwill only if you dedicate yourself to satisfying your claim?”
“No.”
“There are times when one says yes to these questions. There are times when you do need justice to breathe, to eat, to feel that you have earned the love and respect of your family and community – and when that is the case, you can truly say that you have a cause that you fight for. When you answer ‘no,’ though, you see that you are caught in a cycle that has only itself as its real reward – and that is not reason enough to lie awake at the expense of tomorrow’s clarity. It is not reason enough to dedicate yourself to an end that does not address what is of real importance in your life. Find god in the moment, find yourself at peace with your family, your community and your professional colleagues. Build your redress from within, and you will need no court order to enforce its payment.”
"This thing that troubles you,” I hear myself say, “is less important than sleep.”
“But I have been wronged,” I respond, “I have been cheated. I am plotting to extract justice.”
“This redress that you are seeking. Is it more important than the air that you breathe? Is it more important than the food that you eat? Does it mean more to you than the love of your family, the respect of your peers and colleagues, the goodwill of your neighbors and community?”
“No.”
“Do you need it to breathe more freely, or to have enough food for your family? Will you feel worthy of love, of respect, and of goodwill only if you dedicate yourself to satisfying your claim?”
“No.”
“There are times when one says yes to these questions. There are times when you do need justice to breathe, to eat, to feel that you have earned the love and respect of your family and community – and when that is the case, you can truly say that you have a cause that you fight for. When you answer ‘no,’ though, you see that you are caught in a cycle that has only itself as its real reward – and that is not reason enough to lie awake at the expense of tomorrow’s clarity. It is not reason enough to dedicate yourself to an end that does not address what is of real importance in your life. Find god in the moment, find yourself at peace with your family, your community and your professional colleagues. Build your redress from within, and you will need no court order to enforce its payment.”
Sex and forgiveness
I was reflecting recently on a friend who, as a young adult, lived more or less as he preferred: he drank, he listened to and played music, he had friends and was successful as a university student. He was especially successful in hooking up with women, who admired his good looks and self-confidence.
I don't know much about what makes a man good looking, but I did know my friend well enough to understand that the self confidence wasn't as unshakeable as it appeared. He reached out to women because he was looking to connect at a spiritual as well as physical level, but was so sensitive that he had trouble exposing the part of himself needed for this kind of relationship - and so he would move from one woman to the next, and feel a kind of emptiness through the leaving.
I think this happens to many people. It can be more complicated with girls, who can see sex not only as a way to make a more spiritual connection to another person, but also as a means of fitting in or gaining some social acceptance - but either way, there are people who are looking for real intimacy in a relationship, and who feel bruised in its aftermath.
Are you feeling uncomfortable about a recent sexual experience? Try the Forgiveness Prayer...and if it helps you feel better, please consider leaving us a donation.
I don't know much about what makes a man good looking, but I did know my friend well enough to understand that the self confidence wasn't as unshakeable as it appeared. He reached out to women because he was looking to connect at a spiritual as well as physical level, but was so sensitive that he had trouble exposing the part of himself needed for this kind of relationship - and so he would move from one woman to the next, and feel a kind of emptiness through the leaving.
I think this happens to many people. It can be more complicated with girls, who can see sex not only as a way to make a more spiritual connection to another person, but also as a means of fitting in or gaining some social acceptance - but either way, there are people who are looking for real intimacy in a relationship, and who feel bruised in its aftermath.
Are you feeling uncomfortable about a recent sexual experience? Try the Forgiveness Prayer...and if it helps you feel better, please consider leaving us a donation.
Creation and divinity
One of the seemingly-endless email lists that I'm on is the "Daily Cartoon" from Gaping Void (http://gapingvoid.com). Creator Hugh MacLeod has an insightful, refreshing perspective on society, and I more often make time for Gaping Void email than for most of what the lists serve up to my in box. Even with high expectations, I'm often pleasantly surprised - and this was the case today, as I was spending an early Saturday morning cleaning up some mail from Friday, and I came across this image from Gaping Void.
In the accompanying comments, MacLeod notes that "This cartoon works whether you’re religious or not, whether you think of “The Divinity” in terms of mere metaphor and/or literal fact. When you create, you are achieving the highest level of consciousness human beings are capable of. That's what I think, anyway. Never forget that, the next time you are sharpening your pencils, ready to get to work."
In a couple of ways, MacLeod's perspective reflects core truths about God in the Moment. The act of creation isn't the only point at which we can join God in the moment - we can experience God in any moment (see below - walking with family, stuck in traffic, dodging a rusting minivan). But when we create, we are especially, acutely aware of our connections to the people and things and implications and energy of everything that surrounds us - and it stands to reason, as MacLeod points out, that "divinity" would be an important aspect of what we sense in this state of heightened awareness.
It isn't that we create to find God - it's that God is in each moment around us, and that our receptiveness to God in that moment determines whether we are able to connect with that "divinity".
In the accompanying comments, MacLeod notes that "This cartoon works whether you’re religious or not, whether you think of “The Divinity” in terms of mere metaphor and/or literal fact. When you create, you are achieving the highest level of consciousness human beings are capable of. That's what I think, anyway. Never forget that, the next time you are sharpening your pencils, ready to get to work."
In a couple of ways, MacLeod's perspective reflects core truths about God in the Moment. The act of creation isn't the only point at which we can join God in the moment - we can experience God in any moment (see below - walking with family, stuck in traffic, dodging a rusting minivan). But when we create, we are especially, acutely aware of our connections to the people and things and implications and energy of everything that surrounds us - and it stands to reason, as MacLeod points out, that "divinity" would be an important aspect of what we sense in this state of heightened awareness.
It isn't that we create to find God - it's that God is in each moment around us, and that our receptiveness to God in that moment determines whether we are able to connect with that "divinity".
Choice and the illusion of choice
I was caught in traffic yesterday, stuck in a three-lane chute of cars crawling through the July heat.
Some of the cars moved from lane to lane, and others stuck close to the bumpers ahead of them. None really moved much faster or slower than the cars around them.
Looking at it (and changing lanes myself occasionally, to no real effect) I was struck by the fact that the highway didn't really offer any choice - it only offered the illusion of choice. We were free to move across the three lanes, but none of that motion had any impact on our overall speed or on our direction and destination.
I think there's a lesson in here. Often in life, we are faced with choices, and we assume that the choices themselves are important - that which lane we choose, which call we make, which event we attend determines the pace and direction of our lives. And there are certainly some cases where this is true of the choices we make. More often, though, what's really important is how we approach choices in our lives, or our lives in general. It is certainly true that those who took the time to listen to music or a book on CD, or who called someone important to them, or who simply reflected on what is important to them (and why it is important), took more away from the traffic jam than those who jockeyed across the lanes.
Many aspects of society, and especially, those where you are asked to buy something, are set up to emphasize the importance of making what are often illusory choices - decisions where there's no real end difference between the options. Our time is limited, our time with people who matter to us/doing things that matter to us, even more so. We need to be sure to spend that time making real choices, and not participating in the trivial decisions forced by the "chutes" we find ourselves in...
Some of the cars moved from lane to lane, and others stuck close to the bumpers ahead of them. None really moved much faster or slower than the cars around them.
Looking at it (and changing lanes myself occasionally, to no real effect) I was struck by the fact that the highway didn't really offer any choice - it only offered the illusion of choice. We were free to move across the three lanes, but none of that motion had any impact on our overall speed or on our direction and destination.
I think there's a lesson in here. Often in life, we are faced with choices, and we assume that the choices themselves are important - that which lane we choose, which call we make, which event we attend determines the pace and direction of our lives. And there are certainly some cases where this is true of the choices we make. More often, though, what's really important is how we approach choices in our lives, or our lives in general. It is certainly true that those who took the time to listen to music or a book on CD, or who called someone important to them, or who simply reflected on what is important to them (and why it is important), took more away from the traffic jam than those who jockeyed across the lanes.
Many aspects of society, and especially, those where you are asked to buy something, are set up to emphasize the importance of making what are often illusory choices - decisions where there's no real end difference between the options. Our time is limited, our time with people who matter to us/doing things that matter to us, even more so. We need to be sure to spend that time making real choices, and not participating in the trivial decisions forced by the "chutes" we find ourselves in...
The "stop" sign
It's spring - finally - or at least it feels like it; still chilly, but sunny, and the buds are clear on the trees.
I spent the morning with my wife and daughter. We did a little cleaning - laughed at a box of old pictures - and then walked a bit, buying some groceries for a Sunday breakfast and a hyacinth to bring some of the springtime indoors with us. At the corner stop sign, I was passed by a rushing minivan, piloted by a man crouched over the steering wheel, racing towards the traffic light ahead.
Generally, I get angry at people who do that, but this time, I just felt sad for him. "Look at him," I thought, "believing that he'll miss something if he doesn't push forward through the signs and sun and morning. When in fact, he is missing something - that sun, the buds, even the breeze that chills your ears."
There are times when we are pressed to get from one place to the next in as little time as possible, but that can't be the "default mode" for our lives. The penalties are much worse than an occasional moving violation and the insurance bills that follow; they're the times you can't capture (even if you find a box of photos), the feel of a hand in yours, sharing the smell of the coffee or the music on the radio.
It reminded me of a long ago dream, in which a man - pointing to another speeding car - said "look at him, man, speeding and with no place to go." It might not literally be true that the people behind the wheel (in the dream, in the minivan) had "no place" to go...but that wasn't the point of the dream; it was that this is someplace, and we aren't human if we can't capture the God that is in these moments.
I spent the morning with my wife and daughter. We did a little cleaning - laughed at a box of old pictures - and then walked a bit, buying some groceries for a Sunday breakfast and a hyacinth to bring some of the springtime indoors with us. At the corner stop sign, I was passed by a rushing minivan, piloted by a man crouched over the steering wheel, racing towards the traffic light ahead.
Generally, I get angry at people who do that, but this time, I just felt sad for him. "Look at him," I thought, "believing that he'll miss something if he doesn't push forward through the signs and sun and morning. When in fact, he is missing something - that sun, the buds, even the breeze that chills your ears."
There are times when we are pressed to get from one place to the next in as little time as possible, but that can't be the "default mode" for our lives. The penalties are much worse than an occasional moving violation and the insurance bills that follow; they're the times you can't capture (even if you find a box of photos), the feel of a hand in yours, sharing the smell of the coffee or the music on the radio.
It reminded me of a long ago dream, in which a man - pointing to another speeding car - said "look at him, man, speeding and with no place to go." It might not literally be true that the people behind the wheel (in the dream, in the minivan) had "no place" to go...but that wasn't the point of the dream; it was that this is someplace, and we aren't human if we can't capture the God that is in these moments.
The love of our children is our proof of humanity
What makes us human? Philosophers have argued that it is our ability to understand our position in time, or to be capable of thought beyond our physical contexts - but these strike me as poor descriptions of humanity. As appealing as a common, logical definition that can be used to separate humans from other life forms (the key goal of many of these definitions) might be, I think it's better to simply accept that humans are different, and look for what distinguishes us within our species or societies.
One way in which I see (and feel) humanity clearly displayed is in love for our children. Our connection with our children extends beyond logic; the way that we feel when we help them to walk, to learn, when we reflect in their delight at new experiences, imbues us with a spirit that can't be captured in any other way. It is a special kind of love affair, one in which we delight in the years we have together, knowing that the future will be rewarded more by the way in which our children build their own lives and loves than by ongoing dependence, but that we will continue to share bonds that are woven deeply into the souls and spirits of both parent and child.
Does this mean that people without children are without humanity? Of course not; they are still part of a parent/child relationship, and build connections with other people and society at large in other ways. I think this is a harder path to humanity, though, since love of a child is innate. Love of a parent is innate too, but often, only emerges once we are able to move past/see beyond our dependence. Love of others - specific others, or parts of a broader society - also enables humanity, but it is more difficult - more "work" - than the instinctual love we have for children.
Finally, the opposite is likely true as well: you could argue (and I would) that those who fail to love their own children are not humane humans, and that those who fail to love their parents beyond their dependence are more transactional than spiritual in their approach to love and family.
One way in which I see (and feel) humanity clearly displayed is in love for our children. Our connection with our children extends beyond logic; the way that we feel when we help them to walk, to learn, when we reflect in their delight at new experiences, imbues us with a spirit that can't be captured in any other way. It is a special kind of love affair, one in which we delight in the years we have together, knowing that the future will be rewarded more by the way in which our children build their own lives and loves than by ongoing dependence, but that we will continue to share bonds that are woven deeply into the souls and spirits of both parent and child.
Does this mean that people without children are without humanity? Of course not; they are still part of a parent/child relationship, and build connections with other people and society at large in other ways. I think this is a harder path to humanity, though, since love of a child is innate. Love of a parent is innate too, but often, only emerges once we are able to move past/see beyond our dependence. Love of others - specific others, or parts of a broader society - also enables humanity, but it is more difficult - more "work" - than the instinctual love we have for children.
Finally, the opposite is likely true as well: you could argue (and I would) that those who fail to love their own children are not humane humans, and that those who fail to love their parents beyond their dependence are more transactional than spiritual in their approach to love and family.
The stress of being cashless and jobless
I remember vividly walking through the city streets six months after losing my job. I was wearing a suit, as I had when I was employed - but it felt different. I felt like an imposter. The people in suits and dresses around me had an immediacy I had lost; their cell phones connected them to a stream of engagements that led to lunches and trips and paydays, while I was hoping to find someone who would give me a contract that would redress the overdraft in my account, and enable me to provide for my family.
Months before, I had never wondered whether anyone in a tie wrestled with these kinds of thoughts - I assumed that like me, they were running to an appointment, to a client, to the gym before the next meeting. And now I can't pass anyone downtown without considering the person behind the business attire, and without looking for something in their manner or look or smile that hints at the reality that they feel inside themselves, and inside the moment.
None of this has filled my bank account - but it's made me a better person, and that in turn allows me to provide for my family in a different way than I was able to in my "past life"...
Months before, I had never wondered whether anyone in a tie wrestled with these kinds of thoughts - I assumed that like me, they were running to an appointment, to a client, to the gym before the next meeting. And now I can't pass anyone downtown without considering the person behind the business attire, and without looking for something in their manner or look or smile that hints at the reality that they feel inside themselves, and inside the moment.
None of this has filled my bank account - but it's made me a better person, and that in turn allows me to provide for my family in a different way than I was able to in my "past life"...
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