It began, for me, with the reading Irina chose for our morning contemplative prayer group. Well, that is, the contemplative prayer group that happens for me in the morning, but as it is a Zoom group, it happens at many different times for the participants. Which is kind of wondrous in its own right, isn’t it? Our centering prayer group happens at the same time, and simultaneously at many different times, for the participants.

So what was this reading that so impacted me? Well, Irina told us it was from a book by Thomas Keating, and she told us the name of the book, and she promised to email the quote and reference to us – which is good because all other specifics are lost to me.

But this i do remember – the reading made me think that maybe if we did not capitalize the word “I”, maybe if it were always lower case, like me and you and us, like mine and yours and ours – maybe then we would find it easier to sometimes give up our preferences, our angers, our grievances and accept i as having no more – or less – importance than you. (And so i now have even more appreciation for the poetry of e.e. cummings.)

At that point i realized that i had just felt my own way around to the second great commandment, which is, we are told, like unto the first, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Mark 12:31).

And it seems to me that once i give up that isolated, over-powering “I”, then it is so much easier to know myself to be so much more than an isolated “I.” Lower case i is marvelously part, with you, of an uppercase Unity.

Namaste

It seems to me that the opposite of automatically rejecting the testimony of some people (e.g., women about sexual assault, people of color about racist acts and words) is NOT automatically accepting their testimony.

Rather it is to reject any automatic reaction and realize that, in many cases, we cannot know the truth without further investigation, and in some cases, we cannot ever know it.

So what are we left with? Can we support hurting individuals while reserving judgment on the veracity of their claims?

Whether it is the physician’s credo “First do no harm” or the golden rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” or the Christ’s second great commandment, “Love your neighbor as you love yourself” it seems we are advised to be gentle and considerate in our response.

But what when that is not enough for “our neighbor”? It seems I am faced with several situations where reserving judgment is not enough for the other person. Anything less than a full acceptance of their allegations is characterized as a betrayal.

It seems to me that I then must accept their feeling that I have betrayed them and let them reject me, rather than betraying myself.

But I’m simply not sure. It is a twisty maze, with no obvious way out.

Keith Kristich of Closer Than Breath asked us to share ideas about what makes a mystic. Here’s my answer:

Mystic is a category, just like male/female or well/ill, day/night.

But reality doesn’t exist in static categories but in fluid kaleidoscope movement.

Just as I am always all sinner and all saint (Martin Luther),

so I am always mystic and never mystic.

The mystic waits always, but waits for nothing.

The mystic sees everything but looks at nothing.

I wait, as watchers wait for dawn.

I walk, as sleepers walk through the night.

I sit, I quiet, I read, I listen, I write, I pray.

But none of that makes me a mystic.

I wash the dishes, I watch three bumblebees on the heart of a sunflower, I reheat last night’s leftovers, I send a friend a text, I answer your email.

That’s the closest I can come to mystic.

This morning, as usual on Sunday, I read the prescribed readings for the Catholic liturgy. And I reflected on these lines from Matthew 10:37-39

Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me,
and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me;
and whoever does not take up his cross
and follow after me is not worthy of me.
Whoever finds his life will lose it,
and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

And I wonder if these lines might be rewritten for our times and culture as

“When your ego is invested in your past more than in your now, you are not at rest in divinity;
and when your ego is invested in your future more than in your now, you are not at rest in divinity;
and whoever does not accept spiritual darkness,
as Jesus did, is not at rest in divinity,

Whoever treasures their ego will lose their true selves,
and whoever loses their ego in divine oneness will find their true selves.”

Woody and I just watched the second episode of Shiny Happy People. I am a 75 year old “cradle Catholic.” While growing up in pre-Vatican II southern Catholicism was far from Gothard’s IBLP, it was not that far.

So I was very aware, while watching, that even 5 years ago, I could not have watched that episode without struggling with panic, hatred, sadness, guilt, and remorse, all bundled together in one huge overwhelming confusing package called faith.

Tonight I am thankful for one thing. I am thankful that I now understand that there are realities that I can neither think nor feel my way through. Both paths led to a frightening jungle that kept me largely trapped inside my own thoughts and feelings for too much of my life. I did not know how to pay attention to the external world when it took all I had to control the noise and chaos of my internal world.

I still loved the presentation and liturgies of the Divine that I grew up with, much as I love comfort foods from my childhood (like hot dogs and canned baked beans – neither of which is the kind of food that I typically enjoy). But then my mind reminded me of some of the doctrines and teachings that were at best ludicrous and at worst grooming. And so I was left feeling that the Divine was unreachable, dangerous even. But I wanted to be close to a God I could no longer believe in, and so I pretty much lived within a spiritual/psychological preoccupying inadequacy.

I have practiced yoga for 55 years now. So savasana, yoga nedra, and pranayama were my first introduction to meditation. They helped immensely, but I still longed for my spiritual comfort food.

And that is what the practice of contemplative prayer gives me: both the peace of meditation and the comfort of being within a familiar pattern of the Divine. This is why contemplative prayer is such an unimaginable blessing to me.

Meditation is hard work for me. So is contemplative prayer. But it is hard for natural reasons. It is hard like growing up, like “adulting” is hard. It is not hard because it is tearing me apart from the inside out.

I am slowly learning that thoughts won’t get me to the Divine and emotions won’t get me to the Divine, but the Divine can get me to coherent thoughts and controllable emotions.