The news last night reported that with the earthquake in Chile the earth’s tilt shifted. Talk about change! Brian Williams says that earth science has a long way to go understanding this, but with that tilt a fraction of a second of the day was lost. Time changed. Earth changed. I wonder if we can phanthom what all this change means, how it will manifest. If a butterfly’s wing on the other side of the world can cause a tidal wave over here, what will a change in earth’s tilt do? At least I feel a little less crazy. Yesterday the contemplations I was writing about regarding change and stillness were big in me. We must all feel the tilt in some way. My sense is that this is big.
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The Earth’s Tilt
March 2, 2010Staying Still vs Change
March 1, 2010I am so often helped by Carl Jung’s articulation that creative life is found in the tension between opposites. If you don’t move to one opposite or the other, but hold the tension between them both, a third aspect that wasn’t there before can arise. He called this the Transcendent Function.
The opposites that are calling to me right now are stillness vs. movement, staying exactly with what is vs. big motions toward change. On the side of the notion to stay very still – I named my home and property Here. This came from an experience on the first 10-day vision quest I undertook. I named the huge oak tree that I stayed under Here, based on a poem that kept running through my mind of David Wagoner’s called “Lost.”
Stand still. The trees ahead and the bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again saying Here.
Not two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
So, Here I am. Standing still. Letting it find me. This has been my quest since moving here. To be found by it. While I was on that vision quest a dear friend had a vision of me in which she saw my face still and happy with oak tree arms wrapped around me. She is a painter, so she painted it for me to give to me the day I came off the quest. Under the image she painted these words: “Here you are at last.” She had no idea that I was thinking of that poem or named the tree Here. This lovely painting hangs prominently in my home. Here I am at last. Similarly my friend Tracey wrote a comment on my blog from yesterday that said in part, “You know what [the pictures of snow] made me think? All that we are looking for and waiting on is there, hidden now perhaps by snow or whatever veil is present, but I do believe they’re there.” It’s all around us and with us. Which reaffirms to me, stand still.
Opposite to this is a message, another voice is saying to me, “Honey, your life here is getting stagnant, way too still. That’s what we want you to see. We’re going to have to change it all up, whatever that means; we’ve become inert and it’s time to recognize the fact.” Then as if to double underline this point, my reading from Rilke today, March 1, is called “Change.”
Want the change. Be inspired by the flame
where everything shines as it disappears. …
What locks itself in sameness has congealed. …
Pour yourself out like a fountain.
Flow into the knowledge that what you are seeking
finishes often at the start, and, with ending, begins.
Every happiness is the child of a separation
it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming a laurel
dares you to become the wind.
Daring me to become the wind sounds opposite to standing still. But maybe it isn’t. Is the needed attitude to stand still Here, like a tree? Or is it to set myself into wild motion like the wind? Can both be done at the same time? Yes. And no. I’m holding these thoughts together, waiting for the third aspect that is neither one nor the other to arrive. Something new. Something transcending both. Here I stand. Full of breath and the wind.
My Little Plans
March 1, 2010
I have never bothered to post pictures before, but today, wanting to honor Snow, my captor, I decided to put up these shots I took just a few minutes ago. The one on the left is outside my back door, the one on the right is my sweat lodge on a little knoll below my house.
I wrote an e-mail to a friend to tell her I wouldn’t be able to make it to the art gallery soiree we were planning to go to in Asheville today called Women and Wine, a fundrasier for the gallery; nor did my musician friends who were planning to gather on the mountain last night for fun and music together make the drive – because this, what you see above, moved in. I told my friend, “I am trying to stay in love with Mother Nature, but she doesn’t seem to give a hoot about my plans!” That brought to mind a memory of my spiritual teacher belly laughing as she was talking to us once, saying, “God doesn’t care anything about your little plans!” She could get so tickled, which was so much fun to watch, and the truth of this statement hit me like a little lightning bolt.
I’m not very comfortable using the word “God” anymore as I realize it is too overused, and that very few people have the same thing in mind when they say it, causing its use to distort communication more than assist it. At the time of hearing her say that, though, I knew what she meant of course. Now I generally use less charged words for the same idea, like “nature” or “universe.”
Which leads to my point. Nature doesn’t care anything about my little plans! It seems to me to be one of life’s biggest and hardest lessons. The economy breaking down is destroying a lot of plans. The tsunamis and earthquakes, mud slides and fires – not caring about our plans. How do we situate ourselves appropriately in the context of this much bigger mind of reality? I remember noticing long ago that in Taoist art they paint magnificent, enormous landscapes, with tiny little figures of people somewhere in them on a boat or a trail that you will notice if you look a long time. The Taoist relationship to that huge reality is expressed by the proportions expressed in their art. In Western art often humans are huge towering figures, way larger than life, with their myths and dramas the main expressions in the paintings. Landscapes are by comparison small, distant, lovely backdrops for human affairs.
In Taoist art, you can see right away that nature really doesn’t care anything for our little plans. In Western art, our plans and dramas seem to be the point, nature is decoration. Surely between these two perspectives there is a balance to be struck. I do believe it is one of life’s biggest and hardest lessons. Every night when I turn on the news I hear Nature making her point with all of these challenging natural disasters, most lately in Chile with the tectonic plates under South America moving into new positions. I believe we are not just meant to be victims of what nature decides, nor do I believe in the illusion that we have any control at all. We have a task that we are trying to discover rules and intelligence for in working out this big relationship; how to allow our “little plans” to fit into her “big plans.” It’s an Olympian task. I say this on the closing days of the 2010 Winter Olympics feeling it as such for us.
Shaken
February 27, 2010Yesterday I wrote about being shaken. Today, fortunately someone mentioned that I didn’t write a blog for yesterday, which I had, about being shaken. Apparently I was so shaken that I didn’t even realize I wrote it and never posted it! I might never have caught that if it hadn’t been mentioned.
Today I realize that the shake is a permanent one, one that shifts everything; like getting hit by a train or a hurricane shifts everything. It is good, but unsettling. A friend said to me yesterday, “Not many people could do what you have done,” meaning move across the country to an unknown world all by myself and create a life from scratch. I think she’s right, it is an odd combination of things in me that allowed me to do this. It does seem bold, but in another way I was just following – following instincts, dreams, door openings, synchronicities – sort of like breadcrumbs in the forest. But now, after the shake, I think I have to create a whole new posture. Psyche has been my guide, but suddenly it’s as if she wants me to guide her, pick up the reins, choose a direction, make some decisions, make something happen differently. I’m not at all sure what this will look like, but it feels big and real.
“To everything there is a season.” As this winter moves through, I feel my inner world moving toward a new season as well; pregnant with possibility, readying myself for something. I think the whole world is similarly shifting now, literally and figuratively. We are all pregnant with new possibility, readying ourselves to live into changing realities. The old is crumbling. We are forced to take the reins and find a new way forward. And we will. I am just one in the many facing this. We are such a creative species, it will be fascinating to see what we do.
Belonging
February 27, 2010Last night I read something that has shaken me all the way down to my deepest root. It is two lines out of a poem by David Whyte:
Give up all other worlds
except the one to which you belong.
Is that what we all search for, “the world to which we belong?” But what does that mean? Do I belong here in North Carolina? Do I belong to family and friends? I think I am taking the question too literally, but since I read it I feel my bones shaking because I don’t know the answer to the question, “to what world do I belong?” There are simple answers – earth, family, self, vocation – but none of those feel true enough. I don’t think I can say another word about this at the moment. I am really shaken by it. It feels like a very big question, maybe too big for me.
Life is in the right
February 25, 2010My daily readings from A Year with Rilke continue to speak to me as if composed for my special circumstances. The synchronicities can be eerie. Two days ago I was able to leave the mountain for the first time in 10 days. We had a little break in the weather that allowed me to go into town, gather some supplies and lead a dream group. After so many days of complete isolation, just looking into the eyes as I talked to a lady at the cash register allowed me to begin to feel normal again. The next day the roads iced over and 12 more inches of snow have fallen.It starts all over again.
I want to say that it is a very rare privilege to live on this mountain top and be able to experience these extremes of weather. I love it. I chose it. And I am grateful. On the other hand this hardest of winters in my life’s experience is testing my mettle in serious ways. Week after week of social isolation and worrying about not being able to get into town to do my work so that bills can be met put me on a psychological edge. So what does Rilke have to say to assist me today?
“What should I say about your tendency to doubt your struggle or to harmonize your inner and outer life? My wish is ever strong that you find enough patience within you and enough simplicity to have faith. May you gain more and more trust in what is challenging, and confidence in the solitude you bear. Let life happen to you. Believe me: life is in the right in any case.” (from Letters to a Young Poet)
Across time so much beauty and intelligence links us all. What can I say about my tendency to doubt? I wish you could see the snowy mountains outside my window right now. Life is surely in the right.
Seeing Through
February 24, 2010Yesterday I had a momentary flash or vision in which I saw a crack in the matrix or whatever the proper word would be for this veil of our consensual reality. I saw right through it for one split second, like a crack in everything. It was as though all of this that we see and think is matter and is real is just a projection on a movie screen. If there is a crack in a movie screen, there’s a crack in the picture. I saw that crack yesterday. And I saw that like a sight, not a concept in the mind. I wasn’t thinking about anything at all, I was just walking across my living room.
At the same time I saw that the matrix is me, and the crack is in me. The revelation seemed to be that these many frustrations I have about myself – wishing to be able to change bad habits, or to be smart about money, to be clearer about what I am doing, the seemingly endless list – are all just illusions. For that split second I saw through it. I could see that I can do anything I want and change anything I want to about myself. What I saw was real, as real as anything I have ever seen. It was a glimpse briefer than a split second. And I don’t feel a bit changed today except for having seen that.
Today I thought of Buddha sitting under the Bodhi tree, just sitting there, refusing to move until he saw through the illusion. He stayed there for a long period of time until he finally saw through.His life’s message was to impart that the nature of reality is illusion, and that every single one of us have the capacity to see through it; that Buddha is not different from us, he is the same as us. (Just as an aside here, I am often sad that many Christians think that Jesus’ message was that He is different from us, that it is anathema to think we have the same nature as him. Priests made that up because they actually thought they were better than everybody. It is a tragic misinterpretation in my view.)
My thought today is that we are all Buddhas, that the Bodhi tree is everywhere and we are always sitting under it if we want to. And that just like Siddhartha Gautama we can see through. I personally do not believe that we have to be perfect, or fasting, or yoga masters, or ascetics, or without sin, or poor, or even disciplined, we can see through the illusion. And it’s all illusion. Lovely, wonderful, fascinating, brilliant, gorgeous, horrible, outrageous, exciting, frustrating illusion.
When Jesus was baptized and when he died, they say the sky split. He split the sky. We can split the sky. Einstein split the sky. These great teachers are telling us the truth about what we are and what is so. I’m going to really thing about that crack I saw yesterday. Am I supposed to be able to sustain it, or act on it? I’m not sure. I’ll keep sitting under the tree.
Negative Capability
February 24, 2010Today, February 23, is the anniversary of the death of poet John Keats. I noticed the date of his death recently and realized it was the same date that my 40-day committment/experiment of blog writing was ending; the day I would be deciding whether and why to continue investing time and energy this way. I flattered myself by deciding that the coincidence of this date might mean something since Keats means so much to me. How can a writer who died at the age of 24 have had so much effect on the thinking of so many people for almost 200 years now? I just bought a huge biography about Keats and I’m going to investigate.
In honor of him today I want to mention the comfort that one little phrase he wrote in a letter to his brother has given to me. He refers to: “Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.” I read this soon after resigning from the ministry. After 20 years of having a system of spiritual practice and faith, a wonderful map of how to think and be, I was suddenly and unexpectedly drowning in uncertainties and doubts. I doubted everything, was certain of nothing. It was terrifying. When I came across these words of Keats’ they affected me deeply. It was my first sign that there might be value and sense in the experience I was having. Aha, now I see, I am developing a “capability!” It is a capability that poets seek. I was losing most of everything familiar, but now I understood that I was gaining something also. That one little phrase possibly saved me from an utter sense of despair, helping me to embrace and trust my life at that crucial time.
And so, in honor of Keats and what he taught me about the power of words to convey life-saving notions far beyond what is actually speakable, and in thanks to the spirits visible and invisible that helped me make up my mind, I believe I will continue this blog writing venture. I don’t need to know facts or reasons why just yet, I can stay in the mystery. It’s Negative Capability.
Countdown
February 23, 2010I started writing this blog on January 15, a New Moon, eclipse day, as an exercise to get my writing juices flowing and to connect with the world outside of my hermit’s cave. I committed to writing every day for 40 days. Tomorrow is the 40th day. This causes all sorts of reflections and issues to arise for me in considering what the nature of my committment will be going forward. I have been trying to create a discipline for finishing my book for all of the years I have been living here in the mountains. Why have I made no progress with that, yet this seems to be working? The blog feels more immediate, less daunting I suppose. But now that the 40 days are nearly over, I wonder: would it be better if I switch the committment to the book writing, and would I actually succeed at making the transfer? Or would it be better if I continue this committment since apparently I am having my first success at following through on anything related to writing in all these years, and hope that will energize me to spend more time finishing my book? This is my present dilemma.
I wish that I understood what a healthy relationship to discipline would be for me. Some people are so good at it. I seem to want to wait for the thing to “spring clear without my contriving” as Rilke says. “May what I do flow from me like a river, no forcing and no holding back, the way it is with children.” I don’t want to have to muscle myself into the writing. Part of the difficulty is that I lived a very disciplined life until about 10 years ago, but when things fell apart an inner rebel sprang forth from her cage and is very sensitive to ever feeling “oppressed” again. She creates all manner of havoc with nearly every effort I make to create a discipline. She’s a child of Dionysus, stubborn and unruly. As soon as I try to force her in any way, she reenstates her power. Other parts of me haven’t learned to stand up to her yet. These 40 days have been an attempt to manage the relationship and forge an alliance. I’ll be interested to see how we work it out going forward. Prayers will be welcome.
Haints
February 22, 2010Have you ever heard of a “haint”? I had never heard the word in my life and nobody at the party I was at last night could believe it. I need an Appalachian dictionary badly I guess. Haints are ghosts. A hill talk twist on “haunt”. I think I have haints around here, and I might have stirred them up myself. I read a book about Cecil Brown who founded the Salvation Army Mountain Mission on the very property I live on. The book said where they buried her and I realized she is in the cemetary next to my property. So I went over and brushed the snow off of every headstone until I found hers. I’m not sure why; I was intrigued and wanted to honor her spirit I suppose. But after I did that I started having dreams of ghosts, I mean haints.
Everyone talks about them, practically everyone knows they are there, every culture and hill and holler in every part of the world surely has their own stories and legends and names for them. In my recent dreams of them I used Jesus’ name to protect myself, but I don’t in general feel afraid. Haints. Surely they are as much a part of the fabric of reality as we are, yet are generally so little known or understood. If nothing else, they continue somehow to remind us that we aren’t as smart as we think we are, that empiricism is limited and that other dimensions beyond our consensual reality continue to exist whether we see them or not.
I thought I would talk about them rather than ignore them. We’ll see what happens next.
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