In August 2010, just past the waxing quarter moon, I attended a retreat on Celtic spirituality and peacemaking in Northern Ireland. The hosts of the retreat asked us to respect the safe and sacred space created by the community, and refrain from attributing direct quotes to any of the attendants or speakers. With that in mind, the following are excerpts from the journal I kept.
Day Seven — Day of Silence
Is this a dream of mine, or something somebody told me? There is a house full of people, all of them moving and silent, and you cannot know where they are because you cannot hear them moving. It is dark. And so every once in a while, in the dark, suddenly you come upon another person — and you are both surprised, and horrified, to discover one another in the quiet, busy emptiness of the world.
Today, the house reminds me of this dream — except the rooms are full of sunlight, and against every windowpane a bee churns away its noisy presence into dust and nothing.
Perhaps I'm overly sensitive. I do still remember — in my awkward teenage years (ha.) — being invited to a birthday party and, when I arrived, ended up spending the entire evening hanging out with the girl's older sister, talking about who-knows-what downstairs in the basement. It was only afterwards that I discovered I'd only been invited as a courtesy, without any expectation that I would actually show up, and had been engaged by the older sister as an emergency measure, a way to keep me busy and out of the way while the other girls enjoyed themselves (doing hair and make-up or giggling or whatever teenage girls are supposed to do). And yet, I remember very much enjoying the conversation with the older sister, and feeling somewhat proud and gratified that I could hold my own in intelligent conversation with someone so much older than me. Only later to feel embarrassed and ashamed.
There are times on this retreat I have felt this way — so caught up in some conversation or personal musings that I have come to my senses later only to realize there was an expectation (for instance, being competent in the kitchen work) that I had utterly failed to live up to, or that the group as a functioning social entity had moved on to other things while I was still very much in my own head and my own world.
Or perhaps I am just grumpy, irritable, angst-ridden because all I've had to eat today was a small green apple, and there were strangers in our kitchen who were loud, and I couldn't hope to compete, in my silence, for any kind of help or attention. And so again, I feel silly for taking so seriously things — the silence, the fasting — that for all I know the others have already abandoned out of perfectly reasonable pragmatism.
What is the connection between silent contemplation and peace? Is there one? I have been hoping for a bit more detailed explanation, but so far the lesson of this week seems to be that: silent contemplation leads to connecting with God (or merely feeling good?), which leads to being a good person, which naturally involves being peaceful. Several times various speakers have mentioned that they believe without God or religion, there could be no peace — but none of them have gone into the details of exactly why this is. Is it merely the same kind of tendency as thanking Jesus for your basketball win? I think it must be deeper than that.
At the same time, maybe in some ways it really is that simple. Physician, heal thyself! We cannot begin to help others without first, or at least also, helping ourselves — and attending to our needs and our happiness on a spiritual level. Of course, I want to understand the mechanisms whereby connection with God sustains and inspires our peace work — but maybe just because I don't believe in (that) God and yet want so very much to be a good person.
I have been thinking about Brigid as goddess of poetry, healing and smithcraft: inspiration, integration and transformation.
O Brigid, inspire me with peace.
O Brigid, heal me through peace.
O Brigid, transform me for peace.
Awen.
Inspiration — that first thought that the world might be different than it is. The first vision and breath of a new life. Perhaps not even a new world, but a new way for us as individuals and communities to be in this world. That vision of the world as a whole, as a whole which is necessarily beautiful and sublime because we can see its balance and patterns, the way the whole is delicately and gently reflected in all its details. Inspiration as that vision, the breathing-in of the Divine, the gasp of recognition and awe. To begin to work for peace, we must have this kind of vision, this kind of awe and understanding of what is possible in the world. In order to understand what is possible, we need that connection to Spirit which can see all things and appreciate the patterns as they are, can move through those patterns with grace instead of with disruption or conflict.
Integration — and with that vision, we must first work to become whole in ourselves. If we're not whole, then we may be missing bits and parts of ourselves that are off doing damage elsewhere beyond our knowledge. To be effective peacemakers, we must be whole in ourselves and learn to more and shape the patterns of our own lives. This, really, is true of any work, I think — to be effective we must be whole, and bring to bear our whole being on our passions. (Case in point? A person's voice like a flailing limb, cast about without an awareness of the frustration it might be causing. Or another person's frustration can cause them to glare rather than smile at someone passing in the hall (damn it!).) Working to be whole — to know this god in all its parts. When we know ourselves intimately, when we can feel every part of us in relationship with those around us — we can better do our work.
Transformation — yet becoming whole, we must also change. Sometimes working towards wholeness is the necessary first step that makes change possible. Again, if we don't know ourselves as a whole — shadow and all — then we will not be able to see and understand what changes are happening in us. Without wholeness, transformation can be painful or, even worse, fragmented. We must bring all of ourselves along, and yet allow the work of Spirit, to Song of the World, to raise us to a new place. We cannot make peace without the cooperation of Spirit, without being in community with Spirit. We need to participate in Spirit, for participation in Spirit is participation in the World and the Song of the World. The World Song moves in us, changes us, it becomes a modulation and tuning. When we participate in Spirit, transformation of our self is transformation of the world, and transformation of the world is a transformation of the self.
I was struck again during my walk about how intimate spirit and matter are, how they are not separate. Your soul-song is your body — your body sings the song of your soul. And it is completely involved with and tied up in the landscape and the physicalness of your life and your body. Though I am mostly still myself, I am different in Ireland than I am in Pittsburgh, because the land is different and shapes me differently.
Re: silence, contemplation and God: Remember that great teaching from the Desert Father to the novice monastic,"Go to your cell, and your cell will teach you everything"? At first I took this to mean that silence would eventually teach peace and enlightenment. But before that it also would teach dissatisfaction, frustration, hopelessness and a spiritual apathy the church called acedia, also called "the noonday devil." For the dilligent practioner, the challenges would lead to a willing surrender of self into a higher awareness, satori, enlightenment. And of course, the mundane, which also has spirit in it. Reminds me of that Buddhist saying: "What do we do before enlightenment? Chop wood, carry water. What do we do after enlightenment? Chop wood, carry water."
ReplyDeleteMy point is that our various "cells" afford us the sacred space and time to surrender to the ineffable of the 1,000 names -- and to achieve discipline, discernment and rigors neccesary for the jouney.
Kevin,
ReplyDeleteYes, I am inclined to agree with you about the role of contemplation and silence (and I particularly love that Buddhist quote).
For me, though, the question remains whether the challenges of silence always or inevitably lead to that "higher awareness" - and if they are connected, how are they connected, and why? A part of me remains deeply ambivalent about the process, for I have also seen a great deal of very violent and harmful behavior justified precisely by this sense of enlightenment and connection to Spirit.
Surrender to the ineffable leaves us in a place of vulnerability. From the Christian perspective, the God of love is also the God of jealousy and wrath, and this is a paradox that I do not think can be too easily reduced or dismissed. From the Druidic perspective, the World Song has room in it alike for tragedy, grief, loss and injustice, as much as for joy, longing, connection and love. Surrender to this All, however we conceive of it, is not automatically a "safe bet" that guarantees we will find peace or act peacefully. At least, not according to our simple understanding of what "peace" means.
Which is not to say I think that it is not valuable or that we shouldn't do it. Silence, contemplation (especially the shared silence of communal contemplation) seem to me to be absolutely essential. I'm just uncomfortable with too easy a conception of such contemplative silence that takes for granted a certain inevitability in the process. You point out perceptively that contemplative work can lead to inner turmoil such as frustration, dissatisfaction, hopelessness.... I would suggest that not all of these difficult experiences are entirely internal or interior to the contemplative. It seems to me that working communally towards an authentic connection with Spirit is bound to cause external or social strife and difficulty as well. The idea that, though we may be experiencing turmoil within, our external lives will fall ever more smoothly into line with the patterns of peace is to invent a false dichotomy between "inner" and "outer" experiences.
And if this is the case - if authentic spiritual work can cause conflict and strife on our journey together towards peace - then I think we need to have a more careful, thorough and subtle conversation about the nature of conflict and violence, how to relate to and understand it within this context.
But I'm feeling especially muddle-headed today, so maybe none of what I just wrote makes any sense at all. I'm dealing with a new bout of "homesickness" for the retreat, and feeling emotionally and intellectually "full" of ideas that I can't seem to organize and gain perspective on. Another reason silence, space and solitude are so vital. ;)
Can I just add - it's really gratifying for me that you, and a few others, have been consistently reading and responding to these posts. :) Part of me is getting kind of sick of them and wants to move on, but then another part of me is still deeply involved in trying to work out the many ideas and experiences of that week. So it's very nice to know that others continue to find these posts interesting - at least I'm not boring people and sounding like a broken record! :)
ReplyDeleteWhen we participate in Spirit, transformation of our self is transformation of the world, and transformation of the world is a transformation of the self.
ReplyDeleteYes! So much.
I also, once again, find myself completely understanding your tale about social awkwardness. The same thing happened to me, but in elementary school; I was invited to a slumber party and spent the entire time talking with the mom in the kitchen. Though most of my childhood and adolescent years were spent with adults and not kids my own age.
I'm curious, and maybe you can point me to a post or article you've already written that I haven't happened upon yet, but I'm wondering what you mean when you use the term 'Spirit' in light of the fact that you don't believe in God? (Forgive my institutionalized mind.)
Re: the posts - I am enjoying them very much. You are giving me an idea of what the retreat week was like, a little window in.
ReplyDeleteI'm curious, and maybe you can point me to a post or article you've already written that I haven't happened upon yet, but I'm wondering what you mean when you use the term 'Spirit' in light of the fact that you don't believe in God? (Forgive my institutionalized mind.)
ReplyDeleteO lord! No forgiveness necessary, Brazenbird. The truth is, I'm not even sure I know what I mean. I tend to use the word "Spirit" interchangeably with words like World, Universe, Source, Center and Ground of Being. The gods know what those are all supposed to mean!
If you're looking for a post from the past, perhaps this one is the best I can offer: "Song of the World: Some Things We Know."
Hope that helps. :)
Ali, I'm really enjoying these posts. Most of the thoughts I have are (as usual) too muddy to articulate here very much. Lately, I have been working through thoughts on silence and what you described as inspiration, integration and transformation (which are startlingly more accurate and appropriate terms for what I've been trying to erect as a framework for my relationship with Brighid than my own terms : P).
ReplyDeleteWhile these thoughts aren't centered on "peace", as such, they still come into surprisingly resonant alignment with a lot of what you're describing here.
Erm. Anyway. I hope that made some sense. In sum, please keep posting, and I'll keep reading gladly. : )
oh yes please continue these posts, I will be reading for as long as you are inclined to write them!
ReplyDeleteMy journey into spiriuality has just begun, and so I don't often comment. I feel as thought I don't yet know the right questions to ask. But I do love the way your posts make me think and make me more aware.
Also, definitely know how you feel about the social awkwardness in school. I too was invited as a courtesy. In my experience, I knew it, but was made to go anyways. I hated to sit there and be painfully aware of the other girls quiet whispering giggles (or not so quiet,) mocking me. Though an unfortunate set of experiences, they sure helped shape my ideeas of the kind of person I didn't want to be!
I may be misunderstanding but I wonder (and struggle with) is accepting my imperfection, shadow side, not whole yet part of the peace process that begins within? Would you agree? S.
ReplyDeleteAli, your Rostrevor posts just keep getting better and better.
ReplyDeleteAs a practicing Christian, I’m not sure that I believe in “(that) God” either. Christianity offers many ways to approach the Divine Mystery, and some are decidedly more pacific or justice-oriented than others. I think it’s a mistake to assume that all faces of the Christian God are identical. For me, when people talk about the wrath or jealousy of God, I find it most useful to see that kind of language as metaphors for God’s holy boundaries, and not as pointers toward some sort of divine abuse or retribution. For example, I believe God’s response to human violence is anger, but not an anger that punishes so much as an anger that could inspire transformation — the anger that sets things into motion. The idea of God providing some sort of externalized punishment simply makes no sense to me. Yes, I know that kind of language is in the Bible, but so is sexism and the toleration of slavery. No one, not even the most determined fundamentalist, has a thoroughly Biblical conception of deity (especially since the Bible itself offers multiple ways of thinking about God), and so I think it is the responsibility of every Christian to wrestle with the Divine Mystery and discern how they sense a call to understand God for now and the future. And yes, Isaac Bonewits was right: monotheism is philosophically absurd and always collapses into paradox. But I believe the same can be said for polytheism, so perhaps at the end of the day each of us must simply choose which sort of paradoxes we can live with!
Also, I hope I didn’t give you the impression on the retreat that I believe contemplative practice necessarily leads to peace and justice. If I did, let me clarify now. I see contemplative practice as an important, and perhaps even necessary, component in an overall integral spirituality, which must also include cognitive development and the engagement with the shadow (both individually and collectively). In other words, contemplation must always be situated in the context of the values of peace and justice in order for it to foster peacemaking and justice work. It is possible to be a proficient contemplative but also hold values contrary to peace and justice, just as it is possible to have all the right values but be locked in a non-transformed, thoroughly dualistic/oppositional level of consciousness. The archetype of the former is the classic religious or spiritual abuser: the swami with his Rolls Royces and his bevy of sexually submissive disciples, or the Christian priest who is also a predator. Meanwhile, the archetype of the latter is the terrorist: the person who feels a noble calling to fight a violent injustice, but then succumbs to the temptation to use violence in response. This leads to a tribalistic, eye-for-an-eye scenario, such as what has bedeviled Ireland for so long.
ReplyDeleteI also hope that you can discern what I believe is true of many, perhaps most, Christian contemplatives: that we believe contemplative transformation may emerge in a variety of wisdom settings. Christianity is certainly not the only path to “salvation” (read: transformation/wholeness), and I see no reason to say it is the “best” path, either. It is simply a path. More and more Christians are beginning to see religious diversity as a gift from God, and I think contemplation tends to foster that perspective. I returned to Christianity (rather than becoming a Buddhist or a Vedantist) simply because I felt called to do so, feeling the comfort that comes from having been born into the Christian faith and having had fairly profound experiences of God within a Christian context. My faith as a Christian remains immeasurably enriched by my relationships with non-Christians, including Buddhists, Vedantists, Unitarians, Druids, Wiccans and agnostics.
Finally, when Christians say stuff like “without God transformation is not possible,” I see “God” as a codeword for the Divine Mystery, or for Love, or for Non-Oppositional Consciousness, or some such more useful marker.
I have to agree with Carl, I think some people have co-opted the word "God" and made it seemingly definable, which is unsettling to me personally. My definitions for various religious terms is so different from my Christian peers that two things have happened with increasing regularity: I have been told I'm not really a Christian and, discussions are nearly impossible.
ReplyDeleteEverything in the last two years has become simultaneously complicated and very, very simple. On one hand, my faith seems pretty straightforward and obvious: Love. Love God, Love others, Love yourself. Have a servant's heart. Then, there are the "going deep" parts of my faith that are mind bending because of the metaphysical implications.
All this to say, I hope that sooner than later, we will be faced with having to ask a Christian, "What do you mean by that?" rather than believing we can assume to know.
PS - thank you for the article link earlier!
Suzanna - Yes, this notion of the "shadow self" is a big part of the work of integration, it seems to me. I know I've dealt with that a great deal, especially when it comes to integrating aspects of myself that I have inherited or learned from family members that have not always been exactly healthy or helpful.
ReplyDeleteWithin Paganism, there tend to be specific exercises or meditative techniques focused on confronting and integrating the "shadow self." There's not so much a language of "flaws" or "imperfections," so much as a language of balance and wholeness. For me, this was probably the biggest gift of Druidry, the release from language about imperfection and sin as inherent aspects of being human, replaced with an approach that acknowledged and often celebrated limits as themselves expressions of sacredness. When we cease to see our limits as flaws or imperfections, we can approach them with a kind of gratitude and even an aesthetic sense, and focus on how to best incorporate or integrate them into a wholeness of self that is beautiful and unique in its own way. In this way, speaking of limits (rather than imperfections) is a gentler way of dealing with ourselves, while still acknowledging that we cannot be all things to all people, that we cannot be perfect in the kind of abstract way we might idealize.
How this bears on the process of peace... like you said, it gives us a new way of thinking about what "wholeness" means. If wholeness means integrity and balance, instead of perfection and completion, than we do not need to wait for our own selves to reach some ultimate state of being before we begin the work of peace. I think. I'm just making this up as we go along.... I'd be interested to hear what others think about this idea. In fact, I may end up writing a whole 'nother post on it.... Hmmm....
Carl - I'm so glad Blogger let your comments through this time! You say a lot of fascinating things... I'm not sure I can respond to all of them. But I can try!
ReplyDelete"For me, when people talk about the wrath or jealousy of God, I find it most useful to see that kind of language as metaphors for God’s holy boundaries, and not as pointers toward some sort of divine abuse or retribution. For example, I believe God’s response to human violence is anger, but not an anger that punishes so much as an anger that could inspire transformation — the anger that sets things into motion."
I really really like this way of thinking about it. It strikes me as similar to what I just finished talking about (in some ways) in response to Suzanne's comment about wholeness and the shadow-self. I'm not sure to what extent you imagine "God's anger," for instance, to be an expression of God's personhood (I had to give up, in the end, trying to understand abstractly what personhood meant for the Ultimate Source and Ground of Being and so I see Spirit as much more impersonal, whereas the gods and goddesses strike me as Persons in the sense I originally understood God-as-Abba and Jesus-as-Christ... but that's a whole 'nother issue I won't get into now).... but for me, it sounds like what you're saying is that, in this example, anger is much more like a kind of "force" or source of influence, than it is an emotion in any human sense. Am I on the right track here? For me, then, this is very similar to the issues of justice, compassion, etc. in the Pagan perspective that sees the world and nature as sacred while also not attempting to reduce the world/nature to a romanticized or tame version of themselves (after all, he's not a tame lion ;).
"Isaac Bonewits was right: monotheism is philosophically absurd and always collapses into paradox. But I believe the same can be said for polytheism, so perhaps at the end of the day each of us must simply choose which sort of paradoxes we can live with!"
Yes, totally agree here. And anyway, I don't think paradox is a thing we're reduced to or collapse into, but a challenge to engage in Mystery. :) In poetry, the paradox of metaphor (the "both is and is not"-ish-ness) creates a tension that, through juxtaposition, pushes us to a new, nonrational understanding of connection and relationship that cannot be articulated with simple, clear-cut logic. Have you read The Revelatory Text: Interpreting the New Testament As Sacred Scripture by Sandra Schneiders? If I remember right, she talks about this concept in terms of the "living text" of the Bible.
....
.....
ReplyDelete"Also, I hope I didn’t give you the impression on the retreat that I believe contemplative practice necessarily leads to peace and justice."
No, I don't think you implied that (and I apologize if I implied that you implied!) - I think I was more itching to go deeper and really tease out and state explicitly some of the issues that you already have mentioned in your comment - about the importance of context (there it is again!) and.. well, everything you said. Part of this, for me, is that we only had a week, and obviously not everything can possibly be said in a week that really deserves to be said and explored. Just one more reason I'm definitely grateful for the chance to engage in some of this conversation online, to let the exploration continue.
There's also an aspect of this question that is far more pressing for me as a Pagan, as part of a community that, to a certain degree, does take for granted the idea that certain practices will inevitably lead to certain results. This is an issue I have with Paganism, as is probably clear even in the very first post of this series - the push back against theology and against serious consideration of the context, and instead an (over-)indulgence in praxis as sufficient in itself. This is something that needs serious consideration within Paganism... and while we're getting there, slowly, it's still something that weighs very much on my mind.
I think I'm running out of steam in replying to all the awesomeness that is your comment... and most of what I would say in response to the rest are things like, "Yes, I totally get what you're saying," and the like. So I'll wrap it up here. :)
Brazenbird, I can very much relate to what you're saying, especially when you write, "My definitions for various religious terms is so different from my Christian peers that two things have happened with increasing regularity: I have been told I'm not really a Christian and, discussions are nearly impossible."
ReplyDeleteWhen I went off to college (having studied mysticism and such for the last four years in high school on my own), I was suddenly confronted for the first time by people telling me I "wasn't really Christian." After a few years of dealing with that and trying to insist they were wrong - while also hearing from Pagans that I'd "make a great Pagan" and being referred to as a Pagan anyway - I finally shrugged and gave in. ;)
But in some ways, the label "Pagan" is still a social or community name for my approach, rather than a personal one. I'd call myself a "Druid" (with the understanding that there are both Pagan and Christian Druids, as well as Buddhist and Atheist and Muslim Druids too) and leave it at that.... except that sometimes it is helpful to align myself with a given community to help to clarify the context of my group practice and community concerns.
I'm still deeply involved in trying to find that balance, and exploring - like you said - the metaphysical implications of the explicitly Pagan approach while not losing sight of that simplicity that is Divine Mystery and Love and all that. I look forward to a time when we can ask Christians and Pagans alike "What do you mean by that?" as a door into further conversation. :)