Love First

         I have long believed that if I want anything to change – in myself or in any situation I encounter – I must love it first.

         This brief piece of writing was shared in group last night.  (Thanks, Ann.)  Each time I read it, it deepens within me.  Maybe it will touch you, too.

         “In the end, so much of the conflict we feel in our hearts is because we’ve split ourselves off from the very life we are living. We partition ourselves from the things with which we are at odds, treating them as unbelonging even as we live them.

         “We vaguely imagine some other place, some better job, some other lover—but the irony is that so much of what makes us unhappy is our own rejection of the life we have made.

         “Eventually we must take our life into our arms and call it our own. We must look at it squarely, with all its unbecoming qualities, and find a way to love it anyway. Only from that complete embrace can a life begin to grow into what it is meant to become.”

         Excerpt from Belonging: Remembering Ourselves Home by Toko-pa Turner (belongingbook.com)

Love the Body

         The roles have reversed.  In younger years, I told my body what to do and, generally, it complied.  Now, my 73-year-old body gives most of the orders, and I do the complying. 

         It’s my job to listen to the body – respectfully attending to its needs and requirements.  It’s been quietly taking care of me since before I was born.  Now it’s my turn to care for it.

         My body used to be more forgiving.  Now it’s more assertive.    It quickly lets me know when I overdo it or feed it badly or deny it the rest it needs.  It squawks when I slack off my stretching and exercise routines or neglect meditation and QiGong practices.

         Historically, when the body spoke to me in the language of pain and discomfort, I tended to react with irritation – essentially telling the body to stop complaining – unaware that I was sending messages of rejection and creating mistrust.

         Now I say: “thanks for telling me.”  I do my best to send compassion and love to whatever hurts inside me – sometimes using imagery, more often using the breath.  I inhale healing love into the painful place.  Exhaling, I release tension and unneeded energy.  

         When I’ve been cranky with my body - or critical or neglectful or disregarding - I apologize.  I do my best to repair any damage I do to this important relationship.

         We are in constant dialog with the body.  It speaks to us in so many ways.  And, with the choices we make and the tones we take, we speak volumes about our care – or lack thereof.

         The message matters.  Choose mindfully.  Love the body.

Re-Membering Christchurch

    Three months ago, I was in New Zealand walking through streets and parks in Christchurch – a beautiful city that was devastated a few years back by an earthquake that toppled much of the city, including the two main cathedrals in town – one Anglican, one Catholic.  I’m pretty sure I walked by the mosque where such terrible violence, and most of the deaths, occurred.  I see from the map that it stood at the edge of a park I’d visited. 

         Stunned, not quite comprehending the enormity of this horror, I wrestle with a conclusion that I’ve come to hold ever more fiercely in recent years – the conclusion that divine presence is at the core of each of us, even those who behave heinously.  I question once again my sense of the human condition.

         I know we humans are wounded by the experience of separation that incarnation brings.  I realize how vulnerable the individual human psyche is to the many ways in which we are hurt by each other and harmed by various social structures around us.  How easy it is for us to be captured by fear and loathing and by ideologies that justify unthinkable cruelty.  I ache.

         I’m deciding not to jettison the conclusion I hold dear.  I see the light of spirit shining through in the loving response of Christchurch’s mayor.  I see that same spirit in the outpouring of love and support from around the world.  At a more personal level, I see that spirit in the love that surrounds me.

         So, how do I account for the atrocity in Christchurch? 

         I’ve come to experience the divine presence as powerful and persistent within us - and it’s very quiet.  The light-source within can be covered and crusted over so completely in a human being that it cannot be seen or known from outside or inside.  In some cases, like this one perhaps, human activity can only reflect darkness.  No light seeps through. 

         At 4am this morning, I was awake.  This poem came.

Re-Membering Christchurch

In a Christchurch mosque

Children, women, men

Gathered to pray –

And were preyed upon.

Martyred by night

Returned to the light

We pray for them now.

Hearts join as one.

All churches,

All temples,

All mosques –

All Christchurch now.

         Harm to anyone, harms everyone.

         May we re-member.  We are one.

         May peace begin within.

         Final note:  I’ll be traveling in South America for the next few weeks.  Will post again upon my return.  Namaste!

Snow-track Contrasts

         For over a month now, the snow in central Minnesota has made for some beautiful and exhilarating cross-country skiing.  After 6 inches of new accumulation last night, this morning on the trails was particularly gorgeous and, as it turns out, quite instructive.

         Fluffy white snow piled high on tree-branches and balanced precariously atop the many oak leaves still clinging to their branches.  Vibrant, near-violet, blue sky provided the perfect contrast/backdrop for awesome viewing.  Sparkling sunrays glistened off snow all around me.  Usually I ski without stopping.  Today, I paused several times, for several minutes at a time, to soak in and soak up the scenery.  Gratitude was skiing with me.

         When I strayed into rumination, the beauty of my surroundings called me back to the present moment.  For me, the contrast between present and not present mirrored the contrast between violet-blue sky and sparkling white snow – so vivid and clear.  

         The trails hadn’t been groomed yet.  For about half of the 2-mile loop, I followed a single track set down by someone who’d been there before me.  Then, I branched off to a more difficult section of trail no one had skied yet.  Another contrast became apparent.  Blazing a new trail takes a lot more effort.  The exertion is exhilarating for me – and so is the ease and speed of following a track that’s already been travelled.

         Reminds me of the spiritual path.   I’m grateful for teachers who have paved and eased the way.  And I’m grateful for the quiet moments of inspiration when I’m guided to bushwhack into new territory, blazing a trail that’s new – at least for me.  The experiences are different, and both are good.

         I see that contrast is all around us – in all areas of life.  It opens doors.  It teaches and grows us.  It helps us clarify who we are and expand into who we truly are.

Silence of Now

         In my personal cosmology, the origin of all is Emptiness – a creative, intelligent, loving Silence I call God.  Everything and everyone is an expression of this Silence.  It permeates all being.

         Another word for Silence is Presence.  The spiritual practice of being present – right here, right now, in this moment - opens and lubricates a doorway to Presence, to the immense Silence of God within. 

         I am enjoying Journey into Now, a book by Leonard Jacobson.  Here’s a passage I find deeply resonant:

“When you become fully present, thoughts stop and your mind is silent.  You are not trying to stop the thoughts.  It simply happens as you become present.

“But there is an even deeper level of peace and silence waiting to emerge.  As your mind becomes silent, an inner door is opened, allowing an infinite and eternal silence to emerge from the core of your Being.

“This infinite and eternal silence is the very essence of your Being.  It is your true nature.  It is the essence of all existence.  It is the eternal silent presence of pure consciousness.  It is the I AM of you.

“It is that dimension of you that exists in this moment and only this moment.  It is that dimension of you that exists in the Oneness.  It is your Buddha nature.  It is the Christ of you, which exists in Oneness with God.”  (Kindle location 197-201)

         The Kingdom of God is truly within.  We don’t have to die to get there – just practice softening to the silence of now. 

Cough Master

         Saturday afternoon, I woke from a long nap – the first time in a week I’d been able to sleep horizontal in bed.  The last 10 days have been a humbling and enlightening education for me.

         My master took the form of violent coughing spasms – wracking me from head to toe, leaving my throat raw and my voice raspy. 

         My first reaction was to minimize.  I’ve always been able to head off oncoming sickness with extra QiGong and vitamin C.  Perhaps overconfident, I went light on the QiGong this time. 

         Despite the cough’s steady advance, I did not retreat. Instead, I made every effort to attend to business as usual – skiing in the morning, going to work, staying in busy mind during the day focusing on all that needed to be done.  To relax in the evening, I tried streaming Netflix shows, sci-fi movies and a couple travelogues – all accompanied by heavy doses of Robitussin DM and a stubby, wide-brimmed glass turned spittoon.   Coughing grew ever more violent.  For most of the week, I averaged 2 – 3 hours of fitful, upright-sitting sleep per night.

         It became clear that all my activity simply made things worse and that the way I was “relaxing” wasn’t relaxing at all.  Busy-mind problem solving or viewing any kind of screen – even with me sitting in a relaxed posture – activated a subtle agitation that led to more coughing.  I’d fight the cough by holding my breath and tightening down.  Fighting, of course, only increased cough’s intensity.

         Eventually, I realized that my recovery depended on just being in the moment, doing nothing.  I also realized just how hard doing nothing is – especially when the master is wracking my chest, reminiscent of the old Zen master whacking a student meditator on the back with a stick. 

         I sat for hours gazing at my fireplace, with Tibetan bowls singing quietly in the background.  I spent more hours during sleepless nights breathing deep in the diaphragm, opening my throat in non-resistance to the master’s wracking spasms.  I tried sipping warm water through a straw as slowly as I possibly could without interrupting the flow of liquid - a soothing meditation that calmed cough.  I accepted healing touch without immediately trying to pay it back.

         I cancelled Wednesday night group, took a couple days off work (my first in years), got help from western medicine (an antibiotic to treat pneumonia) and dropped various essential oils into my diffuser.

         As recovery began taking hold, the master’s feedback became more immediate and precise.  When I sat quietly, cough alerted me to the intrusion of busy mind, like the Zen master with the stick.  Once in conversation, I made a self-derogatory remark, which cough immediately called to my attention.  Taking an unneeded second helping a couple nights ago brought on a lengthy spasm.  The feedback was amazing.

         I’m feeling much better now.  Breathing freely and sleeping horizontally are gifts I do not take for granted.  The cough master has been teaching me to listen up and listen in, to pay attention to what heals and what harms, and to enjoy the quiet peace of non-doing.

The Deep Quiet

         Minnesota, of late, has been visited by arctic conditions - temperatures double-digit below zero, vast violet-blue skies, piercing winds piling downy snow in high drifts.  There’s a stark silence about – not much movement as folks hunker down.

         This winter stillness reminds me of the deep quiet within, an inner stillness that is home to us - our birthplace, a place of refuge, renewal and re-creation.  In our spiritual-growth group a couple nights ago, I felt prompted to guide the meditation toward the deep quiet to see what we might discover.

         Spiritual authors speak about the hum of existence or the hum of the universe - a barely perceptible vibration we all share at the quiet center of being where we all meet.  I think of it as the Ohm of God – the sound/song of God within.

         To help us travel to this quiet, we used a large seven-metal Tibetan bowl I brought back from Nepal last year.  Once struck, the bowl sings a complex harmony of tones for nearly 3 minutes, gradually becoming the faintest sound that hearing can register.  Its diminishing tone guided us toward stillness. 

         We also experimented with following the exhalation of breath into the quiet. 

         The quiet, we discovered, rests beneath the sounds or movements/vibrations within – far beneath the gurgling of stomachs and the ringing in our ears, beneath the sounds or vibrations of breath, heartbeat and blood flow. 

         The quiet resides more in the body than in the head.  It’s more felt than heard.

         The quiet is elusive.  When we grasp for it or strain to experience it, it slips away.  When we release effort and allow a natural gravitation to happen, we are gifted by visitations – often brief, sometimes longer.  The quiet comes to us, perhaps more than we come to it.

         To connect with the deep quiet is a grace, not an achievement.  Practice helps us become more comfortable and familiar with the journey, more fluent with the quiet and more available to its graceful presence.

         The journey is peaceful and restorative.  It offers safety and vitality.  We return renewed.

         And, from my experience, embedded in the deep quiet is a subtle, sweet smile of unconditional love.

Sunshine Love

    Several times over the last few weeks, I’ve wakened to the tune and lyrics from the chorus of one of my favorite Bee Gees songs:  “You don’t know what it’s like, you don’t know what it’s like, baby, to love somebody, to love somebody the way I love you.”

         What a sweet good-morning message!  The divine within is telling me how loved I am.  Mornings later, when it kept happening, I decided to listen a little deeper.  Maybe there’s more to this message. 

         Sure enough.  “You don’t know what it’s like to love somebody….the way I love you.”   Oh.  That’s humbling.  And it makes sense.

         I’ve been a life-long student of love.  And now, life is saying: “James, there’s more for you to learn” – a timely message, I guess, since I have recently re-entered the classroom of a new love relationship.

         I believe God/Life/Universe loves us like the sun shines.  The sun makes no judgments about our worthiness to receive light.  It doesn’t withhold its rays if we offend it somehow or don’t give it enough of what it wants.  It doesn’t bargain with us.  It doesn’t try to control us.  It simply radiates because that’s its nature.  It has its own internal radiance system.

         I wonder about taking lessons from the sun.  Just like the sun, the radiance of our love does not depend on the objects of our affection.  It’s about opening to the flow of universal love within and through us and letting that radiance shine forth with ever greater freedom and extravagance – without expectations - as a natural expression of who we are.  As spiritual teacher, Leonard Jacobson says: “I love you, because I am love.”

         Of course, we see and appreciate the beauty and goodness of our loved ones.  Our hearts warm in response to them.  However, when we view the positive qualities in the other as the source of our love, our love becomes conditional – dependent on how lovable the other is.  It waxes and wanes with how gratified we feel and how loved we think we are.

         Our loving nature is sourced in the infinite ocean of love that is this universe.  As we flow with this energy, we are never empty and never unworthy – never unlovable and always love-able.  The more we radiate, the more we are replenished.  The more we allow ourselves to receive, the more we’re able to radiate.

         The theory course on unconditional love is relatively simple. The lab, here on earth, is where the challenge lies.  Here, we meet our hungers and vulnerabilities, our tendencies toward self-absorption and self-protection and the various ways we limit ourselves.  Here, through trial and error, triumphs and mishaps, stumbling and picking ourselves up, experimenting and practicing, we come to learn about our true love-nature.

         We learn to radiate like the sun.

Spirituality in Sensuality

      Sitting down at the dinner table last night, half an hour before the start of a spiritual group that meets weekly in my home, I dipped my fork into a one-pan concoction of sautéed jalapenos, quinoa, eggs and sharp cheddar cheese – all mixed together, fried crispy on the outside and moist on the inside.

         Just after that first, scrumptious bite, I opened The Radiance Sutras, by Lorin Roche, a translation of the sacred Hindu text, Vijnana Bhairava Tantra – a text we’re using as a guide for our gathering this winter/spring.  I opened to a random spot near the middle of the book.  On the pages facing me I found these two Sutras: 

         Sutra 49

Tasting dark chocolate,

A ripe apricot,

A luscious elixir –

Savor the expanding joy in your body.

Nature is offering herself to you.

How astonishing

To realize this world can taste so good.

When sipping some ambrosia,

Raise your glass,

Close your eyes,

Toast the universe.

The Sun and Moon and Earth

Danced together

To bring you this delight.

Receive the nectar on your tongue

As a kiss of the divine.

         Sutra 50

All around you, in every moment,

The world is offering a feast for your senses.

Songs are playing,

Tasty food is on the table,

Fragrances are in the air,

Colors fill the eyes with light.

You who long for union,

Attend this banquet with loving focus.

The outer and inner worlds

Open to each other.

Oneness of vision, oneness of heart.

Right here, in the midst of it all,

Mount that elation, ascend with it,

Become identical        

With the ecstatic essence

Embracing both worlds.

         What a powerful invitation to return to my senses – to slow down, to savor this meal, to feel the warmth radiating from my fireplace, to let the chant playing on my sound system replace the noise of busy thoughts.

         I was raised in a religious tradition that mistrusted the body and frowned on sensuality – a masculine approach to spirituality that favored the abstract/intellectual and instructed the mind to dominate and disregard the body. 

         I now see how sensuality and sensual awareness ground us in Presence. This grounding connects us, opens us to the flow of life and leads us to the divine - within us and around us.

         Mary Oliver, a wonderful poet who was keenly connected to the natural world, died today.  She wrote one of my favorite lines in all of poetry: “let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”

         The Sutras and Mary’s passing invite me to listen deeply to my body, to enjoy its sensual nature, to honor its wisdom and to trust it as one pathway to Allness.

         Six years ago, I posted Happy New Moment.  As I enter my 73^rd year with excitement and renewed energy, as identity shifts toward fewer words and more being, as fading memory power makes room for originality in the moment, and as other writings percolate, I’m drawn to re-issue this older/younger piece.  I send it with love and good wishes for your health and happiness.

Happy New Moment

       Prone to habit, we attach to repetitive patterns of thought and action, holding them as if they are real.  They become our story, oft-repeated conclusions about ourselves and the world.  Forgetting the creative possibilities in each new moment, we hang on to the familiar – even when it no longer serves us.

       In Present Moment Wonderful Moment, Thich Nhat Hanh writes:  "We can practice beginning anew at any moment of our lives. To be born is to begin anew.  When you are three years old you can begin anew, when you are sixty years old you can begin anew, and when you are about to die, you can still begin anew."

       Adventure's afoot. 

       Happy New Year.  Happy New Moment!