Joy

I was talking to Jeff, in one of our particularly blessed and Spirit-filled phone conversations, about the fact that I have been given this great gift of joy, and my fears and hopes that I will be faithful to it and use it the best way I can...the way I am intended to. Completely unexpectedly, he told me that he felt led to remind me of my family, and that I should consider how to share this with them, when they need it so badly. I was immediately convicted of how, because I can't do anything about their temporal suffering without seriously compromising my well-being, I have all but written them off, interacting with them only under the most inescapable obligation. He encouraged me to find ways to reassure them of my love, and of my gratefulness for them.
I was kind of flabbergasted at the thought of being grateful for them. Sure I love them, a lot, I thought, but mainly they have been a source of worry and pain that I've done my best to hide from. Be grateful for them? After some time spent sitting with that idea, I realized that even from selfish motives this made sense. How can I hope for my healing and peace of mind unless I can reconcile some of my discomfort and sadness, and find a way to make them a positive force in my life, when so often they seem like a black hole?

I started in small ways, answering my mom's e-mails immediately, with as much cheerfulness, hope, and common sense as I could muster, though often I had to clench my teeth and chant things like "kittens, fluffy puppies, rainbows, sunshine...happy, happy, happy" to get through the latest missive of misery without imploding. Shockingly quickly, with this treatment, my mother's response began to brighten, and for the first time, instead of feeling like I was vainly howling into the wildnerness, I began to see some real effect.

I can't tell you how in three days of following this advice with my family my friendship with my mother and my ministry to her has blossomed. It's heart-stopping. I have just had the most incredible conversation with her and the words came right from Him, and I didn't get angry even when I felt like I would, and she understood me more than she ever has. It is so beautiful. I've never been able to relate to her without having to compromise something of myself, or lie to her, or something sad like that. And I really think it helped encourage her and lift her a bit from despair.

The Presence is so much with me, and though there's a small part of me that worries people will be sick of me going on and on and on about it, I am not ashamed to praise Him. I don't know how I've been turned into this crazy new person with the name of God so easily and freely on my lips but I can't say I'm really sorry.

The Lord is my light and my salvation;
Whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the defense of my life;
Whom shall I dread?

When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh,
My adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell.

Though a host encamp against me,
My heart will not fear;
Though war arise against me,
In spite of this I shall be confident.

One thing I have asked from the Lord, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the Lord
And to meditate in His temple.

For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle;
In the secret place of His tent He will hide me;
He will lift me up on a rock.

And now my head will be lifted up above my enemies around me,
And I will offer in His tent sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the Lord.

Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice,
And be gracious to me and answer me.

When You said, "Seek My face," my heart said to You,
"Your face, O Lord, I shall seek."

Do not hide Your face from me,
Do not turn Your servant away in anger;
You have been my help;
Do not abandon me nor forsake me,
O God of my salvation!

For my father and my mother have forsaken me,
But the Lord will take me up.

Teach me Your way, O Lord,
And lead me in a level path
Because of my foes.

Do not deliver me over to the desire of my adversaries,
For false witnesses have risen against me,
And such as breathe out violence.
I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the
goodness of the Lord In the land of the living.

Wait for the Lord;
Be strong and let your heart take courage;
Yes, wait for the Lord.

Logos

I am reading Merton, a gift from my dear Friend Lor, and thinking about the discussion that was on Kwakersaur about "Jesus Talk", about my own relation to Jesus/Christ as a concept, as a person, as Logos. I posted about how sometimes I feel struck dumb, afraid to claim any word for God, for this totality that I call God. There is a prayer from Merton which I read this morning that went right through me.

"Oh God, my God, why am I so mute? I long to cry out and out
to Thee, over and over, and Thou are nameless and infinite. All
our names for Thee are not Thy name, infinite Trinity. But
Thy Word is Jesus and I cry the name of Thy Son and live in
the love of His heart and believe, if He wills, that He will bring
me the answer to my only prayer: that I may renounce
everything and belong entirely to the Lord!"

It is a funny thing, easy to get tangled in, that "the busy workshops" of my heart immediately set to trying to figure out what this means in a literal sense, but instantly I'm hushed and just let go. If Jesus, if Christ is Logos, the Word that God sends to me so that I may cry out to Him, my heart is humbled and grateful. If not, I will wait. If yes, but I still don't understand exactly what this means, I will wait. I was reminded of a poem I wrote before I was Quaker, which is infinitely more full as a prayer now:

As paper, I christen You Poet
And wait for Your words
To fall and cover over me, this naked page.
To fill up the empty space, the blank that shames -
To grant at least the grace of interstice,
And give me definition.
Your consciousness will call me into being.
Your thoughts, Your words, once written in,
Will make me.
Your words will give me meaning.

I am starving for the ink of You,
The ink Your words, Your words a sacrament:
"That which signifies and Is",
Your sacrament the truth that leads to You.
I worship, and I wait.

I imagine the matter of Your composition
Anticipated creation, long expected, still unseen, unknown
To be conceived, conceived of.
What begotten words will form?

I wait for the comfort, for the force
Of Your impressions pressed upon me,
The strokes of Your pen outlining what it means to be,
What names You have for beauty,
How beautiful the words upon each other building,
Shaping the expression of my meaning.

A post-plain portrait.  

Speaking of Visiting Friends, the handsome Quaker bloke in this picture, taken last First Day, is none other than Jeff Hipp from Cambridge meeting, the big blog-slacker who nonetheless has contributed often and well to many Quaker-blogosphere waypoints. Jeff, and Rob, of Consider the Lilies were both visiting 15th Street last weekend. We did take a picture of several Quaker Bloggers together, which was a very dorky thing to do. :)

Aw, shucks

Just a sweet happening on the train home last night. The L train was crowded as usual, all the seats taken. I was leaning against a pole, thinking happy thoughts about the seisiun I'd just attended, the new song I'd performed, the new song I wanted to learn, the daffodils I had bought, the brand new skirt I finally finished, the tidbit of Gypsy dancing I'd seen, and a dear phone-call I'd gotten inbetween. There was a middle aged man in a cap, sitting happily in the middle of the car on a big wooden endtable which was quite the worse for wear but looked very sturdy. I smiled at him and complimented his seat. He grinned all over and gestured me beside him. I sat down, and we began chatting about the ad he was reading for an electronic bible. It was a very sweet conversation in the most rudimental English, but faith and joy filled. We parted with a warm handshake and a "God bless you." And I got off the train even happier than I had stepped onto it.

Rejoicing

Friends, rejoice for me. I have had such an experience of God. I am so spoiled by God. The minute I laid down my straining after a God I could address as "Thee", a personal God that could communicate, He rushed in to fill my soul. There are many things that came together to give me this experience as it has unfolded over the last five days, but the crowning glory was Kelly's Testament of Devotion which my Friend Bryan lent to me this First Day. I suddenly know, beyond any doubt that there is a real, personal, experiential God. I had lost that sense so drastically. More recently I had rediscovered an intellectual and even spiritual understanding of God, and a hunger for more, but just could not experience God/Christ as a person.

No matter how I tried, I felt like I was lying to myself, trying to talk myself into believing something I "knew" was untrue. Whenever I felt the presence of God, I told myself it was my imagination and religious hysteria - I realize now those are my ex-husband's words, not mine. I thought I was being rigorous in my search for the truth by rejecting the movements of my heart towards God, but really I was just being scared. I didn't want to open myself to God again because I feared that tragic loss. It's funny how some people have a fear of intimacy with other people after a traumatic break-up...well, I had a fear of intimacy with God.

Whatever God intends for me, I feel so much peace and such a desire for obedience. I know that if I am faithful in this way, there will be no rushing, and much discernment, and God will not allow me to fall or to make another terrible mistake. All this time, I've been so afraid because I know I cannot trust myself, with all my faults and old injuries, not to make a mess of things. Finally being able to hand everything over to God in holy obedience, begging him to take all control from me, leaves me with so much peace. It is shocking how I can feel so sure in my love and faith but so unconcerned with what comes of it, because I know that the power of God is over all.

I finally feel like my old self who could throw herself in the arms of God, but a grown-up version of her, ready to step off into the void of God in a way I was still too afraid to do when I was 18.

From Testament of Devotion...

You who read these words already know this inner Life and Light. For by this very Light within you is your recognition given. In this humanistic age we suppose we are the initiators and God is the responder. But the Living Christ within us is the initiator, and we are the responders. God the Lover, the accuser, the revealer of light and darkness presses within us. "Behold I stand at the door and knock." And all our apparent initiative is already a response, a testimonial to His secret presence and working within us. The basic response of the soul to the Light is internal adoration and joy, thanksgiving and worship, self-surrender and listening. The secret places of the heart cease to be our noisy workshop. They become a holy sanctuary of adoration and of self-oblation, where we are kept in perfect peace, if our minds be stayed on Him who has found us in the inward springs of our life. And in brief intervals of overpowering visitation we are able to carry the sanctuary frame of mind out into the world, into its turmoil and its fitfulness, and in a hyperesthesia of the soul, we see all humankind tinged with deeper shadows and touched with Galilean glories. Powerfully are the springs of our will moved to an abandon of singing love toward God; powerfully are we moved to a new and over coming love toward time-blinded human beings and all creation. In this Center of Creation all things are ours, and we are Christ's and Christ is God's. We are owned beings, ready to run and not be weary and to walk and not faint.

But the light fades, the will weakens, the humdrum returns. Can we stay this fading? No; nor should we try, for we must learn the disciplines of His will.

The Inner Light, the Inward Christ, is no mere doctrine, belonging peculiarly to a small religious fellowship, to be accepted or rejected as a mere belief. It is the living Center of Reference for all Christian souls and Christian groups - yes, and of non-Christian groups as well - who seriously mean to dwell in the secret place of the Most High. He is the center and source of action, not the endpoint of thought. He is the locus of commitment, not a problem for debate. Practice comes first in religion, not theory or dogma. And Christian practice is not exhausted in outward deeds. These are the fruits, not the roots. A practicing Christian must above all be one who practices the perpetual return of the soul into the inner sanctuary, who brings the world into its Light and rejudges it, who brings the Light into the world with all its turmoil and its fitfulness and re-creates it.

First Day Meeting

First Day Meeting

Behold,
how plain brown wood
touched suddenly with sun,
is gold.

~Edith Heilman

This poem was brought to me as a gift from a darling friend and Friend, Barbara, who is a regular at my coffee house. She is over seventy, and so full of life and light. This poem was written by her mother, who died when Barbara was eleven.

Isn't that poem just brimming?

This weekend

Psalm 30

I will extol thee, O LORD; for thou hast lifted me up, and hast not made my foes to rejoice over me.

O LORD my God, I cried unto thee, and thou hast healed me.

O LORD, thou hast brought up my soul from the grave: thou hast kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.

Sing unto the LORD, O ye saints of his, and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness.

For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favour is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.

And in my prosperity I said, I shall never be moved.
LORD, by thy favour thou hast made my mountain to stand strong: thou didst hide thy face, and I was troubled.

I cried to thee, O LORD; and unto the LORD I made supplication.

What profit is there in my blood, when I go down to the pit? Shall the dust praise thee? shall it declare thy truth?

Hear, O LORD, and have mercy upon me: LORD, be thou my helper.

Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness;
To the end that my glory may sing praise to thee, and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give thanks unto thee for ever.

Quaker Jane

A very sweet lady I know from a Yahoo discussion group is putting together a lovely website...see the wonderful beginnings here...Quaker Jane

Love and estrangement

This may be the day of 1000 posts.


Those friends of mine who were very close. The ones with whom I prayed, shared, prophesied, spoke in tongues and oohed over Bible passages with. The ones with whom I shared very deeply, laughed with and cried with. Those friends who now know very little about where my faith journey has gone because I am too afraid to tell them, and perhaps they are a little too afraid to listen. Those friends who like to call me and say they've been praying for me, and tell me that they're sure Jesus won't give up on me and one day I'll come back.

While I love them, it is difficult to have a friendship when your friend is convinced you're straying away from the righteous path and fervently praying for your return whilst giving you the latest update on what the Lord has been telling them. Sometimes I feel like an awkward stranger when I am with them - no longer able to share myself and no longer able to understand so much of what they say and do. I have experienced such transformation over the last few years, that they no longer seem to know who I am. Or maybe its just that all the doubts, questions and secrets I kept buried for so long are now springing forth and its hard for them to understand. I wonder, can love overcome this? Can love re-unite us as friends and restore the intimacy and connection there once was?

This is from my friend Ruthie-Annie's blog, which I somehow had missed despite seeing her every week at 15th Street. I am really touched by this post. I'm struggling with this in a big way with my family, who I know aches everyday to think they have lost their firstborn - they used to talk in hushed tones about the adult children of friends who were "fallen away", and I know they pray to St. Monica, patron saint of dissapointing children...

Eternal and merciful Father, I give You thanks for the gift of Your Divine Son Who suffered, died and rose for all mankind. I thank You also for my Catholic Faith and ask Your help that I may grow in fidelity by prayer, by works of charity and penance, by reflection on Your Word, and by regular participation in the Sacraments of Penance and the Holy Eucharist.

You gave Saint Monica a spirit of selfless love manifested in her constant prayer for the conversion of her son Augustine. Inspired by boundless confidence in Your power to move hearts, and by the success of her prayer. I ask the grace to imitate her constancy in my prayer for Amanda who no longer shares in the intimate life of Your Catholic family. Grant through my prayer and witness that she may be open to the promptings of Your Holy Spirit, and return to loving union with Your Church. Grant also that my prayer be ever hopeful and that I may never judge another, for You alone can read hearts. I ask this through Christ, our Lord. Amen.



I often field e-mails from my mom saying she misses me, she wishes we could talk the way we used to, about God, about important things, that we have nothing in common, that it seems our converations are on superficial level. Lately things have been eased slightly, but it is still a tension that makes me very sad.

*glow*

I am dancing on air after having read the first few exquisitely sensitive, insightful posts on a brand new "Urban Quaker" blog (are we witnessing the birth of a genre?), Consider the Lilies by a Boston friend, Rob.
He is a tremendously gifted writer, and I can't wait to see what he's going to write next. Go read his blog. Now.

Puppy Love

Well, there's a lot for this post, since I've been putting it off in favor of doing, as my UK aquaitances say 'f*ck-all'.

(You know, I have found my swearing ability diminishing drastically since going plain. I know it is a good thing overall, but it hurts my macho.)

First thing - my internal clock must stil be some analog dinosaur. Example. My alarm fails to go off. I am supposed to be at work at 8. My internal clock takes over.

Do I:

a.) Wake up at 7:30?
b.) Wake up at 8:30?
c.) Not wake up at all?
d.) Wake up exactly to the minute on the dot precicely the moment without a shade of doubt at 8:00?


The answer is d.) ladies and gentlemen. I don't know why this is so infuriating. I don't know why it pisses me off more to be so perfectly calibrated and have the result be so perfectly useless. Poo.

So there I was, scrambling for my clothes at 8:01 am, cursing wonderfully (I hadn't put on the plain clothes, you see) when I remembered I'm going to see Phantom of the Opera tonight. I don't have any "good" plain clothes yet (they are on their way) and I have a thing about people who go to the theatre looking crummy. So I got out one of my last remaining vintage dresses - a little 1960's number which is actually pretty conservative, knee length, wool. It makes me feel a bit like Minnie Mouse. Suffice to say, it's hardly that sexy, but I was walking knock-kneed all the way to the subway. It is shocking to me how quickly I got used to the amount of coverage that more or less traditional plain dress offers. I'm still pretty comfy in a pair of jeans, but even a slightly short skirt makes me feel absolutely exposed. I don't know what to think of that. Also, my whole vanity and body image reasons for taking up plain dress were justified. I was staring into every reflective surface, trying to see if my exposed calves looked fat. Jeeze. I am also wearing my last pair of heels because nothing else looks right with the dress. I'm 6 feet tall in heels.

All in all I feel like a nudist monster-truck rally.

All that aside, I spent Monday and Tuesday night at the Westminster Dog show. It was bar none, the best Valentine's day I ever had. It was awesome. Thrillingly boring, like a cuddly, fuzzy high-stakes golf tournament. I felt like we should also be playing cricket or croquet and eating scones and crumpets or something. The reality of course was that the audience was nearly %100 white middle America Today-Show-watching cutesy-sweatshirt wearing, big-bellied-and-bummed moms. The effortless blending of high and low really was spectacular. Guys with plastic trays of plastic glasses of expensive bad champagne also sold bags of cracker-jacks. I occasioned a fiscal and gastronomic catastrophe when I ordered a $6 hotdog. I believe hell froze over at that very instant.

I have a big touchy-feely spiritual post coming too, but now I've cracked myself up and can't concentrate.

Nudist monster truck rally.

Tragedy!

I murdered my laptop last night. I thought I'd go up to my bed and do some serious writing, all nice and comfortable. I put the laptop up ahead of me, and as I followed it, it slid off the pillow I'd so thoughtfully placed it on (for its comfort) and crashed to the floor.

It was an accident, so maybe I should say I manslaughtered it.

Or laptopslaughtered it. Either way, poo.

So if anyone hears a bit less from me, I am not dead.

My laptop is.

:(

Food.

Okay, time to be shallow as I possibly can, but I ADORE THE IRON CHEF!!!! I have never seen this before, because I seem to have a mandatory pop-culture waiting period before I can notice anything. This mandatory waiting period ensures that everyone else in the universe is over the particular item in question, just at the very moment I decide that I must hold forth on the subject immediately and lengthily.

But the voiceovers are so bad! So wonderfully bad! The soap-opera camera angles! The pot-bellied Jackie Chan impersonator! The bathrobes! The Japanese "Italian chef" dressed in an Italian flag! This is part olympic sporting event, part kung-fu movie, part talk show, part anime, part Westminster dog show.

Here is some actual transcription...

Announcer, introducing a judge: "Here is a man who also is loading up on chocolate and bananas!"
Judge, in hurt tone: "Why are you being faecitious about that!?"

Weird Random Announcer commentary on the subject of Valentine's day food....


"This jagged chocolate, it's not prickly in my mouth at all, or sharp, it only melts around."

"I was in Thailand the other day and I saw them doing this, and it looked so fun I just wanted to have an excuse to try it myself"

"Bananas it does not belong with alongside garlic!"

"Hey, I didn't really know that, bananas not eaten in Italy, I guess he's really going to have a big job up against him here..

"If you get it from a person you love, taste doesn't really matter, I guess..."

"He's not called the prince of pasta for nothing!!"


Ooooooh, the iron cheff is going to be completely smoked. That's okay, I was cheering for the challenger.


Yes, this posting has been 100% Quaker-free. I am catsitting, and have access to cable. All I do is sit and stare. And it may be a testament to the overall lameness of my social life, or some fundamental personality flaw, but I am sitting and staring at THE FOOD NETWORK and snickering at how innocently the most inane and awkward translations from Japanese grow exponentially to be unbearably suggestive.

Oh, thank God I don't have a TV.

PS. Also, I had his pots but I'd never seen the man...how the hell is Emeril famous? The man cannot talk and stir a batter at the same time. Yet...I guess if pushed I can begin to understand, on an intellectual level, his Robert DeNiro weds Martha Stewart in the back room of a filthy Coney Island video arcade charm. But still.

Three observances on and reactions to skirt-making

Observance 1.) Sewing a zipper in by hand, if you are very, very careful, is tremendously rewarding.

Reaction 1.) "Look what I can do! Hey friend! Look at this zipper! It opens, it closes! I did it myself! By hand! Hey boss, look what I can do! Look at this zipper! It opens, it closes! I did it myself! By hand! Hey, customer, look what I can do! Look at this zipper! It opens, it closes! I did it myself! By hand! Hey, Postman, look what I can do! Look at this zipper! It opens, it closes! I did it myself! By hand! Hey, stranger! look what I can do! Look at this zipper! It opens, it closes! I did it myself! By hand!"


Observance 2.) Seam allowances are not friendly guidelines. They are Laws of Nature. Do not add a 1/4 inch when you cut out the pattern, "just to be safe". Do not then sew a 1/4 seam allowance instead of the specified 5/8 of an inch seam allowance. I can't do the math, but it adds up to having an extra twoish inches of waist opening, which will not then fit the waistband pattern piece.

Reaction 2.) "Merde!" Pin, repin, eighteen times to make sure you're right about how wrong you are. Pin! Pin! Pin! "Merde!" It's still wrong, even though You've checked it eighteen times! Baste, baste, baste, check 18 times to make sure you've corrected the mistake. Rip! Rip! Rip! Get struck with a chilling thought that because you sewed in the beautiful zipper, and cannot possibly bear to take it out, you're going to have to make the correction a whole inch on one seam instead of half an inch on each seam, (or whatever it is) and this is a circle skirt, you may be completely throwing off the symmetrey of the thing.


Observance 3.) No matter how careful you may be in your stiches, sometimes you're still going to make a stupid mistake.

Reaction 3.) Maybe if you'd paid attention in geometry, you'd have a better idea of how serious this might be. Wait a minute...serious? This is a skirt, not an open-heart surgery. Chill. Yep. Chill.

A prayer

We had our first YAF group meeting last night. Though there were only three of us, it was quite amazing. The time was incredibly gathered and full. After we worshiped we chatted about plans and adventures we'd like to have in the future.

I had a very humbling moment in worship. I was trying to centre down, trying to pray, and I was just being faced back with this great emptiness. I was sad and frustrated, wanting to say "Speak, Lord, thy servant listens!" but I felt I was just bellowing it into blackness. I tweaked the prayer, and asked "Who is calling me? What is calling me?" Again and again I asked it, getting angrier and lonelier and finally, an answer came, but it felt like it was only an echo..."Who is calling you? What is calling you?"

Once I sat with that a minute, I realized it was the same crashing lesson that I can't seem to learn. I'm still asking for knowledge of a seperate God, floating somewhere in the ether, ready to come down and explain the universe to me if I just dash my brains out finding the secret code that will unlock heaven. I was told last night, not in sweet comforting terms, either, that what I have of God right now is what is right in front of me...the tasks, the people, the situations. I'd always said that to myself in sort of a singsongy, "Ain't I lucky! Lookit all the Gawd around me hereabouts!" sort of way. I think though, that was always in the context of expectation, that there was more immediately on its way. This time however, I was given to understand unequivocally that I am to stop looking for more at the expense of what I already have. My response was "That's all? That's all there is to God? Just people? Just the world? Just the universe?"

I immediately thought of the movie Neverland. J.M. Barrie, played by Depp, is putting on a circus in the park for some children, using only his imagination and the services of his big sheepdog, who he claims is a fierce performing bear. A little boy named Peter interrupts the performance, calling out "This is absurd. He's just a dog."

Barrie strides up, puts his reproachful face right into the boy's and cries "Just...What a horrible candle-snuffing word! That's like saying...that's not a diamond, it's just a rock. Just." and turns away to continue the makebelieve he was performing for the other boys, while Peter sits it out because of his heartbreak and doubt, missing all the magic.

I've been told, "This is all the God you're getting for now, until you figure out how use it." and "Finish what's on your plate before you look for another serving, or something else."

On the usefulness of doubt...

A girl on one of the few message boards I frequent these days offered these quotes on doubt, which I wanted to share...

"If we begin with certainties, we will end in doubt.
But if we begin with doubts and bear them patiently,
we may end in certainty."
Francis Bacon

"The faithfulness of doubt is often assumed by the
judgmental to be faithlessness, but it is not; it is a
prerequisite for a living faith"
Madeleine L'Engle

Here are a couple more that speak to me...

"There are two ways to slide easily through life: to believe everything or to doubt everything; both ways save us from thinking."
Alfred Korzybski

"Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Heh heh heh.

I was sitting outside our coffee shop, and a very pretty girl came walking past. She stopped, and gave me that "ohmigod, I haven't seen you forever!!" look. Then she stared, and tried to speak two or three times. I said "Hello!"

"I'm sorry, but you look extraordinarily familiar..."

"..."

"Except you're dressed like an Amish..."

"...Quaker."

"Whatever, it's still extraordinarily weird..."

The she turned around and almost ran away.

It was...extraordinary.


Just one last word on my last post...I wanted to put two oft-quoted passages that cannot be quoted often enough...

"Even as a tree has a single trunk but many branches and leaves, so there is one true and perfect religion, but it becomes many religions as it passes through the human medium. The one Religion is beyond all speech. Imperfect men and women put it into such language as they can command and their words are interpreted by others equally imperfectly. Hence the necessity of tolerance, which does not mean indifference to one's own faith, but a more intelligent and purer love for it. True knowledge of religion breaks down barriers between faith and faith."

- Mahatma Gandhi

"The humble , meek, merciful, just, pious and devout souls are everywhere of one religion; and when death has taken off the masks, they will know one another, though the divers liveries they wear here make them strangers."

- William Penn

and, gosh, it's nice whenever we don't have to wait until death for a few masks to come down.

I am so touched...

There are some (I think) Hassidic young men who come to the place I work every Friday to give sabbath candles to the owner, who is a non-practicing Jew. They seem to be a part of some outreach program to bring strays back to the fold. They are always exceedingly kind and sweet. Because of my plain dress, and because it is often different young men each week, they approach me nearly every time and ask me if I am Jewish. I always say no, and for some reason, I always feel a little wistful about it. Today, finally, they came up to me shyly and gave me some candles, and a little card, and said "This is for you. Shabbat Shalom!" I looked at the card, and it said, "The path of the righteous gentile...the seven Noahide Laws." I went to the website on the card, www.moshiach.com, and was delighted to find some amazing, uplifiting articles. If you do not take absolutely everything literally, they are so fully of Light and hope. Many are even Quakerly. Some are written in no-nonsense prose, others with a more friendly, almost childlike plainness. For example, this except:

However, you don’t have to be Jewish to eat bagels and lox, and neither need you be Jewish for Moshiach to touch your life. For when Moshiach comes, the world will rise to perfection. Moshiach is not the relocation of Jews from many places to one place; Moshiach is not the eternal domination of one people and the eternal damnation of all others: Moshiach is the concept to end all concepts. Moshiach is Utopia. Moshiach is the answer to “Why are we here?” Moshiach will not just redeem the Jewish people from exile—he will redeem mankind from meaninglessness, and teach the purpose of life to the universe. No more school shootings, no more pain, no more war, no more rat race.

1. The Messiah within

Some things never change: animals, vegetables, minerals. But people do. Change is part of life. People change. Countries change. Societies change. The world changes. Why? Because people reject the status quo. People try to change themselves, things, life. Why? Because people want a better world—don’t you? If we knew there was nothing we could do about this mad world, we couldn’t get up in the morning. But something drives us on. This trait, this will, is the belief in Moshiach—the belief that the world will be better one day. Ultimately, the belief in Moshiach is the belief in ourselves, and in the eternal triumph of good.

2. What can/should I do to help bring Moshiach?

Good is like water collecting in a cup—drop by drop, deed by deed. When the cup is full, it overflows its sides. When we fill this world with enough good, G-d sends Moshiach. G-d gave mankind tools for good—the Torah for Jews, and the Noahide Code for non-Jews. Whatever your spiritual configuration, G-d is waiting for your move—our move. Let’s work together to bring Moshiach, now. Let’s do good.

I know this would be unacceptable to those who view Jesus as the literal, final Messiah, but for me, this actually comes much closer to my "spiritual configuration".

There is also an absolutely beautiful little article, which spoke immediately to my condition, on
The difference between destructive and constructive sadness.

Here is a taste...

There is nothing as whole as a broken heart. —Chassidic saying

Depression is not a sin; but what depression does, no sin can do. — Chassidic saying

There is another article on Tolerance that is pretty much the most thoughtful thing I have ever read on the subject, though from a profoundly Jewish perspective.

Of course, some of the stuff is just over my head, and some of it looks weird and bizzare to my alien eyes. But all in all, I feel so warmed and blessed by this little happening, I can't say.

Of making many books there is no end...

I am lost in wonder at Ecclesiastes. For all the mad raven's crowing in it, for all the misanthropy and misogyny, for all the great, thrilling, literary despair, I love the thing.

"Guard your steps when you go to the house of God. Go near to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools, who do not know that they do wrong.

Do not be quick with your mouth,
do not be hasty in your heart
to utter anything before God.
God is in heaven
and you are on earth,
so let your words be few.
As a dream comes when there are many cares,
so the speech of a fool when there are many words.

When you make a vow to God, do not delay in fulfilling it. He has no pleasure in fools; fulfill your vow. It is better not to vow than to make a vow and not fulfill it. Do not let your mouth lead you into sin. And do not protest to the temple messenger, "My vow was a mistake." Why should God be angry at what you say and destroy the work of your hands? Much dreaming and many words are meaningless."

Though I know I am forgiven for my hasty, false vows in many things, I am struck to the heart by this, in a clean, razor-sharp lighting bolt.

There is something in the unrelenting doom of Koheleth that is both deeply convicting and deeply uplifting. "Meaninglessness! Vanity! Withering into dust! All men forgotten! Chasing after wind!" and yet he cared deeply enough to write a document that has remained and existed for thousands of years. There is a bone-deep humour in it, and yet I am neither laughing at him, nor with him. It's not satire, he's not being subversive, he is deeply in earnest, absolutely stone-dead straight-faced, and yet for some reason, reading the truth about ourselves is not the horrifying experience it is supposed to be. There is more meaning, and life, and breath, and drive in this poem to futility than in almost any other piece of writing I have found. Mortality, calamity, unfairness, misery, all are true, all are part of our existence, all are inescapable. I don't know how he does it, but somehow, knowing that in the end all things come to dust does not take away the thirst for living, and gives a sense of wholeness and peace rather than a compulsion to hysterical consumption.

Funny, innit?

"In the diminishment of the ego comes the expansion of the consiousness. This is the sublime."
-Joseph Campbell

Desiderata, by Max Ehrmann

I've been given to understand before that this was a bit over-exposed in the hippie generation, and abused by tacky self-helper types, but it touched me so deeply when I first read it, and finding it suddenly again, it strikes me as so very Quaker.

Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
but let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune, but do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here, and whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham and drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.

Meditating on detachment again, today.

I don't mean to get in the habit of recycling old posts, but as I rescue bits and pieces of my old blog, I find writing that is so relevant to my current condition that it's really centering to know I've been here before, and will likely return again. So here's a post from July 22nd of last year. Keep in mind I was going through an astrology phase. Still, I think the main lesson in Astrology is that it reminds us to slow down, look around, look inside, and see how the outer reality ("the stars" being only a convinient shorthand) corresponds to the inner reality.
------------------------------------------------

So after my sadness and freak out last night about how tenuous and fragile human relationships are, thinking of the dozens of people I've cared about that I may never see again, I sat down to meditate, and learned a lot about myself. My horoscope today is true in the long-term, not just for these 24 hours.

Tonight you may display great sensitivity and feeling in front of or when dealing with others. Or you may allow your thinking to be entirely overcome by personal and subjective considerations so that no one can communicate with you or understand you. This influence can go either way. On the positive side, it enables you to feel out the mood of a group of people so that you can appeal to their deepest emotional concerns. But on the negative side, this influence may make you shy away from groups or from people in general. The same energy that enables you to feel out moods also makes you feel vulnerable and exposed with others. Thinking and decision- making are not favored by this quality of time, because your mind is dominated by petty personal motives that cannot go beyond your immediate psychological necessities.

It's very true. This is a fundamental aspect of my personality in general. As I was meditating last night, the old St. Francis Prayer floated up.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.


I've always been able to pray the first part with no reservations. I want so badly to be all of those things. But last night, my mind faltered on the second bit. Why do I want to be all these things? And the answer came - because I want to be loved. I think my heart is far from pure in this respect, and always has been - my "mind is dominated by petty personal motives that cannot go beyond your immediate psychological necessities." My need to be loved is over-arching. I was reading No Man is an Island by Thomas Merton again a few weeks ago, and as I meditated, the first chaper on love came back to me. He says:

A happiness that is sought for ourselves alone can never be found: for a happiness that is diminished by being shared is not big enough to make us happy. . . .

There is a false and momentary happiness in self-satisfaction, but it always leads to sorrow because it narrows and deadens our spirit. True happiness is found in unselfish love, a love which increases in proportion as it is shared. There is no end to the sharing of love, and, therefore, the potential happiness of such love is without limit. Infinite sharing is the law of God's inner life. He has made the sharing of ourselves the law of our own being, so that it is in loving others that we best love ourselves. In disinterested activity we best fulfill our own capacities to act and to be...Selfish love often appears to be unselfish, because it is willing to make any concession to the beloved in order to keep him prisoner...

A love, therefore, that is selfless, that honestly seeks the truth, does not make unlimited concession to the beloved. Yet there can never be happiness in compulsion. It is not enough for love to be shared: it must be shared freely. That is to say it must be given, not merely taken. Unselfish love that is poured out upon a selfish object does not bring perfect happiness: not because love requires a return or a reward for loving, but because it rests in the happiness of the beloved. And if the one loved receives love selfishly, the lover is not satisfied. He sees that his love has failed to make the beloved happy. It has not awakened his capacity for unselfish love. . . ."

The gift of love is the gift of the power and the capacity to love, and, therefore, to give love with full effect is also to receive it. So, love can only be kept by being given away, and it can only be given perfectly when it is also received. This feels like a Koan. I try to ask myself honestly, in meditation, and in many situations in my day-to-day life "Am I seeking to love, or seeking to be loved?" The Koan is that the two are not really separable, but it's a hard thing to get your mind around. It is in giving that we recieve, but we must not give with the intention of recieving, or our love is not pure, and we're not really giving, at all, and so we won't recieve.

Sometimes I wonder if I should bother to question my motives or just not worry about whether my intentions are pure, and live moment to moment, doing what seems best and noblest in the moment. But without self-awareness in this respect, I may not know my level of detachment.

I can feel that I am growing in this area, being stretched a lot. I don't want to be slack with myself, because it is so easy to fall back into an unaware dream state when it comes to love. When it's going right, you stop thinking about it and checking yourself...but all things are impermanent. People die, move away, lose interest, lose their health...everything passes away. If you don't cultivate a pure love, devoid of self-interest, and instead, try to cling (even only internally) the experience will bring pain.

It's hard to imagine not needing to be loved. Isn't that biologically programmed into primates? We're social creatures, after all. And claiming to have no needs at all is prideful and dishonest. Can you make yourself not need anything? When I was more religious this question made me miserable. If I really believed in God, why would I need anything else? It made me doubt myself that I still needed so much human affirmation in my life, that I still got lonely, that I still wanted so badly to be loved by my fellow fallen creatures, when I had the perfected God in front of me. Now that I no longer believe in this God, I wonder, what's supposed to fill these holes we have inside ourselves?

The answer is probably that we need to heal these holes, not fill them. This is what Aristotle means when he says "Happiness belongs to the self-sufficient." If we have healed ourselves and are not looking for other people to fill up the empty, broken spaces inside us, our love will be pure and true and unselfish. And if and when it is returned, it will be the glorious side effect, meant to complete our love, not meant to complete us.