Companionship Of The Rain

I love the rain.  I have loved it starting as an infant and so throughout my life.  As I sit on my front porch and watch the dark clouds of another summer afternoon rain drift in slowly over the mountains, I am reminded yet again of the depth of that very personal connection.

Over the centuries, the sun has been a primary object of worship and respect by myriad cultures.  Given the power of the sun, its primary position in the orbits of our solar system, and its light that allows us to see and grow, perhaps that attention is appropriate.  But as warm as its rays are to our physical body, the sun is emotionally quite cold – notwithstanding the quiet, gradual calling of a new day at sunrise, or the spectacular blast of brilliant colors across the sky at sunset.  Conversely, as cool as the rain is to our physical body, it gives us a unique warmth to our emotional being, wrapping itself around us in a protective and reassuring womb.  The sun and the rain are fully unified in their own uniqueness, but each interacts with us in its separateness.

The rain distinctly changes with each season in very noticeable ways.  It has a smell unto itself, which differs from season to season if not from rainfall to rainfall.  You cannot hold the rays of the sun in your hand, but raindrops are visible to the eye and tangible to the touch.  And the rain usually comes with friends: the wind, which may present itself in many different forms and personalities; the thunder, announcing itself with an undeniable presence; the lightning, whose great electrical charge manifested across the sky affirms the awesome power of Nature within the Universe.

A rainfall may be quiet, falling benignly on grounds and roofs.  It may be boisterous, hurling itself almost sideways into nooks and crevices once thought tight and secure.  The rain may be here for only an instant, as a sprinkle or a downpour.  Or it may be a long, uninterrupted affair, soaking deeply into the ground for the ultimate nourishment of all, concurrently inviting us to an afternoon on the couch with a friendly book we have been waiting to read or a late-morning extended sleep.  Taken to excess, the rain can become a destructive force to beings and objects in its path.  But that is often because we have tried to build and live foolishly obliviously to the reality of rain’s potential.

The rain illustrates the completeness of the cycle of creation.  It falls, it is accumulated and/or absorbed, it nourishes, it returns to the sky, ready to begin its cycle anew.  Just as our lives begin, mature, are spiritually nourished, and then end and return to the Source.  When the rain comes, so also comes the reminder of God’s existence in all things.  Some days it is the quiet, protective warmth of God.  Other times, it is the reminder of the strength and power of God made abundantly clear.

Each of us needs to find that individual reminder of life’s greater Source.  In the listening to and watching of the rain, we are reminded that we are not alone.  We exist within a context larger than ourselves, a context that surrounds us, envelops us in its presence.  And when we are apt to forget our connection to the many and the greater, the rain comes again.  Just to remind us. To remind us that God’s love continually falls all around and on us every moment.  It is as visible as the rain, if we just open ourselves to see and feel it.

From Hope To Certainty

At a spiritual gathering I was attending a couple of years ago, a group discussion centered on Faith and why it was important in our lives. One person answered that “Faith gives me a reason to Hope, and Hope is a very important part in my life.”

Her comment led me to think more about the idea of Hope and where it can take us. Faith, hope and charity are often referenced together when talking about the great values of our human lives. Hope can certainly provide us with a bridge across our periods of discouragement, fear, despair and many crises. When the negative events of life begin to dominate our view, and we begin to doubt either the worthwhileness of life, the betterment of our circumstances, or the goodness of our neighbors, Hope helps us transcend that bleakness and instead see a different vision in our mind’s eye.

Hope can replace negativity with positivity. It can help us see a present unhappy circumstance as only temporary, not permanent. It can allow us to seek out the better side of humanity that we know exists even in the midst of our inhumanity. It can make it possible for us to see the muddy stream, yet be aware that the mud only masks the clear water that contains it. Hope can translate the small events and painful circumstances of our day into a more desirable context and larger purpose that makes today more comprehensible, and for “tomorrow to [truly] be a better day.”

But Hope is not a goal unto itself, nor an endpoint. It is a vehicle for us in traveling our spiritual journey, but it is not our destination. Ultimately, Hope seeks to be transitory, to be replaced by Certainty. Faith is the starting point, the foundation of what we have come to believe. Hope is the vehicle that moves our beliefs into those things positive in our lives, transcending the stifling negatives. But Certainty grounds and underpins our Faith with conviction, a true knowing that validates our faith, without doubts. It is not a certainty that leads to arrogance, nor a disrespect of the beliefs of others. It is not a certainty that locks us into place, leaving no room for spiritual growth, learning, expansion or higher knowledge. It requires no speeches, no outreach to convince others of our rightness. It is a quiet Certainty, an unthreatened calmness of spirit that need not be proved nor justified to others. It is a Certainty reinforced by the larger truths unfolding in one’s life in spite of all the bumps, distractions, and seeming temporary setbacks.

It was only partially important what the great spiritual teachers said to us over the centuries. It was also the clarity and conviction behind those messages that mattered. It is in Certainty that our Faith is truly fulfilled, that Hope is realized, even in the face of seemingly overwhelming doubt. Of this I am certain.

Peace Be Within you

“Peace be within you.” That is my wish to you expressed upon greeting or departing.

“Peace be with everyone.” That is my wish repeated in the course of daily prayer ritual.

It is said with an understanding that peace is not the absence of turmoil surrounding our lives. Or the concerns and fears that sometimes invade our inner space. These things are all too real a part of being alive on this earth.

Rather, it is a peace that takes these discomforts in stride, in balance. We feel pain when we are hurt, but do not unnecessarily add to that pain that is. We feel disappointment when expectations go unrealized, but are cautious and wise enough to not set expectations unrealistically or inappropriately, even as we do and should pursue great dreams.

It is a peace that understands that our life exists not in a vacuum, dictated only by our demands and intentions. Rather, we live interdependently with all other people, beings and elements of nature. So our peace is directly interdependent with our relationships and respectfulness of all such beings. It is a wisdom that knows our peace with others must first allow those others to fulfill their purest destiny free of our wants of them. That their life may be called in a direction that we might not have chosen for them. There can be no world peace without national peace without extended-family peace without peace first and foremost within ourselves.

It is a peace that knows there are some realities, if not laws, that make up nature, our earthly environment, and our human responses. We often foolishly attempt to conquer those realities of nature with our dams, our beachside or ill-constructed homes, our inadequate levees, our ocean-front nuclear power plants on seismic fault lines, or our drilled holes in deep waters. When these systems fail, our peace does not allow us to blame nature. In peace we accept our unwillingness to live in harmony and respect with Nature’s goodness and power as a primary cause of our misfortune.

Most significantly, our peace comes from simply knowing that there exists a reality, a force, a cause that is always bigger than just “I,” even if it is beyond our capacity to fully understand, to know, to adequately name. In our faith within such peace, all incomprehensible things are made comprehended, all unknowns are known, all questions are answered, all non-sense made sense. Even if it must wait for its time.

Peace be within you.

March Awakening

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” (Anaïs Nin)

In ancient Rome the month of March was designated as the first month of the year. It was the time when the cold and wet of winter began to abate. From the sleep of winter’s rest, the stirrings of a new round of growth begin to be felt, seen and smelled. The coverage of snow over the ground gives way to the sight of green earth (though family and friends in New England might question this timing!). Spring, and a new cycle of life, arrive. Unfortunately, for those ancient Romans spring also meant that it was time to begin new battlefield campaigns that were intended after the winter weather’s interlude; hence the name “March” was derived from their god of war, Mars. God’s time of birth was also Man’s time of destruction.

Somewhere along the line, as calendar structures were manipulated, January became seen as the new start of the year. A shame. March has the sense of starting, of beginning fresh, of planting new seeds for growth. March should be the time when we make our new resolutions, setting new intentions and directions, rather than in the middle of winter’s oppressiveness. Winter is our time of rest from our previous efforts; spring is our time to begin a new round of efforts to plant, nurture, grow and harvest.

The seeds we plant can be physical ones, set into the ground, resulting in food for our bodies, visual treats for our eyes, or new tools by which nature continues Her never-ending reproductive cycle. But the seeds can also be the ideas and plans we have for creating new physical structures or conceptual entities. Or perhaps most importantly, we can plant new seeds (i.e. intentional steps) for our own personal growth in spirit, character and wisdom.

It is certainly easier to stay in a kind of spiritual winter, perpetually at rest, in a kind of detached slumber from life and its creativity that calls to us. But living a true spirituality is like everything else in life. It requires intention. It requires planting new seeds for food rather than living off of old, deadened growth that has run its course. It requires the water and fertilizer of outside nourishments in order to grow to fruition. It requires vigilance and protections against destructive elements which will otherwise compete with if not defeat our spiritual crop. If, in spite of all the weather and attacking pests, insects and disease, we somehow manage to grow our spiritual plantings to full maturity, we then need to harvest it. Celebrate it, honor it, and unabashedly feast upon its reward.

Stepping out of the darkness of our winter cave can be scary; the bright glare of spiritual sunlight can be blinding at times. But in the hibernating darkness of the cave we wither, living off our old accumulated fat. In the warm sun we are renewed and live life fresh again, fueled by Purpose and nourished by a knowing Faith.

Happy New Year! What spiritual seeds are each of us planting for this year’s harvest?

Passing Into History

There was a small news article that passed by recently. Perhaps you noticed it, but likely not. It was a notice that Frank Buckles, then of Morgantown, WV, had died. I had not heard of Mr. Buckles before reading that article. But the significant point of this particular obituary was that Frank Buckles, age 100, was the last known American veteran of World War I. (2 other veterans from Great Britain still remain alive.)

Each death is a moment in time, and a point in life, worthy of noting. A person moves from one phase of existence to another. We feel joy for the new opportunity that person is now receiving, and – depending upon the circumstances – perhaps relief for the end of their immediate suffering. We feel regret, if not pain, at our end of earthly connection and loss of future interactions with that individual. We take some moments to reflect on the life that person lived: the benefits they gave to others, the ripple effects of their life, the impacts of their actions. Likely their life had consequences far beyond their own recognition; hopefully most of those consequences were for the betterment of others.

All these thoughts fill our minds at anyone’s death, no matter how well or not we may have personally known them. But some deaths may bring an additional recognition to us. Their passing is not only a personal individual loss, but also simultaneously a greater collective loss. The loss of one person has become a loss of a group of individuals – a passing of an era, a way of life, a collective experience. It is a moment when a personal memory, or a personalized relationship to our past, moves from a present connection into “history.”

When Frank Buckles died, hundreds of thousands of our (great-)grandparents moved from our living memory, a sense of live connection to our inherited story, into the permanent time capsule of “history.” No one is left to speak live of that event; no one is left from that group to show up and march at the veteran’s parade. A generation is now gone. “The Doughboys” cede way to “The Greatest Generation” – the next group now working its way ever more quickly into history.

As a Civil War history buff growing up in the 1950s, I remember being similarly struck by the deaths of the last Union and Confederate veterans of that war during that decade. The people and events I had been studying seemed so ancient; yet there were still these two people who had lived then, could still talk about that great event – until that absolute finality of their deaths. At that moment, the voices of hundreds of thousands of casualties and survivors went forever quiet. Nothing was now left except the history books, the letters, the gravestones, and the many granite memorials inscribed “Lest We Forget.” “Living history” moved to just “history.”

Time passes; and at certain points, time closes a door. Frank Buckles reminds us to pause and consider each life’s passing for whatever larger theme that life represents beyond that one individual, the bigger stories that each of us is a part of. And perhaps we should consider what each life represents before it dies – the impact, the relevance, the worthiness, and the meaningfulness of each of us in each day that we live.

Call To Prayer

Over the years, I have often had difficulty with the idea and practice of prayer. Virtually all spiritual practices include some form of “prayer” in their ritual and expressions. Prayers may be a very personal statement &/or request to that which one calls God (by whatever name); or a similar expression to one’s spiritual master (e.g. Jesus, Muhammad, a Buddha); or to the broader universe, angels, or spiritual teachers of no specific name. Or perhaps a statement directed to no one in particular – simply an expression of belief or hope with respect to humanity in general.

Broad-based statements expressing hopes for the well-being of humanity, or more specific pockets of people (e.g. disaster victims, emerging nations, or our country recovering after 9-11) has generally seemed appropriate to me. The broad audience that is the object of my prayer seems to inherently help me maintain my humility within my request.

It is prayers of intercession – praying for outcomes and actions directed to others – and prayers for a change in my circumstances or direction, that feel awkward to me. Prayers to change the course of the lives of others, or to try to focus God’s/Universe’s heightened attention to their needs, seems somewhat presumptuous (if not arrogant) of me. I may feel very sympathetic, if not empathetic, to the needs of someone else. When I pray to end that person’s suffering or adversity, how can I know what is truly “best” for that individual in God’s eyes, or what “contract” has already been established between his/her soul and God? How much of my expressed wish for that person is really more towards comforting me and reducing my suffering over that person’s circumstance, versus understanding that God has a greater good intended for that person that I cannot see from my more limited earthly view.

Similarly, when I pray for my own needs, how well do I truly know that Pathway A is preferable for the deepest aspirations of my soul than Pathway B? Am I praying to accomplish my plan, or to fulfill God’s better intentions for me – intentions likely beyond my recognition. This seems even more confusing when I read that “God knows [my] needs even before I do.” If that is so, why do I even need to make a request if God is way ahead of me already?

In the end, I believe that I do not pray to God to cause anything to happen that God is not already doing anyway. Nor does God need my help in becoming attuned to someone else’s need for divine comfort and help. God is already fully on top of this situation. Rather, the act of prayer forces ME to attune and focus MY self to other people’s circumstances, or to my own thoughts. It helps ME to catch up to where God already is. It is MY attention that needs awakening and focusing, and it is in prayer that my spirit is alerted to the task at hand.

Once I catch up, I put myself in a right position to think, speak, and act as God is already doing. In truth, I am not really praying for God to do anything. I am actually praying to bring the God that is inside of me to fulfillment. To come one step closer to seeing and understanding as God, to partner in God’s divine work, and thereby to help God to live on earth through me. It is not God’s light that we seek to call to shine; it is already doing so always. Rather, it is our own light within waiting to be called to shine. Pray to God, and by so doing, pray to myself.

Just Do

Just Do.

Do what is in your heart.
Do for the pure sake of doing.

Not with a planned intention, or expected outcome.
Certainly not for the thanks or the approval of others.
These simply muddle, confuse, and weaken the doing.
Rationale can help clarify.
But we can rationalize anything we have predetermined to do.

The Grand Plan is no plan.
The Doing of that which is right to do in this moment is sufficient.
The Purpose and reason will be clarified and made known to us later.