Category Archives: Faith and Spirituality

At One Ment

Samain                                                                                      Moving Moon

A continuing conversation. Purity of heart. Scott asked Sunday if he could not will one thing was his heart impure? Took me some thought but I realized the answer. No, not impure, divided.

A divided heart is the normal human condition, a heart pulled among family, self, ambition, beauty, money, any of the sundry things which can seem urgent, central to us. Kierkegaard is, of course, holding out an ideal, an instance in which we can bring all of who we are into one focus, on one central value. Kierkegaard saw that one thing as love of God, all else falling short.

Back to the U curve graph I talked about a while back, the one where life satisfaction goes down as we reach mid-career then heads up as we age. I proposed that we get happier because aging imposes limits on us: financial, physical and temporal. Another way to think about it might involve the divided heart. Perhaps as we age, we become (or can become) less divided in our will.

This could relate to my desire to do only those things that only I can do. Once we get clearer on who we are, what our Self is, we become (or, again, can become) more focused. This may be the process of our heart becoming less and less divided.

It may be that the third phase is a whittling down of the divided loyalties at our center, a purging of the now understood to be less critical, less urgent, less central. As that U nears the top of the right hand, it may reflect the heart yearning toward, perhaps achieving unity. It is a consoling idea to me to think that we might be able, near the close of our life, to will one thing, even if for only a short period. We might call it at-one-ment.

 

Reflections on Purity of Heart

Samain                                                                                      Moving Moon

Reflections after presenting Purity of Heart.

First, its origin lies as much in H. Richard Niebuhr’s essay, “Radical Monotheism and Western Culture“, as it does in Kierkegaard. Both press forward a key idea, that a center of value is critical to human flourishing, and, both, too, suggest God (Yahweh) as that center of value. With God at the center of a human life, Niebuhr the natural human tendency toward polytheism is checked at its source.

He identifies polytheism as allegiance to multiple values that compete for centrality, e.g. greed, patriotism, race, historical precedence, but that distort the human character if placed in a position like God’s. God, in other word, pushes out the hubris of race-based living, of a life focused on money and success, of a nationalist’s unhumble pride in country, of tradition’s right to determine behavior. With God in the center life focuses on love, justice and compassion, away, in other words, from the cruel lenses other god’s put on us.

Though not the same, Kierkegaard’s purity of heart aims in the same direction, putting God at the center, the relationship with God as the one thing willed, means the individual can live out of their own center rather than a socially determined one.

I think, with Niebuhr and Kierkegaard, that we have to choose with great care that value we put in the center of our lives, that one thing that we will. We can learn from them that certain choices lead to contorted lives that often wreak great harm on the individual and the culture in which they live their lives. Not hard to see the examples. Bernie Madoff. The KKK. The Tea Party. Most bankers and folks who live their lives in pursuit of money. You can add to the list with ease, I’m sure.

Where I part company with Kierkegaard and Niebuhr lies, I think, in the area first of metaphysics. I’m simply not convinced of the existence of God. Many of my friends are comfortable with a spiritual realm beyond or next to or interpenetrating this world, I’m not convinced of its existence either. So to put God or some other God-equivalent at the center of my life just makes no sense to me.

Are there, though, centers of value, the one-willed thing, that can produce eudaimonic lives? I believe there are and furthermore I believe they are multiple, not singular. Let me suggest a few: justice, compassion, love, beauty, art, children, the elderly, the mid-career adult, a healthy eco-system for human beings, even a particular place or people or culture.

Second, to the question of what if we cannot will one thing? What if we cannot have a single center of value? I believe these conditions are the norm and that the willing of one thing, for instance, is the exception. We can still hold ourselves to the goal of a single center of value, of willing one thing. Does that mean we’re bad if we don’t achieve it?

Of course not. It probably does mean though that there is an aspect of your flourishing that goes wanting because your energy and attention is diverted in multiple directions. Note that this is true even if all the multiple directions are the kind of focii referred to above.

 

 

No Chaos Like Move Chaos

Samain                                                                       Moving Moon

11 seasons and 3 episodes of Midsomer Murders. We made a valiant effort to complete the full 15 seasons while still in Minnesota, but we have failed. It will be a thread of continuity from our recent time here.

Pack, Pack, Pack. Watch the British kill each other. Watch Chief Inspector Barnaby figure out who did what to whom. It’s been a good segue to sleep since, as I understand it, the mystery novel is all about restoring order to a chaotic world. In the life of the well-mannered Midwesterner there is no chaos like move chaos. Barnaby gave us hope.

At Groveland tomorrow I’m ending my ministerial career, begun in 1971 at United Theological Seminary in New Brighton, continued with my ordination in 1976 to the Presbyterian Ministry and redirected when I was accepted as a UU clergy 20 years later in 1996. I’ve done little since 1991 but preach occasionally (though there was that rouge attempt to re-enter the ministry full time in the late 1990’s) and this will be the last of that. It feels like time to close off this chapter of my life.

This is the dogs next to last night here since they head off to the kennel on Monday. They don’t seem nostalgic. At least not so far.

Seed Planted

Samain                                                                                  Moving Moon

The Great Wheel congruence I mentioned a few posts back, the one between closing on Samain (Oct. 31st) and having our first full day and night together in Colorado on the 21st of December, the Winter Solstice, are not the only ones.

When I went back over posts related to this decision, I discovered Kate and I discussed the possibility and then decided to move on April 30. That day we planted a small seed that began to germinate on May 1st.  That’s Beltane, the Celtic holiday that marks the opening of the growing season.

That means the idea of moving to Colorado took root that day and began to flourish over the growing season. We tilled the ground around it over the summer and into the fall, finally harvesting the fruit of a new home on the day marking the end of the growing season.

There is natural magic here. Yes, these dates are coincidences, but the congruity between our dreams and their realization in parallel with the Great Wheel’s turning demonstrates, profoundly I believe, the interdependent nature of our lives as human animals (see the TED talk below) and the life of plants and other animals. We reflect in our lives the patterns to be found in the world around us. I find this deeply comforting.

Mid-Holiseason: Advent

Samain                                                                           Moving Moon

Holiseason now looks back a month to October 31st and still forward to January 6th, Epiphany. Over a month of the season lies ahead. Advent, Hanukkah, Posada, Winter Solstice, Christmas Eve and Christmas. That odd week at the end of the year, then New Year’s: 2015.

2015 will bring not only our first full year in Colorado, but my 50th high school reunion. Remember not being able to imagine how old you’d have to be to have a 50th high school reunion? Now I know.

I’ll go by train, as I have in the past, though this time from the Denver Union Station east not from St. Paul’s Union Depot south. The Denver train is the California Zephyr and runs daily between San Francisco and Chicago. On the Empire Builder the service was pretty good, by Amtrak standards (a low bar, I admit), and I don’t know about the Zephyr. Whatever it is, it beats air travel for me.

The Last Presentation

Samain                                                                                     Moving Moon

A piece on social justice I’ve been writing , a presentation for Groveland U-U on December 14th, has been harder than usual. Usually such presentations form over a period of time, I write them, present them and forget them. This has been my pattern for the 22 years of occasional presentations there.

Two key elements have made this one more difficult. It will be my last, probably my last such presentation anywhere and certainly my last to Groveland. And, it was originally to be reflections of my years of social justice work, mostly in the Twin Cities.

When I tried to do a summing up, a sort of lessons learned, failures and successes as examples, it came out wooden. Too focused on me, too summary, not really coherent. Then, I thought, ah. What is it that creates a need in some of us to work for social justice, to attempt to move the levers of power in such a way that they benefit others?

That one felt too psychologized, too small.

What I ended up writing is no valedictory speech. It’s neither summing up nor 360 205370_10150977727553020_150695969_npsychologizing. It is, rather, about choice, about existentialist living.

It finishes with this:

We’ll end with another instance, perhaps a change that will come into your life as it already has in mine. Grandchildren.

I don’t want to say that grandchildren are at the center of my life because they’re not, though they’re pretty damned important. I do want to say that being with our grandchildren, Ruth and Gabe, 8 and 6, gives me a clear focus on the future, that is, the world in which Ruth and Gabe will grow up, in which they will have children and in which they will grow old.

I know, as you probably do, that it will be a much warmer world and one with more erratic weather and changed food production systems. It will be a world in which the current gap between the 99% and the 1% will get wider. Just taking these two instances, as I look at Ruth and Gabe and, at the same time, at that future, those gazes will inform the political choices I make now. Perhaps that’s true for you, too.

 

 

Hmmm.

Samain                                                                             Moving Moon

Here is an interesting conundrum. Should I let my Colorado self emerge out of the casual interactions inherent in moving to a new location: talking to mechanics, visiting the grocery store, dining at the 285 cafe? Or, should I try to shape it, finding like minded folks through obvious clusterings such Sierra Club, the Denver Art Museum, the Democratic party? Sure, it will be a bit of both, I know, but where I should place my emphasis?

As I have been discussing the move, I’ve emphasized the loss of the Woollies, my docent friends, the sheepshead guys and the thick web of history here after 40 plus years. One straight line of thinking is to investigate the sociology of Denver for nodes of persons whom I might meet with similar tastes and interests. That’s why I’ve mentioned politics and the Sierra Club as likely sources for new friends.

And yet. Another part of me, reinforced by some reading in Kierkegaard and an article by a professor on why he has left politics behind (politics or productivity in his mind), have given me pause. Not to mention the onrushing reality of the move. No, I don’t have to make a decision soon, or ever for that matter, but I want to.

Why? Because I don’t want to create a sticky fly trap for my self. I don’t want to make commitments in order to meet people that will result in my needing to pull back later. Right now I’m thinking that politics, though a strong and thrumming wire wound throughout my life, is just such a fly trap. As would be volunteering at one of the museums. Long drives. Winter weather. I dropped both Sierra Club and the MIA for those reasons and, to underscore the professor’s logic, to enable my productivity.

A Colorado, a mountain, a western, a grandpop self will come into being if I live my life, flowing from here to there as events take me. I want the productivity that I find so dependent on having my own time and my own space. Guess that’s my answer for right now.

 

Thanksgiving Morning

Samain                                                                  Moving Moon

A holiday morning. This one with no pans clanking, oven sending out aromas. Not even the Macy’s parade. I never did connect our HD Comcast service. The HD delivers the basic cable channels we pay for to keep down the cost of the broadband. No Rosebowl later in the day either.

Dining this afternoon at the Capital Grille. Our last Thanksgiving here and we’re sharing it with Anne, Kate’s sister. A cold day, appropriate for the final major holiday of our Minnesota lives.

Holiseason hits its full stride with Thanksgiving. After this the holidays keep coming, up to and through Epiphany on January 6th. So many of them focus on getting.  The twin oxen of capitalism and marketing, goaded as they pull the treasure carts of mercantilism, strain to drag us off center in our lives. That’s why Thanksgiving and its focus on gratitude is so important for us right now.

But. Black Friday. Bleeding into Thanksgiving evening. Bah. Humbug. Marley’s ghost drags his chains around in delight.

As the lights go up, the songs come on the radio, I love the focus on illumination. Enlightenment, you might say, is the reason for the season.

And yet. I find myself, to quote Robert Frost, “one acquainted with the night.” This is the season of darkness, the approach to the longest night of the year. The dark is fertile, a place of creativity and the nurturing of life before it emerges into the day. Here in Andover and also on Black Mountain Drive the night brings with it silence, a quiet similar to holiday mornings, like the one around me now. I love the blackness and the light. Blessed be.

Holiseason Is Almost Upon Us

Fall                                                                                 Closing Moon

Fall is in its last days. Samain comes on Friday. The seasons of the year that speak most directly to my soul arrive back to back. Samain, then Winter. Guess that tells you what it’s like to live inside my skin.

The sky today glowered over the landscape, a November sky ahead of its month. It felt like a homecoming to me.

A long while back I chose to identify the period from Samain to Epiphany, as holiseason. It’s a whole season of special holidays, moments and weather. They are distinct, yes, from Diwali to Kwanzaa, Posada to Hanukkah, Christmas to the Winter Solstice, Thanksgiving to New Years, Samain to Epiphany, but their proximity, their charged valence in their particular cultures adds up not in simple sums, but in layered complexity.

Put, for example, Samain’s celebration of the thinning of the veil between this world and the Otherworld in dialogue with the holiday of gratitude and family we call Thanksgiving. To do so reminds me of a small object in the art of the Americas collection at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, the Nayarit house.

This is a tomb object, excavated from a ninety foot deep shaft grave made by the Nayarit culture of what is now western Mexico. We have little firm information about this object but we can infer from its presence in a tomb that it might convey something about life and death.

It contains groups of people, probably relatives of the deceased, eating and drinking with each other. As groups of kids investigate this ceramic object made between 300 BCE and 400 ACE, they usually conclude that the group above is living and the group below the ancestors. The key thing they also note is that they are eating and drinking together.

Of course this brings up the Mexican celebration known as the day of the dead, also a holiday in holiseason. It could be seen as the living generation celebrating Thanksgiving with each other, yet intimately connected to their ancestors, who carry on their own celebration, one we acknowledge at Samain. Or, one we might acknowledge at Samain if we took seriously the Celtic imagery of the veil between the worlds grown thin, a very similar idea to the one celebrated throughout Latin America, but especially in Mexico as the Day of the Dead.

The most mythic and sacred period of the year approaches. I’m excited about it.

 

 

A Mind-Full Lunch

Fall                                                                                Falling Leaves Moon

 

At the Walker. Shocked out of my move fixation, gladly so. What I hoped for.  A major exhibition covering years when art turned over on itself and the Walker made its reputation as a nationally significant contemporary art space, Art Expanded, 1958–1978, challenges boring old representational painting, stiff granite sculpture, and anything else considered traditional or usual at the time.

It got me immediately into careful looking, following disinhibited artists as they struggled to use a radical new freedom, going with them to places absurd and funny. An example of the latter is a small notation for a happening:  Turn the radio on, turn it off at the first sound. This zeitgeist was mine as a young adult, traditional sexual mores, traditional career paths, traditional power structures, traditional decorum was all suspect and suspect in such a way that the burden of proving itself useful to the human project lay on tradition.

The Walker is an osmotic membrane, the world of art pushes at its curators and they try to let through only the most innovative, most balls against the wall, most beautiful, most lyrical of the very new. It is an antidote to burying myself in the minutiae of moving. So easy to do. Artists trying to replace sculpture with three video screens, two larger and one smaller between them, stacked vertically, with strings like those of a bass arranged in front of the screens and a stool behind for the screenist to use while playing push me away from the taskiness of the move and back into the realm of, “Oh! What’s this?” A place I consider my natural habitat.

So it did not surprise me when I sat down to eat lunch that my mind strayed to a mind-full meal. It went like this. I had a fruit salad and a grilled cheese and bacon sandwich. Fork into grape. Huh. Roots captured water, distributed it up a vine and into the developing fruit, swelling this taut case until it was full. The leaves captured solar energy and created carbohydrates. Sweet. Wine. Kate and I at the KSNJ dinner on Kate’s 70th. Mogen David. A melon. Kate makes melon salads every summer, puts them in a long plastic container and we eat them throughout the week. Pineapple chunk. A happy worker makes good fruit. The Dole plantation philosophy on Lanai, now abandoned to the techno-baron Larry Eliot and his desire to create a sustainable, profitable community. Strawberry. California’s Central Valley. Drought. The precious water contained in this strawberry might have come from last year’s snow pack in the Rocky Mountains. Then, the bread. I don’t eat bread anymore, but half a grilled cheese sounded so good. I went ahead. Diabetes. Why do the things I like a lot turn out to be bad for me? Days of grilled cheese and Campbell’s tomato soup. An Alexandria, Indiana gourmet lunch.

Now this is not mindful in the way of savoring the grape as a tight oval, bursting with juice, breaking the skin with sharp front teeth and feeling the first squirt of liquid on the tongue sort of mindful. No, this is a mind-full lunch in which I allowed free association to guide and slow my eating. The blueberries. Those Augusts on the North Shore wandering through burned over or clear cut forests, gathering wild berries, eating as many as I picked. The blueberries we have outside in our orchard. That sort of mind-full.