soundings : progress, part 2

“Deep calleth unto deep
at the noise of thy waterspouts;
all thy waves and thy billows
are gone over me.”

~ Psalm 42 : 7


Longing guides my steps to the waterfront. Watching gusts of rain, whether at the open shore or along harbor piers, aquatic textures blend. Seeing skies mirrored by the water surface brings a fascination with distance and volume. Altitude from sea level is readily seen, and can be noted with every terrain or air-travel ascent. When it comes to water depths, ocean charts inform and provide a sense of distance below surface. Simply watching the stirs of blue-green waves is insufficient for a realistic impression of how far- or near- edges of crags may be. Both knowledge and sharpened sense are needed. Trying to synthesize these two aspects, my thoughts return to the idea of progress. I consider whether deepening of trust, of learning, and of direction can be known, as hypnotic hatching tidal lines group and disperse around me. Depth-of-field, a very familiar concept to me, concerns broadening areas of sharpened focus by using only the center of a camera lens. Through slower shutter speeds and finer apertures, more area can be sharply seen. It is the more patient view. But thirst urgently desires heights above and depths below surfaces.

Pelting rain adds layers of circles to the weave of ocean. When it becomes snow, the falling flakes shuffle with whispers into the water. Such unparalleled sounds are audible once away from city or ship-engine noises. Recently, I thought to call the Maine Geological Survey to ask about how ocean depths are measured. The scientist I spoke with helpfully explained depth soundings- also known as echosoundings, which is much the same as sonar. Acoustic signals are sent from an instrument towards the bottom, and depth is calculated based on the time it takes for the signal to come back to a transducer mounted on a vessel. Higher topography in the water will have reflected signals that come back sooner than areas that are deeper. Calculations are based on the speed of sound through water, which varies with salinity and temperature. It is fascinating to know how precise these depths- and even the shapes of bathymetric forms (underwater topography) are determined.

After this intriguing conversation, my usual waterfront walks brought these depth soundings to mind. Rather than to imagine any pinging rates of my own, a preferable quest is to plumb the depths and sail the heights of the Divine. Just the other day, out on a briny pier and breathing in the salt-washed air, I called unto the deeps. A simple supplication for refuge, from the depths preceding me- toward the Creator of all life whose understanding is unfathomable. And the words returning to me from beneath the tides are to continue onward. Greater things are up ahead than those yet seen. The unseen and trust- a tandem to accompany the cloud of unknowing and unceasing prayer. Once beyond my own perimeters, God’s expanse is limitless. Of course, it is quite human to ponder any progress I may have made; to marvel is something beautifully mortal. I wonder about what’s really changed, whether the changes have been for the better, and if this year’s product is one I would’ve bought last year- or even 10 years ago. It is all terribly humbling, and brings me to modest contentment with the small increments of distance effected.

Between digitally-plotted soundings and the heart’s sonar is the crossroad of ostensible and intrinsic. Indeed this is not meant to set one against the other, as both aspects are necessary. And somehow, no matter how much can be verified, the greater interest is in the elusive and unknown. In his tractate Signs of the True Ground, Meister Eckhart (13th c.) wrote “there are few who get beyond the science and the theory,” being well aware of the vitality of balance. “By being free from notions,” he continued, we can “be carried up beyond all rational concepts,” borne by the Spirit “to this truth and to this blessed life which no one can attain except in abstract knowledge and pure understanding.”

Discovery, alas, is often subtle and indirect. Straining at a conundrum doesn’t guarantee a solution. It’s as though endurance is tied to creativity. If answers are not immediately apparent- even with persistence- the subtler, overcoming discipline is to focus away from the matter. Irrational as that may seem, the emphasis becomes a more general context. Motion, and a panoramic view, will help overcome the paralysis of analysis. Notice how waters in channels, inlets, and around islands steer around obstructions. These directions are diverted by encountered resistance, though not prevented. Thirst for wisdom and the pilgrimage of trust come at one’s own risk, but it is well worthwhile- as St. Diadochos wrote in the 5th century, quoted in the Philokalia:

“For in much wisdom is much knowledge; and he that increases knowledge increases sorrow... the soul is tested by divine rebuke as in a furnace, and through fervent remembrance of God it actively experiences joy exempt from unreality”.

Discoveries and changes follow humbling episodes and experiences. Similar to steering away from fixating upon a question or a problem, listening for answers begins with embarkation. Standing straight, proverbial mat rolled up, and going forth with a perspective unburdened by old grudges. Pursuit inevitably teaches perseverance. But it requires getting going first; drawing a bold black charcoal mark on the large blank paper. By creatively engaging the voyage, we write off the detours that divert the road of communion. Or as St. Diadochos wrote, “ceaselessly journey toward God within the soul.” Somehow, in unexpected ways, endurance enhances understanding as hyper-focus in isolation cannot. Having already navigated some depths, echosoundings will reveal their worth as guiding coordinates.

horizons

"You cannot discover new oceans unless you have the courage to lose sight of the shore."

~ André Gide

To realize whether one has a place of departure still prominently in their sights implies there has been some straining in a direction opposite that which they are heading. Some distracting looking-back has been diverting the focus. And that seems a natural, though a pivotal, juncture to follow any major transition. Here is where it becomes essential for me to keep the courage and lose the departed shore. Just as surmounting the inertia with energy to "push off" into a new direction is itself a marvel of self-propulsion of the soul, so is the resolve to continue on, reaching forth to that which is forward. Such moments may manifest between horizons, when the one ahead is too far to unambiguously delineate, and the docks left in the wake are still near enough to revisit. But the courage to lose sight of the shore calls forth an abiding trust, and that is both conscious and surely not passive at all. Indeed, far from a gesture that simply allows things to leave what may be perceived to be "in my control," but consciously desiring and aiming for a life that is not mine alone. The courage to fly to the unknown implies a boldness to keep going, even if through miles of disorientation. The substance of things hoped for is sufficient bread for the journey. Choosing to move in a specific direction does imply motion away from another destination: my intended course becomes worth losing any other that might diminish the great hope that has been given to me. And when my long-held hopes reveal times of fulfillment, I realize how I have often created a sense of permanence out of very tentative and temporal circumstances. Cultivating aspirations became more an end than the means it was intended to be. Do we hope without the wholehearted expectation of reaching the other shore? The temporal has a dynamic that can propel us forward without even wanting to look back, and thus a life of ever moving forward maintains a fresh view of each moment.

Desiring to pursue dreams, choosing to continually reach for holiness instead of refueling the past, causes me to ask whether I have been asking too little of myself. When a wondrous way is prepared and presented to me, how astonishing that I should even hesitate to give my all, in a grateful spirit of trust. It seems easy to cling to what we know, even if it may pale in comparison to the brilliance arrayed before us from the horizon. What is familiar is meant to be exceeded, and indeed if we fear surrendering the known in exchange for frightening things, conversely we can trade up to far better things- even if we may not immediately know any more than the assuring certitude that it is the next right thing, and our souls are peacefully elated with the new reality. If, in this context there is a trial set before us, it is to move right through the jarring displacements and unrelentingly find enough balance to start ever anew, make ourselves at home, and continue to aspire. The change of perspective then becomes a change in that which we find our identities.

John Stuart Mill exemplified the transition from viewing life as despairing trials, to what he called "the maintenance of a due balance among the faculties." The simple recognition of the supreme value of seeking within and cultivating his soul was enough to draw him forward. For Mill, writing in the early 1900s (A Crisis in My Mental History), it was the music of Weber and especially Wordsworth’s poetry that sensitized his heart enough to transcend his defeats and find what he described as a "Source of inward joy." "Through my dejection," Mill wrote, "honestly looked at, could not be called other than egotistical." He connected his disappointments to his ego, and determined that "unless I could see my way to some better hope than this... my dejection must continue," concluding that a perceptive hopefulness is connected to the peace within that allowed him to see the world in his midst with hope. In Mill’s emergence, he let go of his despair, while keeping the poetic sources of his inspiration close at hand.


Maintaining a solidly hopeful perspective and becoming more fully conscious of life’s changes demands a new frame of reference- one that ceases to look at this moment as a succession of times past. I can begin to take stock of my life with the undisputed given fact that I have a life. And perhaps, like Mill, I may call upon my own heart’s muses. Meister Eckhart, of the 13th century, considered humanity’s goal as being a complete union with God, and in order for a person to become divine it was necessary that they "detach themselves from all that is creaturely." For his monastic mind, he referred to detachment as the condition of our transformation into the things of God. Such profound and thorough development seems to me as incremental advances- and the thought of manageable steps is in itself heartening to me. An organic process can occur at any pace- the one we can each comprehend. Perhaps we know we’ve "advanced" to a new chapter of our lives, when we notice, ironically, that some things are taken for granted (and are no longer worries). When we move away from a shore we can still see and reach, we may endanger a longing for what we’ve concertedly pushed away from. But still further, the departed land may have simply lost its savour and thus our interest. Do we, in our heart of hearts, long for what was- more than what is set before us? The mirages are subdued by reality, when we see how our days have taken us to the threshold of this instant. Open doors may imply an undertone of another closing, but for a moment; all succeeding considerations point to new and beckoning horizons.

reflets changeants

"When the soul wishes to experience something,
it throws an image of the experience out ahead
and enters into its own image."

~ Meister Eckhart

The return of bracing cool air heralding the arriving autumn carries an energy of recollection to our doorsteps, be it a life of new school years or closes of summer. Newly noticed invigorating winds are the counterparts of first ice creams in striking May hot sun. Making conscious note of cold air, just as we might suddenly be consoled by familiar and pleasing aromas, tells us we are awake to the elements around us. On this brisk evening, a brilliant and stifling midsummer day a few years back returns to mind. I was in the fields of the Shaker community’s lands, in Sabbathday Lake, Maine, photographing the textures of their farms, wooden buildings, and skies- through the monochromatic medium of my five-by-seven field camera. Stacks of large film holders, bulky tripod, and thick black viewing cloth made this quite a labor, but those of us who favor these formats will carry on with unquestioning alacrity. While focusing a shot, from under the black cloth, I heard clinking and rustling sounds interrupting the otherwise silent landscape. To my amazement and gratitude, it was a Shaker, who had traversed the entire field, carrying a pitcher of jingling iced water and one glass for me. This gesture has enduringly stayed with me, not only as a visual memory of hot dry fields, perspired brow, and refreshing water, but as a complete spectrum of immense yet simple grace. It was a gift I would not have considered asking for, yet grander than I would have imagined.

Perhaps it is no longer satisfactory to vaguely look on, when we might choose to really see and observe. Persevering to listen to what speaks to our lives causes us to experience more than perfunctory hearing and hasty interrupting would have obstructed. Indeed, it becomes an easy temptation to sleepwalk through our days, after the most cursory glance at this culture and all that stands to simultaneously bombard and lull the sublime human soul. Rather than to define what it means to be awake, and thus edge into the realm of cliché, my thoughts turn to exploring what such consciousness does. Often I find my steps slowing to a halt, for various reasons, challenging me to break through outdated perceived limitations to my thinking- which is to say a transcendence of obstacles and a calling forth of possibilities. A very plain example is found in the major housecleaning and downsizing of material accumulations I am pursuing: If I’m really awake, I’ll notice the difference between what I still need and what is no longer needed. What is essential and what is expendable. Indeed, beyond sifting through personal possessions, the grander picture is a recognition of what and who is around me. An awakened vision that nurtures a sensitivity to life and rises above cynicism.

Being awake to the sounds, tastes, air, and Spirit that is around me, is a conscious choice. But then, is the state of being attentive a thing that can be switched off and back on again? I don’t believe we can assess things of the spirit quite so mechanically. Perception is cultivated with time and experience, and we can surely motion in the direction of strengthened hearts and minds. And there are surely times when I am more and less aware of the substance of what is happening. My inner life has had some necessary jolts when I’ve been brought to see my life as evolving- rather than in the safety of stagnancy. Eventually, the wavering settles into a more consistent conscientiousness. We begin to innately know the value of varying our routines, seeing things in ways that unfold and reflect, and comprehending how the fine antithesis of retaining is the act of releasing.


"I had not exactly spent the journey in thought.
Nor in great emotion.
It was more like when a man, after a long sleep,
becomes aware that he is awake."

~ C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

endurance

"We need not destroy any minor good in ourselves for the sake of a better,
but we should strive to grasp every truth in its highest meaning,
for no one good contradicts another."

~ Meister Eckhart, from his Counsels on Discernment

Aspiration meets a stifling challenge when our hopes shout into the winds of what try to convince us of the impossible. Certainly there is an appeal in a self-portrayal as hopeful, even superficially wearing the "positive" clichés. Indeed there is much to derive by directing ourselves in constructive directions, and clear skies provide plenty of visibility and sunlight for cultivating potential. And what of these beliefs when night falls, when daylight is obscured, and our senses become unusually cognizant of news stories that coincidentally feed the momentum of our fears? What happens when our sense of daring becomes elusive? Yesterday, during a high-speed highway drive a sudden torrential rainstorm struck. In spite of my careful navigation at a more moderate rate of travel, there were enough others hurtling their hydroplaning vehicles into left lanes, rushing to I-don’t-know-where (inevitably ending up a mere car-length ahead of me at the toll gate), slamming tidal waves of rain into neighboring pathways. On several occasions, I experienced that startling phenomenon of moving with a barraged windshield such that it was absolutely impossible to see more that a seamless wall of water. It would be like driving blindfolded among others having to do the same. Seconds as slow as hours. It’s still with me, and causes me to imagine how momentarily obscured vision can intensely differ from an utter loss of spiritual horizons.


Blaise Pascal had once warned that "if the small annoyances can discourage, just imagine what something major could do to you." Pascal was offering some perspective, perhaps speaking from his experience of maintaining determination while suffering incessant physical pain. Equally disciplined, yet coming from another vantage point, Meister Eckhart offered "it is harder at times for one to endure one little word of contempt, which is really insignificant, while it would be easier for that person to suffer a heavy blow against which we can steel ourselves." Further, Eckhart added, "it is much harder to be alone in a crowd than in the desert, and it is much harder to abandon some little thing than a big one." What might appear to be a quantitatively small matter could be qualitatively decisive. Have you ever lost those little pieces of metal called house keys? Ever have a bicycle encounter with a negotiably visible fragment of glass? Well then, what is insignificance, anyway? For those who have endured both scenarios of abrupt brutality and of gradual neglect, the traumatic effects can be quite similar. And so Pascal’s and Eckhart’s angles are reconciled in the wise resolve to choose attentive vigilance.


Our collected years can bring us to either barricade our hearts into fortified resistance, or to a strength of recollection that sensitizes our hearts into open compassion. The latter way incorporates the challenge to vigilantly patrol the heart, to keep focused upon what causes our hopes to surge up above the surface of what we deem as our limits. It is buoyancy in the drudgery, the type of hope that locks horns with the insurmountable. Staying confident while we easily find what appears to be enough evidence to abandon faith. Vigilance of vision can exhaust the human spirit, and invariably, with weary steps, we find the limits to our mortal striving. But thankfully, if vision becomes clouded and soreness derails, we can remind one another that discouragement is the "almost-worthy" opponent, because truly it cannot overpower the brilliance of our passionate yearning.

open hands

Deep water
Black, and cold like the night
I stand with my arms wide open
I've run a twisted line...

I could not see for the fog in my eyes
I could not feel for the fear in my life
From across the great divide
In the distance I saw a light...


~ Daniel Lanois, The Maker

My steps along roads and through woods had brought me to a captivating river. It was just the other day. Strikingly bright light and saturated blue expanses drew contrasts against flowing ice, breaking away from the riverbanks. I needed to climb down to the water, and establish a clear memory of warming sun above stinging icy currents. Amidst a voyage, even a personal exodus, arriving at the side of a river represents the accomplishment of having covered some rugged undetermined distance, however this is but an encampment. The river must be traversed. The arrival is but a departure, and my crossing-over is with gratitude rather than regret. So I go.


With open hands, my intention is to release and not grasp at what was, or is incalculably yet to be. But this released grip is not a rescinding of my responsibility, rather an embrace of the moment and to look forward. For me to extend an openness- to others and to this springtime- there must be an unburdening of all that encumbers my being. And further along, surpassing roads and rivers, must come the recollection of maintaining the true meaning of the open gesture and not to be brought down by the weight of what is past. For me to let go is to make room; not for more self-defeat, but for the presence of those I encounter, as well as for the present that is given.


On my work-day breaks, when I can collect my thoughts, a sense of what my inner vernacular calls "losing the silence" becomes troubling. And that seems to me as something contradictory. Experience is now reminding me how silly it is to worry about not wanting to worry! It is rather like Meister Eckhart, in the 14th century, pondering the notion of the feeling of God being far away. He wrote that when feeling a "loss" of the Creator's presence, one should return to doing what they did when they felt the greatest spiritual consolation. It is as if to say I must retrace to where I knew I left off, along many miles of travel. Even if that might be in the simplicity of sensing of my own breathing.

walking in a wild place; banging on the gates

"Therefore it is written of the apostles that they rejoiced to be found worthy to suffer ignominy for God."

~Meister Eckhart, The Book of Consolation


The desert can be metaphor as well as a physical location. It may be places like the Sahara, the Gobi, or the Mojave. It may also be experienced on 5th Avenue, in an airport, or along an interstate thruway. We may quite tangibly endure desert times of which others are unaware. Until we start to talk. The desert saints and Saint Anthony may have braved the driest places of north Africa and Israel, but they could have just as well have been jousting with mirages in New York and New England. At times solitude has coasted across smooth roads, but in these times I fight the spectres which challenge such essentials as purpose, hope, and aspiration. Taking stock of that which is worthy and good, these days, is taking a whole lot of energy. But if this is indeed some kind of proving-ground, I've got to rise above this and summon all the strengthening things that have previously worked. New strategies will be needed. Perhaps by emerging from this desert there will be something valuable to offer any of you dear readers (and non-readers) whose green pastures may yet give way to provisional times of desolation. Surely there is purpose, and I believe I have begun to discern what that is.

To risk is to truly live.

"All suffering comes from love and affection.
If I then suffer because of transitory things,
I and my heart still have love for transitory things and I do not cherish God with all my heart and I do not yet love what God wants to be loved by me and with him.
How then, is it surprising that God should allow me rightly to suffer pain and sorrow?"

~Meister Eckhart


In having been an army of one for so much of my adult life has provided settings for some real self-confrontation. Of course, no one asks to be tossed into the desert. We do not go gently into that good night. I am certain it is an unseen will that relegates a burgeoning soul who longs to love, to have to navigate an uncharted abyss. Weeks become months become years. But I have been making the best of what has not been enjoyable or consoling. Surely and undoubtedly, this world has known far worse, but indeed there is an element of the universal in the way every individual is inevitably brought to confront what it will be like to be alone. Alone and forgotten. Some of us yearn to be connected to others- many for the cause of love, many simply to belong somewhere in the world. None of us like the idea of living ignominiously.

Indeed, it does no good to stare at the ground. The benefits of having known the depths come in the forms of comprehension: we can better understand what befalls us, and can offer understanding and respectful witness to others. We can look out for those around us who suffer alone. My Dad used to tell me to do someone else a favor before they ask you. In these reflections I become certain that when my true love finds me, I will be reverently grateful for her, and to her.