pencil pensive

“An observing spirit
can thus derive pleasure from the most
trivial circumstance.”

~ Thomas Cogan, Treatise on the Passions and Affections of the Mind.

familiar, yet anew

In this fledgling, burgeoning season yet untracked, I take up the pencil anew. Just as the approach of Labor Day weekend annually brings school beginnings past to mind, so late-April rain rekindles the sense of semester-end promise. Gradually, it is becoming easier to write outdoors. Lengthened days remind me to get out and away from walls and ceilings- when possible. Apparently there is life to be lived, aside from the constant dawn-to-dusk workday grind. As daunting as inertia can be, rote repetition of denial has its detriments. Self-limitation can become a debilitating habit. By recollection and writing, at least in spirit I can vault the fence. It does mean expending energy, for a measure of transcendent vigilance. But it’s worth it, and the alternatives would be still more regrettable.

Back when I had some schedule flexibility at my job, I’d take my coffee breaks outside- even in winter- as daily as I could. Occasionally this is still possible. My pocketable idea journals- after which I named this blog- have been constant companions for years. The musings and fragments are the ingredients for essays to be developed. Aperch on a public bench or at an outdoor café, I’d scratch down the date and time, then pencil some ruminating words beneath the quick heading, graphite today. Not exactly enough time for substantial stream-of-consciousness writing; perhaps more like rivulets. Such trivial habits create links that maintain the vital momentum of inquiry and ideas. Re-reading the lines and pages of these small books help me retrace my discoveries and thought processes- and at present I’m able to retrieve morsels of confidence to continue.

new season

At the season’s threshold, attending a baseball game, it was impressive to see the bright and well-tended grass on the field. The rest of Portland is still shaking off the ashen grit of a protracted winter. But the pleasant distraction of time measured out by innings has similarities with my writing intermissions: these microcosm journeys have lives of their own. Within the common threads are my pencilled notations. The intricacies of play-by-play baseball scoring are best expressed in sharp pencil. In the province of graphite, notations can be corrected and emphasized with the game’s progress. Causes to adapt a play’s documentation include a fielder’s choice, a passed ball mistaken as a wild pitch, a force-out, or a stolen base. Space needs to be made for pinch-hitters and relief pitchers. As umpires will occasionally amend a call, the erasable medium capably responds. To erase is human, indeed.

The materials and instruments of a craft are means toward ends. In their respective contexts of writing and photography, scribal and image-recording tools serve to record perceptions. In turn, recorded thoughts are elements with which creative works are constructed. Well-crafted tools can have their own intrinsic value as objects. Such extensions of our creative selves present inherent inspiration.

For the moment, on the topic of the humble pencil, I’ve long found this particular writing medium to be as patient as it is tactile. Following pensive spells of recollection- which are misinterpreted as stoppages- a pencil will not dry out and have to be re-inked, as is necessary for pens, nor will the display of text shut off, as it happens with computer screens. I prefer writing instruments that wait for me, as opposed to my having to compensate for syntactical dissonances in the tools. (Ponder that, during your next download, update, reboot, server failure, and virus scan.) With the pace- whether fast or slow- is the proprietary way a pencil changes while it is in use. A sharpened point broadens to a smooth chisel edge that mirrors the angle of the writer’s grasp. Similar to dip-pen writing, emphasized downstrokes reflect as bolder lines. With enough writing and sharpening, a pencil transforms into something weathered. Wood dissolves into shreds and sawdust, the eraser (if there was one to begin with) flattens, and its temporal life shortens as its stamped lettering disappears. Like nutrients, pencils are provisional- vehicles that are transformed en route to their intended purposes.

ideas and speculating

Through a meandering journey measured in jots, my pencilled notions represent various reaches. Sentences scratched in curved graphite parallel my often fractured prayers: constant and unvarnished. But these held thoughts are purposeful means toward ends. I develop ideas and observations by tracking and articulating them. Pilgrimage is surely a voyage of comprehension. In the 18th century, Thomas Cogan wrote voluminously about emotion and philosophical speculation, in his Treatise on the Passions and Affections of the Mind. He described our abilities to cultivate ideas as a testament to our existence, fascinated by the ways we know that we possess our ideas. Cogan describes an idea as follows, from vol.2, p.153:

“It is that wonderful something which pertains to the thinking principle, it is its exclusive property, is indicative of an awakened state of mind, and which the mind knows to exist with such an infallible certainty, that we consider the conscious possession of ideas, as the strongest evidence of our existence.”

Speaking for myself, not all my ideas are wonderful somethings, but wonder is surely a motivating ingredient. Writing, reviewing, and writing more ideas provides a continuum of recorded motion. Thoughts may be expressed into tactile and tangible lines in a notebook, for example. Instruments and surfaces for our ideas have their primary qualities- in this instance, the intrinsic properties of the physical writing tools. From there, an individual’s creative discernment can derive secondary qualities- impressions- based upon practice and experience. Strong sunlight upon writing-paper that reflects the warm end of the light spectrum; the sound of pencil-point upon the surface; the aroma of sharpened wood; the sense and warp of paper humidified by ocean winds.

During one of my always-enlightening lunches with an elderly Chinese colleague, we talked about classical “thinking gestures.” Comparing generalities and tendencies of East and West, we noted the tradition exemplified in Auguste Rodin’s Thinker, with head-holding gesture. My friend described the Asian gesture of a “thinking philosopher” as having folded hands across one’s torso. This brought up how western spiritual practice has tended to emphasize the mind, compared to eastern practice emphasizing the heart. Even the classic Eastern Christian teaching about contemplation has been to “descend into the heart” so as to make ascent.

Above: Rodin's Thinker;
Below: Korean Scholar, 16th century.

One day last week, having successfully stolen away to read and write, I suddenly noticed my own gesture while trying to fathom a very complex text. My hand tends to prop my forehead, while holding a pencil. Comprehension may require writing down something! Hence the digestion by the soul, via the craftsman’s motion. Pursuing the essence of the sacred draws the writing outward and onward, often drawing the map while the exploration is in progress. Realizing this, I gratefully look ahead to more graphite todays.

as is

“Being, in all things,
is that which partakes
of the Divinity.”

~ St. Dionysius the Areopagite

intrinsic value

Simply by our very being, we are part of our respective contexts. It is for us to determine our levels of involvement. By virtue of living, an individual is inherently qualified to participate. While indiscriminately serving a public diverse in experience and age, through years of employment, there have been countless and daily personal instances to observe. Serving and observing happen quite naturally, though it remains essential to reserve judgments- or at least to keep them minimal and discreet. But we navigate complex paths, and none are without intersections. I also try keeping in mind how much I dislike the undue judgements of others.

Yet, still, there are evident types among those who most frequent the cultural institutions designed for one and all. There are project-researchers, and those who self-educate (and I am among them), along with those who are simply inquisitive. Open doors and alacritous assistance are invitations in themselves. Then there are the many who long for company, or for stability, or for some sort of human acknowledgment. Not everyone is conscious of this, or gracious about it, but that is outside of my control. Listening to their stories teaches me a great deal about the broader community and its visitors, as well as about a great many individuals. This is pastoral work, but without the divisive connotations of sectarian clergy; the interactions are daily and pedestrian, rather than weekly and by isolated commute. And it is humbling. I see, over and again, how the love of reading and a fascination with history transcends economic boundaries. The sheer spirit of inquiry is cause for gratitude.

The desire to be respectfully acknowledged is more universal than you may think it is. Who among us doesn’t relish the chance to have our complaints heard? Who doesn’t find consolation in validating witness to their lives? During a workplace breather, I went to a window to rest my eyes with some natural light. Looking at the traffic and human activity, I remembered some of the jobs I had while in high school. As a deliverer of groceries for an inner-city supermarket in New York, I’d navigate a dense neighborhood, strategizing high-rise service elevators and apartment blocks for my destinations. Elderly customers would regale me with their stories, passing along otherwise forgotten wisdom from long ago, and launching it into the future with a young person. Even back then, I recognized loneliness and treasured the histories recited to me. Significance in the humbled state, mine included. Returning to the fray, it came to mind there is an essential challenge in looking to others (and self) without the outward trappings that obstruct souls from view.

Even in compromised situations, such as with employment, unemployment, communities, and social status, our lives do remain profoundly meaningful. There just isn’t much to remind us of this. Prestigious titles and wealth are not required- as much as ameliorations of both would solve many serious problems. To live and to contemplate are the merest necessities for creativity and constructive participation in the world. As we live, we are each significant, and each with prospects. In the previous essay, I looked at the natural striving for rewards as a kind of self-justification. By contrast, the intrinsic value of the soul, the true and created self, is discovered in being. Achievement isn’t necessary for our living, but surely living is necessary for our achievements. If we continue living and thinking, our very being is the undergirding meaning- it is our intrinsic value. Hence, we mustn’t lose heart and concede defeat in a culture that too freely informs us of our successes and setbacks.

safe harbors of thought

To be able to reconsider the patterns and types recognized within myself, and in front of me, there must be safe harbors for thought. I refer to those “window moments,” as mentioned above, if not lengthier respites that allow for the completion of an idea- or the questioning of notions. When there isn’t time for retreats in the wilderness, or silent sanctuaries, there is always my journal notebook or some excuse for car rides and evening strolls. Noticing trends and drawing in strength can really take place with some form of recollection. As recorded in the ancient compendium, The Philokalia, Saint Barsanuphius (6th C.) wisely observed and advised:

“While the ship is at sea, it is a prey to dangers and winds. When it reaches a calm and peaceful harbor, it no longer fears dangers, calamities or winds, but remains safe. In the same way, while you are among people you must expect tribulations, dangers, and mental buffetings. But when you reach the harbor of silence prepared for you, then you will have no fear.”

Among our endeavors, one of the worthiest is the cultivated skill of balance: listening and speaking, accepting and pursuing, reading and writing. The wider the spectrum of interests, the easier it is to divert by balance. Variety of perspective can be a great antidote to tunnel vision. Of late, the matter of teaching handwriting in elementary schools is being debated. Many believe that penmanship is an obsolete skill, and the craft should no longer be integral to primary education. But there are many others, myself included, that see every good and practical reason to teach the forms of cursive writing en route to developing one’s own mature style, and to be able to interpret handwritten text. It is very much a parallel to the cultivation of visual perception and manual skills. Learning to write by hand amidst a present culture that is thumb-operated, bears similarity to learning how to cook despite the ready availability of fast food. Quick fixes rarely endure; history proves this time and again, along with the very real way perseverance is always twinned with practice.

Balancing a sense of time and the human journey requires ability to see beneath and beyond the immediate. While inhabiting this very moment in time, each one of us extends some form of the historic, and we are each on our way to an unseen destination. With these things in mind, our actions and intentions carry potential influences which we may not ever see in our tenures or lifetimes. We cannot yet see the extents of our present actions. Similarly, our very being- just as we are- represents some form of fulfillment our ancestors could not have seen. We are uniquely able to realize what has come to us, and which of these things we’ll bring forward, or refine, or finally set aside not to make the voyage. The individual, in the present, must make such judgments. Considering one’s being- as is- with what is known and held, we come to recognizing meaning beneath and above things and ideas.

In his major work, De Divisione Naturae, Scottus Eriugena (9th C.) wrote, “We cannot know what things are in themselves, but only what they appear to us to be and that the whole fabric of nature can only be successfully investigated through the medium of time and space.” There is more to what is real than is evident. Time brings us to comprehend that no strengthening nuance is insignificant. None of us can know the reach of our energies. Indeed, much can be made of legacies of distrust and destruction. More than enough is easily available to devalue the human spirit, and thus vigilance is needed. For this illustration, consider the constructive, life-bearing legacies of grace. I was reminded of small yet meaningful gestures of kindness when I saw a person affectionately attend to a cat. The cat’s obvious gladness showed me that subtly great gifts were being exchanged. Anyone that can improve any other life has done something truly magnificent. Even if for a small cat. And the caring human that clearly felt the little animal’s gratitude demonstrated a heart enhanced by those few minutes. I saw how being, because it is participatory life, has enormous intrinsic value. In our simplest absorption of grace, we are completely able to reciprocate. Without accolades and trappings, perfectly equipped as is.

an enjoinder

Now I want to encourage each of you, holding forth on your respective courses. Your turns and straightaways imply more than you presently perceive. Generosity and genuineness of spirit, as well as action, form the path of best investment that dispels disingenuousness. In some demonstrable and disturbing ways, these are darkened times fraught with violence and complacency. But the will to persevere and to carry the Light must stand in opposition to cynical resignation. Spiritual life ever straddles the rational and the miraculous. The latter assures a persistent opening to pleasant surprises.

Among my cherished friends is a policeman who happens to be a great bibliophile. In an off-duty moment, he stopped in to my workplace with a surprise of a gift of calligraphy pen-points and wooden holders. I was heartened by such thoughtfulness, yet even more by his request. He wants me to teach him the basics of calligraphy. Of course, I will, and he’ll do great because he wants to succeed. For me, it is a double gift. The tools are fine, a bit fancy for me, but with meaning beyond the materials. The second gift is the request to provide a gift. Within the gift is a reclamation of the endangered skill of handwriting, and the action is steeped in the pursuit of conscientiousness. Going forth, in any season, is to be a torchbearer of grace and to make note of what is good. Trying to keep in mind the purposes of these present trials, I return to Saint Barsanuphius’ words in the Philokalia:

“Do not lose heart in sufferings and in labors of the flesh, which you bear for the sake of the community, for this too means ‘to lay down your life for the brethren,’ and I hope the reward for this labor will be great. As the Lord placed Joseph in Egypt in the position to feed his brethren in time of famine, so God placed you in the position to serve your community. And I repeat to you the word of the Apostle: ‘Thou therefore, my child, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus.’”