hidden yet certain

"For the unseen love of a sincere heart persevering
through that dark cloud of unknowing between you and your God
in a hidden yet certain way includes in itself
genuine humility without the help of particular or clear ideas."

~ The Cloud of Unknowing, ch 14.

Living in a northern and coastal climb as I do, the pronounced seasons of the year are such that all may notice and many of us change the paces of our lives alongside these transitions. As with all life forms, we move with nature’s passages. Following a drawn-out winter, the natural response to dramatically lengthened days in northern New England is to be outdoors with all that is verdant and reaching up to the bright skies. It is as though the elements around us prompt our changed perspectives, and even how we greet each day. But what of the bidding from within, calling a soul to times of contemplative solitude, governed by seasons which know not a calendar? Dispersed through my weeks replete with work, I manage to include very brief silences- almost borrowing the time, even if to simply collect a few thoughts and write down some references. The humblest fragments of respite have been valuable breaths for discernment, and thus I continue weaving recollective moments into the most demanding of work days. The balance is not always consistent. Invariably there are points for which the most constructive and healthiest movements forward in the direction of all that is in my life... is to retreat for some open-ended moments that are not wedged in between demands. I began what became a nourishing personal practice of pilgrimage fourteen years ago, and continue to be astonished at the powerful draw of contemplation and the vitality of stopping that perpetual motion which can burn so many of us right out. It is for the individual soul in communion with God to determine the season. The less structure there is, the better. St. Bernard of Clairvaux worded it beautifully:

"Aided by God
the soul gathers itself
into itself
and
withdraws
from all affairs
in order to contemplate God."

I recently returned from a long-awaited retreat, and while in transit my thoughts turned to what gifts these times have always been. On some occasions the retreats have been anguished searches for spiritual shelter. Other times I’ve used liminal spaces between chapters in my continuum to pursue reflective journeys. For the most part, the retreats are about all I can do to regather when my strength seems spent and my soul saturated. Ah, but it is a travel along the grand and eternal pilgrimage! Whether it’s been flights across the Atlantic or drives across New England, preparing for a sojourn to a sanctuary is itself rejuvenating. As I drove the newly-greening country roads a couple of weeks ago, I noticed myself savoring the humblest of travels. Although the routes were very familiar to me, the difference was in the purpose of the trip- already teaching me something about the commonplace for me to bring home after the retreat. Years of experience, both as a pilgrim and in the spiritual life, help me to know the essentials to bring on such journeys. I’ve learned to bring coffee, so to be better able to appreciate those pre-dawn monastic vigils, and indeed there must always be writing materials and a camera. Still, my tendency is to pack too many books.

For me, a retreat is to rediscover stillness, and that includes stilling of thoughts. Through these recent weeks, the idea of maintenance has been prominently in mind. For many lives that value conscientiousness and sincere communion, contemplative retreat is a form of healthy maintenance. In order to continue in a consistent energy and intention, there must be spiritual maintenance. What does this mean? When anything is to be maintained, it’s to be kept in working order. Keeping in being. Upkeep. Safekeeping. The word "keep" is part of the equation. Keep confidence; keep various things in mind and heart. A professor once graded a paper I wrote with "keep the fire." I remember that comment far better than the project.

With requisite traveling, some provisions, and a head full of clutter, the pilgrim arrives at a place of respite. The change of scenery and air, not to mention the welcome, help the spirit renew. The best places of pilgrimage are those which do not make demands upon the retreatant’s time. Those of us who have temporarily fled rigidity and information overload can thrive in those boundless days which, in a monastic environment, are simply punctuated with communal meals and the Divine hours of common prayer. On this occasion just past, I requested solitude- and so the meals and prayers became the parts of the day in which I had company. The situation was perfect, considering the level of exhaustion at which I’d arrived. My hosts gave me a cabin in the woods, providing a contrast to my usual city life. From my sanctuary I could hear the subtle sounds of the outdoor life around me, and the wind currents through the trees. With an unimpaired view of the night skies, it was possible to see the weather develop as the clouds drifted eastward. The day after my arrival was steeped in a torrentially soaking rain. I loved it. God was slowing me down twice over: a little cabin whose distant next-door neighbors were monks, and a soothingly rainy day. The cabin had a front porch, so my reading and writing could continue in the fresh air, while the cleansing rain spattered on the stone steps beyond my canopy.

Unlike the daily routine I interrupted for the cause of respite, the retreat days themselves brought back to mind the subtleties- even the sublimities- of midmornings and midafternoons. For many of us full-time laborers, the day can wind up divided such that we focus on the opposite ends: before and after the chaos. The full spectrum is to be savored, no matter what is (or isn’t) going on. I’ve spent enough of my life wishing time away. After the days of spiritual and physical rest, as I packed my things to take to the road home, I noted in my journal: "The sojourn has brought a quiet refreshment to my soul. Nothing drastic, since I slept quite a lot, and enjoyed the silence I needed. Now, I’m all assembled to return, and the rest and safety I experience at this moment must accompany me- and be reminders for future days."

As a stage along the pilgrim’s way, extending by trust into the mystery of the unknown, temporary retreats have a finite duration. Setting forth takes a natural course, after our intuition tells us we’ve had just enough rest so that we can resume our steps. Similarly to the energy I find when preparing for a sanctified journey, so the re-ignited sense of wonder propels me from retreat forward onto the road home. I press on with assurance, even without knowing exactly what may have been derived from the silence. The ground of my faith is sown anew, but the manifestation of new learning will be subtle and perhaps unnoticed. It is all entrusted to the mystery of a pilgrim’s continuity. "Hidden yet certain," wrote the anonymous author of the Cloud of Unknowing, accentuating the beautifully discreet bond of guiding love between Creator and created. The assurance cannot always be articulated. Even the obscurities and hardships tell me to persevere. The heart can listen and respond- even without description, and with St. John of the Cross I can say, "things so interior and spiritual are such that words commonly fail to describe them." From our contemplation, words may emerge with us, as well as silences deeper still. The drive home offered renewed angles toward familiar scenery. It remains an impression of being home yet continually setting forth, pacing myself confidently onto unfolding paths.

graphite night

"Sweet night, in whose blessed fold
No human eye beheld me, and mine eye
None could behold.
Only for Guide had I
His face whom I desired so ardently."

~ San Juan de la Cruz, Dark Night of the Soul


When darkness befalls, or when our steps meet paths of unease and obscurity, we must navigate forward, come what may. It is crucial to move straight through, and not fear to confront our nights of the soul. It seems the more active and conscientious one’s life becomes, the more susceptible to exhaustion, and so in this natural course, reflection and retreat become more than medicinal- but maintenance. As with weather patterns, the dark nights happen; they neither pursue nor do we necessarily pursue them. Indeed, along the voyage of the spirit desolate places will dot our unseen maps.

Crossing deep waters and enduring deserts is not necessarily neatly alternated with pastures and respite. At times, an obscurity that begins to lift from the road will abruptly plunge it back into a thick darkness through which we cannot see. But the survivor within us, honoring the adventure so far, sets us toward navigating a dark night of the soul. The only landmarks are those precious assurances we can recollect. Our coordinates, for a time, must be the blessings we can count (and must trust). We travel on, and that movement is the embodiment of our hopes. It is also our refusal to stand still. Our days on earth are of a duration unknown to us, and so we cannot and must not go backwards. A memory comes to mind of an after-midnight crossing of the vast and lengthy Thousand Islands Bridge in torrential rain. It was impossible to see in any direction- or any other vehicles, for that matter. With just a wisp of a guard rail’s punctuation, I just drove straight ahead.

Venturing through darkness with faith means we do not anticipate in vain. Experiences- both those we are assembling and the stories of our friends- attest to the resolve of wholeheartedly engaging the voyage. The ancient Psalmist emphasized that "weeping may endure for a night, but at morn there is rejoicing." Shadows need not always be perceived in a fearful frame of reference. These may be the places out of which we discover our profoundest consolation and creativity. Formless mysteries call to the hearts of those who long to commune with their Creator, and my own journey has brought me to traverse deep waters and ascend through darkness, plumbing the unseen. It’s rather as one who longs to stagger off for a spell, from the scuffed-up playing arena to the sidelines to regather. Or to the darkroom, after recording images upon many rolls of film in the field. The latent impressions must be processed and developed. I have intimately known the texture of the dark as both cradling consolation, and as fearfully foreboding. As a season of the spirit, the Divine darkness is navigated by spiritual means, and for one who writes, the journey is also explored by the written means that have become vital directionals of navigation. And I am now able to keep in mind how critical are the crossroads through which we can guide ourselves away from the lures of dwelling in darkened false securities, choosing the routes that weave through the seamless, edgeless unknowing and out to open horizons. "The light of grace," wrote Johannes Tauler, "raises nature far above itself."

la nourriture spirituelle

"To the one that overcomes will I give to eat of the hidden bread from heaven,
And I will give to each one a white stone,
and on the stone will be engraved a new name that no one understands
except the one who receives it."

~ Revelation 2:17


"For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.
And having food and clothing let us be therewith content."

~ 1 Timothy 6:7,8

Beginning again, as I am brought once more to see the ends of my own self, this has evidently become a time for rebuilding. Recommencements are not quite as rare as they might sound, especially in the espousing of a life that is in essence a succession of beginnings. Indeed, as no two starts are alike, so our reasons for rethinking our realities must be unique to our circumstances. Ideals are not produced by pre-made molds. Thus, personal renewals manifest in various forms and for different reasons. Our explorations and discoveries may bring us to new realizations- or- new reluctant perceptions seem forced upon us by the elements outside of us within which we play a role. Still, new insights, whether through challenge or welcomed gift, are for me to actively engage by perceiving anew and adapting my efforts. It is easy to lose sight of essentials when days become crammed with complicated demands and extraneous distractions that proliferate as weeds, winding around the cultivated vines of vision. As I continue to learn the disciplines of balance, I am not always tenaciously weeding the garden as I ought, and so eventually many of my restarts become something closer to excavation projects. When a renewal must become more of a resuscitation, not only is a rebuilding from one’s foundation needed, but also the alarms of exhaustion are implicit.

A sure way to change how we perceive and move in this continuum is to amend how we nourish ourselves- physically and spiritually. On this blustery and empty-handed day in May, memories come to mind that cause me to recollect how I’ve had to confront my life with fresh starts for the sake of my own constructive survival. One such occasion entailed making a leap of faith, leaving a university without another opportunity in sight for me to continue my work and learning pursuits. Leading up to the breaking point, each strand of my life’s situations had deteriorated to despairing extents. All that was left, it seemed, was my determination that there were better ways for me to invest my heart, soul, resources, and valuable efforts. Within the protracted anguish was a near-fatal accident which, of course, intensified the sum total of the experience. On the afternoon of the sole occasion in my life in which I had quit something, a job unfinished as it were- but more accurately having leapt from a sinking ship, I set every swirling and burdensome obligation down and made it all stop. While speaking to my best friend on the phone, those immense research projects suddenly looked like absurd piles of paper. My friend persisted in asking me about whether I had been eating properly; "brother, you need to rebuild," he added, giving me his version of a dietary prescription. Through the fatigue and anguish, I could just retain the advice, but putting down the phone, all things hushed, I went outside. No longer facing down, I noticed the late-April sun as I set my bicycle on the pavement and pedaled for the oceanside meadows of Gilsland Farm- a place I hadn’t seen in far too long. Setting the bicycle down, I reclined on a hillside and gazed up at the vast and clean-slated sky. The moment was a cathartic and unexpected gift. I had taken my journal and my tattered Thomas à Kempis with me, and before setting forth to find healthy food, I read a few wise words to begin replenishing my empty reserves and opened my journal to write. "I have come back to life," my words began, realizing I hadn’t written in five months.

Comprehending a lived sense of balance is to maintain steady strength and spirit, and not languish to the point of starvation. Revisiting old journals, I would like to think I’ve gained something. Amid currents of anxiety and instability, I am learning to balance my active involvements with a vigilant proximity to wellsprings of life. The call to pursue a contemplative road comprises a commitment to consistently cultivate a spiritual life. But, as I am finding, built into the pursuit is stewardship: care and repose for the earthen vessels that we are, as well as responsibly procuring spiritual food. Both kinds of nutrients not only strengthen and help us in our forward motion, but also build a resistance to the overwhelming threat of cynicism. Very late one night last week, unable to sleep and too distracted to read, I sought the consoling sounds of the radio. It never ceases to amaze me, when I stumble over one of these nightshift national talk programmes that serve only to stoke the fires of conspiratorialism and paranoia. And since we all know how misery loves company, long queues of listeners chime in and figuratively roll that snowball of destructive fatalism enough to prompt casual inquires to despair for their lives. Needless to say, hardly half an hour’s tales of impending doom, terror invasions, and space aliens were enough to produce a very disturbed night’s sleep. The next morning, I thought about the smokescreens of angst that I encounter at so many turns- including the social circles I daily move through- and could only hold fast to the precious confidence I’ve fiercely tended. Running some errands, my thoughts and my car paused long enough at a stop light for me to pencil these words in my notebook: "broaden the horizons and transcend the malaise." I remembered something I’d learned from the witness of monastic spirituality: to keep myself on the quest for supernal realities, or as Carthusian monks would say- the "superiorum appetitio."

With a few hearty meals and an accumulation of good words from wise and caring people, my prayers are accompanied, and I am looking ahead to some upcoming days of silent reflection. In my experience, a life of both active participation and solitude comprise two elements that nourish one another. Both are part of the rebuilding process, but in retreat, as Thomas Merton expressed in The Silent Life, it is possible to "discover the hidden sweetness of the psalms, the value of study and reading, intense fervor in prayer, the delicate sense of spiritual realities in meditation, the ecstasy of contemplation, and the purifying tears of compunction." Part of this stock-taking is to be reminded of my constant learning, and part of that is how I am informed through contrasts: craving solitude when encroached upon, authenticity when confronted with facades, and strength of faith when burdened by promulgators of fear. A great paradox that parallels the path of the spirit is how our ascending brings us to humility, while being brought low we are raised up to greater heights than before. Many of us recall old sayings about how the foods that are best for us are not always the ones that taste best. On the spiritual journey, a deepening sense of conviction and direction will subject a soul to face one’s own solitudes and even much disheartening disregard. Humility and a healthy awareness of context can help soothe the bitter taste of ignominy.

Being connected to this world (and not under the cover of a cloister), an awareness of my natural competitive ambitions cause me to temper the old desires for recognition, as they collide with the spiritual life of compassionate deference. The call to ascend sacred heights is intertwined with barefooted humility. How does a soul that aspires for holiness and the things of God make sense of a culture that is so propelled by such simultaneous conflicts as dismissive disregard and over-achievement? Admittedly, these are generalizations, and indeed there won’t be very detailed general responses. Matters of conscience are reckoned with, as they surface. Aspiring for better days and improved situations attests to our intrinsic properties as thinking beings. We advance to survive; the difference is in the spirit of our choices and how we act upon them (or not), and our considerations of others in the process. Those discretionary decisions bear heavily upon the human conscience and how we develop sensitivities to those around us.

For me, it is to always keep the sense of my life’s purpose in mind. Yet there remains the drive to excel, to do better, to make things work, and to bring goodness to others. To know that all the hard work has been worth something. To be known. Recognition, itself, is a topic intricate enough for many reflective essays. Sure, I’ve received some significant acknowledgments through years of toil- but is it sustenance? Is it nourishment, especially in this society of the five-minute attention span? How much is necessary, and in what forms? One wonders whether survival is the reward, especially with so much emphasis upon people outlasting one another. Perhaps the words and rewards are as precious as we deem them to be, as these represent encouragements for how we ply our resources- much as the biblical parable of the workers entrusted with their talents which were meant to be invested. Indeed, the good and faithful servants received the most meaningful kind of recognition, but that was after the tasks were done- after they had acted upon their motivation. Their principles were simply, yet poignantly reinforced. The treasures dearest to us are intangible, and thus unlimited, however vulnerable. Commenting on the tug-of-war between the extremes of humility and pride, Merton warned of, "the awful impulsion to throw everything overboard for the sake of fame and prosperity." Preparing to journey into some days of silence, I am taking comfort in the cherished hiddenness of consecrated life. Peace of heart is in proportion to our detachment from that which is fleeting in this world. My hope is to regain, again and again, a clear sight of what points to a good and peaceable future. For the time being, I shall endeavor to be content with the morsels on my plate and the raiment on my back- and to be thankful.

nada te turbe

"Do not think about the world,
nor about your friends, nor about the past, present, or future;
but consider yourself to be outside the world and alone with God,
as if your soul were already separated from the body, and had no longer any interest
in peace or war, or the state of the world.
Leave your body, and fix your gaze on the uncreated light.
Let nothing come between you and God."

~ St-Albert le Grand, De Adhaerendo Deo


Many of us, in the rivers of our days flooded with chaotic rapids, persevere to record words and events. The need to make sense of what we experience forces us to create spaces of time to reflect. So, also, is the need to validate our observations as witnesses of what we see and the realities of our movements in this world. Considering the incessant schedule I have always been able to juggle, I am often asked when I find the time to write. Since words and reflections are part of every day’s living and breathing, I graft the writing in between tasks. Rarely are there spells of consecutive hours to sit and write. For the most part it has been jots in tiny hardcovered books, or sentences typed on a laptop I tote around- just in case. Written words salt my days, actions, and aspirations. Pencil and paper are also there to record and attempt to make sense of difficult events. When such noted words stare back up at me from my notebooks, I become further amazed at the absurdities I have lived through, in this short life. And as these continue, the observations and struggles follow. By documenting faithfully, it is apparent how darkness and light really do coexist.

When the struggle intensifies, and fatigue prevents hurdling more barriers, an unchanged forging-ahead becomes counterproductive. Frustration and analysis can feed one another, giving way to spiraling despair. Realities remain, yet words often fail. That doesn’t mean an end to hope, but more a change of perspective- a regathering of embers to persist through the darkness. When social structures fail us, whether on a national or local scale- or even in our immediate circles, it seems quite natural to leap with so many others into the abyss of cynicism. How inviting to be in such abundant company. The pilgrim road can surely curve into cold and dark forests. Clashing perspectives, as the ancient apostle Paul once observed, fight within the aspiring soul; only the key of grace could liberate him from the despair he described as a captivity of the mind. Even when words and knowledge fail, compassion must not fall away. At times we must quiet our thoughts, in order for our hopes to abide. At other times we find our ambitions silenced by our circumstances. Compassion never falls away, "whether prophecies shall be made void, or languages shall cease, or knowledge shall be destroyed." When an active soul reaches points of saturation, having "seen and heard enough," it is really an "enough" that lays claim on both resiliency and hope. For me, it has often meant finding places of refuge, of civility and tranquility, in order to listen for the spirit and regain my ideals. Retreating is certainly not copping out, but a way for vital embers of hope to be rekindled. Apparently, we do come to times when the high pitch of thinking and doing must stop.

Over five hundred years ago, Thomas à Kempis asked, "What can you see under the sun that will long endure?" He wrote of the wisdom of withdrawal into silence, as a regular part of life. "If you withdraw yourself from superfluous words and from unprofitable business, and from hearing rumors and idle tales, you will find convenient time to be occupied in holy meditation." Within Kempis’ essay, Of Love of Solitude and Silence, he implies how the best we can offer is what emerges from conscientious silence. "No one is secure in high position save he who would gladly be a subject... No one speaks surely save he who would gladly keep silence if he might." Silent recollection is also survival. Consciously repelling the social currents that can poison our hearts, Kempis advocates we exercise ourselves to "shut fast the door of your soul." The sum total is the balance needed for contemplatives to thrive in cultures of carelessness and competitiveness. It is worthwhile to feel stable, and stabilizing to feel worthwhile.

Our intuitions, our "insides," our spirits can testify to us that our times of extremely structured thinking and active struggle cannot be indefinitely sustained. There must be times devoted to simply abiding. This is even something we can provide for those near to us. Endeavor to be quiet, and walk honestly, Paul advised to his friends in Greece. Some translations read "study to be quiet," reminding me of how so simple an aspect of life is a cultivated discipline. In this sense, "quiet" runs far deeper than an absence of verbiage. I have met many people who speak with an impressively peaceful- even a quiet- spirit. It seems the greater discipline is in quieting one’s thoughts. As much as we can choose to commit our experiences to memory, we may also choose not to remember. Shutting fast the door to the soul is also to elect not to exhume detriments that obstruct the embodiment of compassion.

Just now, during a workday meal break, I am enjoying the natural light at the window after having looked to the wide sky outside, amidst aromatic wind gusts. Images of vastness, such as sweeping skies and the immense ocean, are consolations to remind me how temporal and small are my complaints. Looking at the small radio that accompanies me during many of my intermissions, I am also reminded of some attributes these humble and familiar consolers represent. Consider the radio. It has no memory; it does not accumulate its broadcasts. There is no baggage from the past, and only immediate moments are impartially transmitted- pulled from an unseen spectrum of frequencies. It must always be attuned to its source. It reminds me how so often the best I can do is to simply report, in faithful articulation, while receiving and transmitting the most lucid possible signal. The programmes continue, in the harsh and joyful times alike, undeterred by social hardships. From the warmth of familiar and recognizable voices and melodies, there are cadenced gauges for our precarious days. Over whatever is being conversed about at this moment on WBZ, in thickly-accented and animated Boston English, I am asking myself of the true source of my heart’s unrest- even beneath the misery I see daily in many around me. Yes, it is all perilous and we each crave reassurance in our livelihoods. But I turn from the despondence and see how the sun shines, and how even strangers greet me with their welcoming smiles. So little is within our own power. And yet I must bear these fragilities and allow them to be transfigured into something that can light the steps ahead.

depth of field

"Let no one hope to find in contemplation an escape
from conflict, from anguish or from doubt.
On the contrary, the deep, inexpressible certitude
of the contemplative experience awakens a tragic anguish and opens many questions
in the depths of the heart like wounds that cannot stop bleeding.
For every gain in deep certitude there is a corresponding growth of superficial ‘doubt.’
This doubt is by no means opposed to genuine faith,
but it mercilessly examines and questions the spurious ‘faith’ of everyday life,
the human faith which is nothing but the passive acceptance of conventional opinion."

~ Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation, p.12


These are the quickening days of spring. Those earthy aromas even visit the cities. Yesterday, I found a small mirror, and being well aware of its reflectance I brought it outside as a subject for some images. The glass itself has a surface, yet as many of us know, to be able to clearly see what is being reflected it is necessary to focus to the distance of the subject in the mirror- not the physical mirror as an object in itself. When we look within, the tangible surfaces in our lives barely begin representing an inner life calling from beyond our depths. What we see reflected are hints just definable enough to draw us onward.

The contemplative life is confrontational. A very clear memory comes to mind now, of my first visit with a Quaker congregation at their meeting-house. The large group unpromptedly descended into a deep, palpable silence. Not being certain of the procedure of things, I tried settling the racing thoughts that seemed to bustle in with me from outside. It also astonished me to see all the young children in the group also sitting in complete and patient stillness. Then I, too, entered the unspoken prayer of attendant silence. Between immersions into the quiet waiting upon the Holy Spirit, I sometimes opened my eyes and noticed the beautifully austere and ancient meeting-house church, bright floorboards as wide as my feet are long, and my ungrasping hands. And when I described the morning’s adventure later to some friends, I said "there was nothing to hide behind. It was unobstructed and confrontational." Indeed, a solid hour of unfettered silent contemplation has got to be an acquired taste, but for me it was surprisingly liberating, and both a self-confrontation and an entirely serene Divine encounter- much as I’ve experienced in monastic silence.

Contemplation calls the pilgrim soul; the Spirit that gives us life beckons and persuades us to face our creation and created selves as fully as possible. In responding by embarking upon a life of trust, it has been quite natural for me to be able to find the graces in my midst, wherever I go, but also the more difficult events and setbacks- even many uncertainties- can be stood down. Peaceful times of contemplation can burst forth into a focused and animated life, attuned to be offered for the service of others. If a sincere descent into one’s heart can happen in an austere room, we can surely be reminded of the immateriality of the contemplative life. There are no limits. Often, the language of introspection applies the comparison of the butterfly’s crysalis. Just as contemplative reflection is transcendent of place, so transformation is unlimited by time or circumstance. Transforming changes have come to me, both in the midst of fleeting workplace moments and during lengthy sojourns of withdrawal from the din of commotion. The image of a crysalis reminds us of the necessity to look deep within and focus, in order to heal those lingering anguishes that obstruct our view of all that unfolds before us. Paradoxically, in reclaiming my self and remembering what truly identifies me, it becomes possible to cut loose those past perplexities that can blur a clear view of the present. Revisiting the past runs the risk of entrenchment. When I find myself looking back, I try to think of it as glancing archival documents: they attest now to a time that was, or in the parlance of archivists these are "non-current records, of evidentiary value," based entirely upon their context. Research, like introspection, isn’t meant to be a dwelling place, but a springboard.

We don’t always choose to confront ourselves and challenge our direction. At times, we may innately sense having lost our way- or what radio listeners call "signal drift," requiring some re-tuning. Other times, our circumstances- or events within which we find our context- impose our self-evaluation. And, to be certain, the lure of contemplation cannot be for me to self-engross, but an understanding of my being and purpose actually frees me from centering on self. Contemplatives are often misunderstood, and I am long past trying to legitimize my intrinsic sense of introspection; or at least I should be undaunted. An adolescence of rejection gave me plenty of practice. So I say healthy doses of reflection are not excessive, but actually vital, especially if such exercises are means aimed at holiness. It is essential to know oneself. Our very complexity is itself compelling and demands some resolve. It sure doesn’t mean stopping everything until I can think clearly enough. Indeed, we can keep moving along with our functioning consciences! Strength from within lets us think on our feet and proves to be of great significance when we must stand solitarily upon our own merits. Our own voice must be so familiar to ourselves that our task is simply to connect our well-established convictions with unambiguous narrative, allowing us to listen for the spirit in our midst. Clarity of vision leads to the solidity of thought and direction needed to create and navigate wherever our steps find us.

Pursuing and continuing the inner journey can be undermined by our own doubts, inevitable as they may be, however these tentative impressions can be turned into pivot points against which we can draw confidence. Within our hesitation is questioning, as Brother Roger of Taizé wrote in his journal, Struggle and Contemplation, adding that "our basic doubt does not prevent us from constantly setting out, from doubt towards belief." Uncertainty can become dynamism. How many of our perceived limitations are of our own doing? One such way we self-undermine is by doubting our own voice, our own experiences; that is a hindrance we alone can lift away. Many of us have known that turning-point, when we hear ourselves speak a truth that is uniquely from our own perspective, worthy of a respect we didn’t dare ask for. Those who would not have expected much esteem have known the marooned experience of disregard. We might question the very validity of the truths we bear. Further, we may even wonder at the expectation of being taken seriously. But even through those kinds of doubts, our strength of purpose, modest as it may be, mustn’t be daunted. Recent days have caused me to consider what sorts of expectations I have and how realistic they are. Idealists- as well as those who have tasted some of their aspirations- must especially use care in what can be reasonably expected. Once more, we visit a paradox- genuine hope has no limit, yet being earthbound we cannot dismiss our respective contexts. When I regroup my thoughts, it seems that for realistic expectations to be grounded in reality, there must be some evidence of reliability; there must be a basis of trust. At the same time, it is vital for me to be always mindful of my sources of strength, and not to affix too many expectations in flawed institutions, mechanisms, and even personalities. I have had to beware not to become enslaved by temporal opinions, and weigh them against that which stands the test of time. We are all permitted our struggles, and no honest person is without them in some form. A great part of proceeding forward in the spirit of trust is continuity: having all the concepts spelled out is far less important that to go forth in faith. Remember the words, "seek first...and all will be added..."


In his journal, Dostoyevsky wrote, "I am a child of doubt and unbelief," continuing by offering that his praises, his exclamations of hosanna, "passed through the crucible of doubt." When the spirit of inquiry, or speculation, moves our questioning into an active search for assurance and holiness, those doubts produce emanate worth. But as with explorations of what is past, our uncertainties serve us best as road signs rather than as terminus points. I hope for my recollections to bring a dynamism to my perspective, not to tarnish my ideals but to help provide a sense of grounding. If we find, however, that our doubts sink us into our losses, causing us to deny our significance in this world, that is a sign to reconsider our criteria. My own inward misgivings turn me toward doubting my impact in the world and the worth and relevancy of my ideals. And from there, trying to transfigure doubts into vibrancy, I rethink the meaning and value of recognition.

In this society that combines perfectionism and "dumbing-down," with bewildering grudge-keeping and short attention spans, I am compelled to find light in the darkness. The bewilderment is part of the challenge to cultivate faith and intuition that accompanies confidence to stand- and even continue walking and working- with the doubts. I begin to reflect upon many gifts taken for granted; these are essentially left unquestioned when problems monopolize my focus. While moving forward, we can still be aware of how far we’ve traveled already. Strength and conscience grow from within, and add depth to our abilities to perceive- even becoming a means of verification. In formless times of contemplation, it is possible to verify recollections that tug away at thoughts. With a practical look at the past that was, I am driven immediately away to the steps with which I now proceed. "Test the spirits," wrote John, in the late first century. To me, this means to challenge one’s convictions. Are they encouraging? Are they life-giving? With the doubts and questions, I try to verify the ground upon which I stand. It assures me, as I glance between divine consolations and the floorboards beneath my feet, that my passing thoughts are undergirded by an infinitely greater and more caring eternity.

drawing strength

"Look to God and be radiant;
Let your faces not be abashed.
This poor man called;
The Lord heard him,
And rescued him from all his distress."

~ Psalm 34

For those of us whose lives find their contexts in cold, northern climbs, we can undeniably acknowledge the unambiguous departure of winter. Without overt contrasts between interior and exterior temperatures, moving from place to place resumes an effortlessness and a lightness not experienced since last year. A new season invites new views, even in old places. New energies that result from surmounting transition are often counterweighted by the exhaustion of having made efforts needed in order to arrive safely in a new place- or a new mindset. Usually, by this time of the year, I retreat for a spell of days or weeks, and my clear response to this being long overdue is to find strings of hours to help offset my hunger for regathering time. By comparison, one might imagine periodic cups of coffee between sporadic meals, or the way many of us can just occasionally close our eyes during those draining flights and travels before finding that elusive soft bed. Endurance challenges our abilities and drive to sustain our physical paces, but also our spirits are put to the test. Caffeine can help keep me in motion, but with each day’s arrival I must continually draw from the source of faithful, confident trust. Tiredness need not mean disinterestedness, and of late I have witnessed the effects of societal factors that grind spirits right down.

Stopping for a moment to reflect, even if just for brief distant views of the big picture, I realize how many people’s eroded aspirations I listen to, in the course of an ordinary day. Sometimes I hear overt discouragement from those who speak candidly about their employment, the political process, their churches, or other struggles in their lives. Other times, disenchantments are unspoken yet pronouncedly evident, apparent between what is said and how the words are expressed. And for justifiable reasons. I feel the same things, too, catching myself under the weight of similar ineptitudes, spite, and carelessness everyone else notices, responds to, and carries with them. Counteracting such burdens takes some conscious perseverance. Although most times I am unaware of my vigilance against apathy, occasionally the concerted need for an infused effort surfaces. And as with any spiritual venture, antidotes come in forms such as friends and reflection. But to recognize diverting currents before they can poison cultivated ideals is a conscientious endeavor. Conscience is the voice of the soul, it is what Karl Barth described as, "the interpreter of life." When our forces and creative reserves run thin, or appear set back, we can conscientiously take stock of what is around us and within us, and proceed. Perhaps an incident which only you have noticed sticks with you, or that your voice is solitary in a figurative wilderness. But, still, you search your conscience and explore both the disenchantments and the gratitudes alike. In defining and delineating the source of an emotion, I am applying some of the approaches I’ve taught in art criticism: first determine the appeal of an image, and then follow by articulating the basis of my response. Through that discourse of asking and seeking, we can find an assuring sense of self-confidence that we will surely need when conscience must be our spark of celestial fire.

Perhaps it may also occur to you, as new strengths noticeably begin to undergird your words and actions, assumed limits consequently follow as dissipating banks of dense fog. More road becomes visible, and the landscape widens. Many presumed impossibilities start evolving as the attainable, in some form or another- shedding old preconceptions. Last week, I asked myself about my perceived limitations- outside of practical and material constraints. What outdated ideas and goals need to be challenged which had been long deemed out of reach? As we grow and advance, so must our expectations and hopes. Reflecting upon the concepts of what I expect- even the words "goals," "aims," and "success," though representing necessary practical matters, also attest to the lexicon of these times: "what can one amass for one’s own self-aggrandizement?"

Throughout the 1990s, and a bit since, I’ve had to sit through a lot of bulleted and powerpointed lists of whatever flavor or method or series of habits and steps promised to make for a better person and a more productive workplace. Everyone had to conjure up and declare an altruistic "mission statement." Even the company that sold me bicycle parts by mail made a mission statement. These are really shadows of motions, neatly wrapped with a bow, that essentially changed nothing. Formulas, apparently, are easier than to simply profess working together and respecting one another, and follow it up by solid implementation. If there had been an upshot, it was the way many launched from the empty words into thinking seriously about living life authentically, more deeply than the perfunctory verbiage. When aspirations come to mind these days, these are honestly more about what I hope to accomplish alongside those around me. If realizing how the small and sporadic measures of encouragement have been as rare gems to me, then it is for me to be respectfully encouraging to others. To do this well implies a real desire to understand, and that means letting go of limiting mental structures and universalizing my comprehension.


Drawing strength, I aspire to run the race without regret. Reaching forth in an open-ended progress requires that I challenge and refine my perspectives. Sufficient for the moment, while reflecting upon ways to conscientiously persevere and dislodging presumed limitations, I would like to reconsider long-used vantage points. In photography, part of the skill of compositional dynamics is to vary your angle of view. Try to portray your subject from differing trajectories, and not constantly view from the same standpoint or always the same distance. Surely, and for so many of us, writing allows for a variety of ways of observing- as does listening and participating in the world that is in our midst. In the search to see afresh in this new season, especially along the journal-writing road, I am reconsidering the lenses through which I’ve been looking back and writing my history. Of course, there are the historiographic elements of accuracy and genuineness, but that is just the foundation. Reflection, by nature, is a patient voyage without deadlines. Plumbing the depths of recovery, resurgence, and rebuilding after past times of loss and brokenness- finds its fulfilment in an abiding thirst for the spirit that traverses the waters of discovery into involvement. I ponder how it is possible to regard afresh- even without the excess baggage of memory.

The other night, after helping to serve a joyous meal to a group of very dear friends, I dreamt about two places from my past that- in the dream- were in adjoining rooms. (Of course, in real life, that would have been geographically impossible.) In the dream, I moved from the staff room of a studio in which I’d worked for many years- to the office I’d had at yet another job more recently- as if walking between two next-door spaces. Both were in notably egregious disarray. My presence was unnoticed in the hum of daily operations and ringing phones. In one of the rooms, while instinctively stopping to pick up some of the mess- I stopped myself and said, "Leave it alone; you don’t work here anymore. Just leave it be." The next morning, I mused about the imagery of the presence of my absence- and enjoyed the way I did not interfere with what had lost its relevance. It all left the same impression as that of turning a street corner and discovering the first flowers of spring.

walking the line

"The most you can do is trust
The faith you see with your own eyes
And my feet are still tender
Like skin is when it heals

I’ve got to walk that line

We remember how you bled
When we all drink the wine
We’re looking for your steps
That started up that line."


~ The Smalltown Poets, That Line


A weekday off: not a sick-day or a legal holiday, but an unstructured and approved string of waking hours that I have designated for ruminative frivolity. It is deliciously grey and cool outside, and the sky is a seamless white backdrop. With light so completely diffused, there are no shadows - not even beneath the chair legs upon the slate terrace floor outside the Boston Athenaeum. With a day all my own, this is the place to be- considering I cannot stray too far from tomorrow’s resuming routines. Longer sojourns have their place, but there is much to be said for a day’s retreat, be it indoors or out. My intent isn’t to write specifically about this place, however my personal reference to this grand library as a preferred philological retreat- like the pensive overcast sky- manifests in the form of a starting point for many thoughts. I gravitate to places like this, because I love to learn- particularly when the learning involves concepts, words, and images that my heart embraces.

My own learning process got a lot more interesting, since having gotten through all my formal schooling. The reward for all my perseverance is that I can discover and choose my own sources, and if I want to spend two months reading a short book, so be it. As it now appears, it seems we must surmount all sorts of obstacles, along with senseless courses and exams, to reach a point at which we can choose to learn for our own personal expression and growth. My gratitude for this moment comprises an ingredient of having survived the crime-ridden and impoverished New York City public school system, with some scattered recollections of some good instruction that took root- beginning at Public School No.13, and extending all the way through post-graduate work.

Permeating much of the useful learning that continues to accompany me comes from my mother’s common-sense and humored way of integrating diverse subjects into an eclectic way of approaching life. I saw a consistent conscientiousness in every situation, whether it was in the preparation of a meal, a painting or drawing, a flower bed, a household project, or fixing a flat bicycle tire. That sense of method and intuition was present in every context, such that there seemed just one context: how things are done. And, that there are meanings in ordinary things. Appropriate for today’s thoughts, it was with the very same sensitivity that she taught me to write. I learned how to write at home, before the penmanship lessons that taught us an American style of slanted and flowing cursiveness, so my handwriting to this day resembles my mother’s vertical style. Following the light pencilled lines, she would say, "make your mark." Then, at about nine years of age, it was calligraphy- ink blots and all. "Make me nice clear numbers that I can read," and "Make those I’s nice and tall like you are!" Indeed, learning demands doing, just as theory prompts practice. To really make one’s mark, it takes some extraordinary tenacity that goes far beyond training and lessons. When we can merge our skills with our passions, the learning, refinement, and collecting of insights continues with a very natural effort.

"I hear, I forget;
I see, I understand;
I do, I remember"

Those immortal words of Confucius, quoted above, were posted as a motto by my fourth grade teacher at P.S. 13 (Mrs. Levy, Room 313), and somehow despite the ocean of information that I’ve navigated since those rough-and-tumble days at the age of eight, these words remain with me. Such simple sayings are easy to remember, and for a visual person, the message’s content is accompanied by the way it appeared on the wall: in cut-out construction paper letters. Every day, as I walk across my living room, I glance at a small letterpress print given to me by the Shaker community, here in Maine, that reads: "Hands to Work, Hearts to God." Seeing and understanding has been a guideline for me, to distinguish between theoretical and practical. But doing and remembering is a principle that is the basis for how I learn and how I teach- and- for the spiritual life. Learning and understanding, or comprehension, joins the equation of doing and remembering. In my experience, the practice and refinement of a craft, or a method, or an ability, is the fulfillment of its pursuit. Theory demands practice, and practice demands continuity. It is also true of belief. When a conscientious faith is not implemented, we see uncompassionate social ministry and unwise and disjointed management. The cutting-edge between disconnection and a fine sense of mutuality is the ability and desire to see from another’s vantage point, to figuratively "walk in another’s shoes." Pondering these things, so many schoolrooms and places of employment later, my hope has been to somehow apply a unitive perspective to all of life’s interactions and embarkations. To see those around me, and the contexts I inhabit, as an integrated entirety.


In the cultivating of vigilant hope- especially in these times and this culture, we are ever confronted by tempting currents of cynicism and apathy. Indeed, we know how easily a pessimistic reckoning of living can take hold, considering the emphases on compounding hardships in so many forms. To try to understand some of these realities, and yet also to keep from being overwhelmed, there must be counterbalance. Not an unreality, which would further disappoint, but an aspiration that strengthens by the day, in the spirit that assures us with "my friends, know that I am with you always and until the end of time." Such mindfulness implies both remembrance and looking forward. Being fully awake to life as it unfolds, and also actively participating in it, is to be both watchful and unhesitating. I believe it is well worth cultivating a sense of evaluative discernment, yet keeping obstructive judgments in check. Inhabiting- and even prospering- in this society, yet not being of this society, implies an openness amenable enough for the miraculous, along with a strength to withstand a spirit that brings many to debilitating jadedness.


Choosing hopefulness also means repeatedly deciding against succumbing to an inability to trust. At times I have to strain, and need solid reminders that direct me to what is good. Reflecting upon what is worthwhile shows me the blessings for which to take stock, and also pitfalls to avoid. Granted, this life subjects us to constant uncertainties and frustrating mediocrities, but it doesn’t mean we must recoil with insecurity or lower our standards. The fact that situations are often fleeting could be reason itself to take heart. In his book, "Struggle and Contemplation," Brother Roger of Taizé wrote: "Nothing is more disheartening than people frozen into the appearances of a vocation reduced to its sociological forms." Perhaps that was his way of expressing the observation of that state of "going through the motions," that many of us witness with dismay, viewing it as a warning. For me, nothing has been more disheartening than untapped potential. But in the face of what may dictate otherwise, I press forward and grasp the consoling hopes I’ve been given and continue to discover. Among such promise is the consolation of the open-ended learning process, and gratitude for some of the guidelines that are with me today.

solicitude

"The way to recover the meaning of life and the worthwhileness of life is to recover the power to experience, to have impulse voices from within and to be able to hear those impulse voices from within- and make the point: This can be done."

~ Abraham Maslow, from Memorial Volume

The observation phrased above emphasizes a recovery of a sense of meaning, a cultivation of intuition, as if a fine sensitivity had been lost. So many of us are well familiar with intermittent streams of consciousness and the sort of schedule-juggling, multi-tasking that can numb the senses. At times, we are foraging to recover by recollection, but then we discover anew- as though noticing the first crocus of spring for the first time. The ways we perceive can bring newness to the familiar. As I consider my own voyage today, rather than to focus on recovering, I am much more interested in maintaining and nurturing the power to experience. For beginnings to find their fulfillment, there must be a consistent follow-through of continued discovery. The adventure of learning experiences converts to its culminating dimension with application.

Regarding the spiritual life, too much emphasis is placed upon the starting line. To front-load narratives of spirituality with introductory references, practitioners are left at those initial stages and become understandably discouraged once the primrose path meets inevitable deserts of trials. Much more can be attempted in the direction of developing new ways of trust- though outwardly unspectacular, it is vital. And we need one another, so that our steps may progress away from theoretical beginnings, and into the continuities of real life. My own experience has been challenged by the necessity of seeking out substantial sources, having to explore far beyond exhausted superficialities that are set before too many of us, purported to be sufficient. The ability to experience may be the sustained discipline that will move a soul from recovery to consistent practice.


There is always something to learn, and by holding to that principle, one really can pursue an acumen that savors experience. Within the discipline of learning is an acquired distaste for losing the practice, a wariness of the wages of stagnation. It is a kind of solicitude; a concern that finds its rest in vigilance. If our uneasiness with status quos brings us to re-evaluate our perceptions, then a watchful vigilance is a way to stabilize that sense of impatience which accompanies a thirst for the Spirit while contending with hardships. I like to think of vigilance as devotionally keeping watch- having all senses awakened. Vigil lights are burning candles, and for many these are visible acts of prayer that signify watchfulness. It is a mark of silent dedication that shines outward, especially as contrasted by darkness. Souls that desire the well-being of others, want to give of themselves. What we had brought ourselves to believe as our own will, may have to be sacrificed- yet we go forth gladly, persuaded by the affirming movements of our hearts. But it is not all blind stirrings from within, though much can start that way. For me, it continues as vigilance in learning, perceiving, and applying what beneficial experiences I can find. "Be fervent," said Paul to his protégé, Timothy, "be it in season or out of season." This is to say readiness whether convenient or not- or as the Latin presents it: "insta opportune importune."


To be vigilant, even in the quietest of ways, is indeed opposed to passivity. An obvious parallel is how, at various monitoring intervals, I’ve seen monks silently looking after votive lights in monastery halls and chapels- day and night. And never disruptively. Once in a while, when I’m tending the wick of a candle or an oil lamp in my home, the image of Brother Daniel carefully peering around corners of the night chapel at Weston Priory comes to mind. That watchful tenacity of just-making-sure is silent, save for the scuffing of sandals on the flagstones. The first photo studio job I had, after finishing art college, involved working for an energetic and jovial photographer who had taken his childhood family-business and Navy experiences into our field, which was commercial photography. He was a good sport, and could handle the rest of us making fun of his "time to lean, time to clean" adages during slower production times. He taught us some impressive methods to get to a final print in the fewest steps, and very quickly- and that oddly militaristic streak would emerge when he’d see one of us trying to print, wedged and weighed to countertops on our elbows. "Off your elbows!" he’d coach; "you can’t do anything on your elbows!" Talk about solicitude. Strangely enough, years and many employers later, that little paroxysm has been a motto for my efforts. And its definition reaches a lot farther than photo enlargers and color printing. When I think of the wholehearted effort needed to thoroughly accomplish a task, I remind myself that it cannot be achieved merely on my elbows. My fellow calligraphers will also recognize how we’ve been taught to write from our shoulders; no bold stroke can emanate from a wrist- or for that matter, an elbow.

The other evening, I was turning my shortwave radio in a variety of directions, twisting a coil of copper wire, all to retain a distant signal. Then, by day, I’m researching through arcane documents and scanning electronic utilities to find information to help other historians. What is really worth our vigilance? To what lengths will we go, and how much will we spend, in order to find what we seek? Have you wondered, much later, at the crazy efforts you’ve made in order to reach a place, or find an object, or complete some venture? Among my photo media of choice is kallityping- a method of solar contact printing that demands very bright sunlight. Before sensitizing paper for a day’s printing, I must be sure of clear weather forecasts the night before. On one occasion, after a satisfyingly productive afternoon, I set up one last landscape print- on a large sheet of paper. The image took longer than the previous ones to print, due to the gradually departing light. Evaluating the darkening details in five-minute intervals, it repeatedly seemed as though I needed just a bit more light. So I began moving my easel further down the street from my front stoop, trying to catch that last light of the day. Eventually, I completed the print while climbing a tree around the corner, two blocks away- just able to gather some light from the setting sun, the 11x14 printing frame held firmly in my extended arms.


The kallitype story made for a great anecdote during its exhibit, but indeed not all vigilant undertakings have the anticipated result for which we’ll stick our necks all the way out. Surely, such things are exceptions- especially in lives that incorporate trying many different ways of expression. Amidst numerous enterprises that fall through, it’s easy to remember endeavors that turn out even better than planned. But somehow, the failed attempts, the elusive outcomes- whether explainable or not- can captivate our imaginations. Wanting to know why many things in our lives do not work out- can possess the best of our energies. Weighing what convincingly appears as wasted efforts, dividing regrets between the avoidable ones and the inevitable ones, becomes a terrible fog bank between where we stand at this pulsating instant and the fresh paths ahead. Indeed, exhumed pasts risk becoming more influential than the present, where we live and breathe and have our being. Oh, how the what-had-been can be such an endless, unanswerable curiosity! Its perplexities engender a solicitude all its own. And in my watchful vigilance, I must see to it that expired anguishes not prevail, that the road grit which had been washed away scatters to the four winds. An incidental vigil has come in the form of recording words such as these. Watching thoughts by written observations, in all circumstances, opens a way to pursue, to progress face-forward. The important thing is to continue.

here and away

"The water is wide
I cannot get o’er
Neither have I
Wings to fly"

Water is Wide, 17th century Scottish folk song

Perhaps this has happened to you as well as to me, just recently and as I type these words. Exerting forces and resources all waking hours, while pausing to realize the distances traveled and the arduous work done, a sudden sense of what has transpired and the unknown journeys ahead- has brought my steps to a physical intermission. An extremely rare halt, amidst a life of perpetual motion. It had occurred to me that I had been plodding through barrages of overbooked, restless, and multitasked days- and it was clearly displayed to me in an ordinary moment the other day. My workplace has a top-floor hallway whose length and breadth is encased in glass. Now, with the new novelty of lengthened light, the view outside has come to sharply differentiate from institutionally monochromatic interiors. With the usual returning strides to my work details, those wraparound northwest windows revealed a disruptively long view of bright beckoning blue skies beyond Back Cove. Living on an ocean-oriented peninsula, it’s easy to forget the higher elevations that are west of this place, always present. Racing along the hallway, I couldn’t really stop, but could surely hear my thoughts reflect, "how long away, so near and so far."

The soul longs for the world outside, paradoxically either to retreat or to be immersed. These exhausting days remind me of what a persistent and dizzying haul this voyage can seem. At times the road appears as a gauntlet; with some healed perspective, paths and horizons become invited vistas. Finally, noticing some symptoms of physical illness, I claimed the day off. Of course, it will take more than a fleeting day to completely recharge, but necessity dictates that I regroup just enough to return to the stream of striving. For the moment, I’ve been enjoying a day without a schedule. I get to see how sunlight fills my apartment in the midafternoon. In between intervals of repose, as I suppose it must be for most everyone, thoughts of what tasks need to be done, what ought to have been done, and what may potentially be demanded- introduces another unpleasant cycle. Imagine there are those who are brought to perceive the spiritual life as such! Part of sidelining oneself is the need to not do, to stop, and to recognize that overburdening can harm our souls. How easily we can be conditioned by this culture that ties progress together with over-achievement. On a day like today, I daresay substantial forward movement can manifest without doing- when perception can be cultivated in reflection.

Indeed, there are the myriads of practical necessities that send us all out into the often bizarre marketplace of work experiences, qualifications, ambitions, and titles. And for contemplatives who do not live reclusively, the chaos around us must be offset by tranquility within. And, ironically, the contrast can really energize us. At times it is as though inhabiting two worlds which, on occasion, cannot intersect. But the inner life calls, the Spirit tugs at our hearts- whether we are actively interpreting our lives, or simply regarding circumstances from what may appear to be an inactive distance. And I am finding the inner life to be something of an "outer" life, integrated so as to be indistinguishable and unsegregated from what happens in the day’s interactions. Indeed, a way of being in this world. Thomas Merton wrote about an intuition that transcends the senses- and even the intellect itself. Infused contemplation, he wrote in The Inner Experience, "is characterized by a quality of light in darkness, knowing in unknowing. It is beyond feeling, even beyond concepts." Merton continues by discussing "detachment from sensible realities." Surely no simple matter and indeed a challenge for those who must answer to employers, landlords, bill-collectors, and such unpredictable personalities of which we can each cite our own examples. But, truly, looking to the newly-accentuated scenery reminds me that moving further beyond means progressing deeper within. Engaging the great journey is not only to begin, but also to continue where we are right at this instant, in this one life we have in this world.


The long way ahead can overwhelm, when horizons exhaust and do not excite, it becomes vital that I be watchful of what causes my vigilance to waver. With this in mind, I might return to Merton’s corroboration with the ancients to try and transcend feelings and hindering attachments. But again the challenge abides, to move between detachment and affectation, between looking to unseen, eternal horizons and being very much upon the pavement in this world. Over the years, "looking ahead" has represented a mixture of meanings for me. For an extended period, beginning immediately after college, an obsession with charting my future emphasized my displeasure with the present as it had been. Apparently, what I treasured in daily life seemed to be whisked away from reach, along with elusive goals and breaks that appeared to be allotted to many around me that worked much less diligently than I did. Eventually, as the din of exasperation had been joined by unmanageable crises, it became urgently necessary that I change my perspective- beginning by cherishing the blessings at my door. When perfectionism possesses us, it’s easy to step over sturdy thresholds while lunging at shifting mirages. So I try to be watchful and at peace, liberated of those old unreasonable perfectionist leanings.

When I’m back at work tomorrow, that glassed hallway will become an iconic image. The water, skies, and hills represent a big-picture view of solidity transcending fluidity. I am reminded to look through circumstances, gazing toward the immovable without losing the moment. It causes me to consider what is steadfast and substantial. Is my trust consistently founded upon that which endures, the creating force that far out-endures my intuition? It is reassuring to even pose the question, as so many more thoughts and vantage points are prompted. And while looking forward to renewed strength, it is reinforcing to know that a burgeoning life of conscientious work is amounting to something, and yet even more consoling that it has become but a point of reference and no longer as important to me as it is to confidently move forward. Regaining strength, I hope to be equipped for the indefinite haul, and will embrace the signs of renewal as reminders. Perhaps there is even a spiritual discipline in the simplicity of being reminded.

substrata

"beneath the snow
beneath the dew
a seed planted in autumn
is growing through

a tiny leaf
below the grass
stretching upward
hasn’t had a chance
to be proven both
strong and true

within my heart
deep in my soul
a fire was started in winter
that cuts through the cold

a tiny flame
below the ice
reaching upward
hasn’t had a chance
to be proven both
strong and bold"

~ Vector, Watch Over Me, and I’ll Watch Over You


Early signs of spring, as the increasingly brighter light combines with bracing air and freezing temperatures, call to mind how struggle and transformation exist alongside each other. I can see how tiring the long winter has been for so many of us, and now there are tangible signs for us all to experience a general sense of catharsis. The sidewalks can almost all be trodden with normal and careless strides. During today’s mid-morning coffee break, a bit more weary than usual for a day so new, I remembered the all-nighters I’d work at my studio. Sunrises following sleepless vigils of hard work evoke the reprieving solace of late winter’s early thaw. The relief is not immediate, but its evidence is convincing. Beneath the frozen surface is promise, and even if the melting outer layers reveal last October’s dried leaves, its fullness is a harbinger of newness. Dormant life manifests from within the weakened crust that remains from past seasons- both physical and those of the heart.

Today, I remembered the fresh-start gesture of the New Year’s revelers who set a huge paper-shredder out on a sidewalk and invited the public to destroy written references to their regrets and misgivings. Though symbolic, the action represents a definitive discarding of the uninvited past. Now, fatigue, along with the scarcity of reflective time, makes for labored steps, it is still possible for me to see how lengthened light outpaces what has become irrelevance from past days. As with discarded words and directions, modest forays can set profound changes into motion. This time of the year provides us with images that attest to the mystery of renewal. Though exerted, the desire to recommence anew gives way for us to emerge from the shedding cloak of winter. Trust is at hand, and the day’s change from yesterday’s rhythm fuels a forward movement.

As natural elements change before us- and around us, these physical signs represent the mystery of transformation. The transition is gradual, and always recognizable. For me, this fascinating imagery becomes as sacred iconography, revealing otherwise concealed insights. Icons are often compared to windows, as the image subjects themselves have multiple levels, and like a window frame we can see through encompassing images into still more motifs. Further, as with photography, more careful observation reveals subtleties that are ordinarily hidden from passing glances. With our contemplative sense of sight, we can observe the questions we provisionally live with.

"Est autem fides sperandorum substantia,
rerum argumentum non apparentium."

These words of Paul, addressed to my ancestors the Mediterranean Hebrews (11:1), came to mind today, while pondering how we can comprehend through our inner stirrings. Surely, his poetic statement about the wonder of trust speaks across all generations and peoples. The context for so wondrous a definition of faith, "the substance of things hoped for, and the certainty of what we do not see," or what is not readily apparent, comes during a discourse about perseverance. We can all be patient to a degree, and amidst hardships, it can run thin. His paragraphs point to those lives have embodied steadfast trust. The Latin offers some vivid imagery: imagine a substantive argument for the unapparent. The words lend themselves, and our thoughts, to the essence of trust- as a cultivated gift of being able to interpret what is not concretely evident. Rather, this is the ability of perceiving the world, creation, the lives around ourselves, and events through eyes sensitized by faith.

By looking again at the long journey as the destination, while the months of tarnish melt away from the ground beneath me, levels and layers of raw, unflourished ground appear. In this season, it’s as though the earth has been sanded down to a surface that cannot be seen through autumn’s colors and summer’s density- or the deep snow, for that matter. March’s thin veneer brings to mind how real are the layered substrata we walk upon. Being mindful of what abides beyond the surface parallels a personal examination of conscience. The burgeoning season brings me to new vantage points, and indeed changed perspectives. Subtle modifications in living are indeed quiet changes, and though unlike pronounced crises, evolving perspectives are no of less effort. And beneath the surface is mystery, unknowing- yet fascinating and consoling. Renewal is a wonder, because it astonishes me to see how freshly we can start over and again- especially without the jadedness of what must melt away. Truly, a fresh start is one that is unfettered by cynicism and liberated from condemning.

If I am really living ever-renewing days, what changes have emerged from the depths of the surface? Being revivified means to live differently. For the past couple of weeks, my handwritten journal has been speckled with pencilled jots inquiring about what has changed. I’d try the question at different times of the day- alas always during fleeting breaks from work. Indeed, since the nature of reflective journaling is an evolving format, we can explore and revisit concepts, allowing them to develop. If we began with presumed conclusions, it would defeat the dynamism of the process. Contemplatives, in this culture, have to steer around society’s obsessions built around controlling outcomes. These days in reflection, I am only now realizing through conscious writing and reading, we can be the incarnation of our learning. Manifesting what one learns about, corresponds with how perception influences what we see and how we interpret the signs and images in our lives. Momentarily, the specifics of my own renewal are still elusive and, so far, can be articulated as changes in perception. A general, intuitive change in how I perceive, both what is living and what is non-sentient. Spiritual growth, or development, unfolds mysteries we can recognize, but it also seems there are always concealed truths we become aware of in a beautifully unspoken way. Continuing on, with just enough of what attests to a confidence unseen, may be considered an undramatic change. But gradual transformation is indeed silently noticeable- and perceptible in both our thoughts and how we communicate. Perhaps it suffices, even momentarily, to assert there has been a sea-change. Even amidst intense road weariness, I am certain of the voyage- with all its required rigors and the grace each stage of the journey offers.

light and shading

"Reach out to pierce the darkness above.
Yes, beat upon that thick cloud of unknowing
with the dart of your loving desire and do not cease, come what may."

~ The Cloud of Unknowing, ch.7

Swirls of billowing snow glittered over the narrows of Beacon Street outside, as I could see through the upward-reaching windows of the Boston Athenaeum Library. Prolific snowfall visible between the interior’s carefully stocked bookshelves provided the background for a midday Baroque recital. I’d already scavenged a few tomes from the lower stacks, before walking into the impromptu concert hall; and so I sat holding fast to the books lest a five-pound hardcover hit the floor during an adagio. Grateful for my rare, reflective pause, there was a noticeable stillness to find- between the sprightly trills of Couperin and Bach directly in front of me, and the noiselessly feathering snow outdoors. It was one of those consoling moments during which I felt pronouncedly rooted in the very space and time beneath my feet. As it is with a savory meal, occasionally a forceful sense of place can be as prominent as the action one may be occupied with. During a summer of landscape-photographing in Norway, I stopped in the astonishingly beautiful mountainous seaside city of Bergen. As anyone might imagine, the amazement of a new and enchanting place can inspire a visual artist to rather ceaselessly explore- without much thought of rest. Well, on an afternoon of a memorable day’s photographing in an area along a fjord, the combination of exhaustion and wonder had drawn me to an extraordinarily peaceful place. At the summit of a green and sunlit hill, with trees and small medieval houses behind me and the ocean at the fore, I set down my heavy backpack of four-by-five film holders, the large camera, and all the bulky gear, and enjoyed an indelible repose. Part of the memory is wrapped up in the terrain- so steeply inclined that although lying on my back I could see straight out to the glistening water. And, just as that instant in the library, there are moments and places that can assimilate our being. The long journey traces a delicate path, and if our soul’s yearnings are unclear in the flailing, they surely come to our consciousness as we welcome more consoling moments.

As contemplation balances action, reading balances writing, and learning balances application, marathons of striving are offset by a solace that surprises. To arrive at a stride without overt or adversarial struggle is an entirely new predicament. So many of us become conditioned by enough discouraging experiences to expect "another shoe to drop," when our attention gets momentarily diverted from a joyous time in our lives. "Hope for the best; expect the worst," goes the old Mel Brooks song, and perhaps that speaks for a great many of us who call ourselves optimists. Indeed, it’s long about time this shoe-dropping business gets shaken away from its axiomatic pedestal. The cutting edge, as I’ve been recently learning, is not to stand still- surely no less when turning a corner onto level and well-lit roads, but to continue building upon the hard-earned aspirations that have brought me to this day. On this day of frosted exteriors and hushed, white-capped surfaces, this time for listening is not passive, but is a movement of trust. Here is an open door to meditate upon what I’ve learned, and also to challenge that veiled pessimism which has conditioned many of us to negatively anticipate- when we see goodness (and more potential for still more goodness) around us. Indeed this is an uncharacteristic frame of reference, but a welcome one: to explore and inhabit a new reality of evolving awareness and concerns that extend far beyond immediate survival.

Reaching a place of contemplative calm, this time, is without thunderous spectacle. But this is a turning-point, and these are steps I have walked with circumspectly in the past few months. And, as the paradoxes of grasp-and-release come to mind, we may revisit the ancient words that speak to the familiar scenario of pursuing conflicting ends. In Matthew we read the expression as "serving two masters," and we might adapt the concept as "playing on two opposing teams," or as I’d seen in the corporate sphere, "working for two disagreeing bosses." In the discourse following the Sermon on the Mount, the essence revolved around giving the all of oneself to the Eternal versus enslaving oneself to material trappings that intrinsically do not last. "Care not for the morrow, but let the morrow care for itself: for the day present has ever enough of its own troubles." In that bidding is an exercise of faith- of trust that there mustn’t be an apprehension about what may follow.

The crossroad of trust and fear is constantly presented before our steps. In that sense, there are numerous turning-points, whether or not amidst personal quiet spells. And somehow, by turning one’s attention away from self, and onto the fullness of this voyage, the range of what we can appreciate attains an expanse. Indeed, within that expanded awareness are innumerable treasures. Thankfully, we loom less largely in an aggrandizing milieu, and with an awakened vision the ordinary is transfigured. Commonplace occurrences, such as conversations, noticing the symmetry of street corners, meals, baths, and streams of inspired written words, draw us to tastes of rarified grace. I am relieved to look away from outdated notions, and to turn to things that are more complete and full. Out of the lengthy and deliberately-paced film Into Great Silence, the portion which has remained with me- more than the mountainous landscape and the ancient stone monastery- is the sequence which shows a monk repairing one of his boots. He aligns the pieces and applies the adhesive with a sacramental attentiveness, and then has the patient wisdom to allow the glue to very slightly begin to dry before finishing the job. Assembling the essentials takes time and devoted care.

If by releasing our imagined hold, we more fully comprehend, then indeed by unknowing we may come to know. For me, this has been a consoling relief, not to require some sort of highly-detailed itinerary of life (if such credible things ever existed). I appreciate that not all things are spelled out- and further how not all concepts are meant to be scripted outside of being lived realities. It seems for us to really set our hearts in a particular direction, we need to know- whether cognitively or intuitively- just enough so that we have the essentials to move forward. I have not minded the mixture of verifiable knowing, with a purposeful obscurity.

An integral component in how I made my livelihood for nearly 14 years was to create imagery in a completely dark chamber. From the crepuscular pitch blackness of photographic darkrooms, I would bring forth colorful and silver-engraved imagery on every manner of still film and paper. The only light, when there was any, came from the pinpoint-focused enlarger light sources which blended the mixed colors and densities that I would very carefully calibrate. It was a way of daily life and living, and no matter the weather or current events outside, there was the darkroom: an otherworldly blending of the intense stresses of production, a pervading element of uncertainty in the accomplishments of problem-solving, and the oddly tranquil bandaged darkness that would prompt meditations to offset the output demands. Always in very close quarters, and ever with muted vinegar-like odors. Between occasional consultations, those long stretches in the darkroom tended to exaggerate whatever I would seem to carry in with me from outside. Perhaps it is inherent to solitary darkness, that both solace and anxiety alike would be subject to the effects of confrontational shadows. In that combination of practicality and mystery, and when I’d be absent from the studio, the consciousness of the work of crafting light out of the darkness would remain. Many times, during the height of production, it did not always occur to me that I was working in lightless spaces; imagine doing extremely precise work- more by intuition than by sight.

Workplace adventures join with the lengthening reach of all life experiences- even the humblest and most unspectacular- or those "pictures" our minds might "take," when we find ourselves beholding a veritable collage of image and sound (and weather). Foraging through literal darkness and light alike lends profound metaphor to an evolving contemplative life. All that we go through- discoveries and setbacks- enrich our inner solitude. In his book, The Inner Eye of Love, William Johnston wrote:

"When the eye of love becomes accustomed to the dark,
it perceives that the darkness is light
and the void is plenitude."

By such perspective it is possible to see how the Spirit guides us through every form of life-situation, and the force of creation indeed originates from beyond ourselves. Dionysius the Areopagite wrote of "the ray of Divine darkness," and how a prayerful life journey teaches us to know with our inner eyes. In the fullness of the spiritual journey, he reflected that love- in the entirety of its meaning- is the motivating force. Using the example of Moses’ ascent into the dark and clouded mountain, it was "by great love" that he was drawn forward and on to unprecedented heights. To embrace the darkness and unknowing- not as forbidding obstacles, but as brilliant passages- is to welcome the mystery of calling yet to be finely articulated.