More Seed

There is much to be undone, and little to do.

It takes a genius, to refract, from the single-pointed, white light of Love, a hundred subtler shades of truth; but it takes a saint to unite them once again.

The simplicity of God is indeed profound, while His mysteriousness is merely a function of confusion in the minds of men, who complicate all things beyond the measure of necessity. It is only the prism which requires the refraction of light into a many-colored spectrum, as the mortal intellect demands the spreading-out of God's single-pointed command. Nonetheless, every carefully nuanced doctrine in the entire canon of Christendom may be "reduced" to the implicity of Love. What the heart of a child grasps in a word, the mind of an adult clutches at in ten-thousand volumes, and cannot lay hold of.

I myself am judged, convicted, and condemned by my words. They honor me, even as I disgrace them; indeed, the one in proportion to the other.

Our words may well save others, but will not save ourselves, unless it is by the measure of their sincerity; and there is no greater assurance of the sincerity of words than the corresponding performance of actions.

Speak for silence, then speak no more.

I speak in favor of silence. Is there anything more ironic?
And, yet, is there anything more worthy of being said?

There is something, at once, both modest and impertinent in the brevity of aphorisms; one is careful not to say too much, and careless not to say enough.

By nature, do not force yourself, -- unless it is your nature to force yourself.

We go amid distractions, and must be torn free, and forced in the direction we would naturally tend; if not for distractions.

Scattered Seed

The freedom we have from God is such that no created thing, -- no idea, no image, no object, nor action, -- has power of itself to turn the soul, either for or against the will of God. There is nothing so wretched that it may not be converted to good use, nor even to the highest purpose, when received in a spirit of righteous submission; just as there is nothing so pure that it may not be spoiled, in a wicked and rebellious mind, intent on spoiling it.

I can conceive of no sharp rebuke which might not be made more efficacious by gentle, persuasive exhortation. A single word may stop the sinner in his tracks, but a sermon should help to redirect his steps.

God has given all good things for the correction and assuagement of the bad. How is it, then, that we still seek disputes, to settle disputation? Let us, rather, pray for a word of peace, to calm the already turbid waters.

Too many are inspired to speech; too few are inspired to silence.

There are lesser things, that we might have the honor, the pleasure, and the glory of discriminating the greater, and choosing thereof. We therefor insult and devalue the whole of creation, when we do not prefer, at all times, to contemplate only the holiest attributes of our Creator.

Afflictions are a sign of the confidence of God, who believes we can overcome them; and of the low regard of the devil, who believes we can be overcome by them.

One man's prison is another man's pilgrimage; a soul attentive to God, having been cut-off from the outside world, is thereby prepared for, and consigned to, the journey within.

There are tempters within, as without, but the Lord is our ever-present refuge.

The deeper our silence, the higher our speech.

All the wealth of creation is less than a pittance. Every worldly treasure is yet another lure into debt and, ultimately, debtor's prison. Truly, the heaviest chains are forged of gold. But the name of God is a palace, and His words are a kingdom raised over the world.

Every impulse, according to its nature, is either a move toward damnation or to salvation. The road to heaven is not long, but seems so; for we trace and retrace our steps, moment by moment.

The pleasures of the flesh pull us downward, while the pleasures of the soul lift us up.

Alms

"Words may be deeds." ~ Aesop

Words are deeds: Is it not the hand which writes?
And is not the tongue itself a formidable muscle;
difficult to tame and subdue?

Words may be alms, if they are kind. Though we may not all be able to give abundant charity in material form, we nearly all have the power to give innumerable kind words, warm gestures, and gentle looks. It is true, the value of these subtle things is frequently dismissed for falling short, or seeming to fall short, of more palpable actions. Yet the truly cynical mind will not hesitate to scoff at even the most heroic, strenuous, and sustained acts of virtue; while the truly visionary heart will find praiseworthy even the merest notions of good.

Those who would encourage charitable deeds by disparaging charitable words only blow out the very flame they would fan into a fire. Fine words, in fact, are inexhaustible alms, which may be used to purchase the delicate bread of virtuous sentiments; sentiments which, though consumed to the nourishment of one mind, yet, multiply, like the loaves of Christ, to feed the multitudes.

Full Circle

Leave the Many,

Find the One. . .

Having Found the One,

Embrace the Many as the One.

~ Plotinus

We think it somehow humble, to desire the merest particle, the dimmest inkling, of God's majesty. But there are no particles in God. There is nothing mere. Nothing dim. No inklings whatsoever. God is infinity, through and through. Light without end.

It is only through paradox, by virtue of the mystery expressed in the man-god, Jesus Christ, that the infinite may be rendered, in some small part, and in some shadowy sense, graspable by finite minds. And while it is only fitting, and indeed an incomparable honor, that we should estimate the inestimable Father in the form of the incarnate Son, we are enjoined by that very emissary not to be content with the part, but to seek unflaggingly for the whole.

Too often, complacency is marked humility. But the part, who is Christ, cannot be properly understood and fully appreciated without carrying us, full-force, into the obliterating experience of the whole. To know him utterly is really to know the Father who sent him. To embrace him, marvelously, is to go beyond him.

And, still, the chain is not broken; the circle is complete. . .

For to be consumed in the infinite fire of the Godhead is also to be reconstituted, and resurrected into a new life with Christ on earth. Truly, there is no greater glory in heaven than to serve sinners in the world below, and, in order to do that, we must come down; not coming down from heaven, as though we were leaving our rightful abode; but carrying with us, in our heart, the homeland of which we are an indivisible part, just as it is an indivisible part of us.

There can be no doubt that the Holy Spirit of love, which ascends to God the Father, is no less a descending principle, which returns, through the miracle of God the Son, to embrace the littlest children of God, and the whole of His Creation. And all this is accomplished by grace.

May He be forever and forever praised, world without end.

Amen

WHY APHORISMS and homilies?

Simple. Because they are the most durable form of written word, and because they are divine. They endure precisely because they are divine; while all that is most worldly in prose may be known by its inherent perishability. Some writers have the modest -- no, let us say 'the puny' -- ambition of being read only that day, or the next day. Some want to be read in a year, or five, or fifty years. They call that success. Others anticipate readers one hundred or even a thousand years hence. Now that, to them, is something. I do not blush to state my desire to be read at least five thousand years from now. I want to be relevant then, as now. Thoreau says, "Read not the times, read the eternities," and the adage may as well be converted to advise the writer as well as the reader: "Write the eternities." Is it really an absurd, a megalomaniacal ambition, to write for the ages, -- and for the immortals? Goethe says, I think, that a man who anticipates less than fifty-thousand readers should not bother to write (or bother the printers to print). I say the same thing, not about the number of readers, but the number of years, and I think it would be arrogant to write, to bother, with anything smaller in mind.

WITH RESPECT TO SERIAL KILLERS,

AND THE MOST DEPRAVED CRIMINALS AMONG US:

If the wealthiest people in the world were not presently bleeding our economies dry, we'd absolutely have more than enough resources to house and rehabilitate these poor souls.

The very least we can do is TRY to expose them to spiritual principles, to teach them enlightening practices, such as yoga and deep meditation, and to provide the love and compassion which they so sorely lack (and the lack of which, no doubt, resulted in their moral sickness).

How can we call ourselves Christians -- or conscious human beings -- unless we endeavor to respond to a lack of love with a fullness of love? To be a Christian means to consider wickedness as illness, and Christ as the righteous physician, in whom there is no condemnation; but only mercy, pity, and the most awesome compassion.

Sure, to the broken-hearted, -- that is, to the cynical -- this must all sound absurdly idealistic. Certainly, the worst criminals would be the very first to scoff at such a program. Nevertheless, it remains a profound truth, that it is easy to love those who love us, while the hardest to love are the ones who require the most love. Moreover, that we only truly show ourselves to be loving beings when we respond to "the least" among us with compassion.

If I were acquainted with the victims of a horrific crime, I suppose, I might be singing a very different tune; crying, "Good riddance!" when these so-called monsters meet with an unhappy end. Luckily, my distance from the crimes allows me to preserve a more objective viewpoint, and to see them, not as monsters, but as invalids. Still, even then, I do not think I could ever be satisfied with mere revenge. I am only really gratified by seeing these people brought to repentance and converted in their hearts.

I have too much faith to give up on even the most hardened of sinners. We all fall miserably short of the infinite goodness of God, yet, we are all His blessed children; however lost, however broken and twisted by error and circumstance. I cannot help but believe that all things are possible with God, and that the same passions which lead a person to commit horrors may be transformed, by His grace, into equally powerful forces for good.

Saint Paul was the most ardent persecutor of Christians, yet he became the most ardent proponent of Christian love. Who among us is not humbled, softened, and enlightened by that most glorious sign of God's grace?

Submission To The Present Moment

Abandonment to Divine Providence, or submission to the present moment, which is our utter dependence upon the will of God, is not expectantly to await, in idleness (which turns to sloth), the falling of graces from heaven, -- but, cheerfully, to receive them; for they are always upon us.

The holy impulse is a grace, but so also is the space which precedes and follows closely upon it. True patience, then, is not waiting for some particular occurrence, but attentively perceiving the divine action in all occurrences; unconditionally and without distinction.

God is known by His absence as surely as He is known by His presence; so that what we call His absence is only the semblance of His absence, and a subtler suggestion of His presence. Our longing to receive Him is but a more mysterious, an indirect, form of our acknowledgment of Him; and, so, another way of receiving Him.

Curiously, when He appears not to act, it must be that His will is already accomplished.

Truly, if we look for Him in every circumstance, we cannot fail to discover Him; but, if we attempt, by our own cleverness, to anticipate the conditions of His coming, we will not find Him in the conditions by which He presently imparts Himself.

The Lord is always manifesting Himself in accordance with the most perfect spiritual laws. Our place is simply to recognize this miracle, and thereby give place to Him.

Because that is His will for us, His will is therefore most completely realized and accomplished, not in the various shapes by which it outwardly gives itself, but, in the uniform receptivity which welcomes and makes way for them, regardless of their differing appearances.