The Dawn

I walk the fields, now desolate, embalmed in ancient night,

And with me bear the shades and sounds of all that passes,

Dim and bright;


Beholding with a staid, sharp eye, the steady dark dismantled,

Accepted, and encircled, by the newly ordered light.


Rich vales lift up their flowers, soft-colored torches raised

To glory in the simple day,

And sleepy owls overlook, with yellow, dusky eyes

a dawn, whose timid glow, in soft embroidery surrounds

the pale and golden wood.


Fresh tubers, fronds, and rushes stir

To greet the slow, ascending sun;

Their milky frost dissolving, sipped, becomes

The dewy gauze of morning song,


While in myself, the same good stirring;

Fair beauty strikes a chord so bright, as to give censure or give rise

To forms and favors overcast by melancholy's cool respite.


All my senses, chill as bone, now are softened, safe, aroused;

These sinews, hardened by the frost, now are supple,

And bend before the throne.


Sweet loves revive the wearied breast,

To summon up with gentle breath,

This flushed, enamored skin;


Encircling all without,

And all within.

from: "The First Step" by Leo Tolstoi

I have long wished to write a fairy-tale of this kind:

A woman, wishing to revenge herself on one who has injured her, carries off her enemy's child, and, going to a sorcerer, asks him to teach her how she can most cruelly wreak her vengeance on the stolen infant, the only child of her enemy. The sorcerer bids her carry the child to a place he indicates, and assures her that a most terrible vengeance will result. The wicked woman follows his advice ; but, keeping an eye upon the child is astonished to see that it is found and adopted by a wealthy, childless man. She goes to the sorcerer and reproaches him, but he bids her wait. The child grows up in luxury and effeminacy. The woman is perplexed, but again the sorcerer bids her wait. And at length the time comes when the wicked woman is not only satisfied, but has even to pity her victim. He grows up in the effeminacy and dissoluteness of wealth, and owing to his good nature is ruined. Then begins a sequence of physical sufferings, poverty, and humiliation, to which he is especially sensitive and against which he knows not how to contend. Aspirations toward a moral life— and the weakness of his effeminate body accustomed to luxury and idleness ; vain struggles ; lower and still lower decline ; drunkenness to drown thought, then crime and insanity or suicide.

And, indeed, one cannot regard without terror the education of the children of the wealthy class in our day. Only the cruellest foe could, one would think, inoculate a child with those defects and vices which are now instilled into him by his parents, especially by mothers. One is awestruck at the sight, and still more at the results of this, if only one knows how to discern what is taking place in the souls of the best of these children, so carefully ruined by their parents. Habits of effeminacy are instilled into them at a time when they do not yet understand their moral significance. Not only is the habit of temperance and self-control neglected, but, contrary to the educational practice of Sparta and of the ancient world in general, this quality is altogether atrophied. Not only is man not trained to work, and to all the qualities essential to fruitful labor, concentration of mind, strenuousness, endurance, enthusiasm for work, ability to repair what is spoiled, familiarity with fatigue, joy in attainment, but he is habituated to idleness, and to contempt for all the products of labor: is taught to spoil, throw away, and again procure for money anything he fancies, without a thought of how things are made. Man is deprived of the power of acquiring the primary virtue of reasonableness, indispensable for the attainment of all the others, and is let loose in a world where people preach, and praise, the lofty virtues of justice, the service of man, and love.

It is well if the youth be endowed with a morally feeble and obtuse nature, which does not detect the difference between make-believe and genuine goodness of life, and is satisfied with the prevailing mutual deception. If this be the case all goes apparently well, and such a man will sometimes quietly live on with his moral consciousness unawakened till death.

But it is not always thus, especially of late, now that the consciousness of the immorality of such life fills the air, and penetrates the heart unsought. Frequently, and ever more frequently, it happens that there awakens a demand for real, unfeigned morality ; and then begin a painful inner struggle and suffering which end but rarely in the triumph of the moral sentiment.

A man feels that his life is bad, that he must reform it from the very roots, and he tries to do so ; but he is then attacked on all sides by those who have passed through a similar struggle and have been vanquished. They endeavor by every means to convince him that this reform is quite unnecessary : that goodness does not at all depend upon self-control and self-renunciation, that it is possible, while addicting himself to gluttony, personal adornment, physical idleness, and even fornication, to be a perfectly good and useful man. And the struggle, inmost cases, terminates lamentably. Either the man, overcome by his weakness, yields to the general opinion, stifles the voice of conscience, distorts his reason to justify himself, and continues to lead the old dissipated life, assuring himself that it is redeemed by faith in the Redemption or the Sacraments, or by service to science, to the State, or to art or else he struggles, suffers, and finally becomes insane or shoots himself.

It seldom happens, amid all the temptations that surround him, that a man of our society understands what was thousands of years ago, and still is, an elementary truth for all reasonable people : namely, that for the attainment of a good life it is necessary, first of all, to cease to live an evil life ; that for the attainment of the higher virtues it is needful, first of all, to acquire the virtue of abstinence or self-control, as the pagans called it, or of self-renunciation, as Christianity has it, and therefore it seldom happens that, by gradual efforts, he succeeds in attaining this primary virtue.

http://www.ivu.org/history/tolstoy/the_%20first_step.html

Quaker Contemplation

What we have heard from The Lord, let us interpret in The Light of The Lord,
-- and The Light of The Lord is LOVE.


We know that within us there dwells The Light which prompts and directs us in the ways of God. But we should also reflect that within this Light there is another, greater Light. For one may enter into silence, and there be instructed in the ways of righteousness, but one may also enter into the silence of silence, so to speak, in order to receive a yet deeper instruction. In the deepest silence of the heart there is only one course we are prompted to, and that is Love. Love, it may be said, is the Light within the Light.


From the beginning of the world, there has been a Light set in the hearts of all people. But many have remained ignorant of this Light, even as it dwells within themselves. The mission of Jesus, the Way Shower, was and is to indicate to all peoples the means by which this Inward Light may be realized. So, in directing us towards our own Inner Light, Christ was not literally giving us salvation, but revealing to us the salvation which has always existed within ourselves. For this reason, we give thanks to Christ for showing us the way to our own salvation, as a prisoner might thank someone for indicating to him or her that the key to unlock the cell door has been concealed within his or her cell all along. It follows, also, that the indications of Christ are not necessary for all people, since there are many who find the key without assistance, and many who are assisted by other guides. Yet we who feel called to honor the Christian tradition do not hesitate to accord a distinct position of honor to the Christ, for having performed this service for so many, and at a time when discovering one's own Inner Light was a profoundly difficult task, seeing that it was systematically hidden from them by the efforts of diverse corrupt influences in the world.


For those of us who identify as Christians, there is a two-fold office held by the Lord, Jesus Christ. First, He is the one who leads us inward, to discover the Light within. Second, He is that Inner Light. And, if we wish to add a third, we may say that Christ is the Light within the Light; the Love which dwells in the heart of every heart.


Let it further be understood that there is no sharp distinction between the Light of Christ within and the Light of Christ which leads us to reflect upon that Inner Light. For Jesus is always seeking to direct our paths, either inward, to a deeper realization of Himself, or outward, to a performance of His duties in the world. The faint Light which draws us inward, where we may seek communion with the deeper Light, is not separate, but is a ray extending from, and leading back to, that Inner Sun. And all of this is Christ.


Excessive concern with theological explanations, images, beliefs, and subtleties is rightfully to be avoided. And yet, in a time when so much confusion abounds as to who or what Christ is, and how this Inner Light corresponds to the religious life and consciousness of humankind, it becomes increasingly clear that some attention to theological matters must be the business of every Christian who would endeavor to have practical dealings with the world. As every true peacemaker knows, it is sometimes necessary to enter into disputes, if only for the sake of clarifying and putting an end to them.


What we have come to understand, as Quakers and Friends of The Lord, is that the Light of Christ dwells within every one of us as Seed, and that, through the observant practice of silent contemplation, we begin to water this Seed, so that it's roots may spread out into our hearts, into our bodies, limbs, hands and fingers. Furthermore, that by frequent repetition of this process, we will begin to witness, more and more evidently, the stems and branches of The Holy Tree, growing outward, strong and green, into the visible world of our actions. Every time we enter into the silence, we effectively water the roots of our spiritual conduct in the world. For this reason, the practice of silent contemplation, or meditation, is recognized among us as the very cornerstone of our faith; since, when we speak of "faith", we do not mean to imply the holding of certain arbitrary beliefs and statutes concerning the hidden operations of God, but, rather, the faithful practice of discipleship as it directly informs our conduct in the world.


The faithful practice of silent contemplation lies at the very roots of the Christian experience, and it is, just as surely, the fruit and flower thereof. What the earliest history of Christian ministry reveals, the ultimate future of Christianity will make abundantly clear.


The saints and great ministers of God have all been contemplatives. Whatever practical, outward works they may have accomplished, the very source and substance of their efforts has always been this: a patient and silent waiting upon the presence, grace, and power of the Lord. He speaks to those who listen. But whosoever cannot sit still, cannot stand firm. And whosoever is not content to rest in the very place where he is, cannot hope to make the journey of a thousand miles.


There are many who have a proper understanding of the Lord's Will, but they do not speak it. Even less are they inclined to do it. They keep silent, for fear of being unpopular, and keep idle, for fear of being inconvenienced. It is only in the silence of our hearts, while basking in the Light of Christ, that we acquire the strength to speak and to do His will.

Religion, Sprituality, And The Religiously Diverse Community

The philosopher George Santayana had an interesting take on religion. He disapproved of the notion that a single, underlying essence may be found for all religions worthy of the name "religion". As he saw it, you could not separate a religion from its outward forms without killing it, just as you cannot separate the soul from the body without killing the man. Religions, he said, arise in a specific time and place, out of a specific culture, just as plants arise out of very specific soil. Some plants may be spread across time and space, but some will only grow strong under specific climate conditions, and some will be discarded when they lose relevance for us, as many plants die off when they cease to be cultivated; that is, when men lose interest in them.

While Santayana would admit that multiple religions are in possession of "the truth", I don't think he would say they are in possession of the same truth, but, rather, a truth more or less suitable for the people of a given time and place. For him, it was not possible to strip away the "trappings" of a religion in order to reveal essential universal principles. Rather, those "trappings" are the body of the religion; the legs that move it, the arms that work for it, and so on.

The question arises, for a post-cultural age such as our own -- an age in which many cultures are coming together in a cultural melting pot, -- 'How can we take equally seriously the claims of multiple religions which obviously contradict one another?' How can the world arise on the back of a turtle and out of the belly-button of Vishnu? Solving this paradox is not easy, and it is no wonder that modern seekers sometimes long for a simpler time. Many of us would like to have been born into a culture removed from other cultures, where we could work with the local archetypes without them being "contaminated", or complicated, by the archetypes of other cultures. The saying, "He who tries to follow all paths, gets nowhere," has particular resonance for many of us.

We may consider the proposition, "when in Rome, do as the Romans", and translate this into religious language. Meaning, when in India, be a Hindu; when in Tibet, be a Buddhist. And so on. But we live in a world where even this is no longer possible. India contains both Muslims and Hindus, side by side. America is even more diverse. We are presented with a rather complex choice: 1.) Accept one religion, while knowing that it is, perhaps, no more or less true than another. 2.) Attempt to weave together, from many traditions, a hybrid religion. 3.) Invent an entirely new religion (this may be possible only for men of true vision, capable of creating such worlds inside themselves) 4.) Reject religion altogether.

I have not included the notion of a "spirituality", as distinct from a religion. Many people today are turned off by the mere notion of religion, and prefer something they call spirituality. But my understanding is that, if your spirituality assumes certain practices, beliefs, or forms, then it is a religion. You may not be dogmatic or evangelical about it, and you may even be the only member, but it is still a religion; a specific set of beliefs, practices, and forms (or archetypes). To the extent that your spirituality has no beliefs, no practices, and no archetypes, it is not really anything at all. Here, I am in agreement with Santayana. But then, even nothing is a position. A belief in nothing. A practice of non-practice. An archetype of the "faceless God". For all intents and purposes, an undelineated slough. Even the agnostic has his God, but the God of the agnostic remains unconscious and unarticulated, wandering in the underworld, unable to ascend, unable to catch the daylight.

My feeling is that highly evolved beings will understand that it is possible for men to practice different religions while serving the same God. For instance, in a university there are many classrooms, and many majors. In one room, a person may be studying to become a sculptor, while in the next room a person may be practicing advanced astrophysics. Perhaps, in time, the sculptor will take up astrophysics, or the astrophysicist will take up sculpting, but this is immaterial. The point is, they remain isolated from each other, intent upon their specific course of study.

If the sculptor were to enter the physics classroom, it would be a break from his presently chosen course of study. If he were then to attempt to explain his art to the physicists, they might become irritated. Not because they think he is wrong, but, because he is interrupting their studies. They may have tremendous respect for his work. They may even envy his talent, and secretly wish that they could have been artists. But, on a deeper level, they are content to devote themselves to the course of study in which their own talents and dispositions are honored and utilized.

So it is with religions. Just as a person may experience a calling to be a sculptor, he may experience a calling to be a Christian. For practical purposes, he must value his calling more than he values the callings of others, or else he will never devote himself to anything. At the same time, he must treat the callings of others with respect, and understand that, ultimately, their values are not misplaced. Their values are proper to their own line of work.

Paradoxes may arise, but there is no need to fetishize them. For the Christian, Jesus is Lord, the one true Son of the Father. And this does not contradict the equally valid truth that, for a Muslim, Muhammad is the greatest prophet. If you give your father a hat which reads, "World's Greatest Dad", nobody is offended. Why then should they be offended when you give precedence to your spiritual father?

Every student must have a greater reverence for his own teacher and his own lessons, than for the teachers and lessons of others. This does not prevent him from recognizing that other teachers and lessons may be no less worthy of the reverence of their pupils than his teachers and lessons are for him. This is what it means to be "in the world, but not of it."

Love

All the mysteries are opened to the open heart. The plant spirits, the birds, mountains and rivers, all give themselves and secrets willingly to the one who loves them. Seek love, and all these things shall be revealed. Seek love, and even the gods will seek your favor.

Who does not love the sun cannot see the sun, nor feel true warmth upon her skin. Without love for the stones, they are speechless. With no affection for the lakes, the trees, and winding paths, one cannot enter out of doors. The blue sky is gray, and the grass is a sorry shade of green. Soil is dirt, ash is dust. Whole canyons are the size of cups. Nothing moves or breathes, and the simmering wind is forgotten and lost - without love.

Where there is no joy in meeting, a friend is only an acquaintance, an acquaintance is a stranger, and a stranger is a shadow on the wall. When no thrill discovers you sitting in the sunlight, there is no springtime. Flowers go through the motions of blooming, half-sleeping. Stars blink unimpressively. Insects, minding their business, are pests. The past is like a chain around your neck, and the future is a pit you fall into. Ancestors are ghosts, descendants are dependents, animals are meat, and angels elude imagination - without love.

Yet, how the world unmasks itself, chortles through the leaves that make a forest, and comes smiling to greet you through every space or object; when love unlocks your heart. How the wind plays with your limbs, and carries your shirtsleeves into the dance. How green is the green, how perfect is the water at your ankles. Every miracle is manifest. Every child is a cherub. In the bustle of a city street, a symphony composed by chaos. The subway spotless. Yourself wordless, overcome with listening, or gushing like the poet Ganges, cacophony of subtleties, carried up into the crashing waves.

Love makes endless. Makes novelties of ancient clay. Every decomposing thing has more to say. Every skull and jawbone set askance, says, "More!", and grins just like the dawning day. Every grub pokes through the soil to the world's dismay. And the clouds are brighter than the purest ray of sun; when the word of "Love" is said, and done.

Suicide

There is no such thing as suicide, really. The one who appears to fall by his own hand, stands as a testimony to the murderous instincts of his society. These so-called suicides are the litmus tests of human progress. I do not believe that, in a sufficiently evolved society, any man would long entertain the suicidal impulse. Rather, the community would gather around him, and offer formidable consolation to his ills.

Moreover, I would go so far as to suggest that many who have died in this way have done so, at least partly, on account of having been far in advance of their times. It was because of this discrepancy that no fitting place or use could be found for them. They are like computers in a world without outlets; what dark and empty boxes they must seem to us, who have yet to learn their use. Can we fault them for silencing their voices, which speak only to posterity, yet cannot hope to be recorded for posterity's sake?

The suicide, so-called, is a kind of adventurer who, dissatisfied with his homeland, sets out upon a darkened sea for ports unknown. Has it ever been said of the explorer, that he is foolish for having ventured to encounter a land of which he has no inkling? That only a reckless creature would seek fortune in a land where fortune is neither glimpsed nor promised? Or prefer, to the devil he knows, a god whom he does not? If this is the common position, it must stem from the common cowardice, and not from any semblance of prudence or modesty in the face of death.

How our people wail and protest, and clamor to make him tarry; this man whose sights traverse the horizon. Some even conclude that he is mad, or worse, -- a criminal of unparalleled guilt, for having (so it seems to them) transgressed the very will of the gods, who set him here for reasons of their own design. What god, then, sets him free?

What star ignites Promethean fire in his belly? What planet calls out to him from the beyond? If you say that it is only himself -- what self, then, calls out to him from the grave? What part of himself, divided by a veil, plots to reunite him with the rest? What angel, daemon, or demigod, half-buried in the soul, seeks its sudden resurrection in the dawning light of death?

With haste, we judge him worthy of excommunication. We would cast him out, who would cast himself off from our shore. It is not enough that he has died by his own hand. We must call him "coward". Yet, consider for a moment what he has left. Not the universe, though it may seem so to us, who believe that life on earth is synonymous with existence in the universe. Really, he has only departed our tiny culture; our cult of life; that is, earthly life.

And who knows that he might not, by virtue of this act, discover himself a welcome guest in a culture more elevated -- more alive, even -- than our own? Perhaps, when death at last has come for us, we shall discover such a world, and him in it, already settled and secure. And on that day we may even curse ourselves for having waited, and having denied ourselves for so long a pleasure beyond our wildest terrestrial imaginings.

These speculations are meant only to give us pause, before we rush to condemn the suicidal act. For, though the world is quick to call him "weak", I cannot help wondering if this self-slaughtered man is a kind of martyred hero, whose sensibilities, it may be, far exceed the coarse refinements of our world. And we, who perhaps feel the truth of it like a sting in our guts, may have fallen into the likely trap of slandering the one who, by his death, effectively judges us. Might it not be that the whole of life is a kind of test, the passing of which depends upon the choice to die; and thereby prove that we are indeed too civil for this world?

Or, if it be true that such an act is the coinage of madness, might it not be equally true that, in a world gone mad, the sanest man is the maddest? The one who understands the most, must perceive the greatest amount of misunderstanding; for if his vision extends as far as Utopia, he must also be confronted, at every turn, by the backwardness of his age, and the foolishness of his contemporaries. Such a state of affairs might easily trigger madness in a sane man.

Is it so unthinkable, that suicide, in certain instances, might signify nobility of soul? Who, being born for higher things, would not feel constrained by the lowly condition here presented? And who, born for the highest, could hope to endure this place? Yet we judge that he is full of pride, if he cannot suit himself to our humble estate. Are we not like the worm who tells the eagle to renounce his wings, as the symbols of his pride, and to squirm upon the earth, so as to prove his humility?

Lao Tzu writes: "Wise is the man who knows when to let go." Many people speak often of attachment as the root of suffering, but how does that tally with their insistence that one must remain attached to earthly existence at all costs? There is a bias in our culture, in favor of earthly existence, which is rather mind-boggling in light of how much faith we claim to have in the hereafter. People who insist that the termination of earthly life is synonymous with self-destruction clearly betray their own lack of faith in the spiritual realms, and in the immortality of the soul.

They maintain, moreover, that suicide is selfish. Yet, there are forms of Cancer which are more selfish than suicide, as they involve living in an indulgent way (smoking cigarettes or eating unhealthy foods), -- though I wouldn't call death by Cancer selfish. For one thing, people are "only human". The world is a difficult place, and some places in the world are more difficult than others. To pass judgment, especially without even considering the specifics of each individual case, is to ignore the devastating nature of various environmental and neurological conditions. We are not even in a position to perceive the relevant factors, so, we are very far from being in a position to judge their effects. Yet some people, for whatever reason, have absorbed the cliche notions that suicide is "selfish" and/or "cowardly". If I had to speculate, I'd imagine that these people are either cold-hearted or short-sighted, or both; but I can't know for sure, and I suppose it's impolite to speculate.

Suicide is often a course of action "chosen" (I use the word very loosely) by individuals who are more sensitive than the average person. Sensitivity is not the same as weakness. On the contrary, insensitivity is more likely to constitute a weak response to life. Insensitive people tend to be people who have managed to numb themselves in some way to the more disagreeable aspects of life. Often, this is accomplished by keeping a low profile, agreeing with the crowd, and not questioning things (since assumptions tend to make us feel safe, like we are in a stable world, and we know all the answers). Sometimes it involves cultivating an absurdly optimistic perspective, and blatantly denying the existence of shadows. There are many ways to numb ourselves, but this is not an option for some people, who either feel things very deeply, or who possess too much intellectual integrity to lie to themselves and others, or both.

What we need to understand is that deeply sensitive people can provide early warning signs when a culture is going the wrong way. They are like canaries in a coal mine, who alert miners to the rise in carbon dioxide. Or, as stated above, like the litmus paper used to determine the acidity of a substance. When sensitive people start killing themselves in large numbers, it is a sign that something is very wrong with the culture, and that we need to seriously question the priorities and attitudes embraced by our culture. The main reason that people kill themselves is not because life is hard, or because they themselves are weak, cowardly, or selfish, but, because the culture as a whole exudes an atmosphere of indifference, competitiveness, and aversion to subtlety.

The eastern philosopher, Jiddu Krishnamurti, writes, "It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society." I repeat this quote often because I feel it expresses a realization that is greatly needed in our time. We often see everything backwards. We think that these people who cannot stand our way of life are sick, when the truth is that our way of life is sick, -- and those of us who seek to defend it are the sickest of all. Our culture, for over two thousand years now, has embraced a patriarchal, dominator mentality. This way of thinking is so deeply embedded in our world now, that most of us cannot begin to separate the ideas which come from Source from the ideas fed to us by our backwards culture. But sensitive people are often the first to sense that something is gravely wrong here. Is it any wonder that they often resort to suicide, when they're consistently told they're insane for questioning our way of life?

Dominator cultures embrace things like war, materialism, competition, and hierarchy (i.e. "winners and losers", "masters and slaves", "rich and poor", etc.). Partnership societies, like those that once flourished for thousands of years (before the ideology of conquest became the norm), and like those that still exist in small communities throughout the pre-industrial world, embrace things like family, community, cooperation, equality, spirituality, and compassion. People rarely commit suicide in these cultures. Although the use of psychedelics is always widespread in such cultures (or, perhaps, because of this?), instances of psychosis, or even neurosis, are relatively minute.

Whereas our culture's obsession with possessing things puts us in a position of having to work long hours at uninspiring jobs, partnership societies work an average of less than sixteen hours a week. Their lack of dependence on material variety provides a freedom which, in our culture, is generally reserved only for the independently wealthy; who, despite this freedom, remain slaves to their possessions. The majority of their time is not spent in mind-numbing, soul-numbing occupations far removed from their daily needs, -- but, in socializing, making art, telling stories, learning from their elders, raising their children, supporting each other, and exploring the mystical experiences generated by their intimate cooperation with nature; and the plant allies provided by nature for the spiritual well-being of humankind. In short, many of the people who end up as suicides in our culture are the rightful leaders and teachers of our people, if only we would listen to them, instead of labeling and ignoring them.