There was once a man so inspired with the wisdom of God that, whenever he would begin to meditate, another insight would flash before his mind. So profound were these insights, or "openings", and so taken was he with their brilliance, that he would immediately break-off his meditation in order to record them, lest they be forgotten and lost forever.
In this manner, he proceeded for many years, writing many books, and drawing many souls into the mysteries of God. Yet he himself never experienced the deep and abiding peace which, in his heart of hearts, he sought to receive from the Lord, and which unbroken meditation would have procured for him.
Then, one day, after he had become old and feeble, and could see his own death approaching from not far off, he finally came to give priority to silence over even the most exalted speech. It was then that he dismissed the fine thoughts which clamored for his attention, and sank into a truly blissful union with the mystical God.
From such an incredible state of oneness, he came at last to see that his words, and even the most precious sayings of his lord, Jesus Christ, were as nothing -- specks of dust -- in comparison with the inner experience of God's love, light, truth, presence, and peace. He wept bitterly for all the time he had lost.
What he did not know then, was that the insights he dismissed were never lost, but mysteriously found their way to another vessel, ready and willing to record them.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Forgiveness, A Formality
When I ask God to forgive me, "I speak as a man" (to borrow the expression of Saint Paul the Apostle); it is said for convenience, and does not adequately or literally convey my understanding of God's mercy, which is infinite and freely given before I desire it. To be precise, it is not God who must forgive me, for God has never judged me; it is I who must repent.
Confession is for my own benefit, and for the purification of my own soul. It is something I owe to myself, and not to God; for God was never compromised or corrupted by my sins; I have only hurt myself. I have only myself to blame, and only myself to forgive; for all of the choices were mine.
Therefore, an appropriate and conscious way to speak would be to say:
"Lord, I know that You, in Your great love, have already absolved me and called me back into Your fold. Nevertheless, for my own edification, let me confess my transgressions and repent of them as I may. Though You have compassion for my sins, still I must do all that I can to disown them. And though you have never judged me, I know You will forgive me now as a matter of form, seeing that we have a precedent in the baptism of Your Son by John the Forerunner."
For, when Jesus had no need to be baptised, and John was unworthy of baptising him, yet, because it was seemly, the annointing took place: 'Suffer it to be so now: for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness.' Christ, being perfect, had no need to humble himself in this way, but, had he not done so, he would have ceased in that moment to be the Christ; and this could never happen.
So, if even Jesus, who was faithful concerning the greatest things, did not neglect the smallest, how much more so ought we to observe these things? If Christ, who understood the reality of justification by grace better than anyone, remained faithful to "the last tittle" of the law, then how much more so ought we to perform the works prescribed? And if he who is exalted above all things still humbles himself, how much more so ought we to humble ourselves?
Truly, to be alert, one must stay alert. The watchful are only watchful because they keep watch; moment after moment after moment, day after day after day. The righteous continue to be righteous, and the perfect remain perfect.
Confession is for my own benefit, and for the purification of my own soul. It is something I owe to myself, and not to God; for God was never compromised or corrupted by my sins; I have only hurt myself. I have only myself to blame, and only myself to forgive; for all of the choices were mine.
Therefore, an appropriate and conscious way to speak would be to say:
"Lord, I know that You, in Your great love, have already absolved me and called me back into Your fold. Nevertheless, for my own edification, let me confess my transgressions and repent of them as I may. Though You have compassion for my sins, still I must do all that I can to disown them. And though you have never judged me, I know You will forgive me now as a matter of form, seeing that we have a precedent in the baptism of Your Son by John the Forerunner."
For, when Jesus had no need to be baptised, and John was unworthy of baptising him, yet, because it was seemly, the annointing took place: 'Suffer it to be so now: for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness.' Christ, being perfect, had no need to humble himself in this way, but, had he not done so, he would have ceased in that moment to be the Christ; and this could never happen.
So, if even Jesus, who was faithful concerning the greatest things, did not neglect the smallest, how much more so ought we to observe these things? If Christ, who understood the reality of justification by grace better than anyone, remained faithful to "the last tittle" of the law, then how much more so ought we to perform the works prescribed? And if he who is exalted above all things still humbles himself, how much more so ought we to humble ourselves?
Truly, to be alert, one must stay alert. The watchful are only watchful because they keep watch; moment after moment after moment, day after day after day. The righteous continue to be righteous, and the perfect remain perfect.
No Knowledge Is Objective
[Author's Note: I could be wrong.]
It is my conviction (and I do not believe I am presumptuous in supposing it ought to be yours as well) that nothing is self-evident, and nothing -- no logic, proof, or experience of inner validity, -- however honored by tradition or convincing in itself, is sufficient to qualify any statement, doctrine, or position as incontrovertibly true.
No doubt, I myself will contradict this conviction, and betray my negligence of it, time and again, for the mind (or, at any rate, my own mind) is a fragmentary and undisciplined thing, frequently unconscious of its own most well-established pronouncements. We are habituated to a million foolish and commonplace figures of thought and speech, many of them manifested merely for convenience and expressing a kind of shorthand which, if we had infinite time, space, energy, ability, and inclination, we might still never succeed in clarifying by the process of articulation. Absolute clarity is not only ineffable, it is unachievable, for, though we may not often be conscious of it, we are perpetually and inextricably engaged in the act of refining and questioning our own views. It is only by ignoring these considerations that we come to demand consistency of thought and expression from ourselves or from others.
Nevertheless, I proclaim it now, as strange as it must sound, and as foreign a thing to my own mind, that there is ultimately no foundation solid enough to support the claim that any perception is undeniably more true than any other. There is always some larger vision, always some angle which transcends our perspective and eludes our notice, so that we are finally constrained to admit the limitations of our knowledge, and the intrinsically specious foundations upon which it rests.
We have seen with what stark and inscrutable verisimilitude the fantasies of pure lunatics may be imbued, so that reality itself (or what we call reality) cannot by any means be distinguished from a fiction. At last, we cannot deny the possibility that we, too, are mad, and that what seems to us true beyond any shadow of doubt may in fact be the most outlandish fabrication of delirium.
In saving a life, we may (unwittingly) be shattering a soul, or in saving a soul, we may be striking a formidable blow against the spirit. Whatever we do, we do according to the light which is given, understanding that light, wherever it plays, plays tricks.
It is my conviction (and I do not believe I am presumptuous in supposing it ought to be yours as well) that nothing is self-evident, and nothing -- no logic, proof, or experience of inner validity, -- however honored by tradition or convincing in itself, is sufficient to qualify any statement, doctrine, or position as incontrovertibly true.
No doubt, I myself will contradict this conviction, and betray my negligence of it, time and again, for the mind (or, at any rate, my own mind) is a fragmentary and undisciplined thing, frequently unconscious of its own most well-established pronouncements. We are habituated to a million foolish and commonplace figures of thought and speech, many of them manifested merely for convenience and expressing a kind of shorthand which, if we had infinite time, space, energy, ability, and inclination, we might still never succeed in clarifying by the process of articulation. Absolute clarity is not only ineffable, it is unachievable, for, though we may not often be conscious of it, we are perpetually and inextricably engaged in the act of refining and questioning our own views. It is only by ignoring these considerations that we come to demand consistency of thought and expression from ourselves or from others.
Nevertheless, I proclaim it now, as strange as it must sound, and as foreign a thing to my own mind, that there is ultimately no foundation solid enough to support the claim that any perception is undeniably more true than any other. There is always some larger vision, always some angle which transcends our perspective and eludes our notice, so that we are finally constrained to admit the limitations of our knowledge, and the intrinsically specious foundations upon which it rests.
We have seen with what stark and inscrutable verisimilitude the fantasies of pure lunatics may be imbued, so that reality itself (or what we call reality) cannot by any means be distinguished from a fiction. At last, we cannot deny the possibility that we, too, are mad, and that what seems to us true beyond any shadow of doubt may in fact be the most outlandish fabrication of delirium.
In saving a life, we may (unwittingly) be shattering a soul, or in saving a soul, we may be striking a formidable blow against the spirit. Whatever we do, we do according to the light which is given, understanding that light, wherever it plays, plays tricks.
Monday, September 26, 2011
More Aphorisms and Fragments
The sins of a humble man are always before him; therefor, he judges no one
But a proud man overlooks his own sins in order to look upon the sins of another.
If only one minute of your day is given
to the contemplation of higher things,
be thankful for it; it is the Lord's.
To seek God is to find Him; not to seek God is to lose Him;
the more you seek Him, the more He dwells in you.
The best sayings of the wise always sound so perfect, so simple, and so obvious, that we can hardly believe we have not heard them before, or that they have not been uttered since the beginning of the world.
When a man's hands are often in his pockets, very likely,
he is in there too, slipping through his fingers like loose change.
We ask God to humble us, and to show us to ourselves, "warts and all". We don't realize that it is our vanity which causes us to believe we are strong enough to bear the unmitigated sight of ourselves, nor that it is God's mercy which permits us our delusions until such a time as we may dispel them more gradually and with less pain.
Whoever dies to the well-lit world of the living,
comes alive to the darkness and speaks with the dead.
Buried deep within the unconscious of every person,
there is a hidden reservoir of courage, hope, and love,
to which only the name of "God" provides access.
God's love being infinite, there is no adequate way to measure it,
nor to articulate it, so that mortal minds may begin to form an idea of its greatness,
other than to say that God's very nature is to love, and that God Himself is Love.
The Gospel is not about Jesus, as you have been taught to understand Him. It is about the idea of Jesus triggering a sudden awareness in the reader of a loving presence, which is accessible whenever we remember to call it to mind. This idea is Jesus. When you understand that an idea can be holy, and even divine, then you have understood Christ's divinity. As a man, because of his divine works, may be rightly called a God, so, also, an idea, by the divine works it inspires, may rightly be called the Holy Spirit of Our Lord. To deny that an idea (if it is the idea of Love) is worthy of ultimate reverence, is to deny the savior because He is humble. Christ is "just" a metaphor for the idea of love. When the idea is embraced and given its due, the kingdom of heaven will reign in men's hearts and upon the earth. In order to bring this idea into full manifestation, we must honor it as though it were already a reality for us and for all men. We must think it into being. We must rid ourselves of distracting concerns, all of which are chaff and dust, so that we may allow "Love" to be. Really, it is the simplest thing in the world. Do you think it is difficult? It is only difficult because you are resisting it. Before you imagine reasons to resist love, ask yourself, "do you really want to do that?" You will find that you do not. You have always been Love's disciple. Many times you have strayed from the path, but you always return when the master calls.
Return to Love. Love is the only reality. If only you stopped there!! But you are restless creatures. You need it set before you elaborately. You need it complicated and obscure. You need Bibles. It is not enough that the Bible is contained in the Lord's Prayer, or that the Lord's Prayer is contained in the first line, "The Lord is my Shepherd," and this is itself contained in that one word, which says more than all other words combined; "Love". My friends, what is there to do, but to moisten our lips, and speak the word, "Love," or to think it, and listen as it sinks to the bottom of our hearts, is arrested by something hard and, like a red-hot stone at the bottom of the sea, sizzles, steams, and burns through, to reach a depth as yet unknown? This word, "Love" is the philosopher's stone, which burns through all things, and is untouched. But it must be spoken, it must be thought, it's presence must be felt everywhere and at all times. We are all approaching this superior concentration. All our missteps, all our wrong turns, lead us back to this quiet, unassuming Word.
If I were a conqueror, I might write about the glory of Alexander, who perfected the art of conquest. But I am a lover, so I write about the glory of Jesus, who perfected the art of loving.
Remember, Jesus is a symbol. He represents all of us. Like Him, we are all tested, we all die and are reborn, and, in the end, we will all realize our divine nature; our Oneness with God. Like him we shall all say, "I and the Father are One". We are the children of God, destined to carry the cross of flesh, until we are ready to transcend our earthy lives. There is no shortcut. This is the only Way. This is what is meant by "Jesus is the only way". Jesus is the symbol, the model, the prototype, and the pioneer. He is the "first fruits", but we shall all become ripe.
True Christianity is not about sin, but grace. Grace is not exclusive, but inclusive. It is not dependent on actions, or even beliefs. It is for everyone. You don't even have to know about it. You are forgiven, you are innocent. The reason faith is important, is not so that you may be forgiven (you already are forgiven - "it is accomplished"), but, so that you might be spared the distress of imagining yourself guilty in the eyes of God.
Religions form around a nucleus, which is the "religious experience". An individual attains a high level of spiritual comprehension, and speaks to others from this place, probably never intending to inspire the creation of a religious system, but aware that it is inevitable. When a person is illumined, life becomes religion. There is no need for empty rituals, to pour the spirit into them. The spirit is everywhere, and every action, however small, is imbued with the significance of ritual. For others, ritual is like a set of training wheels, used to hold them up in the religious feeling, until they can learn to pedal, balance, and hold themselves up by their own speed. All religions forget their source in time. All religions become empty forms. They may still contain the spirit, but, at a certain point, the spirit grows and desires to overflow the rituals, and even the religion itself. When people cling to the rituals and the religion, this moment is lost, and even the rituals begin to lose power to invoke the spirit. Just as the body of Christ had to incarnate and die, religions have to "incarnate", to contain the spirit for a while, and then die. But, the moment when the religion dies, it actually attains itself, and accomplishes its greatest triumph. It will resurrect itself in spirit, it will come to people in spirit, and, in time, it will incarnate in another form. When Christianity dies, and is replaced by something else, something which resembles what Christianity was in its beginnings, that will be a second coming of the Christ.
If we only knew what supernatural wonders surround us, -- if we could see that angels, with their great wings outspread, protect us, bless and watch over our inauspicious activities, -- we would be stopped in our tracks, and our hearts, overcome with awe before their beauty, would render praise at all times to the majesty of God.
Nothing is more godly than humility, or more humbling than God.
Vanity is the single greatest source of cowardice. How often do we speak and act, or prevent ourselves from speaking and acting, merely from fear of what others might think? Pride, on the other hand, has to do with what we think of ourselves. It cuts much closer to the bone. People will adopt virtues for the sake of their pride, but for vanity they'll adopt only an appearance of virtue. Pride covets Virtue, vanity covets her appearance.
Prefer a faith in the divine to an education in the ordinary.
Knowledge trembles, but faith is fearless.
Faith is the beginning, humility is the center, and peace is the end, of prayer.
Lift up your eyes, and stretch out your minds, towards God.
Rinse your hearts out with tears, and hang them up in holy light.
Number your words, measure your movements, and do not squander your thoughts;
fools squander from a wealth of hollow words, empty thoughts, and aimless actions,
-- but wise men are frugal and poor.
It is possible to be too deep, and to know too much.
Many a man is too deep for us to get at what is within him.
Many a mind is too quick to keep up with itself.
People talk about going inside, not outside. What "inside"? What "outside"? No such thing. In order to make use of something "out there", you first have to be open to it "in here". That's all that means to me. Close your heart and mind, and the world really is "out there".
Do not be so identified with a cause that you identify everyone who does not share it as an opponent. And if any man opposes your cause, remember that he is a man first, and an opponent second. If you do not wish him to mistreat your cause, you must not mistreat him.
Prefer a noble cliché to a novel distraction.
Fill your hours with noble deeds and reflections, so that pettiness will find no foothold.
When we abandon God, when we abandon the contemplation of holy things and the attitude of prayer, we abandon ourselves to the forces of degeneration.
We endure and overcome evil by fixing our attention on the good which transcends it.
What to the fool is a stumblingblock, to the wise is a steppingstone.
Too often, we pride ourselves on being hardhearted and immovable. We must learn that it is better to be tenderhearted and easily moved. Clay must be soft in the hands of the Potter.
It is better to lose one's object through tenderness than to gain it by being overly strict.
There are many ways to pray. Do not force yourself, but allow yourself to be led along those paths which inspire you, provided that they awaken in you a devotion to higher things.
Even the smallest virtues are worthy to be encouraged, while the smallest vices should be overlooked.
People sometimes adopt greater vices in their efforts to eradicate lesser ones.
Schools are to education what religions are to spirituality. You don't need school to be educated, or religion to be spiritual. Structures, which can help to preserve and organize the wisdom of the past, also tend to become rigidly locked into ways of seeing which ultimately thwart innovation and pose resistance to progress. Only a religion which receives as well as dispenses prophecy, like a school which corrects itself even as it corrects others, is truly alive.
Consider the spirit and not the letter of the law: One is not a Christian merely because one calls oneself a Christian, and one who does not call oneself a Christian may yet be more a Christian than many who bear the name. Christ is love. If a religion has love it has Christ. Though it may never speak his name, it bears his spirit. Regardless of its outward forms, if it is compassionate it is Christian.
Ego is treading in a sea of awareness. Branches floating by are thoughts which ego clings to in order to remain afloat. Ego strings these branches together so as to make a raft which can separate him from the water. If he accomplishes this, he will be completely unaware. Drown yourself in the sea of awareness and be reborn as pure spirit.
Depths, which sparrows do not suspect the existence of, make up entire environments, which salmon take for granted. Who knows if there may not be some, among the spirits, who disbelieve reports of incarnation?
The corrupt man promotes his own interest in the world,
while the spirit of corruption destroys his interest in the soul.
The fool imagines himself victorious when the sage cannot move him to relinquish his folly.
Relax to discover your talents. Relax into your gifts.
You will never know peace until you humble yourself.
Pride does you no good. It only riles you.
Let your heroes be saints, not pundits.
Humility is the key to Heaven. Be humble; be at peace; have a warm heart.
Humility, love, and peace are mysteriously related;
each depending upon and increasing the others.
Whenever one of these is spoken of,
know that the others are understood.
A proud man has no peace, and a peaceful man has no pride.
Pride smothers spiritual gifts,
like sand shoveled onto hot coals;
but humility is a breath of the Spirit, igniting them,
and fanning the flames of God's glory in the world.
Humility is wide-eyed, expectant, braced for anything, overcome by a godly ideal. She is cautious, breathless, grounded, and aghast. Humility watches in respectful awe; waits, listening for the step of God. Humility has patience because she is slower than the world, and more deliberate. Humility has affection, feels connected to all things, is not insulted or indignant, as if anything were beneath her.
Love fuels the lamp of prayer.
Fill your prayers with the oil of love,
that they may light the way to heaven,
and may light heaven.
Do not think it degrading, to liken a monk to a dog. The dog, for his loyalty and devotion, is called 'man's best friend'. In the same way, it may be instructive to think of the monk as 'God's best friend'. Just as the dog sits and gazes expectantly at the door through which his master will enter, so does the humble monk sit and pray faithfully before the cross or icon of his Lord. And just as the animal leaps for joy when his master returns, so does the heart of the monk leap in his breast, and rush out of itself to meet the Savior when, at last, the Holy Presence is felt.
We must be in agreement with a truth,
in order to be in a position to refute it.
Seek with one eye, find with the other.
When you grasp it, let it go.
God is talking over himself to himself.
Everything is true. Every truth is incomplete.
If you are not contradicting yourself,
you are only telling half the story.
The end should find you back at the beginning.
The sense in which it is true
is not the sense in which it is false.
The best teachers don't say too much,
or teach too well.
I thought I was the teacher.
That will teach me.
Will I ever learn?
The closer you are to getting it,
the less sense you make.
My God,
where have you been?
You never left me.
I missed You all day.
I did not know what I was missing.
I thought about You.
I did not know what I was thinking.
I sought You in the place where You sent me.
But a proud man overlooks his own sins in order to look upon the sins of another.
If only one minute of your day is given
to the contemplation of higher things,
be thankful for it; it is the Lord's.
To seek God is to find Him; not to seek God is to lose Him;
the more you seek Him, the more He dwells in you.
The best sayings of the wise always sound so perfect, so simple, and so obvious, that we can hardly believe we have not heard them before, or that they have not been uttered since the beginning of the world.
When a man's hands are often in his pockets, very likely,
he is in there too, slipping through his fingers like loose change.
We ask God to humble us, and to show us to ourselves, "warts and all". We don't realize that it is our vanity which causes us to believe we are strong enough to bear the unmitigated sight of ourselves, nor that it is God's mercy which permits us our delusions until such a time as we may dispel them more gradually and with less pain.
Whoever dies to the well-lit world of the living,
comes alive to the darkness and speaks with the dead.
Buried deep within the unconscious of every person,
there is a hidden reservoir of courage, hope, and love,
to which only the name of "God" provides access.
God's love being infinite, there is no adequate way to measure it,
nor to articulate it, so that mortal minds may begin to form an idea of its greatness,
other than to say that God's very nature is to love, and that God Himself is Love.
The Gospel is not about Jesus, as you have been taught to understand Him. It is about the idea of Jesus triggering a sudden awareness in the reader of a loving presence, which is accessible whenever we remember to call it to mind. This idea is Jesus. When you understand that an idea can be holy, and even divine, then you have understood Christ's divinity. As a man, because of his divine works, may be rightly called a God, so, also, an idea, by the divine works it inspires, may rightly be called the Holy Spirit of Our Lord. To deny that an idea (if it is the idea of Love) is worthy of ultimate reverence, is to deny the savior because He is humble. Christ is "just" a metaphor for the idea of love. When the idea is embraced and given its due, the kingdom of heaven will reign in men's hearts and upon the earth. In order to bring this idea into full manifestation, we must honor it as though it were already a reality for us and for all men. We must think it into being. We must rid ourselves of distracting concerns, all of which are chaff and dust, so that we may allow "Love" to be. Really, it is the simplest thing in the world. Do you think it is difficult? It is only difficult because you are resisting it. Before you imagine reasons to resist love, ask yourself, "do you really want to do that?" You will find that you do not. You have always been Love's disciple. Many times you have strayed from the path, but you always return when the master calls.
Return to Love. Love is the only reality. If only you stopped there!! But you are restless creatures. You need it set before you elaborately. You need it complicated and obscure. You need Bibles. It is not enough that the Bible is contained in the Lord's Prayer, or that the Lord's Prayer is contained in the first line, "The Lord is my Shepherd," and this is itself contained in that one word, which says more than all other words combined; "Love". My friends, what is there to do, but to moisten our lips, and speak the word, "Love," or to think it, and listen as it sinks to the bottom of our hearts, is arrested by something hard and, like a red-hot stone at the bottom of the sea, sizzles, steams, and burns through, to reach a depth as yet unknown? This word, "Love" is the philosopher's stone, which burns through all things, and is untouched. But it must be spoken, it must be thought, it's presence must be felt everywhere and at all times. We are all approaching this superior concentration. All our missteps, all our wrong turns, lead us back to this quiet, unassuming Word.
If I were a conqueror, I might write about the glory of Alexander, who perfected the art of conquest. But I am a lover, so I write about the glory of Jesus, who perfected the art of loving.
Remember, Jesus is a symbol. He represents all of us. Like Him, we are all tested, we all die and are reborn, and, in the end, we will all realize our divine nature; our Oneness with God. Like him we shall all say, "I and the Father are One". We are the children of God, destined to carry the cross of flesh, until we are ready to transcend our earthy lives. There is no shortcut. This is the only Way. This is what is meant by "Jesus is the only way". Jesus is the symbol, the model, the prototype, and the pioneer. He is the "first fruits", but we shall all become ripe.
True Christianity is not about sin, but grace. Grace is not exclusive, but inclusive. It is not dependent on actions, or even beliefs. It is for everyone. You don't even have to know about it. You are forgiven, you are innocent. The reason faith is important, is not so that you may be forgiven (you already are forgiven - "it is accomplished"), but, so that you might be spared the distress of imagining yourself guilty in the eyes of God.
Religions form around a nucleus, which is the "religious experience". An individual attains a high level of spiritual comprehension, and speaks to others from this place, probably never intending to inspire the creation of a religious system, but aware that it is inevitable. When a person is illumined, life becomes religion. There is no need for empty rituals, to pour the spirit into them. The spirit is everywhere, and every action, however small, is imbued with the significance of ritual. For others, ritual is like a set of training wheels, used to hold them up in the religious feeling, until they can learn to pedal, balance, and hold themselves up by their own speed. All religions forget their source in time. All religions become empty forms. They may still contain the spirit, but, at a certain point, the spirit grows and desires to overflow the rituals, and even the religion itself. When people cling to the rituals and the religion, this moment is lost, and even the rituals begin to lose power to invoke the spirit. Just as the body of Christ had to incarnate and die, religions have to "incarnate", to contain the spirit for a while, and then die. But, the moment when the religion dies, it actually attains itself, and accomplishes its greatest triumph. It will resurrect itself in spirit, it will come to people in spirit, and, in time, it will incarnate in another form. When Christianity dies, and is replaced by something else, something which resembles what Christianity was in its beginnings, that will be a second coming of the Christ.
If we only knew what supernatural wonders surround us, -- if we could see that angels, with their great wings outspread, protect us, bless and watch over our inauspicious activities, -- we would be stopped in our tracks, and our hearts, overcome with awe before their beauty, would render praise at all times to the majesty of God.
Nothing is more godly than humility, or more humbling than God.
Vanity is the single greatest source of cowardice. How often do we speak and act, or prevent ourselves from speaking and acting, merely from fear of what others might think? Pride, on the other hand, has to do with what we think of ourselves. It cuts much closer to the bone. People will adopt virtues for the sake of their pride, but for vanity they'll adopt only an appearance of virtue. Pride covets Virtue, vanity covets her appearance.
Prefer a faith in the divine to an education in the ordinary.
Knowledge trembles, but faith is fearless.
Faith is the beginning, humility is the center, and peace is the end, of prayer.
Lift up your eyes, and stretch out your minds, towards God.
Rinse your hearts out with tears, and hang them up in holy light.
Number your words, measure your movements, and do not squander your thoughts;
fools squander from a wealth of hollow words, empty thoughts, and aimless actions,
-- but wise men are frugal and poor.
It is possible to be too deep, and to know too much.
Many a man is too deep for us to get at what is within him.
Many a mind is too quick to keep up with itself.
People talk about going inside, not outside. What "inside"? What "outside"? No such thing. In order to make use of something "out there", you first have to be open to it "in here". That's all that means to me. Close your heart and mind, and the world really is "out there".
Do not be so identified with a cause that you identify everyone who does not share it as an opponent. And if any man opposes your cause, remember that he is a man first, and an opponent second. If you do not wish him to mistreat your cause, you must not mistreat him.
Prefer a noble cliché to a novel distraction.
Fill your hours with noble deeds and reflections, so that pettiness will find no foothold.
When we abandon God, when we abandon the contemplation of holy things and the attitude of prayer, we abandon ourselves to the forces of degeneration.
We endure and overcome evil by fixing our attention on the good which transcends it.
What to the fool is a stumblingblock, to the wise is a steppingstone.
Too often, we pride ourselves on being hardhearted and immovable. We must learn that it is better to be tenderhearted and easily moved. Clay must be soft in the hands of the Potter.
It is better to lose one's object through tenderness than to gain it by being overly strict.
There are many ways to pray. Do not force yourself, but allow yourself to be led along those paths which inspire you, provided that they awaken in you a devotion to higher things.
Even the smallest virtues are worthy to be encouraged, while the smallest vices should be overlooked.
People sometimes adopt greater vices in their efforts to eradicate lesser ones.
Schools are to education what religions are to spirituality. You don't need school to be educated, or religion to be spiritual. Structures, which can help to preserve and organize the wisdom of the past, also tend to become rigidly locked into ways of seeing which ultimately thwart innovation and pose resistance to progress. Only a religion which receives as well as dispenses prophecy, like a school which corrects itself even as it corrects others, is truly alive.
Consider the spirit and not the letter of the law: One is not a Christian merely because one calls oneself a Christian, and one who does not call oneself a Christian may yet be more a Christian than many who bear the name. Christ is love. If a religion has love it has Christ. Though it may never speak his name, it bears his spirit. Regardless of its outward forms, if it is compassionate it is Christian.
Ego is treading in a sea of awareness. Branches floating by are thoughts which ego clings to in order to remain afloat. Ego strings these branches together so as to make a raft which can separate him from the water. If he accomplishes this, he will be completely unaware. Drown yourself in the sea of awareness and be reborn as pure spirit.
Depths, which sparrows do not suspect the existence of, make up entire environments, which salmon take for granted. Who knows if there may not be some, among the spirits, who disbelieve reports of incarnation?
The corrupt man promotes his own interest in the world,
while the spirit of corruption destroys his interest in the soul.
The fool imagines himself victorious when the sage cannot move him to relinquish his folly.
Relax to discover your talents. Relax into your gifts.
You will never know peace until you humble yourself.
Pride does you no good. It only riles you.
Let your heroes be saints, not pundits.
Humility is the key to Heaven. Be humble; be at peace; have a warm heart.
Humility, love, and peace are mysteriously related;
each depending upon and increasing the others.
Whenever one of these is spoken of,
know that the others are understood.
A proud man has no peace, and a peaceful man has no pride.
Pride smothers spiritual gifts,
like sand shoveled onto hot coals;
but humility is a breath of the Spirit, igniting them,
and fanning the flames of God's glory in the world.
Humility is wide-eyed, expectant, braced for anything, overcome by a godly ideal. She is cautious, breathless, grounded, and aghast. Humility watches in respectful awe; waits, listening for the step of God. Humility has patience because she is slower than the world, and more deliberate. Humility has affection, feels connected to all things, is not insulted or indignant, as if anything were beneath her.
Love fuels the lamp of prayer.
Fill your prayers with the oil of love,
that they may light the way to heaven,
and may light heaven.
Do not think it degrading, to liken a monk to a dog. The dog, for his loyalty and devotion, is called 'man's best friend'. In the same way, it may be instructive to think of the monk as 'God's best friend'. Just as the dog sits and gazes expectantly at the door through which his master will enter, so does the humble monk sit and pray faithfully before the cross or icon of his Lord. And just as the animal leaps for joy when his master returns, so does the heart of the monk leap in his breast, and rush out of itself to meet the Savior when, at last, the Holy Presence is felt.
We must be in agreement with a truth,
in order to be in a position to refute it.
Seek with one eye, find with the other.
When you grasp it, let it go.
God is talking over himself to himself.
Everything is true. Every truth is incomplete.
If you are not contradicting yourself,
you are only telling half the story.
The end should find you back at the beginning.
The sense in which it is true
is not the sense in which it is false.
The best teachers don't say too much,
or teach too well.
I thought I was the teacher.
That will teach me.
Will I ever learn?
The closer you are to getting it,
the less sense you make.
My God,
where have you been?
You never left me.
I missed You all day.
I did not know what I was missing.
I thought about You.
I did not know what I was thinking.
I sought You in the place where You sent me.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Grace
"I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ lives in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me."
~ Saint Paul (Galatians 2:20)
The Christian makes bold to claim that Christ is in him, while he is yet in sin. How is it that one, who is frequently unwilling to carry the cross, considers himself worthy to carry the name, of Christ?
It is because within him there is a spark of divine love which, having once encountered, he cannot resist declaring his allegiance to. Even in spite of his weakness, and knowing that this love, which is Christ within him, will continually be scorned, sacrificed, and betrayed by others, as well as by his own crippled will, -- yet, he cannot withhold his admiration and deep intention to be won over completely by this golden aspect of himself, and seed of his highest potential.
This is as if one were suddenly to discover a precious pearl in an old and long-familiar earthen pot. The humble condition of the pot becomes a thing of little consequence, for it is overshadowed by the good thing which resides within.
To all appearances, a man may be corrupt, but every man, no matter how ill-fated, has yet something noble within him; something which cannot be corrupted; which speaks for him, and lovingly assures him that, although presently he may be caught in a web of evil energies, by himself he is never evil, and the life of God within him is purely good. This is the voice of Christ, the Good Physician, who reproves the affliction, but justifies the afflicted.
For if a man be stricken with a disease of a moral and spiritual order, then he ought to be pitied and treated like any other victim of disease. His illness may be of the most dire sort, but no matter how progressed it may be, -- no matter if it has blackened his breast, and spread into his uttermost extremities, -- we must never make the mistake of identifying the afflicted with his affliction. Even if we cannot preserve his health, we must preserve an idea of the man as he might be, were he to be healed of all that contaminates and corrupts his higher self.
To call a man Christian, especially when his thoughts and actions are anything but Christian, is to declare a lofty spiritual truth in the face of fallen nature. It is to say that sin, which may overtake his body and every earthly part of himself, can never take possession of his soul. It is to say that his soul belongs irrevocably to God.
A man who is deathly ill, who cannot arise from his bed, nor speak, nor take solid food, is still a man. There is a dignity which cannot be stripped bare, for it does not depend upon any action, nor success. It is the simple birthright of every child of God.
The doctrine of the inner Christ, here described, honors this fundamental dignity because it justifies by grace, and not by outward signs or accomplishments. While the world honors, above all others, the soldier who defeats his enemies, the spirit honors all soldiers alike; those who have triumphed, as well as those who have fallen in the line of service.
In the sense in which I have understood the term, "Christ" is a noble spark and seed of divinity present in everyone. A person does not need to recognize it, nor to believe in it, nor to name it Christ. It is there nonetheless, as Christ's love is there. What we do with it, -- how we conceptualize it, -- is our business. For my part, I call it Christ, and call everyone a Christian. My hope is that none will be offended, but that all will receive this name, along with the honor it bestows, as a symbol of brotherly love. Not from a desire to convert, but to include.
What, then, does it mean, to call a man Christian? It is, in essence, to call him brother; a fellow child of God. It is to love and recognize him as a member of the body of Christ, even when that member is afflicted, bloodied, broken, or bruised. Even when he seemingly has no love in him, or no power to manifest the love that is in him, he is not cut off from the love that is in Christ. What is necessary is only that he is loved, -- not that he loves.
Christ, having loved us, has fulfilled this necessary part. We are united by his love, whether or not we love. We are called "brother" and are entitled to every good thing. We are treated with great compassion, not because we have loved greatly, but because we are greatly loved.
Is this not precisely what it means, when we say that, "Through the love of one man, the entire world has been redeemed,"? Because one man did not judge, no man was judged. When we allow ourselves to see through Christ's eyes, to see without judgement, we know that it is so.
~ Saint Paul (Galatians 2:20)
The Christian makes bold to claim that Christ is in him, while he is yet in sin. How is it that one, who is frequently unwilling to carry the cross, considers himself worthy to carry the name, of Christ?
It is because within him there is a spark of divine love which, having once encountered, he cannot resist declaring his allegiance to. Even in spite of his weakness, and knowing that this love, which is Christ within him, will continually be scorned, sacrificed, and betrayed by others, as well as by his own crippled will, -- yet, he cannot withhold his admiration and deep intention to be won over completely by this golden aspect of himself, and seed of his highest potential.
This is as if one were suddenly to discover a precious pearl in an old and long-familiar earthen pot. The humble condition of the pot becomes a thing of little consequence, for it is overshadowed by the good thing which resides within.
To all appearances, a man may be corrupt, but every man, no matter how ill-fated, has yet something noble within him; something which cannot be corrupted; which speaks for him, and lovingly assures him that, although presently he may be caught in a web of evil energies, by himself he is never evil, and the life of God within him is purely good. This is the voice of Christ, the Good Physician, who reproves the affliction, but justifies the afflicted.
For if a man be stricken with a disease of a moral and spiritual order, then he ought to be pitied and treated like any other victim of disease. His illness may be of the most dire sort, but no matter how progressed it may be, -- no matter if it has blackened his breast, and spread into his uttermost extremities, -- we must never make the mistake of identifying the afflicted with his affliction. Even if we cannot preserve his health, we must preserve an idea of the man as he might be, were he to be healed of all that contaminates and corrupts his higher self.
To call a man Christian, especially when his thoughts and actions are anything but Christian, is to declare a lofty spiritual truth in the face of fallen nature. It is to say that sin, which may overtake his body and every earthly part of himself, can never take possession of his soul. It is to say that his soul belongs irrevocably to God.
A man who is deathly ill, who cannot arise from his bed, nor speak, nor take solid food, is still a man. There is a dignity which cannot be stripped bare, for it does not depend upon any action, nor success. It is the simple birthright of every child of God.
The doctrine of the inner Christ, here described, honors this fundamental dignity because it justifies by grace, and not by outward signs or accomplishments. While the world honors, above all others, the soldier who defeats his enemies, the spirit honors all soldiers alike; those who have triumphed, as well as those who have fallen in the line of service.
In the sense in which I have understood the term, "Christ" is a noble spark and seed of divinity present in everyone. A person does not need to recognize it, nor to believe in it, nor to name it Christ. It is there nonetheless, as Christ's love is there. What we do with it, -- how we conceptualize it, -- is our business. For my part, I call it Christ, and call everyone a Christian. My hope is that none will be offended, but that all will receive this name, along with the honor it bestows, as a symbol of brotherly love. Not from a desire to convert, but to include.
What, then, does it mean, to call a man Christian? It is, in essence, to call him brother; a fellow child of God. It is to love and recognize him as a member of the body of Christ, even when that member is afflicted, bloodied, broken, or bruised. Even when he seemingly has no love in him, or no power to manifest the love that is in him, he is not cut off from the love that is in Christ. What is necessary is only that he is loved, -- not that he loves.
Christ, having loved us, has fulfilled this necessary part. We are united by his love, whether or not we love. We are called "brother" and are entitled to every good thing. We are treated with great compassion, not because we have loved greatly, but because we are greatly loved.
Is this not precisely what it means, when we say that, "Through the love of one man, the entire world has been redeemed,"? Because one man did not judge, no man was judged. When we allow ourselves to see through Christ's eyes, to see without judgement, we know that it is so.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Spiritual Antinatalism and Dualism: The Stone That The Builder Refused
My theory, simply put, is that the desire to incarnate in a body, for any purpose other than that of liberating other souls from the prison of bodily incarnation, is essentially materialistic, and that, where the vast majority of incarnate souls are concerned, bodily incarnation is ultimately a failed experiment. Likewise, that procreation is an error which ought to be abandoned with all speed, not by force of will but through personal election.
Everywhere, we see evidence of the cult of life, -- and by "life" is commonly meant only that aspect of the soul's expression which constitutes bodily incarnation; beginning with the birth and ending with the death of the physical vehicle.
Incarnation, we are taught, is a school and testing ground for young souls. And so it is, for we are here, and we must learn and be tested in accordance with the terrain as we encounter it. But the greatest lesson we learn is not to incarnate, and the only exam worth passing is the one which proves our devotion to values transcendent of the material realm. In truth, only the most mature and most flexible souls are prepared for the challenges and pitfalls of material incarnation. Younger souls incarnate through foolishness, because they know, and care to know, nothing better. It is on account of their desire to gratify the senses, rather than the nobler faculties of the soul, and to see themselves and their creations manifested in gross matter, that they remain bound in the vicious cycle of death and rebirth. Older souls, if they incarnate at all, do so only in order to liberate younger souls from the bonds of incarnation by revealing a higher way. If a curriculum surrounding incarnation is prepared, it is only because the obstinacy of foolishness demands it. When a student refuses to take the higher path, the teacher has no alternative but to indulge the refusal, and to lead the student by lower channels; gradually, and according to his willingness.
Many a practical occultist disdains the "merely" speculative philosopher. But while the former actively pursue the paths of initiation laid out for them by adepts whom they implicitly trust, the latter frequently casts his gaze into deeper spaces and thereby attracts the fellowship of even greater, though more obscure, tutelary spirits. For all the rigor, discipline, and persistence of the practitioner, it is the theorist who, by his willingness to entertain the more radical, out-of-the-way possibilities, discovers the shortcut to illumination. Never doubt that shortcuts do exist, even in the spiritual worlds (as above, so below). Indeed, the relationship of grace to works is one such shortcut, and the most incredible. If and when the ascetic opens the door to grace, it is almost always in spite of, rather than because of, his asceticism.
It is a spiritual law that we will regard only what we are prepared to see, and we will attract spirits whose perspective fundamentally mirrors our own. While we are fond of defending our doctrines by such words as "all the sages agree", the fact is, the very first thing which these people, whom we call sages, share in common is that they each fit the definition which we ourselves have conceived or agreed upon of a "sage". To declare that all the sages are in agreement with a particular precept is not to give a proof of its validity, any more than it is a proof of their "sageliness" that they all agree with a particular precept. We ourselves have only defined them as sages on account of the beliefs they espoused and the actions they performed, so it makes no sense to conclude that those very beliefs and actions are necessarily wise because the ones we call sages espoused or performed them.
In the same way, when we find reports of encounters with seemingly highly evolved spirits, we learn more about the person delivering the report than we do about the spirits. Those spirits may only be reflecting back to the person teachings which both share a predisposition to accept, or which the spirit knows the person will be able and willing to accept at the given time. Regardless of what credentials the spirit may possess (miraculous siddhis, an etheric body or disincarnate presence, peacefulness, dignity, love, -- or merely the ability to create a powerful impression of these qualities in the mind of the viewer), there is always a chance that, by opening one's mind to a different strata of possibilities, other spirits, equally or more impressive, may be attracted. Or, that the very same spirit may manifest itself radically differently, expressing itself in ways which appear to contradict or negate its earlier expressions.
I have in mind certain accounts, received and reported by the noted hypnotherapist Dr. Michael Newton, of disincarnate realms and spirits encountered by patients undergoing hypnotic regression therapy. I do not doubt the accounts. In fact, it would not be far from the mark to say that I affirm all that they affirm. But, what is more to the point, I believe I affirm all that they affirm and more.
Specifically, the accounts provide us with descriptions of spiritual realms which our souls (or aspects of our souls?) inhabit between incarnations. While it is fair to say that the evidence is largely, if not merely, anecdotal, the degree to which the accounts corroborate one another, along with certain other indications of their veracity, provides compelling indications of the existence of life outside the body. But while the regressed patients, as souls, find themselves in realms which they understand to be spiritual schools, where former incarnations are reviewed and future ones prepared, and while incarnation itself is purported to be the setting for the most intensive studies, my own suspicion is that these spiritual schools, teachers, and lesson plans are arising in response to preconceptions which the souls who visit them have formed, consciously or unconsciously, in regards to incarnation and its usefulness.
That is to say, if one is convinced at a very deep level that incarnation is necessary or good, this conviction will naturally be reflected in a spiritual world which exists to encourage, foster, and make sense of material existence. If one has already decided at some level to return to materiality, possibly because one is addicted to some aspect of sensory experience, then one's soul will naturally gravitate to these realms after death. Looked at in this way, these realms are not especially removed from materiality, but, rather, are simply more subtle extensions of it, which exist, in large part, to provide justification for the experiment of incarnation; justification which the souls who encounter them desperately want and demand.
If, however, a soul were deeply convinced, or deeply prepared to consider the possibility, that incarnation is a trap, and not a divinely ordained university, a necessary prerequisite for admittance to the higher realms, that soul might encounter very different teachers and worlds beyond. But, this requires a fundamental shift in point of view with respect to the world of matter, -- namely, one must consider that it is not "the creation of God". Moreover, if the world is not God's, then this shift must also include a revision of what is understood by the name of God; for if God is not "The Creator", what is God?
When we consider that God, and spirit in its subtlest expressions, is essentially alien to matter, we begin to get a very different picture. We begin to perceive a duality within the nature of existence, and the notion of duality is something which many people find very difficult to entertain. Something within us desperately wants to believe in unity. We want to believe that the world is God's, the world is good, and everything is going according to plan. We don't want to choose. We don't want to have to accept that life as we know it, life on earth, is pointless. We don't want to imagine that anything in the universe is superfluous. We want to believe that every speck of sawdust has its divine purpose. That every difficulty is necessary to make us strong, or to bring us closer to God. That no child suffers needlessly. That God is in complete control of everything, and if we are here it is because "He" put us here and "He" will take us home just as soon as we are ready. Duality suggests something painful; a rift, a division, an abyss. For this reason, we reject the notion of duality before we truly begin to understand its finer implications.
First, we must understand that, however much we may cling to the illusion of "a world under God", each of us implicitly, if only unconsciously, feels that the world is fallen, and that something other than our own perception of the world as fallen is to blame. While we tell ourselves it is only our ignorance, our weakness, foolishness, or sin which prevents us from seeing God's providence at work in all things, the reality is that, deep down, we know full well, in the words of the tender Prince Hamlet, "something is rotten in the state of Denmark".
And, yet, it needn't look so bleak, for there is unity, -- not in the world, but in God, who transcends it.
Let us try, if we can, to conceptualize this God, who is only good. We will personalize "Him" in the form of an archetype, if only to make the divine mysteries more readily perceptible to the mind's eye. But let it be understood that the notion of a personalized God is adopted only as a matter of poetic license, -- or, more correctly, religious license.
Before continuing, some words must be included here to explain my meaning, and they are as important as anything else which has preceded or will follow them in this discourse.
One needs only to understand that religious language speaks to, and from, a different level of reality; it is figurative, rather than literal, but is no less real. It's realm is foremost the realm of Truth, not Fact. Though spiritual pronouncements may also and incidentally be factual, what matters is only that they are truthful. Gods, angels, and saints, whether or not they possess some external, cosmic or historical reality, possess archetypal reality within the mind, or soul (which, for our purposes, might only be a word describing deeper, unconscious layers of the mind).
To my mind, God does not literally, or necessarily, take on a personal form and respond to our prayers, just as gravity does not literally hold us down (having no hands with which to hold), nor does it act upon us any differently when we jump than when we stand still. Gravity is simply a natural law which we are subject to and which, if we are remotely intelligent and informed, we make conscious use of. In much the same way, when I pray, I am not petitioning God to do anything, as though God were an actual person who listens and responds to my prayer. Rather, it is I who must listen, respond, and approach, by aligning my inner life with that divine presence and essence which I understand by the figurative name of God. In doing so, I make use of a law no less practical than the law of gravity.
As long as one understands that any attempt to conceptualize God, or to perceive "Him" in any form, is strictly tentative and provisional, then there can be tremendous value in seeing God as a personal entity, and in dialoguing with this entity, as one might dialogue with an imaginary friend. Here, the imagination must be respected. It must not be reduced to a mere plaything, nor elevated to a lens for perceiving things concretely; as they are in themselves. In dialoguing with an imaginary God, one may "only" be dialoguing with another aspect of oneself (ideally, with the better, or best, part of oneself), and thereby bringing it out of the depths of the unconscious, into the light of consciousness.
Naturally, our perceptions of God, just like our perceptions of everything else, will be distorted and determined by our own level of development, for we are nothing if not the lens through which we see; or, to be precise, the lens through which seeing itself takes place. For this reason, it is all the more important to remember that our concepts are provisional, inasmuch as we ourselves are provisional; which is to say that, as long as we are imperfect, so will our conceptions of God be equally imperfect, and just as we must remain open to revision, so must our conceptions of God remain open to revision.
Therefore, let it be understood that when I invoke the name of God, and particularly when I seem to speak of God as a personal entity, -- male, female, or hermaphrodite, -- I am speaking figuratively, but not flippantly, of a reality which is more in the nature of formlessness than form, more projection than object, and more law than lawgiver, but which it pleases (and, I believe, edifies) me to understand in this way. So, then, it is not to be wondered at, when I understand God now one way and now a very different way; for, to me, He is essentially mutable, and must, in a manner of speaking, "take the form" of whatever object or idea intuitively serves to illustrate my present purpose.
Even the name of "God" is adopted; for the theist who understands what this name means knows that he is no different from the atheist, apart from the fact that his peculiar form of reverence demands that he articulate his experience in highly colorful and religious terms. In other words, he finds something present within, or behind, all the good things of this world, shining out of them, as it were, and binding them together as one good; something undeniably sacred, which commands his attention and his reverence, and which, due to his theistic orientation, he can understand by no lesser name than "God".
Buddhists, we know, are atheists. Yet, they are religious, and are no strangers to the experience of God. For whatever reason, they see fit to understand and experience Him in more impersonal, though no less reverent, terms. Though it is true they have their gods, their demons, and bodhisattvas, ultimately, they understand all of these personal forms as symbolic and subordinate to something numinous, which they scarcely dare to name. Even the historical saints, to the extent that they fulfill their purpose as emissaries and representatives of a reality transcendent to themselves, must be transfigured, as it were, into symbolic manifestations of that truth. And this is no less the case with demons than with saints, for the Buddhist, at the very highest level of understanding, recognizes no essential difference between the demon and the saint; each is simultaneously a stepping stone and a stumbling block in the way of the ultimate revelation of Nirvana.
Perhaps the Hindus, in their Vedas, say it best: "God is and is not."
While many argue there is no evidence for God, it is enough for the theist to consider the love a mother bears her child, or the victorious gush that overwhelms his heart when he hears his favorite song, or the whiff of the freshly mown grass in springtime, or the calm he feels late at night when, deep in reflection, the whole world breathes cool and collected. "If these things are not sacred," he asks, "what are they?" To the spiritually minded, they are holy, and to the theist, taken as one, along with all other good things, they indeed deserve the name of God.
But, to continue my description of God as alien, it is nearly enough to say that He is not the creator of this world, not the creator of evil, and not some omnipotent being who, having the power to free us from our afflictions, instead excuses Himself behind the specter of "free will", and allows us to suffer generation after generation. What, after all, is free will, if not the ability to choose the lower path, through weakness, ignorance, or both? Is this not, in fact, more of a disability than an ability? My God, were He omnipotent, would not allow it. And any god who would allow it, omnipotent though He may be, will not be mine.
As I say, it is nearly enough, but it is not yet enough, to define my God by what He is not. I must tell you more of what He is. Foremost, He is love. And when I say that He is love, I mean that He is love, and all that goes with it. Mercy, understanding, and forgiveness -- are not these members belonging to love? Of course they are, and if they were not it would only be because love had transcended any need of them; for what is there to pardon, if no judgement has been passed; and what is to understand, if there is love without conditions?
Asking God for mercy and forgiveness is like asking the sun for light and heat; these belong to the incorruptible nature of divinity itself, and though clouds of ignorance may temporarily cast shadows of guilt over the souls of men, the sun does not go black, nor does the Lord condemn. God's justice is not like ours. God's justice is mercy. He does not punish, because He reforms and makes perfect. If we suffer it is largely because we refuse to believe this, and to accept His love for us. We imagine that He refuses to answer our prayers when, in fact, our prayers are not even addressed to Him, but to some unforgiving despot unworthy of His name. What's more, He does not want our prayers so much as He wants ourselves. I have said, God cannot be moved by petitions; it is up to us to go where He is. That is true prayer. It is not a letter one sends, while oneself remains behind, but a pilgrimage one makes. God dwells in perfect love, and anyone who calms their spirit enough to receive that love must naturally approach His throne. For this reason, an angry person cannot approach, though God has only love for him. It is we who judge ourselves, because we do not, cannot, understand His love for us.
But how many strange and circuitous sophistries must be conjured up before we can believe in a God who gives us, not only solutions, but problems as well; not only saviors, but devils to tempt them? People who think this way must say that God gives us troubles so that we may learn from them. But they neglect to account for that primordial ignorance which causes us to have anything to learn in the first place. One might as well say that God beats us over the heads for the sake of the relief we will feel when at last He stops!
No, my God does not give troubles to make us strong, though He does make us strong. He is what turns our troubles into lessons, if troubles there must be. But isn't this simply the way it is? Do not all things lead naturally enough to God? Consider: If something is good, we want more of it, and so it leads us on to God. If it is bad, we want less of it, and, again, it leads us on to God. Even the feeling of God's absence drives us to seek His presence. And, so, there is something positive to be made of the negative, -- but the negative itself must not for that reason be understood as a positive. God forbid! Yes, His absence drives us to seek His presence. But so does His presence! And God would a thousand times rather give us His presence. He does not want us to have to suffer. He wants only to give us all of Himself, right this minute. Always, He is trying to show us shortcuts, while we foolishly go the long way.
It is ignorance of God, and pride in our own labor, which causes us to see industriousness as an essential part of the spiritual life. We imagine the task must be difficult, or else nothing worth. We do not realize that God's grace does not depend on our works. We believe our selfless acts are only truly good if they require some terrible straining on our part, when, in fact, straining is a sign that our will is divided and not wholly given to God. We must reflect that a sacrifice is only truly noble when it is no sacrifice at all; but an honest and undivided desire to leave behind what does not serve the Lord, and to ascend to God without a backwards glance.
This is what God offers us. Yet we are blind; too restless, proud, rebellious, anxious, and distracted to see. If we only knew what supernatural wonders surround us, -- if we could see that angels, with their great wings outspread, protect us, bless and watch over our inauspicious activities, -- we would be stopped in our tracks, and our hearts, overcome with awe before their beauty, would render praise at all times to the majesty of God. Alas!, the world is dark, and we are blind. But it is no fault of God's that the world is dark, and no fault of ours that we are blind.
His light would shine brighter in the world if only it could, but His light is not of this world; it is the light which transcends this world, and only dimly, dimly shines through it. Yet, the more we attune ourselves to peace, love, tenderness, and broadmindedness, the more we see Him, and the higher our souls rise toward heaven. In the meantime, we must continue to incarnate in these dense material realms, fumbling around where the light is so hard to see that sometimes we even imagine it does not exist.
The one who believes that God is already manifest in the world must rely on faith because the God he sees (in the world) is just too cruel to be accepted. But the one who understands that God transcends the world must rely on faith only because the world he sees is not of God, and is not meant to be accepted. This is the difference. The former denies the evil he sees in order to accept it as good, while the latter accepts the evil he sees in order to deny it as evil. The one corrupts his conception of God, and of good, in order to justify the world, and the other condemns the world in order to preserve his conception of God, and of good. The choice is simple enough.
Everywhere, we see evidence of the cult of life, -- and by "life" is commonly meant only that aspect of the soul's expression which constitutes bodily incarnation; beginning with the birth and ending with the death of the physical vehicle.
Incarnation, we are taught, is a school and testing ground for young souls. And so it is, for we are here, and we must learn and be tested in accordance with the terrain as we encounter it. But the greatest lesson we learn is not to incarnate, and the only exam worth passing is the one which proves our devotion to values transcendent of the material realm. In truth, only the most mature and most flexible souls are prepared for the challenges and pitfalls of material incarnation. Younger souls incarnate through foolishness, because they know, and care to know, nothing better. It is on account of their desire to gratify the senses, rather than the nobler faculties of the soul, and to see themselves and their creations manifested in gross matter, that they remain bound in the vicious cycle of death and rebirth. Older souls, if they incarnate at all, do so only in order to liberate younger souls from the bonds of incarnation by revealing a higher way. If a curriculum surrounding incarnation is prepared, it is only because the obstinacy of foolishness demands it. When a student refuses to take the higher path, the teacher has no alternative but to indulge the refusal, and to lead the student by lower channels; gradually, and according to his willingness.
Many a practical occultist disdains the "merely" speculative philosopher. But while the former actively pursue the paths of initiation laid out for them by adepts whom they implicitly trust, the latter frequently casts his gaze into deeper spaces and thereby attracts the fellowship of even greater, though more obscure, tutelary spirits. For all the rigor, discipline, and persistence of the practitioner, it is the theorist who, by his willingness to entertain the more radical, out-of-the-way possibilities, discovers the shortcut to illumination. Never doubt that shortcuts do exist, even in the spiritual worlds (as above, so below). Indeed, the relationship of grace to works is one such shortcut, and the most incredible. If and when the ascetic opens the door to grace, it is almost always in spite of, rather than because of, his asceticism.
It is a spiritual law that we will regard only what we are prepared to see, and we will attract spirits whose perspective fundamentally mirrors our own. While we are fond of defending our doctrines by such words as "all the sages agree", the fact is, the very first thing which these people, whom we call sages, share in common is that they each fit the definition which we ourselves have conceived or agreed upon of a "sage". To declare that all the sages are in agreement with a particular precept is not to give a proof of its validity, any more than it is a proof of their "sageliness" that they all agree with a particular precept. We ourselves have only defined them as sages on account of the beliefs they espoused and the actions they performed, so it makes no sense to conclude that those very beliefs and actions are necessarily wise because the ones we call sages espoused or performed them.
In the same way, when we find reports of encounters with seemingly highly evolved spirits, we learn more about the person delivering the report than we do about the spirits. Those spirits may only be reflecting back to the person teachings which both share a predisposition to accept, or which the spirit knows the person will be able and willing to accept at the given time. Regardless of what credentials the spirit may possess (miraculous siddhis, an etheric body or disincarnate presence, peacefulness, dignity, love, -- or merely the ability to create a powerful impression of these qualities in the mind of the viewer), there is always a chance that, by opening one's mind to a different strata of possibilities, other spirits, equally or more impressive, may be attracted. Or, that the very same spirit may manifest itself radically differently, expressing itself in ways which appear to contradict or negate its earlier expressions.
I have in mind certain accounts, received and reported by the noted hypnotherapist Dr. Michael Newton, of disincarnate realms and spirits encountered by patients undergoing hypnotic regression therapy. I do not doubt the accounts. In fact, it would not be far from the mark to say that I affirm all that they affirm. But, what is more to the point, I believe I affirm all that they affirm and more.
Specifically, the accounts provide us with descriptions of spiritual realms which our souls (or aspects of our souls?) inhabit between incarnations. While it is fair to say that the evidence is largely, if not merely, anecdotal, the degree to which the accounts corroborate one another, along with certain other indications of their veracity, provides compelling indications of the existence of life outside the body. But while the regressed patients, as souls, find themselves in realms which they understand to be spiritual schools, where former incarnations are reviewed and future ones prepared, and while incarnation itself is purported to be the setting for the most intensive studies, my own suspicion is that these spiritual schools, teachers, and lesson plans are arising in response to preconceptions which the souls who visit them have formed, consciously or unconsciously, in regards to incarnation and its usefulness.
That is to say, if one is convinced at a very deep level that incarnation is necessary or good, this conviction will naturally be reflected in a spiritual world which exists to encourage, foster, and make sense of material existence. If one has already decided at some level to return to materiality, possibly because one is addicted to some aspect of sensory experience, then one's soul will naturally gravitate to these realms after death. Looked at in this way, these realms are not especially removed from materiality, but, rather, are simply more subtle extensions of it, which exist, in large part, to provide justification for the experiment of incarnation; justification which the souls who encounter them desperately want and demand.
If, however, a soul were deeply convinced, or deeply prepared to consider the possibility, that incarnation is a trap, and not a divinely ordained university, a necessary prerequisite for admittance to the higher realms, that soul might encounter very different teachers and worlds beyond. But, this requires a fundamental shift in point of view with respect to the world of matter, -- namely, one must consider that it is not "the creation of God". Moreover, if the world is not God's, then this shift must also include a revision of what is understood by the name of God; for if God is not "The Creator", what is God?
When we consider that God, and spirit in its subtlest expressions, is essentially alien to matter, we begin to get a very different picture. We begin to perceive a duality within the nature of existence, and the notion of duality is something which many people find very difficult to entertain. Something within us desperately wants to believe in unity. We want to believe that the world is God's, the world is good, and everything is going according to plan. We don't want to choose. We don't want to have to accept that life as we know it, life on earth, is pointless. We don't want to imagine that anything in the universe is superfluous. We want to believe that every speck of sawdust has its divine purpose. That every difficulty is necessary to make us strong, or to bring us closer to God. That no child suffers needlessly. That God is in complete control of everything, and if we are here it is because "He" put us here and "He" will take us home just as soon as we are ready. Duality suggests something painful; a rift, a division, an abyss. For this reason, we reject the notion of duality before we truly begin to understand its finer implications.
First, we must understand that, however much we may cling to the illusion of "a world under God", each of us implicitly, if only unconsciously, feels that the world is fallen, and that something other than our own perception of the world as fallen is to blame. While we tell ourselves it is only our ignorance, our weakness, foolishness, or sin which prevents us from seeing God's providence at work in all things, the reality is that, deep down, we know full well, in the words of the tender Prince Hamlet, "something is rotten in the state of Denmark".
And, yet, it needn't look so bleak, for there is unity, -- not in the world, but in God, who transcends it.
Let us try, if we can, to conceptualize this God, who is only good. We will personalize "Him" in the form of an archetype, if only to make the divine mysteries more readily perceptible to the mind's eye. But let it be understood that the notion of a personalized God is adopted only as a matter of poetic license, -- or, more correctly, religious license.
Before continuing, some words must be included here to explain my meaning, and they are as important as anything else which has preceded or will follow them in this discourse.
One needs only to understand that religious language speaks to, and from, a different level of reality; it is figurative, rather than literal, but is no less real. It's realm is foremost the realm of Truth, not Fact. Though spiritual pronouncements may also and incidentally be factual, what matters is only that they are truthful. Gods, angels, and saints, whether or not they possess some external, cosmic or historical reality, possess archetypal reality within the mind, or soul (which, for our purposes, might only be a word describing deeper, unconscious layers of the mind).
To my mind, God does not literally, or necessarily, take on a personal form and respond to our prayers, just as gravity does not literally hold us down (having no hands with which to hold), nor does it act upon us any differently when we jump than when we stand still. Gravity is simply a natural law which we are subject to and which, if we are remotely intelligent and informed, we make conscious use of. In much the same way, when I pray, I am not petitioning God to do anything, as though God were an actual person who listens and responds to my prayer. Rather, it is I who must listen, respond, and approach, by aligning my inner life with that divine presence and essence which I understand by the figurative name of God. In doing so, I make use of a law no less practical than the law of gravity.
As long as one understands that any attempt to conceptualize God, or to perceive "Him" in any form, is strictly tentative and provisional, then there can be tremendous value in seeing God as a personal entity, and in dialoguing with this entity, as one might dialogue with an imaginary friend. Here, the imagination must be respected. It must not be reduced to a mere plaything, nor elevated to a lens for perceiving things concretely; as they are in themselves. In dialoguing with an imaginary God, one may "only" be dialoguing with another aspect of oneself (ideally, with the better, or best, part of oneself), and thereby bringing it out of the depths of the unconscious, into the light of consciousness.
Naturally, our perceptions of God, just like our perceptions of everything else, will be distorted and determined by our own level of development, for we are nothing if not the lens through which we see; or, to be precise, the lens through which seeing itself takes place. For this reason, it is all the more important to remember that our concepts are provisional, inasmuch as we ourselves are provisional; which is to say that, as long as we are imperfect, so will our conceptions of God be equally imperfect, and just as we must remain open to revision, so must our conceptions of God remain open to revision.
Therefore, let it be understood that when I invoke the name of God, and particularly when I seem to speak of God as a personal entity, -- male, female, or hermaphrodite, -- I am speaking figuratively, but not flippantly, of a reality which is more in the nature of formlessness than form, more projection than object, and more law than lawgiver, but which it pleases (and, I believe, edifies) me to understand in this way. So, then, it is not to be wondered at, when I understand God now one way and now a very different way; for, to me, He is essentially mutable, and must, in a manner of speaking, "take the form" of whatever object or idea intuitively serves to illustrate my present purpose.
Even the name of "God" is adopted; for the theist who understands what this name means knows that he is no different from the atheist, apart from the fact that his peculiar form of reverence demands that he articulate his experience in highly colorful and religious terms. In other words, he finds something present within, or behind, all the good things of this world, shining out of them, as it were, and binding them together as one good; something undeniably sacred, which commands his attention and his reverence, and which, due to his theistic orientation, he can understand by no lesser name than "God".
Buddhists, we know, are atheists. Yet, they are religious, and are no strangers to the experience of God. For whatever reason, they see fit to understand and experience Him in more impersonal, though no less reverent, terms. Though it is true they have their gods, their demons, and bodhisattvas, ultimately, they understand all of these personal forms as symbolic and subordinate to something numinous, which they scarcely dare to name. Even the historical saints, to the extent that they fulfill their purpose as emissaries and representatives of a reality transcendent to themselves, must be transfigured, as it were, into symbolic manifestations of that truth. And this is no less the case with demons than with saints, for the Buddhist, at the very highest level of understanding, recognizes no essential difference between the demon and the saint; each is simultaneously a stepping stone and a stumbling block in the way of the ultimate revelation of Nirvana.
Perhaps the Hindus, in their Vedas, say it best: "God is and is not."
While many argue there is no evidence for God, it is enough for the theist to consider the love a mother bears her child, or the victorious gush that overwhelms his heart when he hears his favorite song, or the whiff of the freshly mown grass in springtime, or the calm he feels late at night when, deep in reflection, the whole world breathes cool and collected. "If these things are not sacred," he asks, "what are they?" To the spiritually minded, they are holy, and to the theist, taken as one, along with all other good things, they indeed deserve the name of God.
But, to continue my description of God as alien, it is nearly enough to say that He is not the creator of this world, not the creator of evil, and not some omnipotent being who, having the power to free us from our afflictions, instead excuses Himself behind the specter of "free will", and allows us to suffer generation after generation. What, after all, is free will, if not the ability to choose the lower path, through weakness, ignorance, or both? Is this not, in fact, more of a disability than an ability? My God, were He omnipotent, would not allow it. And any god who would allow it, omnipotent though He may be, will not be mine.
As I say, it is nearly enough, but it is not yet enough, to define my God by what He is not. I must tell you more of what He is. Foremost, He is love. And when I say that He is love, I mean that He is love, and all that goes with it. Mercy, understanding, and forgiveness -- are not these members belonging to love? Of course they are, and if they were not it would only be because love had transcended any need of them; for what is there to pardon, if no judgement has been passed; and what is to understand, if there is love without conditions?
Asking God for mercy and forgiveness is like asking the sun for light and heat; these belong to the incorruptible nature of divinity itself, and though clouds of ignorance may temporarily cast shadows of guilt over the souls of men, the sun does not go black, nor does the Lord condemn. God's justice is not like ours. God's justice is mercy. He does not punish, because He reforms and makes perfect. If we suffer it is largely because we refuse to believe this, and to accept His love for us. We imagine that He refuses to answer our prayers when, in fact, our prayers are not even addressed to Him, but to some unforgiving despot unworthy of His name. What's more, He does not want our prayers so much as He wants ourselves. I have said, God cannot be moved by petitions; it is up to us to go where He is. That is true prayer. It is not a letter one sends, while oneself remains behind, but a pilgrimage one makes. God dwells in perfect love, and anyone who calms their spirit enough to receive that love must naturally approach His throne. For this reason, an angry person cannot approach, though God has only love for him. It is we who judge ourselves, because we do not, cannot, understand His love for us.
But how many strange and circuitous sophistries must be conjured up before we can believe in a God who gives us, not only solutions, but problems as well; not only saviors, but devils to tempt them? People who think this way must say that God gives us troubles so that we may learn from them. But they neglect to account for that primordial ignorance which causes us to have anything to learn in the first place. One might as well say that God beats us over the heads for the sake of the relief we will feel when at last He stops!
No, my God does not give troubles to make us strong, though He does make us strong. He is what turns our troubles into lessons, if troubles there must be. But isn't this simply the way it is? Do not all things lead naturally enough to God? Consider: If something is good, we want more of it, and so it leads us on to God. If it is bad, we want less of it, and, again, it leads us on to God. Even the feeling of God's absence drives us to seek His presence. And, so, there is something positive to be made of the negative, -- but the negative itself must not for that reason be understood as a positive. God forbid! Yes, His absence drives us to seek His presence. But so does His presence! And God would a thousand times rather give us His presence. He does not want us to have to suffer. He wants only to give us all of Himself, right this minute. Always, He is trying to show us shortcuts, while we foolishly go the long way.
It is ignorance of God, and pride in our own labor, which causes us to see industriousness as an essential part of the spiritual life. We imagine the task must be difficult, or else nothing worth. We do not realize that God's grace does not depend on our works. We believe our selfless acts are only truly good if they require some terrible straining on our part, when, in fact, straining is a sign that our will is divided and not wholly given to God. We must reflect that a sacrifice is only truly noble when it is no sacrifice at all; but an honest and undivided desire to leave behind what does not serve the Lord, and to ascend to God without a backwards glance.
This is what God offers us. Yet we are blind; too restless, proud, rebellious, anxious, and distracted to see. If we only knew what supernatural wonders surround us, -- if we could see that angels, with their great wings outspread, protect us, bless and watch over our inauspicious activities, -- we would be stopped in our tracks, and our hearts, overcome with awe before their beauty, would render praise at all times to the majesty of God. Alas!, the world is dark, and we are blind. But it is no fault of God's that the world is dark, and no fault of ours that we are blind.
His light would shine brighter in the world if only it could, but His light is not of this world; it is the light which transcends this world, and only dimly, dimly shines through it. Yet, the more we attune ourselves to peace, love, tenderness, and broadmindedness, the more we see Him, and the higher our souls rise toward heaven. In the meantime, we must continue to incarnate in these dense material realms, fumbling around where the light is so hard to see that sometimes we even imagine it does not exist.
The one who believes that God is already manifest in the world must rely on faith because the God he sees (in the world) is just too cruel to be accepted. But the one who understands that God transcends the world must rely on faith only because the world he sees is not of God, and is not meant to be accepted. This is the difference. The former denies the evil he sees in order to accept it as good, while the latter accepts the evil he sees in order to deny it as evil. The one corrupts his conception of God, and of good, in order to justify the world, and the other condemns the world in order to preserve his conception of God, and of good. The choice is simple enough.
Friday, September 9, 2011
The Mysteries of Eleusis
For two thousand years, the Mysteries of Eleusis, a sacred, bi-yearly ritual performed just outside of Athens, served as the central impetus for the creative output of the great sages and poets of the ancient world; from Plato to Sophocles to Ovid; all were initiates, inspired by and given to praise the secrets revealed during these ceremonies in honor of the Goddess Demeter. The following is a brief excerpt from "Food of the Gods: The Search for the Original Tree of Knowledge: A Radical History of Plants, Drugs, and Human Evolution" by the visionary scholar Terrence McKenna:
It is an incredible testament to the obtuseness of the scholars of the dominator society that not until 1964 did someone make bold to suggest that a hallucinogenic plant must have been involved. That person was the English poet Robert Graves in his essay 'The Two Births of Dionysus':
"The secret which Demeter sent around the world from Eleusis in the charge of her protege Triptolemus is said to have been the art of sowing and harvesting grain... Something is wrong here. Triptolemus belongs to the late second millennium B.C.; and grain , we now know, had been cultivate at Jericho and elsewhere since around 7,000 B.C. So Triptolemus's news would have been no news... Triptolemus's secret seems therefore concerned with hallucinogenic mushrooms..."
This was the first of many observations Graves made on the underground tradition of mushroom use in prehistory. He suggested to the Wassons [who then "discovered" psillocybin mushrooms and brought them back to the "civilized" world] that they visit Mazatecan Mexico for evidence supporting their theories on the impact of intoxicating mushrooms on culture.... Graves readily grants that "you are at liberty to call me crazy," but then goes on to defend his thesis very well.
It is an incredible testament to the obtuseness of the scholars of the dominator society that not until 1964 did someone make bold to suggest that a hallucinogenic plant must have been involved. That person was the English poet Robert Graves in his essay 'The Two Births of Dionysus':
"The secret which Demeter sent around the world from Eleusis in the charge of her protege Triptolemus is said to have been the art of sowing and harvesting grain... Something is wrong here. Triptolemus belongs to the late second millennium B.C.; and grain , we now know, had been cultivate at Jericho and elsewhere since around 7,000 B.C. So Triptolemus's news would have been no news... Triptolemus's secret seems therefore concerned with hallucinogenic mushrooms..."
This was the first of many observations Graves made on the underground tradition of mushroom use in prehistory. He suggested to the Wassons [who then "discovered" psillocybin mushrooms and brought them back to the "civilized" world] that they visit Mazatecan Mexico for evidence supporting their theories on the impact of intoxicating mushrooms on culture.... Graves readily grants that "you are at liberty to call me crazy," but then goes on to defend his thesis very well.
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