objectivity born within subjectivity: nondual reflections and wandering...

NOTE: From time to time Di and I step away from our routine and work and just walk about. My reflections this week are grounded in our current time away.

From time to time my soul asks me to step outside my every day habits and commitments to rest: to watch, listen, and take life in rather than actively give anything back. My current commitment to contemplation is all about silence, song, and celebration. Such a spirituality necessitates stopping for a spell - being passive and receptive rather than fully engaged in sharing - in order that there is room for discernment. The new/old wisdom-keepers speak of contemplation at taking a long, loving look at reality. My practice includes a daily encounter with solitude as well as extended expressions that I have found wise to embrace from time to time for without both I tend towards weariness and then resentment. 

Richard Rohr writes that one of his mentors taught that "the only way to find authentic objectivity (about ourselves, others, and life in general) is to name, clarify and then heal our subjectivity." (Rohr, The Naked Now, p. 85) A sculptor in Tucson, who had been commissioned to work on the new cathedral in Los Angeles, once told me that she's able to communicate with others best when she crafts her artistic compositions through her most personal revelations. What is personal is truly the most universal. Over time that's why my soul has helped me realize: without stepping back periodically from the fullness of life there's no space within for new wisdom. And when I'm too full of myself there's precious little room for being fully present with others. I can neither see the forest for the trees nor distinguish my shadow from all the others. The poet, Juan Ramon Jimenez, put it like this:

I am not I.

I am the one

Who walks beside me without me noticing;

Who, sometimes, I go to visit,

And who, sometimes, I forget.

The one who is silent, still, when I speak,

The one who forgives, kindly, when I hate,

The one who travels where I have never been,

The one who will keep walking when I have died.

So that's what I'm up to this week: taking a long, loving look at my heart, my shadow, my subjectivity as I watch, listen to, and observe the world going on all around me. I've long been fond of a verse from St. Mark's gospel (6:31) where, after a busy time of engagement, Jesus says to his friends: Come away with me. Let us go alone to a quiet place and rest for a while. Both Di and I have come to trust that when the Spirit calls in this way it's a good idea to listen. So, we walk together - ever more slowly these days for a variety of reasons - without big plans or expectations just to take in whatever is happening. Slowing down without obligation helps me pay attention to what is real within and all around me - and part of this involves learning to accept the blessings and responsibilities of being saturated with paradox and contradiction. 

Rohr calls this cultivating nondual vision. In The Naked Now he notes that: The crucified Jesus calls for no recrimination against his killers reminding us that: I did not come to make the virtuous feel good about themselves, but for those who need a doctor. (Mark 2:17) Rather, the Great Forgiver welcomes us inside of God's universal breath and vision so that all of life's contradictions might be held and honored within us tenderly and honestly. Sinners, saints, lovers, and poets - all those whom now swim within God's ocean of nondual mercy - are able to share acceptance and compassion with others because inwardly they first allowed God to embrace their contradictions together with mercy. 

When I was a young man striving to make sense of my commitment to non-violence I became a vegetarian as part of my quest to eliminate contradictions in my life. Such a vulnerable marriage of hubris and innocence is part of the journey or as St. Paul confesses: when I was young I spoke like a child and acted like one, too. But now that I am ripening I have put childish things away... and trust faith, hope, and love. Some twenty five years after forsaking meat, I woke up one Christmas morning and ate fish for breakfast as I realized that after all this time I was no closer to reconciling or eliminating paradox from my life than I was as a naïve conscientious objector. Grace was patiently asking me to accept and honor myself rather than conduct an inward witch hunt against my fragile and often contradictory humanity. Learning to be real about reality meant owning what I once feared, hated, or hid. And as I considered myself with honesty, humor, and humility the journey became a tiny bit less harried.