GETTING HELP

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GETTING HELP

(written on October 28, 2005)

This morning I had an old familiar feeling of helplessness. I got to thinking, “Where am I going to get the ideas I need to be a great teacher today?” It was a worried, panicky thought, one I have often had – a thought based on the belief that I am an isolated, separate, limited human being who has to toil to invent ideas to use in the classroom. I struggled with it for a while this morning, fretting about perhaps having a bad day of teaching due to a lack of ideas. Luckily, though, just as I was stepping into the shower, a wonderfully reassuring thought came to me. I remembered a simple truth I have often taken comfort in: I am not separate, not isolated, not limited, and not even material. I am part of an infinite spiritual (mental) universe that moves in unlimited and incomprehensible ways. I don’t have to “get” ideas, for I am always a totally new and fresh idea in this vast mental universe. Then I remembered an analogy I often use. A wave in the ocean doesn’t have to work hard to be a perfect wave. It already is, because it is part of an almost limitless and perfect ocean. The wave simply has to relax and be what it must be – a perfect wave at all times. The same is true for me and my teaching. It’s silly for me to fret about getting new ideas for my classroom, for that’s exactly what I am – a fresh, brand new idea every moment. All I have to do to be a good teacher is simply be whatever idea I am at any moment. It’s so easy. In fact, it’s unavoidable. I must, by law, be a wonderful idea each moment in my classroom. There’s no “getting” involved. And no worrying.

"Perfectly Lousy Teaching" and "Roomy Hearts"

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PERFECTLY LOUSY TEACHING

(written on October 26, 2005)

I was beating myself up this morning because I thought my teaching yesterday was lousy, but that’s a little like saying the Universe did a lousy job with the weather yesterday. The Universe doesn’t make a mistake, and I am part of that Universe. Whatever weather the Universe produces on a given day is precisely the weather it needs to keep itself going. Even if we can’t see or understand the correctness and aptness of the weather, the Universe sees it, and that’s what matters. The same is true in my teaching. I taught the way I did yesterday because that’s what the Universe (sometimes called God) wanted me to do. In the very biggest picture of all, what happened in my room yesterday was perfect. If I see it as less than perfect, it’s because I’m looking at it from the tiniest of perspectives. I’m seeing the small picture of my individual, material life, instead of the vast, harmonious, and perfect picture the Universe (God) sees.

ROOMY HEARTS

Recently, as I was thinking about an old hymn that says a grateful heart is one that has ample “room”, it suddenly occurred to me that a heart has more than ample room in it. In its true state, my “heart” -- meaning my inner spirit – has no walls, no boundaries, no limits of any kind. My heart can hold as much as life can produce – all the heartbreaks, sorrows, and disappointments, as well as all the joys and delights. If I could imagine a house whose walls and ceiling extend out for an infinite distance, that’s the kind of room my inner spirit actually has. What produces this endless roominess is the simple fact that my inner life – my “heart” – is not made of a material substance, and thus doesn’t have borders and fences or beginnings and endings. My true heart, like all of ours, is made of spirit, not matter, and therefore has a spaciousness that defies measurement or description. It can easily expand to make room for anything that comes my way – anything. Trouble is, I seem to have long since forgotten this wonderful truth. I often see my inner life as the opposite of spacious – as confined, cramped, and filled to capacity, with only a minimal amount of extra room -- and none for any more tribulations! It’s as if my “heart” is a physical room with walls, floors, and ceilings, and there are simply times when nothing more can be crammed into it. The joyful fact that I glimpsed recently, and am trying to grasp more fully, is that no cramming is ever necessary, because all of our hearts are as roomy and wide-open as the endless universe. There’s ample room for any and all failures and misfortunes. In fact, there’s so much room that I could actually welcome disasters when they arrive. I don’t have to "like" them or fawn over them, but I can definitely say, “Welcome. Please come in and make yourself at home.” As surprising as that sounds, the astonishing fact is that welcoming adversity always makes it less scary and more able to be managed. Like a good host, I can turn those frightening visitors – the calamites that visit all of us – into relatively harmless, and even helpful, guests. I can say to a misfortune, “Now that you’re here in my roomy heart, tell me what you can teach me” – and then thank him when he finally departs.

TWO MEDITATIONS: "Reliance" ... "'Demons' and Freedom

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RELIANCE

(written on October 26, 2005)

I realized this morning, as I was meditating under the soft light of my small computer lamp, that all of us rely on something. Consciously or unconsciously, we all place our trust in some force or power. We say, “You are stronger than me. In fact, you are the strongest force in the universe, and therefore I’m going to rely on you for my security and happiness.” We may not be aware that we say this, but we definitely do; we definitely give ourselves over to the power of some force that we respect and rely on. The problem – and it’s a huge one – is that most of us have unconsciously, since early childhood, placed our reliance in the power of matter and material things – a fake power that actually has no power at all. This reliance starts without our even being aware of it, but within a few years it becomes overwhelming, to the point where every minute of our lives is governed by it. It’s based on a belief that matter is the ultimate force in the universe, a belief, that by the time we are adults, “has grown terrible in strength and influence”, as Mary Baker Eddy puts it. Today, I want to allow the only true power in the universe to gently correct this false belief. After all, it’s not a powerful belief at all -- no more powerful than a wisp of a breeze. If I stay alert to the infinite power of Mind (Spirit, God, Allah, the I Am,) I’ll see that that is the only power of the universe, and it is where I should place all my reliance.

"DEMONS" AND FREEDOM

(written on October 19, 2005)

Reading the story in Mark’s gospel this morning about the mute boy who was possessed by a “demon”, I was reminded of my own situation as a teacher. The boy’s evil spirit often tossed him around and made him go “stiff as a board”, and the same sort of thing sometimes happens to me. I get all frustrated, worked up, anxious, worried, and discouraged about my teaching, just as if I’m “possessed” by a devil or a demon – and, in a very true sense, I am. I am controlled, in those instances, by a belief – damaging beliefs are the only true devils – that the world is a material place and I am a separate material creature who has to battle to become a good teacher. This belief shakes me up and causes me to act like an insecure, frustrated child. What I must to in those instances is recover what Mark calls a “sense of God” – an understanding of the spiritual nature of the entire universe. If I can regain that sense, then I will instantly become calm (because the devil-belief has disappeared). I will see that it is actually impossible to be frustrated, because there are no “things” or material forces “out there” to frustrate me. I will have the serene understanding that I am always a part of the one infinite and unopposed Mind, or God, that governs the universe. This mind works in constant harmony because there is no other mind to work against it, or cause disharmony. Realizing this, I will feel totally free as a teacher, just like the boy who was released from his demon-beliefs by Jesus. I will see that nothing can go wrong in my classroom, because the one Power (sometimes called God) governs everything that happens in it.

Dreams and Problems

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DREAMS AND PROBLEMS

(written in October, 2005)

It’s astonishing to realize the simple truth that all my supposed “problems” are entirely mental. What got me thinking about this was a series of scary dreams last night. All night, it seems, I tossed around in the midst of perfectly frightening nightmares. Life seemed, in these dreams, to be a place of impending disaster, with one ghastly adversary after another threatening me. However, when I awoke, it didn’t take me long to realize that it was all just a dream – that nothing bad had happened and my life was still safe and secure. This realization is what led me to think about all the situations that I call “my problems” (not that I have that many – just the average bundle that most of us have). The fact is that, when I search hard for the source of any of these alleged crises, I always end up at my own thoughts. Any problem I’ve ever had is a problem because I’m thinking of it as a problem. Every anxiety, fear, or worry doesn’t exist “out there” in some object or person or situation, but always and only in my thinking. There’s no doubt that my dreams last night seemed absolutely real. In the midst of them, I thought surely I was going to get sick, be hurt, get lost, be late for an important appointment, or even die. But I awoke, and lo, the problems vanished as swiftly as a thought does. This is precisely what can happen with every so-called problem that appears to threaten me. In the future, there’s no doubt that I will be faced with many distasteful situations -- possibly including illness, financial disasters, or personal tragedies -- and I certainly need to deal with them directly, but simply as events that are occurring, not as problems. All I need to do is wake up to the real world. I need to face reality and see that “problems”, no matter how severe, last only as long as the thought of them does.

"On Watching a Game"

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On Watching a Game You Don’t Care About

(written on October 11, 2005)

Now that the Red Sox are out of the baseball playoffs, I’m rather relieved. Because I have no stake in the outcome, I can finally relax and truly enjoy watching a game. I don’t care what happens in the upcoming games – who wins or loses, who makes an error or doesn’t, who strikes out or hits a home run. All I want to do is simply observe the way the games progress and enjoy the process. It promises to be a stress-free few weeks for me. As I thought about this last night on my way home from the college, I began to realize that this is exactly the way I should approach the “game” of life. I should think of each day as just another game – one which is especially fascinating because my favorite team is not involved. I should look forward to “watching” the way each hour and moment unfolds, just the way I will be watching the many interesting plays in the upcoming playoff games. If something “awful” happens to me today, well, that’s no more terrible than if the Angels commit an error in their first game. I don’t care if the Angels win or lose, and I literally shouldn’t care if I “win or lose”. All I’m interested in is watching the intriguing ways in which the baseball games, and my life, unfold. As far as my life goes, it should mean many relaxing days ahead for me as I sit in the “bleachers” and enjoy the many interesting twists and turns as the “game” progresses.

Different, Not Better

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DIFFERENT, BUT NOT BETTER

According to one dictionary, something is perfect if it “lacks nothing essential to the whole” and is “complete of its nature or kind”. By this definition, every present moment is perfect. Each one is a whole moment that contains everything necessary to make it what it is. For that particular kind of present moment, it’s flawless and ideal. I may wish a particular moment was different than it is, but it’s foolish to wish a moment was better than it is. For that specific point in time, each moment is just right, just the thing, just what the doctor ordered, just what it is. What’s wonderful is that all I have stretching ahead of me into infinity is one perfect present moment after another.

The 10,000 Things

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THE 10,000 THINGS

Somewhere in the Tao Te Ching, Lao Tzu mentions “the 10,000 things”, referring, I guess, to the countless tasks each of us sets for ourselves in our daily lives. Most of us immediately start doing “things” the instant we awaken, and we fall asleep only after we’ve done the last of the hundreds (thousands?) of things for that day. We basically go from one task to the next, minute by minute, hour after hour, day after day after day. Our lives are consumed and controlled by these “10,000 things” that we have convinced ourselves simply must get done. However, every so often – and it happened again a few minutes ago – the realization hits me that most (maybe all) of these so-called important things actually don’t have to be done. They’re not that important. They don’t really matter very much, if at all. The universe will continue smoothly on course whether I do these 10,000 things or not. Not only that, it becomes disturbingly clear, now and then, that when these 10,000 tasks are completed, there will be another 10,000 waiting for me, and then another after that, on into infinity. In other words, I come to realize that I am doing the tasks only so that I can do more tasks. There’s no end. There’s no point where I say, “Ah, this is a lovely task.” (Let’s say I’m loading the dishwasher.) “This task was destined for only me, so I’m going to bask in its loveliness. I find my life’s purpose in this wonderful task.” It sounds silly even as I read it, because of course we can’t bask in any one task, because there are 9,999 “things” waiting to be done! It’s a strange life most of us lead – a life in which we feel compelled to do things that aren’t really important and that only lead to endless other unimportant things to do. Well, this afternoon I’m going to try to break the routine, at least for a bit. I’m going to try to get absolutely nothing done. The 10,000 things be damned. (But they’ll be there tomorrow when I awaken.)

Beyond My Control

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BEYOND MY CONTROL

This morning, as I was looking out the window during breakfast, I realized that everything out there was happening without my consent or cooperation. I had nothing to do with which way the cars went, or how fast they were going. A breeze was stirring in the trees across the street, something I had no part in planning or executing. Completely beyond my control, sunlight was landing on the grass in its own distinctive patterns. Then I began to think about myself, sitting at my table with my coffee and slices of whole wheat toast. Did I have any control over the making of the bread? Did I build the coffee-maker that made the coffee? Going even further, I asked myself if I truly controlled my thoughts and actions. When the thought came that I should pick up the toast, where did the thought come from? Did I make, and therefore control, that thought? If so, then who made the thought that I made the thought? Didn’t it actually just arise, willy-nilly, beyond any real control by me, and don’t all thoughts arise in that way? I can pretend that some separate person called “I” controls the thoughts that come up in life, but the truth is that they simply wander into my life, utterly beyond my control. (Even the thought in that last sentence blew by like a passing breeze. I just happened to catch it.) I guess the reasonable conclusion from all this is that nothing is really under my control. Thoughts and feelings are just as free from my jurisdiction as are cars, breezes, and sunshine. I can play the pretend game of controlling things, but it’s only a game. What I should probably do more often is quit trying to manage it all, and just sit back and take pleasure in it.

--written in August, 2007

"A Totally New Life"

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A TOTALLY NEW LIFE

Walking through the park this morning, I was struck by the fact that everything that was happening was totally new. Each scene and each event was unlike any scene or event in the past. Nothing like this had ever happened before. For instance, never in the history of the universe had Hamilton Salsich been walking in a purple shirt at a particular point in the park when the shadows were exactly like they were and a specific monarch butterfly had just landed on one individual purple blossom and thunder of a unique tone and volume was rumbling in the west. This was all totally new. Also, never had my shoes, when they were in the exact condition they were in this morning, touched the sidewalk when it was in the exact condition it was in this morning. This was all totally new. Not only that, never had the precise oxygen atoms that were working inside me this morning passed the large beech tree at the northern end of the park when it was in the exact circumstances it was in this morning. This was all totally new. All of us love to get something brand new – a newborn baby, a new house, a new car, even a new shirt or a new five-dollar bill. This morning I realized that we get an absolutely perfect, brand-new gift each and every moment. Not a bad life, I’d say.

August 16, 2007

"That Thing Is Gone"

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THAT THING IS GONE

“Now that thing is gone, that thing is gone. I cannot cry. I cannot care. That thing will come back no more.”

-- Dexter Green, in Fitzgerald’s “Winter Dreams”

On first glance, the ending of Fitzgerald’s story might seem heartbreakingly sad, but with further thought, a significant amount of hope may shine through the poignant words. Yes, something that was very important to Dexter is gone and will never return, but a reader might say, “Good riddance.” After a young life spent trying to surround his ego with glitz and glamour, what he has discovered is that his ego itself is gone, vanished as surely as the beauty of Judy Jones, the woman he worshipped. Everything he thought was important, including his separate ego, has been “left behind in the country of illusion, of youth, of the richness of life.” What remains, perhaps, is the country of truth and reality – a vast and promising land, indeed. Dexter Green’s story is a common one. Like so many of us, he got lost in the illusion that the world is made of separate “selves”, or things, each trying to build up, beautify, and fortify itself. In this frantic and doomed enterprise, Dexter suffered greatly, until finally his suffering forced him, as it does so many of us, to see that the materialistic view of reality is muddled, destructive, and just plain wrong. He thought he was a distinct, unique, and very successful person, but, at the end of the story, he sees that that vision – that “thing” – is gone forever. At the age of 32, he is totally alone – no ego, nothing to glamorize, nothing to protect – but also, because of his suffering, he may feel somehow united with the wide-reaching and beautiful family of the human race. Perhaps he “cannot cry” and “cannot care” because he somehow realizes that his situation is strangely hopeful. Perhaps he understands, along with the reader, that he can now start to truly live.

"Sailing in My Thoughts"

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SAILING ON MY THOUGHTS

I wonder if I could “ride” my thoughts the way a sailor rides the sea. There’s certainly no doubt that thoughts are constantly flowing along in my life, in a way that’s surprisingly similar to the currents of the sea. Thoughts come and go the way ripples and swells come and go in the ocean. Just this morning, as I was eating breakfast I suddenly found myself carried away by a wave of thoughts about a long-lost friend. If I had been on a “voyage” somewhere, I would have abruptly discovered that I was far off course because of the power of these thoughts. Now, an efficient sailor doesn’t let this type of thing happen. A sailor, first of all, continually watches the sea and the wind, so that he can better predict what will happen and more competently handle whatever situation arises. Also, a good sailor always works with, never against, the waves and winds. She knows that resisting the conditions of the sea can lead to disaster, but cooperating with them, and somehow taking advantage of them, can produce profitable results. This kind of approach is what enables a sailor to truly enjoy the sea, no matter what the conditions. He looks upon the sea, not with fear, but with respect and appreciation. He probably smiles a lot as he maneuvers his boat on the whimsical waves and currents. This, I think, would be a fine way to live with my thoughts. If I vigilantly observe them as they come and go in my life, I’ll get to know their strength and tendencies, and won’t be so apt to get swept away by any of them. More importantly, I need to remember to work with my thoughts and use them to my benefit. Instead of resisting and standing firm against this or that thought, like the sailor I need to simply observe the thoughts as they approach, see how I can use them, and then perhaps just let them pass peacefully by, like the endless swells on the sea. If anxious or frightening thoughts approach, I can watch them coming, make my preparations, and then “turn the sails” a little this way or that to allow my life to move harmlessly, and perhaps even more smoothly, along. What this might lead to is a greater enjoyment of life. If I can perch high on the “deck” and get a clear view of the endless variety of thoughts in the mental sea we all live in, surely I will be better able to appreciate and take pleasure in them, whatever size or shape or type they might be. Like the seasoned and secure sailor, I can smile and say, “Oh look at those huge fearful thoughts over there! Aren’t they beautiful?” or, “I see thoughts of regret approaching. Prepare to come about and we’ll ride on them nicely!” In this way, life, like sailing, could be an entertaining and pleasant sport.

-- first written in August, 2007

"Ceremonies"

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CEREMONIES

I wonder whether I could make each moment of my life a type of ceremony. I got to thinking about this today as I was having lunch in my apartment – at my little table with a white tablecloth, a cloth napkin, and a small vase of flowers. I ate very slowly, taking delight in each bite, appreciating the look of the carefully arranged table and the summery view out the window. I was alone, and it was the simplest of meals, but it still felt like a formal occasion, like a ceremony of sorts. It somehow felt special, which is the way all the moments in my life should feel. After all, each moment is special. Every moment is a brand new experience, a unique and distinctive occurrence which the Universe has been preparing for somewhere around 15 billion years. There’s never been anything quite like this moment, and there never will be again. In that sense, what I’m doing at any given moment is as special, as singular, as extraordinary, as sacred, if you will, as the most formal of church services. Doesn’t it make perfect sense, then, to attend each moment the way I might attend the most formal of ceremonies? If I walk and talk in a church in a careful and attentive manner, shouldn’t I perform each act in my life in the same way? Shouldn’t I reach down to pick up the napkin with care and attentiveness? Shouldn’t I reach out for a peach slice with utter awareness?

--written in August, 2007

Waves and Thoughts

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WAVES AND THOUGHTS

As I was sitting at the beach yesterday, I began to consider the similarity between breaking waves and thoughts. There was undoubtedly immense power in the waves I was watching, just as there is in thoughts. I’m often unmindful of the massive force of each thought, but it’s there, just as surely as it is in every wave. Every few moments, a powerful wave came tumbling ashore, and almost every moment a new thought unfurls its power in my life. As I sat on the beach, I realized something particularly interesting: that I have no idea where a wave starts nor where a thought begins. If I try to trace a wave back to its origin, I pretty quickly get lost in the infinite cycles of waves and winds, and I get equally lost in attempting to pin down the precise starting point of a thought. Searching back, all I find is another thought, and another thought, and another thought, with no end ever in sight. I can only conclude that there is no specific origin of a thought, nor of a wave. They each happen in totally mysterious ways and for totally mysterious reasons. These thoughts led me to another understanding – that neither a wave nor a thought exists as a separate entity. Waves and thoughts are both part of endlessly complex systems that began back at the original “big bang”, and probably long before that. To say that a particular thought is “mine” is as silly as saying that one wave on one specific morning is separate from the infinite arrangement of world-wide waves and winds. Waves and thoughts, I realized as I sat on the sand, are powerful in thoroughly unfathomable ways.

-- written on July 8, 2007

One Billion Acts of Madness

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ONE BILLION ACTS OF MADNESS

July 13, 2008

It came to me this morning, with a great shock of recognition, that I have spent most of my life doing an activity that makes absolutely no sense. You might say I’ve been acting like an insane person, doing the same absurd and pointless thing over and over again. I’ve been engaged in this lunacy almost every moment of almost every day of my life, which adds up to about 1,370,000,000 acts of sheer madness. Incredible.

Surely a reader would be wondering just exactly what is this craziness that I’m speaking of, and it is simply this: For more than one billion moments, I have been trying to protect something that does not actually exist – my ego. From my earliest memories, I have envisioned a separate, isolated, independent person called “Hamilton Salsich”, and have spent most of my waking moments trying to protect that person. By constantly being either aggressive or defensive, I have done my best to maintain a security fence around this supposedly distinct ego. What’s shocking and sad about this is that the discreet and unattached individual called “Hamilton” – the entity I’ve been exhausting myself trying to guard – has never really existed! It’s been an entirely a creation of thought and imagination. Since I was a baby, this notion of separateness and isolation has been imprinted on me again and again by my cultural surroundings, but it simply is not true. It is not an accurate picture of reality. The truth is that nothing is separate from anything else, nothing is isolated, and nothing is independent. The “I” called Hamilton is no more separate from the rest of the world than a single wave is separate from the ocean. One wave trying to protect itself from all the other waves is no crazier than me trying to protect myself from my environment. I am my environment and my environment is me. The universe is a single ocean and I am a wave, always changing, always merging and blending and disappearing in other waves. Waves aren’t aggressive or defensive; they’re just whatever they are at any moment in the infinity of the sea, and I should learn from them. I should realize every moment, as I did this morning, that the vision of an endless fight between a separate “me” and a separate threatening universe is just that – a vision, an insane view of life, an irrational picture that has no resemblance to the harmonious oneness of the astounding universe I live in.

Fireworks at 5:00 a.m.

FIREWORKS AT FIVE A.M.

This morning, as I was getting my daily exercise by hiking up and down the steep hill in from of my house at 5:00 a.m., I began to see the traffic passing by in a different light. In the past, I have generally had very negative feelings about traffic. It’s been noisy, distracting, and upsetting to me, especially when I’m trying to focus on getting a good workout. Each time a car would roar past me, I would find myself feeling more judgmental and disapproving than ever. This morning, though, I suddenly began seeing the beauty in this morning traffic. Yes, oddly enough, the cars rushing down the hill in the early darkness actually began to seem striking and even thrilling. I’d be walking along in the silence and darkness of the dawn, and then, wooosh, a car would zoom past me and I would watch its glowing red tail-lights and its shine from the streetlights disappear down the street. I began to focus on these cars – listening for the sound of their motors approaching from behind, hearing the sound slowly build, then seeing the shining car speed past me and vanish with its shimmering lights, and then listening to the utter silence again. It began to be a rather exhilarating experience – somewhat like watching a fireworks display, I thought. Looking back, it seems astonishing that I actually found beauty in the look of huge air-polluting cars roaring past me in the quiet of a summer morning. It makes me wonder what other kinds of beauty I’ve been missing.

--first draft written in August, 2007

A Sea, Not a Story

A SEA, NOT A STORY

July 3, 2008

I got to thinking today that the cause of most of my problems lies in thinking that my life is a “story”. Without realizing it, I have spent most of my days deeply engrossed in “the story of Hamilton Salsich”. In this story, as in most works of fiction, there’s a protagonist – me – who is faced with an antagonist – in this case, the rest of the universe. As in a good story, there’s a plot (me against the universe) that involves a goal the main character (me) has set for himself – being as personally happy as possible. There’s a beginning to this story (my birth), a lot of rising action (all the battles I’ve fought with the innumerable manifestations of my antagonist, the universe), and certainly there will be a climax, although I seem to have already experienced countless numbers of them. And, of course, as with any story, there will be an end – my death. It’s been an exciting story, I guess, full of thrills and spills, but the truth is ... I’m tired of it, and it’s all make-believe anyway. The story of Hamilton Salsich is a complete fiction, because in this universe, there are no stories, at least no separate ones. The universe, as its name implies, is one whole unified story, wherein all the characters and scenes and actions mingle together in seamless unity. In fact, the universe can’t be a story at all, because there are no separate protagonists and antagonists. There’s just one vast creation blending and intermingling and fusing in endless harmonious patterns. As a story, in truth, our universe would be a flat failure: no plot, no rising action, no climax, no end. Rather than a story, a good metaphor for the cosmos would be a sea, one with no shores whatsoever. The entity called “Hamilton” is simply a wave in an endless sea of creation – a sea in which all waves are equally important, a sea which exhibits continual and innumerable harmonies rather than artificial “dramas” and “plots”. When did “I” begin as a wave in this universe? Who could ever tell? When will “I” end? Never – at least not until the sea does. I’ll change, yes, (and death will be one of those changes) just as the waves in the ocean are always changing – but somehow, someway, I’ll always be a part of this astonishing, nonfictional existence which we call the universe.

Manna Every Moment

MANNA EVERY MOMENT

“He fed you with manna, something neither you nor your parents knew anything about.”

--Deuteronomy 8: 3, in The Message (a paraphrase translation by Eugene Peterson)

As I was climbing up and down the steps in the park on this foggy morning and thinking about the above passage, it occurred to me that I am constantly fed with manna. Each and every moment, a totally new thought appears like an unforeseen gift. I have no idea where these ideas come from or how they are produced. Each one, though sometimes seeming otherwise, is utterly new – an idea that “neither [I] nor [my] parents knew anything about.” Also, each thought is entirely beneficial, though again, that’s not always immediately obvious. Moment by moment, each idea that appears is like “manna”, which, as one dictionary defines it, is “something very welcome or of great benefit that comes unexpectedly.” I don’t always recognize the value of a thought, but, if I could zoom way out and see the ‘big picture’, it would be clear that every idea that emerges in the universe plays some noteworthy role in the workings of the cosmos. They come -- these endless, trustworthy thoughts -- like unanticipated gifts, like manna made for all of us.

--July 2, 2008

I realized, during my morning meditation today, that I am nearly always wanting something. Even when I’m sitting quietly in a chair at 5:00 a.m. and the world around me seems utterly serene and satisfactory, I often catch myself wanting ideas, wanting inspiration, wanting some great light to dawn inside me. Instead of being content with the perfection of the present moment, I’m nearly always wanting something to be different, desiring something I seem to lack, wishing things were somehow different. I’ll bet if a million dollars was set in front of me as a gift, I would fairly soon start thinking of something more that I want.

* * * * *

Most people (including me) try to do as many things as possible as quickly as possible. We measure the success of our days by the number of things we “get done”, which means we have to do them as quickly as possible. We’re like characters in a fast-forwarded film – dashing, racing, darting, scurrying, hurrying. I wonder if I could spend one day doing as few things as possible as slowly as possible. How would it be to live that way for a few hours? How would it be to ride my bicycle as slowly as possible for one hour, trying to cover as little distance as possible? How would it be to read literally “at a snail’s pace”, trying to set a record for the fewest words read in one hour? What would it be like to speak in a totally unhurried manner, thinking carefully about each sentence, each word? This way of living would receive little if any approbation in most circles. People who do as little as possible as slowly as possible are thought of as indolent, idle, lethargic, languid, sluggish, and – the terrible four-letter word – lazy. But perhaps, for one day, it wouldn’t be so bad to be apathetic and shiftless, turning the pedals on my bike so slowly the poor bike almost comes to a standstill. After all, I’ve seen the most beautiful birds flying in the most lethargic, unambitious, and graceful manner. Maybe I can learn something from them.

--first draft written in August, 2007