Just wanted to give applause and show gratitude for everyone whose blogs I have enjoyed over the semester. I also thank you for reading along and peeking into my dementia. I know this is premature, but I am glad to have met each of you, and to have shared a brief moment in time with such a wonderfully inspiring group.
Soon we shall part, certain that many of us may never meet again. Impermanence is a simple fact of life; a tightly held fist tries to keep hold of things, but they slip through because of the grasping. I wish you all the happiest of lives and know I will see you on the other side!
"Faith is not the equivalent to mere belief. Faith is the condition of the capacity to follow the path of doubt to its end."
--Stephen Batchelor
Friday, November 7, 2008
On Novalis
I have been waiting patiently for this week so I could write about this selection. When the book opens, it invariably turns to page 172 as I have now creased the binding to that position.
------------------
"We are alone with everything we love."
The first time I considered this, my interpretation was very negative. What do you mean we are alone? What if my love also loves me? How dare you!
I read it now with a different perspective. I alone feel the love that I feel. My love for you is not your love for me. We may love each other, agreed, yet what I feel is for me alone. There are wonderful times, when it seems that the love of two people is the same and shared, when our two-ness becomes one-ness, when I know you feel the same that I do. Even in this moment, my expression of our sharedness is mine own, just as yours belongs to you. In this moment, we are one, yet two, and thus we are alone just the same.
-----------------
"Philosophy is really homesickness."
If I could stop laughing, I could write about this.
----------------
"Marriage is the highest mystery."
Still laughing, hold on...
----------------
"We are close to waking up when we dream that we are dreaming."
Once again, reflection brings awareness. My initial impulse was to laught this off as philosophical mumbo-jumbo. But upon deeper analysis, wow.
What is the dream, my nightly sleep visions or this reality that I assume is real? Am I sleeping and dream that I am awake? Is this life nothing but a dream? If that is the case, then the recognition that this life, a dream, is nothing but, then I awaken into a new sense of realization. Now I begin to understand that what seems real is part of the dream, that what I hold dear is also the dream--that I am not I, but the visualization of I.
I wonder what I will wake up to...
I should have taken the blue pill.
------------------
"We are alone with everything we love."
The first time I considered this, my interpretation was very negative. What do you mean we are alone? What if my love also loves me? How dare you!
I read it now with a different perspective. I alone feel the love that I feel. My love for you is not your love for me. We may love each other, agreed, yet what I feel is for me alone. There are wonderful times, when it seems that the love of two people is the same and shared, when our two-ness becomes one-ness, when I know you feel the same that I do. Even in this moment, my expression of our sharedness is mine own, just as yours belongs to you. In this moment, we are one, yet two, and thus we are alone just the same.
-----------------
"Philosophy is really homesickness."
If I could stop laughing, I could write about this.
----------------
"Marriage is the highest mystery."
Still laughing, hold on...
----------------
"We are close to waking up when we dream that we are dreaming."
Once again, reflection brings awareness. My initial impulse was to laught this off as philosophical mumbo-jumbo. But upon deeper analysis, wow.
What is the dream, my nightly sleep visions or this reality that I assume is real? Am I sleeping and dream that I am awake? Is this life nothing but a dream? If that is the case, then the recognition that this life, a dream, is nothing but, then I awaken into a new sense of realization. Now I begin to understand that what seems real is part of the dream, that what I hold dear is also the dream--that I am not I, but the visualization of I.
I wonder what I will wake up to...
I should have taken the blue pill.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
On Franz Kafka
I was sitting down to write my blogs just now, and a bug skittered from the window sill, up the speaker next to my table, across my computer desk, and eventually dropped from the ledge into the trash can. I don't often pay attention for serendipity, but in this case I felt drawn to write on Kafka.
----------------
"The fact that there is nothing but a spiritual world deprives us of hope and gives us certainty."
I can't believe I am reading this for the first time in this moment.
I am going to out myself for those who don't know: My name is Woody, and I'm an alcoholic. No jokes, I am a member of A.A. I wanted to put that out there, as many of my blogs to this point have hinted to some kind of recovery in my life; also, this blog is going to speak to that program.
The main purpose of the A.A. meeting is to provide newcomers the opportunity to hear our sober members offer in a general way their experience, strength, and hope. Many metings, following the readings of the preamble, steps, and traditions, open the floor to a topic discussion at which point anyone is welcome to give their two-cents worth on the subject at hand. As the topic list is usually not more than 80-100 subjects, one can assume that the same topic will arise many, many times. They do. Trust me.
Lately, 'hope' has been turning up at a lot of meetings I attend. What happens after a bit of time passes in sobriety is that a member will hear the same topic so many times, his sharing on that topic becomes rote--either something they have said makes a lot of sense and he has noticed others perk at its mention, or it gets a laugh and thus becomes a part of the repertoire. This is my story with 'hope.'
The following is my 'hope' share, spoken by me God knows how many times. (OK, it's not verbatim, but I find it difficult to translate spoken word into text, so deal with it!)
"When I crawled into these rooms years ago, all I had left was hope. My drinking had left me a suicidal, homicidal, thoroughly beaten man. When I woke up in jail one more time, and found that my family would not bail me out like they used to, I called my grandfather, who has 38 years sober this year. He said he wouldn't bail me out, but he would take me to a meeting if I felt like I had finally had enough. I had, he did.
It was in the stories that you people told of your own experiences that gave me hope. Hell, all I had was hope. A.A. was the last house on the block for me. I had been to jails and institutions; all that was left for me was death, and I couldn't even get that right! On my last run, I had seen "Leaving Las Vegas" with Nic Cage and thought, "What a way to go!" My story was nothing like his. I didn't fall into bed with a gorgeous hooker who put me up in her apartment, while I sunk into deeper and deeper bliss, eventually dying in a romantic flourish. No, instead I found myself standing on a bar stool at TGI Friday's yelling to normal people that I was the second coming of Jesus and they had all better repent for the day had come. Like I said, I couldn't even drink myself to death. Plus I was too chickenshit to put my pistol in my mouth.
Anyhow, getting a sponsor and working these steps has brought about a complete psychic change in me, just like the book promises. What I have today is a sense of responsibility to my own well-being and the true and honest sense of purpose. What I call my higher power is not your higher power, nor do I care what your higher power is. All I know is that when I go to sleep at night, the meditation and prayer I do gives me peace and quiet; it shuts off that voice that constantly tries to tell me I don't deserve to be happy, sane, or sober. I hope that if you are new to A.A., you can find something to pray to that offers you the same serenity.
Like I said, 'hope' was all i had coming into these rooms. But I don't know or understand 'hope' any longer. The side-effect of a higher power is the constant reminder that everything is exactly how it should be in the world. This place, this universe, existed long before my footprints showed up and it will go on long after I leave here. My life is but a passing glimmer on the big picture. I don't need hope any longer as I now have faith that things are going to turn out exactly as they should--even if I don't like the way it happens. Hope, to me, is a necessary emotion at times, but one that ultimately must evolve; what I have now is confidence. Not only will the universe unfold exactly as it should, but the part I play in the world is exactly what it should be.
Hope has been replaced by faith. Faith gives me confidence. And trust. But still, I share my experience because I know that someday, a person is going to come into this room and my story will be the source of hope they need to hear."
----------------------------------
So, once again, I thought I had come up with something entirely new, developed some concept that no one had thought up yet, but it turns out that I didn't. Oh well, I guess I should get used to the idea that every sensible, logical, or beautiful idea I will ever have has been spoken or felt by someone before me. In some small way, that brings me comfort. I don't have to bear the weight of the world's creative effort on my shoulders. But I am in good company.
In the struggle between myself and the world, I second the world.
----------------
"The fact that there is nothing but a spiritual world deprives us of hope and gives us certainty."
I can't believe I am reading this for the first time in this moment.
I am going to out myself for those who don't know: My name is Woody, and I'm an alcoholic. No jokes, I am a member of A.A. I wanted to put that out there, as many of my blogs to this point have hinted to some kind of recovery in my life; also, this blog is going to speak to that program.
The main purpose of the A.A. meeting is to provide newcomers the opportunity to hear our sober members offer in a general way their experience, strength, and hope. Many metings, following the readings of the preamble, steps, and traditions, open the floor to a topic discussion at which point anyone is welcome to give their two-cents worth on the subject at hand. As the topic list is usually not more than 80-100 subjects, one can assume that the same topic will arise many, many times. They do. Trust me.
Lately, 'hope' has been turning up at a lot of meetings I attend. What happens after a bit of time passes in sobriety is that a member will hear the same topic so many times, his sharing on that topic becomes rote--either something they have said makes a lot of sense and he has noticed others perk at its mention, or it gets a laugh and thus becomes a part of the repertoire. This is my story with 'hope.'
The following is my 'hope' share, spoken by me God knows how many times. (OK, it's not verbatim, but I find it difficult to translate spoken word into text, so deal with it!)
"When I crawled into these rooms years ago, all I had left was hope. My drinking had left me a suicidal, homicidal, thoroughly beaten man. When I woke up in jail one more time, and found that my family would not bail me out like they used to, I called my grandfather, who has 38 years sober this year. He said he wouldn't bail me out, but he would take me to a meeting if I felt like I had finally had enough. I had, he did.
It was in the stories that you people told of your own experiences that gave me hope. Hell, all I had was hope. A.A. was the last house on the block for me. I had been to jails and institutions; all that was left for me was death, and I couldn't even get that right! On my last run, I had seen "Leaving Las Vegas" with Nic Cage and thought, "What a way to go!" My story was nothing like his. I didn't fall into bed with a gorgeous hooker who put me up in her apartment, while I sunk into deeper and deeper bliss, eventually dying in a romantic flourish. No, instead I found myself standing on a bar stool at TGI Friday's yelling to normal people that I was the second coming of Jesus and they had all better repent for the day had come. Like I said, I couldn't even drink myself to death. Plus I was too chickenshit to put my pistol in my mouth.
Anyhow, getting a sponsor and working these steps has brought about a complete psychic change in me, just like the book promises. What I have today is a sense of responsibility to my own well-being and the true and honest sense of purpose. What I call my higher power is not your higher power, nor do I care what your higher power is. All I know is that when I go to sleep at night, the meditation and prayer I do gives me peace and quiet; it shuts off that voice that constantly tries to tell me I don't deserve to be happy, sane, or sober. I hope that if you are new to A.A., you can find something to pray to that offers you the same serenity.
Like I said, 'hope' was all i had coming into these rooms. But I don't know or understand 'hope' any longer. The side-effect of a higher power is the constant reminder that everything is exactly how it should be in the world. This place, this universe, existed long before my footprints showed up and it will go on long after I leave here. My life is but a passing glimmer on the big picture. I don't need hope any longer as I now have faith that things are going to turn out exactly as they should--even if I don't like the way it happens. Hope, to me, is a necessary emotion at times, but one that ultimately must evolve; what I have now is confidence. Not only will the universe unfold exactly as it should, but the part I play in the world is exactly what it should be.
Hope has been replaced by faith. Faith gives me confidence. And trust. But still, I share my experience because I know that someday, a person is going to come into this room and my story will be the source of hope they need to hear."
----------------------------------
So, once again, I thought I had come up with something entirely new, developed some concept that no one had thought up yet, but it turns out that I didn't. Oh well, I guess I should get used to the idea that every sensible, logical, or beautiful idea I will ever have has been spoken or felt by someone before me. In some small way, that brings me comfort. I don't have to bear the weight of the world's creative effort on my shoulders. But I am in good company.
In the struggle between myself and the world, I second the world.
On Franz Kafka (part II)
After a lengthy conversation with a dear friend, I realize that last post (re: hope) was partial bullshit.
The evidence was swaying, despite my protestations.
When I interact with others, I often close with "have a blessed day." My friend asserts that this is my hope for them. I attempted to argue that I am not 'hoping' they have a nice day, I am merely reminding them of their option to have a nice day, or not to. Bullshit, I know it and she knows it.
She also mentioned that I share my sobriety story with others in the hope that they may gain something from it. I haven't a leg to stand on with that one. It's true, I do hope that drunks get sober, that they are willing to do whatever it takes, and that they have hit the bottom they need to hit. As much as I would like to say that I know that everyone is exactly where they are supposed to be, I am human and thus not able to be present in every moment. I accept that, from time to time, I am not at peace with the world--I hope for things that will happen regardless of my understanding that things are as they are.
Yet again, I find that I do not know everything, even about myself. Damnit.
The final argument was the most compelling: "You hope that people read your blog posts..."
The evidence was swaying, despite my protestations.
When I interact with others, I often close with "have a blessed day." My friend asserts that this is my hope for them. I attempted to argue that I am not 'hoping' they have a nice day, I am merely reminding them of their option to have a nice day, or not to. Bullshit, I know it and she knows it.
She also mentioned that I share my sobriety story with others in the hope that they may gain something from it. I haven't a leg to stand on with that one. It's true, I do hope that drunks get sober, that they are willing to do whatever it takes, and that they have hit the bottom they need to hit. As much as I would like to say that I know that everyone is exactly where they are supposed to be, I am human and thus not able to be present in every moment. I accept that, from time to time, I am not at peace with the world--I hope for things that will happen regardless of my understanding that things are as they are.
Yet again, I find that I do not know everything, even about myself. Damnit.
The final argument was the most compelling: "You hope that people read your blog posts..."
Thursday, October 30, 2008
On Philo
I was feeling a bit ornery a few moments ago, so I was wishing for a reading that would have allowed me to rip into some ancient philosopher, spewing all of the ire and fire I could muster. Unfortunately, I read Philo and now I feel at peace with the world, wanting to spread love, joy, and good will to the entire human population. Well, maybe that’s a little extreme…
What really happened is, I skipped to the last selection of the reading and was reminded of my place in this drama, reminded of the grace that has been bestowed upon me by whatever one chooses to call “higher power.”
“When the righteous man searches for the nature of all things, he makes his own admirable discovery: that everything is God’s grace.”
It would be very easy to read a statement like this and make a grand assumption that a man must be on a holy quest, a mission to seek and know the greatest of all mysteries, to attain supreme enlightenment, or become privy to secret and ancient knowledge. I don’t think that is necessarily the point. As I interpret this, when a man finds enough humility or truth in himself to ask for help, to seek a different path than the one that has limited or harmed him, then does the face of God reveal itself.
In this moment, a man rises above his egoist fray and attempts to know and feel courage, opens the door to a greater understanding of his life, and begins to sense a power and strength previously unknown to him. This courage, this power, this desire to be free opens the portal behind which lies grace. The word 'righteous' may seem out of place here, but in looking past the traditional connotation, the man who seeks a better way is the righteous man. The man who can trust in something unseen is the righteous man. The man who is sick and tired of being sick and tired searches out peace and serenity—this is the righteous man.
“Every being in the world, and the world itself, manifests the blessings and the generosity of God.”
Although I believe this to be true, at times I convince myself it isn’t. The worst of men commit horrible, barbaric acts of violence and yet by this logic, they too “manifest the blessings and generosity of God.” How can this be? Like all men, they are able to be drawn so far into themselves, they lose touch with humanity, and by that, humility. How can I judge another man when I too suffer from the same symptoms; maybe they aren't as severe, or lead me to the same acts of depravity, but do I not know the malaise of an overblown sense of self that leads me to make mistakes when dealing with my fellows? Of course I do.
Nevertheless, hope springs eternal. With each moment of discomfort or shade of misery, we decide whether we want to remain in desperation or seek solace from it. When we reach out, or reach within, we find release. This is God. This is the blessing and generosity of the passage: grace.
What really happened is, I skipped to the last selection of the reading and was reminded of my place in this drama, reminded of the grace that has been bestowed upon me by whatever one chooses to call “higher power.”
“When the righteous man searches for the nature of all things, he makes his own admirable discovery: that everything is God’s grace.”
It would be very easy to read a statement like this and make a grand assumption that a man must be on a holy quest, a mission to seek and know the greatest of all mysteries, to attain supreme enlightenment, or become privy to secret and ancient knowledge. I don’t think that is necessarily the point. As I interpret this, when a man finds enough humility or truth in himself to ask for help, to seek a different path than the one that has limited or harmed him, then does the face of God reveal itself.
In this moment, a man rises above his egoist fray and attempts to know and feel courage, opens the door to a greater understanding of his life, and begins to sense a power and strength previously unknown to him. This courage, this power, this desire to be free opens the portal behind which lies grace. The word 'righteous' may seem out of place here, but in looking past the traditional connotation, the man who seeks a better way is the righteous man. The man who can trust in something unseen is the righteous man. The man who is sick and tired of being sick and tired searches out peace and serenity—this is the righteous man.
“Every being in the world, and the world itself, manifests the blessings and the generosity of God.”
Although I believe this to be true, at times I convince myself it isn’t. The worst of men commit horrible, barbaric acts of violence and yet by this logic, they too “manifest the blessings and generosity of God.” How can this be? Like all men, they are able to be drawn so far into themselves, they lose touch with humanity, and by that, humility. How can I judge another man when I too suffer from the same symptoms; maybe they aren't as severe, or lead me to the same acts of depravity, but do I not know the malaise of an overblown sense of self that leads me to make mistakes when dealing with my fellows? Of course I do.
Nevertheless, hope springs eternal. With each moment of discomfort or shade of misery, we decide whether we want to remain in desperation or seek solace from it. When we reach out, or reach within, we find release. This is God. This is the blessing and generosity of the passage: grace.
On The Hermetic Writings
"Leap free of everything that is physical, and grow as vast as that immesurable vastness; step beyond all time and become eternal; then you will perceive God."
This writing brings home the argument I discussed in my previous blog--does God create anew, or is God merely rearranging matter as God sees fit? Now I see the error of my thought, even if God is just moving a bit from 'Pile A' to 'Pile B', God still created both piles, is in both piles, and just is both piles. In fact, I am a part of God, as are you, which means that we should have known this all along!
I hate being wrong. Of some 40,000 books, articles and papers that comprise the Hermetic Writings, the one selection Mitchell chooses is the one that spurs me to realize that I don't know everything. Bah.
If I had a Dirk Dastardly mustache, I would be twirling it between my thumb and forefinger about now...
------------------------------------
What really intrigues me about this particular snippet is the very first line, that "If you don't make yourself equal to God, you can't perceive God." I spoke of my mantra in an earlier post, but have since discarded it for a different repetitive meditation. It has resurfaced.
How does one make themself like God? "Recognize that you too are immortal and that you can embrace all things in your mind..." I like this, I really do. We have come full circle, back to Buddhism and the Dao. This is the bridge. We begin to realize that nothing is inconceivable (a word that makes no sense whatsoever--once something is conceived it is conceivable so nothing is, in effect, inconceivable--but I digress), that everything is knowable, and in learning this we realize that none of this matters--we eventually return to the immortal state from whence we came.
If we are a part of God, and thus God, and even more, a bit of everything else, why is this concept so hard to comprehend? It turns out that God can indeed create a rock so heavy that even God can't lift it--but only because God believes he can't. In truth, the rock is but a pebble.
At this point the Buddhist laughs, the Christian prays, the athiest nods his head, and the agnostic goes back to work and picks up his check on Friday.
This writing brings home the argument I discussed in my previous blog--does God create anew, or is God merely rearranging matter as God sees fit? Now I see the error of my thought, even if God is just moving a bit from 'Pile A' to 'Pile B', God still created both piles, is in both piles, and just is both piles. In fact, I am a part of God, as are you, which means that we should have known this all along!
I hate being wrong. Of some 40,000 books, articles and papers that comprise the Hermetic Writings, the one selection Mitchell chooses is the one that spurs me to realize that I don't know everything. Bah.
If I had a Dirk Dastardly mustache, I would be twirling it between my thumb and forefinger about now...
------------------------------------
What really intrigues me about this particular snippet is the very first line, that "If you don't make yourself equal to God, you can't perceive God." I spoke of my mantra in an earlier post, but have since discarded it for a different repetitive meditation. It has resurfaced.
How does one make themself like God? "Recognize that you too are immortal and that you can embrace all things in your mind..." I like this, I really do. We have come full circle, back to Buddhism and the Dao. This is the bridge. We begin to realize that nothing is inconceivable (a word that makes no sense whatsoever--once something is conceived it is conceivable so nothing is, in effect, inconceivable--but I digress), that everything is knowable, and in learning this we realize that none of this matters--we eventually return to the immortal state from whence we came.
If we are a part of God, and thus God, and even more, a bit of everything else, why is this concept so hard to comprehend? It turns out that God can indeed create a rock so heavy that even God can't lift it--but only because God believes he can't. In truth, the rock is but a pebble.
At this point the Buddhist laughs, the Christian prays, the athiest nods his head, and the agnostic goes back to work and picks up his check on Friday.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
On Abu Hamid Al-Ghazali
For me, there is nothing better than spiritual writing presented logically, almost scientifically. The formation of an argument, supporting data to corroborate the claim, empirical evidence and observational relationships, and an incontrovertible summation I find to be very effective. Needless to say, Al-Ghazali immediately caught my attention.
In this first passage from the selected readings, a logical proof for belief in a loving God is represented, and is done so beautifully.
"All beauty is loved by those who are able to perceive beauty." This lays down a groundwork for the argument.
"Beautiful forms are loved for themselves and not for any end..." This is observable evidence.
"It cannot be denied that where beauty is percieved it is natural to love it, and if God is beauty, he must be loved by those to whom his beauty and his majesty are revealed." This is the point.
"If, where beauty is found, it is natural to love it, and if all beauty consists in perfection, then it follows that the All-Beautiful, who is absolute perfection, must be loved by those to whom his nature and attributes are revealed." This is the summation of logic and argument. Claim and data are united.
I realize that to read this type of poetic dissertation with such a critical eye may do a disservice to the message, but most of the time, this is how my brain works. I find great joy in logic and reason, thus I appreciate (more than some, less than others) a more academic approach to spirituality.
Occasionally I moved by the pure beauty of lyric praise, and magnificent composition to that which is true and right. Althought I do not discount the virtue of this selection, I found myself more impacted by the manner in which is was presented. Regardless, the result was the same--I found joy in this exposition, which I believe was the author's point all along.
In this first passage from the selected readings, a logical proof for belief in a loving God is represented, and is done so beautifully.
"All beauty is loved by those who are able to perceive beauty." This lays down a groundwork for the argument.
"Beautiful forms are loved for themselves and not for any end..." This is observable evidence.
"It cannot be denied that where beauty is percieved it is natural to love it, and if God is beauty, he must be loved by those to whom his beauty and his majesty are revealed." This is the point.
"If, where beauty is found, it is natural to love it, and if all beauty consists in perfection, then it follows that the All-Beautiful, who is absolute perfection, must be loved by those to whom his nature and attributes are revealed." This is the summation of logic and argument. Claim and data are united.
I realize that to read this type of poetic dissertation with such a critical eye may do a disservice to the message, but most of the time, this is how my brain works. I find great joy in logic and reason, thus I appreciate (more than some, less than others) a more academic approach to spirituality.
Occasionally I moved by the pure beauty of lyric praise, and magnificent composition to that which is true and right. Althought I do not discount the virtue of this selection, I found myself more impacted by the manner in which is was presented. Regardless, the result was the same--I found joy in this exposition, which I believe was the author's point all along.
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