Contemplative Haven

Is there a correct contemplative response to one’s city (OTTAWA!!!) being in the Stanley Cup Playoffs?  I think so.

GO     SENS     GO     !!!!!!!

Excuse me.  I’m just practising living in the present moment.  Now, back to our regular programing.

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In, “The Power of Now”, Eckhart Tolle describes what happened just moments before a powerful transformation took place in his life.  He was in a deep depression, suicidal, in fact.  He lay on his bed and thought, I cannot live with myself any longer.  He writes:  “This was the thought that kept repeating itself in my mind.  Then suddenly I became aware of what a peculiar thought it was.  Am I one or two?  If I cannot live with myself, there must be two of me - the I and the self that I cannot live with.  Maybe, I thought, only one of them is real.”

The Cholmondeley Ladies (c. 1600-1610) Anonymous Artist

If only one of them is real, then what exactly is the nature of the other?  Imaginary?  Unreal?  A lie? 

Catholic contemplatives have described it as “false”.  The false self.  But just where did this false self come from, and what are we supposed to do with it, or about it?  What would we be without it?

Or, perhaps a better question:  what could we be without it?

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Brother Freddie, of a friar style?, tagged me to do my Inner Colour, and apparently I’m blue.  So is most of the blogosphere, from what I can ascertain, except, peculiarly, the Swede, at Catholic Ponderer.  Well, it’s a good thing he’s found us, that’s all I can say.  We’ll make him blue in no time.  

Now, no more memes.  We really must get back to some serious detachment discussion, because you know what’s coming up?  Me.  Me, me, me, me, me.  It’s all about me. The me in each one of us.  Yes, we’re going to get “me” under control if it’s the last thing we do.  Or my colour ain’t blue.   

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I was tagged by Paula (thank you!) for the “three book meme”. I must preface my response by saying that although I was an English Lit major, and the better part of my life, before and after, was spent devouring fiction, poetry, autobiographies and journals, that was before I was given an insatiable thirst for spiritual writers. There has been very little of other reading since, time being the consummate escape-artist that it is. But I’ll give it a try, so you can get a taste of the “early years”…

As everyone who has done this meme has stated, it is next to impossible to narrow things down to this degree, but here it goes:

3 non-fiction:

No specific titles, but I tend towards:

• alternative/natural medicine
• holistic living
• “how to” books on time-management for working moms (nothing which ever seems to gel, she said, as she tripped over the laundry basket)

3 fiction: (they touched my teenaged-heart irreversibly)

• The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (Carson McCullers)
• The Return of the Native (Thomas Hardy)
• Such Is My Beloved (Morley Callaghan)

3 authors: (passionately used to read anything I could get my hands on)

• A.J. Cronin
• Lillian Hellman
• Margaret Laurence

3 books that no one should read:

• I don’t think I could ever tell any mentally-stable adult not to read something.  God works in mysterious ways.

Well, I forgot to mention my years devoted to Virginia Woolf and the Bloomsbury Group.  And no one (?) has mentioned the playwrights.  I was desperately in love with Eugene O’Neill.  Has there ever been anything better than, “Long Day’s Journey Into Night”, I ask you?  Oh, and Arthur Miller.  Have we mentioned any poets?  William Carlos Williams.  Sigh.  Walt Whitman.  Big sigh.  I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least mention Stephen Leacock, W.O. Mitchell, Margaret Drabble, Willa Cather, the Bronté sisters, oh, oh, and Misters Eliot and Pound, Daphne du Maurier, oh, this has taken on a life of its own….help me, help me, it’s a meme twilight zone, help…me…

If they haven’t already been tagged, I’d like to pass this on to Judith, Aeternus and Ann. May they not slip into the twilight zone.

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There are days when even the Haven isn’t a safe place to be.  Today is one of those days.

It seems as if one child barely gets home, when another has to leave.

Courage, my friend.  Courage.

Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door (Bob Dylan, performing in 1976)

Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door (Avril Lavigne, performing in 2003)

No, the times, they aren’t a’changing.  But they will:

“For the Lamb who stands in front of the throne will be their Shepherd.  He will lead them to the springs of life-giving water.  And God will wipe away all their tears.” [Revelation 7:17] 

“He will remove all of their sorrows, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain.  For the old world and its evils are gone forever.” [Revelation 21:4]

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St. Teresa of Avila lived it and taught it several centuries ago.  Mother Teresa lived it and taught it several years ago:

• the fruit of prayer is a deepening of faith
• the fruit of faith is love
• the fruit of love is service
• the fruit of service is peace

A clean heart.  A heart free of selfish clingings.  A heart unencumbered by disordered attachments.  A heart beating in unison with the Sacred Heart of Jesus.  It all begins with prayer.

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Pssst. 

I pulled these out of my wardrobe of phenomenal disguises (yes, yes, they’re from my wild/free days), worked the crowd with finesse, and managed to track down our very own gypsy, dancing in the moonlight. 

Now if I could only sneak into her template and have the “Delete Blog” button rendered completely useless.

I’m sure I’d get a promotion, from “The Big Boss”.  Or at least a box of Russell Stover’s. 

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Terry, of Abbey-Roads2, has a post up which answers my recent question regarding the degrees of humility. When we were talking about it in the combox the other day, I didn’t even know what the third degree of humility was, which I jokingly said I was practising. Well, now I know, and I know them all. Once more, and probably not for the last time, it has been brought home to me that I should be careful what I ask for. 

Thank you, Terry.  (I think).

(This painting is “The Virgin of Humility with Angels and Donor”, c. 1360, by an unknown Italian artist.)

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My train of thought re detachment has been interrupted once again.  This time, by something I just read.  When asked, “What is poverty?”,  here were the responses of some Grade 4 and 5 children from North Bay, Ontario.  Poverty is:

• feeling ashamed when my Dad can’t get a job
• pretending that you forgot your lunch
• being teased for the way you are dressed
• being afraid to tell your Mom you need gym shoes
• hearing Mom and Dad fight over money
• hiding your feet so the teacher won’t get cross when you don’t have boots

Poverty is.  Poverty is.  Poverty is.

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Several of my blogger friends are in a state of career flux at the moment.  I found a sound clip which I’d like to share, and then we will continue with our detachment posts and see where they lead us.

This sound clip (and as such, it ends rather abruptly) is taken from, “The Beginner’s Guide to Finding Your Perfect Job”, by Rick Jarow, Ph.D., who is a practising alternative career counsellor and associate professor of religion at Vassar College.  It’s fifteen minutes in length, so please come back later if you do not have the time right now.

Jarow’s ideas concerning ‘abundance’ are refreshing, and certainly in line with a contemplative attitude.  I hope everyone will find this to be an inspiring bit of audio, whether we are experiencing career/vocation difficulties at this very moment or not.

So here it is; I’d be pleased to know what you think.

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