I have been working on centering myself and building from a position of strength and self-assurance, relying on the Grace of God to supply all of my needs. Toward that end, I have been reading Richard Rohr's Everything Belongs: The Gift of Contemplative Prayer (1999), a book--and an author--that has been recommended to me may times before. Although I find him striking a wrong note every now and then (he seems to have beefs with groups I am closely associated with and I do not think his comprehension of political correctness is correct), he is insightful and probably a good first step on the path to what the Buddhist's call "beginner's mind" (a place from which we are always departing and returning again and again, so even "advanced" contemplatives still need to re-situate themselves there).
What has brought much of this on has been a difficult class I have had this term, a section of my ENG 231, Women in Literature. I am teaching two sections of this course, and one of them is going swimmingly, but the other is mostly tuned out. I have come close to, for only the second time in my 26+ years of teaching, telling someone to leave for disrupting. They are not tuned in, and in part I am having to retrain them on the "basics" (or beginner's mind) in approaching literature as a tool for contemplation and self-evaluation. If I can teach them mindfulness, even rudimentary in nature, then I will have accomplished something. To that end, I have been reflecting on and sharing excerpts with them from non-sectarian writing on mindfulness, such as Oprah Winfrey's book The Wisdom of Sundays, and challenging them to use and class time to develop mindfulness. This is not an easy task.
But back to Richard Rohr: I have found myself resonating with and "starring" several passages in his chapter "Cleansing the Lens." In one paragraph, he writes that "We must find out what part of the mystery is ours to reflect. There is a unique truth that our lives alone can reflect. That is the true meaning of heroism as far as I can see." Yes, yes, and yes! He goes on to say that the "comparison game" we play with other saints/contemplatives and defining spiritual greatness restrictively (his example is someone saying that only the Mother Theresas of the age represent what is holy or saintly) is a game of the ego that we must reject. "All I can give back to God," Rohr writes, "is what God has given to me--nothing more and no less!" It reminds me so much of the prayer we say over the offering, and adds so much more to the meaning of that little homage.
In one of the subsections of this chapter, "Wiping the Mirror," Rohr goes into what I can only call a tirade against the erosion of the notion of free will. He writes "Nobody seems to believe they are free. We don't believe we have personal responsibility." I think he is short-sighted here, but this is also an error in our larger society. Many have mistaken a social-constructivist or Marxist explanation of why individuals act the way they do as a prescription. These philosophies are handy tools for knowledge, and awareness--mindfulness, observation--are often the first steps toward change and healing. As he writes aptly, "The wounds to our ego are our teachers and must be welcomed."
He is absolutely on-target when he writes that the "contemplative posture faces reality and sees the presence of God. So there is ultimately nothing to fear." Living into that space beyond fear, resting in the Spirit or Grace or the Stream of Life (his and many other contemplatives' image) is so necessary and so true in its essence and approach. It is what we strive for. It is what I strive for when we read literature as well. Detached but invested, reading a poem or novel draws us in to a framework of observation and participation. Ah, the discussions I have had over my years of teaching about conversations had in the novel of manners (think Jane Austen or Henry James here)! We can dissect those moments so beautifully and get ourselves to really listen. (It has happened in the class mentioned before in moments in discussion of Elizabeth Bowen's "The Demon Lover," for instance.) Open, yet detached; willing yet living above (beyond fear): that is the essence of beginner's mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment