As I was riding my bike yesterday, I noticed a change in feeling towards people I encountered, especially people who might be around my age. I noticed that I feel towards them as I might feel towards fellow members of the cast after a show was over, when we were relaxing in some festive room, celebrating. Whatever role we each had had to play, we had taken off our costumes now, and were simply together, in the commonality of our collective effort and abiding humanity.
So I no longer cared if this was a high powered executive, or a humble worker, or someone with a successful family, or someone who felt all alone in the world. Whatever things had gone on in each of our lives, I sensed that we had had high points and falls, deep loves and deep lessons, things we cared a lot about and things we had let slip. Probably none of us felt totally content with our performances, but now we were beginning to glimpse that it didn’t matter anyway. We could celebrate life, accept each other in the room of those who had finished playing the game.
Not to say we weren’t still living, not to say the intensity and beauty of our lives were passed, or that we were coasting rapidly towards a finish. It’s not life, but the game, that’s over - the game of trying to measure up, to be good enough, to have a plausible story that we could tell. We now knew that no one was worse, and no one was better, that it was good to help each other, and to strive for honesty in all things. That we didn’t need a story as much as a willingness to listen, and we didn’t need things or accomplishments to define who we were.
As I said, all of this was just a feeling in my mind as I rode by and looked at the other people on the trail. But I found it made me feel easier among them, just as I’ve felt easier, lately, in other venues. And I thought, I can invite anyone into this room of celebration. They don’t even have to be old enough. If they are young, or their career is, maybe there’s something that I, or someone else in the room, can give them to help them on their way. And if they need to be celebrated, they will have come to the right place.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Serenity Dog
Sometimes when I see signs from too far away to quite read them, interesting suggestions come to mind. The other day as I walking home from the bus stop I saw a sign on someone’s gate and it said (as my mind suggested to me) “Serenity Dog.” It was only two steps before I could tell that it actually said “Security Dog,” but in those moments I got an image that I liked enough to keep thinking about it as I walked home.
A serenity dog would make sure that everyone who set foot on the property was at peace. It would guard the state of peace with a kingly authority, an unassailable dignity. People who walked in would find their anxieties melting away, and people who lived there would find their lives unfolding in a delightful, unhurried order.
I told my husband about this thought, and he said it was sort of like a few places in Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings, like the home of Tom Bombadil or the place of Beorn, or even the elves’ kingdom, where the travelers would feel, at least for a time, that their troubles were left on the outside, and they were safe within.
It is a quality that every home should have, and a being that could ensure it would be much more valuable than a security dog. Come to think of it, serenity could be ensured by a dog about as well as security could.
Which reminds me of something that happened today. My daughter is traveling in a foreign country, and early this morning went, with two other girls - her cousin and friend - to a very remote area, renowned for its beauty and biological diversity. Last night I started to get a niggling concern about their plans, in terms of three girls traveling on their own to a place where there would be little, if any, cell phone contact, etc. Though I told myself that for certain my worry was unfounded, I still felt the need to pray. It occurred to me that safety could not be based on location, and that if I had the fear that any place or any person could be unsafe, this needed my prayers.
So I thought about the fact that there was no place that, by virtue of being where it was, could guarantee anyone feeling safe. If I had demons in my mind, even a place as benign as my suburban back yard could be terrifying. From this I concluded that the one place of safety is Mind - that Mind proclaims safety in every place. Then, since Mind is the center at every place, safety in every place is as certain as it is here, and I can be free of fear for myself and for my daughter at the same time.
I kept thinking about this to strengthen my conviction of the safety of my daughter and of every one of God’s ideas. I considered that the power of good is always unfolding, and there is no contrary power that can stand up against it. I considered that God wouldn’t make any of Her ideas vulnerable, but would supply each one with everything needed to be safe.
We eventually got an email from my daughter saying that all is perfect. But I continue to hold to my new insight about the safety of everyone, provided by Mind, Love, the maker of all of us. So maybe I don’t need a serenity dog. Maybe instead I will contemplate the non-location-based imperative for serenity everywhere (and security, too, for that matter), based on the fact that Mind, Love, is the center in every place.
A serenity dog would make sure that everyone who set foot on the property was at peace. It would guard the state of peace with a kingly authority, an unassailable dignity. People who walked in would find their anxieties melting away, and people who lived there would find their lives unfolding in a delightful, unhurried order.
I told my husband about this thought, and he said it was sort of like a few places in Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings, like the home of Tom Bombadil or the place of Beorn, or even the elves’ kingdom, where the travelers would feel, at least for a time, that their troubles were left on the outside, and they were safe within.
It is a quality that every home should have, and a being that could ensure it would be much more valuable than a security dog. Come to think of it, serenity could be ensured by a dog about as well as security could.
Which reminds me of something that happened today. My daughter is traveling in a foreign country, and early this morning went, with two other girls - her cousin and friend - to a very remote area, renowned for its beauty and biological diversity. Last night I started to get a niggling concern about their plans, in terms of three girls traveling on their own to a place where there would be little, if any, cell phone contact, etc. Though I told myself that for certain my worry was unfounded, I still felt the need to pray. It occurred to me that safety could not be based on location, and that if I had the fear that any place or any person could be unsafe, this needed my prayers.
So I thought about the fact that there was no place that, by virtue of being where it was, could guarantee anyone feeling safe. If I had demons in my mind, even a place as benign as my suburban back yard could be terrifying. From this I concluded that the one place of safety is Mind - that Mind proclaims safety in every place. Then, since Mind is the center at every place, safety in every place is as certain as it is here, and I can be free of fear for myself and for my daughter at the same time.
I kept thinking about this to strengthen my conviction of the safety of my daughter and of every one of God’s ideas. I considered that the power of good is always unfolding, and there is no contrary power that can stand up against it. I considered that God wouldn’t make any of Her ideas vulnerable, but would supply each one with everything needed to be safe.
We eventually got an email from my daughter saying that all is perfect. But I continue to hold to my new insight about the safety of everyone, provided by Mind, Love, the maker of all of us. So maybe I don’t need a serenity dog. Maybe instead I will contemplate the non-location-based imperative for serenity everywhere (and security, too, for that matter), based on the fact that Mind, Love, is the center in every place.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Why I am a Christian Scientist
I’m a Christian Scientist, not because it’s a beautiful theory. There are lots of beautiful theories, but life doesn’t take place in that ethereal ground.
I’m a Christian Scientist, not because it’s gotten me the good things in life. My life has had its good things and its struggles, like anyone’s.
I’m a Christian Scientist because, as I have come to see, the pure fulfillment and joy found in the presence of God, and in our relationship to God, is the only thing I ever want, the only thing that satisfies me.
God has infinite ways of making good known. God fills our days with joy in ways we can understand. The beauty of nature, of friendship, of strength, grace and health, are all expressions of the presence of God. If viewed materially, all these things can fail, but they are kept perfect by the knowledge that God is the law that holds them.
The material view is that these things - nature, friendship, strength, grace and health - are made up of complex balancings of forces - each of which is essentially mindless and self serving, but which somehow come together in a rare harmony. In this view, any shift in balance - in number or in circumstance, in mass, timing or force - can throw the whole thing off. So then great care must be taken to make sure everything is balanced, and the expectation is that perfection will only be glimpsed as a possibility, will never come fully forth. Also, when holding this view, I find it easy to end up at the place where I’m not even sure what the point of it all is.
Christian Science teaches me the spiritual view. It focuses my sight so that, as I practice, I can learn to perceive the law of God. I can feel myself and my world held in loving, all powerful arms, guided along vectors of harmony, danced together in perfect order and grace. I can experience the law of goodness in all aspects of my life - my health, my family, my occupation, my world.
I also find that Christian Science gives me a way to understand Christ. All of Christ’s teachings make sense and harmonize the Bible. Christ’s presence is a real thing that I can lean on. Why am I a Christian Scientist? What else could I be? Or, as Peter said to Jesus when he asked if they also would go away, ” Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life.”
I’m a Christian Scientist, not because it’s gotten me the good things in life. My life has had its good things and its struggles, like anyone’s.
I’m a Christian Scientist because, as I have come to see, the pure fulfillment and joy found in the presence of God, and in our relationship to God, is the only thing I ever want, the only thing that satisfies me.
God has infinite ways of making good known. God fills our days with joy in ways we can understand. The beauty of nature, of friendship, of strength, grace and health, are all expressions of the presence of God. If viewed materially, all these things can fail, but they are kept perfect by the knowledge that God is the law that holds them.
The material view is that these things - nature, friendship, strength, grace and health - are made up of complex balancings of forces - each of which is essentially mindless and self serving, but which somehow come together in a rare harmony. In this view, any shift in balance - in number or in circumstance, in mass, timing or force - can throw the whole thing off. So then great care must be taken to make sure everything is balanced, and the expectation is that perfection will only be glimpsed as a possibility, will never come fully forth. Also, when holding this view, I find it easy to end up at the place where I’m not even sure what the point of it all is.
Christian Science teaches me the spiritual view. It focuses my sight so that, as I practice, I can learn to perceive the law of God. I can feel myself and my world held in loving, all powerful arms, guided along vectors of harmony, danced together in perfect order and grace. I can experience the law of goodness in all aspects of my life - my health, my family, my occupation, my world.
I also find that Christian Science gives me a way to understand Christ. All of Christ’s teachings make sense and harmonize the Bible. Christ’s presence is a real thing that I can lean on. Why am I a Christian Scientist? What else could I be? Or, as Peter said to Jesus when he asked if they also would go away, ” Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life.”
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Prayer beyond words
It’s clearer to me these days that prayer is not words - that if I am trying to find words, or asserting words, even ones I know have truth in them - I’m not getting anywhere. I need to stop. I need to let the whole field of words clear out.
Sometimes I ask a question, like, “what does God know about this?” and then let myself be quiet and still, listening for the answer instead of trying to construct it from my own theory base. Theory is useless. It is the actual fact of the presence of Truth that can tell me what I need to understand.
I build on my experience of what Truth feels like - the fresh, open-air invigoration, the solid and calm reassurance, the unmovable strength of fact. I enter into the wide chamber of light, and let the light burn away all the dust on the edges. I know I’m really praying if I feel the “peace, be still” of Love, dissolving the anxious shoulder-set of feared inadequacy, gathering and bundling me, and whoever I’m thinking of, in the resolution of acceptance and approbation.
At our last spiritual formation gathering, Joyce led us in a reflection on the Lord’s Prayer. After having us listen to it sung, and sharing with us some prayers others had written following its structure, she gave us a piece of paper with each phrase of the prayer on a separate line, and space next to it for us to write our reflections. First I turned the paper over and wrote: no words. I wanted to avoid the much-trodden territory of intellectual thought on the prayer. I wanted anything I wrote to be the result of listening.
Then I turned the paper over and started in the middle, proceeding down and up, just when I heard something. She ended the exercise before I was done, but I still felt what I had was worth sharing. It went like this:
Perfect One
Determiner of everything
- really everything -
You are the Mind, the pattern, the One
And you choose to be - and make everything be - Love
In this warm chamber of light where all things move and love,
Your will is done.
Heaven over earth. Heaven gets to decide what is. Earth must reflect heaven.
You’re the one that knows everything, and You establish it.
You know what I need. You amply supply it. Let me not be so tied up in what I think I need that I can’t move forward. Let me listen and hear what You provide.
You know who I am. You have always known. Let me not presume to assert anything about myself. Let me let You do the talking. Let You speak for me.
Let me offer to each heart a forgiveness bigger than I have a right to give alone, but which I can give because it is Your truth. You love them. You always have. That’s all that matters. This comfort is Yours to give each of them. Let me just reflect this to them, whenever I can.
It’s not a prayer to say the words, but the words that came up expressed my prayer. Still, I need to be sure to insist upon the real thing. Words can be so seductive, especially when they’re pretty. Words can invoke an attractive drama, one in which I get to play the emotional role they assign - whether it is one of foundness or lostness, triumph or despair. Any emotion is a false floor. Communion lies deep beneath emotion, where the circuit connects silently, with unarguable brightness and authority.
Sometimes I ask a question, like, “what does God know about this?” and then let myself be quiet and still, listening for the answer instead of trying to construct it from my own theory base. Theory is useless. It is the actual fact of the presence of Truth that can tell me what I need to understand.
I build on my experience of what Truth feels like - the fresh, open-air invigoration, the solid and calm reassurance, the unmovable strength of fact. I enter into the wide chamber of light, and let the light burn away all the dust on the edges. I know I’m really praying if I feel the “peace, be still” of Love, dissolving the anxious shoulder-set of feared inadequacy, gathering and bundling me, and whoever I’m thinking of, in the resolution of acceptance and approbation.
At our last spiritual formation gathering, Joyce led us in a reflection on the Lord’s Prayer. After having us listen to it sung, and sharing with us some prayers others had written following its structure, she gave us a piece of paper with each phrase of the prayer on a separate line, and space next to it for us to write our reflections. First I turned the paper over and wrote: no words. I wanted to avoid the much-trodden territory of intellectual thought on the prayer. I wanted anything I wrote to be the result of listening.
Then I turned the paper over and started in the middle, proceeding down and up, just when I heard something. She ended the exercise before I was done, but I still felt what I had was worth sharing. It went like this:
Perfect One
Determiner of everything
- really everything -
You are the Mind, the pattern, the One
And you choose to be - and make everything be - Love
In this warm chamber of light where all things move and love,
Your will is done.
Heaven over earth. Heaven gets to decide what is. Earth must reflect heaven.
You’re the one that knows everything, and You establish it.
You know what I need. You amply supply it. Let me not be so tied up in what I think I need that I can’t move forward. Let me listen and hear what You provide.
You know who I am. You have always known. Let me not presume to assert anything about myself. Let me let You do the talking. Let You speak for me.
Let me offer to each heart a forgiveness bigger than I have a right to give alone, but which I can give because it is Your truth. You love them. You always have. That’s all that matters. This comfort is Yours to give each of them. Let me just reflect this to them, whenever I can.
It’s not a prayer to say the words, but the words that came up expressed my prayer. Still, I need to be sure to insist upon the real thing. Words can be so seductive, especially when they’re pretty. Words can invoke an attractive drama, one in which I get to play the emotional role they assign - whether it is one of foundness or lostness, triumph or despair. Any emotion is a false floor. Communion lies deep beneath emotion, where the circuit connects silently, with unarguable brightness and authority.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Quiet thought
I’m learning to spend less time in the paper-surface layer of thought, where all the words are, and the reasons and justifications, the weavings of stories as to why people do this and that, and what they should do, and my opinion about things going on, and why I am right, and what this has to do with Universal Truth. I’m learning that there’s little to communicate to others from this layer - little that can help them, little that will lift us to communion with each other or the universe. Humor can be good from here, but that’s about it. Nothing serious.
Underneath that layer is the place of slow moving liquid, like magma, where bolts of bright light emerge from the heat of hope and desire for goodness. When that warmth can come up through my thoughts, it gives me genuine sustenance. It changes things, forming channels of conviction and strength, creating new structures, a place for the development of new soil which supports tender green growth.
If this warmth expresses itself in words, the words have weight and the power to solidly support. If these words bubble with mirth, the humor is sweet and unifying. If the words seek to comfort, the comfort is felt. And the words are for the here and now of their expressing - they can’t be cut and pasted into other uses and retain their power. If I want to be effective, if I want to be myself, I must let myself go back down to the magma layer, to be reheated and, once again, moved.
My friend Laurie and I connected on that level. We called it twii (initially from That Which Is Important, but later relying on the bright explosion of sound in the word twii itself). It was our practice to still ourselves and take the time, and allow the twii to emerge. We would look for the glow of the deep warmth in each other, and through its recognition, bring it out. We found that later, this work - the making of this connection - demanded of us deeper integrity in the way we thought about everything, and in the way we saw everyone.
More and more I’m finding that this is the only place to know anything, and that all petty and tragic discords are solved on this level. When I was first doing this work with Laurie, I wrote: not by will, but by willingness; not by figuring out, but by faith; not by expertise, but by grace. I’m still learning what this means. Right now I’m thinking: willingness takes me down to the magma, faith lets me dwell there, grace brings it up where it can heal the present moment. The word’s aren’t important. These ones work for me, right now. The meaning is in the deep layer underneath the words, where the inexorable light and heat of what we really are stills all cacophony and smoothes thought into shining peace.
Underneath that layer is the place of slow moving liquid, like magma, where bolts of bright light emerge from the heat of hope and desire for goodness. When that warmth can come up through my thoughts, it gives me genuine sustenance. It changes things, forming channels of conviction and strength, creating new structures, a place for the development of new soil which supports tender green growth.
If this warmth expresses itself in words, the words have weight and the power to solidly support. If these words bubble with mirth, the humor is sweet and unifying. If the words seek to comfort, the comfort is felt. And the words are for the here and now of their expressing - they can’t be cut and pasted into other uses and retain their power. If I want to be effective, if I want to be myself, I must let myself go back down to the magma layer, to be reheated and, once again, moved.
My friend Laurie and I connected on that level. We called it twii (initially from That Which Is Important, but later relying on the bright explosion of sound in the word twii itself). It was our practice to still ourselves and take the time, and allow the twii to emerge. We would look for the glow of the deep warmth in each other, and through its recognition, bring it out. We found that later, this work - the making of this connection - demanded of us deeper integrity in the way we thought about everything, and in the way we saw everyone.
More and more I’m finding that this is the only place to know anything, and that all petty and tragic discords are solved on this level. When I was first doing this work with Laurie, I wrote: not by will, but by willingness; not by figuring out, but by faith; not by expertise, but by grace. I’m still learning what this means. Right now I’m thinking: willingness takes me down to the magma, faith lets me dwell there, grace brings it up where it can heal the present moment. The word’s aren’t important. These ones work for me, right now. The meaning is in the deep layer underneath the words, where the inexorable light and heat of what we really are stills all cacophony and smoothes thought into shining peace.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Taking thought
I was thinking about this in the shower this morning. Jesus’ query in the Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 6:27) “Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit to his stature?”
A cubit is about a foot, so the answer to this would be obvious: of course I can’t decide to make myself a foot taller. The implied conclusion is startling. If I can’t make myself taller by thinking about it, why should I think I have the responsibility for doing anything else about myself? Why would I think I would be created - out of the whole cloth of thought, an expression of the infinite Mind, and then be left with the responsibility of finishing myself? If Mind could make me with this much intricacy, why leave it up to me to determine how strong, how fit, how beautiful I am? Why would Mind make me weak in the midsection, tight in the hamstrings, stiff in movement, or awkward in social situations? Why should there be a battery of things I need to work on in myself to make myself better?
It was a concept that was hard for me to give up - that my life was a daily challenge to improve myself - mentally, socially, physically. I found myself confronted with the concern of what would happen if I didn’t mind these things: I would become a slob, less and less able to move as I wanted to. I would be uninteresting, unattractive. My life would be empty. I confronted the same concern in raising my kids: if I didn’t keep on them to eat well, exercise well, and learn new things all the time, I would be consigning them to inferior lives.
I’ve been trying on a new approach. It is to find the centered stillness that opens up to the vastness of being, to dwell in “the secret place” - the consciousness of the One, and how it controls everything through love. I let myself feel the central order, and the lovely dance that unfolds in all living things - each in itself and intertwining with all others. I realize that God (good) governs the whole thing, giving us each our movement and our power to move, our grace and our graciousness. I let go of thinking I can do anything to orchestrate events, and instead give myself over to the movement of Spirit in me.
Spirit is not inert, so reflecting Spirit, I will be active. Love is not isolated, so reflecting Love, I will be in warm and dynamic interaction. Soul is not ungainly, so reflecting Soul, I will be enough, in my being. I don’t need to take thought for myself. And I don’t need to take thought for my kids, or train them to take thought for themselves. I can let go and notice how Mind is gently putting us all in our perfect place.
I’m seeing good results from this approach. My family is more harmonious, our lives together happier and more graceful. I find myself able to move with a new ease - in walking, in dancing, in interacting with people. And I’ve found a fountain of energy - relaxed, powerful, and full of joy - in surrender to the action of Life.
A cubit is about a foot, so the answer to this would be obvious: of course I can’t decide to make myself a foot taller. The implied conclusion is startling. If I can’t make myself taller by thinking about it, why should I think I have the responsibility for doing anything else about myself? Why would I think I would be created - out of the whole cloth of thought, an expression of the infinite Mind, and then be left with the responsibility of finishing myself? If Mind could make me with this much intricacy, why leave it up to me to determine how strong, how fit, how beautiful I am? Why would Mind make me weak in the midsection, tight in the hamstrings, stiff in movement, or awkward in social situations? Why should there be a battery of things I need to work on in myself to make myself better?
It was a concept that was hard for me to give up - that my life was a daily challenge to improve myself - mentally, socially, physically. I found myself confronted with the concern of what would happen if I didn’t mind these things: I would become a slob, less and less able to move as I wanted to. I would be uninteresting, unattractive. My life would be empty. I confronted the same concern in raising my kids: if I didn’t keep on them to eat well, exercise well, and learn new things all the time, I would be consigning them to inferior lives.
I’ve been trying on a new approach. It is to find the centered stillness that opens up to the vastness of being, to dwell in “the secret place” - the consciousness of the One, and how it controls everything through love. I let myself feel the central order, and the lovely dance that unfolds in all living things - each in itself and intertwining with all others. I realize that God (good) governs the whole thing, giving us each our movement and our power to move, our grace and our graciousness. I let go of thinking I can do anything to orchestrate events, and instead give myself over to the movement of Spirit in me.
Spirit is not inert, so reflecting Spirit, I will be active. Love is not isolated, so reflecting Love, I will be in warm and dynamic interaction. Soul is not ungainly, so reflecting Soul, I will be enough, in my being. I don’t need to take thought for myself. And I don’t need to take thought for my kids, or train them to take thought for themselves. I can let go and notice how Mind is gently putting us all in our perfect place.
I’m seeing good results from this approach. My family is more harmonious, our lives together happier and more graceful. I find myself able to move with a new ease - in walking, in dancing, in interacting with people. And I’ve found a fountain of energy - relaxed, powerful, and full of joy - in surrender to the action of Life.
Monday, February 9, 2009
In the last two days I felt the Christ leading me.
I.
I started off on my bike ride, feeling a little unsettled at the aborted get together I was now not going to have with my friend. My erstwhile friend, I thought. She had reserved the right to cancel if she got too busy, but she hadn’t called me, and I hadn’t been able to reach her. So I decided to just take a bike ride, and was happy about that, because it was a good day for it. I came back just after I’d started because I’d forgotten my cell phone, and decided to check my email one more time. There was the message from her, saying, sorry, I just can’t. Maybe things will slow down next quarter. I hope all is well. Take care.
As I rode off, I contemplated my response. Delete. Just delete - no response. I tried to reestablish connection, but it’s simply not a priority for her. Let it go. And I thought of responding: Whatever. Just that. Then she would know I was hurt, which would be incomprehensible to her, and stupid of me. Bridge burning. Then I collected myself, I reminded myself that I’m willing to be led by the Christ, willing to let go of my own interpretation and see things in whatever way made sense. And the word came to me - I am in charge of your life. I am the source of all that you need. I arrange all relationships, and you don’t have to worry about it.
As I thought further, it occurred to me that maybe this wasn’t the right time for that get together. Not because of dates or schedules, but because my thought wasn’t right for it. The day before I had walked with another friend, who had asked me about this relationship. I had accounted some of the things that I had learned from it, some of the way I had let myself be hurt by it, and the time it had taken me to get over it. I realized that, though I may have had a clear thought when I tried to arrange the get together, I was now at a different place, a kind of a tentative, vulnerable but guarded state, hoping for acceptance.
So I let my thought be lifted. I let myself feel the enveloping care of Spirit, wrapping me up, giving me power and light. I let myself feel the gentle infusing of the Christ, like soft, sweet rain, aligning all relationships. Showing that love is the only thing that ever makes sense, and that in love, there’s no tally about whose turn it is to give, or what an outside observer would see as just. In every case, there’s one opportunity for me, and that’s to bring forth whatever Love creates in this moment. Sometimes it will seem miraculous; sometimes it will just seem like the right touch. Always it will make me feel impossibly blessed, awed and grateful, alive in a way I hadn’t thought could be.
Then I knew the right response to the email: OK. Maybe we’ll reconnect at some point when the time is right. love, Wendy. No need for me to outline how that connection would be established, or if it would. Just to let it be, with everything else, under the sweet alignment of that which gives us all everything we need.
II.
My daughter was running late. She had been up late the night before, making preparations for the student literary evening at her school - practicing her piece, making cookies. Now she was trying to get it all together. I was taking up some of the slack, making her sandwich, making a snack for her to eat after school while they prepared. My son came down a little early and flopped in the chair. It was my daughter’s day to put the rabbit out, and I thought it would be really helpful if he would do it for her that once. He wouldn’t.
I reminded myself what I was learning, that there are always two sides to human opinions but neither of them can provide what the people yearn for. So I didn’t press my son about the rabbit, and I encouraged my daughter not to do so either. But I didn’t quite reach the place of understanding - I found myself feeling a bit annoyed with my son, and even speaking to him a little shortly when he asked me to do a last thing for him in the moments when I was trying to get everyone out the door. After they left I remembered.
The only thing anyone ever wants is love. They may learn that the way to reap the greatest feeling of love is to do kind things for others. But there are some times when we all just want to be loved. If my son wasn’t feeling compelled to be kind to his sister, the remedy was for him to feel more loved. There wasn’t any need for me to go down the path about whether I was neglecting his training not to try to make him be kind. It’s impossible to make someone be kind, anyway. The only thing he could learn from was my example, and shrill demands that he be nicer were at the least hypocritical. I saw how, once again, the Christ comes down between all human opinions and stances, neutralizing them, diffusing them, and giving that which everyone really wants but no one, without that touch of unjudging love, knows how to get.
III.
I was praying about the Middle East, Israel and Palestine particularly. There is so much screaming about who is wrong and what the other side needs to do so that things can move forward. I may have my strong human opinions about it, but human opinions are useless. The Christ is the only thing that can solve the problem. The Christ, defined as “the true idea voicing good, . . . speaking to the human consciousness,”* is an impulse to individual thought which takes the quantum leap beyond all the human prerequisites for peace (things the other party needs to change) and shows each person, right where they are, how to love. The result may be an act of miraculous courage or wisdom. It may be a very simple step. It may come from one person, or another. It may be a quiet uprising that sees a way through that no-one ever thought of. It won’t be because one person is better than another, and the ones who make the difference won’t hold themselves up as virtuous. No one will be asked to pay for the good that comes. It will simply be what makes sense. When human opinions are set aside and the Christ is allowed to speak, the result is peace.
*Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, p. 332.
I.
I started off on my bike ride, feeling a little unsettled at the aborted get together I was now not going to have with my friend. My erstwhile friend, I thought. She had reserved the right to cancel if she got too busy, but she hadn’t called me, and I hadn’t been able to reach her. So I decided to just take a bike ride, and was happy about that, because it was a good day for it. I came back just after I’d started because I’d forgotten my cell phone, and decided to check my email one more time. There was the message from her, saying, sorry, I just can’t. Maybe things will slow down next quarter. I hope all is well. Take care.
As I rode off, I contemplated my response. Delete. Just delete - no response. I tried to reestablish connection, but it’s simply not a priority for her. Let it go. And I thought of responding: Whatever. Just that. Then she would know I was hurt, which would be incomprehensible to her, and stupid of me. Bridge burning. Then I collected myself, I reminded myself that I’m willing to be led by the Christ, willing to let go of my own interpretation and see things in whatever way made sense. And the word came to me - I am in charge of your life. I am the source of all that you need. I arrange all relationships, and you don’t have to worry about it.
As I thought further, it occurred to me that maybe this wasn’t the right time for that get together. Not because of dates or schedules, but because my thought wasn’t right for it. The day before I had walked with another friend, who had asked me about this relationship. I had accounted some of the things that I had learned from it, some of the way I had let myself be hurt by it, and the time it had taken me to get over it. I realized that, though I may have had a clear thought when I tried to arrange the get together, I was now at a different place, a kind of a tentative, vulnerable but guarded state, hoping for acceptance.
So I let my thought be lifted. I let myself feel the enveloping care of Spirit, wrapping me up, giving me power and light. I let myself feel the gentle infusing of the Christ, like soft, sweet rain, aligning all relationships. Showing that love is the only thing that ever makes sense, and that in love, there’s no tally about whose turn it is to give, or what an outside observer would see as just. In every case, there’s one opportunity for me, and that’s to bring forth whatever Love creates in this moment. Sometimes it will seem miraculous; sometimes it will just seem like the right touch. Always it will make me feel impossibly blessed, awed and grateful, alive in a way I hadn’t thought could be.
Then I knew the right response to the email: OK. Maybe we’ll reconnect at some point when the time is right. love, Wendy. No need for me to outline how that connection would be established, or if it would. Just to let it be, with everything else, under the sweet alignment of that which gives us all everything we need.
II.
My daughter was running late. She had been up late the night before, making preparations for the student literary evening at her school - practicing her piece, making cookies. Now she was trying to get it all together. I was taking up some of the slack, making her sandwich, making a snack for her to eat after school while they prepared. My son came down a little early and flopped in the chair. It was my daughter’s day to put the rabbit out, and I thought it would be really helpful if he would do it for her that once. He wouldn’t.
I reminded myself what I was learning, that there are always two sides to human opinions but neither of them can provide what the people yearn for. So I didn’t press my son about the rabbit, and I encouraged my daughter not to do so either. But I didn’t quite reach the place of understanding - I found myself feeling a bit annoyed with my son, and even speaking to him a little shortly when he asked me to do a last thing for him in the moments when I was trying to get everyone out the door. After they left I remembered.
The only thing anyone ever wants is love. They may learn that the way to reap the greatest feeling of love is to do kind things for others. But there are some times when we all just want to be loved. If my son wasn’t feeling compelled to be kind to his sister, the remedy was for him to feel more loved. There wasn’t any need for me to go down the path about whether I was neglecting his training not to try to make him be kind. It’s impossible to make someone be kind, anyway. The only thing he could learn from was my example, and shrill demands that he be nicer were at the least hypocritical. I saw how, once again, the Christ comes down between all human opinions and stances, neutralizing them, diffusing them, and giving that which everyone really wants but no one, without that touch of unjudging love, knows how to get.
III.
I was praying about the Middle East, Israel and Palestine particularly. There is so much screaming about who is wrong and what the other side needs to do so that things can move forward. I may have my strong human opinions about it, but human opinions are useless. The Christ is the only thing that can solve the problem. The Christ, defined as “the true idea voicing good, . . . speaking to the human consciousness,”* is an impulse to individual thought which takes the quantum leap beyond all the human prerequisites for peace (things the other party needs to change) and shows each person, right where they are, how to love. The result may be an act of miraculous courage or wisdom. It may be a very simple step. It may come from one person, or another. It may be a quiet uprising that sees a way through that no-one ever thought of. It won’t be because one person is better than another, and the ones who make the difference won’t hold themselves up as virtuous. No one will be asked to pay for the good that comes. It will simply be what makes sense. When human opinions are set aside and the Christ is allowed to speak, the result is peace.
*Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, p. 332.
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