Paschal'Simon

Some years ago, I came across a lecturer and author who said something that left a remarkable impression on me. So much so that, out of three one-hour lecture tapes I listened to, this is perhaps the only thing I truly heard. Her name is Marianne Williamson. She talked about approaching daily situations with faith rather than merely with the intellect. I had recently embarked on a sort of personal spiritual path. It seems I was driven by some thirst for personal growth and understanding.

In this particular instance, Mrs. Williamson used the example of a business meeting to convey the vast difference between trying to affect outcomes and influence others with our immediate contribution of words and opinions and taking the time to stay with an idea for a while or pray about it. Prayer, as I understand it, is all at once a form of silent introspection and a form of waiting. It is a bit like when we cannot quite remember something we thought we had known all along and take a break from trying to figure it out. It soon emerges at the forefront of the mind with absolute clarity.

Marianne’s examples are often humorous and always poignantly on target. She said something like this: Imagine you are in a business meeting. Everybody is expecting you to have an opinion about the topic at hand. When asked, “What do you think?” you casually respond, “I’ll check with Jesus and get right back to you”. I could hear the audience laugh in the background on the recording. I laughed as well. I also felt an incredible sense of relief.

You mean I do not have to try to figure things out, have answers or even have questions in the heat of the moment? I do not have to have an opinion in order to exist or to matter? I do not have to know what I think or what to do in each instant and I do not need the ongoing internal dialogue? Wow! In the instant I grasped this, it felt as though I had been in a crowded room all my life, trying to disregard the chaos, when someone finally managed to speak clearly enough to make me understand where the exit was and that I was free to retire to the quiet room next door at all times.

The example had nothing to do with religion, but it had much to do with spirituality and spirituality asks that we perceive things from a sense of reverence and the acceptance that we do not know all of the answers or all the correct actions to take in any given moment, though all answers and actions are at hand.

The image of a hand seems appropriate. The silence that is called for is the sort of silence that waits in awe for a precious gift to alight in the open palm. In the waiting moment, thoughts and words cease, because they are not possible. The nature of the gift is revealed in the instant it rests in the hand, not a moment sooner. Thoughts and words are not possible because there exists no preconceived idea of what is to come.

When every moment and every situation is perceived as a fresh start, experiences of the past no longer apply. One must wait to see the story unfold a bit before formulating an idea or expressing an opinion. Approached this way, every encounter or circumstance lends itself to observation without reserve. It lends itself to receiving the gift of knowing where we stand, what we think, what to say and what to do with perfect certainty and, especially, in the right time. It is not necessary to understand, analyze or comment immediately. Whenever I remember this, a new experiment begins. In the midst of a debate, I make a conscious decision to spend absolutely no energy on deciding what to say next, what I should think or what I should do. I just listen, watch and walk away with a sort of mental recording of the essence of something, not the accompanying drama, emotions or distortion.

I often promptly discover that there was nothing for me to add to the situation and no opinion I could have voiced that would contribute anything constructive. I also discover a level of serenity and openness that astonishes me each time and renders me speechless.

Slainte!

Spontaneity: Freedom from constraint, formality, embarrassment, or awkwardness.

Every moment of every day, we face all manner of circumstances, demands and unexpected variations in the task at hand requiring a moment of attention and a decision on our part. We automatically adjust our schedules or behavior to meet the challenge. In fact, we do not realize that there is a challenge. Conversely, we often fail to recognize that the challenge is a mere figment of the imagination, an error in perception, a moment of ambiguity in our ability to make a simple choice.

I realized this a few days ago as I internally struggled to choose between two projects. One is something someone else assumes I will do, the other is something I have wanted to do for a long time. The time spent on either activity will rob the other of attention and energy. Choosing one over the other will rob me of an activity I would enjoy immensely or rob someone else of an expected outcome. I am torn. I should not be.

The answer is self-evident. The struggle is the answer or, more precisely, it points to it. For a moment, I forget that I am essentially an animal; a creature that is perfectly designed and equipped to decide what to do next in the face of any given circumstance. If I choose the project that inspires me most, I will perform at the peak of my ability and will certainly be of greater service to my human community than if I selected a project that drains me. This is so clear. This is gut knowledge.

Gut knowledge does not struggle. It knows. It is never awkward or constraining. Gut knowledge is always aligned with our greatest strengths, our greatest skills and our greatest ability to act with passion and perseverance. When we choose an action because we believe it is expected or for fear of disappointing others or appearing cowardly, we rob everyone of the best we have to contribute. In fact, I see this as a form of lie or at least a contradiction.

We know a certain activity does not inspire us, yet we do it anyway because it is expected or we think that it is. Our actions contradict our emotions and our instinctive knowledge of who we are and what we are capable of contributing to the world. Generally, people around us perceive only one dimension. They perceive our actions. We think we have to make a show of our lives, as though in each moment we might be judged on our performance. A form of minute-by-minute judgment or self-appraisal is important, of course, hence the need to be clear and honest.

Our performance in the world is not a part we play in a show. We must bring the whole person into each activity and the whole person is more suited for some activities than it is for others. Not honoring this produces regrets, insecurity and lack of clarity.

I just remember a question from the book “Conversations with God”. I think it illustrates this very well: “Is it fear of retribution that you need in order to do good?” I see two parts to this question. Is it fear that we need in order to make choices and is it the possibility of retribution that colors our choices? Is it at all likely to choose properly out of fear? Can retribution exist when we act out of integrity? We often base choices on a sense of constraint, formality, embarrassment or awkwardness. Likewise, those most likely to respond with retribution often do so based on a sense of constraint, formality, embarrassment or awkwardness.

Freedom of choice does not merely confer the ability to choose between right and wrong; it is more subtle than this and more straightforward also. Freedom of choice means that we are not stuck with only one possibility at every turn and we are not stuck in fear or constraint. It means that in each moment we can freely express the very best we can give in that instant, with full knowledge of our skills, ability to learn and intrinsic passion.

Spontaneity is the quality of spirit that cuts to the clearest choice. It leads to unambiguous action and a projection of the self into the world that spans from integrity, not fear.

Slainte!

A change of perspective can be a humbling experience. It can also remind us that all perspectives are, in essence, very subjective interpretations of circumstances, as various as our background, psychological and emotional baggage, cultures and, perhaps especially our fears.

I used to housesit in a place where a couple of squirrels decided to check in as bed & breakfast guests. There was a small cubby in the wall, next to my bed, where I had stacked sweaters. One morning, as I began to select a sweater from the pile, I discovered two brown eyes staring into mine, half in shock and half in anger. After this, I removed my favorite sweaters and left the rest for the squirrels to keep warm. I also stored a few shoes in that cubby, so I began to announce myself and knock gently before entering each day. My guests seemed to appreciate their host’s special attention and we cohabitated peacefully through the winter. They left in the spring, never to be seen again. I missed them.

That was nearly twenty years ago. I have a place of my own now. We have lived here for over eight years. The neighborhood is well guarded by several massive, expert hunter felines. My younger cat shared this home until he died, last September, at the ripe age of twenty-one. I assume his presence made it inhospitable to rodent guests. The best mouser in town moved away a few months ago. Last week, I found certain evidence of rodent activity.

In a matter of twenty-four hours, I went from being glad I could provide a warm home to a little creature to considering the best way to trap it (them?) and release it far away, to wanting it dead because it had walked all over my art supplies and bread board. I am not afraid of germs; I have even been known to drink out of a glass of water after one of my cats had stolen a sip or two, yet I have caught myself rinsing or washing every single utensil I have used over the past few days… just in case.

In addition to this, our dog, who happens to be a Rat Terrier, took notice of our friend when it began causing a racket somewhere between the kitchen and bathroom. At night, Mathias has been jumping off the bed, running back and forth around the house, coming back to bed for a few moments and repeating the routine, which begins at about three thirty in the morning. His Ratter programming is clearly intact, even though he has not been exposed to this sort of experience for the three years he has been alive. I must say that he is quite a beautiful, though annoying, hunter.

For a short while, I wondered if our guest might not be significantly larger than a mouse. I had cross paths with a rat on our street during one of my morning walks only a few weeks ago. The noise between the kitchen and bathroom was formidable, too much so for a tiny creature to produce. Yesterday, as I considered these new circumstances, I realized that I could now understand why people feel so invaded by rodents. It is, indeed, an invasion. They are extremely smart and gorgeous and, in many ways, harmless, but I can see the difficulty and risk of sharing a home with them. As I contemplated this, a small, little gray face appeared in the corner of the kitchen counter. “At least it’s not a rat”, I thought. I did not feel so angry anymore. I smiled at it and it waited a while before returning to its hiding place.

Roderick purchased two small traps that are designed to capture rodents without killing them. I thought this was pretty cool and remembered that a former colleague had been very successful using these to escort mice out of our offices. We set them up last night. This set my mind in motion again, wondering how terrified the poor creature might feel once trapped. I could hardly sleep… and then the dog started his circus act and I wished the mouse would go away, by any means.

The day went by uneventfully. I thought Mathias had likely made eye contact this morning and the little thing decided it could not live with a lunatic Rat Terrier. For a moment, I also thought the mouse had run for its life when it heard what could sound like a cousin or sibling being strangled to death when Mathias played with a squeaky toy for over a half hour. What a cool way to get rid of mice. Could it be that simple?

By the time supper came, the house was still silent and the temperature outside dropping slightly. I caught myself keeping an eye on the corner where I had seen the mouse the day before and paying attention to any noise, wondering where our tiny guest might be. Now I am concerned. It did not come home for dinner. I did not trap it or poison it, so who did? Is it suffering somewhere? Why did it not come home for dinner?

It is past eight o’clock and there is no sign or sound from the kitchen. I felt invaded when my food and health seemed threatened. Living with rodents takes its toll on our pride. I suppose even million dollar mansions can have them. They are as good a place as any for scavengers. Now I feel the emptiness of one less creature to love. Should it show up at three-thirty in the morning, like a recalcitrant teenager with an attitude, I will probably “hate” it all over again.

In the end, the rodent-human connection is purely emotional. It triggers in us a powerful feeling of vulnerability. Something found its way into our home, our territory. It is stealing our food and soiling our things. It is dramatically smaller, yet dramatically present. I toy with the idea of creating a form of accommodation for rodents in house building codes; a sort of isolated chamber that would cause no threat to humans and provide a sanitary home for the little scavengers we despise, admire and fear, but that truly play a role in the equilibrium of the world.

I hope my little friend is alright... somewhere else.

Slainte!

It is not easy to allow others their own path. We think that if we know what to do, or how to perform a particular task, we must act on this knowledge. Interestingly, our particular knowledge may not be what is needed at the time; it may also be inaccurate. Righteousness leads to a level of struggle that often far exceeds the energy expended for action.

It is possible to learn this lesson, little by little. Once learned, it is self-evident and simple to implement, though not easy. All that is required is willingness and discernment. This is a lesson I have taken my sweet time to assimilate. I have not mastered it yet, far from that, but I think I have arrived at a time in my life when the choice between struggle and flow is clearer. I simply do not have the energy to be as stubborn as I used to be anymore.

I learned this at work. Until recently, I felt an irresistible urge to contribute to any and all tasks I felt inspired to tackle. If someone seemed uncomfortable with a particular project for which I had previous experience, I would simply move in as though it was a perfectly logical thing to do. I did not mean to take over or steal the show; I honestly believed I was helping. In a matter of hours, however, I felt drained and though colleagues kindly made way, I could sense their discomfort. It does not help anyone not to allow others their own struggles and discoveries.

This behavior puzzled me for many years. It puzzled me because, as a rather territorial person, you might think I would understand and respect other people’s boundaries. I simply did not look at it from the proper angle. I thought that stepping back would demonstrate a lack of desire to assist and contribute. I did not get that making room for others can be the most logical and respectful contribution. In fact, I suspect that many wondered whether I was questioning their abilities. How else could they interpret my actions?

I felt drained, but not because of all my hard work and dedication. What drained me was the futility of my actions. Hard work cannot be fulfilling when it is not work that is yours to do. For the longest time, I did not know how to change my behavior, until I decided that I did not need to find something else to do, or a particular way to stop it. I only needed to stop, over and over, much like letting go of an addiction overnight because there is simply no other way to ever let go.

What a relief, for everybody. All struggles cloud our judgment and make us useless to others and blind to simple delights. When we have to be right, when we have to jump in just because we know how and when we have to come up with a solution just because there does not seem to be one within reach in that instant, we also create an ongoing internal cacophony of questioning and justification. We end the day drained, as we might after a long, poorly organized and barely informative conference, hoping we had not signed up for such a futile experience and stayed home to read a good book instead. There is a way to make it clear that we are available to assist others without stepping on their heads to announce it.

As I write this, I see a mental image of a classroom. The teacher just presented the class with a question and the same few students as usual raise their hands in earnest, hoping to be selected first. What motivates them is not so much the need to shine as the fear of disappearing, never having had a valuable impact. Every action, every response, every solution and assistance we offer is a statement of our existence and our availability to others. There is a center of being that, when we take note of it, reminds us to be as servants, patiently ready to serve, but never imposing.

Slainte!