Something to Think About
In oneself lies the whole world and if you know how to look and learn then the door is there and the key is in your hand. Nobody on earth can give you either the key or the door to open except yourself. — Jiddu Krishnamurti
As we go rushing into a very busy shopping season, I find myself thinking about things that are far more precious than money can buy. I’m thinking about friendships and places where love, nurturance, and kindnesses are expressed and experienced. There is no price tag on that kind of sharing and that kind of Reality. I’m thinking about things that I might take for granted: clean drinking water, fresh organic salads, warm clothes, shelter, and relative safety. I’m thinking about things that are so sacred that my soul trembles— prayer, worship, hymns, and community. I’m thinking about those characteristics and virtues that are cultivated over a lifetime of spontaneous joy, compassion, humility, and suffering.
It seems that this year more than any other all the things, persons, and places that hold meaning for me I’m sensing more intensely. It’s a good intensity, an aliveness that is refreshing and vibrant. I find myself looking around and listening with more discerning eyes and ears. My thoughts are more directed toward faith and goodness. I contemplate on freedom and what that really means. I revel in the beauty of nature, the sound of birds chirping first thing in the morning, and really appreciating the fall colors and the leaves skimming along the ground and the narrow spaces between stillness and solitude.
The stillness is an experience all of its own. No extravagance, but pure simplicity aligned in the moment. It is not fragmented, but whole. It is not small, but spacious. It is not dark, but pure light. Stillness is filled with Truth. Stillness reminds me of the spaces I’ve been orbiting for decades and only lately acknowledged the profound experience of gratitude and beauty I’ve come to know especially recently as a renewed way of being in the world. This short read “Relating to the World: The Power of Truthspeaking” written by Tamarack Song is the kind of writing that stirs my soul and reminds me of my humanity. What follows is an excerpt:
Words are like strands of Spider silk —we often weave our words into a sticky web then walk into it and become entangled . . . One reason our words become entrapping is that we use too many of them. Realizing the power of words, a Native will choose them wisely. Small talk and gossip are avoided. The Native (or indigenous person) will connect with his/her inner Truth before speaking. She will do the same when listening to the words of others. This respectful way with words is what Native elders call Truthspeaking.
Of course any way of speaking that breaks that bond of respect or threatens human dignity is harmful not only to us, but to others and to the environment we inhabit. It goes without saying, really, that truthspeaking requires deep listening, a skill I’ve been practicing, lately. I say, a skill because we often don’t listen to what is being said, much less pay attention to the person in front of us, who is speaking. Our minds have raced ahead creating our own stories, making judgments, and finding whatever else seems more interesting. Before long we are not even, really with the person speaking. Hhhhm.
Anyway, our lack of presence becomes a habit as we multi-task through life —numb, rushing, and detached from everything — including ourselves. Tamarack Song reminds us:
To honor the air we breathe is to honor Truth, because Breath and Truth are One.
These words resonate with me and it might even suggest that I’ve risen to a level of awareness, a new way of being with myself and with others. And that would be true. However, the rising is not going somewhere, or being higher and above, but being present where I am with more consciousness. I’ve noticed the value and risks in striving for such a noble way of being — because it hinges on that universal notion of love—love God, love yourself and love your neighbor (all your neighbors).
It’s a vow that I’m re-committing to. Perhaps, you’ll find inspiration to do the same from the words of Maria Popova:
This, then, is the agreement: Learning to live is learning to love, and learning to love is learning to die — the imperative in the inevitable that renders our transience meaningful and holy. The price of the holiness is absolute humility: There is no pact to be made with the universe — we die, whether or not we agree to it, whether or not we have learned how to love in the bright interlude between atom and dust. We may or may not be lucky enough to live out the two billion heartbeats our creaturely inheritance has allotted us. But no matter how many we actually get, it matters how we spend them and what we spend them on. It may be the only thing that matters.