Contemplify NonRequired Reading List for July 31, 2019
The July NonRequired Reading List
Contemplative Friends,
This is a snapshot of contemplative practice in my life. Hopefully a snapshot that you can hold up next to the light of your own. It relays one of those occasions for me when a practice has an immediate and practical effect on my state of being. This snapshot is storied through two journal entries written on the same day about pesky reptiles, mustard seeds, and befriending the shadow:
6:54am: I can see that the baby snake who feasts on my shadow has taken the name Overwhelm. He is stretching out over my shoulders. I can feel him growing, tightening, hoping to weigh me down into oblivion, into inaction. This is not uncommon. But why? The world can be heavy on my back. Overwhelm's head morphs from one...into three. Jealousy. Criticism. Despair. When the snake’s head multiples like this I know I am in deep. I know I am ignoring something pressing, but what? The head who speaks only criticism barks rebuke for choices I’ve made and opportunities missed. Despair shouts that I am only passing onto my children a planet tumbling towards chaos. Jealousy narrates the stories of others who I project have leapt over the chasm of fear and landed in fulfillment. No wonder Teresa of Avila rings the bell about the ‘pesky reptiles' that sneak into the Interior Castle. Mine arrive in the form of snakes. A creature I once held with some affection has come to bear the shadow of my light. How do I face the growing Overwhelm?
8:57am: Reflecting on the morning's reading after my contemplative sit (Mt.13: 31 - 34):
“He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches. He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.” Jesus told the crowds all these things in parables; without a parable he told them nothing.”
This happens sometimes when I am in relationship to the sacredness of the world. This time the gate was a sacred text. A moment of recognition on the heels of contemplation. The origins of transformation start with a small act of intent, to add the drop of yeast, or to sow the mustard seed. Or, in my current situation, to vulnerably accept my own state. It is a choice point on par with mixing yeast or planting a seed. Small acts that set life in motion. All three change the conditions of the relationships at hand; one to land, one to flour, and one to myself.
When I give myself over to the reality of all that is, I can turn to face the three-headed snake. This turning revives the slow work of relating to the tension and temptations that encircle me. With courage high, I meet the fierce gaze of Overwhlem. I feel the terror. And it also strangely feels like a vulnerable act of friendship. Not meeting Overwhelm with resistance but acceptance, surprises us both. I accept that the snake has been slithering around my subconsciousness knocking over bookshelves and drinking all of my beer. My acceptance calms Overwhelm down. When I tentatively reach out to give him a friendly pat on the back, Overwhelm regresses from a giant three-headed snake back into a pesky reptile. The truth is Overwhelm prefers to be a pesky reptile holding all the hidden and beastly parts of myself until I am ready to see them. This pesky reptile just needs me to check-in on the regular and honor the dangerous job he does in my shadows. Otherwise this carries a cost for us both. We vow to carry on with a touch more humor and a helluva lot more tenderness. We awkwardly embrace.
Friends, practice makes practice. However your practice reaches you and grounds you to all of you, take note. The beast in me is still learning to do so.
July NonRequired Reading List
Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants by Robin Wall Kimmerer (Get it at the Public Library or IndieBound)
Robin Wall Kimmerer is a botanist and a member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation. Kimmerer was born into an immersive wisdom tradition in relationship with the world and had to fight to find her position in the world of science as an Indigenious woman. The two worlds collided within her, but became one in her embodiment, stories, and work. Kimmerer’s reflections braids these two strands into a seamless wisdom for times of planetary shifts such as these:
“Knowing that you love the earth changes you, activates you to defend and protect and celebrate. But when you feel that the earth loves you in return, that feeling transforms the relationship from a one-way street into a sacred bond.” (pp. 124 - 5)
The symbiotic nature of Braiding Sweetgrass moved me to tears; brutal history and lucid memories paired with scientific clarity, the social network of pecans, the beloved bond of asters and goldenrods, and her Father's coffee ritual (I was smitten by that one) just to name a few. Go slow with Braiding Sweetgrass. Read it like you would a poem, sacred myth, or a botany book, because it is all three.
The Last Black Man in San Francisco directed by Joe Talbot
(Watch the trailer and find showtimes)
I don’t get to the movies very often. After I watched the trailer for The Last Black Man in San Francisco a few months back I turned off my computer. I wanted to know nothing more about this film until I was sitting in the theater. The two-hours flashed before my eyes with tears of joy-filled sorrow (the older I get the more I see joy and sorrow riding on the same skateboard across town). This film holds so much life on the screen. It was generous in its storytelling devices and daringly personal for the way it lingers on tender moments between friends. The backdrop of San Francisco as city in quick change for the good or for the ill or for progress or for greed or for the oppressive system, the decision is yours to decipher. There is much, much, much to discuss about this film. But I've already said too much. I want you to see it with as fresh as eyes as I did.
The Last Black Man in San Francisco is for those who have felt at home before or those who are seeking that sensation.
Arts and Articles
'Find Your Calling Where It Hurts :: Shawn Askinosie' by TEDx: Shawn is a friend of Contemplify, his TEDx talk will inspire you to discern your calling by going to the core of your pain
‘Going Home with Wendell Berry’ by Amanda Petrusich (The New Yorker): A favorite subject of mine. Berry continues to shine as a counter cultural contemplative.
‘He’s Writing 365 Children’s Books in 365 Days, While Holding Down a Day Job’ (NYT): My new hero, Matt Zurbo.
“Heavenly Father” by Bon Iver: This version lays my soul bare.
Contemplify Update
The last 3 episodes are a part of a series titled ‘Of the Invisible’, conversations with poets on their craft and contemplation.
Maurice Manning on the Symbolic and Actual (Of the Invisible #4)
Chris Dombrowski: Part Two (Of the Invisible #2) (and here's Part One too in case you missed it)
(Subscribe on iTunes, Stitcher, Podbean, Overcast, or Contemplify.com)
May the snapshots of your practice showcase a collage of transformation.
May the braiding of seemingly disparate worlds emerge a wisdom of oneness.
May the joy and sorrow of being at home in this world be a voyage worth beginning again.
All my best,
Paul
P.S. If you are feeling the warm glow around the Contemplify fire, please consider tossing another log in by sharing a favorite episode or this email with a kindred spirit. If this message finds you rushing to see the late showing of Last Black Man in San Francisco, disregard this ask and buy some popcorn. Or if you are the rare breed who likes to leave reviews, please do so on Apple Podcasts, it strangely helps get the word out.