Contemplfiy NonRequired Practice - Quarantine Edition #7
Contemplify NonRequired Practice | Quarantine Edition #7
Contemplative Friend,
My running route is a half mile stretch of tarmac that zippers a manicured golf course with a handcrafted community garden. It speaks to my lot in life. Often when I am pushing my son in the stroller pretending to be a runner I overhear melodic languages I know not. Each spring a community garden resurrects from this barren lot; murals are brandished on the shed, giant tires are rolled in to serve as garden beds, and a cast of faithful waterers revolve in attendance. This is not a vanity project, it is a creative boon born out of the limitations of having no outdoor space to call your own. The portion of my neighborhood that surrounds the garden resembles army barracks that were surrendered after a shelling, but rather than soldiers occupying tight quarters, it is families. These long brick buildings wear perennial dog tags imprinted with “Apartments Available”. Many of my neighbors on this blocks transition in and then out before a growing season produces. And with this fast-paced thought darting ahead, I run by a few unneighborly remnants; used needles, dog shit, overflowing dumpsters, and greased furniture. That is one anxious story line of my neighborhood. Another story line is quietly being written in the soil by my neighbors who are committed to this place by price, proxy, and the people. They are ones that tend the garden of the neighborhood.
Over my other shoulder is the golf course. Mostly old white men in pleated pants up to their armpits, donning colorful caps over bald heads, and shirt sleeves embroidered with dueling golf clubs. Truly I have nothing against old white bald men, by God I am halfway there! When asked if I golf, I quote Mark Twain, “Golfing gets in the way of a good walk.” I am in awe of the discipline it takes though. The precise and repeated practice of movement over time and over changing landscapes is worth applauding (golf claps only). I do balk at the lavish nature of a game whose board covers such a vast and usable acreage that would be better suited for a community garden or a public park for those without a yard to call their own. And in my neighborhood, I get doubly chapped when I see the trash and beer cans from the golf course get tossed over the fence in careless abandon to the other side. The fence is a marker of the end of their territory and the beginning of an assumed wasteland.
I run the zipper pulling these two ends of society together. I feel a kinship with the gardeners and understand the privilege of the golfers. I recognize both sets of rusty haloes and wear my own. This is the plight of the contemplative in the world, seeing the connectedness that radiates within the diversity of the planet. A contemplative must run a connective path and unmask the fabricated identities of a sick society. As usual, Thomas Merton got there first,
“Now if we take our vulnerable shell to be our true identity, if we think our mask is our true face, we will protect it with fabrications even at the cost of violating our own truth. This seems to be the collective endeavor of society: the more busily men dedicate themselves to it, the more certainly it becomes a collective illusion, until in the end we have the enormous, obsessive, uncontrollable dynamic of fabrications designed to protect mere fictitious identities-- "selves," that is to say, regarded as objects. Selves that can stand back and see themselves having fun (an illusion which reassures them that they are real).” Pulled from “Rain & the Rhinoceros” by Thomas Merton.
If this finds you a gardener or a golfer, may you see your true identity in the eyes of the other. The quarantine offers more room for examination of fictitious identities, protective masks, and true faces. Bend your back into a bow to that which lights your true face.
Love is the Meaning
Depending on who you talk to Julian of Norwich‘s Feast Day was last week (May 8) or is just around the corner (May 13). Either way pull this quote down from the top shelf and thank Julian, it is worth pondering over a lifetime.
“Wouldst thou learn thy Lord’s meaning in this thing? Learn it well: Love was His meaning. Who shewed it to thee? Love. What shewed He to thee? Love. Why shewed it He? For Love. Hold thee therein and thou shalt learn and know more of the same. Thus was I learned that Love is our Lord’s meaning.” (h/t Richard)
Frank Ostaseki taught a practice for when the anxiety of the pandemic simmers your heart. Frank offered the practice of holding your hand over your heart and reciting the mantra over and over again, “I choose love. I choose love. I choose love.” Dame Julian would fully endorse this heart-centered practice.
A Nightly Examen
In the quiet of night, how do you draw the day to a close? A cup of tea or bowl of chocolate chocolate chip ice cream perhaps. Concrete practices do not push against the flow of the day but welcome its pooling as blessing to the end of an arduous journey. Sly daily practices can birth new life more than a near drowning or ecstatic break dances. The fine folks at the Cathedral of the Incarnation have been quietly offering practices that serve as signposts throughout the life of a day.
Check out their latest, A NIGHTLY EXAMEN. “So many of us go to bed at night with the day racing through our minds. We need a way to both reflect and let go. A daily examen is one way to do this. By reviewing the day that has passed, and preparing for tomorrow with the expectation of God’s continued care, we create the habit of really turning our lives over to God.” (Di McCullough)
Listen to it here.
Find Your Heroes
There is a vacuum of celebrated public heroes…and superhero movies rush to fill it. In my opinion we create near perfect characters for the silver screen (with one whopper of a flaw that they can work on for the duration of the film) to avoid the subtlety of exercising real character in complex circumstances. Why do I bring this up? One of my hopes is that during this quarantine that friends of Contemplify will seek out real examples of character to emulate, study the practices of their tradition, and commit themselves to a way of being.
Homework To Do (and this will only be checked by your conscious)
Who are your heroes?
Why are they your heroes?
What aspects of their character to aspire to live up to?
How do you plan to do so?
May you bend your back into a bow to that which lights your true face.
A Pretend Runner,
Paul
P.S. So if a friend forwarded you this email and you think you might like to get the next one sent directly to your inbox, sign up below.
P.P.S. The daily postings to kindle the examined life in a quarantined world are still being sticky taped to the church blackboard at Quarantined Qontemplative square between the confirmation photos of bygone years.