Contemplify NonRequired Reading List for July 31, 2021
July NonRequired Reading List
Contemplative,
These four words prove that all you need is an opening lick on a whetstone.
“Like people or dogs”
Four words, that’s it. That is all it takes to sharpen a razor’s edge and shave the ordinary. I will share the entirety of the poem that starts “Like people or dogs”, but to set that up, a brief rambling on how Jesus of Nazareth taught me the value of a poetic whetstone.
In the rabbinical tradition that Jesus participated in, a teacher would speak the opening lines of a Psalm and his students would recite the rest from memory. A teacher's spoken cue to a lesson readied in the present moment, absorbed in a context, and remembered as a community. The labors of memorization, like eating celery, go unrewarded unless the labors are worth the effort, unlike eating celery. This practice requires the disciplines of remembrance.
Reciting a sacred text from memory can save your soul. Memorized and residing within, memorized wisdom can burrow into your bones and billow out in the right moment. Jesus does this when he recites the opening lines of Psalm 22 as he is being executed – My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Imagine that. Now imagine that you were among Jesus's friends following him on the torturous route to the crucifixion. A place designated for public execution, a gibbet to what happens when you cross the almighty state. Seeing Jesus hang on the cross you bear witness to his struggle for each breath. You can almost hear him say "I can't breathe". All but a few abandon him. The remnant watching hears Jesus recite the opening line of Psalm 22. A Psalm of anguish and rescue. Raw, bloodied, and gasping for air he is calling on his friends to join him in this sacred practice. A teacher even at the point of death. And imagine his disciples hearing Jesus cry out that opening lick of Psalm 22. He had done this many times before. They knew what was theirs to do as the memories flooded their brains. For it was only a few weeks ago that Jesus was grinning and beckoning them to wring out the scriptures over reality. On dusty backroad walks, river swims, and field edges they gleaned from this practice. They did not fully understand what they were practicing at the time. Jesus was teaching them to taste, see, and remember. He knew this practice could save them.
Praise the Lord, I am not the Lord. I am a contemplative shoveler clearing the sidewalk in a manner that can only be defined as lumbering. The blade is low, the work slow, and the laborer is smiling. I lifted this practice from Jesus and make my attempts at memorizing sacred texts, songs, and poetry. To nurture an incarnate life I gnaw on truth, beauty, and goodness.
I opened this musing with the first four words from the poem “Life of a Day” by Tom Hennen. It is a favorite poem of mine to chew on during the season of "ordinary time" in the Christian liturgical calendar. God, I love the liturgical humility of calling it “ordinary time”. It conjures up images of sipping a cup of ginger tea, walking the sun down to dusk, or sneaking a poem in before lights out. That is my romanticized version. It is also true that the season of ordinary time is when I am most susceptible to take the coolness of a blue morning for granted or blink away God’s expectant presence in my day. But in a moment of remembrance, I lean back into the unknown and recite four words.
“Like people or dogs”
So in this ordinary moment, on this ordinary day, in this ordinary liturgical season, sit with the words from the poem, “Life of a Day”. Who knows? You might even want to memorize them.
"Life of a Day" by Tom Hennen
(from Darkness Sticks to Everything)
Like people or dogs, each day is unique and has
its own personality quirks which can easily be seen
if you look closely. But there are so few days as
compared to people, not to mention dogs, that it
would be surprising if a day were not a hundred
times more interesting than most people. But
usually they just pass, mostly unnoticed, unless
they are wildly nice, like autumn ones full of red
maple trees and hazy sunlight, or if they are grimly
awful ones in a winter blizzard that kills the lost
traveler and bunches of cattle. For some reason
we like to see days pass, even though most of us
claim we don’t want to reach our last one for a
long time. We examine each day before us with
barely a glance and say, no, this isn’t one I’ve been
looking for, and wait in a bored sort of way for
the next, when, we are convinced, our lives will
start for real. Meanwhile, this day is going by perfectly
well-adjusted, as some days are, with the
right amounts of sunlight and shade, and a light
breeze scented with a perfume made from the
mixture of fallen apples, corn stubble, dry oak
leaves, and the faint odor of last night’s meandering skunk.
July NonRequired Reading List
Shaped by the End You Live for: Thomas Merton's Monastic Spirituality by Bonnie Thurston (Get it the Public Library or Bookshop)
I have read dozens of books on the life and work of Thomas Merton. There are few that successfully zero in on a particular aspect of Merton and then extract that as a sample to exemplify the radiance of his whole life. Shaped by the End You Live for does that. Bonnie Thurston focuses on what spiritual pilgrims can learn from Merton’s vowed and evolving path. Thurston unveils the core tenets of Merton’s monastic spirituality (obedience, silence, solitude, prayer, and creativity) and patiently walks the reader through their significance with concrete examples. By the end I shouted with Merton, “If you want to have a spiritual life you must unify your life. A life is either all spiritual or not spiritual at all. No man can serve two masters. Your life is shaped by the end you live for. You are made in the image of what you desire.” (p.109)
Shaped by the End You Live for is for pilgrims who hear the hum of the universe in the life of Thomas Merton.
Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism by Chögyam Trungpa (Get it the Public Library or Bookshop)
A friend sent around an article on spiritual narcissism. It was a doozy. A precise diagnosis of what ails the spiritual landscape in modern times. Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism by Chögyam Trungpa was cited and I pulled it from the library shelves. Trungpa offers guidance for beginners (and grizzled vets) on a spiritual path to avoid the trappings of spiritual gurus, practices of self and situational awareness, gifts of the wisdom traditions, and responses to student questions that build the necessary muscles for removing a log from one's own eye.
Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism is for anyone who works or has worked professionally in the fields of spirituality.
Moment to Moment: Poems of a Mountain Recluse by David Budbill (Get it the Public Library or Bookshop)
A fluke brought Moment to Moment to me. I requested a book of poetry from the library by the Zen Buddhist monk Ryōkan. I assumed David Budbill was the translator. This created the happiest mishap of my summer. David Budbill pays homage to the ancient Zen poet tradition by dropping himself into it. His poetry reflects the simplicity of Ryōkan, the humor of Han Shan (Cold Mountain), but the poems are unmistakably David Budbill. When a poet chops down exasperated words to reveal plain songs that mingle with this mad beautiful existence--I drop to the skin of my knees.
Moment to Moment is for poetry readers who feel the clearing song of a night sky.
Contemplify Update
The four most recent episodes on Contemplify…
Scott Ballew on Talking to Mountains & the Sublimity of Sad Songs
Tending to the Spiritual Interior of Language with Lia Purpura
These episodes are available from Contemplify through these fine outlets: iTunes, Stitcher, Podbean, or Overcast
Arts & Articles
Pig (Movie Trailer): Every few years a movie trailer evokes a guttural response from me. This feeling instructs me to learn nothing else about the movie and go see the damn thing. It is best to watch these gut responsive movies alone in a dark theater or, by the grace of God, with a certain type of movie pal. I can only claim receiving this bodily response to a movie trailer twice before, Last Black Man in San Francisco and First Reformed. Both movies sent me on a long walk to a pint of rumination. I trust Pig will do the same.
"Attention" by Hari Kunzru (Harper’s Magazine): The phrase “ontology of visibility” rolls about my mind now. It is a dice phrase. I roll the dice to await its various meanings, one roll glazes my eyes over with distraction while another focuses my attention on those pushed towards invisibility.
“Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude” by Ross Gay / accompanied by Bon Iver (Spotify): Turn this up and play it loud! With one hand on your heart and one on your gut let it preach you right out of your seat. Let the tears fly or your smile broaden. No matter your circumstances this poem (song? mystical message?) might change your life.
Like people or dogs*
Use your tongue wisely
With words called spiritual
And bodies called holy.
Climb a mountain to write a poem.
Suck in the air.
We are alive together.
Save your fork there might be pie,
Paul
*I am borrowing this line from Tom Hennen, I promise to give it back.
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P.P.S. The postings to kindle the examined life in a quarantined world have been taped shut in a box labeled "Quarantined Qontemplative" and set on the curb. It has been replaced by a new offering (but very similar essence) labeled "Musings" near the outhouse at the Contemplify basecamp.