August NonRequired Reading List
Contemplify / NRR #93
Words are the language of this world. Silence is the language of heaven.
— St. Isaac the Syrian
Once per week the darkness stirs me awake, beckoning me to come out and play. I am prepared. My pack is set with a bottle of water, a headlamp, notebook and pen. Groggily, I tip toe to the kitchen and heat the kettle for two cups of tea. Black tea for the drive up to the trail and ginger for the drive back. I take my first sip, hop in the car, and head north then east. The darkness pulsates with a raw quietude as I roar down the interstate and veer towards the shadowy mountains. Rolling over the gravel into an empty trailhead parking lot is a sweet success. I park and turn off my headlights. Immediately I feel the thick inky infinitude. Seconds later I am out of the car and wide eyeing the blinking overhead stars. After running through a mental checklist of necessities, I hit the trail. The full moon made my headlamp unnecessary. I tuck it back in my pack and hear the dark side of the moon smirking. The bright side is beaming at me. Rumor has it that the moon is an ageless drum that has never been beaten. Its thrumming is only heard in the ear of the night owl, but I say the early bird is who actually gets the moon.
The moon spotlights the way, but does not set the pace. I hike quickly at the start, adrenaline jumps and bounds, matching reckless thoughts at odds with the night's moving embrace. My soul knows to drink in the milk of the moon before it leaks into dawn, but my body and mind rebel. To absorb dark wisdom, I must first drain my swampy mind of clinging thoughts. Work worries, family schedules, global crises, and other tangled concepts. All clogged wonderings that muck up this crowded bog of thoughts, attaching themselves like leeches to my skull. We hike on together, the leeches and me. The first half mile is twisted turns, but flat. These suckling thoughts enjoying a free ride. Turns reveal step ups, elevation gaining at a clip that finally knocks my work worries free. I hear them hitting the dirt. Sweat gathers at the sternum and armpits, my eyes lurch to the stars, dropping off the worries of friends and global woes here. The deep lunges up have me panting, breathing heavy, and family schedules are vaporized. For a present moment, I cling to nothing. Wrapped and held in the blanket of night, I gaze.
Someone just spilled a pool of light into the night sky. A periwinkle blue is bleeding into the black. Stars ghost without goodbyes. The dark of night consents to light’s intrusion, lifting its brow, and ploddingly moves towards its daily oblivion. My pace settles. Pausing for water and glances at chirping not-so-early-birds made cranky by my presence. Thoughts have also settled within me now. It is not a terribly long hike up to the saddle, where a knotty intersection of trails mirror the confusion of humanity. Yet for a moment I am free. A jutting turn left, up a bit more, a rock clearing greets me and offers a view, and invites each visitor to meditate with open eyes. Wind flashes across my face. I turn so it rushes against my back and the sun rays rise. Its seems right to tie my morning prayers onto this slanting wind, imagining these prayers reaching each pine needle, fluttering leaf, rock outcropping, and scat pile. St. Francis was onto something. I make way to a makeshift rock wall. I sit. It gets quiet. Near silent. I get quiet. A windbreak covers me and the Sandias stretch awake in the sunlight. I read a poem and then the day’s Gospel. I bow, do my sit, and bow again.
Now the pull down the mountain is just as strong as the night’s stirrings to get me up the mountain. Go figure. My family, work, and community will soon wake. I move swiftly, with a leecheless mind. They will find me soon enough. The sun is up higher, warming the ground. The wind pushes me and the warm scent of ponderosa pine washes over me. The earth is swinging an invisible thurible, covering me with this undeserved butterscotch incense. Heading down the mountain I meet people and dogs. The dogs bound to my heels, without leash or concern. The hikers this morning have loud leeches. I hear talk of applying to jobs, the impact of the damn taxes on the retired, and I want to say woe to you hikers who wear perfume and cologne masking the incense of the ponderosas and body odor. Then, I meet others on the way down who are already quiet, already settled, already carrying a kingdom in their eyes. We nod, a most subtle recognition—or maybe an unnecessary blessing on one another—as I return to the red dust of the world and they begin their retreat from it.
My son started kindergarten this month. I am excited for him. I am concerned for him. We walked him to school that first day as a family. Pokemon backpack strapped to his shoulders. He dressed in all black; hat, shirt, shorts. Ready for a funeral. Hat low, covering downcast eyes. Not a sullen child, more a sensitive daydreamer who intuited a transition, another step into a more grown up world. He nearly walked into a trashcan as we cut through the park. Didn’t see it, his mind was elsewhere. I get it all too well. I asked him a few questions. No response. His sister and mom asked him a few, no response. Walking through the alley we all kicked rocks. My son was composed in his interior quiet. My adult thoughts certainly did not match his. I am thinking about him entering big systems, learning the pledge and what I think it stands for, making new friends, and having to sit in an assigned place. A dreamer learning order. Sounds like a corral, but the structure and intent will be good for him I think. My truest feelings are that public education is a gift, which has me quoting a founding father like I am running for office, “Educate and inform the whole mass of the people... They are the only sure reliance for the preservation of our liberty.”1 Learning how to learn is the sharpest knife, and cuts both ways for the goodness of the whole. These are my overwrought dreams for my newly minted kindergartner. We said our goodbyes and my son stands silently and still in line with kids completely unknown to him.
Attachment theorist, John Bowlby says that, “All of life is a series of daring explorations from a secure base.” That is the work we are doing for my son (with the help of the village of course), providing that secure base so the fires of life can be dared greatly. Without that base, life is overly dependent upon banks, shifting ego trips, achievement, and damned luck. Panic and anxiety are already strong winds that blow through our culture regardless of the aforementioned secure base. Best to be as prepared as possible.
My son unintentionally reminds me to get quiet2 in the face of the unknown. Walk a funeral procession in your darkest clothes. Hear its dirge as you shed weathered skin. Yes, mourn the old skin. Tough yet frayed, it needed to go. The newly exposed skin is fresh and vulnerably bare. Get quiet. Feel your elders walk behind you as you stretch out this new skin. Feel the arm of the elders on your shoulder, encouraging the next step, they have been through this before. Hug them and release them to walk through the next gate.
The world rewards loud people with more attention. If attention is what you seek, get loud. But I tell you, be more fascinated by the quiet we each carry. This is not learned in classrooms, but the walks to and fro educational settings. Find the quiet in hikes, prayers and meditations, dancing, and conversations that gently drape meaning like a sweater on a kitchen chair. It is not only our job to learn and practice this in the conditions of our life—and to make a break towards the mountains when called—but to pass it on and encourage it in the kindergarteners in our life. It helps you bear the necessary classrooms. Adults need a secure base in a loud world. Get quiet. Children need a secure base in a confounding world. Get quiet. Hold their hand and when they are ready, walk behind them. There are times everyday when I need to hold up and hold the hand of my loved ones, or rend the rags covering Mystery, or rip after the wayward trails of the mystics. All to build the courage to get quiet.
Nearing death, the Brazilian educator and philosopher Paulo Freire was asked, “What is most important in life?”
Paulo responded, “The beautiful daily struggle to be congruent.”3
Contemplify is a boat out at sea. An open water vessel for conversation, musing, and practice. Sometimes it drifts, but it is always focused on kindling the examined life for contemplatives in the world. Thank you to all who support this vessel by means and presence in the Contemplify offerings (podcasts, NonRequired Readings, Lo-Fi & Hushed Contemplative Practices). For those who wish to support Contemplify through monetary means, press the button below. Becoming a paid subscriber is a kindness that humbles me and keeps this ship in motion. Some folks want to support just for the sake of supporting Contemplify (a toothy smile to you, folks), but paid subscribers are also automatically invited to the weekly Lo-Fi & Hushed Practice Session on Wednesday mornings. Good, clean, unglamorous contemplative fun. Hope to see you there (see the footnote if you want to join the weekly practice but do not want to become a paid subscriber).4
August NonRequired Reading List
Presence: The Art of Being at Home in Yourself by Tracy Cochran (Get it at the Public Library or Bookshop)
You can tell when you are present. You can tell when someone is not present to you in a conversation. Maybe you can even tell when someone walks into a room and there is a shining in their qualitative presence. How does a person grow in this presence? Tracy Cochran tells us in Presence through a collection of stories and reflections from Cochran’s life work as a student of presence.
I have quoted this here before, but it is one of my all time favorite quotes these days and it comes to us from Presence, “Zen Master Dōgen taught that practice meant seeing ourselves making one mistake after another. Enlightenment expands awareness of this state of affairs. So the life of a Zen master then, according to Dōgen, is one continuous mistake.”5 Cochran tells stories from this aware state of affairs. Each story brings a surprising acuity of presence whether the vehicle is getting mugged, parenting on a Zen retreat, appearance of ghosts, studying ancestry, and how a real teacher teaches with their back.
Tracy Cochran has been a guest on Contemplify twice, listen to our most recent conversation on Presence here. There is rolling presence with Tracy, that uplifts, restores, and challenges you all at once. Presence is for contemplatives seeking a collection of stories that encourage this artful path of presence.
Cosmogenesis: An Unveiling of the Expanding Universe by Brian Thomas Swimme (Get it at the Public Library or Bookshop)
How do you tell the story of the universe? A never ending math equation is one way, but Brian Swimme opted for a lush first person narrative of his own path of discovery. Swimme brings the radical focus of a data-driven mathematician, the wonder of a philosopher, and the sight of a mystic in the retelling of his personal story of discovery of the expanding universe.
Cosmogenesis burns in your hand, you move through pages at a blistering speed to find out where this pioneering and panting mathematician will go next, some are high-paying soul-sucking dead ends, some partial insights from holy fools, all breadcrumbs through the dark forest that lead him to the feet of a wise mentor who guides and encourages him in his cosmological drive.
Cosmogenesis is beautifully crafted; marching through the life of an itchy mind that needs the cosmos to scratch it, and upgrading a reader's understanding of the story of the evolution of the cosmos. Cosmogenesis is for contemplatives like myself who prefer their scientific gleanings meticulously folded inside of a creative narrative.
STEVE! directed by Morgan Neville (Watch trailer here)
One of my favorite books about the artistic path is Steve Martin’s Born Standing Up. The dedication to craft, being so good they can’t ignore you, and then hanging it up at the height of your status and powers because the art had turned empty. It is difficult for me to comprehend the phenomenon that Steve Martin was in 1970s American culture. The documentary STEVE! captures his life in two parts; Martin’s rise to the comic stratosphere and his life after he hung up his wild and crazy guy act.
STEVE! is a visual compendium to Born Standing Up, part one in particular. Part two is where you witness an artist who has mastered the discipline of one craft and started applying those same principles to writing fiction, movies, plays, musicals, and comic strips. And lest I forget his penchant for acting or as an art collector or as a Grammy award winning banjo player too.
The documentary STEVE! translates well for contemplatives seeking to hold the paradox of craft, disciplined dedication to a path, and the arduous task of being detached from public opinion, positive or negative.
Contemplify Update
Season Five is in full swing. And more to come. As always you can find the complete list of Contemplify episodes here and below are the four most recent episodes of this season.
Drew Jackson on Touch the Earth, Poetry as a Lifesaver, and the Importance of Lucille Clifton (Season 5, Ep 6)
Tracy Cochran on the Art of Presence, Mistakes as Practice, & the Grief of Awakening (Season 5, Ep 5)
Brian McLaren on Life After Doom, Patient Urgency, & Complexifying Hope (Season 5, Ep 4)
Cassidy Hall on Queering Contemplation, Letting Go of Thomas Merton, and Expanding Foundations (Season 5, Ep 3)
All episodes are available from Contemplify through Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get podcasts worth their salt.
Arts & Articles
IN SEARCH OF A WAY: WALKING THE CHRISTIAN SPIRITUAL PATH with Douglas E. Christie, Ph.D (Loyola Marymount University): If you dig Contemplify and want to direct your personal digging into deeper study and practice, take this online class. It is once a month on Saturday mornings starting in October. I desperately wish I could swing it. Douglas Christie is a masterful writer, scholar, teacher, and conversationalist (listen to my conversations with him here and here). Read the full course description to see if it calls to you, here is the tip and the tail end of it, “Walking a path. Following a way. The journey. The impulse to walk is so strong within us. Perhaps because of this, it has proven a durable and useful metaphor for spiritual longing. At the very heart of Christian spirituality stands the image of a path…Itineraries found in Christian mystical traditions have a particular importance to play in illuminating what it means to be “in search of a way.” Members of the class will be invited to engage and critically respond to these traditions and to consider how learning to “walking the path” can draw us closer to God and one another in love.” (meets online, so lots of room)
LO-FI & HUSHED FALL EQUINOX PRACTICE SESSION (Contemplify): The Fall Equinox Lo-Fi & Hushed Contemplative Practice Session is coming up on Wednesday, September 25. This is a free and public contemplative practice of poetry, lectio, self-examination, and group reflection. It still rings my bell. Gorgeous yet unglamorous. Subtle ripples in a still pool. Learn more here and an invitation will go out to all subscribers the night before. Practitioners can join via Riverside or Zoom link.
WHAT GILLIAN WELCH AND DAVID RAWLINGS TOOK FROM THE TORNADO by Amanda Petrusich (New Yorker): Gill and Dave (my love for their music compels my informality) are treasures in the lineage of folk music. Their discipline of the craft, honoring of the tradition while sharpening its edges soothes my soul. Check out their latest album Woodland and whole back catalog while you are at it.
NICK CAVE ON SINGING WITH JOHNNY CASH AND THE JOYFUL, UPLIFTING VIBE OF HIS NEW ALBUM, ‘WILD GOD’ by The Late Show with Stephen Colbert (YouTube): Nick Cave and Stephen Colbert have a public conversation on the power of music and grief. Finish your snack and lick your fingers before watching, you are going to want to bring your full attention. (h/t to my brother)
When ponderosa pine
mixes
with the body’s natural fragrance
the incense
reminds you—
get quiet,
remain a creature
of darkness
and of light.
In the beautiful daily struggle,
Paul
All Bookshop purchase links give a kickback to a local New Mexico bookstore and to Contemplify. Big thanks.
Jefferson, Thomas https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/01-12-02-0490
In an upcoming Contemplify interview I talk with Ben Katt about his book, The Way Home: Discovering the Hero's Journey to Wholeness at Midlife, a sharp book on midlife and his chapter called “Get Quiet” has shaped me in since I read it.
This story was told to me by an upcoming guest on Contemplify, Susan Murphy.
Contemplify never wants money to be a filthy barrier to practice. So if you want to practice weekly with this contemplative basecamp at Lo-Fi & Hushed but aren’t able to offer support (no sweat!), follow the instructions here to email me, would be thrilled to have you practicing with us.
Cochran, Tracy. Presence: The Art of Being at Home in Yourself. Shambala, 2024, p.12