March NonRequired Reading List
Contemplify / NRR #109
One grows tired of the hoax of up
And down. Jesus descended into a universe
Of neither perfect lines, squares, nor circles.
— Ted Kooser and Jim Harrison
Trappist monk Br. Paul Quenon slept outside for twenty-eight years at the Abbey of Gethsemane in Kentucky. Br. Paul began this outdoor bargain at age 55 and packed it in at 83. This tidbit of information wormed into my ears and now I cannot shake it from my tongue. In conversation, I unnaturally bring it up. I want to know what others think of this monk’s sleeping habit. Would they do it? Can you imagine those summers of shuteye in the sweltering heat of Kentucky? What do you think compels a person to stretch out under the night sky for nearly three decades?
When I was a kneescratcher, my mom brought the book The Root Beer Lady home from the library. It tells the story of Dorothy Molter, a legendary figure of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in northern Minnesota. In the 1960s she was ousted by the US Forest Service. Dorothy petitioned to stay until they consented to a temporary lease. Temporary turned to permanent. A woman of the wilds, Dorothy lived for half a century in the Boundary Waters and brewed root beer for backcountry canoeists. I never got to paddle up and sample her homebrew, but pined for it plenty while crossing lakes after particularly tough portages.
My friend Dave recently told me about “duck women” in Norway’s Vega archipelago who protect and tend to the wild eider ducks by building places of shelter for them to nest. An old practice of place, patience, and reverential care. The secondary reward is harvesting the eider’s feathers that the ducks pluck from their own bodies to shore up their nests. Inter-species cooperation at its warmest. Fewer eider ducks show up each year. A tradition spanning centuries on a small chain of islands is dwindling as there is less need for duck women to carry it forward. A practice rich in history, short in future. My heart aches to know what we are losing.
Let me slow down to collect my bananas. Mumbling on about a monk sleeping outside, the disappearing craft of tending to eider ducks on my ancestral shores, and a root beer lady in the backwoods might seem bananas. But then again, I pick up the news and read about the organized and cutthroat violence from a litter of political leaders. Their slippery words evade accountability as they promote brutality through self-serving expansion. They do not appear as characters of integrity, only prideful absurdity. I am drawn counterclockwise to the seemingly absurd actions by people of humble character. These modest mortals inspire me to drop to the ground and suction my ear to the earth and listen for its pulse1, the steadying heartbeat of home.
Hearing the pulse of the earth requires stillness. A stillness ripened by contemplative practice. I regularly step into conversation around contemplative practice. Themes range from preferred methods, length, traditions…and on and on the contemplative chatter spins. I relish these conversations2. Whenever a question opens towards guidance on how to begin a practice, I double down on one specific point.
Master the art of showing up.
a straying slant (before doubling back)
I like to run. I run like a viking late to a funeral pyre, grunty and without clean form. Running is something I practice without goals. No commitment to public runs for me. Marathons, half-marathons, 5ks do not motivate my legs and lungs3. In fact they are counterproductive to getting me outside. Self-knowledge has taught me that if I signed up for a race it would take me a few minutes, an hour at the most, before I retracted my commitment for the prescribed distance on the scheduled day with throngs of people. My internal contrarian protests - Why can’t I just run the distance I want on the day I want? This willfulness is not a strength, but an encoding. For me, running derives from a internal motivation. A fascination with movement. Waking the body to its natural cooling system. It was during the height of Covid that I picked up running again, started with a mere ten minutes a day of sweating it out through effortful strides at a brisk pace.
The primary drive in my running is mastering the art of lacing up. Lacing up my secondhand running shoes4 is the only commitment I make. Once the shoes are tied, I will not back down from hitting the streets. I am consenting. My running regimen is not praiseworthy. I run the distance that I can within the confines of the day. This purposeful rundown delivers a simple, slant point. I am mastering the art of showing up through the practice of tightening my laces. The art of lacing up was born out of a discipline originally forged in my contemplative practice.
showing up
In contemplative practice, I notice many folks get caught in the labyrinth of shoulds. I should meditate for 30 minutes twice a day. I should do lectio divina. I should close out the day with a nightly examen. If you, dear reader, heed the call to contemplation you could insert your own “shoulds” here. After decades of practice, I am a firm believer that any newcomer should aim to master the art of showing up. Most folks cannot show up and sit on the cushion for 30 minutes everyday from the jump. The schedule is too full, the mind on tenterhooks, and by golly the taxes are still unfinished. And thinking such rapidfire thoughts leads a would-be practitioner to conclusions before beginnings. If I cannot sit or pray for the prescribed time, best to start tomorrow. Would-be practitioners share this in common with wannabe runners; tomorrow is always a better day to start. Tomorrow is a nonsense word in the realm of practice. hone your craft by showing up today. Even if briefly.
When you feel the tug on the heartsleeves or hear the quiet knock of unboundaried Mystery, show up. Whether you show up to sit on a fancyass meditation cushion or a sticky bus seat you carry an intention into practice. Intention is a gummy word, too chewy and it loses its flavor after a couple minutes. This is the natural life cycle of intention. It rises and falls hastily. No need to cling to it. Step one is showing up. Step two is intention. Step two is naturally stitched to the heels of step one—showing up implies an intention.
Show up, intend to practice until it loses its flavor. If you immediately go back to flicking at your phone, so be it. Master step one and you automatically master step two (a slamming deal). Do not fret your furry self over this. You might practice step one and two for months5. The masters of step one and two tend to open up to step three. Choosing to consent to Mystery.6 Step three is consenting to the presence of the present tense. Eventually a morning arrives when there is a turning. You settle into the daily habit of sharpening your craft of the two step mastery. You show up with the intention to practice only until the flavor dries up, and then you choose to consent to the flavor behind the flavor. Not so bad, nothing to concern the pastor over. Some days your consenting to what is may be less flavor, other days more. Consenting cultivates discipline without gritted teeth, purifying your intention when it first becomes flavorless. Commitment to the discipline grows from consent. Dalliances with Mystery become habitual.
Master the soulcraft of showing up. Intention follows. The choice to consent blooms. Commitment to a discipline becomes possible.
These steps begin to wipe the lens. You look again at the absurd actions by people of humble character and you begin to see differently. You look out at their lives and see what they have to teach us about contemplative practice.
In high heat or frigid conditions, Br. Paul Quenon was allured out to dance and sleep under the stars. He showed up night after night for twenty-eight years. A praisemaking practice that enlarged his ordinary connection to the One.
Dorothy Molter met resistance to her presence in the wilderness. She persisted in showing up until full consent was given. Popping root beer tops followed.
The aging Norwegian duck women show up each spring to a string of small islands. They do the laboring work of care for a diminishing quilt of eider ducks. The ducks consent to this patient human care. The duck women consent with their full attention. With few to pass their craft onto, the duck women’s wistful commitment does not wane, but shimmers as a sunsetting discipline surpassing the original intentions of dawn.
Contemplify is hard at play mastering the art of showing up. It is a gift to create and share freely Contemplify this past decade. Each offering of Contemplify is free (podcasts, NonRequired Readings, Lo-Fi & Hushed Contemplative Practices), but like all worthwhile endeavors it takes discipline, grit, and energy. Some folks have sought to support Contemplify through monetary means. This is a kindness that I am learning to receive as it softens the unnecessary friction of this joyful work. Those who become paid subscribers are automatically invited to join the weekly Lo-Fi & Hushed Practice Session on Wednesday mornings. A regular communal contemplative practice that supports the rhythms of your one wild and precious life. You can practice live with me and a top shelf community of practitioners or with the recording. Rhythmic contemplative goodness. If you want to join the Lo-Fi & Hushed Practice Sessions but don’t want to (or cannot) become a paid subscriber—no sweat—just add your name and email to this form and you will be included in the practice for free. Money should never be a barrier to contemplative practice. Practice makes practice. Always delighted to add more practitioners to the circle. Hope to see you there.7
Again, big thanks to all who are quietly supporting this contemplative work over this past decade.
March NonRequired Reading List
Alive July 25, 2025 by Jeffrey Martin (Get it at the Bandcamp or Fluff & Gravy Records)
Jeffrey Martin and Anna Tivel played a show in my hometown last fall (hear my conversations with them here and here). Their songs wove together an ambiance that pattered my soul, leaving lingering impressions. This is not uncommon for anyone who has found a seat in their audience. Jeffrey Martin recently stored one of these living experiences on the album, Alive July 25, 2025.
The tracklist of the album tours Jeffrey Martin’s back catalog along with a prescient new song, “1519” and a rejuvenating cover of Neil Young’s “Out on the Weekend”. Between songs you get a sample of Martin’s subtle humor and attention to the ground of life’s turnings. And this is just one show in a moment in time, a solid representation of how Jeffrey Martin disarms the listener and edifies their humanity.
I marvel at Martin’s songcraft. Each listen uncovers a turn of phrase that hits me afresh in grading passages of my life. The songs wash over me and seep in like ocean tides onto rocky shores. They graze me and trail off, I lean in to listen to the fleeting edges. The breakers crash, the expansive silence follows the crescendo, and I fall back within myself. And I swear on the last night’s plate of tacos that upon my most recent play, the song “Garden” stood out on the rock formation and embraced me.
Alive July 25, 2025 is for any appreciative listener kindling the examined life.
Folktales directed by Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady (Stream it on multiple outlets)
In my twenties I had a front row seat to the personal transformation of young adults in small, spiritually-minded, educational communities. The most profound changes occurred in the wilds. The conditions were not predictable which cracked guarded personas so the vulnerable work of grace could break in. When my kids come of age, I hope they consider this type of education. And if they do I will introduce them to Pasvik Folkehøgskole, the setting for the documentary, Folktales.
Folktales follows three young people in the liminal space between childhood and adulthood, from modern trappings to immersive participation in the wilds at a folk school in Finnmark, Norway. We witness the students build relationships with their peers, teachers, and most importantly, the sled dogs in their care. As they learn the skills (and humility) to survive in the harsh arctic conditions students must face their pasts, fears, and possibilities.
Romain, one of the featured students in the documentary, frustrated me. My annoyance stemmed from his stubbornness. I blustered at him until I recognized it as a reflection of my own stubborn nature. Then I rooted for Romain as the teachers challenged him to find the courage to drop his reticence to accept, learn, and adapt to the realities at hand. In the end it was Mjød, his sled dog, who softened him most.
Folktales is for watchers who cherish beyond-the-classroom modalities as undervalued and potent interventions for healthy adult formation.
Evidence: Poems by Mary Oliver (Get it at the Public Library or Bookshop)
Recommending Mary Oliver is like recommending you drink water to survive. Oliver, in league with the great nature poets of the past, quenches readers while inviting further analysis of this one wild and precious life as an anthesis to the conditioning of a sick culture. She is forgiving of cultural profanity. Her work pays it no attention actually, her gaze is fixed steadily on the giddy and giving world. A world in motion, ceaseless in its revelation. Mary Oliver teaches readers to come and see. Her poem “It Was Early” grabs me by the hand to join her on this blithe survey.
Evidence is alive with the natural sound of earth house prayer. Prayer that is a “dance for the world”8 in “partnership with universe.”9 Words that are so simple that the reader feels “that it was all the time words that you yourself, out of your own heart had been saying.”10 There is liturgical tone in my reading of Mary Oliver. Her sacramental worldview evokes praisemaking might inspire monks to sleep outside monastery walls.
Sometimes you forget your own thirst. Mary Oliver reminds you to pay attention to it.
Evidence is contemplatives whose eyes go wide with the wild, not seeking collection, but awe-filled participation.
Contemplify Update
Season Seven is out circling the the trees. I am loving it. It is a different rhythm, one episode a month (perhaps with a musing slipped in here and there); the most recent episode is with Anna Tivel, an undeniable poetic presence and musician. Throughout the entire conversation I felt so damn lucky to be in it. As always you can find the complete list of Contemplify episodes here and below are the three most recent episodes.
Anna Tivel on Animal Poem, Short Stories, and Checking Your Shoes (Season 7, Ep 2)
Dr. Martin Shaw on Liturgies of the Wild (Season 7, Ep 1)
Vision for a New Cabinet by Teddy Macker (Season 7, Trailer)
All episodes are available from Contemplify through Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get podcasts worth their salt.
Arts & Articles
PARENTING FOR JUSTICE VIRTUAL SUMMIT (parenting4justice.com) by Radically Inclusive Parenting Project: If you enjoyed my conversation with Neddy and Aizaiah Yong, this summit will be up your alley. Here is brief description: “What if parenting wasn’t just survival— but a sacred practice? At the Parenting for Justice Virtual Summit, we gather to root our homes in justice, healing, and love. This space is for parents raising children with intention, courage, and care. Come learn. Come rest. Come remember, you are not alone.” Register here.
ROWING THE STONE CANOE: A FEW WORDS ABOUT A RESISTANCE THAT LOOKS BEYOND DENIAL AND HATE TO HEALING (Front Porch Republic) by Teddy Macker: Overhelm hangs heavy over most folks I know. The pandemonium of the day seems to bifurcate attention and response. We need to imagine a resistance beyond hate. Poet-philosopher Teddy Macker offers up some thoughts to all the bedraggled longing for change and imagining what it might look like. Highly recommended.
OUT OF LIGHT: CARAVAGGIO, LA TOUR, AND THE ART OF ATTENTION (Harper’s Magazine) by Nicole Krauss: A Caravaggio painting has been my screensaver for three years. Not the due respect he deserves, but my spiritual director encouraged me to meditate on “The Calling of St. Matthew”. The light continues to stun me. In this article Krauss introduced me to Georges de La Tour through a nuanced comparision with Caravaggio that lead to this inflection point: “La Tour has something to tell us about true drama that Caravaggio doesn’t, really—about the way that it is not about drawing attention but about giving it, and how it unfolds not in the moment of action or at the apex of emotion, but in the stillness of looking so closely for so long, that it has the power to transform.” The whole piece is worthy of a read.
MARY OLIVER: SAVED BY THE BEAUTY OF THE WORLD (Pieshake Pictures) directed by Sasha Waters: Mary Oliver is favored rusty saint at the Contemplify basecamp. She models a mode attention in place. The trailer of this documentary imparts a teaser on the muchness of Oliver’s life. I cannot wait until it hits a screen near me.
THERE’S A GOOD REASON YOU CAN’T CONCENTRATE (NYT) by Cal Newport: Friend of Contemplify Cal Newport has written a valuable op-ed on cognitive fitness, deep work, and sustained attention at home and in the workplace. Newport has been ringing this bell with all his might for years now and the research backs him up.
Show up
with intention.
Choose
to consent.
Commit.
Lacing up,
Paul
All Bookshop purchase links give a kickback to a local New Mexico bookstore and to Contemplify. Big thanks.
Careful, a few of the remaining bugs out there might enter in.
While recognizing that talking about practice is typically not the same as practice
I wish they did.
Still thrifty to the bone
It helps immensely if you have a community of practitioners to join.
The unspoken alternative here is that you do not consent and choose another way.
Contemplify never wants filthy lucre to be a 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!), drop your name and email here, I will add you to the next practice. We would be delighted to have you practicing with us.
Mary Oliver, Evidence: Poems (Boston: Beacon Press, 2009), 33
Ibid, 56
Ibid, 42
Such an honest and humble approach - showing up. Practice starts with accepting an invitation: "Come here honey, let me see you..." That's how I feel. Hold still and consent to a sustained and loving gaze. Look up and out, open heart, open eyes, look back. Thank you, Paul. I enjoy your insight, your humor, your earthiness. Tie your shoelaces so you don't trip and head out into the wild.
wonderful.....my first reading of this post