November NonRequired Reading List
Contemplify / NRR #96
“Find your contemplative practice and practice it. Find your contemplative community and enter it. Find your contemplative teaching and follow it.”
— James Finley
To know that this world is still somehow home, is a practice. Distractions everywhere flutter our eyelashes.1 This homemaking practice in, and of, this world is good, wild, and sacred. It is easy to venture far from this belonging. Walls and wireless masquerade as safety and connection but are just as likely to be grounds of isolation. This is key to our learning now. I remind myself not to beat down my clumsy attempts at belonging. Imperfection is an ally in this world. It agitates you. Let it. Let it toss you out of doors, out of air that has been conditioned to be comfortable.
Imperfection leads you to imprint the field like a deer bedding down. Shielded from the wind and prey is a perennial temporary solution, but try it, does it make you feel more at home in this world? Watch a child setting up their room just so, laying claim to a space that is theirs but not their own, do you tell them this is shortsighted? That they will be gone before they know it? The natural impulse for placemaking or home is an old drive. An inborn, graced instinct.
When one recognizes the sacramentality of place, listen carefully, for you will begin hearing the suspenders snap of greedy extractors nearby licking their chops.2 Hear their sloppy tongues lather over sweet remarks on values, principles, and practices of place that they pretend to embody. This world is not their home, they live in a plastic replication. Noticing this, deepens the practice.
We want to protect what and whom we love. This is the practice of home-making. This is the ground whose sacramentality is self-evident. A broken-armed cottonwood tree becomes an elder. The vigilance of a roadrunner. My daughter with her jangly, dangly, loose tooth. This world is good, wild, and sacred and yet it takes practice to actualize this place as home.
To know that the kin’dom of God is here and not here, is a practice. This practice of kin’dom dwelling is good, wild, and sacred. It is impossible to venture far from this abiding, but we try. There are people on Third Street that tuck in for the night on concrete beds in abandoned thresholds. Children continue to shoulder the tyranny of war. And yet. And yet invisible vespers are performed overhead each evening with the silky flap of the vested wings of the Sandhill Cranes. Their bugle calls rattle prayers over gurgling waters. I live at one of the way stations of these regal traveling priests. We welcome the Cranes in New Mexico, traveling south in the Fall and north in the Spring, watching them move ever towards life. Food. Habitat. Mate. We see them only in their longing. A longing without ground, constant departure and arrival. A longing that does not protect them or ease their travels, but companions and compels them toward life.
Protection and home must be left to endure this longing to move towards life calling. The lucky make this choice freely and daringly. Others have this choice thrust upon them unjustly, often marring this longing. Whether it is by the powers that be, or by illness, or by addiction, their protections are ripped away and their roofs are disassembled. The vulnerable are left more vulnerable. There is no cherry on top, but the longing remains even if shuttered. Longing for life madly burns even in the unconditioned air of reprehensible conditions. It is as unfair as it is true. You can see that longing in images of the unprotected kids in Gaza. I saw that longing in the homeless man I met three nights ago. It pains this longing within me. It pains me to act.
The kin’dom of God that is here and not yet here is like that.
To know this world and this kin’dom together, is a practice. This practice of abiding and longing is good, wild, and sacred. A constant tug on my Carmelite heart is to stay put like a Benedictine while having itchy traveling feet of service like a Franciscan. In this mealy mouth moment of America, of our world, what does one do?
One of my teachers, James Finley, offers three directives that I find ripe, “Find your contemplative practice and practice it. Find your contemplative community and enter it. Find your contemplative teaching and follow it.”3 Walking the topsy turvy ground of this world, I find refuge in this. Reactivity rises as our means of communications quicken, these contemplative directives are the stakes that keep the shelter grounded in the storm.4
The prescription is simple, but be sure to tell your heart that it takes a ripe courage to risk failure in practice, community, and learning. Even when you get it right, failure shows up to form you even further. I have been living with these contemplative directives for nearly two decades. They are not quick. They are not sexy. They will not heal the world (in the way you think). They will change your life. They are a blueprint for a slow build of an interior sanctuary in the dusted up world of impermanence. But they are not just about you, or your inner sanctuary, protecting and housing your longing for a life abundant. They are about so much more.
I recently confirmed my take on this. I asked Jim if he thought a vocational call of loving service was the natural outcome of practicing your practice, being in community, and following the teaching that calls to a person. In hushed anticipation his bushy eyebrows took an elevator two floors up and with his blue eyes glistening, Jim said, “Exactly!”
My intent is to take a look at each of these three contemplative directives—practice, learning, and community—individually as the instigator for my opening musing on the next few NonRequired Reading Lists.
There are so many variations, depths, and mystical interpretations of these three contemplative directives. They are pithy because they are bottomless. They create room for you to show up in touch with reality, in God, alongside others, and embark on localized loving service.5
This good, wild, and sacred world copiusly offers practice, learning, and community if we have the eyes to see and ears to hear. This is the kin’dom of God here, but not here. This is the mystical body of Christ at work and at home in this world.
Contemplify is an expression of my vocational call. Simple as that. I seek to kindle the examined life for contemplatives in the world. Thank you for welcoming the offerings of Contemplify (podcasts, NonRequired Readings, Lo-Fi & Hushed Contemplative Practices) into your life. For those who wish to support Contemplify through monetary means, press the button below. Becoming a paid subscriber is a kindness that keeps Contemplify a free resource for contemplatives in the world. Some folks want to support simply for the sake of supporting Contemplify (I toast you, unseen dear ones), but paid subscribers are also automatically invited to join the weekly Lo-Fi & Hushed Practice Session on Wednesday mornings. A regular contemplative practice that supports the rhythms of your one wild and precious life. You can practice live with me and fellow practitioners or with the recording. Good contemplative fun. Hope to see you there.
(ALSO, because I am trying to make explicit what was implicit. If the Lo-Fi & Hushed Practice Sessions call to you but you 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).6
November NonRequired Reading List
The Hurting Kind: Poems by Ada Limón (Get it at the Public Library or Bookshop)
Do you have a moment? That is the gentle question that the poetry of Ada Limón asks me in The Hurting Kind. Then she reveals. Not gaudy self-disclosure, but lifts the hood of the bassinet of vulnerability. Her poetry reads as alert as a newborn, even when breaking into a memory.
And Ada Limón’s poems have a strong upright spine, bracing for, and, welcoming the moment walking her way. The poem “Forsythia” was the one that connected me to this collection with its tenderizing momentum, urging me to look for something yellow. I was wrapped up in the poem only to be unraveled by it. Limón revels in the possibility of an inbreaking in ordinary circumstances, brushstroke conversations, her Grandfather’s horse, the gaze (or glare) of nature.
The Hurting Kind is poetry that walks towards you.
Centering Prayers Volume 2: Daily Peace for Turbulent Times by Peter Traben Haas (Get it at the Public Library or Bookshop)
I remember two prayers that I memorized as a kid, our family’s table grace and the Lord’s prayer. Spontaneous prayers were more celebrated in my tradition. But I have come to relish in the ancient or new crafted prayers of others. Prayers—like poems—are worlds to enter to connect with the Beloved. Centering Prayers: Daily Peace for Turbulent Times by Peter Traben Haas is a book full of worlds.
Centering Prayers takes you thought the calendar year in prayers that radiate, with God being addressed as “Beloved Horizon” (Jan 21), “Holy Center of the Cloud of Witnesses” (Apr 15), or “One-Pointed Holy Triune Presence” (Oct 31). Theological nicknames pass notes of intimacy to the Beloved so that prayers can follow with unguarded honesty. The November 30th prayer from Centering Prayers,
“Holy Spirit of Refuge:
The cobalt crows fly south, but some stay through the winter.
Black agains the early snow, their outlines announce the beauty of contrast and the contours of beauty.
Your life is living in all of us—and I need help loving the contrast of others, especially this Advent.
Transform all the chaos and contrast of our culture into a communion of appreciation and reverence for the different lines we trace back to you, our forever, homeland, to which we take flight.”
Amen.”7
Centering Prayers: Daily Peace for Turbulent Times is for readers who settle into prayers with an eye on the elements that sustain.
Smoke Hole: Looking to the Wild in the Time of the Spyglass by Martin Shaw (Get it at the Public Library or Bookshop)
This book is special for times such as these. Smoke Hole was written in the quaking times of the pandemic, mythologist and wilderness guide Martin Shaw swaddles readers in stories that give them enough distance to touch the reality of their dreams.
In typical Shaw fashion he looks upon the landscape of culture and addresses the wounding problems of the day with a story. With the rampant loneliness, wisp-like sense of self, and human agency being released and relegated to algorithms we are in need of ancient stories that can rise to the occasion. Smoke Hole draws upon the stories of the Handless Maiden, The Bewitched Princess, and The Spyglass. Shaw walks through the meaningful underbrush of each and puts it on the reader's map of relatability. It certainly does for me. I wrote down in my journal this fine line, “Neutralize the poison by your own unpredictability.” Wrestling with a stuck point, I thought I had mixed up some medicine with my pen. Appreciative of this insight it befell me moments later to remember that these words are Shaw’s, not my own. The inception of a master storyteller, their words expand your reflective powers. Smoke Hole does that over and over again.
Smoke Hole is for contemplative readers who when gifted a story to get lost in, find them themselves again.
Contemplify Update
Season Five has one more trick up its sleeve. As always you can find the complete list of Contemplify episodes here and below are the four most recent episodes of this season.
Katherine May on Enchantment, Building Community, Tasting Words, and a Drink of Lake Water (Season 5, Ep 13)
Andrew Krivak on the Inheritance of Loss, Death as a Character, and Like the Appearance of Horses (Season 5, Ep 12)
Remembering Dr. Barbara Holmes (Replay of 2016 Conversation) (Season 5, Ep 11, bonus)
Amy Leach on Becoming Salt of the Universe (Season 5, Ep 10)
All episodes are available from Contemplify through Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get podcasts worth their salt.
Arts & Articles
LO-FI & HUSHED WINTER SOLSTICE PRACTICE SESSION (Contemplify): The Winter Solstice Lo-Fi & Hushed Contemplative Practice Session is coming up on Wednesday, December 18. This is a free online and public contemplative practice of poetry, lectio divina, self-examination, and group reflection. Gorgeous yet unglamorous. Wild poetic stillness in seasonal transitions. Learn more here and an invitation will go out to all Contemplify subscribers the night before. Practitioners can join via a Riverside or Zoom link.
LECTIO DIVINA FOR ADVENT (Center for Spiritual Imagination): Join the novices from the Community of the Incarnation (my new monastic community) as we meditate on Scripture, listening with the ear of our hearts to the word of God. We will share our own experience of the text with mutual respect and a desire for holy conversation. Registration is free.
THE THANKSGIVING MYTH: NOT A BAD START by Rev. Dr. Randy S. Woodley (HuffPost): “Many of my fellow Native Americans who view the holiday as a national day of mourning, will not celebrate Thanksgiving at all. They will once again disseminate stories pointing out the many massacres of Native Americans by the Pilgrims. I don’t blame them… but I won’t join them either.” Enjoyed this nuanced article immensely; owning the history while celebrating gratitude and hospitality from Native Americans.
“COYITA” by Gustavo Santaolalla (YouTube): Lady luck shined on me a few weeks back and I was able to see Gustavo Santaolalla play live. Words fail to describe the quiet, rolling music that would erupt into rapture. His classic album, Ronroco, has been playing on repeat in my house.
To know this world
and this kin’dom
together,
is a practice.
In the good, wild & sacred world,
Paul
All Bookshop purchase links give a kickback to a local New Mexico bookstore and to Contemplify. Big thanks.
In the early 2000s I went to an art show in Calgary, AB and I saw this painting riffing off a Allen Gingsberg poem, “I have seen the greatest minds of my generation lost to virtual reality.”
And the silence of poisoners who have fled the scene.
James Finley, The Contemplative Heart (Sorin Books, 2000), p. 20.
I mean this in an Eckhartian way. God is the underlying ground of reality, the overflow of God’s bubbling creativity is creation, God is source and being itself.
Or broad strategic vision for some.
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!), drop your name and email here, I will add you to the next practice. We would be thrilled to have you practicing with us.
Peter Traben Haas, Centering Prayers Volume 2: Daily Peace for Turbulent Times (Paraclete Press, 2024), p.228