This has been one of those days / weeks / set of weeks where feeling swamped is common. Deadlines, goals, ideals, time contraints and other things are all in competition. Frustration, fatigue, and puzzlement about what to tackle next are all struggling for preeminence. What on earth can I learn from times like this?
Well, I'm going to take a pause in midst of it all and think about that.
1. I can be motivated to learn more patience -- with myself and with others.
2. I can re-learn that my way is not the only way to think about things.
3. I can be reminded that the first way of tackling a problem may not be the best way.
4. I can be forcibly pushed by my energy level to stop now and then and let my body and mind take a break.
5. I can experience once again that I'm neither invincible or perfect (as if I needed the reminder?!?!?!)
If I stayed at this longer, more lessons would likely come to mind, but I have to get back to the melee. I'll be hoping that at least some of these reminders linger and help me thru the tangle. God's Spirit is in it with me, I know. I'll try to be more receptive.
a ky monk
Friday, November 25, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Can love be taught?
Tonight I was struck by a phrase from the first letter of St. John. It basically said that the reason we can love is because God loved us first.
This is a familiar quote, but for some reason, tonight it caught my ear. Is it true that a person cannot be taught to love? That he or she can only learn love by being loved? I tend to think there is a lot of truth in that.
How would I teach someone to love without demonstrating it by my example? I have a hard time imagining that learning real love is an academic exercise. No, instead, I think it's an exercise of giving. Through a parent, grandparent, another relative, a friend, even a pet -- someone or something shows us what it means to love. When we experience this, our own heart discovers a model for learning how to give itself to someone else.
The next step comes, I believe, when we learn that this love has its roots in God's boundless giving of Self to us. This infinite love takes in the entire human family, indeed all of creation. One can be taught this in theory, but only lived experience, I believe, lets us take it into ourselves and realize its meaning.
At least that's what struck me this evening.
a ky monk
This is a familiar quote, but for some reason, tonight it caught my ear. Is it true that a person cannot be taught to love? That he or she can only learn love by being loved? I tend to think there is a lot of truth in that.
How would I teach someone to love without demonstrating it by my example? I have a hard time imagining that learning real love is an academic exercise. No, instead, I think it's an exercise of giving. Through a parent, grandparent, another relative, a friend, even a pet -- someone or something shows us what it means to love. When we experience this, our own heart discovers a model for learning how to give itself to someone else.
The next step comes, I believe, when we learn that this love has its roots in God's boundless giving of Self to us. This infinite love takes in the entire human family, indeed all of creation. One can be taught this in theory, but only lived experience, I believe, lets us take it into ourselves and realize its meaning.
At least that's what struck me this evening.
a ky monk
Friday, November 11, 2011
After I wrote what I did yesterday about memory & its wonderful treasures, I had some second thoughts. All memories aren't treasures to be relished. Some carry only darkness -- painful, scarey, embarrassing, or tragic things from our past.
I've never really pondered why the chemisty and psychology of our minds hold on to our past. Why are some parts of of our personal history accessible at the merest suggestion and other parts buried so deep we can't get to them, if we even know they are there?
Professional psychologists may have answers to this question; I don't. I do know, however, that even a dark memory can sometimes be a gift. In this kind of memory I have seen parts of myself or other people that I wasn't aware of, and this insight has been a stepping stone to growth. For example, seeing new things about myself or others gives me new tools for developing or sustaining relationships. Then too, maybe I'll be more patient with myself or someone else; maybe I'll see something good I'd not been conscious of. Could all this be an example of the old truism: "It's always darkest before the dawn"?
a KY monk
I've never really pondered why the chemisty and psychology of our minds hold on to our past. Why are some parts of of our personal history accessible at the merest suggestion and other parts buried so deep we can't get to them, if we even know they are there?
Professional psychologists may have answers to this question; I don't. I do know, however, that even a dark memory can sometimes be a gift. In this kind of memory I have seen parts of myself or other people that I wasn't aware of, and this insight has been a stepping stone to growth. For example, seeing new things about myself or others gives me new tools for developing or sustaining relationships. Then too, maybe I'll be more patient with myself or someone else; maybe I'll see something good I'd not been conscious of. Could all this be an example of the old truism: "It's always darkest before the dawn"?
a KY monk
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Moon Thoughts from Memory's Treasure Chest
This morning I was walking up to the monastery in the dark; a bright light caught my eye. I looked up and there was the moon, a perfectly round, burnt orange disk stuck in the sky surrounded by blackness. Wow! It was so low over the city skyline it looked as if it could get caught in the trees or on the tip of a skyscraper. A breath-grabbing sight.
Then my mind started pulling out memories from my childhood, two in particular. One was one evening at home; I guess I was in grade school. I looked out the back door of our house up to the hill behind us and commented how pretty the moon was. My dad laughed and said, "That a porch light." (Obviously I didn't have my glasses on!!!!)
Another moon memory that emerged came from my freshman year in high school. That year I wrote a 2-line poem that has stuck with me ever since. I remember sharing it with my English teacher:
I saw the moon a-leisure on through the cloud-filled sky,
and stopped and thought within myself," What a God have I."
Isn't it fascinating where our mind can take us at the merest provocation? One thing, a gorgeous moon, brought back memories of home, a delightful father, school, and a great teacher. What treasures we carry around within us, just waiting to be relished at precious moments in our harried days or quiet nights. Something to be grateful for, right?
a KY monk
Then my mind started pulling out memories from my childhood, two in particular. One was one evening at home; I guess I was in grade school. I looked out the back door of our house up to the hill behind us and commented how pretty the moon was. My dad laughed and said, "That a porch light." (Obviously I didn't have my glasses on!!!!)
Another moon memory that emerged came from my freshman year in high school. That year I wrote a 2-line poem that has stuck with me ever since. I remember sharing it with my English teacher:
I saw the moon a-leisure on through the cloud-filled sky,
and stopped and thought within myself," What a God have I."
Isn't it fascinating where our mind can take us at the merest provocation? One thing, a gorgeous moon, brought back memories of home, a delightful father, school, and a great teacher. What treasures we carry around within us, just waiting to be relished at precious moments in our harried days or quiet nights. Something to be grateful for, right?
a KY monk
Monday, November 7, 2011
Listening as a Gift
Recently I was struck by the power of listening, and what a gift it is when you experience someone really listening to you.
I have often been called a good listener, and have found that to listen is to tune in to wonderful sources of wisdom. Over the years I've grown a lot from practicing this art, though I know at times I really fall short.
My recent experience, however, was to be on the receiving end of this gift. I was in a group engaged in casual but rather deep exchange. Real listening was happening as passion, faith, and life experiences were being shared. We were finding kindred spirits in one another.
That's when I was struck (and that word is a good metaphor for what happened within me). I started to contribute something to the flow of conversation and everyone stopped talking, looked at me, and listened. What power that group action had on me! It was both an ego boost and a cautionary event. It made me realize two things: 1 - others were interested in finding out if I had anything of value to say; 2 - I'd better have something useful to say or I was wasting the precious moments that this group was sharing.
As I said, in the past people have called me a good listener, but after this experience I have a much deeper realization of what the act of listening can do for another. I've always looked at listening primarily as a tool; it can help accomplish many things both within and among individuals and groups. Now, however, this encounter showed me that in and of itself, being really listened to is a very special blessing. I hope I can grow in my ability to give this gift to others.
a KY monk
I have often been called a good listener, and have found that to listen is to tune in to wonderful sources of wisdom. Over the years I've grown a lot from practicing this art, though I know at times I really fall short.
My recent experience, however, was to be on the receiving end of this gift. I was in a group engaged in casual but rather deep exchange. Real listening was happening as passion, faith, and life experiences were being shared. We were finding kindred spirits in one another.
That's when I was struck (and that word is a good metaphor for what happened within me). I started to contribute something to the flow of conversation and everyone stopped talking, looked at me, and listened. What power that group action had on me! It was both an ego boost and a cautionary event. It made me realize two things: 1 - others were interested in finding out if I had anything of value to say; 2 - I'd better have something useful to say or I was wasting the precious moments that this group was sharing.
As I said, in the past people have called me a good listener, but after this experience I have a much deeper realization of what the act of listening can do for another. I've always looked at listening primarily as a tool; it can help accomplish many things both within and among individuals and groups. Now, however, this encounter showed me that in and of itself, being really listened to is a very special blessing. I hope I can grow in my ability to give this gift to others.
a KY monk
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Halloween/All Saints' /Souls' Days Invite Self-examination
Halloween festivities in towns and cities around the country kick off a special two days of celebration in many Christian churches, namely All Saints Day Nov. 1 and All Souls Day Nov. 2 (Dia de los Muertos). The former, Nov. 1, commemorates those who have died and been officially recognized as Saints in the church. They are believed to be living in eternal glory with God and so are held up as models for the rest of us. The latter, Nov. 2, recalls all who have died but have not been proclaimed as remarkably holy.
I've always considered these days as 2 sides of the same coin. How does one really distinguish between people to be celebrated on Nov. 1 and those remembered on Nov. 2? I'm sure there are countless numbers who have died and are in heaven but who haven't been named by some official body as a "saint." Many of these "Nov. 2" people were considered saints by folks who encountered them on earth.
What struck me this year was how much variety there is in this community of the deceased who lived holy lives. Since God has no boundaries, heaven has to be this way. There are people of all races, nationalities, cultures, personalities, lifestyles, ages & eras. Some were God-centered from childhood; others were self-indulgent sinners who experienced conversion later in life.
This mosaic that comprises God's heavenly dwelling creates a challenge for those of us still here and trying to live up to our Christian ideals. How comfortable are we with folks who seem to live outside what we consider appropriate? How readily do we give others credit for being seekers of good and truth when their path is far afield from our own? How married are we to our own ways of thinking about most things?
What the Catholic Church calls the "Communion of Saints" turns out to be a motley crew, and because God is everywhere, the eternal kingdom is not just in heaven; it's on earth as well. This means God has everyone under the divine wing, and this infinite variety of personalities and ways of thinking are a reflection of God's own life.
All this asks something hard of us. It demands we who are still working our way toward holiness try to stretch our vision and judgments. We who tend to be sure of our own ideas and methods are invited by this set of celebrations to open up to new possibilities. There are many expressions of the way to Godliness. I think the extreme variety of costumes on Halloween can truly be considered a sign of a much greater reality.
a KY monk
I've always considered these days as 2 sides of the same coin. How does one really distinguish between people to be celebrated on Nov. 1 and those remembered on Nov. 2? I'm sure there are countless numbers who have died and are in heaven but who haven't been named by some official body as a "saint." Many of these "Nov. 2" people were considered saints by folks who encountered them on earth.
What struck me this year was how much variety there is in this community of the deceased who lived holy lives. Since God has no boundaries, heaven has to be this way. There are people of all races, nationalities, cultures, personalities, lifestyles, ages & eras. Some were God-centered from childhood; others were self-indulgent sinners who experienced conversion later in life.
This mosaic that comprises God's heavenly dwelling creates a challenge for those of us still here and trying to live up to our Christian ideals. How comfortable are we with folks who seem to live outside what we consider appropriate? How readily do we give others credit for being seekers of good and truth when their path is far afield from our own? How married are we to our own ways of thinking about most things?
What the Catholic Church calls the "Communion of Saints" turns out to be a motley crew, and because God is everywhere, the eternal kingdom is not just in heaven; it's on earth as well. This means God has everyone under the divine wing, and this infinite variety of personalities and ways of thinking are a reflection of God's own life.
All this asks something hard of us. It demands we who are still working our way toward holiness try to stretch our vision and judgments. We who tend to be sure of our own ideas and methods are invited by this set of celebrations to open up to new possibilities. There are many expressions of the way to Godliness. I think the extreme variety of costumes on Halloween can truly be considered a sign of a much greater reality.
a KY monk
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