I asked him what he meant. He said, "Well, it's true first because paying attention is the only sure way to navigate life. And it's true again because attention is something that has to be paid. You know, it costs something."
Sounded wise to me. Still does.
Our 'presence' to Life starts with being aware, becoming more and more conscious of what's going on. That's not something that happens automatically for us. It takes some work--work we wouldn't do if we didn't value the joy and meaning attentive presence brings to life.
As we do begin to value it, we realize this very appreciation is the currency that 'pays' for it. Our sense of meaning and purpose is what supports the effort to be here now, savoring more and more whatever life brings our way.
Gerald May, in his book The Dark Night of the Soul (which is about Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross), offers broad and deep and wise views on what we're 'buying' with the attention we 'pay' in order to become aware.
He also gets at the richness of balance between effort and rest, work and grace. These next four paragraphs are his.
An often quoted phrase of John of the Cross is “Pure
contemplation consists of receiving.” This indeed sounds very passive until one
examines it more closely. The Spanish is “Contemplacion pura consiste en
recibir.” The meaning of recibir,
however, is not a completely passive receptivity, but rather a receiving as one
might receive a guest into one’s house. It connotes a welcoming feeling, even a
welcoming with open arms. How different the phrase would sound if it were
translated “Pure contemplation consists of welcoming with open arms!”
John also speaks of beginning contemplative experience as
characterized by “simple, loving awareness.” Again this can sound very passive.
The Spanish here is “advertencia amorosa, simple.” The significant term is advertencia, for which “awareness” is a
rather tepid translation. In modern Spanish usage, advertencia means “Attention!” in the sense of warning or alarm.
John himself explains that advertencia
is a very dynamic attentiveness. He likens it to the kind of attentiveness one
gives to a dearly loved one or the vigilance of standing alert on a watchtower.
If we can refrain from clinging to the either/or dualism of
“God and me,” we can begin to appreciate the more subtle nuances of John and
Teresa of Avila’s use of “active” and ‘passive.” In the more active dimensions of the
spiritual life, we have the sense of undertaking practices or disciplines that
depend upon our own intentionality and effort. We often also have a sense of
success or failure.
As the dark night leads us into more contemplative
territory, the feeling of autonomous effort gives way to a greater sense of
acceptance, or willingness and welcoming. Goals disappear, to be replaced by
simple prayers of desire, and success and failure finally lose their meaning
entirely. The experience indeed feels more like “letting go and letting God,”
but our own continuing yes remains active, a dynamic and necessary component of
a mysterious relationship that surpasses all understanding.
