Church of the Freed Flying Monkeys

Today in our morning meditation group, my friend Curtis Wood referenced a Richard Rohr quote:

 "Without a mythological context, sacred text, or some symbolic universe to reveal the greater meaning and significance of our life, we can become trapped in our own very small story.”

Yesterday my friend Jeanne Finan referenced this Curtis Almquist quote on Facebook:

“To look at the Bible as some kind of fixed and final Word of God is a canon firing in the wrong direction. The Bible is part of the movement of God’s revelation, which is continuous.”

Both these get at the pilgrimage and sanctuary thread I’ve been following for awhile. We’re losing our religion in the West. Often because it’s been too much like a canon pointing in the wrong direction—blasting us with ‘infallibility,’ ‘law,’ ‘certainty,’ and ‘judgment.’

It’s very wise to turn and walk (or run) out of range of destructive religious practices.

On the other hand, "Without a mythological context, sacred text, or some symbolic universe to reveal the greater meaning and significance of our life, we can become trapped in our own very small story.”

It’s the saddest thing, being trapped in a very small story.

I grew up with the Wizard of Oz. My earliest memories of television are sitting in the living room once a year transported into this magical, mythical, very BIG story.

When I got to the part where the flying monkeys were dispatched to capture Dorothy and friends, it scared the crap out of me. Gave me bad dreams.

But over the years I began to see how trapped the flying monkeys were themselves in the service of the Wicked Witch. And I clapped my hands when they were set free!

And then I worried about them. How were they going to live in the wild? Who would feed the freed flying monkeys? Wouldn’t they be cold without their little red jackets?

Over the years I’ve seen so many people set themselves free from harmful or sterile religion. A good many of those people seem never to have found meaning and significance in anything else.

There are big stories and sacred texts out there that feed and engage us in wise and essential ways. Sometimes we need to go looking for our own freed flying monkeys—make sure they're healthy, happy, suitably challenged and supported in their new lives. 

Mindfulness of Breathing

Good teachings are so very helpful. Inspiring and nourishing. 


For all our 'doing' we'll always need feeding. And though the practice itself leads to nourishment, most of us will also always need (and gain) strength from the strength of others. 


Here's simple, basic food from Thich Nhat Hahn. A 'first course' in a sacramental meal.

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First Mindfulness Exercise: Mindful Breathing

The first exercise is very simple, but the power, the result, can be very great. The exercise is simply to identify the in-breath as in-breath and the out-breath as out-breath. When you breathe in, you know that this is your in-breath. When you breathe out, you are mindful that this is your out-breath.

Just recognize: this is an in-breath, this is an out-breath. Very simple, very easy. In order to recognize your in-breath as in-breath, you have to bring your mind home to yourself. What is recognizing your in-breath is your mind, and the object of your mind—the object of your mindfulness—is the in-breath. Mindfulness is always mindful of something. When you drink your tea mindfully, it’s called mindfulness of drinking. When you walk mindfully, it’s called mindfulness of walking. And when you breathe mindfully, that is mindfulness of breathing.

So the object of your mindfulness is your breath, and you just focus your attention on it. Breathing in, this is my in-breath. Breathing out, this is my out-breath. When you do that, the mental discourse will stop. You don’t think anymore. You don’t have to make an effort to stop your thinking; you bring your attention to your in-breath and the mental discourse just stops. That is the miracle of the practice. You don’t think of the past anymore. You don’t think of the future. You don’t think of your projects, because you are focusing your attention, your mindfulness, on your breath.

It gets even better. You can enjoy your in-breath. The practice can be pleasant, joyful. Someone who is dead cannot take any more in-breaths. But you are alive. You are breathing in, and while breathing in, you know that you are alive. The in-breath can be a celebration of the fact that you are alive, so it can be very joyful. When you are joyful and happy, you don’t feel that you have to make any effort at all. I am alive; I am breathing in. To be still alive is a miracle. The greatest of all miracles is to be alive, and when you breathe in, you touch that miracle. Therefore, your breathing can be a celebration of life.

An in-breath may take three, four, five seconds, it depends. That’s time to be alive, time to enjoy your breath. You don’t have to interfere with your breathing. If your in-breath is short, allow it to be short. If your out-breath is long, let it be long. Don’t try to force it. The practice is simple recognition of the in-breath and the out-breath. That is good enough. It will have a powerful effect.

Something We Can Do

What I mostly want to communicate in this ordinary mindfulness blog is that Presence, this something we need so deeply and benefit from so profoundly, is partly up to us.

Learning how to BE present is something we can DO.

Being present is a description of mindfulness. There's a simple method to mindfulness--show up, breathe, observe, embrace.

All these simple actions--the showing up, the breathing, the watching, the welcoming describe 'us' becoming 'present.' But it doesn't stop there.

In our ordinary practice we enter some place--some altered space--rather regularly. Often something else happens. Some ONE or some THING becomes...palpable.  We work. We Watch. We Welcome. We wait (without expectation!) And then?

As Rumi wrote,

Keep knocking, 

and the joy inside 

will eventually 

open a window 

and look out 

to see 

WHO's there!

That THING, that ONE who's there, is the very Presence we prepare for and often experience...but never summon or control.

Mindful practices slow us down, center us, make us receptive. Practice cleans the windows. Maybe even opens them.

That's our part. It's something we can do. It's enough.

9 Breaths

A wonderful way to re-boot and refresh is to take a minute here and there during the day to breathe purposefully. In other words, take time when you really need it to relax on purpose. 

Before you start 'officially,' place your hands on your stomach and take a few deep breaths. Notice your stomach rise and fall. If the 'rise and fall' isn't easy to notice, breathe a little deeper. 

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9 Breaths

As you inhale during the first three breaths, imagine your breath traveling to any physical tension you are holding in your body, and then imagine the exhalation carrying this tension away.

As you inhale with the next three breaths, imagine the breath traveling to any place in your body where you feel you are holding emotional tension, and then imagine the exhalation carrying this tension out of your body.

During the last three breaths, inhale into the part of your body where you are holding mental tension such as worries, thoughts about what you are doing, or fears that you can’t be successful. Breathe into the place in your body where you are holding this mental tension and then release it with the exhalation.

(If you're new to this kind of mindful breathing, for a week or two simply take the nine breaths with your hands on your stomach keeping as much attention as you can on what your breath feels like as it comes in your nose and as it moves your hands. When this begins to feel familiar, begin to work with the next three steps.)

--Tsultrim Allione (Joan Ewing). Feeding Your Demons: Ancient Wisdom for Resolving Inner Conflict 

The Seventh Cathedral

When I was a student at Furman I went on a pilgrimage without knowing it. Instead of a pilgrimage it was called a semester abroad. For us English majors this meant going to Britain. Our first three weeks, before settling into studies in London and Stratford, we zigzagged through Scotland, Ireland, Wales and England.

We zigged for a lot of cathedrals. By the time we were in Durham (Cathedral #7) I was pretty sure I never wanted to see another one. But it was cloudy and drizzly that day so I meandered rather aimlessly around a cathedral once more. I lit a candle. Looked up at arches and the vaulted ceiling a lot.

For awhile the organist was practicing--I paid some small attention to that. Watched little clots of people walking purposefully from one place to another. Stood before the altar rail. There was a sign that asked visitors not to go any farther.

All the while I'm mostly thinking, What's the big deal? Then I looked down.

There were grooves in the stones in front of the rail. Suddenly I got that kind of feeling that comes with goose bumps and catches your breath. It hit me that people's knees had made those grooves in the stones. How many knees over how many years does it take to make deep grooves in stone?  Without thinking I sank down, put my knees in those groves.

I had 'lost' God 3 or so years before--and had been rather earnestly seeking a reasonable substitute ever since. It didn't seem to me that I was finding God in that moment. What was palpable was a sense of being in the presence of tides and tides of people who were was also seekers--seekers and finders, pilgrims and wanderers.

God, it was a rich experience. And a significant stepping (kneeling) stone in my own 'pilgrimage.'

I wasn't able to look up and get any clues about God, but looking down at those grooved stones, letting my knees rest in those hollowed-out marks, I entered Presence. Didn't understand it at all--but that didn't keep me from experiencing it.

Seeing those knee prints was like seeing signs of a trail after being lost, deeply lost, in a forest for a long time. Though I had been seeking Presence in a meandering way for 3 years, it's not accurate to say I found it. But it is accurate to say I entered it.

In the vocabulary of yesterday's prayer those knee prints gave me confidence--not a lot, but enough for doors to open. Generations and generations had been seeking and finding for centuries. For a powerful moment I came to trust that the same was possible for me.

"In cities that have outgrown their promise, people are becoming pilgrims again, if not to this place, then to the recreation of it in their own spirits."

That sign? The sign that said not to go any farther--on a certain level, I completely ignored it. Those kneeling stones became stepping stones, and I'm pretty sure that's all we ever need.

This blog is about paying attention to knee prints. Learning to trust that the grooves we and others make in bringing ourselves over and over again into the possibility of presence, keep us, all of us, right there, right  here in the possibility of Presence.

Re-Thinking Pilgrimage

There's a wonderful old prayer, formatted below as a poem:

O God of peace, you

have taught us

that in returning

and rest

we shall be saved,

in quietness

and confidence

shall be our strength.

By the might

of your Spirit

lift us,

we pray,

into your presence,

where we may be still

and know

that you are God.

If you haven't already, take an unhurried moment to read, to move with these words at a pace where you neither get ahead of them or fall behind. 

If you find words like 'saved' or 'might' or even 'God' unhelpful do your best to find words that work within your own sense of spiritual aptness. 

What else might you change to make this prayer a prayer that describes what takes you into Presence? 

I can imagine God might want to make changes too (though we can never be sure what changes those might be)!

Still, as I wrote at the beginning, I experience this as a wonderful prayer. Almost every time I pray it, it functions for me like an incantation--like Gandalf chanting "Speak Friend And Open," at the Gates of Moria. If I slow down and move with these words, literally at the pace of comprehension, doors open, and I am present for Presence.

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, lots of people used to invest lots of time and effort in order to come into Presence (as well as to be 'saved;' but that's another matter). People made pilgrimages to holy places. 'Holy Place' is how'Sanctuary' translates. The 'thing' that 'sanctifies' a 'place' is 'Presence.' 

Yesterday's quote from R. S. Thomas's poem was

In cities that
   have outgrown their promise people
   are becoming pilgrims
   again, if not to this place,
   then to the recreation of it
   in their own spirits. 

We live at a time when people are becoming pilgrims to holy places in their own spirits. This doesn't mean we don't also find Presence in traditional sacred places. It's a both/and thing for many of us. Though for some, for one reason and another, it's often necessary to make new paths.  

Both the old and new pilgrim paths move people toward Presence. And both take people into community and adventure. And both require effort. 

But neither guarantees Presence. Though it's very rare when Presence is not experienced on the way to and within the holy places of pilgrimage. 

Just slowing down and 'entering' the prayer at the beginning of this post is a kind of pilgrimage. The 'returning' describes a path we take and take and take. No guarantee of Presence. And yet....

And yet...it is on journeys like this, short or long, where we find the quieting and the stilling and the knowing that something in us has always longed for. 

More (God willing) on presence and Presence) tomorrow.

Sanctuary!

 

I watched this scene with Ruth when she was a child more times than I can count. As melodramatic as it is, it often touched some place deep in me, invited a recognition of something longed for and valued.

We all have parts of our selves that need to be rescued. We all need to find a safe place where we, like Quasimodo, can claim "Sanctuary!" for ourselves and those we care about. Claim it and actually receive it.

I've blogged about R. S. Thomas's poem, The Moon In Lleyn, several times. We hear someone praying in a  old stone church on the coast of Wales. Nobody comes to church that day. The person praying is discouraged--sees the demise of 'church' across the land.

Then another voice says...

    Not so fast, mortal...

      In cities that
   have outgrown their promise people
   are becoming pilgrims
   again, if not to this place,
   then to the recreation of it
   in their own spirits. 

For centuries people could claim Sanctuary in cathedrals and churches quite literally. They could receive 'due process' of law that otherwise would not have been granted. For many centuries after that a majority of people found spiritual sanctuary in cathedrals and churches. 

Many churches and shrines and cathedrals had such promise, such presence, that people made time, invested great effort, to go there, to be there. Taking this kind of time and making this kind of effort was called pilgrimage. 

Most people don't make pilgrimages to churches these days. Fewer and fewer people are finding sanctuary in churches these days.

I could write a lot about why this is--and I can say a lot about how many churches, including my own, aren't moaning about what we've lost but instead opening our heads and hearts to what new generations of seekers are longing for. 

I find R. S. Thomas's words, 'people are becoming pilgrims again, if not to this place, then to the recreation of it in their own spirits,' healthy and wise and very functional. 

I hope to follow this thread over the course of the week, exploring how contemplative practices are a new way for us to become pilgrims again, if not to the old places, then to the recreation of them in our own spirits.