OMG! Sunday night, we drove through an unexpected blast of cold and snow to the movie "The Revenant," and were treated to unimaginable storms - storms of revenge, storms of nature, all projected through awe-inspiring scenery and relentless acts of brutality. It left us exhausted, and neither of us could go to bed afterwards, even though it was late.
This was The Power on stage, something that I have been dealing with intellectually and spiritually lately, as one might see from the last essay. It is not the awfulness of humankind that has been bothering me, but the apparent distance of the force that animates all reality, what we refer generically to as "God." This turnabout came as I realized that most of those personal things, small things that I could have little effect upon, have simply not worked out, mindless of my pious prayers. This could never convince me that The Force is not with us - that is, that it is not in the very fabric of all being, for I have felt it and still feel it - it is simply the truth. No, but rather it seems that my life is too small to matter, too inconsequential to be heard by whatever that Force might be. And that is a problem. That is a problem, for however smart I think I have become with my readings and cogitations, I have realized that I still hold the image of God the Father, of God as a sort of super-dad, in my heart.
It is not entirely my fault. This is what many of us have been taught as children, and it has long served as a wall against the existential angst that has troubled modernity these past few centuries. But that, to paraphrase St Paul, is a childish thing, and not meant for adults. Yet I, many of us, still cling to it, a security blanket against meaninglessness and death.
That this concept is still within me came as something of a shock, and with this recognition has come another shock: that without the kindly, although stern, Father, I must come to deal with the raw power exhibited in "The Revenant." It is glorious, the power of mountains and galaxies; it is what the grown-up mind was made to contemplate. But it takes courage. The mystics understood this all too well - that every concept we have of God must be jettisoned before God can be beheld - and in that, we must pass through the infamous Dark Night, which is not simply a night of obscurity, but one of terror and disintegration, where everything we cherish must be let go. The Power is not only far greater than a great father; it is greater still than any natural event we might witness or even imagine. We have the means to approach it, and in its light is also a glory greater than any we can imagine, but for most, it is not an easy journey. Thus, some wise men have thought that for those lacking the drive, it is best to stay simple, to stay with the things of a child. But for some, the cat is already out of the bag. For some, they have no choice but to drive on.
In the movie, no easy answer is given us, just as in real life. If one is content with one's beliefs now, one is probably wrong, and the movie makes damn sure we understand this aspect of Being. To make certain we remain uneasy and awed, we are treated to only one aspect of The Power, given us through stupendous shots of natural scenery. But Glory goes well beyond this. It glimmers in all of us time and again, and is ever present, if we could allow it. We hold it at bay, not only with childhood memories of God that attempt to shield us from this power, but with the "objective" mentality of modern humans, the breakdown of all into little bits that can be explained all-so-coolly by a team of Vulcans in lab coats. That, too, is only a security blanket of the child.
That the God, the All, is concerned with every hair on our heads is, I think, true - God is far removed from the cold objectivity of the scientist. But neither is "It" swayed by childish dreams. What IS, is vaster than a glacier or comet, and greater than deaths both of mice and galaxies. We cannot correctly think of such a force in terms of anything less than that which is greater than anything we can imagine. For that, we must endure a voyage that in many ways mirrors that of our tortured hero in "The Revenant." And it is on this voyage where we can all say, without the fault of immaturity, "God help us." FK
This was The Power on stage, something that I have been dealing with intellectually and spiritually lately, as one might see from the last essay. It is not the awfulness of humankind that has been bothering me, but the apparent distance of the force that animates all reality, what we refer generically to as "God." This turnabout came as I realized that most of those personal things, small things that I could have little effect upon, have simply not worked out, mindless of my pious prayers. This could never convince me that The Force is not with us - that is, that it is not in the very fabric of all being, for I have felt it and still feel it - it is simply the truth. No, but rather it seems that my life is too small to matter, too inconsequential to be heard by whatever that Force might be. And that is a problem. That is a problem, for however smart I think I have become with my readings and cogitations, I have realized that I still hold the image of God the Father, of God as a sort of super-dad, in my heart.
It is not entirely my fault. This is what many of us have been taught as children, and it has long served as a wall against the existential angst that has troubled modernity these past few centuries. But that, to paraphrase St Paul, is a childish thing, and not meant for adults. Yet I, many of us, still cling to it, a security blanket against meaninglessness and death.
That this concept is still within me came as something of a shock, and with this recognition has come another shock: that without the kindly, although stern, Father, I must come to deal with the raw power exhibited in "The Revenant." It is glorious, the power of mountains and galaxies; it is what the grown-up mind was made to contemplate. But it takes courage. The mystics understood this all too well - that every concept we have of God must be jettisoned before God can be beheld - and in that, we must pass through the infamous Dark Night, which is not simply a night of obscurity, but one of terror and disintegration, where everything we cherish must be let go. The Power is not only far greater than a great father; it is greater still than any natural event we might witness or even imagine. We have the means to approach it, and in its light is also a glory greater than any we can imagine, but for most, it is not an easy journey. Thus, some wise men have thought that for those lacking the drive, it is best to stay simple, to stay with the things of a child. But for some, the cat is already out of the bag. For some, they have no choice but to drive on.
In the movie, no easy answer is given us, just as in real life. If one is content with one's beliefs now, one is probably wrong, and the movie makes damn sure we understand this aspect of Being. To make certain we remain uneasy and awed, we are treated to only one aspect of The Power, given us through stupendous shots of natural scenery. But Glory goes well beyond this. It glimmers in all of us time and again, and is ever present, if we could allow it. We hold it at bay, not only with childhood memories of God that attempt to shield us from this power, but with the "objective" mentality of modern humans, the breakdown of all into little bits that can be explained all-so-coolly by a team of Vulcans in lab coats. That, too, is only a security blanket of the child.
That the God, the All, is concerned with every hair on our heads is, I think, true - God is far removed from the cold objectivity of the scientist. But neither is "It" swayed by childish dreams. What IS, is vaster than a glacier or comet, and greater than deaths both of mice and galaxies. We cannot correctly think of such a force in terms of anything less than that which is greater than anything we can imagine. For that, we must endure a voyage that in many ways mirrors that of our tortured hero in "The Revenant." And it is on this voyage where we can all say, without the fault of immaturity, "God help us." FK
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