Reading Thomas Merton's "New Seeds of Contemplation" has (of course) reinforced my commitment to meditation - one that needs reinforcement, for there is always so much to do! Wood to be stacked, new shed to be built, garden to be furrowed, brush to be cut, chimney to be swept - on and on, the wheels turning. Who has time to sit?
But sit I have done. This morning, I noticed as I calmed down the intricate movements of my body. The one cup of weak tea I had had an hour earlier still was purring in the blood stream, causing a slight increase in the heart rate and an overall restlessness. And as the mind drifted to fantasy, as it always does at first, I could feel the impact of the images on that same heart rate, giving me an additional element of unease, of excitement. These were not fantasies of warfare or UFO sightings, but rather internal diagrams of the new wood shed, and of how I could get rid of the mess the last wood delivery made of the back lawn. Hardly exciting stuff, but I could feel the affect. How much more the news of the day, presented to raise excitement and attract interest? How much more our action movies or TV shows or video games?
And it is addicting. We have all read of the addictive nature of hard exercise - mostly positive - but we do come to depend on that rush of endorphins. Needless to say, there are the exotic chemical addictions, but also those other internals which only we create - an addiction to the thrill of gambling comes to mind. And then there is the modern culture of continual stimulation itself. While living in Venezuela, I was puzzled as to why the farmers left good, fertile land - land not owned as in the past by usurious hacendados - to live in the ranchos, or make-shift slums of Caracas and Maracaibo. Reading another anthropologist's study on this, he could come up with only one true generalization: they left the country for the city for the excitement. It was true as well with the Indians I lived with - many left the freedom of their villages voluntarily for the cloistered rule of the religious missions because they wanted to be part of the big game, the world-wide drama that we have created.
This excitement, however, takes a toll. On the body,it raises blood pressure without corresponding physical activity, which wears the system down over time, contributing to diseases such as heart problems and possibly to many others. But it also decreases the potential for meditative thought. One wonders: while sitting bored in their huts in rural Venezuela, did they also have a higher degree of spiritual recognition? That is, after all, a part of the biggest divide in human populations, that between rural and urban populations. One also wonders: could the age of the Church in Medieval Europe have been possible if it had been largely urban? Perhaps this, too, is the problem with the Muslim world; as those populations become largely urban, could they be losing the centrality of their faith - and in so doing, excite the decreasing numbers of extremely faithful to violence in an attempt to slow this secularization down?
There are many more examples of this. For instance, the more-rural are always seen by the less-rural (or more technological) as more in tune with nature and magic and spirit. Still, I have to remind myself of a disturbing phrase written by Merton that he has not yet remedied in what I have read so far: that is, that there is nothing we can do to make the presence of God (he always uses that word, which is so tangled in controversy, but he is a Catholic monk, after all) appear in our lives. God is not an object to be manipulated, but rather comes through ITS grace. It is almost certain that solitude helps us to hear IT, but it is not a given; as Merton says, we can still ourselves to the point of nothingness, but that will not be God. IT comes of its own bidding.
So we may find grace in any situation, anywhere. We know this of the many sinners, even of St. Paul himself on the road to Damascus to kill Jewish converts to Christianity, when he was stuck as if by a lightening bolt with the presence of God. But certainly, and as Merton concedes, it is best to calm the background noise in case the voice comes - if we indeed want to hear it. FK
But sit I have done. This morning, I noticed as I calmed down the intricate movements of my body. The one cup of weak tea I had had an hour earlier still was purring in the blood stream, causing a slight increase in the heart rate and an overall restlessness. And as the mind drifted to fantasy, as it always does at first, I could feel the impact of the images on that same heart rate, giving me an additional element of unease, of excitement. These were not fantasies of warfare or UFO sightings, but rather internal diagrams of the new wood shed, and of how I could get rid of the mess the last wood delivery made of the back lawn. Hardly exciting stuff, but I could feel the affect. How much more the news of the day, presented to raise excitement and attract interest? How much more our action movies or TV shows or video games?
And it is addicting. We have all read of the addictive nature of hard exercise - mostly positive - but we do come to depend on that rush of endorphins. Needless to say, there are the exotic chemical addictions, but also those other internals which only we create - an addiction to the thrill of gambling comes to mind. And then there is the modern culture of continual stimulation itself. While living in Venezuela, I was puzzled as to why the farmers left good, fertile land - land not owned as in the past by usurious hacendados - to live in the ranchos, or make-shift slums of Caracas and Maracaibo. Reading another anthropologist's study on this, he could come up with only one true generalization: they left the country for the city for the excitement. It was true as well with the Indians I lived with - many left the freedom of their villages voluntarily for the cloistered rule of the religious missions because they wanted to be part of the big game, the world-wide drama that we have created.
This excitement, however, takes a toll. On the body,it raises blood pressure without corresponding physical activity, which wears the system down over time, contributing to diseases such as heart problems and possibly to many others. But it also decreases the potential for meditative thought. One wonders: while sitting bored in their huts in rural Venezuela, did they also have a higher degree of spiritual recognition? That is, after all, a part of the biggest divide in human populations, that between rural and urban populations. One also wonders: could the age of the Church in Medieval Europe have been possible if it had been largely urban? Perhaps this, too, is the problem with the Muslim world; as those populations become largely urban, could they be losing the centrality of their faith - and in so doing, excite the decreasing numbers of extremely faithful to violence in an attempt to slow this secularization down?
There are many more examples of this. For instance, the more-rural are always seen by the less-rural (or more technological) as more in tune with nature and magic and spirit. Still, I have to remind myself of a disturbing phrase written by Merton that he has not yet remedied in what I have read so far: that is, that there is nothing we can do to make the presence of God (he always uses that word, which is so tangled in controversy, but he is a Catholic monk, after all) appear in our lives. God is not an object to be manipulated, but rather comes through ITS grace. It is almost certain that solitude helps us to hear IT, but it is not a given; as Merton says, we can still ourselves to the point of nothingness, but that will not be God. IT comes of its own bidding.
So we may find grace in any situation, anywhere. We know this of the many sinners, even of St. Paul himself on the road to Damascus to kill Jewish converts to Christianity, when he was stuck as if by a lightening bolt with the presence of God. But certainly, and as Merton concedes, it is best to calm the background noise in case the voice comes - if we indeed want to hear it. FK
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