not native fruit

moorish gardens

I've been thinking about my years as a Catholic, and realizing that the things I probably appreciated most about that tradition were three: one, all the beautiful places for contemplation that I experienced as a Catholic.  Beautiful gardens, alcoves, chapels, fountains, grottoes.  The odd thing is that these were probably traditionally derived from Islamic spirituality.  In the Middle Ages, Christianity was deeply impressed and influenced by Moorish culture and spirituality.  The Moors were much admired and imitated and studied by the medieval christians, and a great deal of their culture was absorbed.

I think we could all be more aware of the fact that religions are not and have never been hermetically sealed vessels.  There has always been a lot of sharing and blending among religious traditions within a cultural context.  Divisions and factions have been fomented for political reasons by individuals and groups of people who stood to gain, and warfare has been carried out for generations afterward by people who stood to gain very little.  It's really a trick of the mind that leads us to think there are 'different religions.'  I've just been reading a book about early Scotland that remarks on a portrait of a Scottish Bishop who is 'flanked by a crescent moon and a six-pointed start.  Our interpretation is that all three faiths - Christian, Jewish, Muslim - were tolerated and practiced in the diocese of St. Andrew's.'  So this phenomenon was hardly unique to medieval Spain, and according to travelers I have met, still exists in Eastern Europe.

When I studied theology in the nineteen-eighties, one of the main points they wanted to bring home to us is that Christianity emerged from a large pan-Mediterranean gnostic culture, in which many different 'religions' flourished, all sharing a basic gnostic orientation.  The history, development and interrelationship of the 'Big Three' - Christianity, Judaism and Islam - is very interesting, not from the political and land-grab perspective, but in terms of human spiritual evolution.

The second thing I appreciated about my time in Catholicism are some of the wonderful people I met who had such an optimistic, positive orientation.  Obviously, not everyone shared this, but I'm focusing on those who really brightened my day, and brightened the world for me, for that matter.  It is possible to find a very positive orientation in Catholicism, but it can sometimes verge on the 'pollyanna' side, and I guess I found at some point that it was not adequate for me.  This may also be because it was not really thriving as a living spiritual tradition in my locale.  Or if it was, I didn't have access to it.

Lastly, I appreciated the ritual aspects of the worship at the time I was involved there.  I no longer feel moved by that particular ritual and have found another I find more nourishing to my soul and spirit at the present time.  But I realize that in the Western world, there is rather a dearth of that kind of ceremonial ritual which is so richly patterned deep within the human soul, so what little we still have has to be acknowledged and appreciated.

the prayer hut

“As it was, the hut felt just right: flimsy, isolated, almost furtive, a place to pray truly, a theft of time from a greedy world.  A place where prayer still felt like what it really was, something dangerous.  “Is not my Word like a fire?  saith the Lord; and like a hammer that breaketh the rock in pieces?”  He had drifted; you always drifted.  Mike found his breath and rode it into the flame again, and memory sweltered and cracked in that soft fire, into shards of regret and bewilderment, benediction and dread: the mystery, the burning knot, the impossibility of self and world.  The slipshod walls of scrap and junk sighed and settled like a hearth; the fear within him burned and burned, and he sat at the heart of the fire it fed and breathed cool air. "

from The Monk Upstairs, by Tim Farrington, HarperSanFrancisco, 2007

when friends must part

One of my closest friends is moving back to Japan, permanently - at least, that is her hope.  She often says 'indefinitely,' but I know she is hoping it will be permanent.  She is returning to her monastery where she practiced as a buddhist nun for sixteen years.  She has spent five years here, living near me, and during that time we have become 'dus.'  In my ongoing self-study of danish, I've come to a chapter where the use of the personal pronoun, you, is discussed.  I think this is a very nice thing, that when a friendship develops to a certain stage of closeness, you stop addressing each other as 'De' and switch to the family term of endearment, 'du.'  You 'become du's with' each other.  This adds a certain clarity to the nature of your relationship which is lacking here in America.  I mean, we sometimes know when we're close friends, but there's no ceremony about it.  Apparently, there sometimes is a ceremony when danish friends become 'du's', but at the very least, it is something that takes form in language itself. 

Because of this, part of me is happy that she has regained her vocation, and feels the energy and determination to carry forward with her chosen life-path, another part of me feels a very deep grief at the loss of this friend.  Yes, of course, we will write, but I already have plenty of long-distance relationships.  This was a face-to-face friend, someone I spent some time with almost every week.  She has definitely been the best conversation in town, and also I sometimes shared the mundane errands of life with her, as she is disabled.  I am going to miss her so much.

Over the past six months, I have been feeling a call to renew my commitment to solitude.  Perhaps my friend's leaving is part of that.  It has been so much easier while she's been here.  I've always believed that every solitary needs at least a few real contacts, meaning people with whom they can really connect.  Books, of course, help, but a living breathing processing speaking and responding person is necessary, at least occasionally.  I felt like I was starving for that kind of conversation before she moved here from Japan.  Now she is returning there. 

Well, we'll see.  I'll continue with my healing work, my elder-companioning, my soup kitchen activities:  it's not like I'll have no contact with people. But I sure will miss my friend.

hermits need homes

i've just been talking with a few of my hermit-like friends about their need for 'a place.'  it seems self-evident to me that a hermit needs a PLACE, like big-time.  In an urban setting, a small apartment that is or at least feels isolated from the rest of the building residents, and that has, perhaps a small patio area or garden, or even just a window that looks out onto a tree, or a river, etc. can work well.  These are all examples from my acquaintances who value their solitude above everything else.  One man lives at the top of his building, in the room-with-bath at the farthest end of the corridor, and has a window overlooking an empty alley, and he thinks that's just great!

The problem is 'cost.'  At least in the Bay Area it's getting harder to find a place of your own at a reasonable cost.  One female friend of mine who has always been a solitary and wants to deepen that experience even more in her life is hesitant to rent a space in a neighborhood where she doesn't feel safe, but right now that's all she can afford.  Hermits, generally, are just not as interested as the rest of us in making money, attaining status and prestige, etc.  This works against them when they are looking for a place.  Most of them would like to have a place where there's some nature around.  Not all, but many.  As it is, they are an unrecognized and undervalued element in society.  But of course, 'society' today has all kinds of problems.  it's no wonder the needs of solitaries are not at the top of the list.