Last week’s reflection spoke of listening gently to our own feelings. Even our difficult feelings, such as anger, indicate that something within us needs attending. Beneath feelings of anger often lies suffering that contains our inmost longing for life, for meaning, and for compassion and justice.

We referred last week to the thoughts on anger of Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Nath Hanh. He suggested that we attend to the roots of anger within ourselves, to acknowledge them gently, yet not to unleash them on others, but to transform them into understanding and compassion.

I added that our experience of anger may also have positive counterparts in our deep longing for life, for meaning, and for compassion and justice.

I think it is essential to recognize that we share all of the human feelings, even those that are difficult and even unnerving or frightening. They may sometimes catch us by surprise and even occasion feelings of guilt for having them. When someone close to us dies, beyond feelings of loss of the physical presence of that person in our lives, we may even feel that we have been abandoned by that person. At first sight it seems inappropriate, but we can come to recognize it as a quite natural part of our reaction to that painful situation.

It can be very helpful to come to name the experience, either personally, or with the help of a friend, or with some work of literature or other of the arts. I recall coming to a sense that grief is not merely sorrow at a loss, but felt incompleteness. All our relationships have an element of incompleteness. But the separation experienced by death or other extended form of separation gives a kind of permanence to the feeling of incompleteness. When my younger brother died at the age of 26 from a chronic heart condition, it felt that we had been interrupted in the middle of a conversation that we could not finish.

On another occasion, I recall spending a day in a beautiful natural setting, with some fellow students. Later in the evening we listened to Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony, and had the profound sense that this music named our experience.

Theologian, Paul Tillich, devoted a book, The Courage to Be, to the study of anxiety, the threat to existence, meaning, and integrity, that are felt in every human life. These can be met with courage, trust, and love.

The familiar story and film, The Wizard of Oz, tells of a storm that carries the child, Dorothy away to a strange new land where she encounters three friends who seek a mind (scarecrow) a heart (tin man) and courage (cowardly lion). Her three companions illustrate that this is really an inner search, a search for inner qualities that affect how we live our life inwardly and then outwardly as a result. Initially they think that their search is for someone who will confer these qualities, upon them, as if in a magical way. They learn in their journey that the ability to become mindful, heartful, and courageous really resides within them. It depends upon their experiences, how they respond to these experiences, and how they name them.

Their journey through a strange land and their encounter with strange creatures may well reflect the truth that, in our journey inward, we encounter unknown dimensions of ourselves, both creative and hurtful. The end of that journey, and really the goal of that journey, is to find and to return home. In fact, though Dorothy seems to return to the same home, it is in fact a different home because she is different.

These comments are an attempt to suggest the importance of recognizing the whole range of our experiences and finding ways to name them truthfully and deeply. I would add that we must do so with kindness to ourselves, which will then radiate with kindness to others. There can readily be a movement within ourselves to regard our feeling harshly, even to judge that there is something wrong with us for having them. I like to say that we should never speak to ourselves or treat ourselves other than how we would respond to a hurt or angry child on our best day. In these instances, we become attuned to the suffering behind that outburst, and even moreso to the sacred person that lives within and beneath that array of feelings.

Often, as we noted last time, a whole variety of feelings can mask an underlying suffering, whether within ourselves or in others we encounter. The Dalai Lama has stressed the central importance of kindness. He advises that we must first cultivate an inner peace within ourselves. This is best accomplished by developing love and kindness towards others.

In a little book, On Kindness, Adam Phillips and Barbara Taylor, state that many people today have been taught to perceive ourselves as fundamentally antagonistic to one another, and motivated by self-seeking. As a result, there is an immense loneliness, and lack of connection to one another. The pandemic and its resulting prolonged isolation have certainly made tangible how much we need one another. And to fulfill this need these authors stress that the path to follow is one of mutual respect, cooperation, and above all kindness.

It is interesting that the word, kindness, is related to the word, kin and kinship. This relation suggests that to be kind to someone, including ourselves, we need to feel some connection. This connection is certainly with ourselves and other human beings, near and far, and with the earth itself and its other than human inhabitants. As we have noted, we need to see the universe not as a collection of objects to dominate but a community of beings to reverence. Integral to this process is a sense of connection with and therefore kindness to ourselves. As educator, John Holt has said, we have enough kindness and compassion for others only if we have enough for ourselves.

Once again, the whole process of being gently in touch with ourselves and all the universe within us is part of this development. This can occur through solitude and meditation, through intimate and open conversation, through exposure to literature and the other arts, and through social involvement.

May you come to discover with gentle kindness all that is within you, and gradually extend that kindness in ever wider circles. As Thich Nath Hanh has stressed we must be peace before becoming peacemakers with others and our world.

Norman King, September 04, 2022

Last week we spoke of listening both to oneself and to one another. And of listening from the core or heart of who we are. This week we might explore a little more the notion of listening to oneself.

One striking example I discovered was on the facebook page dedicated to the writings of Thich Nat Han, the Vietnamese monk who died recently at the age of 95. His writings focused on the practice of mindfulness, and developed what he called an engaged Buddhism. He stressed how being peace within oneself was both essential to one’s own inner growth and at the same time called for outward expression in one’s presence in the world.

One example that he used was the experience of anger. He suggests that this and other emotions we perceive as negative are our way of letting ourselves know that something needs taking care of. He says that anger can never remove anger but only promote more anger. He adds that at first we think that our anger has been caused by someone outside ourselves. But in reality the main cause of our anger is the seed of anger in us. And if we do not deal with our anger, it will spill over and hurt others.

It is also important, he says, to help rather than punish those who are angry. We can only do so if we recognize that an angry person is suffering. But to help others, we must learn how to help ourselves. We cannot help to transform the anger in another unless we learn to transform it in ourselves.

To do so, he suggests that we learn how to breathe mindfully, to smile to our own anger, but not to say or do anything out of that anger. If we then look deeply into our anger, we may discern its roots, and then act out of compassion. In his words:“Only understanding and compassion can put down the flame of anger in us and in the other person. Understanding and compassion is the only antidote for anger. And using that, you heal yourself and you help heal the people who are victims of anger.”

In a not dissimilar manner, some years ago, I reflected on our experience of anger and wondered what were its positive counterparts. I found that they were a drive to life, to meaning, and to compassion and justice. Let me give some examples.

On one occasion, a very young child came up behind his father and bit him. Without thinking, the ordinarily non-violent father instinctively reacted by swatting the child and sending him across the room. Neither was really hurt and the incident was soon forgotten. This little event suggested that one occasion of anger is the experience of hurt and, on a larger scale, a threat to injury or even to life. The counterpart would then be a drive to life, to stay alive, and the anger would be a reflection of our longing for life, to stay alive.

Yet, it is not enough for us to stay alive. We want also to be alive, to have a life that is meaningful, to feel that our life has worth and purpose. As another example of anger, I recall once phoning someone early in the morning and being the recipient of that person’s angry attack. I learned right away that she had just burned her hand while cooking breakfast. This was certainly an experience of hurt, but it was also the result of frustration at something going wrong. I recall another occasion when I was greeted by someone who said that they were very angry, but that it had nothing to do with me, but was a result of a number of frustrating events during that day. Frustration can be an occasion of anger. This would seem to be a result, not of a threat to life itself to be things in life going well, or being good. It was a result of a threat to meaning. The positive counterpart, then, would be our longing for meaning, for a sense of worth and purpose.

Finally another incident occurred when a boy punched my daughter when she had returned home from surgery as a small child. While it was intended more as playful, the fierceness of the anger that arose was startling. This incident illustrates another occasion of anger, that arising from harm or injustice done to another person. Spiritual writer, Wayne Muller, recounted how in a counselling session, they discussed her anger. He suggested that she use that anger as alerting her to something to which she might make a positive contribution. It tuned out that, on such occasions, some hurt had been done to another or an unjust social situation had occurred. A third counterpart to anger springs from a sense of compassion and justice.

It would seem, then, that it is important to recognize and allow ourselves to feel our anger, but not to unleash it immediately. Rather, we can allow it to unveil our deep longing for life, for meaning, and for compassion and justice. We can then act from that place within us. We have quoted Richard Rohr as asserting that suffering that is not transformed is transmitted. To recognize that expressions of anger in ourselves and others are most likely rooted in some form of suffering are helpful in that process of transformation.

The same approach might be helpful when all kinds of difficult feelings arise. Meditation and Buddhist teacher, Sharon Salzberg, suggests that we regard difficult emotions as visitors. We may let them in but we don’t give them the run of the house. “These forces are visiting — greed, hatred, jealousy, fear. They’re not inherently, intrinsically, who we are, but they visit. And they may visit a lot; they may visit nearly incessantly, but they’re still only visiting.” This imaginative approach matches what we have said about such feelings telling us where we are a t that moment but not telling us how to respond or what to do. They do not negate the underlying sacred worth that is the essence of who we are.

Spiritual writer, Morton Kelsey suggests that the maturing process involves the self-awareness that comes from being alone with ourselves in silence. At first, he says that “disturbing emotions often come to the surface. … They can range from vague apprehension to terror and panic, or they may vary from bitterness and indignation to aggressive hatred and rage. Usually we attach these feelings to some object in the outer world. … In the silence one can allow the feelings to arise, disconnected from their ordinary targets in the outer world, and learn to deal with the depth of the psyche directly.” As we do so, he adds that we can move towards a greater personal wholeness and brought into relationship wioth what he calls the “Centre of Meaning.”

Gordon Cosby, late pastor and social activist, says similarly that it is important to overcome the resistance to sitting still, “With time to listen and to reflect, we will awake to what is in our hearts–all those feelings that in the rush of our days we keep hidden from ourselves and from others. Silence will put us in touch with yearnings, anxieties, pain, despair, envy, competition, and a host of other feelings that need to be put into worlds if we are to move toward a place of centeredness and come into possession of our lives. The fact is that most of us have an incredible amount of unfaced suffering in our histories that has to be looked at and worked through.” He adds that this journey to our own quiet centre is long and arduous. You will be tempted a thousand times to forget the call to make this journey, this pilgrimage, but will one day bring an immense peace.

May you come to a gentle awareness of the whole range of human feelings, and experience your own sacredness beneath them, and move towards a healing compassion for yourselves and those who come within the circle of your light.

Norman King
August 29, 2022

Last week, we spoke of the eyes through which we look at life, where we see from and how we see, beyond what we see. We may view the events of our life with the eyes of hurt, fear, or hostility, or with the eyes of understanding and compassion. With some effort, it is best if we can come to see ourselves, others, and life with a true and deep and caring awareness.

We also noted that when we learn something about ourselves or about life, it is not so much the acquiring of new information, but more the dawning recognition of something we always somehow knew, but for which we did not yet have words or images. Here too it is crucial to find ways of naming that speak to our inmost heart.

To move beyond our present level of seeing and naming, we must be open–open to our own feelings and thoughts, and to new ways of naming both our angle of vision and what lies within our inmost core.

This openness involves listening. Genuine listening involves not merely hearing words on the surface, or inattentively, or simply being quiet long enough to wait our turn to say what we already have in mind. It is striking, as we have cited before, that the opening words of the fifth century Rule of St. Benedict are to listen with the ears of the heart. This would seem to mean to listen from our core or centre, to listen openly, to be willing to be changed by what we hear, to listen not only to the words but to tune in to the person or text behind the words.

In a recent CBC Ideas interview, Benedictine monk, Columba Stewart, who copies digitally ancient manuscripts, had this to say on listening.
“The discipline of listening is now an endangered art. .. .True listening requires attention. And I think the ability to pay attention and to focus is one of the many endangered things in our present-day and our modern culture. … And so the ability to just sit quietly with somebody, or in a larger group, and actually to pay attention to what they’re saying, it’s very difficult not to retreat into our own thoughts.”

And so that ability that counsellors and psychotherapists have had to cultivate — spiritual directors more in my kind of wheelhouse — of being able to really listen, not only to the words of the person but to the things that are unspoken but nonetheless are being communicated in the encounter, I think that’s tremendously important. Whether it’s a spiritual conversation, working on some kind of emotional issue or a psychological issue or functioning in a political context.

One form of listening is to listen to one’s own inmost self. This can be a matter of sitting quietly, whether in our own home or in a natural setting, somewhere we feel is a safe place for us. We can then allow thoughts and feeling to arise, and we may find that one feeling gives way to another, so that gradually what is deepest within us arises to the surface of our awareness.

One approach, used in many meditative practices, is first of all to listen to our breathing, then to physical sensations, and then to feelings. These can be progressive sessions, as illustrated in the meditation DVD by spiritual author, Jack Kornfield. He concludes his presentation with a lovingkindness meditation. It begins with a wish for the well-being of oneself and extends progressively to those near and then far from our own lives.

Spiritual writer, Thomas Merton, speaks of a listening in silence not for a word that breaks the silence, but with a general openness. We may then experience our very selves, so to speak, as a word our of the silence, as an expression of the universe, as valuable, as having a sacred worth and meaning.

Perhaps w may experience, beneath all else, a kind of longing. It may be viewed as a longing for meaning, for a sense of worth and purpose. And it may be accompanied not by a certainty, but by a hope that this longing is not in vain, but reflects what is really true about each one of us. If we are able to listen to our own sacred worth, we are able to hear that worth in others as well.

In listening to another, we may attempt to tune into the person behind their words or other expressions. The anger of a child–or for that matter an adult–may be a covering for a hurt or insecurity.

While it is essential in our contact with another not to allow ourselves to violated in any way, it may call for a listening to the person hidden within the words or gestures. As I have sometimes said, we cannot talk someone into anything, but we can listen people into their own truth.

Correspondingly, when people express themselves from their inmost self, if we are open, we may hear them in our own core as well. I recall once hearing a song in Ukrainian which resonated with deeply felt longing. I asked my mother-in-law what the words meant. She told me that the person was aching for their homeland and sang that they wished to fly there so intensely that they felt like a bird whose wings came off from the intensity of the flight.

The singing of Leonard Cohen or Louis Armstrong seems also to cone from that heart space. There is a science fiction story by John Campbell, Twilight, which tells of the song of a dying civilization, that reflects an aching sadness. The story of Rapunzel tells of her singing from her lonely solitude and that her voice rings out in the forest and touches the heart of a young man.

Certain parts of the duet from the opera, The Pearl Fishers, seem also to come from and lead into a depth dimension in the soul, to bridge the gap between time and eternity, not as entities but as present experiences, the experience of being totally present rather than merely en route. So too does the climax of the Adagio for Strings by Samuel Barber.

What it comes down to, perhaps, is that if we are in touch with our inmost core and are open from that centre, in a safe place, we may tune in to voices in literature and music and art that speak to and name for us what is in our inmost core.

May you be ever more open to the voice of your inmost core and the voices around you that speak from and to that core. And may these experiences enrich your life.

Norman King, August 21, 2022

When I wrote last week about contact with the spirit horses, I was struck both about our inseparable connection with the natural world and the sense that all is in process, moving, changing. Yet this reality fails to be captured in language that is static. It calls to mind an intuition that I had years; that everything can be understood in terms of energy. Body and soul, as they are usually called can be understood in terms of different kinds of energy. The expansion of the universe, the radiating heat of the sun, running on a treadmill or through the woods, our inner thoughts and feelings–all these involve energy, though of quite different kinds.

I once asked a colleague who was a scholar of the philosopher/scientist, Teilhard de Chardin, what was the underlying force in the universe. His response was: love energy. A few years ago, I also came across a letter of scientist, Albert Einstein, to his daughter, which expressed similar thoughts. I’ll quote from that letter here.
“There is an extremely powerful force that, so far, science has not found a formal explanation to. It is a force that includes and    governs all others, and is even behind any phenomenon operating in the universe and has not yet been identified by us. This universal force is LOVE. … This force explains everything and gives meaning to life. This is the variable that we have ignored for too long, maybe because we are afraid of love because it is the only energy in the universe that humans have not learned to drive at will.”

In a Winnie the Pooh story, Piglet asks Pooh: “How do you spell love. Pooh’s answer was: “You don’t spell it, you feel it.” A few other quotations are along the same line.
“If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”
“Sometimes the smallest things take the most room in your heart.”
“What day is it? asked Pooh. “It’s today,” squeaked Piglet. “My favourite day,”said Pooh.
“We’ll be friends Forever, won’t we, Pooh?” asked Piglet. “Even longer,” Pooh answered.

These simple words express for me the same thought that love is the most profound energy in the universe. It is a “today” reality, when we are living in the present. It is lasting or “forever” reality, if, perhaps, it is the energy we pour out into the universe when we live and when we die. It is in our heart, in the core of our being, which it expands infinitely, so to speak. And while the most inward reality, it calls for outward expression in our lives, our relationships, our world. The Greek root of the word energy means work, effort, or activity, something that is to be done.

Unfortunately, the word love has been romanticized in an unreal way, often taken as a superficial sentimentality, as something that simply happens to us, that we may fall into or out of, that may come and go without our involvement or decision. If we think in terms of love as energy that flows from within, it is an energy that we can receive, acknowledge, foster, channel, express, and offer beyond ourselves.

My wise seven-year-old godson asked how our love continues when we don’t. I tried to explain that the love we receive and share stays in our heart and passes on to others who pass it on in turn. He added that we breathe the same air and drink the same water as the dinosaurs did. I said that since everything that reaches our heart or core is passed on, it is important to receive and pass on what is good.

The late philosopher, John O’Donohue, has stressed the need to express outwardly what is within us, to make visible or tangible what is unseen within us. “In order to feel real,” he writes, “we need to bring that inner invisible world to expression. Every life needs the possibility of expression.”

I would add that it is essential to be in touch with and aware of what is within us, our deepest core. That core is often submerged beneath a variety of impressions and urges which require solitude and friendship in order to be seen by us. At the same time, we do experience the whole range of human thoughts and emotions, which include hurt, fear, and anger, as well as joy, trust, and peace. It is essential, therefore, to decide which one’s to express or refrain from expressing, and whether to entrust but not unleash certain negative feelings. There is also the matter of how we may express these, orally, in writing, or other forms. Here, too, the image, words, and stories of especially creative persons, the sounds of beautiful music, the images of beautiful paintings, and other works of art, can help us to name and express our own deepest experience.

As mentioned before, I have been particularly moved by the articulation of the meaning of love by  psychologist, Erich Fromm. He stresses that love is an activity. He explains that this is not in the sense of external busyness, which can be merely a matter of being passively driven. Rather it is what proceeds freely from within the person. It is also, he says, a matter of giving. Again this is not in the common view of giving as giving up, which implies loss, but in the sense of an overflow of life within ourselves. It recalls the thought of educator, John Holt, who says that the social virtues are an overflow, that we have enough kindness for others only if we have enough kindness for ourselves.

Fromm goes on to say that such love involves caring for the growth of another, a respect for and response to who they truly are, and an increasing understanding of that person. Yet, he adds, it begins with a concern for the marginalized, for those who do not serve an obvious purpose in our lives. What is essential is to develop our very capacity to love, which we will then bring into practice in any life situation. There is a false tendency that to learn how to love is a matter of finding the right person. That is rather akin to thinking that we will be a great painter if only we find the right thing to paint. The issue is rather one of being or becoming the right person ourselves. To do so means to recognize our own basic worth, as well as that of others, to acknowledge and develop our particular gifts, and to share them with others in the right way and in response to our current life situation.

May you begin or more fully recognize the gifts that you have and the gift that you are, and learn more fully to share who you are and your gifts, and find fulfillment for yourself and others in this sharing.

Norman King, August 01, 2022
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Yesterday, a small group of us had an experience, that was outside of the everyday routine, and resulted in a more relaxed and peaceful time. We went to a spirit horse place that was profoundly influenced by ancient and indigenous experience and wisdom. This event linked with previous reflections on the importance of angle of vision, the eyes through which we look at life. It tied in as well with ways in which we uncover our real self beneath the clutter of life, realize our underlying connectedness and belonging, and find ways to name our experience.

Last time, we spoke of uncovering our true self underneath the images and labels that are imposed from outside. We suggested that if we allow ourselves some time in silent solitude, all kinds of thoughts and images can emerge that, so to speak, cover and hide from ourselves who we are beneath it all. Our surface busyness can push us to go through life without real purpose or even awareness. I recall a Peanuts cartoon where Lucy responds to Linus by saying that she didn’t think we were supposed to accomplish anything in our lives, but just to keep busy.

Another thing that struck me was that while we are bombarded by all sorts of information and often misinformation, by the mass media and the internet, what is important is to uncover the angle of vision, the mindset, the point of view–in effect, the eyes through which we look at everything.

At the same time, another approach to solitude is allow time for the experiences we have take root in ourselves, rather than rush from one thing to another. This busyness leaves everything on the surface, and nothing becomes digested and assimilated so as to become part of us.

At this peaceful place, we were told, among other things, how these spirit horses were almost entirety eliminated. These horses were wild in the sense that they roamed freely for as long as 10,000 years ago, but had an affinity with humans. We spent time with them and they approached us and really liked to be petted, especially around the neck area. Their gentle friendliness was very striking, and fit well with the recognition that they had never been saddled or “broken.” One fascinating happening occurred when the indigenous person struck the drum and chanted. The horses gathered around him. Through our time in this area, another horse also gravitated to a young child who was part of our little group.

It was a tangible experience of connection with and belonging to the natural world. This is a contrast to the common cultural assumption, hopefully one that is waning, that sees humans as are apart from, superior to, and dominant over, our natural environment. It called to mind a favourite expression: we need to come to view the universe not as a collection of objects to dominate, but a community of beings to reverence.

Another thing that struck me was the comment of the indigenous person that their language was one of verbs rather than nouns, that everything was in motion. If I had even a small glimpse of understanding, it called to mind two things that had previously resonated with me. One was that, in a particular western North American language, instead of it being said that the grass is green, it would be said that greening is happening over there. The language was one of movement, of process, rather than something static. I had a similar experience, seeing totem poles at a University of British Columbia museum. It seemed that the figures were in motion, one creature turning into another, reflecting a time before shapes were solidified. Perhaps more than anything else, it illustrated how everything is connected. I recognize that this can be a misunderstanding of the complexity and diversity of these magnificent creations.

The explanation of the feather also resonated strongly.. One side, we were told, is smooth, while the other is rough, illustrating both the joys and sorrows, the good times and difficult periods, that we all experience throughout our lives. It was, for me, an instance both of an understanding of life itself and of the interconnectedness of everything. It calls to mind the words of scientist Brian Swimme, that the stars are our ancestors. It also reminds me of the words, attributed to 19th century Chief Seattle, that all living creatures share the same breath, that the earth does not belong to humans but humans to the earth, and that whatever we do to the earth we do to ourselves.

There is a folk tale in the Grimm Brothers collection called The Three Feathers. In this story, an aging king wishes to decide which of his three sons is to inherit the kingdom. He blows three feathers into the air and the sons are each to follow the feather to complete a task. One feather blows east, another west, and that of the youngest son, regarded as not too bright, simply falls to the ground at his feet. As I interpret this story, the feathers as part of the bird, stand for our “highest”aspirations, but only at a small or beginning stage, as simple, barely perceptible nudgings.

The feather falling to the ground, suggests that what we are looking or longing for is right before us, and that it is a matter of becoming present to where we are. Instead of going off in all directions, we need to be present in depth, to make the journey inward. The youngest son notices a trapdoor in the earth, opens it, and the story unfolds. True renewal of life comes from attending to our own inner spirit and its longings, from realizing the relational dimension of everything and the interconnection of all that is, and from a sense of responsibility to all these connections.

Among other things, what may emerge from the encounter with other, especially more rooted cultures, is, hopefully, an openness to allow them to modify and expand our own horizons, to offer more creative ways to name our experience, and to provide a deeper sense of connection with all who share the same breath with us.

May you learn to trust your own experience, to be aided in naming it truthfully and in depth, and in all things to become more aware and convinced of your own worth, and your belonging to this earth, and to experience the friendship that reinforces both of these.

Norman King
July 24, 2022