Thursday, June 03, 2004
Nice Is Not Enough
Last night I went to hear a famous spiritual teacher speak at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. Grace Cathedral is vast. It holds many hundreds of people and was filled to capacity. I felt honored to be in the company of so many "serious" seekers, persons sufficiently dedicated to the search for spiritual connection that they had come to enjoy this evening of communion together.
The speaker, a major leader in her (Buddhist) tradition, was a very nice person. She spoke calmly and coherently about her topic, which was, essentially, how to avoid feeling aggressive when others confront or insult you. Yet, as her talk unfolded, I began to feel more and more as if I were back in my little midwestern home town, hearing a lesson in Sunday School. The emphasis seemed to be on personal psychology. In fact, the presentation was more like a self-help session (how can I deal with my own anger, frustration, lack of self-esteem, resentment, etc.) than an exploration of serious spiritual issues.
The overall effect was that of "bland." No one could take offense, no one could seriously disagree with the premises. But I kept wondering, whatever happened to the passion of the ancient founders of her lineage? Where was the mystery and intensity of the shamanic tradition from which it derived? Where was the sense of mystical connection as the primary token of authentic spiritual experiences? These were recipes for social interaction, not revelations of the divine. Whatever became of ecstasy? Where was transcendence?
Now, instead of bland, what I yearn for is the "passionate intensity" of the awakened mystic. By this, I am not calling for people who become fanatics or zealots, who act out or contrive to insert drama into everyday experience. But I am longing for what the poets, at least, have often sought, a real, deeply felt, totally alive connection with something of great significance beyond the level of the mundane. I am convinced that transcendence is possible, at least in our most splendid moments. Life is not a pleasant game of chess, but a dance full of unexpected turns and events,
all calling us to discover unexplored regions of our own spirit, sometimes involving the extremities of both beatitude and pain.
We face overwhelming problems in our world. We need daring leadership, persons of integrity and fierce vision for whom "nice" is not enough. We need to open ourselves to what T. S. Eliot called, "the awful daring of a moment's surrender." For many of us, kundalini offers such a moment, such an opportunity of surrender.
When You Move
When you move
through my body
it is then I know.
All the arguments
and persuasions
which try to prove
whether it is
or is not,
whether you are
or are not
part of the
discernible
world,
fade away to nothingness,
dust particles dissolved
in a light summer rain.
Then I forget everything,
even the name
for what is happening,
my breath,
your kisses everywhere.
copyright, Dorothy Walters
The speaker, a major leader in her (Buddhist) tradition, was a very nice person. She spoke calmly and coherently about her topic, which was, essentially, how to avoid feeling aggressive when others confront or insult you. Yet, as her talk unfolded, I began to feel more and more as if I were back in my little midwestern home town, hearing a lesson in Sunday School. The emphasis seemed to be on personal psychology. In fact, the presentation was more like a self-help session (how can I deal with my own anger, frustration, lack of self-esteem, resentment, etc.) than an exploration of serious spiritual issues.
The overall effect was that of "bland." No one could take offense, no one could seriously disagree with the premises. But I kept wondering, whatever happened to the passion of the ancient founders of her lineage? Where was the mystery and intensity of the shamanic tradition from which it derived? Where was the sense of mystical connection as the primary token of authentic spiritual experiences? These were recipes for social interaction, not revelations of the divine. Whatever became of ecstasy? Where was transcendence?
Now, instead of bland, what I yearn for is the "passionate intensity" of the awakened mystic. By this, I am not calling for people who become fanatics or zealots, who act out or contrive to insert drama into everyday experience. But I am longing for what the poets, at least, have often sought, a real, deeply felt, totally alive connection with something of great significance beyond the level of the mundane. I am convinced that transcendence is possible, at least in our most splendid moments. Life is not a pleasant game of chess, but a dance full of unexpected turns and events,
all calling us to discover unexplored regions of our own spirit, sometimes involving the extremities of both beatitude and pain.
We face overwhelming problems in our world. We need daring leadership, persons of integrity and fierce vision for whom "nice" is not enough. We need to open ourselves to what T. S. Eliot called, "the awful daring of a moment's surrender." For many of us, kundalini offers such a moment, such an opportunity of surrender.
When You Move
When you move
through my body
it is then I know.
All the arguments
and persuasions
which try to prove
whether it is
or is not,
whether you are
or are not
part of the
discernible
world,
fade away to nothingness,
dust particles dissolved
in a light summer rain.
Then I forget everything,
even the name
for what is happening,
my breath,
your kisses everywhere.
copyright, Dorothy Walters
