At times these past few years
The Light has seemed to fade,
And space for sadness made.
Enticing madness to appear.
We yearn for normal times.
Our cries reflect the torment
Unheeded for the moment
In our restless, rhythmic rhymes.
Yet hope remains a steady fire
Melting through the yoke,
The burdens that we spoke,
And strength behind desires.
Setting wounded mind aside,
We encounter That which never left,
Reminder of a noble guest,
Who calmly takes the world in stride.
There is now a deeper sense
For we know it’s not a ploy.
Our heart sings for joy,
As we focus on the Present.
Fear fades while joy and goodness grow.
And intimate connections made,
Providing us the shade
Of peace that deep inside we know.
I wish for you this unique present
On this happy Christmas morn:
A joyous heart that’s born
Of life’s eternal Present.
There are moments in life when we encounter, however briefly, someone or something unexpected, beautiful, perfect, beyond description, in which we sense a larger beingness. We feel at the edge of a precipice transfixed, but connected to that larger sense of ourselves. The following are flash-bulb memories from my life and from friends who contributed them. Keep them coming!
A Great Goal
The soccer game started while a band played and the crowd shouted and laughed at the old men running up and down the field in shorts and waddling midsections. The town’s fathers had gathered several prominent citizens to play a game as part of the inauguration ceremonies for a new stadium. Dad, a lawyer and judge in the small town of my birth, was a 48-year-old defender. Seconds before the end of the first half, he stole the ball at midfield and began charging forward. Suddenly and unexpectedly, he stopped, swung his right leg back and kicked a cannon shot with his right foot towards the goalie nearly 50 yards away. The crowd groaned since it seemed like wasted effort. Remarkably, and against all expectations, the ball netted, and he scored the goal–‘un golaso’ or a superb goal, as many described it. In a town where soccer was king and everyone considered themselves experts, what happened that afternoon represented a minor miracle. Dad became a momentary superstar for the magic he had created. In my imagination, there would be a parade in his honor, a small statue of him placed in the center of town, and admiration toward all his family. In his typical way, he forgot the event, put his head down, and went to work the following day. It was a beautiful and transformative lesson for me, from a truly outstanding and humble man.
The Mona Lisa
Smart beyond measure, brilliant painter, architect, sculptor, inventor, and so much more, Leonardo da Vinci has always represented for me the ideal human being. From iconic paintings, like the Mona Lisa and The Last Supper, designs for flying machines, and ground-breaking studies on optics and perspective, Leonardo da Vinci fused science with art and in the process created works that have become irreplaceable icons of the human story. He is the ultimate expression of an intuitive, unencumbered Original Mind, and someone I deeply admire. But of all his creations, the canonical example of his genius, at least for me, is the Mona Lisa. Like most of humanity, I am transfixed by this painting as reproduced in a variety of media.
In 1976, I found myself at the Louvre museum as part of a sightseeing trip to Paris. The entrance comprised a set of stairs at the top of which was the Venus de Milo. Walking up those stairs and encountering Venus felt like walking up heaven’s staircase to meet God. Yet, I did not linger with Venus for more than a few seconds, for I had one thing in mind, making my way to the Mona Lisa. I entered the room where she was hanging and remember the crowd gathered around her. My expectations, already sky-high, were off the chart as I slowly inched my way forward. Then, suddenly, there it was. I was in front of it. The shock that followed was unexpected and the disappointment earth-shattering, for I could not believe what was in front of me. In my mind, the Mona Lisa was large and yet here hung a comparably tiny version of what I held in my imagination. But that devastating emotional disappointment lasted only a brief instant, as I recognized what everyone else recognized. Here, in front of me, was the essence of beauty and something magical captured on a small canvas. For a moment, time stood still.
Joko Beck
When I met her in her late 70s, she sported short, grey hair and a grandmotherly demeanor, yet a youthful exuberance. I found her to be serious regarding her teaching and with a wonderful smile arising occasionally from her seriousness. I liked the fact she had shed many of the cultural trappings of Eastern Zen, including chanting and wearing of the robes. Joko Beck had become a well-known Zen teacher in the Pacific Beach area of San Diego. She had developed a fresh approach to teaching called “ordinary mind,” or Zen simplicity at its finest, which proved tremendously appealing. During our first encounter, the serenity surrounding her had a striking, palpable, and compelling quality. It drew me to attend Saturday meditation sessions and then three-day retreats. During each session, I met with Joko in teacher-student interviews. “Zen training,” she would remind me each time, “is learning how to work so you do it right, perfect in fact, with no extra anything, whether it is your job, gardening, shopping, whatever.” “In fact,” she would continue, “this requires little sitting–it’s more relating to everything in your life and taking care of it.”
“Do I need to come to the center to learn to do this?” I would ask. “Practice occurs anywhere and with anything,” she responded. “What happens at the center is I can provide you with encouragement and advice, but the actual practice is with your life in every moment. Life becomes your true teacher.”
My knowledge of Zen grew slowly as she imparted such wisdom during the four years I stayed as her student. After I left, our relationship turned into an apprenticeship of the heart, continuing with reading and reading of her book, “Everyday Zen.” Ever so slowly, Joko’s teaching transformed into life itself. As I walk this world, she is everywhere and I am eternally grateful.
The Bucking Horse: Chelsea Dorich
My mother once had an old Polo horse that was always going barn sour (feral). During those years, it was my job to break her so I could ride her again. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a horse being broken for riding, but it looks very much like the bronco riding event at a rodeo.
The old mare was tall even for a thoroughbred at 17 hands. She was fast, and she was strong. She threw me off many times before, with wounds that took weeks to heal.
One afternoon, I was again trying to stay in the saddle after she started her bucking dance. I had tried so many methods of falling and failed each time. That day, I had had it. I would avoid being burnt by the arena sand or caught under those hooves again if I could help it. Instead, I would try something absolutely unthinkable. I knew I was going to crash anyway if I did not. I would try a backflip and hope I didn’t crash into the fence or break my neck or… what have you.
I had nano seconds to take my aim and jump. I was so sure I would not make it.
Low and behold, I flew, dispersing the inertia and landing on my feet in the center of the ring unscathed. I looked down to see I was just to the left of the tool used to command the horse. The old mare stopped in her tracks when she saw this and gave me much less trouble from that day forward.
That sunny afternoon I surprised myself and learned that I might be capable of more than I ever expected- I just had to try.
The Great White: Tom Krzmarzick
Exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. On a crisp, clear day in early September, I took my 12’ stand-up paddleboard or sup to South Carlsbad State beach for a cruise session from the north end of the campgrounds to the south end near the Ponto jetties and back. The cruise is usually a two-hour journey. Typically, I will try to catch a few waves while paddling south and a few more on my return trip. The weather was one of those clear, brilliant days because of a weak Santa Ana. Visibility, looking down from the board through the crystal clear and a bright blue green water, was extremely clear.
As I paddled straight out from the shore, a family of four or five dolphins immediately greeted me, heading north. The dolphins, submerged under water on my left, swam underneath surfacing on the right-hand side of the board. The exhale breathing sounds from these animals felt amazingly close. After their visit, I turned or paddled south, as the dolphins swam northward. The brilliant beauty of the sky, clear water and visit from the dolphins energized me. I continued paddling south for another five minutes, when I glimpsed a shadow behind me approximately at the 5 o’clock position from my board, using the nose as the 12 o’clock position. As the shadow approached, I turned to my back right to get a better glimpse of what it was. After the greeting by the friendly dolphins, I was fully expecting more of them. I even started to say, “hello buddies,” when I realized the creature swimming closer to me was an eight to nine-foot great white shark! It swam in an arc, staying five feet below the surface and beneath me at approximately the 3 o’clock position of the board. It continued swimming in an arc direction and then turned right towards the horizon at the 1 o’clock position.
As the shark swam out toward the horizon, my initial thought was, “Holy Shit!! What do I do?” It exhilarated as much as it terrified me. My mental processing at that moment decided it was better strategy to continue on my way south as planned. I didn’t want to panic and abruptly turn around and go back to where I had entered the water, wondering what would happen if I fell off the sup while making those maneuvers. “Relax, you will not fall off this big board, you’ve been doing this for years,” I told myself, although I decided I would not try to catch any little waves since I had no leash for the board. I didn’t wear a leash because of the waves being so small, and I had planned on just a long cruise sup paddle.
I calmed down and continued my trip south, marveling at the beauty, power, and structure of the great white and how well built it was for the water. Its tail was vertical in the water allowing it to turn on a dime; It had a grayish black top and white underside, with a diamond-shaped powerful body. How effortless it swam! How powerful it looked in the water! I truly felt fortunate to experience seeing such a great white shark living in its own environment. It made an everlasting impression.
Walking to my car in the parking lot with the sup, I felt a surge of energy I can only attest to how fortunate to have witnessed these events. As I loaded the sup board on my car, dried off and got ready to go, I saw an older surfer hanging around his car. I couldn’t resist striking a conversation and telling him what I saw and witnessed. “Hey,” I said to him, “I just saw an eight to nine-foot great white shark. Have you ever seen them out there?”. He responded calmly with a short answer, “yep, they’re out there.” Indeed, they are!
There are moments in life when we encounter, however briefly, something unexpected, beautiful, perfect, beyond description, in which we sense a larger beingness. We feel at the edge of a precipice transfixed, but connected to that larger sense of ourselves. I call these moments of perfection, wrapped in glory. Sometimes the overwhelming emotion can be positive but it need not be. It is, however, unforgettable. The following are my flash-bulb memories of some of those events in my life. I encourage anyone with such memories to share a short-version of them with me so that I can post on the blog.
Individuation
Although most of my life as a 3-year-old remains shrouded in mist, I vividly recall the day when I became a separate, distinct individual. Until then, I had no awareness of a separate me, only of an undifferentiated consciousness. That auspicious day, I recall wanting to play, but my 5-year-old sister Nora did not, and in that instant, shattered my world. It suddenly dawned on me, more a feeling than a conceptual understanding, that she and I were distinct, with different thoughts. It was, as I would later characterize it, a “crack in the cosmic egg of my existence.” Individuation is a normal process we all go through, but few remember. Psychologists call it the development of a theory of mind, referring to the ability to distinguish our self from others and to know others can think different thoughts. The unexpected and earth-shattering aware-feeling of becoming separate from those close to me produced a deep sadness in my young mind. It made me feel very alone in a large universe.
Going to the Moon
We were inseparable, doing everything together, including fighting like brothers. On a sunny day, when we were both four years old, we went to the moon. Hector lived next door and had become my best friend. I don’t recall how we chose our target, but the adventure did not seem beyond our childish imaginations. There was a small bed in the corridor that faced the backyard of my house, which we commandeered as our spaceship. On launch day, we sat side by side with me as pilot and Hector as co-pilot. Suddenly, the engines roared, and we were off. We took control of the ship and pointed it towards the silver silhouette in the sky. My eyes fixated on that silver moon and, ever so slowly, perceived us getting closer and closer. It seemed like the afternoon dragged on for hours as the size of our target grew bigger and bigger. I have never been able to see the “face” on the moon, but on that day I could see the craters on the surface as clearly as if only a few hundred feet above them. It was thrilling beyond words.
Finding My Way Home
I started undergraduate life at UCLA as a math major since I had done well in the subject in high school. But it quickly became apparent I did not know what I wanted to study, and switched to Engineering, then Premed, and Sociology. It did not help my confidence to be surrounded by kids much smarter than me. I struggled to get through freshman chemistry, earning a passing grade. In contrast, a friend got an ‘A’ even though he rarely studied because the material did not challenge him enough. I remember sitting side by side in class, feeling disheartened and depressed. Such feelings accompanied me to every class during that first fall and winter quarters. In spring, I enrolled in Introduction to Psychology and things took a different turn. That first day proved foreboding as I walked into a semi-circular auditorium holding 500 students, all talking at once. I settled down on a seat at the top of the auditorium, fortunate to have found one. For five minutes, I waited for the class to start. Then, a young, short-hair male with glasses and sandals, who I assumed to be the professor, approached the podium. The loud noise settled down from a roar to a murmur and then complete silence, as if a disk jockey had turned down the dial on loud music. Maybe it was the deep and mellow tenor of his voice or his charm, but soon enough, I lost track of everyone around me. Everyone literally disappeared, and I became mesmerized by the professor’s voice and stories. I had stopped thinking and just listened–totally fascinated by what he said. At the end of the class and while the auditorium emptied, I felt disoriented. What had just happened? After a few seconds, I experienced a warm feeling and a sense I had stumbled upon what had been missing. It felt like I had found my way home after being lost, and a sense of gratitude, excitement, and a budding awareness that I now knew what I needed to do. I would major in psychology.
Snow in Frankfurt
It was the weekend and time to head downtown, to an area called Sachsenhausen, a part of the old town with a mix of late-night bars, clubs, and restaurants. I had been in Frankfurt, Germany, stationed at Rhein-Main Air Force Base for only a few months. The old town was a special hangout for US airmen during our time off. The coldness of winter gripped me as I pulled my light jacket tighter while waiting for the bus. In Sachsenhausen, my friends and I gathered at the Drop-IN club where we danced with German fräuleins, drank, laughed, and relaxed from our weekly chores. Around midnight, l headed home by myself feeling happy and light-headed. I stepped off the bus stop to switch to the one headed to the air base and sat on the bench to wait. I knew it would only be a few minutes, given the punctual nature of German public transportation. As I sat there, alone on a quiet night, during the bewitching hour, it snowed. I had never experienced a snow fall and as I looked up at the sky, the most beautiful pattern of white particles against a dark sky descended on me as if in slow motion. It was mesmerizing and for a long moment, time stood still, as I sat there watching and feeling blessed by God.
I wish to be relevant.
I do not want my ashes
In the dustbin of history.
It is a terrifying thought!
To be invisible,
To be irrelevant,
Unable to add
To the human enterprise.
Amid a pandemic,
This consuming hunger
And accompanying fear,
Rears its head.
As I shelter at home
And avoid the world,
I feel less able to add
To the human existence.
The existential crisis grows.
My insignificance is clear.
I have no ground to stand on
And I disappear.
Then, out of the ashes,
Something new is reborn.
With a new relevancy,
The relevancy of being.
Nothing to do,
Nothing to be,
No more,
No less.
This poem captures two worlds colliding in my mind at the moment. One is the world of my ego in which I am feeling distressed at being ordinary, not standing out from the crowd, being ignored by my peers and others as uninteresting or unimportant, and not having done enough to make the world a better place. I compare myself to others and find myself inadequate, as if something is missing in my personality and competence. I feel a void in the pit of my stomach, and the state of “mediocrity” becomes a frightening possibility. Like the sword of Damocles, my ego obsesses with the sense that this state of being is about to drop into my soul any minute. And I dread the thought and the feelings it engenders, namely that I will recognize this as my true nature. I recognize I rooted such fear in my development, with high expectations and a lifelong effort to excel academically and in other spheres of life. In contrast, I occasionally oscillate to another sense – that of contentment, of being special, when thinking disappears, and the world seems absolutely perfect.
This oscillation between mediocrity and uniqueness, being special and not reminds me of what Harold Ramis, a well-known American actor, comedian, director, and writer, said about carrying two notes to remind you of who you are. The first note should read, “The universe was created for my delight.” The second note should say, “I am a meaningless speck of dust in the vastness of the universe.” His point was that life occurs in the rhythmic oscillation between these two opposite poles. Living happens between meaningfulness and meaninglessness, between creative and mundane living. The rhythmic oscillation of this dance occurs both outside and within conscious awareness, but in either case, we are participants. Nisargadatta Maharaj, an Indian guru, offered something similar. He said, “Between looking inside and recognizing that I am nothing and seeing outside and recognizing that I am everything–my life turns.” You, me, and everyone else are both nothing and everything; both special and not.
So, why do I yearn for uniqueness? To be special? And for whom is all this mental anguish and activity for? Psychologically, it is my ego’s soulful cry, created by an illusion of separateness, born out of my evolutionary drive for individuality. Spiritually, however, it is the aching sense to be united with my Source.
… here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart) e.e. cummings
What would our world be like if, instead of training the young to value money and material things, they would learn to value truth, creativity, and love? If they could learn to carry the heart of the other in their own heart? Why is such a world only theoretically possible? Obviously, it is the way we have structured rewards and punishment in our dysfunctional society. That money is the basis for purchasing goods and services makes materialism, if not inevitable, then highly likely. Those with the most money get the most toys. But what if goods and services were available regardless of money? What if we rewarded nonmaterial values? We can all imagine a society where hard work, honesty, teamwork could guarantee a child a free high school and college education. Such a society could guarantee a reasonable income and work once they completed their education. Why do we consider these things noble yet highly unlikely to occur? What must we change to move us in that direction?
Let’s begin with the young and the learning they undergo. On the optimistic side, schooling, when done right, is mainly a positive thing. Children learn to be social. They get interested in science. We encourage their curious ways. Whatever goes wrong with this expectation and outcome is correctable without having to rethink what education is. I would even argue that the competition that is fostered in grade school is a good thing as well. Whether in athletics or academics, competition is a healthy motivating force. It goes wrong when it becomes entirely a selfish endeavor, with no consideration for others. Is that the clue to what takes us in the wrong direction?
Some argue that selfishness is a part of human nature; that children are the ultimate narcissists; and unless society counterbalances that drive, things will go awry. If true, then what are the social forces that provide such counterbalancing drives. I would argue that things like church, group associations, a multi-ethnic, diverse culture are important. And what is at the core of what these institutions teach? I would say they teach us empathy; to put ourselves in the shoes of the other; to carry their heart in our own heart. Empathy is the counter to selfishness. Unfortunately, these countervailing forces in society are currently losing authority or producing an unnatural backlash. This is the root of the problem. The lack of a counter to our selfish drive is creating narcissistic individuals not interested in others. Of course, we are talking about massive generational, value- and age-based changes going on in the world. Is there one small thing that can change this inevitable storm?
Some argue that the world is a chaotic, dynamical system. In such a system, the fluttering of a butterfly in South America can have a significant effect on the weather in North America. Perhaps this essence of chaos theory applies to the chaos of social turbulence we are experiencing. Many answers about which behavior would be most effective are possible. But the one that rings most true, and which lies at the root of the root of the answer, is love—unconditional love. Love is empathy in action. Learn to love in this way. Teach others to love without judgment. This small beating of your wings might just change the turbulence you and all of us are experiencing.
The human and divine. Once in a while, the idea of my human and divine nature rears its head. I know for sure that I am a human being, with all the attributes it implies. I had human parents who passed on their genetic attributes to me. Still, I have accepted that my essence is part and parcel of a fundamental energy that is, for the lack of a better description, divine. However, the schooling I received as a catholic youth regarding the attributes of such a divine essence, and later learning about Zen Buddhism, interfere with my adult understanding. Catholic training attributed a type of perfect, sinless nature to my divine self, a nature granted only through the grace of salvation. From my Buddhist training, this pure, essential nature was innate in me from birth. Unfortunately, many of my thoughts and actions appear to contradict that pure, sinless nature. The lack of trust in what I am creates this conflict. Am I both human and divine? Why do I have such a hard time reconciling these two thoughts?
The meaningless purpose of life. Daily evidence has convinced me I am both meaningful and meaningless. I feel special in God’s eye, but I also equate myself to a grain of sand in a universe of sand. My ego biases my thoughts toward the special, and I am surprised when the meaningless perspective sneaks up. This morning I wrote a blog post titled, “I Am Here” and felt inspired and special. Later, as I drove to the store listening to the KPBS radio channel, I heard an interview with Sonya Renee Taylor, author and poet, currently living in New Zealand. The interview basically hit me like a brick to the head. Ms Taylor summarized all the ideas I had written about in the blog but did so in a more polished, deliberate, attention-grabbing, and better way. Her unique wisdom struck me like a thunderbolt. My self-centered importance gave way, and I felt like a grain of sand-tiny and unimportant.
The limits of being human. The slight pressure behind my left eyeball, while not a full-blown headache, is uncomfortable. I experience it when my blood pressure is high; when I am drowning in financial difficulties; and when I ponder whether I should do something more meaningful than sitting and watching the world go by. It reflects anxiety about being productive; about being active and not passive; about giving back to society versus taking up space in a world already full of people. This drama plays out mainly during moments of anxiety and uncertainty. Because I feel the pressure mainly on the left side of my head, I assume it involves parts of my brain involved in language and conceptual thinking. It is my monkey mind messing with me.
The lack of trust. One constant in moments of monkey mind madness, when I feel impatient with others, life, and God, is my desire for immediate gratification. That desire overcomes my thoughtful self. I cannot wait for either human or divine responses. And those unanswered questions make me lose trust. Trust in myself and trust in something greater than me. At that point, the pressure behind my left eyeball increases and I feel a tension develop. Sometimes I feel the discomfort in the pit of my stomach, just below the rib cage. Sometimes it’s just a feeling of impatience. When the unresolved issue lingers, there is a restless anxiety that settles over me. It’s interesting, though not unexpected, that mental concerns should so affect my physical body. It’s only recently that I’ve understood their identities are the same.
The desire to do. One recurring thought I have is the desire to do constructive, meaningful things. I recall reading that any act done with full attentiveness and in a loving way is the most meaningful act possible. I feel the urge to help others. But also feel constrained by circumstances, the pandemic, those around me, and not wanting to endanger people who still have not received the vaccine.
“Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.” Matthew 5:5.
The last two years are without question the most unusual years of the 21st century. With surprise, alarm, disorder, and panic as a backdrop, the ordinariness of life stands out. I want, therefore, to celebrate the normal rather than the above-normal. To that end, I want to recognize someone who didn’t just go above and beyond this last year, she also went below and beneath. By this I mean she kept and maintained normalcy in the day-to-day life during a very chaotic time. She is someone who in her normalcy provided a glimpse for why the human spirit will triumph in the end.
Like a large portion of working professionals, her employers required my wife Jane to switch to working from home. It was psychologically and practically a disruptive event. Yet, her only real complaint was that she was less productive at home because the wi-fi speed of our internet was slow. Gradually, however, she adjusted to the slower rhythm even though it produced longer times spent at “work.” After a few weeks, she appreciated the rewards of being home. These included things she could let go, such as the need to commute, to dress-up, to be punctual. It also included things she didn’t know she missed, such as the comfort of being home, taking a break, snacking, catching up on the news at any moment. The result was a gradual switch and change. She was still not as productive, but she was enjoying her routine much more.
My wife suffered health problems following a trip to Australia in 2018. She was, therefore, in a high-risk group for catching the coronavirus. Because of this we decided, from the start of the pandemic in March 2020, to have her avoid contact with people as much as possible. She stayed home and away from crowds, and did most of her social contact through phone and zoom. It fell to me to do the grocery shopping and other activities requiring leaving the house. She went along with little complaining, and once again transformed the normal and naturalness of her social life into a constricted and cartoonish version of it. As the months rolled by, it became clear this new life would be less temporary than we imagined. She adjusted and did not grow depressed or anxious. She turned to her faith to provide the strength to bear the negativity and transmute it into a hopeful future. Her adaptiveness was a show of strength that bolstered my spirit.
I want to recognize my wife, Jane, whom I love and admire, as someone who did the nearly impossible – maintain a normal life and a confident purpose these last two years of the pandemic. By doing so, she showcased the strength and resiliency in all of us. In a similar way, many of you persevered and now look forward to a more normal future. Likewise, the triumph of President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris this year was a victory of the American spirit over the darkness that had descended over our country. While the dark clouds have not totally dissipated, it is easier to see the sunlight.
We have been through a lot during this pandemic, but there is clearly a human spirit that is indomitable. We must, above all, keep the optimistic flames going by celebrating every act of normalcy we can, along with acts of kindness and acts of love!
Genuine love is that which holds without holding on;
That which creates and lets go of its creation;
That which accepts without judgment and yet transforms.
In a recent New York Times essay, the novelist Celeste Ng writes that “Love is a slippery and intangible thing, and sometimes we can only pin it down in these mundane, bodily needs.” She is referring to everyday ordinary and extraordinary moments, food, texts, dozing off, and emails from friends and loved ones. But every day, mundane things are ALWAYS facing us, and thus the possibility of love is ALWAYS available to us. There is no slipperiness, intangibility, or rareness in this readily available bouquet. Love is and always has been the entirety of what we are, what we do, what we see, feel and think—EVERYTHING. What Celeste Ng and most of us don’t normally realize is that it is recognizing this love that is slippery, intangible, occasional, and temporary. This lack of awareness may be because of our inability to maintain constant openness and focus. Because if we could do so, we would recognize that we are never without it, that it surrounds us as much as the ocean surrounds the fish within it. Love is the ordinariness of life itself. It is the joyful lunch with friends, but also the lonely feeling when no one is around. It is both the happiness and the pain experienced. Love is life itself—we just need to recognize it.
What prevents us from recognizing it? Our spinning, monkey mind — the aspect that cannot settle down and which engages each and every thought it creates, distracting us from what is real. Paradoxically, love is always communicating to us, “I am here.” But our mind storm drowns out its voice and obscures recognition of its reality. STOP the spinning mind and realize that love is there—it has always been there in all its wonder. For love is not a slippery and intangible thing—it is the essence of all that is.
Sometimes the difficult part of living
Is in the moments between events,
In the in-betweenness of life.
Whether life flows,
Successfully or not,
Depends on such sacred poetic moments.
These are moments of waiting,
Of pausing,
Of reflection,
Of starting over.
It is here that the architects
Of self-centered thinking live.
Boredom, agitation,
Expectations, mind wandering,
Doubts, questioning, and anxiety.
It is here that our untutored mind
Gives free rein to the fantasies
Hindering the free flow of life.
It is here, en nepantla, however,
That the opportunity for growth
Is optimal.
For it is here,
In these sacred poetic moments,
That we get a chance for freedom.
* En nepantla is a Nahuatl word for a state of in-betweeness. Nahuatl refers to a group of peoples native to southern Mexico and Central America.
Image from Clayton, J.N. (2017). Science and Theology, May 19, By DGE?
For many of us, faith implies the belief in a Deity and powers that emanate from such a being. We conceive of such beliefs as beyond the reach of the intellect, and see science and faith, like oil and water, as not mixing very well. This creates a mindset in which we judge scientists as incapable or unwilling to express faith, and those who express faith as unable to understand the scientific viewpoint. Valid or not, many reasons have led to this unusual, unhelpful, and twisted logic. In an attempt to bring these two polar opposite views into synchrony, I describe a perspective on the path from skepticism to wonder and back that may provide a small beginning.
What is “truth?” How we arrive at that answer creates a multitude of feelings, thoughts, and approaches. Most of us, at the dawn of the 21st century, reflect the thinking which conceives of truth based on faith in opposition to that based on science. Science is a unique method requiring proof to an almost legalistic level, i.e., overwhelming circumstantial evidence that is beyond a reasonable doubt. We arrive at this type of truth by gathering data from what we experience. We then generate a best-guess explaining the accumulated evidence, test this hypothesis, and recalibrate the explanation based on the feedback. This is a painstaking, time-consuming, third-person, communal perspective. History has validated the worthiness of this approach, such as when evaluating pre-scientific explanations of diseases. For millennia, we considered disorders the work of unseen forces, evil spirits, or the devil. Applying the scientific method, scientists discovered that biological phenomena, including bacteria and viruses, and psychological events such as stress, were better explanations for these dynamics.
In contrast to science, faith is the willingness to accept things unexperienced. It rests on an individualized, first-person feeling based on trust and conviction, and less on evidence or proof. It is an extrasensory set of feelings and ideas in an individual, regardless of how others may react. I cannot, for example, convince others with data or reasoning that I experience God every day because, right or wrong, this is a private, individualized, and exclusive experience. It becomes more communal only when others experience similar things.
The paradox inherent in this science-faith discussion arises from theology and philosophy, namely the idea of the transcendence and immanence of God. This dichotomy reflects a pair of truths which appear to contradict each other. Imagine a continuum. At one end is the notion that God is separable from His creation. Or to put a theological spin on it, “God is transcendent and not imminent.” He created things, but those things do not define Him. He is beyond them. However, to believe in God’s transcendence and to neglect His immanence is to fall into the belief of a Supreme being and creator who does not intervene in the universe. At the other end of this continuum is the notion that nature expresses the Divine. God is nature. Or, to put it another way, “He is imminent (in nature).” But to believe in His immanence and to neglect His transcendence is to fall into the belief that reality is identical to divinity. Interestingly, modern Christian theology falls somewhere along this continuum. It argues that God is both transcendent and imminent, although imminent in only a few circumstances, such as the incarnation of Christ, the Bible, expressed love and caring. But He is not imminent in nature, pain, or inappropriate behavior.
Scholars have argued that the influence of Greek philosophy had a vast impact on early Christian theology and on the transcendence-imminence of God. It saw the world of physical objects as an inferior reality. Because of this influence, any human experience of God, which is physical and inferior to the spirit, would only be a poor mirage of the true perfection of the godhead (Crotty, 1982). The result of such thinking was an emphasis on the transcendent over the immanent God. Several scholars tried to reject these Greek ideas. Aristotle, and later Dietrich Bonhoeffer, believed that God is “out there” with ordinary life. Bonhoeffer’s “God is everywhere” concept, however, morphed into “God is not here” for everything with God meant nothing is God. Logical reasoning, such as this, unfortunately, never seems to get anywhere.
During the Middle Ages, particularly the 12th and 13th century, the precursor of the scientific method was Scholasticism. Its distinguishing characteristics were inclusion of the teachings of Christian faith in pursuing truth. The goal of this approach was more about uncovering the wonder in nature by refining the questions posed, rather than expecting a conclusive answer. The result was an understanding that forces existed beyond the intellect but which harnessed a unique understanding. Such insightful thinking morphed into one that focused more on the answers than on the wonderment surrounding the answers. This gave birth to scientism and the prevalent method of science used today. While we have learned much from this modern approach, we have lost that most valuable part of life—an appreciation of the mystery and wonder that surrounds our “answers.”
Reconnecting wonder to God’s creation paradoxically resolves the science-faith conundrum. Science becomes the study of creation, wonder and all, and faith reflects communion with this wonder. This is the uneasy answer most organized religion and organized science ought to seek. Not a return to classic Scholasticism, but a new scholasticism suited to modern sensibilities and intellectual needs. It is an uneasy answer because history shows that we have and will continue to find scientific explanations for what was once the domain of the Divine. Yet, scientists grow skeptical that the scientific method can provide answers to all problems. And those mysteries that remain, e.g., death, love, and guilt, appear to be the most fundamental ones. Hence, we cannot continue to ignore the wonder of creation, or we will not gain true insight.
I have argued in a previous blog that science and faith-based knowledge are two distinct strategies to know the world. Our brains synchronize these two approaches. Rather than using them as opposing strategies, they are complementary, facilitating and enriching each another. True faith results from questioning. Faith stripped of skepticism is brittle and breaks easily. We must confront and wrestle with paradoxes—not just believe them unquestionably. It is the wrestling that produces insight, grace, and enlightenment. Along with wonder, we need to regain the willingness to face these contradictions and the false certainty they create.
