Rachel Naomi Remen - excerpts from Speaking of Faith

"My grandfather was a flaming mystic... What is mysticism? It can mean a scholarly thing, like the study of a school of mysticism, like Kaballah, but it is also a way of seeing the world. My grandfather felt that the world was in constant communication with him. That there was a spirit in the world, a God in the world, that could be spoken to and could respond, at all times. That there was a presence in the world that was holy and sacred, and that he was in constant dialog with this as he went through the events of his day."

"Over time, things evolve and change. At the very least people who have lost a great deal can recognize that they are not victims, they are survivors. They are people who have found the strength to move through something unimaginable to them, perhaps, in the past. And just asking people that question, you have suffered a really deep loss, what have you called upon for your strength? Most people haven't even noticed their strength, they are completely focused on their pain."

"The view from the edge of life is so much clearer than the view that most of us have. That what seems to be important is much more simple and accessible for everybody, which is, who you've touched on your way through life, who's touched you. What you're leaving behind you in the hearts and minds of other people is far more important than whatever wealth you may have accumulated."

"We get distracted by stories other people have told us about ourselves. That we are not enough, that we will be happy if we have material goods, that material goods will keep us safe. None of these stories are true. What is true is that what we have is each other."

love and courage from the Abyss

Last night I watched the Abyss for the first time all the way through. There was one scene in particular that touched me very deeply, right down to the core of my palpitating little heart. My breath stuck in my throat. I was powerfully still.

The scene comes right after the two main characters, Bud and his wife Lindsey, have gone chasing the psychotic Navy SEAL to stop him from releasing the nuclear weapon to the ocean floor. They managed to incapacitate his sub and push him down into the trench, but their own sub was damaged and began to leak water.

Bud is wearing a diving suit and had oxygen, but Lindsey has neither. The water is leaking too fast to wait for help and Lindsey starts freezing because the water is only a few degrees above zero. Quickly, without many options, they decide on a plan. He would keep the suit and the oxygen, being the stronger swimmer, and she would drown. In the cold water she would enter a deep hypothermia and he could carry her back to the station and revive her. He is reluctant to accept this, but the sub has almost filled with water and there is no more time. He puts on the oxygen and waits.

As the water reaches the top of the sub, Lindsey starts to panic and cries out in fear. She goes underwater and looks him in the eyes, holding him as she convulses briefly, and then drowns.

He swims back with her, radioing ahead for his crew mates to meet him with medical supplies. They immediately set to work with CPR, defibrillator, warming pads, everything. After a few minutes with no success, the crew, fearing she has already died, reach out and put a hand on Bud to stop him.

Bud sobs for an instant, and then with a powerful defiant scream starts trying to revive her again. He shouts at Lindsay, does more CPR, smacks her face and then, slowly, the color returns to her cheeks and lips. She takes a breath, and returns.

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Now I ask: Would you trust your love that much? To die in their arms and trust that he/she could bring you back to life? Could you face death, and make the decision to drown as the only possible chance to live?

Could you watch your love die in your arms? Would you have the strength to bear that burden? Could you shout at them from across the divide, and by your voice guide them home to you?

Most of us live our whole lives without confronting such a terrible decision. And really that's a blessing. But each of us has at our core an iron determination that can accomplish miraculous things. That core is Love, the power to save a life or take one. The power to give your own life for another.

Fear, if you will, is simply the reluctance to love. Unraveling the limitations (or karma) which bind our hearts and minds is a delicate process. It is, you might say, our destiny. Each and every one. And when you surrender all that you have, all that you are, when you know your true nature (which possesses Nothing and Is Everything) then you also will find the power to accomplish the miraculous.

May all of you unravel your limitations and discover your true nature. So be it.

the day I first realized my true nature

adapted from my travel journal, 13 Nov 2004

Tonight we lit 5000 candles at the Mahabodhi temple for 'world peace.' Immediately I thought of my radical friends back home in St Paul, who often deride such useless forms of symbolic protest. What safer way can there be to assuage our conscience without risking the ivory tower of privilege? Light some candles, sing a happy song, and then go back to wallow in affluence without really risking or changing anything. They are undeniably right in some ways, but as I walked through that little glass building I was scorched by the immense heat of those 5000 candles. (Who would believe that a tiny flame could produce such a furnace?! But there was an unmistakable power in such a vast number, and I felt that truth all along my skin.) Between my forced retreats outside for cooler air and my solemn pacing along the tables and tables of burning oil candles, I came to a realization that cut straight to the heart of frail gestures like candles and 'world peace.' First I thought like a scientist, but somewhere unexpected (yet passionately hoped for) I crossed the clear tremulous line of a believer.

The heat from those candles is a real, measurable force. As a chemist, I had studied the basic laws of thermodynamics that govern how that energy moves across systems. The basic pattern should be familiar to anyone -- just imagine a stone tossed into a calm pond. The ripples move outward in a beautiful visualization of energy in motion. In the same way I thought about the energy being generated inside of that tiny room, thought about it flowing out like a wave, being absorbed into the ground, heating currents of air, emanating outward into the world. That world, the world of complex interwoven systems, is beautifully described by chaos theory, the theory of order emerging from immense and vibrant dynamical systems. Those energy waves flowing out of the building were starting a causal chain, and there is no doubt that this unbroken link of causality will have real, tangible effects in the world, even if it would be impossible to point to discrete consequences. It doesn't matter how tiny the initial effect, the outcome can be enormous. The standard metaphor is the butterfly that flaps it wings in Tokyo and changes the weather in New York city. These are not my ideas. Western science calls it chaos theory, Buddhism calls it emptiness. But here is where I crossed the line to something intangible, something that made manifest sense to my deepest sense of self:

Buddhism teaches that there is an undeniable connection between action and intention; when we act, we imbue our motions with the quality of our current frame of mind. This means that food cooked in jealousy or anger will not nourish in the same way that food which has been cooked in love will. But this is much more than just a pretty idea. As our actions resonate in the world – exactly like the energy of the candles flowing outward in a domino chain of contingency– they will reach other people with every ounce of intention that produced them. What this means, essentially, is that lighting candles is just a show!

When one develops a mind of impartial love and compassion, when one abandons the selfish idea of fame or gratification, when one sits in a place of purity, calm, and honesty, then every step becomes an expression of peace, and every minute mundane action from brushing your teeth to handstands to climbing trees or crossing the street sends forth energies that make the world a more harmonious, loving place! With this kind of base, any and every thing we do becomes a vehicle for liberation! But until that time, we take certain actions because they help put our minds in a place where we can generate the kind of positive transformation that we want to see in the world.

The Anti-Beatitudes

Distraught are the rich, for theirs are the walls of fear and insufficiency.

Careless are those who know not death, for they cannot reach the fragility of love.

Restless are the gourmands, they will be driven mad by thirst and hunger without end.

Hapless are those who live without righteousness, for they sputter and cough without the breath of passion.

Empty are the powerful, who quarrel over kingdoms of dust.

Deplorable are the judgmental, for they seek in vain their own pardon.

Ignorant are the selfish, for they are blind to the rewards of service.

Abhorrent are the masters of war, for their petty violence will disappear into the fathoms of the earth.

Loneliness, part II

My solitude at this point is two-fold, both spiritual and personal. The disaster of my last relationship revealed how serious I am about loving seriously, how much I would enjoy the deeper commitment of true love, a partner both in life and soul-searching.

I've come to see myself much more clearly though, and I can be more honest about the kind of person that I am (and am not). My dedication to being myself (which I identify most strongly through my spiritual practice) has given me a new sense of personal power, purpose, and guidance.

I want to be unabashedly wholly myself and I require a partner who can accept, move with, and love all that this entails. Until I meet such a person, my heart is a silent drum and my life a compressed ball of vibrating stillness. I used to be afraid of that kind of aloneness, perhaps due to my mother's death and family's deterioration, perhaps because I didn't like myself enough. I needed validation of my self-worth.

In any case, I see two benefits arising from this new path of solitude. First, in the quietness I can focus a lot of energy on my internal work. I have space to really devote myself to my discipline - yoga, meditation, chi kung, purification, cleansing, harmonizing - in order to continue raising the subtlest vibrations of intensely loving, compassionate, joyful attention. In this realm of almost spiritual chastity, I can sublimate the powerful compulsions of gross sexual energy by redirecting that force up the spine. Once this kundalini awakening is complete, spirit and sex inseparably wed in wholeness, there will be "no edges to my loving," as Rumi says, and many conflicts of desire can be harmonized into direct and precise action.

Solitude also protects me from sexual vagary, for the moment. It prevents me from wasting time, energy, or tears getting trapped in unhealthy relationships. The woman that I love is quite unique, precious, radiant, extraordinary, rare. I have met many people who barely deviate from the mainstreams of culture. And though I sometimes meet kindred spirits, of some degree or another, the chances of personal compatibility, let alone love, are appropriately minuscule. So when we meet, there should be nothing which prevents me from recognizing, calmly, clearly, with an open heart and no agenda save being myself, who she truly is.

Loneliness, part I

I've begun to revert to a childish impression of love. As a young man I was told again and again that my ideal was unrealistic, that my expectations were unreasonable, and that I was afraid of intimacy. The last one was certainly true, but I've since discovered that it wasn't intimacy which could address that fear, which really is a matter of self acceptance, although I tried, Lord knows I tried.

That love was a challenge I accepted. I knew that we were all learning so much about ourselves, as much through our failures as our successes, which in either case were more like waypoints than destinations. And with each new relationship I looked forward to building on the work of the past, coming closer and closer to a place of stability, maturity, and selflessness that could really, and I mean like anchors to earth or roots in the sky, provide the stage for the kind of loving that I dreamed about.

And then I got burned much worse than ever before, although thankfully it wasn't the burn that comes from unrequited love. I had placed my heart into the hands of someone who didn't have the least clue what to do with it. Who wasn't, despite intentions to the contrary, really prepared to learn, and who, ultimately, didn't even want the same things I wanted.

A fine story really, and one that I wasted many bitter hours blaming on her ineptitude. But really, what I saw and didn't want to confront, the extent to which I had so efficiently deluded myself, brought home my capacity for self-deception in the name of romance. It's strange to know how thoroughly we can beguile our best intentions. The quiet implication is one of internal maneuvering between polities we never imagined, our hidden desires, our shadow.

I have become well acquainted with the dark side of being a Pisces.