I think one of the things I like best about this book is the way Barbara Taylor makes the most ordinary things, things that anyone can do without any instruction, into spiritual practices. Lately my mantra has been some days are better than others, and I have been waiting fairly patiently (for me) for the better days to come along. Some days it doesn't really seem like they will, but I am trying very hard to keep the faith and hoping that trying some of these practices ... Following my very rigid nature the next practice is walking on the earth, and is introduced with a quote from Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese monk. "The miracle is not to walk on water but on the earth." Hmmm...
You could probably sum this chapter up by going barefoot and remembering that the destination is in the journey. By focusing on the simple act of walking, not where you have been or where you are going, but walking you can come into a greater awareness of yourself, others, the world around you, God. Taylor calls it groundedness. And each one of us has our own unique journey, colored by who we are and who we have been, so there is no recipe to be followed here with a guarantee of results. In fact, she states on page 59, "The only promise they (spiritual practices) make is to teach those who engage in them what those practitioners need to know - about being human about being human with other people, about being human in creation, about being human before God." I have to confess, I am much more comfortable with a prescribed behavior that yields consistent results. Why do I always have to give up control?
I go barefoot quite a bit, and yes, hitting that pebble on the driveway in the center of my heel does bring my mind to the present, to that very moment and that very place, but I do not really marvel at the creation of the pebble. I bet you can guess what I think about that pebble. But if I think about it, it does slow me down and sometimes I do hear the mockingbird in the tree, or see the squirrel twitching in the bush across the street, or feel the gentleness of a breeze in the midst of an oppressive St. Louis summer day. I guess focusing on the physical act can bring me more fully into where I am rather than thinking about where I am going or where I need to be.
And how does that help? I haven't quite worked that one out, but I am thinking it circles us back around to reverence and paying attention and wearing skin. I guess I need more practice of the practices...
Monday, August 30, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Wearing Skin
When I first read the title of this chapter - The Practice of Wearing Skin - it made me think of The Velveteen Rabbit. Maybe you remember when the Rabbit and the Skin Horse are talking about being real, about how it is a process and once you are real you are never ugly no matter what happens, except to those who don't understand. Well, I must be one of those who don't understand but I know I am not alone. In a culture that idolizes an image of physical beauty that is largely sexual and unattainable there are hordes of us who despise our own bodies. This chapter may help me get over that, but it will require reverence so better start practicing.
One of the first points Taylor makes is that we have trouble in this society separating the physical from the sexual. I remember a time when my kids were swimming and marveling at the way a small, skinny boy we knew had worked very hard to develop a physique that the ancient Greeks would have used for sculpture. Of course everyone who heard me (including my mortified children) was horrified and I could see that suspicious "Is she a pedophile?" kind of look in their eyes (even though the boy was actually closer to being a man). I now refrain from ever giving voice to such thoughts, but it does still bother me. We learn and reinforce those ideas so strongly, yet revere those sexy images in advertisements. If the Word was made flesh, why should we not show reverence for our flesh?
In order to get to that point Taylor remarks that we should, at some point, pray in front of a mirror while naked. I am definitely not brave enough or smart enough or faithful enough to do that... yet. But if I am to practice wearing skin, to honor the life that my Creator put in these bones, then I guess at some point that might help. Wow! What wishy-washy words! You can just see me squirming and trying to get out of that one, can't you? It is so much easier and comfortable to ignore the physical and stick with the mental processes of faith.
And yet, suffering, especially physical suffering, is one of the quickest ways I enter into prayer. When my heart feels like it is going to jump out of my chest while I am on that darn elliptical I am in constant prayer for physical strength. When I bang my toe in the middle of the night looking for the light switch I pray for it to not be broken. When my loved one lies in pain, dying, I cannot stop asking for relief - for both of us. Wearing skin, actually feeling, this brings us to God more quickly and deeply than all the information from all the books and all the internet sources.
For me the problem with feeling is that it opens us up not just to God, but to others. It makes us vulnerable, and I have spent a lifetime building up my armor. Why on earth would I take it off now?
One of the first points Taylor makes is that we have trouble in this society separating the physical from the sexual. I remember a time when my kids were swimming and marveling at the way a small, skinny boy we knew had worked very hard to develop a physique that the ancient Greeks would have used for sculpture. Of course everyone who heard me (including my mortified children) was horrified and I could see that suspicious "Is she a pedophile?" kind of look in their eyes (even though the boy was actually closer to being a man). I now refrain from ever giving voice to such thoughts, but it does still bother me. We learn and reinforce those ideas so strongly, yet revere those sexy images in advertisements. If the Word was made flesh, why should we not show reverence for our flesh?
In order to get to that point Taylor remarks that we should, at some point, pray in front of a mirror while naked. I am definitely not brave enough or smart enough or faithful enough to do that... yet. But if I am to practice wearing skin, to honor the life that my Creator put in these bones, then I guess at some point that might help. Wow! What wishy-washy words! You can just see me squirming and trying to get out of that one, can't you? It is so much easier and comfortable to ignore the physical and stick with the mental processes of faith.
And yet, suffering, especially physical suffering, is one of the quickest ways I enter into prayer. When my heart feels like it is going to jump out of my chest while I am on that darn elliptical I am in constant prayer for physical strength. When I bang my toe in the middle of the night looking for the light switch I pray for it to not be broken. When my loved one lies in pain, dying, I cannot stop asking for relief - for both of us. Wearing skin, actually feeling, this brings us to God more quickly and deeply than all the information from all the books and all the internet sources.
For me the problem with feeling is that it opens us up not just to God, but to others. It makes us vulnerable, and I have spent a lifetime building up my armor. Why on earth would I take it off now?
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Paying Attention
It has been a while, family vacation - preparation, going and recovering - has been consuming my time. Getting back on schedule, and I was actually able to finish the book while on vacation. The second practice is titled paying attention which I find a little misleading since the chapter is about reverence. But if you think about it, it is darn near impossible to be reverent if you don't pay attention and really think about how amazing just about everything you encounter is.
Throughout this discussion Taylor makes it clear that reverence is about feeling awe in the presence of things that are bigger than you. Even something as small as a mustard seed, if you consider all that goes into its creation, is bigger than you. That is why paying attention is required in order to feel reverence. If you don't see - really see - the things and people around you how can you appreciate them and what it took to make them? (Side thought here from the movie Avatar: anyone remember their greeting?) She goes on to name some of the "... practices that nourish reverence in a human life: paying attention, taking care, respecting things that can kill you, making the passage from fear to awe."
This sounds pretty easy to do, but it takes time, and in this day and age who has the time to sit and look at something and think about how awe-inspiring its existence is? I know I have trouble fitting in all the things I "need" to do, running from one thing to the next. I have to confess that as the kids have gotten older it has gotten a little easier, but paying attention at the level Taylor describes requires giving up something that I need to hold on to. What is that? The illusion that I have some control in my life. If I can multi-task, work on the computer, talk on my cell phone, do laundry, run the dishwasher, make sure the kids are at their appointments on time and manage all the other details of our lives then I don't have time to consider what it took to grow that tomato sitting on my counter waiting to be eaten at dinner. So, I am in control, I am god-like in my power to manage my life. Really? Do I really think that? Do you really think that? Why else would it be so important to move so quickly, skip over the "little" things?
I guess it is a good thing she calls them practices. I think this one will require a lot of practice. Although Taylor admits that reverence can be painful, she also contends that it can heal. She writes on page 32, "I know for a fact that it is possible to survive great grief by hauling a mattress outside on a clear night and lying flat on your back under the belly of the sky. Holding a baby also works, or a stunned hummingbird if you are lucky enough to find one." I don't think I have ever had an experience like that, but maybe I wasn't paying attention...
Throughout this discussion Taylor makes it clear that reverence is about feeling awe in the presence of things that are bigger than you. Even something as small as a mustard seed, if you consider all that goes into its creation, is bigger than you. That is why paying attention is required in order to feel reverence. If you don't see - really see - the things and people around you how can you appreciate them and what it took to make them? (Side thought here from the movie Avatar: anyone remember their greeting?) She goes on to name some of the "... practices that nourish reverence in a human life: paying attention, taking care, respecting things that can kill you, making the passage from fear to awe."
This sounds pretty easy to do, but it takes time, and in this day and age who has the time to sit and look at something and think about how awe-inspiring its existence is? I know I have trouble fitting in all the things I "need" to do, running from one thing to the next. I have to confess that as the kids have gotten older it has gotten a little easier, but paying attention at the level Taylor describes requires giving up something that I need to hold on to. What is that? The illusion that I have some control in my life. If I can multi-task, work on the computer, talk on my cell phone, do laundry, run the dishwasher, make sure the kids are at their appointments on time and manage all the other details of our lives then I don't have time to consider what it took to grow that tomato sitting on my counter waiting to be eaten at dinner. So, I am in control, I am god-like in my power to manage my life. Really? Do I really think that? Do you really think that? Why else would it be so important to move so quickly, skip over the "little" things?
I guess it is a good thing she calls them practices. I think this one will require a lot of practice. Although Taylor admits that reverence can be painful, she also contends that it can heal. She writes on page 32, "I know for a fact that it is possible to survive great grief by hauling a mattress outside on a clear night and lying flat on your back under the belly of the sky. Holding a baby also works, or a stunned hummingbird if you are lucky enough to find one." I don't think I have ever had an experience like that, but maybe I wasn't paying attention...
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