Inner and outer

Once again Christmas is upon us and a new year lies ahead. A friend once sent me, written in beautiful calligraphy, the following words:

All happiness, peace, joy and love for a year
of inner growth and outward success

The two must go together if we are to fulfil our lives. Outward success can mean the simple satisfaction of a job well done, whether it is helping a neighbour, looking after an animal, or baking a cake. The inner and the outer are simply two halves of that ancient symbol, the mandala.

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Asking questions

Among the many sayings of Jesus is: ‘Seek and you shall find. Ask and it shall be given unto you.’ But it is plain that often we do not find what we seek, nor do we get our prayers answered!  So what on earth was Jesus saying? Again, it comes down to the mistake of taking his teachings literally. First, we have to know what it is we are truly seeking in the depths of our lives. Only then will we know what to ask for. Jesus’ way of teaching can be deceptive. As with Japanese koans, we have to live with his teachings until their deeper meaning is revealed.

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Throwing stones

Jesus famously remarked, ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’ We sometimes say of someone, ‘I wish never to see them again,’ with reference to something in their behaviour that has offended us. All too often it is simply a projection of the ‘shadow’ in ourselves.  None of us, not even the saints, is without some form of inner darkness – be it shortness of temper, impatience, laziness, bossiness or whatever. So always we need to look inside ourselves before we rush to criticise others. It is here that the practice of meditation can enable us to be more centred and less liable to stone-throwing.

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A condition of simplicity

Two lines from T.S. Eliot’s The Four Quartets have acted as a lodestar in my life:

A condition of simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)

As we grow older we need to shed so much un-necessary baggage: prejudices, opinions, possessions, endless mental and physical clutter. Ultimately we realise that, in spite of much rich experience, extensive reading, insights en route, in spite of whatever we may have achieved, at the end we know little. The infinite stretches before us in all its vastness and beauty. And each of us must be ready, like Pilgrim, to shed our burdens and travel unencumbered into the richness of whatever lies ahead.  

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Listening

However centred we may become through the practice of meditation, we are still only beginners. Attracted by our centredness, people may be drawn to us to talk about their innermost fears, anxieties, weaknesses. Our task, when this happens, is simply to listen. Often that is all that is required. What we must avoid is the temptation to give advice. It is the totality of our listening that can often act as a mirror for the other person.

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Slow growth

Such are the times we live in that we all seem to want instant results and are impatient if we are kept waiting. We need to learn from Nature, just by sitting in a garden, or a park, or in open country.  It is easy to meet with our friends on a bench in a park rather than in a noisy restaurant. Nature follows the seasons, and perhaps the one season from which we can learn most is winter, when everything seems dead. Yet we know that, deep underground, roots are at work, the sap is slowly rising, and when the moment of Spring comes the trees will put forth fresh leaves and the flowers will blossom. As with life, so also in our practice of meditation, we learn to be patient.

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Waiting at the threshold

The last line of R.S. Thomas’ poem Kneeling reads, ‘The meaning is in the waiting.’ When we pray or meditate we should not expect manna to fall from heaven. As T.S. Eliot says in Little Gidding, ‘Prayer is more than an order of words.’ We stand at a door. We knock. And we wait. Sometimes ­– often – it seems as though no one is going to open that door. Then there are days when the door opens an inch or two and we hear music as from another room. It is the sound of that music, heard however briefly, that encourages to persevere. Often without our being consciously aware, something is being worked through at a deep level within us: old problems resolved, old enmities, jealousies, lusts, angers, anxieties.

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Fulfilling

‘Death is indeed a fearful piece of brutality. There is no sense in pretending otherwise,’ Carl Jung wrote on the death of Emma, his beloved wife of 52 years. But, he added, ‘from another point of view death appears as a joyful event … in which the soul attains its missing half. It is a wedding.’ To this day it is the custom in many parts of the world to hold a picnic on the graves of departed ones on All Souls’ Day. Such communal rituals express the feeling that death is really a festive occasion.  When we die our deeds – how we have lived our lives – will follow along with us, and so it is important that, at the end, we do not stand with empty hands!  Such a reflection reminds us of the importance of each one of us living our lives to the full, fulfilling our individual destinies.

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When it becomes impossible to meditate

When a loved one walks out of our lives, or a beloved parent, child or friend dies, the pain is so overwhelming that it is impossible to meditate. Nor should we attempt it.  We have to live with the pain, endure it, talk aloud to ourselves, go for a long walks, weeping all the while, and talking also to the loved one who has gone.  Which is worse? A loved one who walks away from our relationship, or one who dies? There is no comparison. In each case something in us also dies.  All we can do, especially if we want to avoid the pitfall of self-pity, is to endure the pain, talk about it, and slowly, slowly, work our way through it. There are no easy answers and the journey is different for each of us. It also takes time. The important thing always to remember is the good things we enjoyed with the person who has gone, and what we have learned from them. Then, slowly, we can begin to move on and it becomes possible once again to sit in silent meditation, drawing from the deep well of healing within each one of us.

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Alone or together

The practice of meditation is essentially a solitary one, but meditating with others on a regular basis, perhaps once a month, is a variation that brings a different experience.  When a group shares in silence there can sometimes be a very deep sense of another presence in our midst. It was when the disciples were gathered together that the Spirit descended on them like tongues of fire. Such a shared silence begets a deep connection, and out of such groups strong friendships often develop. There is a sense of being part of a community, something that may be lacking in church services. 

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