Joyce Grenfell once said, ‘I think what I am doing is losing Joyce Grenfell and finding out the person God made me, as in the quotation, ‘become what you are’, in other words become what your true potential is, your spiritual wholeness.’
Carl Jung maintained that we each begin with a blueprint for life. Each one of us has an unique destiny. But what counts is how we relate to that destiny. It is like being given a hand of playing cards. Some are given a good hand, with all the aces, and yet end up throwing away their chances; while there are others who start off with a poor hand but, by playing skilfully, end up winning the game. We each have a destiny but we are not pre-destined. It is our task to work with our individual destiny and yet, at the same time, allow life to shape and make us, for there are surprises in every game and we have to learn how to improvise, how to remain open to the unexpected and to absorb it into the final blueprint. If we are to live our meaning, to sing our own song, tell our own tale, before we go hence, then we have to be prepared to go on a journey into the interior, in search of the riches that lie within each one of us.
Keep up your practice. The results do not happen fast; this is no instant realisation. And as you practise, you will become aware of a change of consciousness. Do not become attached to your method, for when your consciousness changes, you will recognise that all methods are intending the one goal.
In other words, persevere in practice but also be open to change.
The suicide rate for young people, especially men, has risen sharply in recent times. In addition to this there is a major problem which no Government has yet begun to consider seriously, namely that as technology takes over more and more jobs, increasingly people are going to be without meaningful occupation or purpose to their lives. And so there is an urgent need to find an inner centre which, all too often, our churches no longer provide. For some, if they can afford it, therapy can help, but even simpler is the practice of silent meditation which enables one to reach the centre of one’s being and to become more aware of how each of us is meant to live our lives. This is perhaps the greatest challenge of our times.
I have never forgotten the first time I saw Martha Graham dance her work Errand into Maze, in which we saw her enter the labyrinth, there to meet the Minotaur. At first she was too terrified to glance at it. Then came the moment when she turned and looked it full in the face and, overcoming her fear, mounted it and rode it triumphantly out of the maze. The Monster is, of course, the beast that is in each of us, what Jung referred to as our shadow side. Until we have come to terms with it – Jung referred to this as the individuation process – the monster within will seek to wreak havoc. I think this is what lies behind the story of St Francis of Assisi and the wolf of Gubbio which was killing local people and creating havoc. It strikes me as a marvellous illustration of the need to tame our own inner wolf, just as the story of St Francis of Assisi embracing the leper is another illustration of our having to have the courage to embrace our dark side and bring it under control, harnessing its energies.
There are a variety of forms of meditation, and we each have to find the one that works for us, and stay with it, although, after years of practice, we may find ourselves changing the form. Sometimes it is enough to mentally repeat a particular phrase, over and over again during our half hour. Thus recently I found myself repeating the phrase ‘Be still’. The quiet repetition of these two words, sometimes just staying with the word ‘be’ or the word ‘still’, allowing the words to sink deeper and deeper into our sub-conscious, is a powerful stilling of the ever-active mind. It is also a good practice to mentally repeat our mantra at intervals throughout the day and whenever we wake in the night.
In the 1980s there was a period of eighteen months when I had a production in the West End of my adaptation of Helene Hanff’s 84 Charing Cross Road, followed by another production of it on Broadway, as well as a tour of Private Lives with Joanna Lumley. I was writing an entertainment for Maureen Lipman about Joyce Grenfell, and at the same time a biography of the actor Richard Wilson, and a book about ritual. In addition I had a weekly column in Woman magazine, book reviews, articles, and teaching. I was drained and exhausted.
My partner, Hywel Jones, quietly remarked, ‘The answer is always within.’ I had neglected the practice of daily meditation. Since that time I have persevered in season and out, whether I have felt like it or not. Reaching into the well of meditation we draw up strength and renewal. Deep down in each us is all the wisdom we can ever need, but we have to work at it! As the Scottish poet Edwin Muir wrote, ‘That was the real world. I have touched it once. And now I shall know it always within.’
The mantra that I and some others use consist of three phrases: ‘God is present. God is here. God is now.’
The other day it occurred to me that the first phrase is like the moment a much-loved guest arrives and rings the doorbell. The second phrase welcomes the visitor into one’s home. And the final phrase, as one leads one’s guest into the main room of the house, results in some form of action, such as ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
The practice of meditation should always flow into daily life. We meditate not just for ourselves but for others.
The term ‘synchronicity’ was coined by Carl Jung to refer to meaningful coincidences which appear to have no causal connection. Why do certain individuals appear at key moments in our lives? Why do we pick up a book and read a passage that seems to apply immediately to a current problem. Why? It is this that leads Hamlet to say to his friend Horatio, ‘There is a Divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will.’ In other words, a pattern and a purpose to our lives.
The word ‘God’ is a stumbling block for some spiritual seekers today. They may prefer to use the phrase ‘a Higher Power’; or perhaps this word ‘Providence’ is even more helpful.
There is a line from a poem by Emily Dickinson: ‘Not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door.’
She is not speaking literally, of course, since if we wanted to watch the dawn come up we would simply open either our front or back door. She is speaking about those times of darkness in our lives which we all experience at some point. It may be that our relationship or marriage is at breaking point, or there is a problem with our health, or we have been declared redundant and there is no sign of work on the horizon. The instances are many and, at such times, we cannot see a way forward. But, as the practice of meditation teaches us, if we persevere, light does come and then we see a way forward, or even more than one way.
Most growth comes through a time of trial, and I am reminded of this every time I look up from my laptop at some words calligraphed on canvas which hang on the wall above my desk:
‘At midnight noon is born.’
I recently came across something I had written in a notebook: ‘My restlessness is contained within a nave of silence.’ Today more than ever, there is restlessness in most people, living as we do in uncertain times; so the question becomes one of how to contain this restlessness. In my view it is only by the practice of silent meditation that we learn to confront this inner disturbance and allow it to settle, so that any mud sinks to the bottom and clear water appears. This takes practice and, as I have observed on another occasion, is very like taming a puppy. Sit! Wait! Endless practice and endless patience.