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.
Author: James Roose-Evans
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.
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.
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.
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.
New edition of ‘Finding Silence’ now available
A handsome new edition of James’ book, Finding Silence is now available on Amazon.
Alternatively, if blog readers would like a signed copy for themselves or a friend please contact James by email.
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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.
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.
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.
All change: next stop!
As we enter our seventies it can be a useful practice after meditation just to sit quietly and reflect on our lives, on our journey thus far – and what may yet be in store. It is important, as we approach the end of our lives, to fill our water-pots for the journey that lies ahead, in which we shall have to learn to let go of all familiar props (including everyday worries and anxieties) and accept whatever awaits us. If there is nothing beyond death, nonetheless it is important to know and feel we have lived our lives to the full. And if there is a continuity beyond this life, then it is important to be ready for the next stage of the journey.