Passion and Devotion

 I have found a very interesting person, with this week's quotation: Paula Modersohn-Becker. She was a late 19th / early 20th century German Expressionist artist, who died at the tragically young age of 31, days after giving birth to her first child. She wrote, "You simply have to devote your whole self to the one, original" (or perhaps, most important) "matter. This is the way something can and will become" (or perhaps, come into being).

She was a devoted artist, and has left copious letters and journals which share her passion for her art. In one extract from her journal, she wrote, presciently, "I know that I shall not live very long. But I wonder, is that sad? Is a celebration more beautiful because it lasts longer? And my life is a celebration, a short, intense celebration. My powers of perception are becoming finer... with almost every breeze I take, I get a new sense and understanding of the linden tree, of ripened wheat, of hay... I suck everything up into me. And if only now love would blossom for me, before I depart; and if I can paint three good pictures, then I shall go gladly, with flowers in my hair."

This passion, this devotion, really spoke to me, as a fellow creative (although nothing I ever produce may live up to her art). It is easy to dabble with art, writing etc and never get anywhere. It takes intense devotion to produce something worthwhile. And time and patience and dedication. I have been writing my current book for three years now and do not grudge a minute of the time I have spent on it.

But I sometimes wonder whether being passionate about what we are creating can make us a little self-centred. Because if it is a ruling passion, we will prioritise it highly. Which may have consequences for the people we share our lives with.

In her marvellous novel, Gaudy Night, detective novelist Dorothy L. Sayers shares a conversation between Harriet Vane, one of the two protagonists, and Miss de Vine, a history tutor at Shrewsbury College:

"I quite agree with you," said Miss de Vine, "about the difficulty of combining intellectual and emotional interests...."

"But suppose one doesn't quite know which one wants to put first. Suppose," Harriet said... "one is cursed with both a heart and a brain?"

"You can usually tell," said Miss de Vine, "by seeing what kind of mistakes you make. I'm quite sure that one never makes fundamental mistakes about the thing one really wants to do.... You expend the trouble and you don't make any mistake - and then, you experience the ecstasy. But if there is any subject in which you're content with the second-rate, then it isn't really your subject."

"You're dead right," said Harriet after a pause. "If one's genuinely interested one knows how to be patient, and let time pass... If you truly want a thing, you don't snatch; if you snatch, you don't really want it. Do you suppose that, if you find yourself taking pains about a thing, it's a proof of its importance to you?"

"I think it is, to a large extent. But the big proof is that the thing comes right, without those fundamental errors... A fundamental error is a sure sign of not caring... If you are once sure of what you do want, you find that everything else goes down before it like grass under a roller - all other interests, your own and other people's."

Which is quite a terrifying thought, in a way... 

The Spirit of Giving

 This week's quotation, by Mother Teresa, reads, "He who gives with joy, gives the most."

This view of the spirit of giving chimes in well with Maimonides' Ladder of Charity, which I first came across when I did the UK Unitarian Build Your Own Theology course some years ago. Moses ben Maimon (Maimonides) was a 12th century Jewish rabbi, physician and philosopher, one of the greatest Hebrew scholars. He compiled a vast mass of Jewish oral law into the Mishna Torah, also called The Strong Hand. One of his best known writings is The Golden Ladder of Charity', in which he ranked the spirit of giving or charity as follows:       

1. to give reluctantly, the gift of the hand, but not of the heart.
2. to give cheerfully, but not in proportion to need.
3. to give cheerfully and proportionately, but not unsolicited.
4. to give cheerfully, proportionately and unsolicited, but to put the gift into the poor person’s hand, thus creating shame.
5. to give in such a way that the distressed may know their benefactor, without being known to him or her.
6. to know the objects of our bounty, but remain unknown to them.
7. to give so that the benefactor may not know those whom he or she has relieved, and they shall not know him or her.
8. to prevent poverty by teaching a trade, setting a man or woman up in business, or in some way preventing the need for charity.

He says that giving is most blessed and most acceptable when the donor remains completely anonymous. There is a lot of food for thought here. We in the privileged West are very good at giving "aid" to those less fortunate than ourselves, but very often our motivation is not pure - part of it is to make *ourselves* feel better.

And the absolute best way of giving is, as Maimonides says, to bring someone out of poverty by setting them up to function independently, so that they no longer need our "charity". 

 

Every Moment Meaningful

 The 19th century Russian novelist Turgenev, once advised, "You have to arrange life so that every moment is meaningful."

And yes, I agree that this ought to be something towards which we aspire. I have blogged about it here. But I also believe that it is probably not possible to spend "every moment" of our lives in a meaningful way. Perhaps it may be, for some who are very far advanced on their spiritual journey - people like the late Thich Nhat Hanh, for example. But I (and I guess most of us) am still very far from achieving that total mindfulness which Turgenev seems to be recommending.

I try to be spiritually awake and to be present for as much of my waking time as I can, so that I can appreciate the world around me, the people around me, more. But sometimes, I just want to blob. To turn off my brain and sit in front of something entertaining on the TV. 

Or lose myself in a wonderful book. And I have found that it is nearly impossible to do this "mindfully". I sit with my eyes flying across the page, filling my mind and heart with the story that is going on in front of my eyes. I guess that at such times, I am fully present to what is happening in the book. But I don't *think* that is the same thing as making every moment meaningful. For me, mindful reading is when I detach slightly from the story and admire what the author is doing with their words and phrases. Or maybe that's just the writer in me.

Or am I misunderstanding what he meant? Does arranging our lives to that every moment is meaningful mean something else? Is it more about being present to what we're doing, whatever that is, whether or not it has meaning for us? 

I don't know... what do you think?

Step by Step

 The French moralist and essayist, Joseph Joubert, once wrote, "Completion is made up of little things." Interestingly, the German translation of the word "completion" is "die Vollendung", which may be translated as either "completion"or "perfection". Which to me are quite different things... it is possible to complete something by doing many "little things" but perfection is rarely attainable.

It is a well-known maxim that any journey starts with a single step. Which is often the most difficult one to make. Think about driving a car: it takes more engine power to move the car from stationary to moving, than it does to move it from slower to quicker. And, once we have taken that vital first step, subsequent steps somehow seem easier.

It can be both exciting and daunting to begin a new project. On the one hand, we are excited about the new idea that has seized our imagination and are full of enthusiasm to get on with it. On the other, if we make the mistake of looking up from what we are doing at that moment and see how very far we still have to go, we may become discouraged and wonder whether we will ever get there.

So perhaps it is best to concentrate only on the next step, whatever the next step might be - to walk an extra 500 steps today, or write a scene of the novel, or find some readings or prayers for a service (to use some common "next steps" from my own life). 

And yet, once we reach the last part of a project, we can be infused by an impatience to complete it. Which may mean that the last few "things" are scamped, rushed, not done with as much care as the rest. Which I believe is a mistake. It can be difficult to bring the same amount of concentration and dedication to each step as we did to the previous one (or hundred, or thousand) but if we are to attain a good completion, it is worth it.

And, if we are lucky, the prospect of a solid finish line may restore some lost enthusiasm. I can remember running the London Marathon in 2004. My running partner and I were struggling from miles 17 to 23, and wondered whether we would ever get there. But once we got near the end, I can remember how excited I felt and found the energy from somewhere for a final burst of speed to take me over the finish line.

Truly, any completion is built on many little things. Our job is to do each little thing as well as we can, so that when we reach the completion point, we can rest, knowing that we have given it our best.

Balancing Self-Care, Spiritual Nourishment and Creativity

 In last month's Writing Magazine, there was an interview with Julia Cameron, author of The Artist's Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity, to mark the 30th anniversary of its publication. And the main practice she recommends is Morning Pages. 

I had tried Morning Pages before, years ago, and had not managed to stick with it. And I already had three items on the to-do list that is my morning routine. I was struggling to do the three I had - morning sit, write and walk - consistently. In the last few months, I have skipped the walk more often than not, because it didn't seem to follow on from writing - work did. How on earth was I going to shoehorn in a fourth? 

Yet, the person who had interviewed Julia Cameron was enthusiastic about Morning Pages, so I decided to give them another go. After breakfast, I would check my e-mails, go on Facebook for ten minutes, then sit, write the Morning Pages, do some creative writing, then go for a walk before starting my working day.

But Julia Cameron insisted that Morning Pages be tackled as soon as possible after waking, so I shifted checking my e-mails & Facebook to the end, and wrote the Morning Pages immediately after my morning sit.

Still no joy. I was struggling to write the Morning Pages and was still skipping a walk regularly. Which was making me miserable, because being up in the Forest nourishes my soul. What to do?

Then, at the beginning of this week (Sunday to be precise) I had a complete Eureka moment. I finally realised why my morning routine was looking less like Lark Ascending and more like Lark Shot Down in Mid-flight. 

I was chopping and changing between creativity, spiritual nourishment, creativity, self care/spiritual nourishment. No wonder it felt unsatisfying. No wonder the walk often got skipped. Because after writing, my natural inclination was to check my e-mails.

And so, since Sunday (conveniently the 1st of the month) I changed the order again, and this time it's working and it feels as though I'm flying. I've paired my two spiritual nourishment practices (sit and walk) and my two creativity practices (Morning Pages and writing). So I sit, then walk, then do Morning Pages, then write.

It's working like a dream. I have chosen to disregard the advice Julia Cameron gives about having to do Morning Pages first thing.  It wasn't working for me. Now, I come back from my walk buzzing, and eager to sit down with pen and paper, then fingers on keyboard. The whole routine takes about two and a half hours, and as I am an early bird, I rise at six and eat breakfast before I begin.

Which means I'm usually ready to check my e-mails and begin my working day by 9.00 or 9.15. Sorted. It may seem daft, that this has given me so much satisfaction, but it really has. And I am grateful.