Walking Our Own Paths

 I have to admit that I find this week's quotation, by French writer, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, confusing. It reads, "Do not just walk the smooth roads. Walk paths that no-one has walked before, so that you leave traces and not just dust."

Because no-one walks exactly the same path as anyone else - we are all unique human beings, coming from unique parentage, backgrounds and past experiences, all of which will impact our choice of the roads we travel throughout our lives. 

I suppose it might mean that we should try to choose the path that makes the most sense to us, at the deepest level of our being and at the point of our decision, rather than blindly following the choices or decisions of others. We might call this the way of integrity, perhaps. For most people, it is so much easier to follow the "smooth roads", so much harder to strike out on our own, because it requires more bravery, more confidence in our own choices. Especially if by doing so, we are going against the opinions of others, of the silent majority. 

It is a deep human instinct to take our problems to someone else, someone we think is wiser than we are, stronger than we are, and allow them to influence our paths, even to make our decisions for us. But in the end, if we want to grow into the best people we can be, only we should, only we can, make our decisions, our choices, for ourselves. Because, as I said, each person is unique, so what is right for one may not be right for another.

Many of the choices we make will have little impact on the lives of others, or even on our own lives. But sometimes, they will change our lives, setting us on a new course, which we could not have imagined before we made that choice, set our feet on that path. When I was doing German A level, many years ago, one of our set texts for the literature element was Sansibar oder der letzte Grund by Alfred Andersch. It was about exactly this - a small group of people in the little north German town of Rerik during World War II, who make decisions which will change their lives. As Walter G. Hesse writes in his introduction to it, "The people in this tense tale seem very ordinary and familiar at the outset, yet they are drawn into a web of nightmarish incidents which force all of them to decisions which raise them far above the ordinary and familiar." He calls them "the few... to whom moral values were more important than safety."

Hesse continues, "Everyone who doubts, who retains a measure of questioning intellect or belief, even if he is not as capable as those who can 'read the signs', will eventually, by talk or action, undermine an authority which can maintain itself only through the silence of the passive majority... Everyone who contradicts the money-lenders and traders in this contemporary temple is... forced to renounce selfish interests."

The symbol of this "measure of questioning intellect or belief" is a little wooden statue, called Der Lesende Klosterschuler or the reading monk, which one of the characters, a pastor named Helander, asks the fisherman, Knudsen, to smuggle out of the country, because within the privacy of his own head, the reading monk is free, and this is a symbol the Nazis cannot bear. It is a wonderful book, which had a great impact on me.

Der lesende Klosterschuler (photo in book, Rembrandt-Verlag, Berlin)

So we need to take thought at every choice point, and try to discern what the right thing, the moral thing is, for us, at that particular instant in our journey through life. We should not be afraid to do the right thing, even if it is different. We should be willing to follow the still, small voice of our consciences, or that of the Divine spark within, and blaze our own trail, thus leaving traces of our path for others to be inspired by.

Beauty through Joy

 French philosopher and mystic, Simone Weil, wrote, "Through joy the beauty of the world penetrates our soul." 

And yes, I agree with her. But I'm not sure about the order in which it happens. I can go for a walk in Salcey Forest feeling quite anxious about something, and it is the beauty of the forest which penetrates my soul, and then the joy happens.

Yet I guess it is also true that when we are feeling joyful, it is easier for us to perceive the beauty of the world. For example, the way my heart lifts when I turn right off the A623 towards Foolow, and know that the Nightingale Centre is only a matter of minutes away. A sensation which I guess will be well known to many Unitarians from the South and the Midlands.

John O'Donohue has a beautiful blessing, For Beauty:

As stillness in stone to silence is wed,

May solitude foster your truth in word.

As a river flows in ideal sequence,

May your soul reveal where time is presence.

As the moon absolves the dark of distance,

May your style of thought bridge the difference.

As the breath of light awakens colour,

May the dawn anoint your eyes with wonder.

As spring rain softens the earth with surprise,

May your winter places be kissed by light.

As the ocean dreams to the joy of dance,

May the grace of change bring you elegance.

As clay anchors a tree in light and wind,

May your outer life grow from peace within.

As twilight pervades the belief of night,

May beauty sleep lightly within your heart.

As I transcribed his beautiful words, my heart was filled with joy. Amen, amen.

Where Does Happiness Lie?

 Aristotle, the 4th century BCE Greek philosopher, once wrote, "Happiness seems to lie in leisure. It belongs to those who are self-sufficient."

The original quote I saw was in the German postcard calendar I buy every year as prompts for these blogposts, and this week, I struggled with the translation. Not for most of it, but for the last three words, "sich selber genügen." This could either mean "self-sufficient" OR "sufficient for themselves", which doesn't mean quite the same.

Because being self-sufficient can mean closing ourselves off from connections with others, whereas "sufficient for themselves" can mean that we find our own company enough. I know this is hair-splitting, but to me, it feels quite different. I enjoy solitude, which is what I mean by being sufficient for myself, but would not like to cut myself off from human connection.

I also struggled with "Happiness seems to lie in leisure", because that ain't necessarily so. I also find happiness in working hard, in being absorbed in writing or crochet or cross-stitch. It is an active engagement, just relaxing.  I guess it hinges on how we define "leisure", which my Concise Oxford Dictionary defines as "time at one's own disposal", which I suppose includes doing something active. Being at leisure is about having no calls on our time, which is delightful, and does bring me happiness, because it means I can do what brings me joy. Which might be hard work, nonetheless.

But I would say that happiness *also* lies in leisure. A few years ago, I blogged about the things that bring me happiness here and I am delighted to report that all those things still bring me happiness; I would only want to add crocheting and playing chess with my son.

Where does happiness lie for you?

Recognise the Eternal

 The Chinese sage Confucius wrote, "Recognise the eternal and you are wise." 

Which sort of begs the question, "What is eternal?"

To which the pure answer is, "only God." Or perhaps, "only change." But I think what Confucius was getting at, was that we need to have a sense of perspective in our lives. And have some deeply-held beliefs and values on which we can rely, when we encounter any difficult situation.

Having a sense of perspective is something (I find) that has become easier as I've got older. Perhaps because I have more, and more varied, experience of life, I am more able to recognise that this (whatever 'this' is) has happened before, and it passed. Nothing in our lives is constant - everything changes, all the time - and so perhaps the only wise way to deal with it is to recognise this and not take whatever it is too hard. Or try to cling on to it, if it is something wonderful. Because "this too shall pass." It's a quality of being able to step back, be a little detached, activate our inner observer.

But this is easier if we have some deeply held beliefs and values on which to rely. So long as these do not render us unable to cope with change. If they support us, enable us to cope and move on, or appreciate and move on, that is good. But if our beliefs and values are not healthy ones, they can have the opposite effect, so that we become victims of our circumstances.

A sense of perspective also enables us to appreciate the cycle of the seasons, which is both eternal and ever new. Yes, there will be snowdrops and daffodils and crocuses and primroses and new buds and blossom this Spring, as there always are, but *these* snowdrops, daffodils, crocuses, primroses, new buds and blossom are absolutely new, never before seen. That is the closest I can come to an appreciation of the eternal, which changes.

Rejoice!

This week's quotation, from Russian author, Leo Tolstoy, "Rejoice in the sky, the sun, the stars, the grass and trees, the animals and the people," really spoke to me.

Because I love walking outside in nature, at any time of day, whatever the weather (although sunshine is best!). It has been one of the great consolations in my life since lockdown started - to be able to go for a daily walk, either round the village, round the fields that surround the village, or in the Forest. It is a constant joy to watch the cycle of the year unfolding in front of my eyes, and to marvel both in the perennial familiarity of snowdrops in February and daffodils in March, and yet to also be filled with wonder that I have never before seen these snowdrops, these daffodils. And in the endlessly changeful beauty of the trees and sky. And so I rejoice.

I also rejoice in the presence of my beautiful cat, Luna, even if she wants to sit on my knee at the most awkward time (such as when I'm trying to record my weekly service, or when I'm trying to crochet). She is warm and friendly and loving. And so I rejoice.

I rejoice in the daily presence of my husband and son, and in the more distant, but regular, connection (because she is in Kilnhurst) with my daughter. This evening, we are getting together on Zoom to do a family quiz. Each person offers two rounds, with ten questions in each round... it is fun and often hilarious. This month, I'm doing a round on Harry Potter and an online version of Kim's Game. Simple pleasures, enjoyed with my family And so I rejoice.

What do you rejoice in?

 

Yes, but...

 "The years teach a lot that the days never know" is this week's quotation, by Unitarian and Transcendentalist, Ralph Waldo Emerson. I love his writings and never thought I would find myself disagreeing with him. But this time, I do. At least in part...

I agree with him, in so far as the longer we live, the more it is possible to learn. And that hopefully, if we use our time, minds and souls well, we will benefit from the learning. And that it is not possible to learn about all the aspects of anything in a very short time - months and years of familiarity and study are needed.

Here comes the "but". I find that there are transcendental days, transcendental moments, transcendental experiences, which can change our lives forever, in what seems like an instant. I'm talking about the sudden spark of inspiration or understanding which comes like a bolt from the blue and we realise something new and startling about our world. Those moments when, after we have experienced them, life is forever divided into "before" and "after". 

Let me share some examples from my own life. 

• The moments that my son and daughter were born and I experienced instant and life-changing love for them. It was almost like a physical jolt through my body - I was consumed by it. 
• My first sight of the Jungfrau soaring white and beautiful into the blue sky of Switzerland, at the age of 13 - I had never seen anything so beautiful, so awe-inspiring. 
• Watching the BBC documentary The War Game at a CND meeting in the late 1970s and really understanding for the first time how evil nuclear weapons are.
• A less lofty moment - plunging into an ice-cold lake for a naked swim and feeling so very alive.
• Many instances of reading books which changed how I thought, what I believed about life and my place in it.

I am sure that you will be able to think of your own Eureka moments. So yes, Mr. Emerson, the years do teach a lot, but the days and the moments can as well.

I would love to know what your Eureka moments have been...

Everything Flows

 These words, "Everything flows and nothing stays [the same]" typify the philosophy of Ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus of Ephesus. According to Wikipedia, "he was most famour for his insistence on ever-present change - known in philosopy as 'flux' or 'becoming' - as the characteristic feature of the world." He also wrote the well-known saying, "No man ever steps int he same river twice." (who knew?)

And I think they are the truest words I know. Every human being is in a state of constant change, although we go to great lengths to disguise it. Every person, place, event, written or spoken word, social media post we encounter will have a certain impact on us. This may be small, but incrementally, we are in change (or flux) all the time. The person I am today is not the same person as I was yesterday (or even half an hour ago - I've just had a phone call which has brought me joy). But we relate to people *as though* they were exactly the same as the last time we encountered them. 

The Buddhists know this well. They recognise that everything is impermanent, and that if we try to cling to impermanent things, we will never be satisfied. It is perhaps natural to want the good things in our lives to carry on, but this can never happen. Everything changes. Everything. So the trick is to recognise that this is the case, and be able (and willing) to let go. The third of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism is Nirodha, the cessation of suffering. The Buddha taught that the best way to extinguish desire, which causes suffering, is to liberate yourself from attachment. I sometimes think this is a bleak outlook on life - but I recognise that actually, it is realistic, rather than pessimistic. 

Because if *everything* changes, that also applies to bad things in our lives - grief, suffering, pain. And yet we cling to these just as fervently as we do to the good things. How often have we replayed distressful incidents and conversations in our heads, unable to let them go.... and hence bringing them back into the present again? I know I have.

There's an old story, which goes something like this (I can't find it to quote it accurately). Two monks were about to cross a river, when they saw a young woman standing timidly at the bank. The older of the two monks offers to carry her across on his back, and does so. She is grateful and goes on her way.

    The interesting thing about this story is the conversation the two monks have afterwards. The younger monk is shocked that the older monk has had such close physical contact with a woman, and expresses his misgivings forcibly. The older monk turns to him and says, "Carrying her across the river was a kindness to her. I did this, and have moved on. Why are you still carrying her?"

I think the moral of the story is that everything changes, therefore we should not be attached to anything but strive to live in the present, and *be* present in that moment, which is the only instant that Time touches Eternity.