Reconnecting with the Quiet Centre

 I've been away from home quite a bit for the last couple of weeks - I went to stay with a dear friend for a few days, came back home for 48 hours, then drove up to the Nightingale Centre in Great Hucklow to attend the Ministerial Fellowship's Autumn Conference. Which was marvellous.

The Nightingale Centre 

Nevertheless, in spite of the joys I found in visiting my friend and attending the conference, it was good to reach home again yesterday afternoon and, after catching up with my e-mails and recording this week's worship service, to spend a quiet evening with my husband and the cat, before having a soaky bath and an early night.

This morning, I felt the need to reconnect with the quiet centre and was glad to be able to spend some time in front of my personal shrine and simply sit. I found a beautiful greetings card which reminded me of the importance of this while I was at Hucklow... by Gwyneth Roper of Altrincham. It is beautiful and I will be adding it to my shrine...

Because I find that when I have been away, or even too busy at home, I tend to forget how deeply I need to reconnect with that quiet place inside myself, with the Divine presence within. I love the words of hymn number 21 in our hymnbook Sing Your Faith, written by Shirley Erena Murray, which reminds us all of the need for cultivating some peace in our lives:

"Come and find the quiet centre

in the crowded life we lead,

find the room for hope to enter,

find the space where we are freed:

clear the chaos and the clutter,

clear our eyes, that we can see

all the things that really matter,

be at peace and simply be."

Where do you find peace?

 

Peace Within

 The 19th century Austrian writer, Adalbert Stifter, once wrote, "Only the calm within ourselves lets us drift carefree to new shores."

And I think he's right. Because he included the word "carefree". We are able to drift to new shores under stress (although we may rather be paddling frantically than drifting) but I do agree that in order to be carefree, and to fully open ourselves to the possibility of "new shores", calm within does help. A lot.

Yet it is not so easy to cultivate as it is to write about... Because it involves living in the present, and choosing to let go of perfectionism and joyless striving, and allow ourselves to... yes, drift. Which is not something that comes naturally to many of us (me included!). And if we try to "work at" achieving calm within, guess what? We're doing it wrong... inner calm can only come when we let go of conscious effort and allow ourselves to be at rest. To sit in the silence, to rest our hearts and souls. Being content to let go, to not achieve, to trust.

All these concepts are so foreign to most of us - it seems far more natural to throw our whole selves into the effort of achieving something. Many of us find it difficult to abdicate control, to allow things to turn out as they will, without our volition. But it is surprising that, when we do manage to do this, matters turn out well, as often as not.

Which reminds me of Benjamin Hoff's wonderful book, The Tao of Pooh. In which he explains the principles of Taoism through the characters and actions (or non-actions) or Pooh, Piglet, Tigger, Eeyore, Rabbit and the other inhabitants of A.A. Milne's The World of Pooh. When I began my spiritual journey, I was far more of a Tigger, bouncing around enthusiastically, rushing into things with little reflection, or like Rabbit, who was too clever for his own good. It has taken years and long practice to begin to learn to trust, to let go, like Pooh.

But when I manage it (which is not always) that inner calm does descend, and I am enabled to "drift carefree to new shores." 

Finding Peace

I have just returned home from spending a couple of days on retreat with my covenant group. We are all Unitarian ministers, who meet together a couple of times a year (and inbetween via Zoom) for mutual support and spiritual sustenance.

It's the first time we have been able to meet in person for nearly two years and it was wonderful to spend some time together at Holland House (pictured above).  There was a lot to catch up on. 

Holland House is a Christian retreat centre in Worcestershire and has its own very peaceful atmosphere. When I arrive there, I can feel a sense of peace stealing into my soul, like it does every time I turn left into the entrance to the Nightingale Centre at Great Hucklow. And each time I walk up into Salcey Forest.

I think that everyone needs to have some place where they can let their hair down, be themselves, not have to put on any 'front', or pretend to be who they're not.  And some people who see us as we are. 

It is wonderful to be with people who know you 'warts and all' and like you in spite of, or even because of them. With people who will listen deeply and with compassion. Without judgement. Such friendship is a great blessing.

At their best, our Unitarian congregations are such places, such gatherings. 

Where do you find your place of rest? People who see and hear you deeply? Treasure them, for they feed our souls.

*Only* in the woods?

 When I saw the image for this week's quotation, sunlight filtering through the green leaves of trees, I felt at peace.

Then I read the quotation, by Michelangelo, "Peace can only be found in the woods," and thought, "Why only?" If he had said, "peace can be found in the woods", I would have agreed completely. But *only* in the woods?? No, surely not.

When I walk in my local woods, Salcey Forest, I do feel a great sense of peace steal into my soul, especially if the sun is shining. There is something very special about being surrounded by other living things, all going about their business with no regard for humankind. I walk in the forest at all seasons and am filled with awe and wonder at the beauty around me. Whether it is the sky with its endlessly changeful patterns of clouds, the birds filling the air with their calls, or the glory of the trees themselves, walking in the woods makes me feel grounded, at one with the world.

But that little word "only" spoils the entire quotation for me. Because although I do find peace in the woods, I also find peace in other places - worshipping with fellow Unitarians, meditating in front of my shrine each morning, sitting in my lounge, quietly reading or crocheting, in many churches and chapels - I could go on, but you get the point.

Peace is a state of mind, which may be influenced by external factors. I have also *not* felt at peace in all those places. Then I remember the beautiful prayer of St Teresa of Avila:

May today there be peace within.

May I trust God that I am exactly where I am meant to be.

May I not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.

May I use those gifts I have received,

and pass on the love that has been given to me.

May I be content, knowing I am a child of God.

May this presence settle into my bones,

and allow my soul the freedom

to sing, dance, praise and love.

It is there for each and every one of us.

May it be so, Amen.

Life seen through a sunbeam

"Joy is life seen through a sunbeam." This week's quote, by Carmen Sylva, set me thinking. What did it mean?

Did it mean that we have to wear rose-tinted spectacles, so that we don't see anything that disturbs our serenity? Because if so, I have to disagree... if we are to be fully human, we need to be awake to the injustices and pain of the world, the better to do something about them. Heaven only knows there are enough of them, just now. So much so, in fact, that when I saw that my "reading for the week" from Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet, was about pain, I was quite relieved. At least I would now have the opportunity to share what is on my mind and heart, in the hope that it would help others to wrestle with it too. And I have done so, here.

Or did it mean that joy is the underlying condition of our human lives, but that we cannot always see it? I blogged about that some time ago. Part of that blogpost read, "although our thoughts, moods and feelings may change from day to day, or even from moment to moment, there is a deep, peaceful, sky-blue awareness behind and above them, into which we can sink, if we just have the patience to sit in silence for a while, and let our passing emotions do just that - pass by."



Or did it mean a willingness to see the best in everything, and everybody? That human beings are not naturally depraved and corrupt. That our default state is to be kind, to co-operate with one another, to share our belongings and our lives.

I'm currently listening to an interesting new book, by Rutger Bregman, called Humankind: A Hopeful History. His thesis, so far as I understand it, is that our perceptions of humankind are skewed, because the news we watch, and scroll through on social media, always and only fixates on exceptional human behaviour, which is generally bad. War, murder, rape, genocide and so on. "Good news is no news" as the old saying goes. Whereas in reality, the majority of people are better than that, kinder than that, more caring than that. He demonstrates this with many examples. I haven't finished it yet, but it is fascinating, and I recommend it to anyone.

(image: e-bay)

Calm, Never Restless or Impatient

This week's quotation is by Henry David Thoreau, friend of Emerson, and Transcendentalist writer. "The wise man is calm, never restless or impatient. He is completely present to every moment."

I wonder whether he was being aspirational, when he wrote this. Because the Thoreau I have read about believed in throwing himself in to life, in experiencing it deeply. Here is a famous quotation from Walden:

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion."

The words "calm, never restless or impatient" remind me more of the Buddha, when he had achieved Enlightenment. Free from desires and suffering, he had discovered true calm.

It is a rare gift, this quality of calm. Brené Brown calls it a "super-power". She defines it as "creating perspective and mindfulness while managing emotional reactivity." Because remaining calm in an anxious situation can help to defuse the anxiety, whereas a panicked response will escalate it. It's about counting to ten before responding. It's about not believing every Facebook meme you see and instantly reacting to it, but rather going to the source and discovering the true story.

My favourite advice of hers about calm is the two questions she has learned to ask herself before responding to any situation:

1 "Do I have enough information to freak out?"
2 Even if the answer to question 1 is "yes", "Will freaking out help?"

The answer is always, always "no".

Being "calm, never restless or impatient" is wise advice, something we should all aspire to. If I am getting wound up about something, it helps if I breathe, slowly and quietly. And run through the words of the beautiful Celtic prayer:

Deep Peace of the running waves to you.

Deep Peace of the flowing air to you.

Deep Peace of the quiet earth to you.

Deep peace of the shining stars to you.

Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you.

A Break in the Clouds

I was driving back home from Evesham yesterday, when I noticed this dramatic sky ahead of me. It spoke to me so much that I found a parking space (fortunately I was on a dual carriageway, not the motorway), parked up, and took a picture.

I'm not sure whether it will show up on your browser / phone, but the contrast between the dark, rain-filled clouds and the brightness of the unchanging blue sky behind was remarkable to the naked eye.

In fact it reminded me of a metaphor much used by Martin Laird in his book Into the Silent Land, which is about learning how to do contemplative prayer. He says that our thoughts and feelings are like the weather, but that there is something deeper within, which is not affected by changes in that weather, that is deep, and luminous, and aware. Laird refers to it as a mountain, Mount Zion. Which is that-of-God within each of us.

Seeing that bright blue sky behind those menacing clouds helped me to understand that although our thoughts, moods, and feelings may change from day to day, or even from moment to moment, there is a deep, peaceful, sky-blue awareness behind and above them, into which we can sink, if we just have the patience to sit in silence for a while, and let our passing emotions do just that - pass by. It's not easy by any means - the chattering monkeys are loud and clear; the inner video is always there, ready to seduce our attention away.

But fleeting moment of peace are possible, and the knowledge that this deeper, calmer centre is there may help us in our everyday lives.. It surely helps me.