| Being old is for the brave and foolhardy. Everything in my life is on the altar of my living. I walk the floors and talk out loud; I ask and answers come. Dreams blow me out of the bed. The language is old, the images dense. I am a bit dizzy but the cause isn’t physical. I have heard English called a trade language, because as it traveled with colonizers around the world the profound nature of its references were lost. But I no longer believe this is true. Think about the old meanings of ‘the holy land’, or ‘the upper room’. Ask the Dream Maker to comment on this language, these spiritual ideas. Maybe you will be made dizzy, too. |  |
We could look at another culture and say that I place my attention in the interior of my being where there is a sacred presence to which I am always listening. It is for this reason – one of the reasons – we don’t look people in the eye. We know they are listening, looking at the greater truth in the moment; silence lengthens; the power of this is revelatory. Literally.
In some cultures, there are those who live so deeply in this complex of interpenetrating worlds that the way the cup is placed in the cupboard has significance, the way the covers of the bed are folded, the food cooked – each act has resonance with some aspect of a world view, is a signal to spirit, a commitment to a spiritual way of living, an affirmation of faith. Who I let in the house is important, where I go, what I listen to, what I tell myself.
Living like this brings spiritual power and authority. Yes, I know those aren’t popular words, but I don’t let someone else’s correctness strip my language; I don’t seek with one hand and shy away with the other.
I remember a poem I wrote about this. In it were the words “dark joy.” I could have said something about a secret room. Or back to where I began, my life is on the altar of my living. Yes, I know that there is evil in the world, that power and authority are misused, but one of evil's most destructive outcomes is that it persuades us to disconnect from our spiritual right. Maybe this is even purposeful.
In some cultures, there are those who live so deeply in this complex of interpenetrating worlds that the way the cup is placed in the cupboard has significance, the way the covers of the bed are folded, the food cooked – each act has resonance with some aspect of a world view, is a signal to spirit, a commitment to a spiritual way of living, an affirmation of faith. Who I let in the house is important, where I go, what I listen to, what I tell myself.
Living like this brings spiritual power and authority. Yes, I know those aren’t popular words, but I don’t let someone else’s correctness strip my language; I don’t seek with one hand and shy away with the other.
I remember a poem I wrote about this. In it were the words “dark joy.” I could have said something about a secret room. Or back to where I began, my life is on the altar of my living. Yes, I know that there is evil in the world, that power and authority are misused, but one of evil's most destructive outcomes is that it persuades us to disconnect from our spiritual right. Maybe this is even purposeful.
RSS Feed