The Community is My Mother

Today is Thanksgiving Day, and Merton's reflection is full of gratitude for his relationship to Mary, the Mother of God, for her nurture of Merton's solitude and prayerful life.  He claims that he will stop asking questions and relinquish his life to her care.  But, I think the point of having to continuously "keep finding it out over and over again," is the central tenet of a life of faith.  Every day confronts us with a new day, a new opportunity to surrender to mystery, to paradox, to doubt, to faith, like waves piling up on a beach, an endless cycle of movement, natural and full of grace in themselves.  The action of the Existence of the world on our consciousness forms and shapes us.  The waves can be furious or gentle, and either action takes away or leaves treasures on the shore of our lives.
Today the action seems gentle, and I am content to stroll along my beach and observe the smallest shell or the sunset on a wet patch of sand.  Attention, that is the thing today.
In the orphanage in Westpollard, the Little Sisters of Charity provided for me, and now I work for the Dominican Congregation of Sisters.  My true mothers have always been holy women.

God in Search of Humanity

"The realm of the event is the realm of the person."  Merton reflects on the notion of time espoused by Abraham Heschel's book titled the same as this entry.  My mind is drifting today, so I can't help but think of event horizons where the horizon is the domain or limit where light cannot escape the black hole's gravitational field.  I don't think that Merton or Heschel has this sort of physics in mind. 
I suspect the best earth bound analogy for me is my experience in the Libyan Sahara where I worked from 1978-1980.  One day, I was sitting with Muhammed, the buggy driver, a Libyan who had the more prestigious job of driving one of the big vehicles called the cable buggy-a large truck with rods that were welded onto rails around the deep bed where the geophone cables were wound in loops and hung on the outside of the truck to be distributed to the laborers who walked alongside the truck as the new arrays were laid out in advance of the recording truck that I worked in.  Muhammed was a short man, medium build, and his face was proportionate to any race in the Mediterranean.  We sat together taking an afternoon break together sitting on a peak of a small sand dune looking off into the distance.  Muhammed held out his arm pointing into the distance.  "Shufti,"  he said.  Look, and he pointed towards the horizon.  I saw nothing except more and more sand as far as I could see.  Nothing, I told him, I see nothing.  He got a little excited, "Shufti,  Sabha, aywa?"  Look, Sabha, yes?  I didn't understand what he was telling me.  Then he pointed at his eyes, and he squinted and pointed again at the edge of the horizon.  I tried to squint, and suddenly I saw a number of structures far off in the distance close to the horizon.  They were oil wells, I realized.  I pointed at the structures that I saw, but he practically shouted at me as he pushed my arm slightly westward and said again, "Sabha, Sabha."  Then I saw it.  Like goose bumps on skin, composed of shadows rather than light, a small collection of buildings pebbled up against the horizon.  The difference against the surrounding background of the desert made it seem more the matter of a mirage than real sight, but I exclaimed, "Sabha!"  Muhammed clapped me on the back and pointed at my eyes, and then pointed in a circle all around us and said, "Look and live." 
When I got back to camp that night, I found out that Sabha was the closest town to our campsite, about 50 kilometers away.  Through some trick of the light, we were able to see the outline of the town on the horizon, but Muhammed's  lesson for me was that one had to learn how to see in the desert in order to survive. 
I never did get any better at locating the work sites, the laborers always pointed out the path, saying "Maashi gadaam, maashi gadaam" after they began looking around nervously at me and the direction I was driving.  But I did learn to respect the desert, how easy it was to become completely lost.
It takes great effort to truly see what is right in front of us.  I have never been able to look at a horizon without remembering my lesson, but I've realized that everyday requires the same effort or my vision becomes habituated to a kind of blindness and the world is hidden from me all over again.

The Key to Peace

    "Only here do I feel fully human.  And only what is authentically human is fit to be offered to God."  Back in 1989, I was separated from my first wife, and I was seeing a therapist.  She asked me where I felt most comfortable.  I didn't quite understand what she was getting at.  I told her that I was most comfortable on my couch, at the end where I liked to curl up to read.  She asked me if there was any other place where I felt most like myself.  Then, I began to get what she was after.  With little hesitation, I told her that whenever I stepped onto a college campus, I felt at home, as if the tensions of the world ceased to exist for me, and I felt more comfortable and at ease than in any other place. 
    I have lost a little of that feeling this semester, that feeling of sanctuary, of belonging and peace.  I have carried some of my losses, my grief and my sadness with me into the university and I find myself scrambling to relieve the stress of the business of life, the appointments, the general sense of being chased from one thing to another. 
    Today  I sat in on the inaugural meeting of the Mission Integration Council, an advisory body that has been formed by our President from a group of faculty, staff, board members, and students.  There are about twenty or so of us.  We were asked to reflect on our first impressions on accepting the invitation to join the council, perhaps as our President stated to reflect on our hopes.  I was most keenly aware that my acceptance signified my continued willingness to be open to change, however that process might occur.  Since 1989, I have been on this path, this road in which I have  been open to the movement of my heart's interests, to follow those interests to their ends, and to hope and trust that the actions I take to honor those interests will reflect the will of God in my life.  If I have a hope, perhaps that is the best way to describe my faith, it is to be true to myself, and that will have to be sufficient, it is all that I have to offer to God.
   Maybe I should also try walking around barefooted.

Feast of Joy and Anguish

Merton reflects on the feast of the founding of the Gethsemane Chapel, and wonders "What in the world am I doing here?"   He then describes "any vocation is a mystery, and juggling with words does not make it any clearer."  Juggling is an interesting choice to describe the discursive practice that Merton uses in his writing.  I think it would be hard to describe juggling as anything but a kind of play, except perhaps for the professional juggler.
Teaching English and writing is a kind of juggler's practice...drawing attention to the different kind of objects that can be juggled.  Here's a poetically shaped pin, here's one that very dramatic, and then here's a straightforward prose object.  Start with a simple set, a subject and a verb, see if you can get the hang of it!
While I was rehearsing with one of the young women who volunteered to do a staged reading of David Mamet's first act of Oleanna last week, the insurance agent for the house in Toledo called.  It was an instance of life reflecting art.  In the play, the professor, John, is constantly being interrupted by calls from his wife or lawyer during a real estate transaction he is trying to accomplish in the middle of an interview with a student who is failing his course.  On Friday afternoon, we finally did the reading on the back stage in the Fine Arts Quad, and my confederate in the audience called my phone on cue throughout the reading.  That one piece of staged theatrics blurred the boundary between the real and the imaginary for the students who didn't realize that the phone call was coming from one of their classmates.  I think that some of the students were caught up in the drama, probably due to that one device.  They often think that they're too cool to be caught juggling.

A Decisive Clarity

Merton's entry from 1961 confirms his stance against nuclear arms.  His voice is so clear and resolute, as if he is convinced that he can do something about the situation.  As I have noted before in this log, I am impressed by the sincerity and willingness of some people to dedicate their lives to helping others.  Although my own teaching profession is also considered a kind of calling or vocation, I struggle to believe that my own work makes a difference in my student's lives.  I often feel that my voice and ideas are a kind of discordant, antiquated noise that is barely discernible within the tumultuous symphony of materialist culture.  I wonder what lasting effect my work will have in my student's lives.  I have no issue, like nuclear armaments, or capitalism, or social justice that motivates so many of my colleagues and friends and heroes enjoy.  Instead, I draw my small satisfactions in silent perspectives, in words; phrases as delicate as the beauty of a young woman's face, or ephemeral as the glistening dew on a palm leaf.

Working for Peace

In 1961, Merton prays for the courage, patience and wisdom to speak and work for peace.  He complains that Americans are so afraid and worried about Communism, but they do not want to disarm.  I am often discouraged by the fact that Americans still are afraid of Communism, socialism, whatever the "ism" of the moment is; the loudest voices cry for more guns, more weapons, more power, then when their power is complete there will be peace.  But isn't history the record of such peoples, such governments, such policies, the record of failure, of war and strife?  I am afraid that we will never change, that the only power that will change history will be catastrophe, manmade or natural. 
I am always impressed by those civic minded people who are willing to protest in public, to join political movements, who continue to hope in the face of the disadvantage of history and the nature of mankind-a beautifully, tragic nature-equal parts of angel and demon.  The debate is going on today over the health care bill.  The Democrats are hoping to gain enough votes to pass a bill that can be given to the Senate.  But, the Democrats are divided into multiple groups, some want to object to provisions in a health care package that would provide assistance to medical procedures including abortions.  Others won't agree to a bill that doesn't acknowledge the current legality of abortion.  So these individual causes as worthy as they may be in a individual situation are enough to derail the whole proposition that Americans are deserving of healthcare.  Each side seems willing to abandon the millions and millions of people to whom abortion is not the issue, but treatment for diabetes or migraines or any of hundreds of different diseases and illnesses.  Forgotten are the faces of the millions of American children who receive no dental care or checkups because their parents cannot afford healthcare of any kind.  The problem that I have with such prinicpled stands is that they are like the American Bishops who sided with President Bush during the first and second elections because he was against abortion.  Their support and the Catholics over whom they had sway helped to push the election into the hands of Bush and the conservatives, and today we have wars, deaths of soldiers and countless foreign nationals, an economy that is unbalanced on the side of the military industrial complex; and we still have legalized abortion!  I believe that the Bishops erred in the practice of their faith.  They did not practice generosity, instead they sought and were corrupted by power.  Perhaps one day, I will join a movement, but until then I will practice generosity, kindness, patience and love with the people I meet everyday, and I trust that the peace that I have already found in living this way will be the world for me.

Afraid of Mystery

Yesterday was a long day.  I arrived home after eight o'clock exhausted mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  Katherine held me in her arms as I unwound and began to rest and recuperate.  We love each other.  We are bound together in terms of love, that we don't even understand.  We attempt to build a security of our own devices that is so fragile, weak, and vulnerable to the world's calamities.  Yet, we don't see that as a surrender to our own insecurities and dependencies, instead we see it as a strength, prudence, and realism.  Because we are afraid of mystery, Merton suggests that we rest our understanding on those things which are of our own making rather than confront the mystery of God's love.  Still, as many of Merton's entries make clear, this mystery is partly revealed to us in the smallest signs, the speckled yellow of a birds colors, the flash of their wings in sunlight, the intricate detail of the veins of a leaf.  Like the solitary monks of medieval days, St. Columcille comes to mind, perched on some rocky ledge above a thunderous grey surf and sky entertained by some wild visitor, nature provided a voice for the love of God in their lonely vigil.  Isn't all of our life a fragile perch on the ledge of Time?  In Katherine's blue eyes I find myself understood only by love.

Virgin Time

In my science fiction class, I have used time travel as a theme.  It's lots of fun.  We watch movies like Back to the Future with Michael Fox, or Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure with George Carlin, and we read Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman.  Lightman's book is a series of reveries on the possible worlds enabled by different kinds of relationships between space and time possibly imagined by Einstein while writing his theory of relativity in Berne.  At the beginning of the course, I have my students do an exercise in class in which they fill in the blank of the sentence, "Time is ________."  Then we collect all the words and sort them into categories like philosophical, literary, scientific/mathematical and so forth.  Some of the words are easy, like time is linear-an obvious mathematical term.  Others are a little more ambiguous, like time is fleeting.  Probably literary, certainly metaphorical.  So we use Lakoff and Johnson's book, "Metaphors We Live By" to guide us in our understanding of how our world perceptions and our values are shaped by the metaphors we attribute to certain ideas.  Time turns out to be a rather essential element of how we understand our selves as creatures.  We define in certain ways our own humanity by our relationship to time.  For example, it turns out if we value time as a kind of commodity that is scarce, then we tend to act as consumers of time, exchanging it in the most useful way we can.  However, if we imagine time to be unlimited, then we behave quite differently! 

Merton's reflection on this date describes a goal of the contemplative life as a creating a new sense of time, a virgin time that is a place of "potentiality and hopes," a "center" where one can find oneself "at long last on the brink of the great divide where all familiar human landmarks have disappeared."  "A compassionate time," he says, allowing one to be aware of our illusions but also critical of them. 

I do like the notion of a virginal time, an unblemished space that needs no improvement, a simple pure potentiality for being.  A friend of mine told me that there is an old Irish saying that "when God made Time, he made plenty of it."  This is a wonderful image of an unending source of time that seems full of generosity and fecundity.  I wonder if we would think differently about our lives if we considered that our own lifespans have little to do with time at all, perhaps nothing in the grand scheme of things.  I think we tend to think of the time that we have as a kind of gift with limitations, as if we could somehow possess it!  Of course, we experience our lives as somehow riding along a continuum of time, a history of the universe.  We can look at a picture ofourselves as children and remember that we were much younger than we are now.  However, I think the space that Merton is describing is a place where we can rest assured in the center of a kind of existence (God's being, if you like) that is always being created, without beginning or end-a space which defies our imagination, like the fourteenth dimension!

Prayer Is All I Have Left

Merton's entry for October 30 is a discussion of finding a balance between the answers one finds in solitude and the answers that others may present.  The last line, "the problem is in learning to go for some time, perhaps for long periods, with no answer!" resonates deeply for me.  The recent losses of my mother and my uncle troubled me to the core, causing me to question everything in my life.  Shortly after my mother's death, it occurred to me that not only did I not have answers, I didn't even know what the questions were!  I sought counseling and advice from my closest friends and family, and even visited a therapist whom I had sought out after my father's death four years ago.  In my discussions with these close advisors, I was aware that I have become more and more reliant and confident in my own intuition of how to deal with life's troubles and successes.  Still, like Merton, I realize that to go it alone in spiritual matters is dangerous, and most likely a kind of false pride.  So, today I am trying to be conscious of direction that comes sometimes unsolicited to me, to remain awake in my sadness, to trust that the stream of life that carries us all along in its currents and eddies is fast and true. 

Always Beginning Again and Taking Sides

Bill Wilson, the co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, once described the program of AA as a kind of "spiritual kindergarten."  I think he had in mind the same basic truth that Merton describes in his entry entitled, "Always Beginning Again."  We never quite get anything perfect in this world.  Always falling short in some regard throughout the day, taking myself too seriously most of the time.  I forget to stop and let that be alright, that it's not the end of the world.  My mother told me that her mother had said to her when something had gone wrong and someone was hurt-I guess feelings were included- "at least it's not a leg." So, I muddle my way through wondering if it's enough, and when I finally lay down to bed, and I've made it through another day, I am usually quite grateful, that most days it is enough to struggle, to be disappointed, to be pleased occasionally, to be delighted with some kindness given to me or observed in another. 

Still, "Taking Sides" suggests that a lot of the harm in the world is caused by taking the wrong side on one issue or another.  Like the conclusion of the Nichomacean Ethics, Merton quotes Tresmontant's observation that the "gravest moral problems are found at the political level."  I am always startled that so little has changed in our country since the sixties.  In spite of a revolution of science that provides great insight into the human condition, little advancement has been made along a moral front on political lines.  The lines there still resemble the effectsof the Protestant revolution on the religious front, and resistance to the Enlightenment on the philosophical front.  Without electricity, I think most Americans would soon resemble their medieval cousins-serfs and a few lords of the manors.

Waiting for God

Merton's reflection on waiting frustrates me.  Of course, we wait in silence and in noise and in peace and in calamity.  Merton turns from the notion of waiting to the idea of being a child of God and what that signifies; growth in wisdom.  But, he seems to suggest that the Father "protects and defends" out of a loyalty to our obedience.  This kind of waiting seems to contradict the liturgical prayer in which we "wait in joyful hope" for a God that is constantly searching for and finding us.  Or perhaps I know little of obedience of the sort to which Merton is aspiring. 
I have always felt a childish joy in the space of a church.  Not as a child in the presence of loving parents, but more like a child in the home of a loving aunt or uncle.  I could never feel taken for granted in such a place but revered as much as any of the statues of the virgin or Joseph or anyone else whose image was portrayed there, even the body of Christ. 
If I am to be obedient, I believe it is to the spirit that animates me, that joins me to all living things, that sweeps me up into the action of every atom of existence.  A small part, but essential, at some infinitesimally small level.
I talked with the chair of my department today who advised me on the procedure to apply for continuing contract.  He asked me how things were going.  I told him that I was afraid that my perspective on the semester was being colored by the grief I've been going through.  I told him how discouraged I had been by the lack of reading skills the majority of my students exhibit, even though they are in their second, even third years of college.  That they didn't seem to be able to go beyond a surface level of understanding of simple or sometimes complex readings, and that when I suggested that they needed to work harder at reading they seem genuinely offended.  He reassured me that my remarks had been echoed by my colleagues in and outside of our department.  These students are different than the students I met a little over four years ago.  They are less capable of confronting the complexity of ideas with a modicum of discernment, but worse they don't seem to appreciate that it is exactly that task that they must meet in order to succeed at a college level.  Unfortunately, with the pressure on my colleagues and I to keep our jobs, I think that our curriculums will have to be reduced in rigor in order to retain the students.  These are students who have never failed because no one will fail them, and as a result their education is not their problem.  Mamet's play, Oleanna describes the kind of mind that seems to develop under such perverse conditions.  I had considered doing that play for my literature students because I could not stand the idea of another forced march through a dialogue like Prometheus Bound, but in reading Oleanna, I was afraid that the only understanding they might get from such a play is how abused they have been by me!
So, we're going to read Angels in America! 
Then we will all wait for God together.

Grateful for Life

It is Sunday afternoon, hot with clouds filing in orders across the sky.  This morning's sky was different, like the edge of a white blanket, as if the day were slow to rise, preferring to crawl under the covers.  Mass was simple, beautiful and satisfying.  Katherine went with me. I feel an especial joy in her companionship.  She told me of an spiritual experience she'd had at the guidance of one of our Dominicans.  She put herself in the place of Bartimaeus, and asked Jesus for what she most wanted-to remember.  She was struck by his look that took account of her wholly-a look full of a loving embrace of every aspect of her life and her person.  I think that she must have received the gift, even though it gives her pain.  We went to see Where the Wild Things Are last night, and although I was filled with a childish excitement, full of memories of my childhood, the snowball fights, the snow forts and tunnels my brother and I dug through the sides of the drifts that filled the creek behind our house.  Her memories gave her pain and suffering.  I felt powerless in the face of her intense feelings and recollections. 
I often feel like Dicken's character, Stephen Blackpool, from Hard Times, who complained that things "are all a muddle." I don't have any answer for Katherine.  I don't know what gift I would ask Jesus for, maybe love.  What else would I want? 
Merton's entry for today's reflection ends on a note of pessimism about politicians and military men.  The times haven't changed much.  I am doing the laundry, and loving Katherine.  That's all I can do today.  The world will have to wait until tomorrow.

The Birds Don't Know They Have Names

The title of the post comes from a quote by Mark van Doren, Merton's English teacher at Columbia.  The selected journal entry is from 1957, when Merton's language gives away a youthfulness and joy in the presence of nature. 
I saw a huge rainbow on the way home from the university last night.  As I drove toward a grey wall of clouds that extended down on to the freeway in front of me, the whole scene was framed with the enormous arc of prismatic color.  I may struggle to believe in a God of this universe, but it is hard to maintain my scepticism when confronted with a Beauty that pervades the world with such intensity that it breaks through my own experience of myself, overwhelming me with wonder. 
If only the little things caught my eye the same way.

Night is Coming

I've missed a couple of days.  I knew that I might not be able to keep up with the daily commitment, but I haven't missed a day in my written journal.  This form is still an add-on, a step out of my daily routine, additional work at a time when I am feeling awfully tired from trying to catch up with my student's work in time to give them the midterm evaluations they so richly deserve!  So, now it's Friday night, Katherine is having a nap on the couch, and I am in the office in the cool darkness while outside the sun is blazing hot.

The entry for October 21 I've quoted above begins with Merton reflecting on his age (48 in 1962).  He doesn't know it, but he only has another six years to live.  I am a fifty-two, and I understand his concerns about turning a corner in middle age where my hair has begun a substantial retreat at the temples at the same time the ranks of individual hairs are thinning.  Like Merton, I don't think this change is any more significant than the fact that seasons change.  But with my mother's death, and my orphan status renewed, I do feel the weight of my own life more keenly than in any other year.  Merton resolves to push on with his life's projects, to give "without question or care," even though he admits that he had "never gotten the knack of it."  He suggests finally that there may still be time.

I have read some of the literature about midlife and the re-evaluation of the possibilities that some achievements may never come, that some adventures may never be pursued, and the necessity to take stock and perhaps focus on the most important things first.  In some respect, I think I have recently had a breakthrough in this regard.  I mentioned to my therapist that I had always wanted to achieve some greatness in my life.  At times I have thought that I should become a great author, a great playwright, or produce something that others would have to admit, "this is great stuff!"  But, it occurred to me after reflecting on my college career so far, that I might never become a great teacher, a great researcher, or a great writer, or a great community activist.  What is left to me then?  My girlfriend has complimented me several times, "You're a great boyfriend."  I accepted the compliment, but I didn't think that was such a great thing!  How hard is it to be a great friend or a great companion?  Well, maybe more than I know.  Perhaps there isn't a greater thing to pursue, to become a great person may not entail some public accomplishment.  Maybe the greatness to which I aspire is a private matter, between those I love and whom love me.  I hope that I have time to learn the difference.

Going Beyond My Boundaries

Merton sounds quite pleased with the attention that he has received from Pasternak.  He is really a writer at heart desiring some connection.  But he also is aware that the attention and the connection are not enough, that he has to go beyond his "limitations in thought and imagination." 
I have gotten some of my peace of mind and clarity back.  I am a little intimidated by the level of committment necessary to go beyond my limitations.  When I began training for long distance running some years ago, I was aware of a rise in my anxiety level as I needed more air the faster I ran.  As my conditioning became better, I was able to run comfortably at about an 8 minute mile rate for as long as necessary without feeling anxious.  My friend, Leo, used to talk about "leaving it all on the track."  I always kept something in reserve.  When I began to reflect on this tendency on my part in regards to running, I realized that I also kept something back in practically every aspect of my life, from personal affairs to professional work.  I think that it's really difficult distinguishing between a kind of prudence or balance in one's life and the necessity of pushing myself to do whatever it is that I can to give back the gifts that I have been given, even if it leads to a little anxiety.

What We Most Need

Merton's reflections today are on his memory of the image of an anchor in the stained glass of a church from his childhood, and his desire to write against war.  Merton states that the anchor is a symbol of hope, but he remembers the image mainly from the point of view of a child who wanted to someday become a sailor.  I can certainly relate to that hope!  Although, I had no desire to become a sailor, I did hope that I might have adventures that included voyages to strange and wonderful, even dangerous places.  My childhood church where I attended seven and a half years of parochial grade school had a wonderful oak tree that grew outside of the clear glass window that took up the entire wall behind the altar.  (They've moved the altar now to the middle of the church in accordance with the new ideas about the position of the priest within the congregation-unfortunately for this beautiful view!)  I loved looking at this tree and its enormous limbs that spanned the entire view.  The limbs changed from season to season, full of leaves in the summer, fiery orange and red leaves in the fall, fragile tender buds in the spring, and bare limbs in the winter occasionally draped or coated with snow and ice.  It was a show that rivalled anything that was going on during the mass.  How could the priests vestments, the ornaments on the altar, even the ladies dressed up in their Sunday best compete with such unabashed beauty.  Perhaps at heart, I am a simple pagan, for I have studied trees all my life and I have often found their symmetry, seen and unseen, to inform my consciousness, to give me hope and the assurance that there are powers beyond our measures, hopes and dreams.

Plato's Music, Gandhi's Truth

It is Saturday morning, and a sudden rainstorm swept through this end of town.  I was enjoying breakfast with some friends of mine, and the wind blew sideways through the parking lot, obliterating the view in sheets of gray rain.  It was awfully nice to be inside.
Merton's entry is for three days in October of 1960.  I especially love the honesty of Merton when he admits his confusion without a fundamental sense of the underlying truth of himself.  Gandhi offers a path that is to "dive deep within one's breast for inspiration, and when one gets it, presents it to others."  Plato's Phaedo also seems to reflect Merton's desire to hear the authentic voice of someone searching for truth.  Finally, Merton's reflection on the Book of Wisdom (14:1-7) about going to sea without expertise is one that resonates for any explorer or adventurer.  Sometimes, I forget that even a deep and devout search for love or faith can be framed within a story of great adventure.  It doesn't have to be a tragedy or a romance!  So, even in the mundane activities I have in mind for today, such as grading my students midterm exams in poetry and in the humanities course, I can keep in mind that this day is another day at sea.  

An Autumn Dream

Merton's entry for today relates a dream that he has wandering into a city "with another monk?" Then being guided by a waitress to some destination that she knows how to find better than he does.  It is clear to Merton that he "does not know the way."  Then he includes an excerpt from Autumn Day by Rilke in which the poet prays that the summer be finished in the first two stanzas, then admonishes the reader:

"Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore.

Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time,

will stay up, read, write long letters,

and wander the avenues, up and down,

restlessly, while the leaves are blowing."

My dreams have been of a different quality over the last month or so.  They don't seem to have the anxious quality of my childhood, but nonetheless retain something of urgency.  I would like to know the way.  I have had the uncomfortable feeling for the last month of not knowing at the most essential level.  I can't even seem to formulate the questions that might focus my attention towards what it is that I want to know.  I do feel a little like the person "who has no house."  Maybe I can find a kind waitress!

Walking on Water-October 15 2009

I have decided to try to write this blog as a substitute for my journal writing. Over the last thirty years, I have kept journals, writing the pedestrian comings and goings of my life. My friend Coyle and I had dinner last night, and he told me about the movie Julie/Julia, and how it was based upon a blog that became a book that became the movie. Coyle knows that I use Merton as a kind of spiritual sponsor/advisor, and he suggested that I use a blog to write about my reflections on Merton's writing. He seemed to think that it might attract some attention.
I've never really used my journal to write anything that anyone might read other than myself. I've never really known what to do with the writing there, other than to mark pages with a couple of signs that I use when I have some creative project that I think that I might like to go back to one day...so far that day hasn't happened. But, as I thought about Coyle's suggestion, a couple of things happened. My ego was excited...an audience! And my fear followed right after with ...an audience! However, a couple of years ago, after I received my doctorate from the University in Texas, I had an awakening about the nature of the obligation imposed upon me from accepting the support of the university in achieving the status and rank of a doctor-that is, I had really accepted the responsibility of a public intellectual. That goal had never been my intention...I had hoped to find a small private college (and here I am) where my public duties would be relegated to the university community. But, I am now recognizing that in the requirements of publication and research, that I am called upon to voice my opinion and subject it to professional and public scrutiny. So, I have decided that maybe I could kill two birds with one stone...use this space to do my regular journaling...perhaps I'll forget about the "public" aspect from time to time and become less self conscious of my writing...and then if I accumulate a reader or two...then perhaps I am about to begin a new lesson in my life....so here goes...

Merton's entry for Oct 22, 1952 begins with "Whether we live or die, we are the Lord's." This passage comes from Romans 14, a reading that I selected for my mother's funeral on September 12th of this year. I chose the reading because it reminded me especially of my father's faith and how he demonstrated it within the communities that he lived and worked. I am still working through my own grief, and a sense that my life now without my parents has been utterly transformed in ways that I can't quite imagine. Because I'm an academic, of course, I've found some books on the subject to guide my thinking, but there is something about the nature of life and growing up that resists the intellectual framework that I rely upon for security. I feel somehow as if I am being pressured along the lines Merton describes to become more like the "image of God" in me...however, I am not sure that I conceive of this image in Merton's terms. I have held a kind of fanciful notion of an act of creation that somehow held an image of me in a potential form (the me in the mind of God from the beginning of time) that is resonant in my own cellular makeup that it is up to me to reconstruct, like chipping away at the stone of my socializations, to get back to an original, unique form that is at my core. I don't imagine this original form to be "christ-like," rather I imagine it to be me-like. Perhaps, if there is some direct connection to the Creator through his creation, the idea that I have in mind for this essential self would at least have a quality like the monad of Leibniz, reflecting in some small way the original act of creation.
See what I mean about "intellectualizing" the problems of my life!