Calling up other worlds

The past few months I’ve been reading a group of bloggers who write about related themes and often comment on each other’s work. It’s like taking a footpath off the information highway into the woods and having a picnic with some thoughtful people who wonder about similar things as me.

(That metaphor took some thought. I started with “coffee house” or “salon” but images of lonely paths and trees kept coming to mind. I think these writers would prefer a picnic anyway.)

Paul Kingsnorth (a lot of content is subscriber only but there are still many interesting pieces available)

Luke Burgis

Pilgrims in the Machine

Jack Leahy

Flat caps and fatalism

Edited to add:

Mary Harrington

Ruth Gaskovski

The list could be longer I’m sure, but this group is what I’ve been reading on a fairly regular basis, and I like seeing how the writers often attempt to go deeper into each others’ ideas. But the voices still are unique and it doesn’t feel, at this point anyway, like people parroting each other or repeating slogans, though there is common vocabulary (such as references to “The Machine”.)

One essay that seems to have struck a chord with this group and many other people is Paul Kingsnorth’s A Wild Christianity (discussion here). Paul is an effective storyteller. His essays come across as an exploration into questions he himself is still seeking answers to, rather than as arguments about a certain dogma. I don’t know Paul personally, but I assume that this is a true impression and he really is the seeker he appears to be in his essays.  I appreciate his voice as he addresses the questions not just of our outer world (civilization and history and politics and so on) but also our inner world. No experience or understanding is complete without this inner exploration: I feel quite strongly that this is universally true. I certainly try to act as though it is. 

In a time when the temptation is always toward culture war rather than inner war, I think we could learn something from our spiritual ancestors. What we might learn is not that the external battle is never necessary; sometimes it very much is. But a battle that is uninformed by inner transformation will soon eat itself, and those around it. Kingsnorth, March 3rd 2023

I was moved by “A Wild Christianity” and I felt after reading it a call to do or be something, but I couldn't say what. My most basic impulse is to go out in nature and be there with the sights, sounds and sensations of the wild. That is never the wrong thing to do. And now it is March, and even inside my house in an urban area I can hear birds singing more often; I feel the effects of longer daylight hours; and even with snow on the ground any warm day with melt-off hints at flowing water, thaw and growth. I yearn to be part of that, to walk below tall trees and climb low hills, to wear florals and flowy fabrics, to match the patterns of spring.

Then maybe a week later, I read this response to Kingsnorth: A Fire that Purifies by Peco, at Pilgrims in the Machine.  Peco is also a storyteller and explorer.

We have a habit, say, toward fear or anger or pornography, or whatever haunts our conscience or unsettles our spirit. Prayer disrupts these tendencies and turns us away from them, so that when the anger or fear creeps up again, or we feel temptation coming on, we are more ready, more able, to deal with it, more ready and able to re-align the flow of our spirit.  

Prayer is disruptive, but so is the Machine. There is the outward disruption, in the form of devices and ChatGPTs and simulations, and—like prayer—an inward disruption.

The tools of the Machine invite us into their own rhythms and patterns: the incessant checking of messages, the compulsive need to know what is happening “out there” in the world or “over there” on that platform. But the real happening is “right here”, in and around our bodies.  

 The point of Peco's essay is not to give answers, but to pose a question:

What is your disruptive spiritual practice?

I have been thinking on that question for several days. It has, shall was say, activated my inner transformation, or at least presented a tangible way into it. By tangible, I mean something my distracted and often forgetful mind can hang on to. It is a sad truth that I can read beautiful words, true words, words with much thought and knowledge behind them, and forget them within the week. I keep a vague memory of something promising but nothing more. A question though: a question has a way of sticking in my mind.

What are my disruptive spiritual practices, or what might be the germination of them? What is it they are trying to disrupt?

In the quotation above, Peco gives some idea of what is being disrupted:  unthinking patterns of behaviour, especially those to some degree embedded in technology. I disrupted my social media use back in early 2021, and feel nothing but relief and gratitude. Two years on, I can say that getting off of the social media habit/addiction has been nothing but beneficial. Sometimes you cannot see things for what they are until you step back. For example, it took many months for my thoughts to stop automatically forming Facebook updates. For a long time after I ceased actually making any updates, I still thought in them. It was weird and disconcerting to realize this. It doesn't happen often anymore. (Not never though. 8 years of habit doesn't go away overnight.)

Still, that's a ways in the past now. What about today: what am I disrupting right now, and how?

• I think the first and most disruptive thing I do is recognize that disruption is necessary. I am busy and active, but I need to take time to not be busy and active. For me this looks like (auditory) silence and solitude. Writing this blog for example. I suppose it is not an entirely silent activity, as I'm still writing words, but I'm focused internally, not on verbal conversation. It is a kind of conversation, but different.
• Humility is disruptive. Openly and deliberately admitting I don't have the answers, that I'm always experimenting, that I frequently make mistakes. Aiming to be truthful, to speak about my experience honestly, not to censor myself, but not to try to persuade anyone either or come across as better than them.
• Deliberately choosing the stories I immerse myself in. We have on-again off-again discussions in our household about whether we should acquire things like Netflix or Disney Plus or Amazon or whatever. There are advantages to such things. We have little kids that like to be entertained. Why are we watching the same movie for the 50th time when there is a world of entertainment out there?
• Yet I always end up on the side of no, let's stick with our DVD collection and the documentaries on our current not-very-satisfying streaming service. Part of this is my age and history I guess: I grew up with (not having) cable and only one or two channels on the TV. To me not having what I want all the time is normal. But I also don't want our children, especially, to be too easily immersed in commercially-produced stories. I want them to have the temporal and mental space to hear and make their own stories: familial, personal, cultural. That is easier to do without a hundred different shows to get addicted to at any given time.
• Working with my hands. This could be our endless laundry, or tidying and organizing the house, or crocheting and knitting. Less frequently, creating art. I love to write, but creating something tangible has a weight to it that the abstract creation doesn't have. I need to do both, basically. Limiting the online activity has made me more likely to pick up my hooks and needles again. This week, for example, I made a cowl scarf as a gift for a friend. I plan to make one for myself, as well. In addition to the finished product I enjoyed the number patterns in this project: 7's, 3's, 9's, 24's, 60. And 13. Yes, maybe I'm a little weird. I enjoy number patterns. I also strongly suspect that the designer did not choose these numbers by chance and it feels like a private joke I share with her.

I can probably think of more, as the question sticks in my mind. In fact, I think "What is your disruptive spiritual practice" will by my theme for 2023. Back in January I started wondering what the theme of the year might be, and collecting thoughts (my own and other people's) that resonated. As I think on that collection, I believe this question encompasses much of it and also provides direction.

Peco talks a lot about prayer, as do many of the other writers in my list. I have tried to have a prayer practice now and again. I end up feeling at a loss though, like I don't know what I'm trying to embody. Ironically I had more success encouraging my eldest daughter to pray before bed, as a way to respond to her fear of darkness and nightmares. I think part of the problem/point is that religious practice would be the most disruptive spiritual practice I could undertake and that scares me. Into that space of confusion and fear come a lot of rather petty and resentful thoughts too. I envy lapsed Christians because they at least have the vocabulary and custom of a spiritual practice, even if they are not following it currently. They seem to be able to slide back into it (and out of it) with ease, whereas I feel like a fake and an imposter. For example, our family and extended family was at a Ukrainian cultural event a few weeks ago. Before dinner, grace was said. My husband crossed himself and repeated the appropriate words at the right place, a remnant of childhood practice, but a thing he never does in daily life. I stood there with folded hands thinking: how many hours of podcasts about Christianity have I listened to, and books have I read, but I don't know this practice and would feel like a total poser if I tried to fake it.

I don't know the way out of all these snarly avenues of thought, but maybe it's part of the journey. Something I have observed is that the closer I get to something coherent and whole, the more aware I am of my own fragmentation.  Being close makes me feel farther away. I will keep asking my questions, and hope that they can show me a way through the paradoxes.

Seeds in my mind

 Spring and summer are the seasons of growing. I plant flowers and sometimes herbs and vegetables. I try to pull out most of the weeds so there is space for what I want to grow.

I have been also paying attention to what I plant in my mind, or what others try to plant in my mind. Here are some of the seeds currently growing in my consciousness (and perhaps also in my un-consciousness.)

Why is it that the world of people often feels noisy, very noisy, but also lonely? So many opinions, so many emotions, so many experiences and things to say about them. But every so often, there's a person whose words resonate. I think it has to do with humility and honesty and being willing to share that vulnerability of being human and open to learning. What does that tell me about how I should be?

Water always flows downhill. So imagine a rainstorm, a babbling brook, a river, a violent storm, a sewer, a flood, a leaky faucet....all that water, all making its way to the ocean. It's going to the same place. That's how it feels to me when I start to see a pattern in my life.

Someone said this: "being like water is a metaphor for the principle of wu wei, which is sometimes described as "doing by doing nothing". Just as water flows downhill effortlessly, moved by the forces of nature rather than its own effort and volition, and simply goes around obstacles rather than trying to tear them down, one is advised to move through life in the most natural way that is harmonious with one's environment - the path of least resistance - allowing the universe to move you where it will." 

How many "solutions" do we accept that involve control and violence? Is it possible to have control without violence? (I am thinking about this and I can't think of an example. Other than maybe self-control). Why do we accept violence and control as normal? Is there another way?

Everything is temporary. Every material item, every thought, every feeling, every skill and piece of knowledge. Every relationship. Some last longer than others, but change always comes. How do I want to live my life with this knowledge of change and ultimately loss? Who am I going to be in 10, 20, 30 years (if so fortunate). What's going to matter to me at the end of my life, when I have lost or let go of everything I currently consider important and am about to say goodbye to anything that remains? (Which could be sooner than I think....nobody actually knows). 

Most people would not describe me as a quarrelsome or aggressive person. Probably quite the opposite. But, a conversation recently made me aware that I actually do quarrel with people often....in my mind. Just thinking of certain people or situations can cause a physical defensive reaction. It is interesting to become consciously aware of this. The person I was describing this to wrote (after expressing understanding and admitting to the same behaviour): "I try to reframe it from wasteful internal conflict to useful scripts to begin practicing enough that they become natural to say out loud." That is something to think about.

How often do I curse and why? I don't go around screaming epithets at people (not so far). I tell my children that it's not helpful or kind to call things "stupid." "All you are doing is telling someone you don't respect them or you don't respect the thing they have created. How is that good for you or anyone else?" But I do curse. I curse jokingly with my friends and colleagues (I use black humour a lot). I curse at aggressive or clueless drivers. In frustration, I curse situations I find myself in. Just hearing or seeing certain people's names is enough to cause an internal cringe and/or curse. What is this behaviour actually doing in me and in the world? What is the alternative?

The colours of summer are really, really beautiful right now. Greens, blues, golds, highlights of white. It is such a gift. 

December (not so) randomness

After a long autumn, the snow has fallen and stayed on  the ground and the mercury is dropping (not that reading the temperature has anything to do with mercury anymore, in my case. I look at my smart phone.)

Today, I was supposed to take part in my stepdance group’s first (small) performance since January of 2020. But I am coming down with my youngest daughter’s cold, so I bowed out. Disappointing, but it was fun to anticipate and to practice for and there will be other opportunities (I hope).

There is one friend on Facebook, Diana, whom I still regularly interact with. Basically she is the only one. She is an unusually kind, humble, approachable, and intellectual person who holds her page, and herself, to very high standards. It’s like a Socratic classroom (with funny memes).

One of the recent memes was “Mankind wasn’t meant to work in December. We were meant to hide from wolves, drink, and pray our autumn harvest will last us through the Dark Months.”

I couldn’t agree more. I am very grateful for my job, and for the fact I have this opportunity to do something positive in the world. But at the same time, I would like nothing better than to sit on the couch and crochet for the rest of the month, and possibly well into January. Based on observations of the people around me, it’s not just me with these feelings.

I have started crocheting again, almost obsessively, after not having interest in yarn crafts for months….years? My co-teacher started a community knitting / crochet meet up group (almost by accident), and so I became involved. Then I bought a book of Harry Potter crochet patterns with the intent to inspire my eldest daughter. They are rather too complex for an absolute beginner, however, so I decided to make one, then two, from the book before giving it to her for Christmas. And so it goes. Now making deals for bootleg bargain yarn, seeing patterns in my mind…..all of it.

My co-teacher’s success with the meet-up group inspired me to try again to reach out to a church. I had tried previously but not gotten a response to my email. Maybe I used the wrong address, who knows. But since she used Facebook to start her group, I decided impulsively to try using the church’s  FB page. It had not occurred to me to even try FB because I have been avoiding it mostly due to last year’s very negative experiences, discussed elsewhere. But I actually did get a response this time, and at 10pm, two minutes after I messaged (which slightly freaked me out). Apparently social media reaches everywhere.

The message was what I had been looking for, which was “you would be very welcome.” And “please ask if you have any questions!”

Do I have questions about going to a church? I mean…probably. Obviously, yes.  But the only one that really matters right now is: how do I start? And this is the question I haven’t been able to answer in two years, so I keep hesitating, even though at this point there is no going back, either. Maybe it’s cliche, but I’m not totally in control of this process anymore. Something is trying to speak through me, and it’s going to keep trying, I know it is.

But the negotiations (with family) and logistical calculations to actually attend a service in person  haven’t happened. (I did mention it as an intent/wish, so that’s something.) Finally, because the church I contacted does also have an online option, I tried watching parts of a prerecorded service. Again, not really what I want or imagined doing but it’s something to start with. I sort of listened to the words, but it will take a while to get used to the Orthodox chant: it sounds weird to my ear, which expects either spoken word or singing, not some hybrid of the two. But I enjoyed watching the worshippers approaching the icons, crossing themselves, each doing their thing. It looked very relaxed. And then another thought popped into my head, another “answer” to the questions I can’t even fully articulate.

I would like, one day, to be as relaxed and unself-conscious as those people when it comes to Christianity/God/the sacred. I would like it to just be a part of my verbal and non verbal language in that way. That’s what this is really about. Sure, it would be nice to have all sorts of intellectual and metaphysical insights. But I don’t have a ton of expectations there. Mostly, I want my everyday moments and experiences to be part of a system of meaning. I need the language to understand them that way. I mean, I kind of already have the understanding, or the beginnings of it; but I lack the words. And without the words, the language, I can’t take it any further.

Diana, my gifted friend, posted a very profound question the other day: “What should I give myself for Christmas?”

She went on to specify that she didn’t mean things that could be bought, but something like a commitment to adopt a habit that may be a chore day to day, but that would make her happier and more fulfilled in the long run. A permanent change in diet, to read a real book an hour every day, that sort of thing. “If you were going to give yourself such a Christmas present—assuming you regard yourself as someone you love enough to make the commitment to—what would yours be?”

Someone did point out that that it seems to be another way of asking for a New Year’s resolution, but I like this frame so much better. There is a sort of shaming involved in the New Year’s resolution, an implication that you are not currently doing enough. Which may be true, but it misses the love that Diana’s question makes explicit. Personally, I find the winter months (January/February)  so challenging that I have zero motivation to push myself beyond the basics of trying to survive. Don’t even talk to me about resolutions or goals till March or April! But this idea of giving yourself a present….yes. This is a perfect question.

And I immediately knew my answers. One was yes, to try attending a church. To start. The other was to get winter tires. Which is a thing, so not exactly fulfilling the requirements of the question, but I thought of it as giving myself the gift of less stress every day.

So there you have it. Winter. Gifts. Christmas. Still working on the best Christmas gift of all, the one that will keep giving.