Saturday, November 18, 2006

Transparency and Enclosure

One monastic aspiration is transparency – behaving the same everywhere, alone or with others, not hiding “shameful” parts or preferentially displaying “good” parts. As one old desert Abba, Poemen, said, “Teach your mouth to say that which you have in your heart.”

A strict divide between lay people and “professional religious” grew up in Christianity after it became a state religion in the 300s. Christians weren’t to kill. How could Constantine, the first Christian ruler, control his empire without soldiers? Yet all his soldiers were required to be Christians. A solution was to let most folks follow a lax version of Christian practices while professional religious kept all the precepts for everyone.

One side effect is that lay people are shut out of the messy, human reality of monastic life. The sisters I knew donned "monastic habits" in public, acting out ideals of serenity, kindness and welcome. Yet they were like anyone off the street in private, often uncritically indulging destructive behaviors. This need to act like monks to guests damaged the sisters and deluded guests, at least those desperate to find holy people to follow. Other guests became cynical on glimpsing the underlying clay of the sisters’ feet.

Such an “invisible cloister” exists within communities as well. As a novice, I rarely had emotionally honest exchanges with the fully professed sisters. I don’t know if they had honest emotional relationships with each other. Like anyone, they were often jealous, impatient, frightened and angry - but I only saw them flame certain targets, e.g. “evil others,” such as Bush and his cohorts, or those of less status, such as novices.

Most of us don a public face outside the privacy of our homes. The monastic desire for transparency seems easily lost in the all-too-human desire to look good to “outsiders.” Could we stand to let guests into the whole thing – to display the farts and short tempers alongside the generous hearts and soothing voices? This would be healthier for all concerned. Would we still need private spaces for members to relax and “be themselves” or could we live with guests everywhere in our home at all times? How would that feel?

Enclosure also separates monks from the distractions of society. Is a physical or emotional barrier necessary for that? Does separation from people less focused on practice have other benefits (or harms)?

How can a community support each other in displaying their whole selves, flaws and all?

copyright R. Elena Tabachnick, November 2006

Monastery Guests

In monastic community does there have to be a strict divide between “members” and “guests?” What would be the advantages and difficulties of more permeable membership – if people came and went, moved from core to peripheral or vice versa? What about partnerships? Could a community hold through the tensions of forming or dissolving pairs?

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Psalm 42: Deep Calls to Deep

My soul thirsts for God, the living God... Why do you despair, my soul?... Deep calls to deep / In the roar of your waters.

In biblical cosmology, the land is a crust floating on the waters of earth and the sky is a membrane holding back the waters of heaven. During lectio on psalm 42, I heard "the deeps of earth call to the deeps of heaven." Or the core substance and being of earth resonates in oneness with the core substance and being of heaven. A call and response chant plays continually between the divine embodied in earthy existence and the divine beyond earthly existence.

At a time when the grind of life-in-body smudges my windows and I can't sense the presence of God all around and within me, I am given to despair... Until I stop rushing about and breathe the breath/spirit/wind, the "
ruah." Flowing Presence enlivened the stuff of earth "In the beginning." That same Presence enlivens still every bit and being of material existence, flowing in and out and around every seemingly separate, earthly body. Ruah is my core and the larger substance through which I move. Stop. Breathe, smell, taste and see God in each and every tiny being: despair can't hold in the face of such powerful reality.

This lectio was the basis for the original psalm 4: Remember God, posted October 30.
copyright R. Elena Tabachnick, November 2006

Thursday, November 02, 2006

New Psalms 3: Feeding The Lion

Written in contrition after derailing a group conversation with an angry explosion.

Pride has consumed me.
A great lion tosses his royal mane.
I open my mouth
All that comes out is a roar.

Shy people cower.
Kind people shake their heads.
Other proud lions intensify the brawl.
Agreeing, we stand side by side.
Our declaration blasts the rafters
Scatters paper and dialogue to the floor.

Disagreeing, we stand face to face.
Blasting each other.
Hair streams out from our heads.
Veins pop in crimson faces.
Heat in shock waves fills the room.

We finish satisfied
But empty.

Others leave frustrated
And empty.

You wait

You do not hear these lions.
You do not see these lions.
When my longing turns to You
I stop feeding the lion.
He sleeps and You speak:
Welcome home.

© 2006 R. Elena Tabachnick

Monday, October 30, 2006

New Psalm 4, Remember God

Coming out of a time of grief, on a Sunday, after
meditating at 6 a.m. then walking in October sunshine with a friend.

How great is my longing for You:
A desert thirst
A consuming fire
A single raindrop trailing down the window.

I plead and nothing happens.
I rant and nothing happens.
I light candles, burn incense, sit still:
Nothing happens.
Discouraged, my heart contracts.

Mundane specks of earthly existence
Resplendent depth of distant mystery
Myself, small locus of wonder and confusion
You, encompassing wholeness of All
One force, one field

How did I lose touch with You?

Enemies yammer in my head:
Where is your God
You fool of illusion?
Get your nose out of your navel.
Get real.
Get busy.
Get a new job, a new house, a new car
A new spouse
A new cause.
Do something useful!

Drained, I listen as they say:
Be angry about the war, the powerful
The suffering.
Be angry.

Seeing me helpless, they tear my clothes
Shriek, laugh, leap around
Point damning fingers and cry:
How futile is your God-talk.
Be practical.
Take care of business, family, the church.
Stop this selfish indulgence,
Stop this shameful idleness.
Stop sitting still
Tasting, smelling, hearing, seeing

I remember how I used to go
Buoyed in joy
Gladly hurrying to prayer
Easily sitting in meditation.
I avoided distraction
Read good books
And sang
Pushing a grocery cart
At a committee meeting
In the shower
Because I knew.

Why are You cut off from me?
Day and night I breathe Your Breath
Day and night I move in Your Body
How long will You stay far from me?

You say:
“Be not discouraged.
Trust the memory of God within
Trust the experience of God without.

Crashing ocean breakers
Swaying willows
A little dog prancing
The smell of dirt
A sigh as your love turns in sleep.

Trust earth.
Its molten core of iron, nickel
With stars and
The dark matter between galaxies.
This earth shouts
I Am real.”

God embodied calls
God ineffable answers
In dream
In a space where something isn’t
In unanswerable questions:
Why stars are born and die.
Why we were born and will die.

Breathe out
Diversity is born.
Breathe in
We rush back to union.

I will lose myself in You
With a shout of joy.

© 2006 R. Elena Tabachnick

Monday, October 02, 2006

New Psalm 1: Passion Like Wild Animals

Written after nine months of daily psalm chanting had shattered biblical literalism while the novitiate undermined monastic conviction.

In pain I cry out to You.
Who else would listen to me?

Enemies surround me.
Beasts prowl my street.
They dig up my garden and
run through my house
as if they owned the whole place.

Pride, that ravening lion, eats my heart and
anger like wild dogs tears my flesh.
My stomach is cold with coiling hate.
Her cobra head strikes at my insides,
I can hardly taste my food.

Fear opens her vulture’s beak in the rafters,
stretching her naked, scaly neck.
Her screech sets my teeth on edge.
She snatched my newborn children
before they saw a single day -
all but two.

Those two live but hardly thrive.
All night long fear’s screech shakes them.
She thrusts her beak down their throats
seizing any food they swallow and
sucking the breath from their nostrils.
Pale and weak, they can not raise their heads but
lie in bed gasping

Yet they live.
They live:
my two beloved, my own.
I am not left entirely barren.

Oh, hear me.
Hasten to my cry.
Help me roust the beasts from my house.
Help me bring my offspring to full life.
Help me surrender into your love,
Giving all without condition.
So I, too, may fully live.
To sing a song of Your many wonders.
To give You thanks and praise.

© 2004 R. Elena Tabachnick

Sunday, June 04, 2006

Pentecostal Musings on Psalm 139

You search me and you know me... Oh, where can I go from your spirit?
... If I take the wings of the dawn and settle at the sea's farthest end, even there your hand will guide me... If I say, "let the darkness hide me..." even the darkness is not dark to you; and the night is as clear as the day..."

Something flows through all things, encompasses all things - every person and animal and rock and the earth's hot core and the sun's burning. When I touch that reverberating, flowing field of energy it feels awake, aware, loving... And it laughs a lot.

What is it that fills every being on every planet around every sun, and all the dark matter and all the space and all the time throbbing between suns? What is it that is future, past and yet always present?

Not raised religious, I had no name for it. Now as a lazy short-hand, I call it God.

One of the great gospel messages is "do not fear."

I can only release the desire to fear by resting in that something-or-other, living energy field, God, that embraces me and all things, that is the core substance of me and all things. There I am already completely known and completely accepted, for I am It and It is I. When I touch that I can't despair no matter how bad things look. As Elena I will die, both body and personality, but the real I, the I of that, can't die. Carrying the indelible memory of all Elena was and knew, after death I return to It.

Although I kind of dread the pain Elena's dying might entail, I'm sure eager for what happens next. For my return.

copyright R. Elena Tabachnick, June 2006

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Monastic Practice: One Path or Many

All spiritual paths may lead up the same mountain, but most traditional practitioners insist it is essential to focus on one path. Obviously, I don't believe this or I wouldn't write this blog. Yet I've heard really good reasons to focus on a single tradition

Interfaith folks are like generalists who see the big picture and commonalities across local differences. Those committed to a single tradition are like specialists who see all the nuances and details in their area of focus. These are each legitimate ways of perceiving, and they compliment each other. For solid, spiritually useful reasons, the range of human diversity includes generalists, specialists and people in the middle. We all have good work to contribute to the whole.

What about monastic practice? Is this the one arena where specialization is required? The great 14th century Hindu mystic, Lal Ded, said, “On the way to God the difficulties / feel like being ground by a millstone, / like night coming at noon, like / lightening through the clouds.” It can feel awful, like a journey through wasteland, to let go of obsessions - with things, bodily wants, relationships, anger, pride and even of concepts of God. Traditionalists expect generalists to endlessly circle the lower reaches of the mountain hopping from one path to the next when the going gets steep.

Of course, specialists have their own way of holding off the hard work.

Where would an interfaith/no faith community find guidance for the strenuous task of daily life in community, as well as individual struggles with practice? Could we trust the spirit speaking through each intellect and heart to leads us where we need to go? Would it work to draw from all sources as desired (as UUs are wont to do)? Traditional practitioners insist this results in a shallow understanding that cannot lead into real, spiritual depths. Alternatively, could individuals focus on a specific tradition - albeit not one shared across the community?

Without the interpretations, inspirations and goads of a single, shared, religion how would community members help each other walk the tough parts of the monastic way?

copyright R. Elena Tabachnick, May 2006

Thursday, May 25, 2006

How Would a Monastry of No Tradition Work?

What would a monastery of practitioners without a shared faith look like?

Interfaith explorers of Hinduism, Judaism, Christianity, Islam and Buddhism practice have found the same group of effective spiritual practices in all these. One purpose of practice is growing detachment from binding & blinding emotions (anger, pride, depression, bodily obsession, obsession with things, etc.). These practices include silence or restraint of speech, group prayer &/or meditation, group chanting, simplicity (minimizing the amount of stuff & activities, and the time/energy spent making choices), enclosure (minimizing social interactions), selflessness (some kind of giving up of personal agendas/needs/will), service. So surely a group of people can support each other in these practice by group living without belonging to a specific tradition.

Yet some dangers of start-up, nontraditional, spiritual group living are immediately apparent. As Carol Lee Flinders points out in At the Root of This Longing: Reconciling a Spiritual Hunger and a Feminist Thirst, these same practices are favorite tools of oppression commonly used by power hierarchies. Silence, enclosure, putting aside personal needs and serving others are all used to kill women’s living spirit. Similarly, ANY leadership group or individual, no matter how good their intentions, can quickly fall into the trap of using these practices to manipulate and oppress followers.

Of course the problem is rife in traditional religious organizations. This was exactly my experience of the leadership in the little monastery I tried to join. And those women sincerely believed their own PR that they were only doing what was needed to lead others in spiritual development.

Yet traditional monastic lineages grow from founders or guidebooks that worked. They worked because they include some kind of balancing wisdom. For example, in Benedict's Rule the Prioress is given dictatorial authority to make decisions and the population is not allowed to grumble about it afterwards. BUT there are several very anti-hierarchical injunctions in the Rule that balance this power. Everyone is to be involved in decision making in all but the most minor decisions. (Benedict doesn’t care in the least for getting the world’s business done efficiently - even care for the poor.) Also the leadership is enjoined to pay particular attention to the opinions of the "youngest" (in the Rule, "youngest"="newest") as, "the Spirit often reveals what is best to the youngest." OFTEN, not sometimes, not occasionally, but often the newest members have the right of it even when their views counter those of an old, entrenched leadership. How radical for a hierarchical organization!

Also, leaders are chosen because they are living examples of humility. This includes: seeing only your own faults, preferring silence, always speaking gently, modestly and kindly, and expressing humility with your whole being, all the time, whatever you are doing. Again, administrative ability is not a criterion for leadership. The business of the monastery is to bring all the members to God through love of each other. Getting other work done is never the point.

Without checks on power, any such group could easily devolve into a cult of personality - even
if the personalities involved had no such intention.

In a monastery without a Rule where are the checks and balances on power?

How can we ensure respect for each voice, especially the least powerful or most critical?

copyright R. Elena Tabachnick, May 2006

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Interfaith Belief Criteria

Raised agnostic, I’m still fairly agnostic on religious doctrine. I seem to operate on two “faith criteria”: 1) Like Thomas the Doubter, I only believe a statement of divine-human relationship that matches my own experience and rings true in my heart. I entertain the possibility of explanations describing others’ experiences that I haven’t shared, but I don’t “believe” them, 2) I believe statements that are outside my experience if they are robust (as in statistical robustness, i.e., the result persists despite change in populations sampled). In other words, I believe religious observations or explanations that are found across faiths and cultures. This is why I often cite similarities across religions as a belief criterion. Although different religions emphasize different aspects of the divine-human relationship, most major tenants are present in some form in all major faiths. I tend to give weight to those. I consider theological postulates and doctrines that are unique to one religion to be expressions of local culture and not generally applicable to all humans, much less to "the universe" as a whole. However these are interesting in that they illuminated the diversity with which humans experience and interpret relationship with the larger non-human universe.

copyright R. Elena Tabachnick, May 2006

Monday, May 08, 2006

Benedictine Fly-by

In 2003 I entered a Benedictine monastery. Little more than a year later they kicked me out again. When I entered I expected to stay longer. I expected to stay my whole life. But by the end of a year it was clear I wasn’t going to make it. They said new members should fit into the existing community like “a hand in a glove.” We could all see my hand and their glove did not even have the same number of fingers.

They were a tiny community. The two older sisters had been together 40 years. A younger sister had just been fully professed after six years. That’s not much diversity, but it was all they were willing to embrace.

From a distance their inability to accept me is unsurprising. Our joining meant crossing an enormous cultural and theological divide. The old sisters were from devoutly Catholic, mid-western farm families and had entered Benedictine life as very young adults in the 50s. I was raised by committed agnostics with formative years in Muslim Northern Nigeria, an Quaker boarding school in England, and an Israeli kibbutz. Also I was born an eccentric, universalist pantheist who not only talked to trees, birds and rocks but believed they were talking back – and one day she would understand what they were saying.

Yet my call to enter this monastery had been unassailable. It came all at once during a social gathering on a retreat weekend. I felt as if my heart had been split open and filled with an intense light. Worse than the worse sort of head-over-heels falling in love, from then on a thick rope of light ran from my heart deep into the land of the monastery. What could I do but follow that directive and trust the Spirit to work things out?

It wasn’t easy. They called their community “ecumenical” but by that included only traditional Christians who fit easily into liberal Catholicism. Although I’d begun to imagine Jesus was my guru, I was far from a traditional Christian. After a long, arduous, two year process of examination they let me in. It seemed the Spirit had working things out.

All went well for a while, but the honeymoon didn’t last.

I’ve explored a lot of interests – from research science to sculpture to writing. Yet through it all, my primary road to spiritual illumination has been gazing vacuously into space while lying in a field, on a mountain, in an arroyo. Although I can overwork with the best of them when in the throes of creative passion, I am also an idler. I want time to play, read without agenda, or do nothing – for hours. By contemplative I meant one who merely sat and listened. They meant one who busied selflessly from one duty to the next administering the monastic environment for guests.

As young nuns, the two older sisters spent 12 hours days nursing or teaching under the minute direction of strict workaholics. For “leisure” they shelled peas or cleaned. From their point of view our work load was relaxed. From mine it was driven. Far more than theology, it was this cultural chasm that separated me from the other sisters. It was also the reason they gave for not wanting me.

It tore my heart apart to leave. I loved monastic life: the rhythm of daily meditation and prayer, the concentrated spiritual study, the other sisters, the land, the guests, and, after a long inner battle, the liturgy. Despite continuous struggles, I often felt buoyed up in a sea of divine presence, light and love. But after leaving, I slept well for the first time in months and no longer felt vaguely queasy all the time. I hated to admit it but I was no more able to eat their spiritual food than they were able to share it with me.

So here I am – having been perhaps the most unsuitable Benedictine novice in modern monastic history. Sometimes I'm simply thankful I got to try it for that one year. Other times I want to shout angrily in their faces, “Look at yourselves! Just look at yourselves and stop blaming all your problems on the new people that come.”

Healing will take time.

Meanwhile, I can’t simply take up the reins of job and house and car and social life that kept me busy before I entered the monastery. I want monastic life, with all the challenge and all the joy it brings. But I do not want to live behind a mask of dissembling as I translate my real spiritual perceptions into someone else’s traditional language.

Where is the monastery for people like me?

Where is the monastery for open-minded seekers of no particular tradition?

copyright R. Elena Tabachnick, May 2006