Skip to main content

Faith and Practice

“One should not reason too much; it is enough if one loves the Lotus Feet of the Mother.”
Ramakrishna


This hits me today. I was just thinking (there I go again!) about how I have such trouble keeping my attention on the mantram whenever I try to repeat it. I believe part of the reason is I start thinking about the mantram: how important it is to repeat it regularly, the benefits of doing so, how I might find more opportunities to do it, and so on. Of course, the minute this kind of pondering begins I’ve lost the mantram itself. What’s so damned frustrating is I often don’t even notice that I’m getting pulled away before I’m down the rabbit hole again. Ultimately what drives my distraction is fear. I am afraid, or rather my ego is afraid, of the emptiness, the void into which it seems the mantram will carry me. Absence of thought equals absence of self, and absence of self equals nothingness, a blank. So the reasoning mind sees it. And in a sense it is true, the great ones say. But they also talk of fullness, of wholeness, of union, and of abiding joy. In other words, words are inadequate. The thing must be experienced. But without long and arduous practice, the experience will never come. And in the face of existential fear, keeping up the practice can feel Sisyphean. This is where faith is essential, I am beginning to see. Faith in the words of the teacher, in the lives and testimonies of the saints and mystics. Faith can carry me far beyond reason, deep into the abyss from which the intellect recoils. I believe it is only through faith that I can hope to grow in the grip of doubt.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Casual Holiness

About a year ago I was on my way into a church to attend a meeting. As I approached the door I passed a woman sitting on a red, overturned milk crate near the door. She had dark hair, and she was leaning forward, her bottom coming off the crate, her hands reaching just off the edge of the sidewalk and toward the asphalt of the parking lot. She appeared to be slowly falling forward, tumbling off the crate in slow motion. I had stopped to hold the door for a man who was entering the church just behind me, and as I watched, he approached the woman on the crate. "Here's two of them," he said, handing down a carton of Marlboro Light 100s. "Have a good day." I realized then what the man with the Marlboros must have recognized immediately: the woman had no doubt been reaching for a discarded cigarette butt that someone had tossed down on their way into the church. I felt awed by the man's simple act of compassion. Without the slightest trace of judgement or distast...

A Sabbath Day

I am thinking of the mulberries we picked today,           nearly black knobby fruits,           their juice spilling so easily from thin skins. I held a branch down while you picked them double-fisted,           dropping them into the empty bottle where they crashed,           spurting tiny jets of juice. The girls ate them by the handful,           stuffing the dark sweet berries into their small mouths,           purple smears like bruises blooming on their hands, legs, cheeks. We had hoped for ice cream but were foiled,           and returning from that failed trip           we found the trees, dangling their fruit in offering. We ate, and it was good. It was very good.

A Living Body of Poetry

Reading and listening to the news makes the Psalms come to life. Children threatened with separation from their families, international tensions, indigenous people displaced from their homeland. Even in this too-brief sampling of common headline topics a person can find plenty of reason, as the psalmist did in his own context, to shake a fist at heaven, tear one's garments, beg for mercy and cry out for justice. When I am caught up in my own mostly comfortable life, the Psalms are hard to reach, both their anguish and their ecstasy remote from my daily grind. As soon as I graze the surface of human suffering, however, the words of the Psalter become vivid, potent, a living body of poetry pulsing with human feeling and desire. Here is at least one good reason to read both the news and the Psalms: to remember that I am part of the human family, which is also to remember my responsibility for the welfare of that family.