Feeds:
Bydraes
Kommentare

Father Thomas Keating

“Silence is God’s first language. Everything else is a poor translation”

Dearest Father Thomas,

I’ve been following your illness as it progresses, and, with so many others, am just distraught at the possibility of your passing on. We’re both spiritual seekers enough to realize that this won’t be an end for you, but simply a transition to yet further journeys with God. But I wanted to tell you, before you take off on that journey, what an extraordinary presence you have been in my life, and literally almost every day since we first met. I can still vividly see the time that Treya brought me to the monastery in Snowmass for the first time; I noticed copies of Up from Eden on several shelves, and knew this would be an unusually intimate relationship for me. Over the years, the enthusiasm that you displayed for my work has been a constant source of inspiration for me, and always helped me believe I was on the right track. Likewise, the work that you were doing—in everything from the Snowmass inter-spiritual dialogues to your own work in Centering Prayer and the many contemplative communities around the world that you started—have always influenced me directly in my own spiritual growth and understanding. Whenever I was asked to name a genuine Christian saint, the first words out of my mouth were always, “Why, Father Thomas Keating, of course. And by the way, he’s still on this planet.”

 Which is why the thought of your passing is just devastating to me. Yes, I’m delighted for the joyous journey ahead of you, but am also heartbroken at the loss for me and for so many. There will simply be noticeably and considerably less light on this planet when you have moved on, and all of us will feel that sadly and deeply. I notice that, over the years, I came more and more to see you as embodying that figure of Jesus Christ that I had put in Up from Eden, representing the evolution of all humanity toward their own Ground and Source. You are still the holiest person that I have ever met—seriously—and I have met quite a few. I know your own humility would not allow you accept that, but do allow me this opinion, because I do mean it—and I’m a fairly bright boy.

 I don’t know how much any of us will be able to go with you on the coming adventure, but I do know that a good deal of you will remain reflected in all of us. You’ve had such a profound and indelible impact on so many—certainly including me—and I thank you enormously for being here, for attending to us all, for caring for us all, and for helping to save each and every one of us. I’m sure right now that you are working to let go of the “famous teacher” ego and rest even more fully in the Divine Presence, but I just wanted you to know that it was exactly that Presence that you presented to each and every one of us, that you showed to us, that you shared with us, and that you freely gave to each and all who were fortunate enough to know you.

 There are few lives I can think of that have been as truly, integrally, authentically engaged. And humanity as a whole is just that much closer to a genuine realization of God because of you. Bless you, bless you, bless you, my friend—I will carry you in my heart forever.

 Eternally yours,

Ken Wilber

 

“For human beings, the most daunting challenge is to become fully human. For to become fully human is to become fully divine.”

―  Thomas Keating,  Manifesting God

“Having come to deep interior silence, you begin to relate to others beyond the superficial aspects of social status, race, nationality, religion, and personal characteristics.”

 

Advertisements

Einde van `n pad

Game – Set – Match

Vrede

Johan op sy driewiel

Die laaste inskrywing op hierdie blog deur Johann. Sondag sal ons sy as gaan strooi op `n koppie by Mooinooi.

Rus in vrede broer, vriend, geesgenoot. Ons mis jou.

Hy was inderdaad `n man van vrede.

 

Vrede

Die ou man leun so trug teen die kleimuur, en die riempies van sy stoel buig kwalik onner sy tenger gewig. Ons koffiebekers is lankal koud maar sy skraalte drink nog die hitte vannie muur.

Normaalweg sou ek nou al half ongemaklik begin raak het met ‘n stilte wat so draal. Die peperboom se bessies ritsel in ‘n vae bries en ‘n torrie se koer uit die bloekombos, so ‘n enkie daar agter sy hut, vee die trae lug in lustelose kringe.

Die plooie op sy gesig lyk so gemaklik – assof dit enige oomblik kan vervorm in ‘n glimlag, of verdriet. Skuins strale van die laat middag son ets sy gelaat ‘n rooier bruin en streel die grys halo van sy kort geskeerde hare. Nooit sou ek kon dink dat daar so ‘n vrede in hierdie lewe kon wees nie.

My gedagtes dwaal trug na vroeër, toe ons gesels nog gevloei het. Soos die gekibbel van ‘n bedeesde waterstroompie, wat sy weg kronkel deur die Wes- Transvaal se vlaktes, het ons woorde strominge in mekaar se gedagtes laat blyk. My gemoed waarskynlik meer van ‘n modderkolk . . . en syne . . .? Die vrede was tóé al tasbaar: die rugstring van sy wese.

Die ding van ‘n kleimuur is dat dit hitte opsuig, en later as die lug afgekoel het, weer uitstraal. Dik kleimure, met klein vensterkies soos dié van sy tweevertrek hut, hou ‘n huis se binnekant koel innie somer, en warm innie winter. Buk deur die deur en staan vir ‘n minuut of so eers baie stil. Tot dat jou oë die donkerte gewoont raak . . . tot dat jou siel die koelte vind.

My oë gly oor die groen mielielande, draai trug na sy gesig toe, en ontmoet syne. ‘n Vae glimlag speel om sy mond en die antwoord lê rein in sy kyk.

Het ek ooit ‘n vraag gehad?

Natie Engelbrecht

Skryf Natie Engelbrecht op Fb

“Oorkant my, tussen die vrou met die pers kantbloes en verstuite siel en die ouerige man met die onvanpaste goue ketting en stywe Polo jeans lê die oorskot van ‘n gesprek vir almal om te sien. Langs hulle strompel ‘n enkelmoeder kelnerin met ‘n gefrommelde gees tussen vuil tafels. Die kringe onder haar oë is soos koffievlekke. Of, die skadus van sinne wat deur trane verwurg is. Iewers agter in die donkerte lag iemand uitbundig. Twee jongmense sit gulsig en kyk na mekaar oor modieuse cappuccinos. Woorde behoort aan die wat dit nodig het. In die middel van die restaurant, waar die koffie die beste ruik, besef ek dat die belangrikste dinge die moeilikste is om hard-op te sê. Woorde maak dinge meestal minder waar. Soos die woord wat my die afgelope ruk getroef het. Stilgemaak het. Nou bly ek in die skadu en beitel stil aan vreemde sinne”

Dankie Natie, dit is wonderbaarlik en woordryk gepen. Nou wonder mens oor daardie een word wat jou so mooi laat beitel het?

Man on a bridge

The hardest thing in life to learn is which bridge to cross and which to burn.

Die vraag is nou natuurlik: het hy die brug oorgesteek, of het hy omgedraai en die brug gebrand?

“Believing there is a bridge from where you are to where you want to go is 99% of the battle. The other 1% is to cross it.” sê Richie Norton.

Daar is ook die ander benadering wat aandring daarop dat jy van die brug moet vergeet en op vaste grond moet bly omdat daar soveel meer is om te sien en te beleef. Maar wat daarvan as dit wat jy wil hê slegs aan die ander oewer te vinde is?

Dan moet daar n brug wees, soos Carl Jung se brug, maar dit is weer n heel ander soort van brug, “Grounding in the natural philosophy of the Middle Ages, alchemy formed a bridge, on the one hand into the past, to Gnosticism, and on the other into the future, to the modern psychology of the unconscious.”

But Jung could be wrong in that alchemy (as spiritual quest) formed a bridge to Gnosticism (as religious ideas and systems) through the alchemist himself with the goal of evolution from ignorance to enlightenment, thus working unconsciously with the unconscious, not as a bridge into the past but, as a bridge to modern spirituality and postmodern Integral Operating Systems Theory, which is ultimately a bridge into Nothingness, grounded for ever in the all pervading LOVE that is the cause and well-spring of all that is, was and will ever be.

En dan is daar Annie Dillard by Tinker Creek:

“I sip my coffee. I look at the mountain, which is still doing its tricks, as you look at a still-beautiful face belonging to a person who was once your lover in another country years ago: with fond nostalgia, and recognition, but no real feelings save a secret astonishment that you are now strangers. Thanks. For the memories. It is ironic that the one thing that all religions recognize as separating us from our creator – – our very self-consciousness – – is also the one thing that divides us from our fellow creatures. It was a bitter birthday present from evolution, cutting us off at both ends.”

Duidelik was haar gedagtes op n eiland met geen brug na die Skepper aan die een kant en ook geen brug na ons mede skepsels aan die ander kant nie.

Maar dan sê Richard Bach weer: “We’re the bridge across forever, arching above the sea, adventuring for our pleasure, living mysteries for the fun of it, choosing disasters and triumphs, challenges, impossible odds, testing ourselves over and again, learning (to?) love and love and love.” (The bridge across forever: A True Love Story.)

And then of course there is the wisdom of Snoopy: “In the book of life, the answers aren’t in the back.”

 

Quote of the Day

“To speak of wildness is to speak of wholeness. Human beings emerged out of that wholeness,” says naturalist poet Gary Snyder. In trying to cut out from that wholeness the parts that we find uncomfortable, those that threaten or beleaguer us, what is left is an impoverished reality, the stuff of romantic novels devoid of truth, emotion or perspective.

If we belong to the sun and its warmth, to the bud and the sprout, to the miraculous flower, we also belong to the wind, the naked branch, the cold. Maybe that is the true gift of winter: to remind us that even the difficult presents are to be met with an open heart. And with gratitude

In meegevoel

Opgedra aan my vriend Hennie saam met wie ek `n lang pad geloop het, en sy gesin. Ons innige meegevoel met die heengaan van jou ma na haar lang stryd. Ons dink aan julle.

%d bloggers like this: