What is Meditation?

                                         

Today I want to speak about meditation.  I often think that that is a word which is most difficult to understand or even know what to think when it is spoken.  There are so many ways of interpreting what is meant when we use it.

What, I wonder are the first things that come to mind when you hear the word meditation?

"silence, stillness, quiet, contemplation, sitting . . ."

I hope that by the end of this morning I may have dispelled some myths about the subject and hopefully made you feel more comfortable with the idea of meditation.
Roger Housden says: 

“Meditation is sometimes described as our natural state. No tradition or technique can claim it for its own.  I did not come to meditation as a Buddhist, a Christian, or anything in particular, as a university student, I used to find myself sitting quietly, eyes open, falling into a state of silent communion with the natural environment.  The experience was not something extraordinary or special, simply the delight of just being there. Far from being a withdrawal from the world, the activity was one of entering more fully and deeply into it, so that I and my environment were part of the same unity.  I was not aware that I was meditating as such.  I just knew it as a simple facility for slipping into the spaciousness behind thoughts.
I only discovered much later that this was what (some) people called meditation.”


When the subject of meditation comes up in conversations, people will often say,  

”Oh I suppose it’s a good idea, but I just don’t have time.”  

Or, “I tried it for awhile, but it never did much for me.”  

Or, “Meditation is boring.  Just sitting and doing nothing.”   

But I am sure that like Roger Housden all of you, at some time or another in your life, has just found yourself being in a meditative state even if you may not have recognised it as such. For some of you it might be an outdoor thing when you are engaged in walking or gardening, for others it might be when reading a book, listening to a piece of music or just sitting.  You will have been at first totally engaged in your activity when suddenly you will realise that you have for a moment lost track of time and sometimes even a sense of where you are and what it is that you are doing.  For me this just shows that we all have the ability to engage in meditation in some form.  There are many different forms of meditation and meditative practices and no doubt some of them will not be to everyone’s liking. It is a bit like food we none of us enjoy just the same things and what is wonderful for some of us may be truly awful to someone else.  (I am thinking here of brussell sprouts)

So if we choose to meditate, in whatever form, then why do it?
- Sri Chinmoy says:
“We meditate for various reasons. Peace of mind we all badly need. Therefore, when we meditate, either consciously or unconsciously we aim at peace of mind. Meditation gives us peace of mind without a tranquilliser. And unlike a tranquilliser, the peace of mind that we get from meditation does not fade away. It lasts for good in some corner of the inmost recesses of our aspiring heart.”

All too often when we feel under par, not quite ourselves we are more likely to visit the doctor hoping for a pill that will give us a quick fix and make us feel better and yet sometimes just giving ourselves some time might be enough to lift our mood and give us that much needed feeling of well being.

Richard Gilbert in his book of meditations says:

There are times when we feel overwhelmed by being,

We are on a treadmill walking hurriedly, going nowhere;

The images of our lives fly past us as on a movie screen,

The hands of the clock we see actually moving--too quickly.

At such times we need to gather ourselves together,

Slacken our pace,

Blank out the screen,

Ignore the clock.

Then we can remind ourselves that we are in charge of our lives,

That it is we who dictate the pace,

We who can choose to stop the rapidly moving screen,

That we can set the rhythm of our own lives.

It will not be easy--it is never easy to convert ourselves,

To turn ourselves around,

To get some kind of handle on the story of our own lives,

To realize that we are the architects of our own fate.

To be sure, there are powers and principalities that confront us;

The demands on our time and energy are endless,

We cannot fully control our environment;

We are, after all, finite and flawed creatures.

But out of that finitude comes a yearning for meaning,

Out of the flawed nature of our being we yearn for purpose,

Out of the hectic rush of events we can still set our own pace.

We are the only ones who can. 

 

                             

Krishnamurti says: 

“WE HARDLY EVER LISTEN to the sound of a dog's bark or to the cry of a child or the laughter of a man as he passes by. We separate ourselves from everything, and then from this isolation look and listen to all things. It is this separation that is so destructive, for in that lies all conflict and confusion. If you listened to the sound of bells with complete silence you would be riding on it -- or, rather, the sound would carry you across the valley and over the hill. The beauty of it is felt only when you and the sound are not separate, when you are part of it. Meditation is the ending of the separation, but not by any action of will or desire.

Meditation is not a separate thing from life; it is the very essence of life, the very essence of daily living. To listen to the bells, to hear the laughter of a peasant as he walks by with his wife, to listen to the sound of the bell on the bicycle of a little girl as she passes by: it is the whole of life, and not just a frag­ment of it, that meditation opens.”

Much of this would suggest that meditation then is not just about silence, but maybe also it can have something to do with sound and listening. Or even making sound.  Danny Crosby, minister at Altrincham, leads a singing meditation once a month where people move in and out of song, resting in silence as each piece ends.  Now I am not a natural singer and could not lead you in song as Danny does, but at meditation workshops and talks I demonstrate a musical meditation involving instruments and just for a short moment we are going to have a go at that now.

Some of the instruments shown and a large selection of other percussion instruments were handed out.  The members of the congregation took three calming breaths and then became immersed in the sound of their own instrument.  The sound naturally became louder and softer and louder and softer until it naturally came to fade out.  We sat in silence for a few minutes to allow the vibrations of the room to be felt by us all.

I hope this has helped you to see that meditation is far more than just silence, or sitting in an impossible position staring at a candle etc.

But we must not forget that meditation does have a spiritual essence to it.

Richard Gilbert says in the forward to his book:

"In the holy quiet of this hour" is a phrase that reflects my belief that meditation is a precious moment of calm reflection on the intimacies and ultimacies of human existence. It is a prepara­tion for and a reflection on what poet Wallace Stevens calls "moments of inherent excellence," in which we experience our unity with all that is. The beauty of this phrase is that it speaks to people of all theological persuasions.

And Roger Housden says: 

“ Meditation, then, is a progressively deeper recognition of what is already here.  It is not so much an attempt to penetrate the mystery, more an active willingness to be open, receptive and attentive, so that Whatever Is might reveal itself. In the most profound sense, meditation leads to the falling away of our ordinary, habitual self and the recognition of our true identity.”

For me meditation will always be a form of prayer and as the poet Rilke says:

“Prayer is a ray emanating from our being that has been suddenly set ablaze; it is an infinite and aimless direction; it is a violent parallelism of our aspirations that traverses the universe without arriving anywhere.”

May your meditations, in whatever form they may take, be a vehicle for your prayers, today and always.   So may it be.    Amen          

we closed with my favourite hymn - a meditation in itself:

            Breathe on me, Breath of God,

                 Fill me with life anew,

            That I may love what thou dost love,

                 And do what thou wouldst do. 

 

Rilke  in 'The 7th of his Duino Elegies' said:

"Nowhere, Beloved, will world be but within us. Our life passes in transformation. And the external shrinks into less and less.”

-And Sri Chinmoy said:
"We are nothing
In Comparison to
What we shall become
If we pray and meditate
For the remainder of our lives."

Zen and the art of knitting?

My friend and colleague Danny Crosby says 'you seem to be able to put zen in front of anything these days and get away with it!'  Must admit it feels like that sometimes as I 'zentangle' or 'zen doodle' but really - zen and knitting!!

Well yes - I have to say that I can see it that way, especially after my latest summer school experience.

It all began when Jane asked me if I would run a knitting workshop again at this year's summer school.  And of course me being me I said yes and then had to hunt around for a theme that would fit in with the summer school theme -

"Sacred Living: Encountering the Holy in the Everyday"

How would it be possible to capture this idea in a knitting workshop which would include both novice and experienced knitters.  I then decided that maybe we would knit a rainbow, because that would be able to be done in squares and squares can be as easy or as complex as they need to be.

 I found this quote:

Knitting workshop

“When we knit, we place our attention over and over again on the natural rhythm of creating fabric from yarn – insert needle, wrap yarn, pull through a new stitch, repeat.  Following this simple repetitive action is the basis of contemplative practice.  It continually reminds us to stay focused, to stay in the moment.  When we knit with this attention, we have an almost indescribable feeling of satisfaction and contentment.  This is a knitting meditation.” 

From ~ Mindful  Knitting: Inviting Contemplative Practice to the Craft by Tara Jon Manning

and then set about collecting yarn in a variety of rainbow colours.

 And it certainly looked exciting and so I was ready to go - I just needed the knitters.

I began with a reading from Linda Skolnik and Janice MacDaniels' book 'The Knitting Way'

"Listen to the music of knitting.  The knitting melody flows, carrying each one of us along a river of connection.  Find the kind of music it is for you.  It doesn't really matter what kind of music.  Just let it speak to you and open your soul to wonders."

And then we began knitting:
knitting

 and knitting

 and knitting

 and knitting some more.

                    

 Until finally we had knit our rainbow!!

 

 I still don't know if there is anything to do with zen when it comes to knitting - but I do know that I knit differently now.  Once I used to knit quickly but as I said to a friend recently. . . 

"Now I knit every stitch" and maybe, just maybe that is knitting mindfully and there is something 'Zen-like' about that.

(Oh and the rainbow - is now winging its way to Jane!!)

Beauty in Brokenness?

                                    

I wonder how many of you spent some time on Friday evening watching the opening ceremony of the Olympics.   

                                                                                 

You may not have watched it all – it was a very long evening of viewing – but you may have watched some of it.  It was in all senses of the word a spectacular event.  Danny Boyle – local man from Radcliffe, Bury - certainly did good.  For me it was the music that I found brilliant, especially the use of voices without music - that opening version of Jerusalem sung by a young boy soprano – well it sent shivvers tingling down my spine.  For my colleague Danny Crosby what stood out for him was another simple human voice, right in the middle of the ceremony. It began in the transitional moment just before the parade of the nations. Emeli Sande, sang beautifully and movingly the classic hymn and great sporting anthem “Abide With Me”, accompanied by a dance troop and under a beautiful orange light. This was a tribute to the victims of the London 7/7 terror attacks, which took place the day after Britain had won the 2012 Olympic bid.

 

As the historical tableau unfolded itself, each scene more and more spectacular than the preceding one I found my mind wandering off into thinking about all those people who are not able to sit in the comfort of a home and watch this event.  Not by choice but by circumstance. It is always the same for me when I find myself watching something grand, or attending some event such as a wedding where people seem to only be able to enjoy themselves by the spending of large amounts of money.  It is the same feeling I get at Christmas when everything is about the material and less about the spiritual. A part of me wants to shout out and ask what about those who haven’t got all this or access to all this affluence.  And I am not thinking about those in other poorer countries but the people here in this country, this town even – in this wonderful England that we saw portrayed so splendidly in that ritual on Friday evening.

A few weeks ago Helen came to me with the song that the choir sang for us this morning.  I took the words home to read and I found a recording on the internet and it was beautiful. Whether performed by Graham Kendrick, who wrote it, accompanied by his acoustic guitar or by a church choir and organ - the song sounded really special.

The first two verses in particular stood out . . .

Beauty for brokenness
Hope for despair
Lord, in your suffering
This is our prayer
Bread for the children
Justice, joy, peace
Sunrise to sunset
Your kingdom increase!

Shelter for fragile lives
Cures for their ills
Work for the craftsman
Trade for their skills
Land for the dispossessed
Rights for the weak
Voices to plead the cause
Of those who can't speak

It has seemed over the last few weeks that these words have taken on more and more meaning.  Particularly as glitches in computer programmes have caused serious errors in banking circles.   The blog by Jill Segger   (http://www.ekklesia.co.uk/node/16780)

highlighted how something like that can be catastrophic for families or individuals who are teetering on the edge of poverty.  I was able to shrug it off the fact that I could not use my cash card for a few days, but what if I wasn’t in a position to do that.  What would I have done or been able to do?  When my card failed as I tried to buy petrol on the way down to Oxford one of my passengers stepped in and saved my day.  But what if there was no one there with me to do that?

Earlier this month at the writing workshop I attend we discussed the question of homelessness.  Two people from the team who work with Petrus – a charity that supports homeless people in Rochdale - spoke to us about their work.  For 40 years Petrus has provided help for those who have slipped out of the system and at the moment they help support 60 or more people in 7 houses and yet it is not enough to meet the demand.  And this service is in danger because of the huge cuts there have been since the present government removed funding saying we should be able to rely on ‘the big society’.  How can we provide ‘shelter for fragile lives’ as more and more people find themselves closer and closer to the brink of poverty as Jill Segger pointed out.

At the writing workshop I was reminded of the Ralph McTell song, ‘The Streets of London’, which he was renowned for in the 70’s.   

                                    

I remember it because I went to London to watch Ralph McTell at a recording for ‘In Concert’ in 1974.  I was accompanying a group of children from the school where I was teaching.  As we queued to go in, five of us were selected to sit on the stage for the recording.  So if you ever see a recording of ‘Ralph McTell In Concert’  then there I am sitting in front of a backdrop that shows scenes of the homeless.  I can never hear the song without remembering those larger than life images portrayed on the set.

The Chorus:

So how can you tell me you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind

Indicates that the song is really about loneliness and yet the second verse has always remained the most vivid image for me.

Have you seen the old girl
Who walks the streets of London
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags?
She's no time for talking
She just keeps right on walking
Carrying her home in two carrier bags

Can you imagine what it might be like to have nothing except what you can carry in these? 

                                      

What chance that someone who has so little could have seen that spectacular opening celebration on Friday evening?  More likely they would have been walking the streets looking for somewhere to sleep for the night.  Or, maybe scavenging in bins for scraps of food to eat; or sitting on the street begging for money which in all likelihood would be spent on cheap alcohol in an attempt to block out the desperation of their situation.  No there is not much chance is there, and if they had would they have felt that there was anything worth celebrating?

My favourite poet, Rainer Maria Rilke wrote in his Sonnets to Orpheus II, 19

Gold leads a pampered life, protected by banks,
on intimate terms with the best people.
The homeless beggar is no more than a lost coin
fallen behind the bookcase or in the dustpile under the bed.

In the finest shops, money is right at home,
loving to parade itself in flowers, silk and furs.
He, the silent one, stands outside this display.
Money, near him, stops breathing.

How does his outstretched hand ever close at night?
Fate, each morning, picks it up again,
holds it out there, naked and raw.

In order to grasp what his life is like,
to see it and cherish it, you would need a song,
a song only a god could bear to hear.

I am not sure how I can reconcile all this, or what I can do, if anything, to alleviate some of this poverty, this suffering, this tremendous problem for so many. I do give food to food banks, I do answer pleas from charities such as Petrus as much as I can.  But I think one of the main things I can do is make sure that I notice - and that ‘I see’, that I remember when I am enjoying the luxury of watching the spectacular on the TV that not everyone is as fortunate as you or me.

I can also hold them in my hearts and in my prayers and hope that I can find some beauty in their brokenness; and that I can find a way to put in to action in some way the sentiments of Graham Kendrick’s song

When he says:

God of the poor,

friend of the weak,

give us compassion we pray
melt our cold hearts
let tears fall like rain
Come, change our love
from a spark to a flame

Come, change our love
from a spark to a flame

 So may it be.    Amen