Your story reminds me a bit of Robert Johnson, who among other things (studying with Carl Jung, and traveling through India) he also spent several years as a Benedictine monk.. but also left the order after a time. He has been much in my thoughts.
Recently, I have been living in Turkey and traveling through Greece, visiting churches and monasteries, and also wrestling with the the threads (and knots) of love that bind all of these traditions together.. (Hebraic, Christian, Muslim) with all of the blood shed between these three traditions—it is a daily question for me: how to take up the threads of love that have withered in these darkening days and not repeat the mistakes of the past, how to move forward with wisdom and discernment. For me it is a very personal question..but nevertheless one with very public implications.
In regards to Old man Coyote.. two of my favorite authors who have written on the topic, worth exploring. Dan Flores "Coyote America" and Lewis Hyde "Trickster Makes This World"
Ian- A beautiful poem. Thank you. Those lonely, austere offices done unto the ages of ages. I don't think we can even have a clue.
It is not only a very good question, but *the* question, i.e., how to take up our mangled heritage and turn it towards what we hope is its original aim. How can we assume, under the pressure of history, that we will do any better. But we avoid facing it at our own peril...and the world's. That reckoning could turn out to be a blessing for us all. I hope so.
Peace to you, Jack .. and a poem about fathers:
"Those Winter Sundays"
By Robert Hayden
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?
**
Your story reminds me a bit of Robert Johnson, who among other things (studying with Carl Jung, and traveling through India) he also spent several years as a Benedictine monk.. but also left the order after a time. He has been much in my thoughts.
Recently, I have been living in Turkey and traveling through Greece, visiting churches and monasteries, and also wrestling with the the threads (and knots) of love that bind all of these traditions together.. (Hebraic, Christian, Muslim) with all of the blood shed between these three traditions—it is a daily question for me: how to take up the threads of love that have withered in these darkening days and not repeat the mistakes of the past, how to move forward with wisdom and discernment. For me it is a very personal question..but nevertheless one with very public implications.
In regards to Old man Coyote.. two of my favorite authors who have written on the topic, worth exploring. Dan Flores "Coyote America" and Lewis Hyde "Trickster Makes This World"
Safe travels on your way...
Ian- A beautiful poem. Thank you. Those lonely, austere offices done unto the ages of ages. I don't think we can even have a clue.
It is not only a very good question, but *the* question, i.e., how to take up our mangled heritage and turn it towards what we hope is its original aim. How can we assume, under the pressure of history, that we will do any better. But we avoid facing it at our own peril...and the world's. That reckoning could turn out to be a blessing for us all. I hope so.
Safe travels to you, also. -Jack