July 16, 2019
The state in which I am at peace
with myself is the first and only possible step toward bringing peace around
me––a harmony that gushes forth and envelops all creatures, thereby transforming
our whole being.
Panikkar
There was a gathering in nearby Aspen this past weekend in
honor of Fr. Thomas Keating. I had heard a little about it but nothing that
really grabbed my attention. I found out later that it was quite a wonderful
multifaceted interspiritual gathering. (I have never grown used to that word
“interspiritual” but apparently Fr. Thomas grew to use it as well.) The event
included several people I know. Cynthia Bourgeault was the organizer of the
event, and our friend Rory McIntee was part of it. He is one of the authors
along with Adam Bucko of the book The New
Monasticism and who also lived with us for six months a few years ago. Eric
Keeley, the young monk who drove me up to this hermitage in 2017, with whom I
sat on the porch and talked for a long time, was also there. Eric was very
close to Fr. Thomas, acting as his secretary the last years and even going to
Spencer with him for his final convalescence. He disrobed the day after Thomas
died.
I am sort of glad I had not heard more about the gathering
earlier; I would have been sorely tempted away from the solitary mountaintop to
take part in it. Ah, the lure of shiny distractions, even if they be spiritual
ones.
At any rate, the gathering occasioned me having four
visitors up here. Yesterday I was taking a morning walk down the mesa on the
long dirt road when about a third of the way down I saw a man coming toward me
with sun hat and a backpack, looking obviously as if he was intentionally out
for a hike. When I got close I said hello and he told me he was going up to see
the hermitage. Apparently Eric had told him about it, not knowing I was staying
up here, and he wanted to see it because of its connection to Fr. Thomas. It
winds up this gentleman was Ted Jones, Fr. Thomas’ nephew from Massachusetts,
who was also here for the event. (It was his brother Peter who did the fine
film about Thomas.) It was from Ted that I learned the full scope of the event.
I accompanied him the rest of the way up to see the place, brought him inside
and had a nice conversation, and then walked with him all the way back down the
hill. He had some marvelous anecdotes, having been with Fr. Thomas round the
clock the last weeks of his life.
Ted and I just touched on one aspect of which I was glad to
be reminded. It was one of the things that I spoke with Fr. Thomas about when I
came to see him in 2010, and again when I had the long visit with him two years
ago––how he was fascinated with theories about the self, the disappearance of
the self, the experience of no-self. At the time, besides Wilber’s book, he had
also recommended to me Reza’s (I forget his last name) book on ibn al-Arabi,
Shankara, Meister Eckhart concerning that topic. I felt a little pang of guilt
that I have not gotten to that yet, or actually I tried to start it and it
didn’t grab me. Maybe now.
Later that afternoon I heard a car and then a woman’s voice
calling out, “Excuse me!?” I came out to the front door––it was a hot day and I
was wearing only my blue running shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt––and she
yelled, “Are you one of the monks?” My outfit did not give any evidence of
that, apparently. I gave her a short version of the story, and she told me that
one of the monks had told her that she could come and hike around, and she was
sorry to disturb me. I said, no problem. She came to the front gate and called
again about a half an hour later. There are a lot of cows roaming all over this
mesa from all the way down on the road to just about right outside of my
window. And apparently the cows were blocking the path that she wanted to take.
She told me that she had been singing to them and that she had asked their
permission to share this sacred space with them, but apparently they weren’t
having it. She said they looked a little hostile to her. I am not sure why she
felt the need to tell me all that, but she then asked my pardon again for
disturbing my peace. I gave her absolution, blessed and bid her farewell,
saying, “You did not disturb my peace.”
Then today I headed down in the big old GMC Yukon that the
monks loaned me for my stay to get some produce for an evening salad, which I
have been craving, and as I drove back up there was a Toyota Prius parked
halfway up the dirt road, just where it starts to get the roughest. I had to
drive around it off-road, which was kind of fun. (Actually given the size of
this truck compared to the little Prius I had a vision of driving right over
the top of it, like a monster truck.) As I got a little farther up the road I
spied two guys walking, again rather intentionally, and I recognized Rory
immediately. Ted had just told them that I was up here, and Rory wanted to come
and say hi (and also see the hermitage) and he brought a man named Justin with
him. Justin had been a monk of this monastery some years back but had never
seen the new version of this hermitage. He confirmed that originally there was
just a hunter’ shack here with plexi-glass porch and an outhouse. I invited
them in for tea. This even more did not disturb my peace––in the least.
Rory is now working on his doctorate out east, writing his
dissertation on the new monasticism. He was a long time devotee of Wayne
Teasdale as well as of Fr. Thomas. He had also organized the interspiritual
Snowmass Gatherings here, also under the blanket of the new monasticism. He is
very well read and knows almost everybody I know and then some. Justin is also
a fascinating well-read guy and a great conversationalist. Now married and an Episcopalian
priest serving as a pastor in Vermont, when he left the monastery, at Abbot
Joe’s recommendation he first went to Japan to study Rinzai Zen in a Buddhist
monastery for three seasons. He too knew several people that I know, including
the monks of Incarnation from his years studying at the GTU. He also knew Fr.
Thomas for many years and does a spot-on imitation of his voice. He told us
several anecdotes as well, in Thomas’ voice, which had us laughing
hysterically. We talked for well over an hour.
At one point a huge rainstorm hit, and it made me think of
Scholastica and Benedict, but it did not last long. They too apologized for
disturbing my retreat, but I told them that I learned about these things from
Catherine de Houeck Doherty’s book Poustinia
years ago. The authentic poustiniki
is a hermit with the door open. And it was a good time for me to reflect on lo
these many things with a couple of kindred spirits. Guests come to us bringing
gifts.
In my slow read of Panikkar (Volume I.I of his Opera Omnia)
I just finished a section on Silence. He elucidates the importance of
listening, and even calls the art of listening “obedience” (ob-audire).
Obedience means not only to hear,
attentively and precisely, the words of others, but to listen to the silence
that is in their words, which becomes a revelation only for the loving
listener.
I hear the words
while receiving the word, and this receiving is incarnation.
It reminded me of one of the things that Fr. Thomas said to
me when we met last, concerning meditation and the manta. “At some point,” he
said, “you just listen to the silence.”
