It does not matter what the journey is or where to or how long. It does not mean you’re a hero for going and coming back, for what you did or didn’t do while gone, or that you’re Dante and you came to paradise because you traipsed through hell. All that matters is that you are you—made more real. The real trick is to be more real at home.
"You see your self. And in seeing inside, you see an always unfolding. Like a river, you can never be the same. And maybe that’s what changed—you now see through: all that attempt to be the same, to be that person you thought they wanted you to be, made you milk-splashed tea." You're talking about the false self here; the one who desperately tries to be loved for what you do, what you say, what you believe in; the one that got so deeply wounded as a child, and did the only thing you could do to avoid rejection and abandonment. God, we get wounded so early in life, and then we spend the rest of it trying to be and live from the true self; the one unwounded and innocent, full of awe and wonder; the one who loves and wants to be loved; the one who gives freely to others in need; the one who experiences "the whole catastrophe"; the one who in truth lives in the world but is not of it. Often I have, and still do on occasion, lament this painful human journey back to where I started: the true self in all its glory. But it seems that this is the human story, and when we do find ourselves living more often from that true self, what a blessing and relief it is. I love the metaphor of the river. That always reminds me of the story of Siddhartha, who goes through the whole catastrophe and ends up living a very simple life of a ferryman who sees everything in the river, especially the truth that it is never the same but always present; it flows no matter what obstructions are in the way; it doesn't resist anything; it knows who it is intrinsically; it has no doubt, only faith in the present moment. Yes, it is possible to live this way more and more; it just takes practice; what else is there to do really? From a poem by Mary Oliver, of course: "I don’t know who God is exactly. But I’ll tell you this.
I was sitting in the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stone and all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking. Whenever the water struck a stone it had something to say, and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water. And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying. Said the river I am part of holiness..."
Yes. A river named Clarion YES to all of this: false self, true self, the wounded wish to be loved and avoid further rejection and abandonment. The false self gets a bad rap as 'ego-self' but if we see why false self is there--by suffering through the yearning to love and be loved--how could we not shed sweet tenderness and compassion for this misguided effort?
Like you, I have often lamented this painful human journey back to where we started. Then comes Gurdjieff to say: ". . . striving from the beginning of their existence to pay for their arising and their individuality as quickly as possible, in order afterwards to be free to lighten as much as possible the Sorrow of our Common Father." You and I have spoken together of Gurdjieff.
Recently, this statement has echoed as I have begun reading Jakob Böehme, who tells of God's anguish in the yearning to be known. Of course, I am not referring here to the old man in the sky but the Ground of Being itself. This is to say that the yearning to be known precedes all that is, and ex-IS-tence is birthed out of the anguish of this yearning. In other words, it's written into the program that existence comes already with the suffering of yearning to love and be loved. Not only we, but God, yearns. My sense is, this is what Gurdjieff is getting at when he says that our striving is to pay as quickly as possible, i.e., to endeavor to return to true self, which is of course, not quick, but the sorrow coupled with striving show the way, and we can rest in the knowing that the sorrow is shared.
And here, it seems, also what the Buddha is getting at with the First Noble Truth, that suffering simply is. Return to true self is capaciousness to bear the suffering without relying on false self to navigate the world. In this way, true self has ego structure--backbone--to withstand with love.
I went esoteric on you, but hopefully, so as to "lighten as much as possible the Sorrow."
Just flipped open John O’Donohue’s “Eternal Echoes” to where I last read over a month ago. The chapter is titled “Presence”. Here is what was unveiled to me (the first lines I read): “Celebration is an attentive and gracious joy of presence. When you celebrate you are taking time to recognize, to open your eyes and behold in your life the quiet miracles and gifts that seek no attention; yet each day they nourish, shelter, and animate your life. The art of belonging in, with, and to yourself is what gives life and light to your presence; it brings a radiance to your countenance and a poise to your carriage. When your heart is content, your life can always find the path inwards to this deep stillness in you. Rilke said this beautifully: “To be here is so much”.
For me the most powerful line of this very moving essay is "The real trick is to be more real at home." Amen. Since I am at home the real trick is to stay real when I leave my space of silent contemplation. In this space I am home, I am real, and I know. Then I open the door and step across the threshold to...the rest of my house. And the trick is to stay real.
I'm curious if the survey works for other readers. I have found many Substack surveys tell me I need to subscribe to the publication to answer it, and I know I am already a subscriber. I was unable to complete yours but I am very interested in the Winter Experience.
Wow. You drive this home: "Then I open the door and step across the threshold to...the rest of my house. And the trick is to stay real."
Thank you for this.
The real trick is to stay real when we leave our own inner sanctuary into the company of others--and the roles and expectations and needs and . . . and. It's all right there in an instant.
There is a phrase that I hold dear from a beautiful contemplative work. The phrase is the "zone of perpetual silence," pointing to this inner sanctuary of quietude and inner knowing that you so beautifully show us. We know this inner expansive knowing. The phrase helps me see it, feel it, remember it, and endeavor not to abandon it--and myself!--when I am "in the world."
Thank you for letting me know you had trouble with the survey. I have not heard from others about it, though a few people have emailed, and perhaps because they struggled with the survey. All good to know. It's the first time I've called up the survey feature here.
I look forward to exploring wonder with you, Donna.
You write with your soul, my friend, and it's exquisite. Truly. Having finished Jeremy Johnson's book, I've been thinking about 'seeing through' an awful lot these days. It applies (so profoundly) to identity too, as you write about here. If I can see through who I am to the way(s) I am participating in Presence, and behold it all, then I am fully connected and engaged with life. Thank you for your vulnerable, evocative words. And I will absolutely sign up for a Winter Experience class! Count me in!
First, as you know already, reading that you have not only read but finished Johnson and are reflecting on 'seeing through' quickens the heart. But permit me to just emphasize how much: It's cause for celebration! (Mark's comment below)
You have given me to wonder if a small-group study of Gebser is on the horizon here at Beyond the Comfort Zone. Unlike a heady study, you are showing us that these insights are to be integrated into the fullness of our lives that we might more fully participate in Presence and behold it all. . . and become fully connected and engaged with life, i.e, more fully human. . . .
FULLY.
Thank you for your kind words about the ones that flow through these hands. Thank you.
I am so looking forward to exploring wonder with you! More on that soon.
Oh my goodness, I would LOVE to be part of a small-group study of Gebser with you! If this is something you do, please do keep me in mind. I would be truly honored and fulfilled to take part in it.
Hi Renee, I have been viewing this post over and over the past view days-- realizing how immense and bold and heartfelt your words are for me. This journey we are all on only crystalized for me with absolute certainty those moments after my wife died. Grief hones the soul transparent and pure -- it is the greatest defining act of my lifetime. And I am made constantly aware that all mystery, all synchronicity, starts at the apex of the broken open heart and reveals itself in the wonder, the awe, and the beauty of the world (Anima Mundi).
I was looking at an old notification from Francis Weller for a Zoom workshop on “The Five Gates of Grief” in May 2022. At the bottom was a quote from Keats:
“I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affection and the truth of the imagination”.
This December is the last month of Weller’s Convivium, “Facing the World with Soul”. This last month’s focus is the culmination of all the previous months work and is titled “It All Turns on Affection”. (the title of an essay that Wendell Berry wrote around 2006 about affection and fidelity to place.)
Reading these passages from ‘Walden’ shook me to the core -- a lifetime ago since I read Thoreau. Looking back I realized these words stirred the imagination and passion of a young man who was looking for a cause, a champion to do battle with against the conventions of an oppressive culture. This battle led to great psychological and emotional cost for me -- alienating me from family, from myself. This began my first long dark journey -- a succession of years that eventually led me to Barbara and then our little house in the woods.
What struck me in reading Thoreau’s words all these years later, is that this rebellious youth had to make a life’s journey through so many losses, and then having the penultimate loss, to truly grasp the significance of how sorrow and beauty and place are one. I have been blessed with this house in the forest, this eastern slope of the Berkshires, and all the sentient beings I share this place with. And of course, 21 years on Porter Hill with Barbara.
Your words, too, give me pause. You write with raw and profound depth of your own journey.
These statements, I have returned to several times. They take hold of the breath and won't let go until the words have established themselves in the center:
"Grief hones the soul transparent and pure -- it is the greatest defining act of my lifetime. And I am made constantly aware that all mystery, all synchronicity, starts at the apex of the broken open heart and reveals itself in the wonder, the awe, and the beauty of the world (Anima Mundi)."
Yes, dear friend, is there any way more true than this?
Grief, such as you describe--such as you allow(ed)--surrenders and incinerates the ego's defenses, and ushers through an alchemy of being. We come to Keats words as a phenomenological recognition: "I am certain of nothing but the holiness the heart's affection and the truth of the imagination." We come to the holy within and whereof.
And so, Thoreau. . .
I read here and imagine the idealism of youth, and from this the burden of alienation from self and others for a time and the blessing in time of the person who would become your beloved. It was all there all along, the entirety of this, your life journey––("rebellious youth had to make a life's journey" through loss)––woven into love: first for a cause for freedom (emancipation from oppression in service to the whole), then, into loving wholly . . . and there, "the significance of how sorrow and beauty and place are one."
I am reminded this moment of a book by Jacob Needleman, Time and the Soul. You may have read it. A short read. . .
What you share makes luminous the beauty and goodness in being brokenhearted.
The passage about going to the woods and fronting the essential facts of life . . . " when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear"?
What a gift to be formed and defined by these words. To live life with the essential impulse of significance, fullness, and meaning as primary. I recall from a recent post that touched on the shaky ground of a dark night that you were solid in a sense of knowing, and I wonder how this choice to live 'fronting the essential facts' has shaped this inner solidity.
Is there any other way to be, meaning, to live life so dear?
As always, your writing has touched me deeply and taken me to a place where you have landed after your solo journey this year. I love that you are now decamped between a freeway and a lovely river. So ironic!! Your new project sounds amazing and I look forward to being a part of that. Hope the holiday season rewards you with many winged visitors to the new feeders. Nancy Stafford
Thank you for reading and sharing. Yes, isn't it ironic where I am decamped?! It lends so exquisitely to wonder.
I so look forward to exploring wonder with you in the New Year.
The dear winged visitors have been such a delight. I placed a window feeder on the van and because the windows are tinted, the birds cannot see me seeing them, which keeps them from being spooked. We are just inches apart when they feast. It's almost more sweetness than I can bear. If winged visitors are amongst your holiday friends, may you share in the delight of one another.
Lightness and brightness with a sprinkle of sparkly snow shines through dear Renee and the real possibility of hope. We do indeed have it within us to change what comes next. I would love to know more about the course. Louise x
A smile draws across my face reading "lightness and brightness with a sprinkle of sparkly snow." For a moment, I jump on the Polar Express and enter a children's winter story served up with hot cocoa and candy-cane trees!
Echoing yes . . . what comes next is within us and here to help us to see through change.
I'm delighted about the possibility of exploring wonder with you, Louise. I will share more in this weekend's letter. . . . .
"You see your self. And in seeing inside, you see an always unfolding. Like a river, you can never be the same. And maybe that’s what changed—you now see through: all that attempt to be the same, to be that person you thought they wanted you to be, made you milk-splashed tea." You're talking about the false self here; the one who desperately tries to be loved for what you do, what you say, what you believe in; the one that got so deeply wounded as a child, and did the only thing you could do to avoid rejection and abandonment. God, we get wounded so early in life, and then we spend the rest of it trying to be and live from the true self; the one unwounded and innocent, full of awe and wonder; the one who loves and wants to be loved; the one who gives freely to others in need; the one who experiences "the whole catastrophe"; the one who in truth lives in the world but is not of it. Often I have, and still do on occasion, lament this painful human journey back to where I started: the true self in all its glory. But it seems that this is the human story, and when we do find ourselves living more often from that true self, what a blessing and relief it is. I love the metaphor of the river. That always reminds me of the story of Siddhartha, who goes through the whole catastrophe and ends up living a very simple life of a ferryman who sees everything in the river, especially the truth that it is never the same but always present; it flows no matter what obstructions are in the way; it doesn't resist anything; it knows who it is intrinsically; it has no doubt, only faith in the present moment. Yes, it is possible to live this way more and more; it just takes practice; what else is there to do really? From a poem by Mary Oliver, of course: "I don’t know who God is exactly. But I’ll tell you this.
I was sitting in the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stone and all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking. Whenever the water struck a stone it had something to say, and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water. And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying. Said the river I am part of holiness..."
Ed,
Yes. A river named Clarion YES to all of this: false self, true self, the wounded wish to be loved and avoid further rejection and abandonment. The false self gets a bad rap as 'ego-self' but if we see why false self is there--by suffering through the yearning to love and be loved--how could we not shed sweet tenderness and compassion for this misguided effort?
Like you, I have often lamented this painful human journey back to where we started. Then comes Gurdjieff to say: ". . . striving from the beginning of their existence to pay for their arising and their individuality as quickly as possible, in order afterwards to be free to lighten as much as possible the Sorrow of our Common Father." You and I have spoken together of Gurdjieff.
Recently, this statement has echoed as I have begun reading Jakob Böehme, who tells of God's anguish in the yearning to be known. Of course, I am not referring here to the old man in the sky but the Ground of Being itself. This is to say that the yearning to be known precedes all that is, and ex-IS-tence is birthed out of the anguish of this yearning. In other words, it's written into the program that existence comes already with the suffering of yearning to love and be loved. Not only we, but God, yearns. My sense is, this is what Gurdjieff is getting at when he says that our striving is to pay as quickly as possible, i.e., to endeavor to return to true self, which is of course, not quick, but the sorrow coupled with striving show the way, and we can rest in the knowing that the sorrow is shared.
And here, it seems, also what the Buddha is getting at with the First Noble Truth, that suffering simply is. Return to true self is capaciousness to bear the suffering without relying on false self to navigate the world. In this way, true self has ego structure--backbone--to withstand with love.
I went esoteric on you, but hopefully, so as to "lighten as much as possible the Sorrow."
With love,
Renée
Just flipped open John O’Donohue’s “Eternal Echoes” to where I last read over a month ago. The chapter is titled “Presence”. Here is what was unveiled to me (the first lines I read): “Celebration is an attentive and gracious joy of presence. When you celebrate you are taking time to recognize, to open your eyes and behold in your life the quiet miracles and gifts that seek no attention; yet each day they nourish, shelter, and animate your life. The art of belonging in, with, and to yourself is what gives life and light to your presence; it brings a radiance to your countenance and a poise to your carriage. When your heart is content, your life can always find the path inwards to this deep stillness in you. Rilke said this beautifully: “To be here is so much”.
Ha! -- and, yes, “life is so dear”.
Glorious. Praise for Celebration! Life is so dear. . . .
Someone emailed to say how these words you shared from John O'Donohue gave them pause. Thank you for sharing.
For me the most powerful line of this very moving essay is "The real trick is to be more real at home." Amen. Since I am at home the real trick is to stay real when I leave my space of silent contemplation. In this space I am home, I am real, and I know. Then I open the door and step across the threshold to...the rest of my house. And the trick is to stay real.
I'm curious if the survey works for other readers. I have found many Substack surveys tell me I need to subscribe to the publication to answer it, and I know I am already a subscriber. I was unable to complete yours but I am very interested in the Winter Experience.
Donna,
Wow. You drive this home: "Then I open the door and step across the threshold to...the rest of my house. And the trick is to stay real."
Thank you for this.
The real trick is to stay real when we leave our own inner sanctuary into the company of others--and the roles and expectations and needs and . . . and. It's all right there in an instant.
There is a phrase that I hold dear from a beautiful contemplative work. The phrase is the "zone of perpetual silence," pointing to this inner sanctuary of quietude and inner knowing that you so beautifully show us. We know this inner expansive knowing. The phrase helps me see it, feel it, remember it, and endeavor not to abandon it--and myself!--when I am "in the world."
Thank you for letting me know you had trouble with the survey. I have not heard from others about it, though a few people have emailed, and perhaps because they struggled with the survey. All good to know. It's the first time I've called up the survey feature here.
I look forward to exploring wonder with you, Donna.
With love,
Renée
You write with your soul, my friend, and it's exquisite. Truly. Having finished Jeremy Johnson's book, I've been thinking about 'seeing through' an awful lot these days. It applies (so profoundly) to identity too, as you write about here. If I can see through who I am to the way(s) I am participating in Presence, and behold it all, then I am fully connected and engaged with life. Thank you for your vulnerable, evocative words. And I will absolutely sign up for a Winter Experience class! Count me in!
Jenna,
First, as you know already, reading that you have not only read but finished Johnson and are reflecting on 'seeing through' quickens the heart. But permit me to just emphasize how much: It's cause for celebration! (Mark's comment below)
You have given me to wonder if a small-group study of Gebser is on the horizon here at Beyond the Comfort Zone. Unlike a heady study, you are showing us that these insights are to be integrated into the fullness of our lives that we might more fully participate in Presence and behold it all. . . and become fully connected and engaged with life, i.e, more fully human. . . .
FULLY.
Thank you for your kind words about the ones that flow through these hands. Thank you.
I am so looking forward to exploring wonder with you! More on that soon.
With love,
Renée
Oh my goodness, I would LOVE to be part of a small-group study of Gebser with you! If this is something you do, please do keep me in mind. I would be truly honored and fulfilled to take part in it.
Jenna,
Reading your response brings such joy. You are top of list.
Thank you. 🙏
Hi Renee, I have been viewing this post over and over the past view days-- realizing how immense and bold and heartfelt your words are for me. This journey we are all on only crystalized for me with absolute certainty those moments after my wife died. Grief hones the soul transparent and pure -- it is the greatest defining act of my lifetime. And I am made constantly aware that all mystery, all synchronicity, starts at the apex of the broken open heart and reveals itself in the wonder, the awe, and the beauty of the world (Anima Mundi).
I was looking at an old notification from Francis Weller for a Zoom workshop on “The Five Gates of Grief” in May 2022. At the bottom was a quote from Keats:
“I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affection and the truth of the imagination”.
This December is the last month of Weller’s Convivium, “Facing the World with Soul”. This last month’s focus is the culmination of all the previous months work and is titled “It All Turns on Affection”. (the title of an essay that Wendell Berry wrote around 2006 about affection and fidelity to place.)
Reading these passages from ‘Walden’ shook me to the core -- a lifetime ago since I read Thoreau. Looking back I realized these words stirred the imagination and passion of a young man who was looking for a cause, a champion to do battle with against the conventions of an oppressive culture. This battle led to great psychological and emotional cost for me -- alienating me from family, from myself. This began my first long dark journey -- a succession of years that eventually led me to Barbara and then our little house in the woods.
What struck me in reading Thoreau’s words all these years later, is that this rebellious youth had to make a life’s journey through so many losses, and then having the penultimate loss, to truly grasp the significance of how sorrow and beauty and place are one. I have been blessed with this house in the forest, this eastern slope of the Berkshires, and all the sentient beings I share this place with. And of course, 21 years on Porter Hill with Barbara.
Mark,
Your words, too, give me pause. You write with raw and profound depth of your own journey.
These statements, I have returned to several times. They take hold of the breath and won't let go until the words have established themselves in the center:
"Grief hones the soul transparent and pure -- it is the greatest defining act of my lifetime. And I am made constantly aware that all mystery, all synchronicity, starts at the apex of the broken open heart and reveals itself in the wonder, the awe, and the beauty of the world (Anima Mundi)."
Yes, dear friend, is there any way more true than this?
Grief, such as you describe--such as you allow(ed)--surrenders and incinerates the ego's defenses, and ushers through an alchemy of being. We come to Keats words as a phenomenological recognition: "I am certain of nothing but the holiness the heart's affection and the truth of the imagination." We come to the holy within and whereof.
And so, Thoreau. . .
I read here and imagine the idealism of youth, and from this the burden of alienation from self and others for a time and the blessing in time of the person who would become your beloved. It was all there all along, the entirety of this, your life journey––("rebellious youth had to make a life's journey" through loss)––woven into love: first for a cause for freedom (emancipation from oppression in service to the whole), then, into loving wholly . . . and there, "the significance of how sorrow and beauty and place are one."
I am reminded this moment of a book by Jacob Needleman, Time and the Soul. You may have read it. A short read. . .
What you share makes luminous the beauty and goodness in being brokenhearted.
Thank you for this, Mark.
With love,
Renée
Now and again I return to that passage from Walden and remark to myself how it has helped define me.
Michael,
The passage about going to the woods and fronting the essential facts of life . . . " when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear"?
What a gift to be formed and defined by these words. To live life with the essential impulse of significance, fullness, and meaning as primary. I recall from a recent post that touched on the shaky ground of a dark night that you were solid in a sense of knowing, and I wonder how this choice to live 'fronting the essential facts' has shaped this inner solidity.
Is there any other way to be, meaning, to live life so dear?
Thank you for sharing!
With love,
Renée
As always, your writing has touched me deeply and taken me to a place where you have landed after your solo journey this year. I love that you are now decamped between a freeway and a lovely river. So ironic!! Your new project sounds amazing and I look forward to being a part of that. Hope the holiday season rewards you with many winged visitors to the new feeders. Nancy Stafford
Nancy,
Thank you for this.
Thank you for reading and sharing. Yes, isn't it ironic where I am decamped?! It lends so exquisitely to wonder.
I so look forward to exploring wonder with you in the New Year.
The dear winged visitors have been such a delight. I placed a window feeder on the van and because the windows are tinted, the birds cannot see me seeing them, which keeps them from being spooked. We are just inches apart when they feast. It's almost more sweetness than I can bear. If winged visitors are amongst your holiday friends, may you share in the delight of one another.
With love,
Renée
Lightness and brightness with a sprinkle of sparkly snow shines through dear Renee and the real possibility of hope. We do indeed have it within us to change what comes next. I would love to know more about the course. Louise x
Louise,
A smile draws across my face reading "lightness and brightness with a sprinkle of sparkly snow." For a moment, I jump on the Polar Express and enter a children's winter story served up with hot cocoa and candy-cane trees!
Echoing yes . . . what comes next is within us and here to help us to see through change.
I'm delighted about the possibility of exploring wonder with you, Louise. I will share more in this weekend's letter. . . . .
With love,
Renée
Oh yes, all aboard! xx
Thank you, Louise.
(And I did not share more in yesterday's post, after all!) 🤗