Renée; ".. that we are "living flecks of distant stars" and that we will die." But do we truly die, or are we just transformed back into more "flecks"? Of course, I grieve knowing this being called Ed will die out of its form and I grieve for all those I love who will die out of their bodies, but it helps me a little bit to know nothing can truly die. Everything just keeps getting recirculated; how can it be otherwise? Where else could anything go? That thinking expands my view of "death" from thinking it's the end to thinking that nothing can truly end ever. Our atoms are constantly being exchanged for new ones; the "flecks". We're already interconnected with everything else. It's delusional really to think that we're separate beings. And it is quite the delusion; and it is at the root of our suffering and clinging to this "separate" self. And of course you're right; while we're in these bodies, let's enjoy the delusion fully, but never forget the truth. The cosmos is infinite and eternal, I believe, and in that way, so are we. There's something comforting about that. Yes? Thanks for your words Renée. I love the dialogue with you.
Gorgeous as always! I've had unknowing on my mind these last weeks in large part because of you and Awakening Wonder. But in reading this post in particular, I am drawn back to thoughts I'd had years ago about the sacredness of remembrance. Remembrance, really, as an archetypal pattern of "spirituality". Forgetting is what causes the perception of fragmentation; remembrance is what makes us whole. But then comes unknowing, the intentional forgetting. I sense paradox here (which is the reminder to me that the divine is afoot, because the divine is always complete.) And this feels to me now like the wholeness of remembrance. Thank you, thank you, for this revelation!
"To unknow is to come to the mystery of a moment. It could be said that this is what we have forgotten—bearing naked the mystery of being—and in forgetting, we have given birth to uncertainty. As soon as we let live the mystery of a moment, all time, and hence all uncertainty, falls away. To unknow, then, is to unforget that we are living flecks of distant stars—primordial being of the Earth that bodies us, the Earth a body borne of the Cosmos, the Cosmos infinite radiance of an indescribable Mystery—every utterance of being an always unfolding relation with all that is beyond the bounds of space and time." I just had to quote this whole paragraph. It says to me all I need to "know" to unknow. (Ha!; what an irony!) I almost feel like I can't add anything to the eloquence of what you wrote Reneé. "To unforget that we are living flecks of distant stars..." That really is it, isn't it? That is our primordial connection to the whole of the mystery. Everything is made of the same stuff; therefore, we are connected to every other thing in this unknowable mystery we call the universe. And connected, too, through that indescribably mysterious thing called consciousness; and of course through the most delicious feeling that exists, which is love. "...you are a clear jewel being burnished until all of life is reflected through your deeply exposed heart."--Mark Nepo. Thank you Reneé for profound wisdom and eloquence.
I’m in a dialogue group with some very fine thinkers. When everyone drops into silence, with a quality of humble unknowing, my “body” says”Yes!”! It’s hard to keep scholars quiet.
Renée; Thank you for your eloquent thoughts. I came upon this "spiritual" poem by Kate Bowler that brings God and love into the equation. See what you think.
"let’s ask our God to “unplan” our days a little and help us live that way."
God, I come to you as I am. It is all I have, really.
And the next one I’m conscious of will be the same.
I can feel the way I move, moment to moment,
without the comfort of “solutions.”
It seems wild to me now how I imagined
any once-and-for-all cure for this,
or a master plan to ensure things will work out.
But, truth be told, that’s always been my secret hope.
So, Lord, let’s try again.
I’m begging for a new plan. I want a plan that is an “unplan.”
I must keep moving and planning, trying and changing,
knitting my days together even as they unravel.
So can we do this together?
Remind me to pray: come Lord and quiet the worry.
I step, and you steady me. I give, and you keep my hands open.
I act, and you fortify me with courage to try and try and try again.
This life is uncertain, Lord, but your love is not.
You tell the story of my life regardless of how little I know
about how it ends, except to say,
you were there since the beginning and you appear on every page.
And this from Richard Rohr:
Now that we know that we don’t know, let’s enjoy that thought for a moment. Isn’t it delicious that the God who flung stars into space also knows every beginning and end? So let’s settle in for a moment and let ourselves not know in the presence of the God who already knows.
Renée; ".. that we are "living flecks of distant stars" and that we will die." But do we truly die, or are we just transformed back into more "flecks"? Of course, I grieve knowing this being called Ed will die out of its form and I grieve for all those I love who will die out of their bodies, but it helps me a little bit to know nothing can truly die. Everything just keeps getting recirculated; how can it be otherwise? Where else could anything go? That thinking expands my view of "death" from thinking it's the end to thinking that nothing can truly end ever. Our atoms are constantly being exchanged for new ones; the "flecks". We're already interconnected with everything else. It's delusional really to think that we're separate beings. And it is quite the delusion; and it is at the root of our suffering and clinging to this "separate" self. And of course you're right; while we're in these bodies, let's enjoy the delusion fully, but never forget the truth. The cosmos is infinite and eternal, I believe, and in that way, so are we. There's something comforting about that. Yes? Thanks for your words Renée. I love the dialogue with you.
Gorgeous as always! I've had unknowing on my mind these last weeks in large part because of you and Awakening Wonder. But in reading this post in particular, I am drawn back to thoughts I'd had years ago about the sacredness of remembrance. Remembrance, really, as an archetypal pattern of "spirituality". Forgetting is what causes the perception of fragmentation; remembrance is what makes us whole. But then comes unknowing, the intentional forgetting. I sense paradox here (which is the reminder to me that the divine is afoot, because the divine is always complete.) And this feels to me now like the wholeness of remembrance. Thank you, thank you, for this revelation!
Such beautiful poetry with a philosopher's touch. Thank you. 💗
"To unknow is to come to the mystery of a moment. It could be said that this is what we have forgotten—bearing naked the mystery of being—and in forgetting, we have given birth to uncertainty. As soon as we let live the mystery of a moment, all time, and hence all uncertainty, falls away. To unknow, then, is to unforget that we are living flecks of distant stars—primordial being of the Earth that bodies us, the Earth a body borne of the Cosmos, the Cosmos infinite radiance of an indescribable Mystery—every utterance of being an always unfolding relation with all that is beyond the bounds of space and time." I just had to quote this whole paragraph. It says to me all I need to "know" to unknow. (Ha!; what an irony!) I almost feel like I can't add anything to the eloquence of what you wrote Reneé. "To unforget that we are living flecks of distant stars..." That really is it, isn't it? That is our primordial connection to the whole of the mystery. Everything is made of the same stuff; therefore, we are connected to every other thing in this unknowable mystery we call the universe. And connected, too, through that indescribably mysterious thing called consciousness; and of course through the most delicious feeling that exists, which is love. "...you are a clear jewel being burnished until all of life is reflected through your deeply exposed heart."--Mark Nepo. Thank you Reneé for profound wisdom and eloquence.
I read twice just to delve more deeply into your words. Complicated, and requiring skill, your essay is moving and charges me with possibility.
I’m in a dialogue group with some very fine thinkers. When everyone drops into silence, with a quality of humble unknowing, my “body” says”Yes!”! It’s hard to keep scholars quiet.
Renée; Thank you for your eloquent thoughts. I came upon this "spiritual" poem by Kate Bowler that brings God and love into the equation. See what you think.
"let’s ask our God to “unplan” our days a little and help us live that way."
God, I come to you as I am. It is all I have, really.
And the next one I’m conscious of will be the same.
I can feel the way I move, moment to moment,
without the comfort of “solutions.”
It seems wild to me now how I imagined
any once-and-for-all cure for this,
or a master plan to ensure things will work out.
But, truth be told, that’s always been my secret hope.
So, Lord, let’s try again.
I’m begging for a new plan. I want a plan that is an “unplan.”
I must keep moving and planning, trying and changing,
knitting my days together even as they unravel.
So can we do this together?
Remind me to pray: come Lord and quiet the worry.
I step, and you steady me. I give, and you keep my hands open.
I act, and you fortify me with courage to try and try and try again.
This life is uncertain, Lord, but your love is not.
You tell the story of my life regardless of how little I know
about how it ends, except to say,
you were there since the beginning and you appear on every page.
And this from Richard Rohr:
Now that we know that we don’t know, let’s enjoy that thought for a moment. Isn’t it delicious that the God who flung stars into space also knows every beginning and end? So let’s settle in for a moment and let ourselves not know in the presence of the God who already knows.