Words of Wisdom?

The phrase “to be born again” holds a lot of religious power for some folks.  It’s an English translation of a line in John’s gospel (written in Greek) which is probably better translated “to be born from above.”  In the context of John’s gospel, it’s a call to examine your life in the larger scheme of things and open yourself to God’s vision of things..

What it has come to mean is having an emotionally charged religious experience during which you “accept Jesus Christ as your personal savior” (a phrase, by the way, that does not appear anywhere in the biblical witness) so that when you die you are promised eternal life in paradise.

And it seems to me that this more recent, very capitalist interpretation misses the point entirely.  Why call it a capitalist interpretation?  Seeing one’s primary relationship to the Divine as a means of securing your place in heaven, in so many words, is about buying property and making sure your spot is reserved. It’s “the deal of the century” and if you stick with me, I can get you in on it, too.  Sad to say, those who don’t get in on the deal will all go to hell.  They won’t get to live in the good neighborhood forever.  So sad.

You don’t have to scratch the surface of this outlook on faith and religion to see the parallels that individualism has painted over the gospel message.

The fact is, none of us has any real knowledge of what happens beyond this life.  What we do know is that we are alive, today.  We know that today we are living this one life.  We know that today we have choices to make, and choices always have outcomes.  We know that today we will do things, say things, hear things, choose to read things that will deepen our attitudes for or against the other human beings in our world.

If we wake up today to a new day of life, we have been given our return, again.  We have, if we open our eyes today, been born again into another sunrise, another set of relationships, another series of opportunities for practicing trust, practicing compassion, practicing asking really good and deep questions about life and our engagement with it.

At some point, each of us will arrive at that moment when we draw our last breath.  Then, we will know if there is anything else beyond this life to know.  Here’s how my faith as Unitarian Universalist helps me with that.  I trust that the Divine connects all things into One, and I trust that nothing and no one is lost in that process.  I trust in the eternal and boundless compassion of the Divine, and I am convinced more every day that if I cannot at least try to live into God’s love today that I probably wouldn’t make good use of eternity. I often wonder:  what if I arrived at the end of my life and discovered that this life is all that there is.  Could I take that last breath and smile knowing that I’d done fairly well with my days here? Because, as I said above, if I get to that moment and find that there is more beyond this life–I trust.  I trust that all will be well with my soul.

This is our return.  Today we are born again.  If being born again means anything, it’s about what we do with today.

Bob Patrick

I will tell you up front that there is nothing new or original in this post.  I also will say that what I offer here is one of the most powerful things that I have ever learned in spiritual practice.

To return to my breath.

My teachers in this are many, but the one who most consistently brought me to the practice of returning to my breath is Thich Nhat Hanh.  This is what I have learned from him and continue to practice.  No matter where you are, no matter what you are going through, no matter how you feel, no matter what someone has said to you or done to you, peace is as far away as your next breath.

As long as we live, there is always the next breath.  When we take the next breath with awareness (as I breathe in, I know that I am breathing in, as I breathe out, I know that I am breathing out) we allow ourselves to let go, a little bit, of whatever has just overwhelmed us and stolen peace away from us.  Even taking just one in breath and letting it out with awareness can change what it is going on inside of us.  If that thing that has stolen our peace and caused us to suffer is big, then we will want to stay with the breath:

Breathing in, I know that I am breathing in.  Breathing out, I know that I am breathing out. Again, and again, and again.  Until we notice some change in the our breathing, some sort of shift in our breath itself.  And then, as we breathe, we might say to ourselves:

Breathing in deeply.  Breathing out, slowly.  Again, and again, and again.  Until we notice that something is beginning to shift, even if very slightly, in our suffering.  Perhaps we notice a slight calmness within.  And then, as we breathe, we might say to ourselves:

Breathing in, I am calm.  Breathing out, I am at ease.  Again, and again, and again.  Until we notice that we really are beginning to calm down and experience some ease in the suffering. We may feel the tension in our face, neck and shoulders shift, and then, as we breathe, we might say to ourselves:

Breathing in, I smile.  Breathing out, I release what has disturbed me. Again, and again, and again.  Until we find that we are just here, now, experiencing some peace again, no longer overwhelmed by the thing that took our peace away.  And then, as we breathe, we might say to ourselves:

Breathing in, I am in the Present Moment.  Breathing out, it is a Wonderful Moment. Again, and again, and again.

We cannot hide from things that disrupt us and cause us suffering.  That’s no way to live. But, we can find relief from our suffering with our very next breath.

Return, again, return again, return to the home of your soul.

Bob Patrick

A week or so ago, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing my teeth, looking at myself.  I became suddenly aware of just how angry I was.  As usual, during my morning routine before work, I had tuned in National Public Radio, and viewed a couple of items in print news.  There was the latest report on the speech given by the President at the Boy Scouts of American Jamboree, and there was news of this new Immigration bill that would only allow highly skilled English speakers into the country.  I was angry.  In fact, I was furious.  The manipulation, the elitism, the racism . . .

And then it it occurred to me that I did not want to walk out the door into the rest of the day feeling angry like this.  So, as I rinsed off my toothbrush and rinsed off my teeth with clean water, I took a deep breath and let the anger pass.

That’s what water means to me, in many respects, especially flowing water, whether in a stream or out of the faucet over my toothbrush, or over my hands or body in the shower. Flowing water reminds me that my feelings are energies that flow through me. They are not me, and they are not who I am.  They can, however, if I choose, help me move in certain directions. If I hear or see someone being mistreated, I feel anger, too, and I can choose to let that anger move me towards some sort of help or intervention.  In that case, my feeling of anger that is moving through me becomes an e-motion–something that can help propel me into movement.

I honestly believe that all feelings are this way, but that I am not so skillful (yet) in making choices about how I will work with them.  I can choose to let any particular feeling flow through me and move on.  I can choose to let any particular feeling move me out into action of some sort.  And, if I do not tune into my feelings, if I make the mistake of thinking that any particular feeling IS who I am, it will eventually propel me into actions that I may regret.

Return again, to who we are, what we are, where we are, born and reborn again.

Bob Patrick

I have the great joy of students across now almost 30 years who want to stay in touch with me. (I like staying in touch with them, but I always allow that to be their choice–sometimes, you just need to move on beyond schools and teachers!).  In the last few days I have had dinner with former students, traded Facebook messages with former students around birthdays, jobs, babies and relationships. I have had a private conversation with a student who is going through some major life transitions. Yesterday, a student from last year came by my room, just to say hello and tell me about his summer.  And, right now, I am witnessing my own current school community deal with the recent deaths of three students.

Every contact, every exchange is a kind of return for me–to some degree to those years and experiences I have had with students, but much more so to this image that keeps presenting itself to me–to the fabric of our lives. Hearing their stories, seeing their faces, listening to the pain and joy.  There is a tenderness that runs deep and wide through me, through us.  It’s like a single thread in woven cloth.  We rarely take time to notice the single threads without which there would be no cloth, no clothing, no sheets and blankets. But just pull one of those threads–just pull one of those threads out of the whole and you see the potential for the whole thing to fall apart.

When I return to any single thread, I witness not only the beauty, the comedy, the tragedy, the tenderness, fragility and the strength of that single thread, but I see the whole, our common life together, humanity, life on earth.  I see its beauty, its comedy, its tragedy, the tenderness that runs deep and wide through it all.

Today, we can allow ourselves to return–to a single thread of the fabric of our lives, to a single life, and allow it to show us the beauty and the power of the whole.

Bob Patrick