Can there not be a government in which the majorities do not virtually decide right and wrong, but conscience? — in which majorities decide only those questions to which the rule of expediency is applicable? Must the citizen ever for a moment, or in the least degree, resign his conscience to the legislator? Why has every man a conscience then? I think we should be men first, and subjects afterward. It is not desirable to cultivate a respect for the law, so much as for the right. Civil Disobedience, Thoreau

I am sure I am not alone when I say I am a person with a political identity crisis. With a love for nature, a deep commitment to the environment, a feminist, and a heart for the poor … I could place myself in the Democratic camp.

Yet, with a distrust of the government, a powerful belief in personal freedom, and an understanding that government answers rarely ever answer anything at all… I find myself in the Republican camp too.

Mostly, I find myself shrugging my shoulders in ignorance when someone passionately describes the crimes of the opposite camp or shaking my head in amazement when I read the news. When I hear of government abuses, I get angry. And when I hear of individuals or corporations using their freedoms as license for wrong, I get very angry — angry because it will require government to interfere, fueling a hellish cycle … and the maelstrom is only getting bigger.

If people would cultivate a respect for what is right and not use all ingenuity to get away with everything possible within the law, we would not need government. We could be as Thoreau says, people first, subjects second. If we not only stayed within our laws, but followed the voice of God, we would be truly free.

We would become governors of ourselves. This is the only real freedom — the freedom to do right, what Gandhi called swaraj, or self-rule.

It is sad to see people confuse “freedom” with license, screaming to “do as they wish”, which often means to enslave themselves and others to power, money, laziness, violence, ambition, winning, pornography, illicit sex, drugs, or a more palatable but just as insidious sin such as food and drink. These abuses will eventually beg for laws — that McDonald’s should put health warnings on its food labels, that statutory rape laws be enforced, that reforms be written for corporations, that tax laws be changed, that someone who knowingly infects someone with HIV should be prosecuted, that someone acting in self-defense not be prosecuted, that the child pornography industry be held to stiffer consequences, that marijuana be legalized because everyone’s doing it anyway, that …, that…, that… laws be enforced because people abuse their freedoms.

It is truly enough said that a corporation has no conscience; but a corporation of conscientious men is a corporation with a conscience. Law never made men a whit more just; and, by means of their respect for it, even the well-disposed are daily made the agents of injustice. Civil Disobedience, Thoreau

The mortgage companies and their agents stayed within the law in their selling of unsubstantiated loans. But it was wrong what they did. They know it too. Their consciences prick and the louder they shout their justifications the more we are assured they are kicking against the goads. Agents of injustice. A corporation of people operating against their conscience is begging for government interference … or a revolution, whichever comes first.

If only people would govern themselves!

People love to rant about the government, about the Republicans, about the Democrats, about the conservatives and the liberals, about the religious right, about the progressives … and we could take a step back into history and mention the fascists, the reds, the dictators, the guerrillas, the Yankees and rebs, the Tories and Patriots.

All these labels are the caricature of a problem we harbor in our hearts. We shout at these outer edges of sin — those greedy Republicans, those lying and immoral Dems. But here’s the rub. While shouting at those greedy Republicans, the Democrats patronize the corporations. You won’t find them without their iPhones or Anthropologie shirts and they will be gassing up their foreign cars. And while crying out for the “have-nots” they give very little to anyone. People who support the idea that government should redistribute income are among the least likely to dig into their own wallets to help others. And while the Republicans shout about the removal of freedoms, the immorality legislated, the sneaky and subversive plans of the other camp to “take over” our country, all the while they patronize immoral television shows and movies, indict sexual sins they do not struggle with while overindulging, scorning and degrading, crying for deportation while partaking of the fruit of Mexican labor…

it all makes me so confused when I get a ballot.

How should we live? How can we live with integrity?

Perhaps the first step is to refuse to see any person or group of people as the enemy, to stop wrestling with flesh and blood, so to speak. If liberals would wipe the snarky sneer off their faces and quit patronizing and the conservatives would stop demonizing … that would be a start.

The second step would be to recognize our common enemy. Our common enemy is this: personally committing acts we shouldn’t and forgetting or refusing to do something we should. The old-fashioned word for it is sin.

Lastly, try to conquer our common enemy.

An addendum would be: restrain ourselves when tempted to conquer the enemy of someone else. We have a difficult time differentiating people from their sins.

Am I idealistic? Unrealistic? Ridiculously naive?

Perhaps. But I’m not the only one.

Imagine if we became more hospitable and charitable, laws would not be needed to redistribute wealth. What if the rich freely offered to pay the debts of others, since they have been freed of spiritual debt? What if the gluttonous fed the homeless and the lecherous gave affection instead of taking it? Instead of arresting people with drugs, what if we gave them something to do, something to love, something to think about? What if we opened our homes to foreigners? Invited them to dinner so the state wouldn’t have to care for them? What if our dollars only went to corporations run by conscientious people? And we were willing to sacrifice or go without and not support some other less scrupulous company? What if we sent our people and money to other countries instead of sending weapons and military to control our assets? Instead of buying guns against the threat of invasion, what if we invaded the poor neighborhoods with gifts, time, and relationships?

If fear is the opposite of love, we must not give way to fear. We must love. It is our duty to God, to each other, to ourselves. There is no law against this. And no laws would be needed if we followed it.

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C.S. Lewis writes of his “settled, calm, Epicurean life”:

For if I could please myself I would always live as I lived there. I would choose always to breakfast at exactly eight and to be at my desk by nine, there to read or write till one. If a cup of good tea or coffee could be brought me about eleven, so much the better. A step or so out of doors for a pint of beer would not do quite so well; for a man does not want to drink alone and if you meet a friend in the taproom the break is likely to be extended beyond its ten minutes. At one precisely lunch should be on the table; and by two at the latest I would be on the road. Not, except at rare intervals, with a friend. Walking and talking are two very great pleasures but it is a mistake to combine them. Our own noise blots out the sounds and silences of the outdoor world; and talking leads almost inevitably to smoking, and then farewell to nature as far as one of our senses is concerned. The only friend to walk with is one (such as I found, during the holidays, in Arthur) who so exactly shares your taste for each mood of the countryside that a glance, a halt, or at most a nudge, is enough to assure us that the pleasure is shared. The return from the walk, and the arrival of tea, should be exactly coincident, and not later than a quarter past four. Tea should be taken in solitude, as I took it at Bookham on those (happily numerous) occasions when Mrs. Kirkpatrick was out; the Knock himself disdained this meal. For eating and reading are two pleasure that combine admirably… At five a man should be at work again, and at it till seven. Then, at the evening meal and after, comes the time for talk, or failing that, for lighter reading; and unless you are making a night of it with your cronies (and at Bookham I had none) there is no reason why you should ever be in bed later than eleven.

I confess when I read this, I thought this was my ticket to happiness. If I could live like this, I would always be happy. But, perhaps because of my Scandinavian ancestry and rigorous protestant upbringing, I sometimes wonder.. are we supposed to be happy? I mean, whoever promised us happiness? I feel my ancestors frown at me and dismiss me as giddy and pleasure-seeking. Get to work!

I distrust it. Life can’t be that easy. We’re not supposed to settle into a life full of calm tranquility and happiness. It would be rude. It would be unfeeling. It would be wrong. I mean, they taught me if you weren’t being persecuted, you probably weren’t doing much — exactly what I was supposed to be doing I’m still unsure of.

The religious side of me says, “With people dying and going to hell, how can you isolate yourself in the study and read books?”

The social justice side of me says, “With people starving and wars ravaging the land, how can you gallivant about the fields and woods and enjoy yourself in deep thoughts?”

The counterculture side of me says, “Of course you want to please yourself — you’ve been brought up that way. You’re from the “ME” generation, Generation X. You’re just living the way you’ve been taught, you selfish…”

But the child of God side of me says, “Would you want anything different for your own child? Sure, you want her to feel, to have pity, to have compassion, but would you want her to have those feelings without happiness? Should it be a burden?” The Jesus side of me says, “The poor will always be with you.” The Thoreau side of me says, “Follow your individual path and trust it. It will bring about the proper change.”

Epicurus wasn’t the only one to explore these ideas. Ecclesiastes also covered the human condition and what we are meant for and why we are here. The Teacher or Gatherer explores every possibility of human purposes — wisdom, pleasure, folly, toil, ambition, and riches. This was my favorite book as a child. I agree with Thomas Wolfe when he wrote that Ecclesiastes is

“the noblest, the wisest, and the most powerful expression of man’s life upon this earth — and also the highest flower of poetry, eloquence, and truth.”

I think what I loved about Ecclesiastes is its honesty. It expressed the frustration in my heart. The feeling that everything I turned my hand to was pointless. It gave vent to my bewilderment about why we are here.

I have a habit of looking at my hand when I lie in bed. I lift it straight in the air and stare at it in contrast to the ceiling. “I am,” I think. “I am here. I exist. I am.“

With this pressing of existence upon me, I feel the exhilaration of living and the ache of death. The temporal heart beats blood through my temporal veins and I am housed in it and yet my thoughts and feelings burst from it like a tsunami breaks through city walls. And I wonder who am I and I do not feel like being a missionary or healing the sick or even educating the children. I want to eat and drink and make love and hold hands and gaze at the stars and listen to the oriole or owl outside my window. I want to experience this life, this earth, my life, my world. That is when I am thankful for Ecclesiastes because I know my problem is an ancient one and I know I am not alone and I know my questions are not unrealistic. 

We are more closely related to the questions than the answer. The questions are what we are made of.

I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

And the direction of my life perhaps is not so important as I try to make it. I am very insignificant after all, just a breath, a vapor. Rather than saving the world, I just need to be faithful to my world. As if I could add much to the Creation. And if He sees fit, He may multiply my offering. But it’s really not up to me, or about me, or a burden I was meant to carry.

I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God.I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that people will fear him.

God lays a path for me which allows me to be me.

If I have no particular calling to sainthood, or martyrdom, or malevolent evil which begs overcoming, I can be just little ol’ me, a quiet wildflower off the forest path or a thorny bush on the edge of the river. I hope this is not giving into some insidious laziness or allowing my selfish desires manipulate my mind into complacency. If so, I’m not the only one. Wiser people than I have taken the same path.

In this meaningless life of mine I have seen both of these: the righteous perishing in their righteousness, and the wicked living long in their wickedness. Do not be overrighteous, neither be overwise— why destroy yourself? Do not be overwicked, and do not be a fool— why die before your time?It is good to grasp the one and not let go of the other. Whoever fears God will avoid all extremes.

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“It’s a book that says the same thing almost all the other books in the world say,” continued the old man. It describes people’s inability to choose their own Personal Legends. And it ends up saying that everyone believes the world’s greatest lie.”

“What’s the world’s greatest lie?” the boy asked, completely surprised.

“It’s this: that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what’s happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That’s the world’s greatest lie.”

“That’s never happened to me,” the boy said. “They wanted me to be a priest, but I decided to become a shepherd.”

“Much better,” said the old man. “Because you really like to travel.”

“He knew what I was thinking,” the boy said to himself. The old man, meanwhile, was leafing through the book, without seeming to want to return it at all. The boy noticed that the man’s clothing was strange. He looked like an Arab, which was not unusual in those parts. Africa was only a few hours from Tarifa; one had only to cross the narrow straits by boat. Arabs often appeared in the city, shopping and chanting their strange prayers several times a day.

I’m going to skip a little. Melchizedek, the king of Salem, reveals himself to the boy by telling him things about himself he has told no one.

“Why would a king be talking to a shepherd?” the boy asked, awed and embarrassed.

“For several reasons. But let’s say that the most important is that you have succeeded in discovering your Personal Legend.”

The boy didn’t know what a person’s “Personal Legend” was.

“It’s what you have always wanted to accomplish. Everyone, when they are young, knows what their Personal Legend is.

“At that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible. They are not afraid to dream and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives. But, as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them that it will be impossible for them to realize their Personal Legend.”

(skipping a little again)

“It’s a force that appears to be negative, but actually shows you how to realize your Personal Legend. It prepares your spirit and your will, because there is one great truth on this planet: whoever you are, or whatever it is that you do, when you really want something, it’s because that desire originated in the soul of the universe. It’s your mission on earth.”

“Even when all you want to do is travel? Or marry the daughter of a textile merchant?”

“Yes, or even search for treasure. The Soul of the World is nourished by people’s happiness. And also by unhappiness, envy, and jealousy. To realize one’s Personal Legend is a person’s only real obligation. All things are one. And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”

(skipping)

The old man pointed to a baker standing in his shop window at one corner of the plaza. “When he was a child, that man wanted to travel, too. But he decided first to buy his bakery and put some money aside. When he’s an old man, he’s going to spend a month in Africa. He never realized that people are capable, at any time in their lives, of doing what they dream of.”

“He should have decided to become a shepherd,” the boy said.

“Well, he thought about that,” the old man said. “But bakers are more important people than shepherds. Bakers have homes, while shepherds sleep out in the open. Parents would rather see their children marry bakers than shepherds.”

The boy felt a pang in his heart, thinking about the merchant’s daughter. There was surely a baker in her town.

The old man continued, “In the long run, what people think about shepherds and bakers becomes more important for them than their own Personal Legends.”

(skipping)

People learn, early in their lives, what is their reason for being,” said the old man, with a certain bitterness. “Maybe that’s why they give up on it so early, too. But that’s the way it is.”

Melchizedek makes his first appearance in Genesis. After returning from a successful route of the confederation of kings, Abraham met Melchizedek, the king of Salem (peace), and tithed a tenth of all the loot to him.

The story of Abraham has always held wonderful mystery for me. The son of an idol-maker hearing the voice of God and wandering into the desert to follow God is the story of a Personal Legend indeed. He saw the wooden, silver, and gold idols his father made as a lie. Unwilling to make a good living perpetuating that lie, he wandered into the desert after the truth. (I’m often drawn to stories where people wander out to the desert or wilderness for truth…hmmm).

Paulo Coelho‘s book, The Alchemist, also has a protagonist who must wander into the desert to follow his Personal Legend. Many of you may recognize these snippets as from that book. For me, this book was a life-changer. It is one of those fables full of wisdom — especially about following one’s heart, which I’ve meditated on, lately.

So, this is what I learn from Melchizedek and Paulo:

1) the world’s greatest lie is we have no control of our fates

2) we all have a Personal Legend and it is revealed to us when we are young

3) mysterious forces will try to convince us our Personal Legend is impossible

4) but if we stay true to our Personal Legend the mysterious forces will no longer be a negative force but a force that crystallizes and perfects our Personal Legend

5) our personal legend is what we’ve always wanted to do and it is our mission on earth. It has its origin in something greater than ourselves (the Soul of the World). It does not have to be grand or important to other people. It can be simple and seemingly small to other people.

6) our only real obligation is to realize our Personal Legend and follow it

7) when we follow our Personal Legend, the universe will conspire to help us achieve it (even though it may sometimes appear as a negative force)

8) we are capable, at any time in our lives, of doing what we dream of

9) sometimes, what other people think becomes more important than our Personal Legends

10) we learn early in our lives our reason for being, but we also give up on it early in our lives

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I needed the space.

Until yesterday, I’ve worked in the kitchen on a round table around which Paul and the girls must navigate to get to the door to the garage or the laundry room. This “crossing” also acts as an invitation to ask me a question, which probably stems from different motivations: it’s convenient, I want Mom’s attention, I want my wife’s attention, I want to make fun of her incoherent answers and noncommittal uh-huhs, I want to get a quick yes to something that might bring a no if she were to fully concentrate on what I’m asking, etc.

What I’ve finally concluded is my family does not respect my work and neither do I. I’ve failed to set boundaries about it or to them. They’re cute. I love them. But they’re interfering.

I don’t know if I’m putting the cart before the horse because I don’t make a lot of money in writing (as if money is the only way to assign value). But … I know I will continue to make very little money in writing if I accept interruptions during work time. Each interruption takes far more time away from the work than the time it takes to ask. I don’t switch gears easily. This is how it goes –

They ask a question. I ignore it. They repeat it along with some jokes about my intense focus. When that gets no response, they repeat it with a “Mom!” cutting across the air or dry, sarcastic remarks from Paul including the term “your mother” which always clues me into his annoyance. I reluctantly pull my mind from my work and turn to the questioner without being able to focus. The questioner mistakes eye contact for coherence. I give a non-coherent answer. The questioner laughs and repeats the question. I give a blank stare. Eventually I tell the questioner I am unquestionably listening this time. I take in the question and quell the anger stemming from realizing they interrupted me to answer an unnecessary or unimportant question. I answer the question. I unreasonably hope the questioner will see how ridiculous it is to interrupt me for such a question. I return to my work. I quell frustration that I have lost my thoughts. I try to gather the thoughts I was thinking, and return to my work.

Total time of the actual question (when I listened) and answer period: ten seconds. Total loss of time at work: three minutes. Multiply this event by three or four times and the pointlessness of trying to work becomes clear in which I stand up, exit out, and do  the tasks which are clearly more important to my family — folding their laundry and cleaning up after them. This is much more agreeable to all of them because I can fully interact with them while doing these tasks and they won’t called upon to do them.

The martyr in me tells me my work can wait. It is not that important. Being at my family’s mercy is more important. And… after insisting on declining full-time work so I full time mother, there is some fairness in demanding my full attention. Yet, I am beginning to wonder. Is this really fair, right, and good? Is this the best way to be fully me? I believe mothers should give their family the very best of themselves. I’m not so sure they should give them everything. Surely, I can reserve some of it for other callings? Do I not owe it to them to not extinguish any part of myself? Shouldn’t I allow them to solve things for themselves?

Setting boundaries is creation. All of us are creating a life. Our lives are a sum of our choices — what we choose to do and not to do — we are where we are now because of boundaries that have or haven’t been set.

God divided the light from the dark. He divided the sky from the water. He gathered the waters in places to show the land. A painter picks a canvas — a limit of space on which to paint. A writer chooses a word and not another word. A musician plays a note … or doesn’t. Without division, separation, boundaries, things are without form and void.

When my family comes to interrupt my work, I want to quote from Job with a voice like God and with the power to control the great seas:

I fixed limits for it and set its doors and bars in place,¹¹ when I said, ‘This far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt’

Truly, it would take a voice like God to halt them. Yesterday, as I worked in my new studio with the curtains drawn, Paul was also drawn to the quiet and fell asleep on the floor in front of my chair so I couldn’t sit at my desk. Twice, Elsa opened the door to ask advice about something. And Ingrid grumbled incessantly about why I needed to kick her out — she didn’t like the bunk bed, she was cold, and Dagne talks too much.

Hmmm. What does it take to consecrate a place and make it sacred? How can I and my work get some respect?

I can see Paul rubbing his fingers together and saying, “Show me the money.” (He wouldn’t ever actually do this; I’m projecting this attitude on him. It’s how I wrestle with my writing).

But is there value in what I do even if I never get paid? I believe so. If no one reads my words or gains from them, I gain from writing them. This faith in what I do must increase. And the family must learn to respect it.

This hard, settling knot of knowing who I am and who I am not is at the very core of living the simple life. Being able to say ‘yes’ to the best things and ‘no’ to good things is what it’s all about. I must know myself and have courage in it — even if it means being a little at odds with my family. I believe that following my path will help them to discover theirs. It is a gift to all of us, though sometimes we have trouble recognizing it.

What do you think?

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To go along with the world would be disastrous — even more so since the Emperor had become a Christian and the world was beginning to associate the cross with temporal power. They were the hermits, helping to develop the archetype of wisdom.

Thomas Merton writes in his introduction to The Wisdom of the Desert,

They were men who did not believe in letting themselves be passively guided and ruled by a decadent state, and who believed that there was a way of getting along without slavish dependence on accepted, conventional values. But they did not intend to place themselves above society. They did not reject society with proud contempt, as if they were superior to other men. On the contrary, one of the reasons why they fled from the world of men was that in the world men were divided into those who were successful, and imposed their will on others, and those who had to give in and be imposed upon. The Desert Fathers declined to be ruled by men, but had no desire to rule over others themselves.

This book has been one of my favorites. I’ve read it again and again. It is dog-eared, and the pages are wavy because the rain got to it. I slip it in my purse, in my briefcase, in my pocket.

In it, I see similarities in Thoreau‘s writings. Individualism without pride. Freedom without license. Losing oneself to find it. The tensions drawn tight across the chasms of life so one can walk across it, oh so carefully. Merton writes:

Obviously such a path could only be travelled by one who was very alert and very sensitive to the landmarks of a trackless wilderness.

Such is simplicity — a trackless wilderness through which one must use all to navigate it. Merton is talking about complete freedom — which means not being a slave to your own desires or any sin, nor being a servant to your “will” and any structure.

The hermits had nothing to which they had to “conform” except the secret, hidden, inscrutable will of God which might differ very notably from one cell to another.

Here are a few sayings to meditate on.

This one has not quite made it to the inner places of my heart because I love to argue — but I’d say it’s helped me to improve:

And if anyone speak to you about any matter do not argue with him. But if he speaks rightly, say: Yes. If he speaks wrongly say to him: You know what you are saying. But do not argue with him about the things he has said. Thus your mind will be at peace.

Here are some others:

An Elder said: Do not judge a fornicator if you are chaste, for if you do, you too are violating the law as much as he is. For He who said thou shalt not fornicate also said thou shalt not judge.

One of the elders said: Pray attentively and you will soon straighten out your thoughts.

Abbot Pastor said: Do not dwell in a place where you see that others are envious of you, for you will not grow there.

This one is my favorite and I’ve repeated it in my mind over and over. I’ve thought often about how John the Baptist fasted and lived in solitary places in the desert and how Jesus went about eating and drinking with sinners.

Yet both did the will of God. It baffles me when people feel the need to colonize their ideas of service to God or feel threatened when you serve God differently. That’s why this little story is one of my favorites:

A brother asked one of the elders: What good thing shall I do, and have life thereby? The old man replied: God alone knows what is good. However, I have heard it said that someone inquired of Father Abbot Nisteros the great, the friend of Abbot Anthony, asking: What good work shall I do? and that he replied: Not all works are alike. For Scripture says that Abraham was hospitable and God was with him. Elias loved solitary prayer, and God was with him. And David was humble, and God was with him. Therefore, whatever you see your soul to desire according to God, do that thing, and you shall keep your heart safe.

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I would not pursue the common course…where anything is professed and practised but the art of life (emphasis mine), to survey the world through a telescope or a microscope, and never with his natural eye; to study chemistry, and not learn how his bread is made, or mechanics, and not learn how it is earned; to discover new satellites to Neptune, and not detect the motes in his eyes, or to what vagabond he is a satellite himself; or to be devoured by the monsters that swarm all around him, while contemplating the monsters in a drop of vinegar.

The art of life is to live… not to study it, or play at it, or retreat from it behind comforts and safeguards.

The art of life is to live.

Sometimes, I imagine my life without its financial troubles. I hire all unpleasant tasks out. I go where I wish and pay for the best. I have comfortable rooms by the sea and homes which are cared for by someone else.

An uneasy feeling inevitably follows. I cannot express why. Only that I sense I am not ready for it. Perhaps it may be our spiritual demise. A curtailing of work to be done. A softness where strength is needed. A love of money kindled. A desire to protect what is obtained. I hear the gate click, the door shut, the latch turned and I am trapped. Then, I thank God for my troubles.

How does one live? What is the key to the art of life?

If such questions could be answered in a post, we wouldn’t be reading them. We’d be living instead.

I often hear the phrase, “The purpose of life is to love God and love people.” Sometimes, they add the word “on” which really annoys me. To love “on” people always brings an image of my jumping on them and licking them. To love “on” people removes a dignity which should always accompany a living soul — it places me as benefactor and patron. “I’m just going to love on you, man.” Yeah, that phrase has gotta go.

I don’t know if that’s really our purpose — to love God and to love people. (I recognize I’m arguing with the catechism here, but I dare to do it.)

In regards to loving God … I’m more inclined to believe our purpose is to receive love.

That’s it.

If love never fails, then what else is needed? And, isn’t it a bit presumptuous to jump to loving as if we could create anything from nothing?

Perhaps life isn’t so hard. Perhaps it was intended to be frightfully easy — to abide with the Father and He in me. Change is a natural effect. Perhaps if we would go about doing only the work before us and not go searching for more, we’d find peace and genius.

In regards to loving people, Thoreau provides an elegant defense for not being a philanthropist and within it lies the mustard seed.

Probably I should not consciously and deliberately forsake my particular calling to do the good which society demands of me, to save the universe from annihilation; and I believe that a like but infinitely greater steadfastness elsewhere is all that now preserves it.

Here, Thoreau shows a greater faith than most of us — faith in a “greater steadfastness” which actually preserves the creation. He resists his contemporaries’ criticisms to “pitch in and just love people” and retreats to his little cabin on Walden pond to write.

How could he have known he’d influence Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr.? How could he have known that sticking to his “selfish” aims and truly being himself would speak to me and you today?

Fact is, he couldn’t. And neither can we. Which is why we mustn’t forsake our particular calling to “do good” elsewhere.

Which particular calling is Thoreau referring to? He lived a short life full of freedom, but, if the very poor were offered the life Thoreau lived, they would probably decline and keep their poverty. Thoreau’s life was a true religion, “a keeping oneself unspotted from the world.”

Success? Walden only sold a couple thousand during his lifetime.

It’s never been out of print since.

If the art of life were a tree, the branches would be the natural outcome of being loved; the taproot would drink from the fountain of love. The fruit would be the true you — unadorned and childlike — a sleeping baby with a blush on your cheek and eyelashes resting softly on your skin. The soil would be the faith in the truth you are loved. From this place, one can do the work of God.

I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary; new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and interpreted in his favor in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of beings. In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them. (Walden, 323- 324)

From a sage (who are people who simply know who they are).

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While I was in New York, I heard the sad news that my grandfather died. Five months earlier, he carried the ashes of my grandmother to the fireplace mantel and continued the arduous grieving of life without his love, partner, and friend of over 65 years.

He met life without her bravely, but the pain was obviously present and poignant, a poor substitute for the lively sass my grandmother always brought wherever she was. After surviving an aneurism, surgery, and a lung infection he told his kids he was ready to go…

This last Christmas, without my grandmother to do the shopping (which she usually did with relish) he took it upon himself to do the Christmas shopping alone. One of the last gifts my grandfather gave to my family was a subscription to Scientific American. Soon after hearing he was gone, I received another issue in my mailbox. I smiled, cried a little and thumbed through its pages.

Wes Bjur was a missionary and a pastor. He was also a professor of political science and author with a probing, studious mind. The years after retirement make up the large part of my experience with him, the days in which he spent most of his time in his study reading, writing and corresponding. My letters from college were always given wonderfully long replies. I loved to engage him in philosophical discussions because he was one of the few people who had the patience for it and gave me “beef and beer” instead of candy-puffed answers from self-help books and shoddy sermons (often interchangeable).

Here is an excerpt from an answer written by Grandpa to one of my philosophical questions:

Regarding your biography of Einstein, I happen to be reading an article in the current Scientific American (March 2009) that sounds like the same material you are hearing in the biographical material. The Scientific American authors “work” the theme that the unpredictability of atomic “spins” plus the apparent refutation of the “locality” rules of relativity theory are serious threats to Einstein’s relativity theories. “Quantum weirdness defies special relativity“ is one of the subtitles of articles presented….A bigger picture is implied in the SciAm article — that our three (or four) dimensional understanding of the physical world and the cosmos in general is seriously limited. Some are suggesting that until other, multidimensional models are developed and accepted, there will be no way to understand/explain the “non-locality” phenomena they are exploring — i.e, that a change in a proton’s spin can instantaneously affect the spin of a paired but distant proton. It is here that Einstein’s special relativity covering laws of causality is being questioned.

Sometimes, he sent something fun, like this:

If you can read this, you have a strong mind:

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7H15 LIN3 Y0UR M1ND 1S R34D1NG 17

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7H1NK1NG 4B0U7 17.  PL3453

F0RW4RD 1F U C4N R34D 7H15.

Always, he replied. I could count on him for that. I could write to him about anything and I would get a serious, thoughtful answer. He introduced me to the concepts of existentialism, philosophy vs. science, Descartes and Kant, Jung, theories of happiness and living a meaningful life.

The last few conversations I had with him, he shared what he was reading. It was a subject we were both interested in. He read two histories of cancer, the long-time enemy of my vibrant, vivid grandmother. She fought the monster for half her life, winning battle after battle — the triumphant victor more than once. But in the end, he lost her to it. It was so like him to delve into “understanding” this enemy, understanding being one of his favorite past times.

He also explained excitedly about the work of Rupert Sheldrake, mentioning “morphic resonances” or “morphic fields”. I, with my fantasy-minded/sci-fi brain, goaded him on because I was combing his ideas for possible adventures for my main character in my novel. Sheldrake has broken from popular science by stepping away from the controlled atmosphere of the lab and admitted the realm of wide human experience into his scientific theories. He’s written several books with interesting titles such as Dogs That Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home and The Sense of Being Stared At. Being of a less scientific mind than my grandfather, but more mathematical and philosophical, I thought it more up my alley than his, so it surprised me. I thought it strange to find my grandfather turning to what some scientists considered pseudoscience or even paranormal interests. He rarely allowed the often vague, loose talk of theology around the subject of science. Here is a response to when I brought up the idea of God and free will relating to atomic protons affecting distant, unrelated protons.

One more time, I don’t think “free will” associated with atomic decay has any useful implications for the idea of  “free will’ as used by theologians. Let me say one more thing: your grandpa thinks that the “debate” between creationism and evolution is a foolish waste of time. Evolution is not an attack on religion except in the minds of folks who really don’t understand the ideas of natural mutations to survive in changed contexts that have been occurring since the birth of living matter.

Of course, Grandpa, I get it, (but the idea is extremely interesting to play with in a literary setting!) I also wanted to remind him how myth precedes us and guides us into new realms. How I loved conversations with him! So, I’m fascinated with this new subject of his and I’m planning on taking the baton. Perhaps he sensed what was about to happen to his body and his “morphic field” included little ol’ me trying to make sense of a plot twist in my novel. It would be like him to give me the next step by directing me to a scientist.

I said I would bring this back to prayer. I will in a Wes Bjur-ish sort of way. Read the link: http://www.sheldrake.org/Articles&Papers/papers/morphic/prayer.html.

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Not long since I was present at the auction of a deacon’s effects … As usual, a great proportion was trumpery which had begun to accumulate in his father’s day. Among the rest was a dried tapeworm. And now, after lying half a century in his garret and other dust holes, these things were not burned; instead of a bonfire, or purifying destruction of them, there was an auction, or increasing of them. The neighbors eagerly collected to view them, bought them all, and carefully transported them to their garrets and dust holes, to lie there till their estates are settled, when they will start again.

And then he adds a statement so often quoted I almost passed over it.

When a man dies he kicks the dust.

I never thought about “kicking the dust” meaning the dissemination of useless possessions.

Thoreau recommends we follow other civilizations in the ritual burning of old possessions. The Mucclasse Indians cast all their old provisions in one common heap and consumed it with fire at the celebration of the “feast of first fruits” (which corresponds nicely with Easter) each year. This burning, along with fasting and abstaining from other gratifications of appetites, symbolized a spiritual purification for the new beginning, or new year. The Mexicans also practiced a similar purification at the end of every fifty-two years, in the belief that it was time for the world to come to an end.

Of these rituals, Thoreau says:

I have scarcely heard of a truer sacrament … (an) outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace,

As I clear out my possessions and pack them in bags to be given away, I always feel guilty that someone else must deal with it. Someone must sift through the many items and decide what is needed. If I burned my possessions each year, would I be less tempted to take new things in? Would the pile cast into the center be smaller?

When I think on my possessions, I wonder, “Do I possess or am I possessed?” For it is I who must clean, polish, dust and carry them from one place to another … like natives carrying their wooden gods from one dwelling to another. I am the slave, destined to serve the deity. And, believe me, having moved as often as we have, we have felt our slavery. In the relationship with my possessions, I serve more than they do.

What is really needed?

Is it possible to own only the possessions which serve me? Could I become the master?

I think upon the mounds of laundry I do throughout the week. Is it necessary? I believe I’m going to insist everyone does their own laundry from now on. Perhaps the constancy of the chore would help them to face the insanity. Instead of doing laundry, I’m going to fill the burn barrel. As I cleanse our surroundings from excess, I hope a spiritual renewal will be birthed as well.

I’m thinking in terms of death and purification. When I die, I hope the dust I kick is very small and the life I lived is very beautiful. And, after toting unimaginable amounts of things from one abode to another, I want to purify myself of the old and begin anew. Perhaps it will make way for an exciting new life.

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This post is dedicated to my 20-year old self. If I could give myself some advice about the simple life, these are the secrets I’d share.

1) Living simply isn’t simple. It’s one of the most complicated processes ever. You have to make a point of it. You have to work hard. It has a thousand faces. It’s personal. And, like most true and good lifestyles, it’s filled with a lot of fakes. It is a spiritual activity first and a physical manifestation second. Don’t jump ahead. Wait for the vision to be birthed and grow. It’s a philosophy by which we live, not a system which we follow.

2) It takes more courage than you think you have. Seeking simplicity confronts your pride, your desire for approval, your desire to please, your secret ambitions, and your hidden reasons for why you do what you do and why you don’t do what you don’t do. You do have the courage to face all these things. Dig deep. Retreat and form a new battle line. Think of an offense. Seize and capture instead of pulling up the drawbridge. Meet the enemy mounted and at a full run. He’s not used to resistance. So many others just give up.

3) You’ll be misunderstood. Some people will call you lazy, misguided, unwise,  and boring. That’s okay. Don’t get rattled by those things. And don’t join in on the name calling. Listen. When you hear something, don’t question it when it gets dark.

4) Food matters, deeply: what you eat, how you shop, where you eat, the atmosphere around the table, the conversation or lack of it, the people with whom you eat. It is the foundation of relationships. It seems unimportant, but it isn’t. It is a litmus test for the priorities in your life. It reveals who you really are. If you’re fussy, greedy, controlling, careless, too busy, snobby, superior, demanding, addictive, or angry about food … you’re those things. Simplicity is preparing food with love, thanking God for it, and sharing it. It is spiritual, a sacred ritual that bonds. Make it count. Oh…and invite people into your home. Even when it’s messy. Don’t be too formal. Invite people from all walks of life. When the laundry is piled high. When the television needs dusting. When the garage needs organized. Don’t wait. Bread breaking is too precious to be put off.

5) Be a child. Know who loves you and get what you need from them. Avoid those who don’t love you. Play at work. Work at play. Be selfish, not self-absorbed. Don’t come to the table until called. Work with what’s at hand — paper and pen, tape and scissors, hammer and nail, the petals of flowers, the rocks and leaves. Avoid direct questions. Evade personal examinations. Only allow information in when you’re ready for it.

6) Don’t fight yourself. Well-meaning people will advise you to work on your weaknesses which too often means ignoring your strengths. I’ve learned it’s better the other way around. Your weaknesses only gain power with focus. Your are who you are. Run with it! To hell with being “well-rounded”. To hell with balance and self-improvement. Don’t think on yourself at all. Instead, think on what to share, how to help, and where you can pitch in.

7) Talk to God. All the time. When you’re scared, happy, loved, scorned, ashamed, sad, abused, successful, discouraged, and disgusted. Just be honest. Ignore the scoffers. Laugh in the faces of those who smirk. Mock the devils. And claim your heritage as a son or daughter. Don’t confuse service with closeness. Doing good things doesn’t mean you know him. A lot of times it doesn’t. And quit praying like he’s someone weird, using strange phrases like … “we just ask for guidance …” and “we just ask for clarity…” Do children say such nonsense? Is he real or is he not? Beg with expectation. Say, “I want to see,” or “I want to walk.” Know your need. Then, pound on the door. Shout and cry out. Remember, it is your need that turns his head; it is your faith that makes you well.

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This spending of the best part of one’s life earning money in order to enjoy a questionable liberty during the least valuable part of it reminds me of the Englishman who went to India to make a fortune first, in order that he might return to England and live the life of a poet. He should have gone up garret at once. Thoreau.

Going up garret at once. A garret is an upper room in a house, usually under a pitched roof. I picture Emily Dickinson in one, writing poems brilliant and bright — plucked clean of excess, white bones in the desert — for a world not ready. She wrote and wrote, tying her words in neat little packets with twine, and tucked them in the locked chest.

I’m glad she had no pressure to “make a living” on her own. I’m grateful she was allowed to haunt the house and garden in her white dresses and live in seclusion so she could carefully copy down her flashes of lightning. She went up garret at once.

Thoreau made the same choice.  Dying at 44, had he waited to live his life he would have missed it. As it was, he lived more than most of us ever will if we live twice as long.

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, 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; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. Thoreau

Thoreau was 27 when he hacked out the cellar for his little cabin and embarked on his experiment in simple living.Have I gone up garret at once? These are the things in which I have.

Homeschooling instead of working — countless hours of cuddling on the coach and reading together. Belgium waffles with blueberries and whipping cream instead of morning hour rush. Kisses between each math problem accomplished. Tears during Charlotte’s Web. Laughter during questions about the Bible (kids ask the darnedest things). I still sneak into my almost-16-year-old daughter’s bedroom at night and kiss under her little chin and pray for her well-being and marvel at her beauty. I’ll do it ’til she’s gone. The rest of the girls will get the same treatment. I can do this because we’ve had time together. Lots of it. With all our activities and all our busyness, we’ve lived with each other and haven’t just shared common space.

Delicious meals together — homemade stock, biscuits from scratch, pleasant laughter around the table, prayers before meals, Paul and I chopping vegetables together while we talk, candles lit, messy table settings by children who want to return to drawing and painting, meaningless songs from the heart and idle prattle, Paul smoking his pipe while he barbecues and one of the girls paint.

Money towards things that matter — my wardrobe needs inspiration, our house needs cleaned and decorated, our cars need a facelift but … Paul and I’ve traveled to Chile (because my grandparents believed in the same concept). Paul’s sea kayaked on the Sea of Cortez and camped in a quinzee in the Bitterroot Mountains. We’ve visited Malheur almost every year. We’ve taken road trips to California and Texas. We’ve birded in S.E. Arizona (Paul twice). I’ve been to Italy. Elsa’s been to Italy. Greta’s going to Italy. I’ve been to New York. We’ve been caught in a tornado while camping on a beach. We’ve been rained out while camping in leaky tents. We’ve had our tents ripped by windstorms. We’ve suffered through cold nights and slept out of doors under the stars many times. We’ve hiked mountains (the girls and Paul far more than I) and we’ve seen baby wood ducks following their mama down a stream. We welcome the harbingers of spring every year — the red-winged blackbirds, the meadowlarks, and the mountain bluebirds. We’ve lived in the Ochoco Mountains and learned some of its secrets. We’ve knelt over mountain flowers and whispered their names.

Are there things in which I haven’t “gone up garret”? Yes. Plenty of things. In money lost over things which don’t matter. In work which took more than it gave. In work where there was no ring of truth. In movies, which I receive into myself and digest the depravities of our culture. In books that simper. And articles that sneer. In sentimental nonsense. And reality without spirit. When I’ve listened to facts instead of poetry. When I’ve tried to fix problems not my own. When I’ve walked into prisons and let them shut the door behind me. When I’ve been blind to beauties and deaf to sufferings and visa versa.

But I’m working to remedy it. Here, in what I write … in that I write. I’m simplifying my life in order to place myself in a position to receive miracles, and when they come, to recognize them, and when they are recognized, to be thankful and treasure them in my heart.

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