AMEN

      The word “Amen”, usually followed by an exclamation mark, might be translated “Yes indeed!” or “Absolutely!” or “No question about it!”. It’s a word of affirmation and assertion, a forceful pronouncement, a declaration of a deeply held belief. If someone said, for instance, “Thoughts are far stronger than things,” I would say “Amen!” If someone said,” “Good is far stronger than evil,” I would say “Amen!” If someone said, “The present is far stronger than the past or the future,” I would say, or maybe shout, “Amen!”

SEARCHING FOR ME

  Unfortunately, I have spent a large part of my 72 years trying to be either defensive or aggressive – trying, that is, either to protect the so-called separate self called “me”, or to launch out from that self in an active, creative way. To tell the truth, it’s been an exhausting struggle. I’ve felt constantly on the alert, constantly standing by to either shield this person called “Ham” or use it as a base from which to make things happen. Almost 24/7, I’ve been either a defender or an aggressor. Thankfully, however, things have been changing for me. A type of mist has been slowly dissolving.  Amazingly, hard as it is to believe, it’s gradually becoming clear that this apparently separate being called “me” actually doesn’t exist. This “person” I’ve devoted so many years to defending and empowering -- this seemingly separate, easily damaged being -- is actually no more than a passing thought. Whenever I search for what I call “me”, all I can find is another thought. It might be a thought that I’m vulnerable and need protection, or that I’m strong and can aggressively make a mark in the world, but in either case, it’s simply a thought, NOT a separate physical person. The strange, startling, and thoroughly inspiring truth seems to be that my only existence is as a fresh, free-wheeling thought in the always-new present moment. There’s really no separate “Hamilton Salsich” who needs protection or who needs to feel responsible for getting a thousand things done each day. There’s just the endless and shoreless river of thoughts, of which I and all of us are a part. This understanding is slowly helping me see that I can, in fact, give up being either defensive or aggressive – that I can finally loosen up, let go, and simply take pleasure in whatever happens in this capricious and always surprising world.    

MORNING ASTONISHMENT

     Sometimes, usually in the early morning, a feeling of absolute astonishment comes over me, a sense that my situation in life is indescribably miraculous. I find myself asking, as I did this morning, how I happen to be lucky enough to be located at this moment in time on a smoothly spinning planet in an astonishingly large galaxy in a universe of unthinkable numbers of such galaxies. I find myself marveling at the smallest things – the way the wind, as I write, is furling and unfurling our flag in countless ways; the way our neighbor’s red car is shining in the sunlight; the way Delycia is smoothly turning the pages of a calendar in the kitchen. I’m sometimes almost stock-still with wonder. How, I ask, does my life-giving breath keep coming and going? How do I have many thousands of new thoughts each day, totaling many millions in my lifetime? And where do all these thoughts come from? And where do gentleness and generosity and kindness come from, and how did they become imperishable and infinite? 
     Sometimes, with startling thoughts like these, I understand, once again, that life is something to soar with instead of struggle with.

ONE DAY

One day he decided to search for himself.

He first found a thought that said

he was 72 and sick with a cold, but

then he saw that that thought

was not himself, but just a thought.

Then he turned a corner and came upon

another thought, this one saying

he was disorganized and fairly forgetful,

but he saw that it was also

just a thought, not the real him.

He kept searching, and soon discovered

a thought that filled a whole valley

and shouted that he was weak

and encompassed by cares and defects.

He shook with concern, but then saw

something like a light that let him know

that even that thought was made

of nothing but brevity and emptiness.

It sure wasn’t him, and so he smiled,

set aside his search, and sat

on a soft place in this universe

of endless, always-new thoughts,

and studied them in stillness and peace.

EPIPHANIES

     One definition of an epiphany is “a moment of sudden revelation or insight”, something that I’m sure happens to all of us more times than we realize. I’ve had, I guess, thousands of epiphanies over the last 72 years, everything from suddenly realizing, one April day back in 7^th grade, that I was in deep trouble with Sister Virginia Marie, to unexpectedly understanding, just this morning, how to securely install a bracket for a flag to an outside wall. I suppose we have these epiphanies almost constantly – these sudden understandings, these unforeseen eye-openers, these “aha!” moments that make some part of life instantly comprehensible. Strangely, one of my most common epiphanies is the out-of-the-blue understanding that I don’t really understand much of anything – that this life is ultimately a beautiful but unsolvable mystery, of which I am a small but essential part. These are instructional epiphanies that, in a flash, make clear to me my safe and lucky place in this vastly puzzling but relentlessly perfect universe. I’m always grateful when they make what have become their regular daily visits.   

SITTING STILL

5:15 a.m.

So many things were sitting still

that morning. He tried to see

something that was moving, but all

was quietness and satisfaction.

The chairs chose to stay right

where they were, the clock liked

its place on the wall, and the cabinets

in the kitchen were stock-still

and content. And he, too, stayed

where he was, in the blue chair

by the window, where he could see

the world that was also pleased

to be sitting peacefully still.  

RISE AND SHINE

Easter Sunday

April 20, 2014

5:45 am

 

     As always, many things are rising and shining this morning – the sun in a bluish-silver sky, trees  standing straight in the early light, fearless sprouts in Delycia’s gardens, and me, making myself comfortable with my computer and letting my words loose on the screen like lit-up ships heading out to sea. Easter, for many, is about resurrection, but resurrection comes in countless forms. Each morning our world is restored and redecorated by sunshine, and each day renewal takes place in limitless ways. Each thought is a thoroughly new one, each feeling flows through us in fresh currents, and all the people we see are starting out spanking new the second we see them. Our days can seem old and tired, but in fact there’s nothing but newness in them, nothing but resurrection, nothing but rising and shining.

SMILING IN THE SUNROOM

He was smiling in the sunroom.

The silence was nice, but then he noticed

small sounds – the humming of the furnace

in the cellar, some spring birds singing

outside, the soft touch of his fingers

on the keyboard. He couldn’t think

of a single problem he had to solve,

or a single something he had to get.

He knew they were somewhere,

but he couldn’t see them now

with so many starlings soaring up

from the feeders in the sunshine.

A SUDDEN REALIZATION

        This morning, as I was reading in the New Testament about Paul’s “conversion” – how, as I understand it, he suddenly came to a completely new way of thinking about love – I realized that I need to think, again, about what love actually is. First of all, perhaps I should capitalize the word, to show that it stands for a force that is totally non-material, and that therefore has no limits and can never be destroyed or even slightly diminished. This is perhaps what Paul saw on the road to Damascus – that this power called love, or Love, is not confined to any particular place or object, but is worldwide, widespread, and invincible. Having no material boundary lines, there's no place where Love isn’t present, and there’s no power that can oppose its preeminence. What’s extraordinary about this is that the same is true for other non-material qualities. Kindness, for instance, has no boundaries and can never be even slightly restricted by any material force. Enthusiasm, too, cannot be confined or constrained, for it is made of nothing but its own wholehearted spirit.  Gentleness, confidence, generosity, peacefulness – all of these are intangible, indefinable, and  elusive forces that sweep through the universe without hindrance. I suppose what really astonished Paul about his new realization is that it thoroughly transformed his notions about God. He had probably been trapped for years by the belief that the supreme being was some type of super-human ruler who controlled the universe the way an absolute human monarch would. What he suddenly saw on the road to Damascus was that this force called “God” was actually far, far greater than he had imagined. He now saw that it is a non-material and therefore boundless power that is utterly unassailable and endlessly persistent. It’s the power of Love, the power that knocked this hostile persecutor of Christians right off his horse.

A LUCKY HEIR

In terms of dollars, I sure don’t have money to burn, but in terms of real riches, I am a wealthy man. I am actually an heir – a beneficiary of a boundless and inexhaustible fortune. I have access, 24/7, to resources that can keep my life continually healthy and happy. These funds are not dollars, not coins or cash or any kind of material currency. No, my wealth is the wealth that all of us share – the wealth of limitless inner qualities. All of us – though we sometimes fail to see it – have a treasure chest inside us that’s spilling over with qualities like caring and calmness and quietness and patience. We can withdraw them at any time, and amazingly, the account instantly refills with more than we withdraw. We amass more kindness the more we spend, and patience produces more patience the more we practice it. This is the simple good fortune of being alive. All of us, aware of it or not, are lucky in this wonderful way. We are all the fortunate heirs of a vast inner fortune that lasts forever.

UNCONQUERABLE KINDNESS

      Sometimes the power of storms or cruelty or economic crashes can seem overwhelming, but what about the power of gentleness? Can any force defeat a calm and helpful heart? Can a hurricane hurt one’s friendliness? Can bloodshed and carnage conquer one’s kindness and compassion? Don’t the good powers, like benevolence and bigheartedness and generosity, simply smile at evil and carry on with their healing work?  

SIDE BY SIDE

"Spring Break, Donut Shop",
oil, by Heidi Malott

There were lights beside a sign

for a donut shop. There were small buildings 

side by side with great ones. He wondered

if sad people were beside those who smile,

and if snowstorms were in valleys

while sunshine was blessing the summits.

He watched his coffee as it steamed beside

his hand, poor hand that sometimes

held itself out to find a friend.

He watched his thoughts as they folded

their hands in each other’s, and his words 

as they took their places on the screen, 

nouns and verbs side by side as friends.

WATCHING THE TRAFFIC

"Rain, Moon, Traffic", oil,
by Heidi Malott

Sometimes, at a stop sign in the car or strolling in a city, I simply watch the flow of the traffic, and there’s often something strangely serene about it – the sort of disordered evenness of the traffic, the curious turns and swerves it takes, the anomalous stops and start-ups that surprisingly happen in something like smooth routines. It’s almost fun to watch it, just as it’s sometimes fun to sit off to the side of my mind and watch the movement of a different kind of traffic – the continuous and convoluted flow of my thoughts. Like cars and trucks on highways, my thoughts stream along in a steady and occasionally serpentine manner, sometimes confusing me with their seemingly slapdash patterns, but always and endlessly moving. I see them streaming along -- thoughts of sorrow and happiness, of distress and joyousness, small thoughts and stupendous thoughts – and it’s somehow a pleasure to simply observe them as they ceaselessly flow. What’s wonderful is the awareness that they are not me – that these thoughts are just short-lived cerebral wisps wandering through my life. I can observe them and be mystified by them, but I can also sit back and smile, because they are not me. The real me stands aside. The thoughts flow by, but I stand strongly and peacefully aside.      

SHIFTING

You can feel things shift when you

switch on the lights, or turn the pages 

of certain books, or see the juice

in a grapefruit flow across your fingers 

like sweet streams. You know that things 

have shifted when you sit in a chair

and it’s not just a chair but a seat

on a spinning planet. There are major shifts 

when a small thought rolls along 

and loosens a thousand others. Also, 

feelings that start to fly can cause 

flocks of them to take to the air,

and take you along.  

WAITING

"Non Waiting", oil,
by Robin Cheers

It occurred to me this morning that there are two kinds of waiting, and I’m afraid I’ve spent far more time doing one kind than the other. The kind of waiting that turned into a routine for me in my younger days is like the waiting done by the man at the sheep market pool in the New Testament’s gospel of John. This man waited, just as I used to sometimes do, for a power outside himself to repair and revitalize something in his life. He apparently had felt powerless, and very ill, for 38 years, and each day he waited beside the presumably miraculous pool for some special material occurrence that he hoped would heal him. He was essentially imprisoned – paralyzed and disabled, you might say – by his belief that the water of the pool had immense power and supervised his destiny. It was fortunate for him that Jesus passed by, because Jesus showed him, in a few simple words, a straightforward but stunning truth – a truth that transformed this waiting man’s world. Jesus simply told the man that he was “whole”. He made it clear to him that he was already, right at that moment, an essential part of an endless, unbroken, and harmonious marvel called life. What the man learned, and what I am still learning, is that we don’t have to wait for salvation or healing or harmony or comfort or concord. All of these, in some form or another, are already present with me, each moment, simply needing to be seen and embraced. The only kind of waiting I need to do today is the good and happy and breathless kind of waiting we all love. What hidden marvels of harmony and healing will unfold in the next moment, and the next, and the next? That’s the question I need to ask myself all day today, and then wait with confidence for the answer to be revealed.

A BANQUET FOR FEAR

"Bistro Business" oil,
by Robin Cheers

 Like most of us, I have been fighting fear off and on for most of my life, but now, in my 70s, I see that what I should have been doing is saying a good-natured hello to fear and perhaps even setting out a banquet for it. Fear seems to find satisfaction in our resistance to it, for then it gets to spread and grow stronger. The more we fight to push fear out, the more powerful it sometimes becomes. So, I’m tossing in the towel, so to speak. I’m sending up the ceasefire flag so fear can see I’m not afraid of it. In fact, I’ve started sending invitations to fear: “Please come in. I’ll set out a banquet for you. Let’s relax and learn about each other. Linger as long as you want.” 

     Fear, I’m finding, often deflates fairly soon in the face of simple hospitality.

  

READING JOURNAL: "The Professor"

      

Yesterday I finished “The Professor” by Charlotte Bronte. There were times, early in the reading, when I was dismayed by the empty-headedness of some of the characters, and by the seeming tediousness of the story line. However, fortunately for me, I made a small commitment to stay with the book, and slowly the story started to blossom, chapter by chapter. Bronte’s writing – her graceful sentence structure, especially – was elegant almost from start to finish, and soon the characters starting seeming like people I could study and come to admire. The descriptions, both of the natural world and of the characters, grew better, it seemed, as I turned the pages. And her sentence structure, as I said, was so stylish. I made numerous highlights of sentences containing very pleasing examples of parallelism. Obviously, I am glad I didn’t give up on this somewhat forgotten but nonetheless impressive novel.

LIKE A LION ROARING

"The King", oil,
by Don Gray

 Sometimes I see things so startling that it’s almost like a lion roaring to remind me of how surprising life is. These wake-up calls come not from strange and outlandish things, but from just the simplest, most commonplace stuff of everyday life. If I’m sort of dozing in my thoughts while walking around the yard, suddenly I might see a set of trees along our street standing so straight and self-possessed, and I’m startled into wakefulness by the simple rightness of them. Or, if I’m sleepwalking through some humdrum household tasks, out of the blue I might notice a yellow bowl on a table beside a window, and that small, undistinguished bowl seems to shout at me to wake up and watch for the ever-present wonders around me. These lions in my life, thank heavens, roar quite regularly to keep me alert. I can effortlessly daydream through most of any day, but usually some small, obvious thing – a single shadow on the lawn, a fluttering leaf, a sky so blue it stuns you – roars to me now and then, and I bow in my heart in thanks.    

"Jonathan Livingston Seagull"

     In late December, Delycia and I promised ourselves that, in 2014, we would take one day each month to read and discuss a single book. So far in our one-book-in-one-day adventure, we have read Steinbeck's "The Pearl" in January, T.S. Eliot's poem cycle, "Four Quartets" in February, Natalie Babbitt's "Tuck Everlasting" in March, and then, on April 1, Richard Bach's "Jonathan Livingston Seagull"

     I suppose I must have read Bach's best-selling book years ago, but I had long since forgotten its simple wisdom. We both enjoyed the story, but more special to us was its message of awakened understanding. Jonathan and the gulls whom he taught slowly began to realize how totally unlimited they were -- how wide-open their future possibilities were -- and perhaps Delycia and I, in our own ways, better understood the same truth as we read and discussed this small, startling book.