Unity, zero and love

Last week, I was among a group of fellow serious spiritual seekers, at T. Thorn Coyle’s Feri apprenticeship training. We talked a little about the differences between the ideas of unity in Western and Eastern faiths; in general, it could be said that unity in Western faiths has often been interpreted to mean that there is only One God, and all must worship the same One, whereas in Eastern faiths, unity has often been taken to mean oneness of everything.

Both of these extremes of view, and the full spectrum between them, can of course be found in some form in all cultures. However, it seemed significant in terms of our discussion last week that for hundreds of years, while Eastern mathematicians and philosophers grappled with the mysterious zero, Western mathematics and philosophy struggled along with the irreducible unit.

There is something about the concept of zero that allows the folding and collapse, the flattening of hierarchical, combative spiritual notions. Zero allows us to think both in terms of nothing – dark absence, the void – and of infinity – brilliance, limitlessness. Instead of trying to make all ideas into one dogma, all expressions of the Divine into One God, and rejecting and persecuting anything that won’t fit, zero allows us the space to open to the mystery of multiplicity that is also unity.

This mystery of multiplicity that is unity is the mystery, for me, of love: two which are also one; many which are also one.

Love is the central mystery of the spiritual, the secret chamber of the heart in which the mark of the Divine is stamped, where the whisper of Life’s voice is heard. Love is openness, is yielding, is consuming passion, is stillness. Love is strength and compassion and commitment. Love is all things and nothing, void and infinity, that from which all emerges and to which all returns.

Step into the stillness of your own heart, the place where Love dwells, waiting.

Peace and purpose

A couple of weeks ago, a family of evangelists came to my door: a man, a woman and a little girl. The man walked up to the door, offering me a booklet in his outstretched hand.

‘Do you want to know God’s purpose for your life?’ he asked.

The book in his hand was entitled What is the purpose of life?

I replied, ‘Thank you, but I already know the purpose of my life.’

The family left, the little girl waving at me as they walked back to their car; I waved back and smiled.

It has taken me twenty years to be able to give that answer, to know that my purpose in life is to know and share the peace of God. Such a simple answer to all my years of seeking: simple to say, but difficult to live.

This last week, I have found very little peace within myself. The voice of doubt began to ask, how can I share peace when I cannot even find it for myself?

After a few days of inner wrangling, I remembered a simple way of shifting consciousness – singing in the shower. I did not deliberately choose what to sing, but the Gods answered my spoken and unspoken prayers for clarity with a song I learned years ago at Avalon Witchcamp:

My body is a living temple of love,
My body is the body of the Goddess.
Oh! I am that I am.

As I sang it over and over, the hot water washing over my body, I had a moment of remembrance of a truth I’d learned many times before: if I am truly to know peace, I must learn to be at peace with not being peaceful.

Such is the work of being compassionate to ourselves and others.

May peace fill our hearts, our world, our universe.

What are we doing today?

Yesterday was Live Earth: seven day-long live concerts on seven continents, performed to raise awareness of global warming and encourage people to do something about it.

Live Earth was a major achievement, which apparently reached two billion people worldwide – almost a third of the world’s population. However, part of me feels uncomfortable with this approach to ’saving the planet’.

It’s not that I think we shouldn’t try. I’m not someone who feels that following a spiritual path means leaving the earthly behind. My path is focused as much on earth as on heaven, and I share in the desire to make the world a better place, for myself and for all of my fellow beings, present and future.

What concerns me, I think, is that Live Earth might be seen as an end, not a beginning. Getting the message through that “we’ve got to start doing something” is important. But who are “we”, what should we be doing, and when will we start?

Recently, many areas of my life have made me think about the relationship between the personal and the social, between the local, the national and the global. The phrase ‘think global, act local’ has become something of a cliche in recent years, but the ideas behind it are worth examining in detail.

We see people and events around the world through our television screens, are connected to people around the globe through the Internet. The food on our tables and the clothes on our backs could be grown or made anywhere in the world. We are aware of and personally connected to the rest of the world now in a way unprecedented in human history.

When we see that change is needed, and that that change must be on a global scale, it’s easy to become overwhelmed. Recognising the size and scope of the issues that face us is vital, yet that very recognition can leave us feeling that nothing we can do will make any difference, so why bother? Or it can keep us stuck in the realm of ideas and theory, keeping the problem at arm’s length – someone else’s responsibility.

The suggestion to ‘act local’ is, I believe, one of the few ways to overcome such feelings of being overwhelmed, such difficulties in connecting with change on a personal basis, both of which keep us stuck in inaction. It reminds us that the actions of individuals, families and small groups are the basis of all change. The “we” becomes me, those I live and work with, my neighbours and my friends; it becomes possible to say, “This is what I am doing today.”

So what am I doing today?

Today, I am recommitting to my spiritual practice, which keeps me clear and grounded.

Today, I am turning off lights when they’re not needed, and thinking twice before turning them on in the first place.

Today, I am going around the house and unplugging all the unused power supplies.

Today, I am staying at home and enjoying the sun and the company of my partner and our dogs, rather than driving many miles to the nearest cinema to sit in the dark.

Today, I am being in this environment in which I live, opening to its divinity and listening for the voice of Life.

So what are you doing today?

May our choices and our actions be blessed.

Unpicking our fear of one another

I love the country: the peace, the nearness of the elements, how obvious it is that this world is so much more than human. But after seven years of space and quiet, I can once again appreciate the city: the tumult, the vibrancy of human beings in all our diverse ways of being, the pure busy-ness of it all.

There is, however, a fear that sometimes takes possession of people who live in large cities, or who visit them, a paranoia that the person sitting next to them on the bus, standing behind them in the supermarket queue, passing them in the street is about to do something dangerous, something violent; that their fellow human beings are, in short, terrifying.

It is a largely unfounded fear if one looks objectively at statistics, yet in the face of daily reports of random stabbings and planned terrorist attacks, such fear seems reasonable, sensible, even necessary for daily survival. It is a fear that stops us from responding to one another, smiling, even acknowledging one another’s existence. More and more, people seem to be missing a sense of connection with their fellow human beings, let alone with the more-than-human universe. Many long for a feeling of belonging. Social cohesion is a current government buzzword and at last there is official acknowledgement that development is about more than economics.

Yet how are we to be socially cohesive, how are we to make those connections with one another that such cohesion requires, when we are afraid of one another? In the face of such fear, it takes great courage to attempt to connect with someone we have never spoken to, who may seem very different from us in appearance, dress, work, daily habits, faith or in any number of other ways.

We can begin in small ways; we can say hello to our neighbours and our work colleagues, we can be friendly to people in the supermarket queue. We can go further; we can begin to notice and question our assumptions about the people we see and meet, we can ask if what we read about in newspapers and hear on the radio is the full story. We can notice when we are afraid, and make a choice to be courageous.

We may not manage it all the time, or even every day – we may only manage it once a week, or once a month – but every time we make that choice to be courageous, to connect, we start to unpick the fear that keeps us separate from one another and come one step closer to that sense of togetherness and community for which so many of us long.