We always feel, do we not, that if some true note occasionally slips into our sayings, that it is the gift of some muse or a fortunate catch from the waves around us all.
“There is one mind common to all individual men. Every man is an inlet to the same and to all of the same. He that is once admitted to the right of reason is made a freeman of the whole estate. What Plato has thought, he may think; what a saint has felt, he may feel; what at any time has befallen any man, he can understand. Who hath access to this universal mind is a party to all that is or can be done, for this is the only and sovereign agent.” R. W. Emerson
Behind words that are good, look for thought that is better, and behind thought that is better, look for pure meaning that is best. The words are symbols hiding thoughts, and thoughts are symbols hiding deeper meanings. The deeper meaning is non-verbal, is energy, motive, inspiration. . .
All the phenomena of life are meditation forms. Meditation arises spontaneously from the hidden side of things; no waking person can escape the glory of it. There are great shocks of communion in children’s faces and in the pages of books. And here it presses itself upon us in the voices of friends and in the sun behind clouds. And when we dutifully set meditation aside as a packaged ritual of image and word, we may find this works also, but for some of us, not as well as life. For me, the artificiality of forms suffocates, and I try to avoid death by improvising. On a good day perhaps directing our gaze is form enough. From that alone we may slip quietly into the great blue sky of the real.
Joy of my life is intense. Some days the benediction of it embarrasses me. Joy is filled with solutions, with resolutions, with community, with a curative atmosphere of secret sunlight cast wide over the Earth. The reason of my unrest is also spread wide–so much of crazy pained humanity is without happiness; so many dark and convoluted paths, so many cuts and bleedings, so many betrayals of sunlight. I sleep restlessly and a sense of urgency troubles me, a vast world of needs press on my mind, empty cups I am ill equipped to fill.
And yet there is community, quieter and more powerful than these troubled times. A time and place is allotted each of us, if only we might reach out more skillfully and fearlessly, yielding the best of our life in support of real community. Indeed we must do so, and our lot may not be the task of some grand and far reaching dream, yet it is always there, this threshold where our thoughts begin to weave in communion with all our friends known and unknown, with all those who sense the stark contrast between the world of what is and what must be.