Back then, it was a Native American elder speaking in a gentle and compassionate way to a group of interested non-natives. “Ours is not a theology,” he said, “it is a way of life.”

He went on to speak about the Native Americans’ reverence for the ecological whole of life, for the earth and all the things of the earth.  He said, “We know our place in the great scheme of things, and we understand that everything is related, everything is sacred.  We hope to serve life with our actions, not our words.”

How odd, now, to hear those words in a totally different context, used for a totally different purpose,  a few days ago coming from a political, this time using the words to criticize the morality of the president of the United States.  The politician said something like this:  “His (the president’s)  is not a theology, it is a way of life…It is not a theology of the book, of the Bible. The president believes that we are here to serve the earth rather than that the earth should serve us.”

Thinking about this “theology” the politician referenced sent me back to some basic sources.  First the word itself.

The dictionary reveals that the word theology comes from Latin roots theos and logos, which translates as god plus discourse.  Webster’s definition is “the study of God and the relation between God and the universe,” as well as “the study of different religious doctrines,” and “a specific system of this study expounded by a particular religion or denomination.”

A study, a discussion, a discourse.  Theology, by the dictionary definition, is not a way of life; it is a matter of words, discourse, debate even, used about God, in an attempt to understand or define God and our relation to God.

What the Native American elder meant, by contrast, was that he and his people did not merely “discourse” about the relationship between themselves and the sacred;  they attempted to live out their values, not just talk about them.

As for the question of “serving the earth,” I find a Jewish saying in the Talmud that instructs:

“Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai used to say, ‘If there be a plant in your hand when they say to you, ‘Behold the Messiah!’ go and plant the plant, and afterwards go out and greet him.”  Abot de Rabbi Nathan, Ver. B 31.

A similar Hindu text reads, “The earth is upheld by the veracity of those who have subdued their passions, and, following righteous practices, are never contaminated by desire, covetousness, and wrath.”  Vishnu Purana 3.12.

“Following righteous practices” sounds very much like a “way of life” that “upholds” the earth.  But how often do we find this righteousness to be the case?

A quotation from the Church of Christ of Latter-day Saints speaks of the opposite:

“Enoch looked upon the earth; and he heard a voice from the bowels thereof, saying, ‘Woe, woe is me, the mother of men; I am pained, I am weary, because of the wickedness of my children.  When shall I rest, and be cleansed from the filthiness which is gone forth out of me?  When will my Creator sanctify me, that I may rest, and righteousness for a season abide upon my face?’   And when Enoch heard the earth mourn, he wept, and cried unto the Lord, saying, ‘O Lord, wilt thou not have compassion upon the earth?’”  Pearl of Great Price, Moses 7.48-49.

For myself, as regards, this question of the morality, if not the theology, of “serving the earth,” I defer to Thomas Berry:

“The Earth with its layers of land and water and air provides the space within which all living things are nurtured and the context within which humans attain their identity. If, in the excitement of a secular technology, reverence for the Earth has diminished in the past, especially in the western world, humans now experience a sudden shock at the devastation they have wrought on their own habitation. The ancient human-Earth relationship must be recovered in a new context, in its mystical as well as in its physical functioning. There is need for awareness that the mountains and rivers and all living things, the sky and its sun and moon and clouds all constitute a healing, sustaining sacred presence for humans which they need as much for their psychic integrity as for their physical nourishment. This presence, whether experienced as Allah, as Atman, as Sunyata, or as the Buddha-nature or as Bodhisattva; whether as Tao or as the One or as the Divine Feminine, is the atmosphere in which humans breathe deepest and without which they eventually suffocate.”

But would that statement hold up to one concerned with the other bit of the aforementioned politician’s statement that stirred my contemplation?  “His is not a theology of the book, of the Bible, but instead is a way of life…”     This reminds me of the term “people of the book,” an expression used by Christians, Jews, and Muslims, though each in their own particular ways.

Here’s a summary by one writer:

“…In Judaism the term “People of the Book” (Hebrew: עם הספר, Am HaSefer) was used to refer specifically to the Jewish people and the Torah, and to the Jewish people and the wider canon of written Jewish law (including the Mishnah and the Talmud). Adherents of other Abrahamic religions, which arose later than Judaism, were not added. As such, the appellation is accepted by Jews as a reference to an identity rooted fundamentally in Torah…

“…In Christianity, the Catholic Church rejects the similar expression ‘religion of the book’ as a description of the Christian faith, preferring the term ‘religion of the Word of God.’ Nevertheless, other denominations, such as the Baptist Church, Methodist Church, Seventh-day Adventist Church as well as Puritans and Shakers, have embraced the term ‘People of the Book.’…

“…In Islam, the Muslim scripture, the Qur’an, is taken to represent the completion of these previous scriptures. The term ‘People of the Book’ in the Qur’an refers to followers of monotheistic Abrahamic religions that are older than Islam. This includes all Christians, Jews, Karaites and Samaritans and Sabians. Because the People of the Book recognize the God of Abraham as the one and only god, as do Muslims, and they practice revealed faiths based on divine ordinances, tolerance and autonomy is accorded to all the people of the book in societies governed by sharia (Islamic divine law)…

“…Islamic scholars differ on whether Hindus are People of the Book. The Islamic conquest of India necessitated that the definition be revised, as most of India’s inhabitants were followers of the Indian religions. Many of the Muslim clergy of India considered Hindus as people of the book, and from Muhhammad-bin-Kasim to Aurangzib, Muslim rulers were willing to consider Hindus as people of the book…

“…Many Christian missionaries in Africa, Asia and in the New World, developed writing systems for indigenous people and then provided them with a written translation of the Bible. As a result of this work, ‘People of the Book’ became the usual vernacular locution to refer to Christians among many African, Asian, and Native American people of both hemispheres.  Organizations such as the Wycliffe Bible Translators and the United Bible Societies, have resulted in availability of the Bible in 2,100 languages, which has further lent an identification with the phrase among Christians themselves.  Christian converts among evangelized cultures, in particular, have the strongest identification with the term ‘People of the Book’ as the first written text produced in their native language, as with English-speaking people, has often been the Bible. Many denominations, such as the Baptist Church and Methodist Church, which are notable for their mission work, have therefore embraced the term ‘People of the Book.’  From Wikipedia, ‘The People of the Book.’

So, perhaps it is well to consider a couple of quotations from “the book” itself on the question of theology and the way of life.  Here are a few:

Jesus speaking in Mathew 23:3 warns against those who “…say, and do not,”  the Pharisees, who were experts of the law, but who, Jesus states again and again, were “empty sepulchers.”  These righteous men, the Pharisees,  raised the “divine law” of scriptures against Jesus and his disciples, saying, for example, that Jesus and his followers healed on the Sabbath, which could be considered doing “work” which was forbidden in the “book” of the scriptures.

“But,” comments Henry Matthews, “our Lord would not be hindered from healing a man, though he knew a clamour would be raised at his doing it on the sabbath. It requires care to understand the proper connexion between piety and charity in observing the sabbath, and the distinction between works of real necessity and habits of self-indulgence. Wisdom from above teaches patient perseverance in well-doing.”

Still from “the book,” later than Jesus, St. Paul said: “He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant–not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.” 2 Corinthians 3:6. And “No, a man is a Jew if he is one inwardly; and circumcision is circumcision of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the written code. “ Romans 2:29.

There is ambiguity, then, surely, throughout history regarding the place of “the book of the law” in theology, in spirituality, in one’s everyday way of life.

How oddly congruent it seems that the above mentioned politician’s comments come during a week when, in Afganistan–where Christians, Jews, Muslims and others have been dying for years, partly over questions of theology—a new outbreak of violence has occurred because someone with an amazing lack of political and moral sensitivity trashed and burned copies of the Muslim’s holy book, the Koran, something forbidden by Islamic law.

How ironic.  Westerners, mostly, surely, “people of the book” by the politician’s standards, certainly violated the spirit of the teachings of any holy book by disrespecting the sacredness of another culture’s theology, and in so doing, set back every effort to bring a peaceful conclusion to the long and wearing war between believers, non-believers, and all the rest who struggle toward a righteous peace in the very homelands of Muslims, Christians, and Jews.

The importance of the tension between, on the one hand, following exactly the sacred teachings of the holy book, and on the other hand, the importance of the requirements of the given human condition at any particular time—perhaps like the tension between the making and following of the letter of the law (whether in our Congress or in our own spiritual lives) and the living out our values in an always ambiguous and complex reality –perhaps this tension is worthy of all of our consideration in depth.

So, there are some rambling references to bring to bear to the politician’s statement, in an attempt to give it more “theological” context.  My own opinion, for what it is worth, can be summed up by the following two quotations.

First:  “Small men command the letter of the law. Great men serve its spirit. For the spirit of the law is justice… and justice is the spirit of God.” ― J.C. Marino, Dante’s Journey

And this from the 15^th century Sufi poet from India, Kabir, translated by Robert Bly:

“I don’t know what sort of a God we have been talking about.

The caller calls in a loud voice to the Holy One at dusk.

Why? Surely the Holy One is not deaf.

He hears the delicate anklets that ring on the feet of an insect as it walks.

Go over and over your beads, paint weird designs on your forehead,

wear your hair matted, long, and ostentatious,

but when deep inside you there is a loaded gun, how can you have God?”

I want to.  Every day I think about it.  I’m here waiting for it to shape itself into words.  Waiting for inspiration, for revelation, for the right way to say something  to tell the world that, never mind, all is well, all will be well, etc.

But , before I even attempt to use my precious store of words, I must note that lately, temporarily, I’ve fallen back into the old habits of the introvert, of the introspective mystic;  I’ve fallen back into my wordless way of being that helps me to right myself when I get out of balance.

That’s why you haven’t heard from me.  I’m in that state of waiting, that empty and open stage, a non-rational state of being that is, for me, from time to time, essential if I am to come back into balance, back into the possibility of being my true “Self.”  (And balance does come back, each time.  Like those little round-bottomed dolls from the 70’s, remember, whose slogan was  “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down,” who were automatically rebalancing?  I’m being a Weeble, then, rebalancing. )

You see, lately, I had been suffering from the chilling effects of paying too constant attention to the unending surface wave-on-wave of everyday challenges and tragedies and contradictions, my own and the world’s.

In so doing, in paying too much attention to the news, and the views, and the endless stream of words interpreting, expostulating, pronouncing, defining, announcing (in my head, on the airwaves, online, everywhere, tearing down, discouraging, disempowering)… well,  I had  not been giving enough of my attention to that other dimension,  to that  reality beyond words.

So, bear with me.  I want so much to say something wise and inspiring on these pages every day.  But, often, instead, I’m busy out watching the fog, the rain, the hawks, the tiniest sliver of green seedling emerging from the rich earth.  I’m busy humming to myself, or doing a little mindless twirl in the wind.  I’m aimless and pointless and as receptive to subtlety as I am to love, tenderness, kindness, simplicity, hope, and all those enlivening and strengthening currents of reality I had been ignoring.

Now, I once again begin to notice the subtle movements, as colorful and changeable and beautiful as the blending of watercolors, of my larger Self, the all-encompassing SELF, the Beloved Self…

Words, messages, posts, haven’t sprouted up yet.  But soon they will, soon this stage will shift into a zesty pushing upward of something essential demanding to be shaped, expressed, shared, given forth, and then the medium of words, my easiest release, will serve.

Meantime, just to let you know I’m still here, here is a memory of other words I once wrote.   Words I wrote after a visit to Earthsprings, before I lived here.  Words I remembered recently when a precious person told me of his powerful experience of tasting the sweet waters of the natural springs that seep forth endlessly on the land here, in this place where I have been wordlessly wintering:

Wellspring

soaking thick dark leaf mold,

seeping through soil that crumbles,

then slowly dissolves,

through humus, dark as a womb,

natural springs, canopied by fern,

wetness oozing up through layers

of rock and mineral beds,

drop by drop to stand at last

round stems of secret violets,

till puddle, overflow trickles outward,

single leaf afloat, slowly,

downhill always, from gurgling murmur

that signals the source, the source,

breaking through to service life

again with elemental bedrock

organic flow, my soul the soil

the cosmic wellspring softens

and gently soaks with the moist

waters of my holy source.

“…Wholeness exists to the extent an individual is conscious of and receptive to his innermost self…When we think about our own growth we probably think simultaneously of two co-existing and equally necessary elements: self-knowledge (i.e. knowing who the self within us really is and awakening to the values, needs and wants of that self) and the ability–perhaps I should say the will–to act out that real self in our lives.  This close tie between knowing and doing can explain why, for many, self-knowledge is generally resisted.  Certainly it takes great courage to know ourselves as we truly are since this knowledge makes demands on us–demands not everyone wants to fulfill.  For some, self-knowledge means letting go of the idealized image their intellect (and perhaps family or friends) thinks they “should” be.  For these people, living out the real self may mean living quite unspectacular lives.  For others, knowing the truth of their being may mean stretching into untried, frighteningly difficult arenas…For almost everyone, in order to accomplish the knowing part of the wholeness equation, courage and the will to know must be paired traits within the personality…Paul Tillich’s phrase, ‘the courage to be,’ is insightfully descriptive of what is required of one who would be whole…”   From Ordinary People as Monks and Mystics.

I guess that after so many trees died or almost died in last summer’s hot drought or in the raging summer fires, those trees still here are now greatly rejoicing at actually being alive.  Or perhaps they fear that this is their last hurrah.  Either way, the forest is glorious, glorious in autumn splendor, and it just goes on and on and on, clear into winter.  There’s surely never been an autumn like this one.  Each day I think, “OK, this is the peak, this is as good as it gets.”  Then the next day, and then the next, another set of trees blazes forth with new vivid color.

Everywhere, the forest looks like it’s on fire, but this time it’s with turning leaves , splendid in red and gold and yellow and scarlet and umber and orange and a hundred other shades of color I can’t match with all my watercolors put together.  Week by week, the sheen from every deciduous tree, one by one, blazes out vividly against the dark evergreen pines around me.  Even the dogwoods that last summer I thought were dying somehow managed in the last few months to regrow enough leaves  to be now red in leaf and berry, as if to say, “I’m still here!  Look at me, I’m still here.”

I know, it’s true enough, not only the trees are behaving strangely, the whole vegetative world down here is confused with the severe climate changes we are experiencing.  The yellow jasmine is blooming, as though it were spring.   The faithful tomatoes, like the trees, suffered the severe summer heat ,and I got not a tomato one all summer, but this fall, amazingly quickly, the tomato bushes set fruit, and there were many tomatoes to be picked, however green, by the bucket full before first frost (something that I’ve never done before);  these determined tomatoes, survivors, have since stayed on the floor in my study, ripening slowly and sweetly, and now I have fresh homegrown organic tomatoes midwinter—another reminder that this is a December unlike any other I can remember.

The message is clear, of course.  Life holds on, and when threatened, puts forth its best and most amazing efforts.  Its beauty and vitality is most tenaciously revealed after there is the threat of its loss altogether.

A lesson I take to heart.  Walking today on a quiet trail, the wind tossing a shower of gold all around me,  I remember who I am, why I am, what this all is, and why I care.  I sing my praises yet again, in the chant that came to me years ago while walking, then, beside the Pacific Ocean, “…oh, so beautiful…how beautiful thou art….”

Of course, that is the proverbial message of the season.

From the beginning, there were the ancient celebrations of the winter solstice, when first humans began to realize that the freezing and darkening times would cyclically change back to warmth and light, no matter how unlikely that seemed.

Later, there were the Hebrews, celebrating  the magical replenishment of oil for light and heat long past time when anyone could imagine it possible.

And there was also the story of the birth of a godly child, not in a temple or a castle or any other imagined appropriate place, but in a stable, and this child was born indeed, not to a king or a priestess, but to a simple couple without a home to shelter them during the birthing.

When many in my world are homeless, hopeless, without the strength to reimagine their lives in a new strange season, I turn again to this winter message.  A message of hope.  Of endurance.  Of courage.  Of stamina brought forth by nature in trying times.  The message of the trees, the jasmine, the tomatoes, the survivors.

And so, because I care, I send you, herewith, a bouquet of golden leaves, a harvest of ripe tomatoes, a walk beside a natural spring of water that did not dry up, even in the terrible drought.  I send you,  setting aside occasional miscellaneous moods to the contrary, my own ecstatic joy,  my precious simple bliss at the miracle of being.

Here.  Still.  Look at me.  Look at us.  All of us.  In this life, and the life to come, wherever, however it may be, surely it is, will be, yet, shining, glorious, like the trees.

In the turning times, in the changing seasons and changing circumstances, we turn again to praise the beauty of the earth, of life, of each other, while every spiritual tradition, each in its own way, is saying, also, “Yes, this!  Rejoice and praise this!  Take heart and hope.  Raise high the anthem, any circumstance to the contrary, there is goodness, there is beauty, life and love are good, very, very good!”

May you have a peaceful, joyful, happy, fruitful holiday.  I hold you in my heart, most tenderly, most prayerfully.

Glenda Taylor

Earthsprings Retreat Center

Winter, 2011

Dragging Canoe,  chief of the Lower Cherokee from 1777 until his death in 1792, was a pre-eminent war leader among the Indians of the Southeast of his time.

Sing

when the birds are silent

Dance

when the wind is still

Laugh

when the rain is long coming

Bend

to the Spirit’s will

Open

when the day is closing

Thunder

when the sun shines full

Ground

when a wild wind spirals

Surrender

to the moon tides pull

Earth and stone

live long and slow

Stars cycle

through a trillion dreams

Water

knows not boundaries

Breath air

a constant stream

Honor

each passing second

Honor

above and below

Honor

the past and the future

We all serve

long and slow.

Timeless Quotes From the Buddha from Gerald Penilla on Vimeo.

I have been, for some time now. Getting up early each day to water what few trees and plants my water hose will reach, with one eye toward water conservation and the other toward my responsibility to those things I had previously planted…watching world news and political news and weather news…month after month of no rain and triple digit heat…tragic news here and there and there…I remember being in the National Cathedral, and the thought of its being damaged in an earthquake, along with the Washington monument…the Washington monument???

Good thing today happened for me here at Earthsprings. Several things happened, actually. It started off when I awakened from a dream that was most instructive, and then it went from there.

I dreamed that I was at the home of friends, along with a whole group of others dear to me. We were having a great time, until I accidentally dropped and broke a precious dish that I knew had belonged to my friend’s grandmother, handed down to her for generations. I was distraught and so was my friend. She wandered around trying to act as though it was alright, while I came undone, weeping, withdrawing to another room, telling everyone that I had broken several things lately, and that I was obviously getting untrustworthy and unsteady, that I needed just to stay home from now on, and actually that I wasn’t ever going to go anywhere again, and so on. This went on for a good while, with me crying and all the other women sort of clucking around trying to comfort first me and then the owner of the broken dish. Finally, my dear wise friend, Steve Nash, came charging into the room and said something exactly like this: “Alright now, this has gone on long enough! Yes, that was a precious dish, and I’m sorry it got broken. But you know, Glenda, it’s not only your fault; we should not have left that priceless object sitting around where it could get broken. Any of these children might have broken it instead of you, and would you want them never to leave their home again? And OK, yes, you’ve dropped a few things lately, and I know what you’re feeling. You’re just scared, really scared, feeling less capable, more fragile, less in control. But , you know, having those things get broken may have nothing to do with your age or the condition of your brain. It could be coincidence, it could anything. And, you know what, if it does mean you’re getting shakey, and if you do get more helpless, well then, we’ll just baby-proof the house before you come, because I’m not having it that you aren’t coming here anymore! If you don’t, I’ll come get you! Just because you are getting older, maybe more fragile, doesn’t mean you aren’t necessary to us, or that you don’t still have responsibilities to all of us. You’ve still got work to do, girl; you can’t quit. You can’t get to feeling too sorry for yourself and just give up! Now, everybody, pull it together here, all of you, and let’s get on with what we came here to do, have some fun!! The rest of you get on out there somewhere, so Glenda and I can get ready to go take a little boat ride together!” And with that I woke up, tears in my eyes, and with my instructions from Steve (and Life) sounding in my ears.

So I got up, went outside, and did my morning chores with a will. And there I found several other happenings that touched my heart.

First are the “grandson trees,” the little redbud transplants my grandson Jacob brought from the garden and planted all around among the dogwoods near the driveway about a year ago. They made it through last summer and the hard winter, so I’ve been dragging a hundred-foot water hose around every other day, watering them. And I see that despite the 105 degree days, they are hanging on. They first lost all their leaves, but as I watered them, within a couple of days, they dutifully put out two or three new little leaves. But then, those new leaves a get browned up. So, I water, and then, some of them put out more new little leaves, only to dry up. But they keep trying, and I keep watering. So courageous are those little trees. I may have lost some of them, but some of them may make it. And every time I water them, I notice that, scurrying out from around their bases, where the water is filling up the little low place around them, come all sorts of bugs and lizards and tiny creatures that temporarily evacuate their oasis. I had no idea that my watering the seedling trees might be life- saving to others too. We never know the result of our actions. When I got animated over the morning glory vines completely covering over an azalea bush and jerked off the morning glory vines, I discovered that those vines had been shading and protecting that particular azalea, so that it was the only one that was still green and healthy looking!! We just don’t know what’s what, we make mistakes that way, thinking we are doing what is right. But we have to trust the deeper wisdom of nature, of the eternal, and just keep on keeping on, somehow.

The other thing this morning that underscored that (and I really don’t know what it portends), is that the “bliss bestowing tree,” so named because its blooms, in spring, smell so wonderful, well, last week it lost every leaf; the leaves just suddenly turned crisp and fell off. The tree had been busy, as usual, in the year long process of making its flower buds for next spring, and that’s all that was left on the tree, those tight little buds all over the tree, still wrapped in their protective husks, trying to grow. I was devastated, feeling I had failed the tree as I tried to get here and there and water everything and missed it too long. So I put the soaker- hose on it for a good long while, hoping desperately that the tree itself would not die. Well, I went out this morning, and there before my eyes was the little tree, blooming!! Those tight little buds, instead of waiting for spring, were opening up, small and not fully developed, were nonetheless blooming, in the autumn heat, not a leaf to seen, but they were blooming!! What does that mean? Is it the tree’s last hurrah, its final gift? Is it Life, saying yet again, “Never give up, do what you can, don’t wait till conditions are favorable, if you must, do what you must, but BLOOM! Give forth your gifts!” Sort of the same message I got from Steve in the dream, with the sweet smell of bliss added. I wept, even while I kept going to try to save something else.

Bliss in the midst of mayhem. Wow! Be here now. Live now. Don’t give up! Bloom!

Now this is, again, a homely little homily. But you know what? I used to be one of those out there storming the barricades, so to speak, taken up with BIG things, and I value that way of being. But there is also another way, a quieter, more earthy way, a more gentle, Taoist way, I guess. That way is just to be with what is, however it is, however hard or sad or challenging it is, and somehow see the good, and do the good, and feel the Presence of Life, in all events and all circumstances. Not being a Pollyanna; I don’t mean that. It does hurt when a precious thing breaks, a precious one dies, when so much suffering is abroad. It is important to be with that too. Looking it right in the eye, experiencing that deeply. And also. And also. And also, finding a Yes! Somewhere, a “Yes, and, “ my life motto, “Yes, and…there is also the good, always some good, some beautiful, that deserves our notice, our commitment, our responsibility to keep on keeping on.”

At least that’s what I’m telling myself, even as a hurricane bears down on the East Coast of the U.S. shortly after an unusual earthquake and a wild war in Libya and a famine in other parts of Africa and my giant oak tree that is dropping limbs, dropping limbs, maybe dying.

Nonetheless, I’m holding on to my dream, the dream of last night, and the dream of my lifetime. I stand with the bliss bestowing tree, living and dying.

Let us all bloom! Now! No matter what, let’s do our best. Let’s “pull it together” as Steve said in the dream, and do our best.

And, also as Steve said, don’t forget, we’re here to have some fun, no matter what breaks!