Permission to Hibernate

As the nights grew longer, I just didn’t have the energy I was used to having. When the sun finally set at 4:30 pm, I was ready for bed. I thought maybe something was wrong with me and explained to a friend that I just wanted let go of all externalities, to make myself very small, pull a blanket over my head and read a book by flashlight. That image brought the “aha” of insight -- this is what the hibernating animals looked like in the children’s book I had been reading. Some instinctual knowing had responded to the dwindling daylight and growing cold with a primal wisdom about seasonal change, and how we mammals survive the winter.  

Modern humans often assume that because we have electric lights and indoor heating seasonal change doesn’t affect us. But year after year I have a subtle feeling of anxiety as fall turns to winter, a sense that “I’ll never get it all done” and a desire to lay it all down and hibernate. As I observe this pattern year after year -- the winter drive towards interiority -- I have begun to reframe this cycle not as a failure to keep the pace of the fall, but as a rhythm uniquely suited for winter that has it’s own value. What if there is wisdom in those pre-industrial instincts? It makes sense in the dark and the cold season to make our world a bit smaller, a bit warmer, to be less physically active as we conserve energy in a season with less light, to consume what we have harvested already, rather than start growing new things.

I write this from a region that expects cold, snow and ice in winter. Perhaps you are reading this somewhere else. The spiritual practice is to notice the natural seasons wherever you are right now- really notice the light, the air, the temperature, the moisture. Notice the critters who live near you and their behavior, notice the plants and their seasonal changes. Then notice yourself- are you experiencing changes in body mind or spirit? Are your habits and routines different than they were in the summer?

Right now, my inner bear has decided to hibernate. It looked around at the cold and dark and knew just what the season demanded. When I Imagine the activities of fall, of rushing around gathering and building and harvesting, I feel exhausted and discouraged. When I Imagine holing up on my comfy couch under a wool throw and catching up on my reading, it feels just right. We industrials have the idea that we should be able to keep a steady pace of work all year round, but sometimes that denies the wisdom of living in sync with the rhythms of the body, with the natural world, and with the spirit.

This year, in addition to the always-challenging seasonal transition, we also experienced another resurgence of the pandemic. At the same time I was overwhelmed with the sad news on all sides, of loved ones dying or sick, of friends’ losses and worries. This season of the spirit asks for a pulling in and hunkering down, a winter of the spirit as well as of nature. Some inner wisdom suggests that if I am spread too thin I can lose myself, lose energy, lose what is important. That image of a warm-blooded animal in a small, insulated space felt possible, felt like I could keep myself, my heart and spirit and body warm. Some of those traditional activities of winter feel just right- reading, storytelling, baking, taking a walk through the snow on a sunny day, then warming myself with a blanket and a hot beverage. What does your body yearn for this season? What does your spirit yearn for?

In spring I imagine we will feel a different kind of shift, as the light grows long and the colors of spring delight the eyes. It helps me to know that this desire to hunker down is not for always, just for this season. As a Spiritual Practice for this month, I invite you to notice the seasonal shifts outside and in, and ask “what am I craving right now, and what would it feel like to try that?” Stay alert for signs of change, attuned to the shifting and emerging rhythms of the seasons and of the spirit. Observing the cycles of nature reminds us that our spirits also have seasons, each with it’s own challenges and gifts, and that no matter how dark and cold the winter, no season lasts forever.

Hospitality as Spiritual Practice

When I started my internship as a parish minister many years ago, I was nervous about the many things I would be doing for the first time, but I was most terrified of the social time after services. Oh the agony of standing on the patio trying not to look uncomfortable, hoping someone would talk with me. I decided, nonetheless, that this was my job now. People expected their minister to make them feel welcome, to play the host. I realized that it was important that I take the risk that visitors might leave saying “boy that Darcey was an odd duck” rather than wondering why no one had approached them, why they felt more lonely after coming to worship than before. And so that first day on the patio I screwed up my courage, deputized myself with the nametag reading “Darcey Laine, Intern Minister” and challenged myself to engage as many strangers as I could. I tried to imagine who might welcome that extra effort. Certainly newcomers deserved a warm welcome. Obviously those who had shared some pain or joy during “caring and sharing” might want a chance to talk further. The children and youth of the congregation needed to feel that the ministers of the congregation are their ministers too. And the list went on. Before long there were so many people I wanted to connect with, that I had hardly gotten started each week before the patio cleared out and I was left to turn out the lights and lock the doors. I understood that hospitality is one of the primary gifts of a community, one member to another. And by stepping boldly into the web of relationships as a host, I felt I truly belonged.

Hospitality is seen as an important spiritual practice in just about every religion I know. In his book “The World’s Religions” Huston Smith describes a noble quality of chun tzu. He writes

“Fully adequate, poised, the chun tzu has toward life as a whole the approach of an ideal hostess who is so at home in her surroundings that she is completely realized, and, being so, can turn full attention to putting others at ease…the chun tzu carries these qualities of the ideal host with him through life generally. Armed with a self-respect that generates respect for others, he approaches them wondering not, “What can I get from them” but “What can I do to accommodate them?”

How could a practice of hospitality change us? In order to risk extending ourselves, we must first know that we are at home in this world. I believe this logic is reversible as well; if we can act as a host wherever we go, perhaps it will remind us that this world is in fact our home. Our sense of self grows from the small, isolated individual to a larger Self connected in community.

Last weekend I attended a big family celebration full of people I don’t know, or see only occasionally. Truth be told these things still make me nervous, but practicing hospitality makes it easier. Instead of wondering “what do these people think of me” I wonder “what would help them feel welcome?” This allowed me to put my own ego aside for a moment. By offering an attitude of hospitality to people who’d traveled from far way, folks who knew even fewer people at the gathering than me, I was able to step out of my critical judging mind and into my heart. In those moments when I was centered in compassion I did feel truly at home.

As you move in the world this month, whether you are at a social gathering or at the grocery store, I encourage you to consider one of the oldest and most important spiritual practices- remembering this world is your home, and so making one another feel welcome in this world.

What Moves You?

Spring 2006 in New Orleans. Months after Katrina, little rebuilding had begun.

I often wonder -- why does one news story move me to tears or to action, and another, which intellectually I know is important, does not move me the same way? Why might the story of a family fleeing a hurricane wrench my heart when the news is full of other families equally deserving of my sympathy and help? I used to judge myself for all those things I did not feel fully, but now I wonder, maybe it’s okay that I am moved by just a few things, just those things I perhaps am called to see, to feel, to change. 

Sometimes people argue about which things we should all be doing to make the world a better place. Perhaps you are seeing some of these discussions on social media right now, or at your own dinner table. Our world is deeply in need of healing, where do we begin? Perhaps the answer is different for each of us. The Christian scriptures use the metaphor of the body: “For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, … If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as God chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be?” (1 Corinthians 12)

When that story on the news, or one your friend tells you on the phone moves you to tears, moves you to say “what can we do about that?” -- what if that is a kind of calling? Just as soundwaves awaken the ear to hear, and perhaps the feet to tap, but have little impact on the eyes, just as digesting a meal involves a complex array of organs, but not the ears, I believe that we are all differently called. 

2007 Yellowstone regrows after devastating fire

I happen to be a person who is moved by trees. The site of a clear-cut forest wrings my heart. Lots of folks don’t really notice trees, and have other worries that wring their hearts. Someone once asked me “how can we worry about the environment when there are these other more urgent issues?” I pondered that for a while until finally I discerned that it was good for one person in the community to remember about trees, to notice the trees, and speak of their importance and needs whenever decisions are being made in our community. There are so many of us, and so many things that need our attention. What if our community, our world is like a body that needs all of us to function, and needs us not to do exactly the same thing, but to do that thing which we are most suited or situated to do? You know that neighbor that can feed 200 hungry people at the drop of the hat? That friend that seems to understand how laws moves through the legislature? That parent at the grocery store who seems to have infinite patience for the challenges of his 2 year old? The body of community needs them, and it needs you too, whatever your unique gifts and resources might be. So I encourage you to notice what stories grab your heart, what news makes you feel restless, what need in your community stir your heart, that each may discern how the spirit is calling to each.

My son Nick, moved with delight as he touches a towering old growth tree in Yosemite.

When will it feel like enough?

“The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;”

These words of the great poet William Wordsworth have rung in my mind lately. Fall can be such a busy time as farmers and gardeners bring in the harvest, as our children and teachers go back to school, as the pace of our jobs and volunteer work picks up, as we begin to prepare for winter holidays.

I pull out the winter clothing bin to make sure the boots still fit, and everyone in the family has both gloves. The coupons and advertisements fill up the mailbox, coaxing me to do a little more fall shopping. At these prices, isn’t it time to stock up for the coming season? The coupons share a pile on the table with the fliers which come home from school daily listing all the genuinely wonderful opportunities for children and families.

I want to learn to say “Enough!” and mean it. But my son could use 1 more pair of jeans in his size, and it’s true my wool coat is getting a little worn, and weren’t there some holes in my wool socks long about last March? And let’s not even start talking about how full our calendars are- I’ve still got a Wednesday free after Thanksgiving, we can talk about it then.

Now let’s take a moment to remember there are plenty of folks right here in our community who don’t have enough to eat, who are desperately looking for affordable housing. Certainly if you are struggling to meet your basic needs your spirit has other challenges. But for all of us lucky enough to have a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, and food on our table, “what is enough?” is a meaningful question. A study out of Princeton University shows that being rich does not make one happier than being middle class folks who can take care of their basic needs.

Buddhism tells us that it is Tanha, or desire, that leads to suffering. Instead of focusing on what we have, instead of being present with the people who are with us, we think about what we don’t have, what we could have. It is hard to notice a beautiful fall day when we are trying to cram in one more errand.

I started to become dissatisfied with the way my mind fills up with lists of things to do, and things to buy. My mind was caught in a loop that would go on all day if I let it. I decided that when I caught myself in those never-ending lists, I would say a short prayer. Here are 2 that I like:

• From the Hindu tradition, we can say “Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti” which is the chant for peace in one’s self and in the world.
• From the Christian Tradition, we can say “God give me peace” or “Dona Nobis Pacem”

But you can use any small prayer of your own that brings you back to yourself, and allows you to turn off the list of things you need.

Now when my mind is worrying and fighting about all that I need to do, all that I need to acquire, I say one of these brief prayers, and it interrupts this cycle of wanting. It reminds me of that peaceful place inside my self where I can finally say “enough”

The Path of the Heart

When I was in seminary, I had a lot of questions about the nature of the divine, and the meaning of life. Fortunately, my advisor was Rev. Bob Kimball, the professor of theology. I would ask my questions with some angst, and often he would change the subject to my sweet little dog Waldo whom I loved so much. My husband and I had adopted him when we first moved in together. My husband had never had a dog before, and though I grew up in a family with dogs, this was the first dog who I was fully responsible for. We were constantly amazed at how wonderful he was, and how much we loved him. When Professor Kimball would bring up Waldo, I thought he was just trying to cheer me up, to give me something positive to think about. As I grew spiritually, I began to understand that he was trying to show me a path to the divine. I had been using my reason, my mind to try to figure out the Divine, and he was suggesting I use my heart. He was suggesting that in my search for the divine I should go towards whatever felt like the sensation of Love I had for little Waldo.

Have you ever loved someone like that? I sure hope you have had a chance to love someone with your whole heart, which to me felt tender and sweet. Sometimes our love for the people in our lives is complicated. Sure, I love my husband, but often amid the complexity of living together, taking care of a household together, there are lots of feelings and textures that make up that love. The love we had for our Waldo had a simplicity and a clarity to it that was easy to follow. I’ve heard grandparents often feel that way towards their grandchildren. I know my love for my son, though also complex, is strong and unconditional.

Recently I have once again found myself with a lot of questions about God, about the meaning of life, and our role as humans within it. The questioning only leads to more questions. I remembered my old teacher’s advice -- to set aside the questioning, and focus instead on love- the simple love we had for Waldo. I am learning to use that feeling, that particular quality an almost physical sensation of unconditional love, as a homing beacon, to notice where else that feeling is available, where it is evident. This inquiry of the heart helps us find our way back to love, and love leads us to the divine.

This path of the heart is not something my professor invented; it is present in many religious traditions. In the Christian scriptures Jesus, when asked what the most important commandment is, invites us to “love God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength.” (Mark 12:30) . In the Uddhava Gita from the Hindu tradition, Uddhava asks his teacher Krishna: “Which is the best path in man’s journey to God?" Krishna answers, “Uddhava, my child, there are many ways to attain the Supreme. Each of them leads to the knowledge of God beyond scriptures or creeds. By love, or by inward control of the mind, by faith, or by wisdom, by serving mankind—all these have been taught as the way to reach God, but the best way of all is devotional love.”

It is not uncommon in such tumultuous times as we are living in to question beliefs that have served you your whole life, to find even basic meaning making structures no longer serve. If you find yourself in a quagmire of questions and doubts, know that the path of love is always available. It is simple and profound, challenging but open to every seeker.

How Can We Know What is Right?

When I took my first meditation class, the teacher gave us a list of ethical precepts. She said, “this list is from my religious tradition. You may be from a different tradition with different ethical precepts. The important thing is not that you follow this list, but that you have your own ethical code, and that you follow it. If you do the deep work of meditation and are not acting in alignment with your own integrity, it will bring pain and difficulty on your spiritual path.”

How can we know what is right? One way to go is to follow the law. The 10 commandments are a good start, but they don’t provide guidance for every situation. The Torah contains 613 laws. The US Congress adds an average of over 6,900 pages of new public laws each year. Certainly, knowing and following the law is a good idea. This is the agreement we have made with other citizens of the US. Following the law keeps us safe from legal punishment and keeps the society heading in a shared direction determined by our elected decision makers. But we all know that some unethical things are not illegal. Owning and enslaving people was legal in this country for centuries. Sexual harassment was not illegal until the 1970s. Simply following the law does not mean we are making the most ethical choice we can make.

How can we know what is right? We might ask “what is normal in my community today?” Years ago, I rolled my grocery cart out of the store without noticing the case of soda on the bottom of the cart that I had not paid for. When I got to my car, I realized my mistake. I brought my soda back into the store to pay for it. I thought I would just go right to the cashier and pay her, but of course now there was a line. I waited until it was my turn and received eye rolls from the cashier and from other customers. Why was I wasting everyone’s time to pay the $2.50 for the soda? I told this story to a group of folks and they agreed “no one does that” or “most people wouldn’t do that.” This is the problem with using the community standard as a test for ethics- “what most people do” is not “what is the most ethical thing to do.” Often there are more ethical options if we look.

Once during an “Introduction to Buddhism” course, classmates brought to our discussion a proposed law that was being debated in the state where we lived. It seemed to us students a very complex issue. The Monk said, “it’s quite simple- it’s a matter of compassion.” We were all shocked. But budgets! But complex politics! “Simple compassion” responded the monk, and as he said it, the dust cleared, and we all saw what the most compassionate solution would be. 

This is hard for our human brains to handle. Scientists have shown that it is very difficult for us to believe one thing if we are doing a different thing. It’s called “Cognitive dissonance” and eventually it must be resolved because it is so uncomfortable. The way it usually resolves is that we decide that what we are doing must be ethical, because we are good people, and we wouldn’t do something unethical. But the spiritual path is full of paradox. We are imperfect beings on this journey, and sometimes with the best of intentions we will harm others, we will do things that are ethically grey, we will make mistakes. We will compromise because don’t want to disrupt the peace of community. We have all faced choices where no outcome is perfect. The spiritual path asks us to hold all those things in our attention-- to take an honest look at what we do, to notice when it misses the mark, to change when we can to bring our action into closer alignment with our integrity, to ask forgiveness from others, and to stay present with our shortcomings even when they are uncomfortable.

I’ve often relied on Walter Burghardt‘s definition of spiritual contemplation “the long loving look at the real.” As we seek an ethical path in life, we can start by simply taking a good long look at what is real. What are we really doing? How does it really impact others? We look lovingly and compassionately at ourselves, knowing we are imperfect and have only a partial view. We look lovingly at those our actions impact. Being a person of ethical integrity is not something that happens all at once and is perfect forever. Being a person of integrity is something we live anew each day. It is a powerful spiritual practice. And it makes all our other spiritual practices possible. 

What Endures?

Recently I went to visit a friend and noticed that her beautiful hand woven rug was gone. It turns out, hidden under the bookcases moths had been gradually eating away at it for years. Professional rug cleaners told her the wool rug was irreparably damaged, and that she should look now to saving the smaller wool rugs she had around the house. This shook her. These beautiful rugs she had loved were being silently eaten away, and now were un-salvageable. She said “have you ever noticed how often moths are mentioned in scripture?” I looked it up myself when I got home. For example, the book of Matthew says: "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal.” One way of looking at the spiritual journey is this simple- is there anything that neither rust nor moths can destroy, that thieves cannot steal? [Matthew 6:19]

Our society values work very highly, and specifically our culture values material success- a large salary, a prestigious job title. The Buddhist precept of “right livelihood” encourages us “to engage in compassionate activity, and to make [our] living in a way that does not cause harm and that is ethically positive.” At the most elemental level, this involves choosing an ethical type of work- Assassin, for example, that’s an easy one to rule out. But even if we have chosen work in an ethical field, whether paid or unpaid, we must continue to ask -- do we do our work each day in an ethical, honest, compassionate way?

Then we apply the moth test. My congregation volunteers as part of the “food for thought” program, where kids with food insecurity can take home a backpack full of food over the weekends. That is surely a compassionate activity. But no matter how many times we help with the backpack program, there will still be hungry kids. Nothing we build will last forever. Even the great architectural wonders of Rome, the great Empires crumble. According to Huston Smith, the Hindu practice of Karma yoga is not, as we often say in the west, about doing kind and generous acts, but in fact is about doing any kind of work with a detachment from the outcomes. Can we build the new building with equanimity knowing that it will one day crumble? Can we fill the backpacks knowing we have not cured hunger? Can we write that report our boss asked for knowing that no one is ever actually going to read it? The Hindu scripture the Bhagavad-Gita (IV:1) says: “he who does the task dictated by duty caring nothing for the fruit of action, he is a yogi”

Whenever we experience a setback in our work, it is a huge blow to the ego. We feel like we played the game of life and we lost. At the moment when we lose a job, or don’t get into the college we most wanted, our simply have a low turnout at the event we planned, this is an invitation ask “what is the meaning of my life when my plan is shredded and torn, when I have not achieved in my work what I hoped to achieve? Am I more than my work and my accomplishments?”

So the path of karma yoga is not about finally ending hunger, but loosening the grasp of the ego, and finding the Self that is unchanging whether or not our work is ever completed. What feels like a failure to the ego, is an opening for the soul, a separation between what we achieve and the larger nature of ourselves. Even in profound disappointment, in the discomfort of uncertainty and not being in control, it can be such a relief to see that I am not my work, I am not my job or my bank account, I am something much more expansive. And each time we put our hands to a task, we are all on that journey.