When Ancient Languages Say it Better

A few years ago I was reading a book called Marriage and Other Acts of Charityby Unitarian Universalist Author and Chaplain Kate Braestrup, and she introduced me to a new word: Agape.

Agape is a Greek word which could be literary translated as love, but it is actually so much more. 

See, the ancients understood that “love” has many forms.  Therefore to limit “love” to just one single word would sell this virtue far short of its many powerful possibilities. 

In English we all know there is romantic love, brotherly love, maternal love, to name a few. But what would be the English word to describe the transcendent love that exists between all human beings and god? The Greek word: Agape.

Or what about the Hebrew language? 

One of my favorite Hebrew words isHineyni or Hineni.  As a non-Jew, I learned this word from one of my beloved authors Sylvia Boorstein in her book That’s Funny, You Don’t Look Buddhist.

Ms. Boorstein says the literal translation ofHineyni is “Here I am,” but its meaning goes far greater.  

Hineyni, she writes, “is the response to the challenge to acknowledge the truth of the present moment, to recognize what needs to be done, and to be prepared to do it.”  In the Old Testament, Abraham says “Hineyni” to God several times in Genesis.

I crave words like Agape and Hineyni, and I don’t think I’m alone in this.  Go to most yoga classes or retreats and you will hear the resounding echo of Om coming out of the mouths of dozens of yogis in unison. Om, a word from another ancient language, Sanskrit.

When my own 21^st Century English language can often feel quite functional and flat, the more three dimensional sacred texts of the Greek, Hebrew and Sanskrit languages move me with their paradoxical simplicity and depth.

I want to have more language that conveys my spiritual longings so adequately. I want words that reverberate inside of me. I want words that reflect the mirror of my soul.

Do you know any?

Spiritual Lessens from Nature Part II

Lately I’ve been returning to the woods for spiritual lessens about acceptance and wholehearted living.

On one recent hike, with this intention in mind, I couldn’t help but notice all of the living trees who were surrounded by trees in decay. 

It struck me as rather marvelous that a species lived together so contentedly in the two extreme ends of the lifespan. One embracing the other; accepting of one’s own reality and the other’s.

Shortly after having this observation, I read a similar one in a 2013 article titled “The Solace of Trees” by Henri Cole in The NewYorker.

The author, after confessing his own love of nature, discussed the role of trees in the art work of Charles Burchfield. He said:

“In part, this is why I’m drawn to the watercolors of Charles Burchfield. Even the scary, brooding, romantic ones comfort me, like “In the Deep Woods,” in which dead tree trunks are juxtaposed with an abundance of ferns and flowers. The setting reminds us that we are, as biological organisms, simultaneously living and dying. There is an ongoing cycle of death and rebirth that is a part of our everyday lives, though it remains largely invisible. But in the dense forest, if you look closely, beyond the black pond, there is something lyrical (divine, like a stained-glass window) glowing there, too.”

I understand that completely.

It seems like nature has an unconditional positive regard for every species no matter where she or he currently resides in space or time. 

Attractive, unattractive, young, old, years to go, minutes to spare.  All have value. All contribute something meaningful to the system as a whole.  All are essential players.  All are perfect exactly as they are.

I’ve written before that I am someone who has long struggled with endings- small, medium and large. The end of a great date. The end of a vacation. The end of treatment with a patient. The end of a job. Of a relationship. The end of life.

But walking in the woods, looking at all these trees living in decay, I felt a greater understanding of the necessity and worthiness of endings.

Endings are not better or worse than beginnings or middles. They are just distinct, with a clear and relevant place in the experience of being human.

What spiritual lessens have you received lately from your time spent in nature?

Curriculum of Life

Yesterday I told my friend that I’ve stopped making plans. It’s not that I don’t have projects or aspirations. I do.  It’s not that I don’t have vocational calling(s). I do. But “plans” or “planning” just doesn’t feel right anymore.  

To me “planning” implies that I have all the control in my life, and I don’t.  But I don’t think that is a bad thing.

When I think back over the last month—roughly Thanksgiving to Christmas—I would say I did the best I could.  This time of year tends to be a little (or a lot) difficult for me anyway, but this year a whole series of unexpected events happened simultaneously including my mother being diagnosed with breast cancer.

It goes without saying that unexpected events are tricky to navigate.  Because you don’t see them coming, the initial impact can throw you off balance entirely. You then have to struggle to regain your composure as quickly as possible and start problem-solving, leaving little time to process the various emotions associated with the event.

I have been through enough unexpected events in my life to know that they are not the exception, they are the norm.  When I look back, there are actually relatively few events in my life that I planned for in comparison to those of the unanticipated nature; planned events are the exception, not the rule.

It has been a long time coming that I accepted this truth at a deeper level.  For many years (decades) I saw all those unexpected events as detours, inconveniences or brick-wall-obstacles. I still do sometimes, but not as much.

I remember the first unexpected event that I responded to with less animosity and resentment.  I was 34 years-old and had just had a miscarriage.  I was devastated.  I did not see it coming.

The strange thing though is this time, I did not push the unexpected event away. I did not talk to myself about how unfair it was. I did not sink down into the dark hole of poor me’s.  I did not get stuck (for long) in the “why’s.”  All of which was very unusual for me.

Radically accepting unexpected events as part of life is one of the great challenges.

I was once at a day-long mindfulness retreat where at the end of the day, when the noble silence was broken, the teacher gave a little talk about "the curriculum of life." 

She described the curriculum of life as similar to the college syllabus that you receive from your professor at the beginning of each semester that includes all of the material that will be covered in that period, the learning objectives for the course, and a mini week by week breakdown of how it will all unfold.

In life we have something similar, but I don't know about you, but I never actually got the syllabus, but it sure would have been nice.

I guess God decided it works better to give it out at the end of the course instead of at the beginning (a potential design flaw that I have brought up) which unfortunately leaves us mere mortals to view the life curriculum in retrospect through our rear view mirrors.

Though, I must say, a retrospective can be helpful too.

When looking back at my own life I might say to myself: "Ah yes, the learning from that experience is exactly what led me over here. This then allowed me to meet that person, who taught me this thing..." And so forth and so on.

It is kind of like reviewing a resume of life where all those unexpected events are actually personal accomplishments. 

I was recently asked for my most current resume. The request threw me off a bit because I've been at my current hospital job for over five years, and therefore have not looked at or revised my resume in quite some time. 

So I went looking into the bowels of my hard drive and found my 2009 resume; the one I refreshed when I initially applied for my current job.

On first glance I could see all of the necessary updates that I needed to make to bring my professional training and experience up to date for late 2015. But, as I edited and reworked spacing and font size, it occurred to me that a resume doesn't tell or account for the many unexpected events of my personal life that profoundly shaped my ideals and ethics as a person.

It occurred to me in that moment that our personal disasters, tragedies, and major life detours that we survive and grow out of with greater wisdom and maturity are the very life experiences--possibly more so than our bachelor’s degree from so and so college--that developed us into the well rounded type of employee that cannot just do the job functions that are written down on a piece of paper, but the kind of human being you want to trust and spend time with for 40+ hours a week.

Whether you call it your resume or the more academic "curriculum vitae" (which always seemed a little high-brow for me), the point is to tell your story of accomplishments on paper. But what if your biggest accomplishment--the event that really tested your inner strength, personal endurance, and devotion to your core values--was the way you handled your divorce? Or the division of your parents' estate? Or being laid-off a year ago? Or your cancer treatment?

Wouldn't it be fantastic if we encouraged people to put at the very top of their resume: Two-time Cancer Survivor!? Wouldn't that accomplishment of managing an unexpected life event give a potential employer another important dimension about the depth of wisdom a candidate may carry?

Imagine if the late great 20th century psychiatrist Viktor Frankel had not included his own personal reflections of the Holocaust and concentration camp as part of his classic book Man's Search for Meaning, and had only presented his theory of Logo Therapy by itself? Or if he only told the world about his medical and psychoanalytic training in Europe and not shared he was a concentration camp survivor?  

Because Viktor Frankel radically accepted all of his expected and unexpected life events, he became an integrated, multidimensional historical figure and his impact on the world was better for it.

In some ways it is understandable that we human beings (and particularly me as a 21^st century American) have so much difficulty accepting and integrating unexpected events as part of our life curriculum.  There is a grandiosity to modern American culture that says “you can achieve anything you set your mind to” and “the sky is the limit.”  

Though somewhat arrogant, I don’t think these platitudes are bad or wrong. However, they are not balanced with an equivalent confidence in the organic, unplanned nature of life and all its unexpected events.  Leaving one to deduce that unexpected events along the oh-so-tightly GPS- planned journey of life are problems that need to be solved rather than just a whole other dimension of the experience all along.

My husband and I sometimes joke about the “Pig in the Poke Itinerary.” It is a reference to the 1980’s Chevy Chase movie National Lampoon’s European Vacation in which the stereotypical American nuclear family keeps trying tostick to the vacation itinerary despite multiple unexpected events- it goes without saying, it does not end well.

So the answer is this, we try to balance the two planes.  We pursue (but don’t’ plan) projects and aspirations on the one plane while fully participating in reality as it is without dragging our feet on the other plane. Both/And. A life curriculum that is (w)holistic because it is not fully in my control and not fully out of my control, and I’m probably the better for it.

How do you balance the planned and unplanned moments of your own life? Any tips?