Recently I came across the story of Abba Arsenius – one of the early Christian desert fathers. I’d originally written about him a year ago in what became a short series of posts.
Coming across him and his story again prompted me to revisit those posts – the first of which you can read here – and I reread them again, though as if for the first time. Anyway, here’s a short recap before we move on.
Arsenius was a high ranking official for the Roman Empire, working for many years as a tutor to the sons of the Emperor.
Over time he grew tired of the glamour lifestyle, the politics, corruption and court intrigues, and looked for a way to free himself from the whole material trap he was in.
So he prayed, ceaselessly, the story goes. He prayed for salvation, for freedom.
And, in time the answer, according to the story came in just a few words:
Flee, be silent, and pray always.
And he did. Flee I mean. He headed for the Egyptian deserts which is where he found that silence, and the space, peace, and calm to fulfil his desire to be praying constantly. And, with some comings and goings, ups and downs, he stayed for the rest of his life.
Now, while Arsenius and his story are fascinating (in fact now I’ve rediscovered him, I’m going to look around for a biography or something so I can learn more), what I want to think about here is something I wrote in the first of those previous posts, and how it ties in with our decision (almost a year ago now) to stay in this one place for the present.
For these Hermit Pilgrims ‘fleeing from the world’ has meant a nomadic lifestyle, few possessions and material needs, a hermit life where our engagement or entanglement with the world is kept to a minimum, and in which we feel less of a pressure to conform, to ‘be shaped’ by the world around us.
The notion of staying in this one place – as fully now and in the present as we can be – is actually paradoxically a fleeing of its own kind. The world of Samsara, the material world ‘out there’ continues to become less and less appealing to these Hermit Pilgrims.
Alongside this growing detachment to the world (as well as the loss of desire to move about in the world geographically speaking), is the deepening realisation that the real and true pilgrimage is within, through and to our own mind and heart.
Complimenting all this, is the growing contentment we are experiencing in this actual place, this hermitage of ours that we are creating on a daily basis. More and more it feels to be the exact place in which that inner pilgrimage is to continue.
Does this mean we have given up on that ‘nomadic lifestyle’? No, not at all. Or, more accurately, we are not niether giving up or not giving up. The present is all there is and we don’t – can’t – know anything beyond that. As the saying goes, What can we say about tomorrow?
Well, here we are with the third and final part of our contemplations on Flee, Be silent, Pray Always, the answer discovered by our friend Arsenius who was looking for a way to be saved from the the things of the world.
In a very real sense, this third injunction might be seen as the most important of the three. Indeed, again in a very real sense, those first two seem to me to be prerequisites for the third. Certainly, many of us would like to flee to a place and state of silence in order to escape the world and its many and varied causes of our suffering. Such people are simply and completely over the noise, the chaos, war, greed, the complexity of relationships, and all the rest.
Then there are many many others who, rather than looking to escape the world, are wanting to ‘flee’ towards a place and state of silence in order to engage more fully with the world by contemplation, meditation, and most of all, prayer. Such people are working towards making their entire lives a prayer.
And then there are the third group which is made up of those who have some sense of running away from the world while at the same time they feel compelled to move towards a contemplative life that they sense will be the best way they can actually serve the world.
I think I can include myself in this last group. I’ve never coped well with masses of people, being in the workforce, or dealing with the horrors that the world seemed to be overwhelmed with.
At the same time, I’ve always wanted to (and have tried to) combat injustice, racism, violence and the rest. I guess you could sum it up by putting it this way: I was (still am) an oversensitive person who one day had had enough of trying to ‘fight the system’ when it was the system making and changing the rules of the game as it went along.
Better I thought, to turn inwards in order to reach or realise my oneness with all living things. I’ve always been predisposed to praying as well, so it was a natural evolution in many ways. My intention and commitment these last few years has been (and still is of course) to pray continuously and with all my being.
My prayer is for the release from suffering for all living beings and that’s my central focus for prayer. For me, it feels very much that I am a lot more use to others living what I think of as a prayerful contemplative life than being actively engaged with the world out there in the midst of it all so to speak.
Pray Always
Prayer for me is not so much about petitioning some all-powerful being who is seemingly on a whim able to grant or refuse my wishes. For me it is more an affirmation of the reality of my already existent oneness with the entirety of the universe. It’s a way of seeking to actually realise that this oneness is my very Self.
Prayer is about being present, not wishing blindly that things be different than they are. In praying I seek to affirm that the ‘universe is unfolding as it should’, as it says in a famous poem I’ve always loved. (Actually if you don’t know about Desiderata [Things Desired] then please do check it out; you’ll love it).
I think that in this sense, prayer is in fact an act of mindfulness, or rather an act which will help develop a mindfulness practice. It is a way to practise being fully focused and present to whatever is going on, whatever circumstances we find ourselves in.
And if we’re able to be present – even on a temporary or momentary basis – then we will be more calm, more at peace, and more able to achieve some clarity in our lives and with whatever is the intention with our prayer.
I know it might sound like a clumsy attempt at a clever play on words, but we’ve described mindfulness as the practice of being fully present. But we can put it another way. We can define that state of being fully present as being in presence. Like what we might say to a friend who is daydreaming while we are trying to talk to them. We might say something like ‘so and so, your presence would be appreciated’.
In presence of what? I would say everything. When we are absolutely in the present moment (again even momentarily), when we are able to realise our oneness with all things. Essentially the universe is there – or is it here? – with you in that present moment. It’s a moment when we may indeed feel we are in the presence of all that is.
Some may call that presence God, or the Divine, or Universal Consciousness. Others may see it as being in the presence of their own true and authentic Self.
That leads quite nicely to the next aspect of prayer that I want us to look at. Praying to God. I’ve spent so long on mindfulness because I wanted to stress that I don’t think it’s necessary to have a personal name or form for God, or even a notion of an unmanifested, invisible ‘force’ called God, in order to pray.
On the other hand for me, and I know for a lot of people, there are names and forms of the universal consciousness that pervades and permeates the universe, that I personally resonate with and I can reach out to them whenever the feeling or inclination arises. It sounds a bit odd to say, but for me to think that all that is, is all that is, sort of sums it up.
And as a result of that, any prayer I pray is addressed to my own Self which is simply part and parcel of all there is. In other words, it’s a personal choice for any one of us what form or name we choose to pray to. Or if we don’t pray to a name and form at all. All is one.
One thing I’ve mentioned I think a couple of times is the idea of making all our activities into a prayer, but other than the discussion on mindfulness and presence, I’ve not really addressed the how and why.
Why is pretty obvious. Because living and acting mindfully helps us in so many way such as being more peaceful, more relaxed, happier, and so on. The how, now I’m thinking about it is the purpose of this post. And it’s also true to say we’ve been talking about it since this series began.
That is to say, we flee from the aspects of our lives that don’t serve us and which can be changed. This might be a decision to spend 30 minutes every day sitting quietly and undisturbed. And as we’ve mentioned a few times already it could be going all out and moving to a desert cave somewhere.
In both those scenarios we give ourselves the opportunity to be silent and, hopefully also surrounded by silence. How to pray always? There’s an expression I love and try to live by: Follow your Dharma. Here Dharma means your own truth, being authentic to who you are, having the intention to do what’s right in all situations. And of course actually following through with that intention if at all possible. In this way you transform every action into prayer.
Living a life of prayer does seem on the face of it to not involve much use of spoken prayers, as in saying prayers with words. Well, I don’t intend to be humourous here, but a great deal of prayer does it fact involve talking to one’s Self. To the real self, that part of us that’s part of everything else. It can do us good to have these deep conversations.
Then of course there are the many many prayers that already exist to serve people from so many traditions, cultures, to suit all kinds of purposes and intentions.
Many of us will be familiar with a number of prayers learnt when we were children. If you’re anything like me, they still pop up by themselves from time to time.
Actually as I deepen my prayer practice, I’m discovering that I’m remembering all sorts of prayers from many and varied sources. I think as I dig deeper, more and more are coming up to the surface.
This prayer (by Thomas Merton I think) resonates deeply with me
If these ‘pre-prepared’ prayers say what you want to say and in a way that resonates with you, then you are free to choose those that feel right for you. I guess I mix and match the prayers I use; it’s always dependent on my feelings, thoughts, and intentions at the time.
Like Arsenius, I try to be open and responsive to whatever the ‘answers’ are, even though my ego does sometimes when it doesn’t like the answer, try and control outcomes.
One point about such prayers: I find it tempting oftentimes to simply recite them at what I’ve heard described as lip level. By rote and without emotion, in other words. At those times I try to slow down or pause to reflect on what I’m doing and why to get back in touch with Self.
A major part of my prayer life is chanting mantra. I try to spend more time chanting as time passes. There are a number that I use depending on inclination and need.
I chant anywhere and sometimes a mantra will start chanting itself, surprising me by its arrival
(This photo isn’t me by the way)
Now, probably one of the most important aspects of my own prayer life: I know I’ve mentioned my intentions in praying at all, but one aspect I haven’t mentioned is praying as devotion.
Devotion as in worship, praise, as in gratitude for the beauty in my life, as an expression of love. Knowing with the mind that all is one is fine, but these kinds of prayers help us to cement our awareness of that oneness of all living beings. As I said earlier, I, like you or anyone else, may use particular names and forms to represent this oneness, but, well, it’s all one, so we are non-different from all those names and forms.
Lord Sri Krishna is among my favourite forms of Universal Consciousness (also known as Brahman)
There are many representations of the Divine, but Krishna and this picture of Him are special to me.
Focusing your devotion on a particular form seems to help make it easier or more real. It’s tricky to pray to and with a thing that has no form and is invisible.
So, my friends I hope what I’ve said here is of some little interest to you and that you have found at least something you can use for your own life.
Last night I had a dream. Of course there’s nothing unusual in that: I dream every night, every time I sleep (and sometimes when I’m supposed to be meditating as well). Actually I’m no different than probably every other living being in the Universe: I dream when I sleep.
No. The particular dream isn’t my point here (though we’ll be discussing it soon enough). What makes it worth noting is the fact that last evening, before going to bed, I watched a documentary on Carl Jung and The Red Book.
Jung compiled The Red Book at a time of personal crisis and distress. Using dream analysis, his own imagination, and intense self reflection, he used both paintings and text to express what he saw and understood from these practices. Hauntingly beautiful, other worldly pictures depicting dream images, archetypes, both personal and universal, helped him delve deeply into his unconscious mind and the collective unconscious.
I gave up trying to interpret dreams a long long time ago. Don’t ask me why: I probably couldn’t say. Most likely something to do with a kind of wariness about going too much into where the mind wants to take me, and my sense that the “dream” doesn’t stop when we wake up.
Still, watching this doco prompted a lot of discussion with my partner hermit, and a lot of thinking on my part. The mind is not our enemy, though sometimes I feel that it is. Well, it can be the enemy if we allow it, but equally we can allow the mind to be our friend. After all, what activity of any kind is possible in the world without mind?
So, with that in mind (get it? in mind?) I will share with you that above mentioned dream from last night.
In the dream I was in a small kitchen, making tea. I’d put on a kettle to boil. A very large, heavy kettle, probably three or four times the size of a normal one. I was in the process of looking for a mug or cup, and just as I picked one up that I liked the look of, a crowd of five or six people came bustling noisily into this very crowded space.
‘I’ve just put the kettle on,’ I called loudly over the din. As it happened I’d filled the kettle almost to overflowing, much more than I needed for myself alone.
‘There’s plenty of boiling water to go round.’
Then I busied myself looking for something (a tea bag perhaps?), and when I finally turned back to the kettle to make my tea, I saw it was gone. I was very unhappy with this disappearance: After all, I was the one who had filled the kettle and put it on to boil. Then without a thought or a, what’s the expression? without a by your leave, it’s all gone, nothing left for me. Not only no more water, but nothing to boil more with.
I looked everywhere, even outside the kitchen. Outside was a camp ground and apartment complex, where I (and presumably all the other people) was staying.
Anyway, that’s it. All I remember at least. So, the meaning? Was I merely processing trivial facts and events from my day in this strange fashion? Or was I in touch with the deepest part of my psyche and with the collective unconscious? Possibly a bit of both.
It’s not a big job to make a guess about the meaning. I had a plentiful supply of water (or whatever), and without thought, put the needs of others before my own. But then, I actively resented what had been ‘taken from me’, even though I had freely given it in the first place.
So, the message I take from this dream? Just as I’ve been studying lately, the fruits of my actions are not my responsibility. I have no say over what, if anything, will happen as a result of actions I take. All I am responsible for is the taking of the action itself, the manner in which I undertake it, and the attitude with which I approach the actions I take. That’s it. That’s all I can do. The rest is up to the laws of the universe. Call it Karma, or Natural Law.
Another idea just occured to me: When I take action (like boiling the kettle) and then serve others, I am serving Self, all life, everyone and everything. And obviously that includes me. I’m not suggesting I should have made sure ahead of time that I’d ‘reserved’ enough water for myself, but at the same time …
I might keep this dream analysis thing as practice to practise occasionally, when the inclination or inspiration is there. No more blocking memories of dreams, no more stubborn refusal to reflect on dreams. After all, I spend a lot of time contemplating and reflecting on what I do in my waking life, how is it any different just because it happens while I’m asleep?
Remain in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything
This piece of advice from one of the early Christian desert hermits to a follower has been going round in my head for ages. And I mean a couple of years at least. I’d read it in several books at the time, and I’ve seen it in a few since.
Of course, most of the writers of those books interpreted this advice at face value, literally advising the student, hermit, monk, or other contemplative person to stay in their physical cell (hut, cave monastery cell, suburban bedroom, wherever is their permanent dwelling) and listen, meditate, study, and contemplate. The advice is, stay in that space in silence and seclusion. Quite possibly forever.
‘But it could be the cell of your Self,’ my partner hermit said to me one time. And yes, I thought, that’s exactly right. I liked the symbolism. The actual literal, physical space and its geographical location isn’t necessarily the important factor. What’s important is that you, the real you is actually fully present wherever you are, right here, right now.
Think about what it really means to be present – to be here now: It means that you can say, ‘This is the only space and the only moment that exists. Right here and right now.’
Living life is an ever-flowing movement or process, and at the same time (excuse the unintended pun) is always occuring in the present. And in that ongoing moment you – your Self -is always there.
Of course along for the ride is your little s self with its ego, chattering and never quiet mind reminding you of the distractions, stresses, anxieties, worries about things to do or not do, memories of the past, and fears for the future. It goes on and on.
But, still, that space within where you can meditate, pray, contemplate quietly, that’s your Self, your ‘cell’.
I’ve always liked and worn hoodies. I guess a lot of people do. For some it’s about fashion; others wear them for warmth in cold weather or to keep the sun off when it’s hot; some people even use them to hide.
Then there are others such as nuns, monks, priests and others too, for whom a hood is a part of the robe they wear as a member of their particular group.
In those cases, a hood is called a cowl and most often it’s a largish loose hood sewn onto the robe or habit. Just like a regular hoodie.
I read somewhere (I forget where) that some groups nickname these cowls ‘cells’. In other words, the wearer carries their cell with them wherever they go.
Of course they don’t always actually wear the hood on their heads, but whenever they wish or need to retreat to their cells, all they have to do is simply pull their hood up and over their head and all of a sudden they are in their own private and solitary world; they are in their cell.
As I said earlier, I like the symbolism. But more than that: I find wearing a hood on my head or simply in standby mode, comforting.
I’m not overly good with crowds, or in close proximity to other people on a bus or train or whatever. I like knowing that just by pulling my hood on, I’m able to create my own space apart from my surroundings. In that space I can feel safe and kind of apart.
Even at home I wear a hood when I’m meditating or praying. It’s just one more opportunity to retreat into my cell, into Self
By the River’s Light I’ll Live My Life out of sight of Babylon
A Note From Me: I can’t tell you who wrote these words. Maybe I did; maybe it’s a song lyric; or maybe it’s a quote from someone famous. Whatever the case, a half hour internet search failed to come up with anything even close. So, The best I can do is thank whoever did bring these beautiful words into the world. I hope you are pleased with how I’ve made use of them.
Welcome again to my blog. It’s always a good feeling when I sit at the keyboard to begin a new post to you.
And for this post,I have some news: this hermit is back on the road again. But, I hear you asking: aren’t you as a pilgrim always on the road, on the move? Yes all true; a pilgrimage like mine (life) is never-ending, permanent. Just a state of being you could say.
So, after a few months in the desert hermitage, we felt lead to move to Sydney, to another cave; another safe haven by the side of road.
This move has felt right and gone smoothly from the first thought, the initial feeling, to the actual trip here, right down to the comfort and contentment we feel in this new hermitage (in reality a small apartment beneath a house with a lovely garden, in a quiet street).
My second piece of news is that I have made another blog, one just for my pictures. Of course my posts here are always illustrated with my photos, but after deleting all my social media accounts (another bit of news I suppose) I felt the need for an alternate place to share my art. It’s on a different platform and it would be terrific if you could follow me there.
The blog is called Pictures from the Heart of a Pilgrim, and you are invited to visit, to follow, to comment. to connect. Just click on the link here.
There are only a handful of pictures on that site so far, but I’m working on expanding it, so please make sure you visit more than once. Better still, subscribe so you can be notified whenever I post.
I think that’s it. Maybe I will post about deleting social media accounts. But, somehow I don’t think I will: they’ve gone and I’m happy about that. I’m not alone I know in making that decision.
Greetings and Welcome after what feels like a gap of forever since my last post.
Two weeks today since I moved into a rented house way out here Outback in the mining town of Broken Hill, on the traditional lands of the Wilyakali people whose ongoing presence on this country I acknowledge and give thanks for.
And now, it is the location of my hermitage, my safe haven and refuge. But, no, therein lies the conundrum: I love it here; I know I’ve come to the right place to which I’ve been called. But after two weeks, I’m still not feeling grounded; I’m not really here yet.
Culture shock, fatigue, new environment, excitement; call it what you will; something has me not yet settled and in place. Yesterday a small poem came to me that I think expresses exactly the problem.
And now I’m sharing it with you as a way of explaining why the gap, why the block.
Peace and love from me to you.
The call to the desert has been answered. And now, I am here. No, to tell the truth, I’m not actually. Here I mean. So, where am I?
Not there, back there where I came from. Not even sure if ‘there’ really exists, if you know what I mean.
Mind you, when I said ‘here now” I meant it’s been a short now: Now that I’m here. Just. A short stretch – so far.
Here; there; now; so far; it’s all too much. And you know what? It’s all in my head. In my mind I mean.
A wise teacher once taught: First thought, best thought. But for here and now? As in being here now? No thought, more like, is best thought.
Greetings friends. I welcome you from my new hermitage in desert country.
You know, it’s an old idea, a cliché even, to say that we, all of us, are on a pilgrimage called life, a Hero’s Journey as it’s called by the Mythologists. And, on any such journey there is what those same scholars call a Call to Adventure.
They are the times when we are challenged by life to commit to an action that will stretch us somehow, take us out of our comfort zone, change our life; to make a move; take a risk; embark on a journey either internally or out in the physical world.
So, when I tell you I got a call to come out here to the desert, and that I answered it, why the necessity to add ‘eventually’? What happened to delay that journey? Well, that’s what our Mythologist friends call The Refusal of the Call.
They’re the times when, once we’ve heard the call, and when we’ve felt its rightness, we still say no. Not now. And we come up with all kinds of perfectly reasonable explanations for our refusal.
In my case, I said, hey, it’s fine here; I’m near the beach; I really have no reason to move; there are plenty of ‘other places’ to check out first. The excuses went on and on.
All along though, there was this place, this country, calling. Of course ‘the desert’ isn’t always or for everybody the literal sand covered land, that gets very hot, and is generally thought of as barren and even hostile. It can also be a metaphor for any place – or no place in particular – that is a place of retreat, a quiet place, a place for living apart from the mainstream of human life.
For some people inclined to a life of contemplation and solitude, this place might be a small hut in a forest or a wood, or a camp on a remote beach on an even more remote island. Then there are others who are called to an actual cave high in the mountains, or on the banks of some sacred river somewhere.
And, equally, the desert, the place of retreat, quiet, solitude, and living apart, may well be an apartment or house in a suburb, or even in the centre, of a big city.
Then there’s me: called to this desert town of Broken Hill, almost but not quite in the centre of the continent of Australia. It is deep in the arid zone: it’s very far out back here in the Outback, 1500 kilometres inland from the east coast to be precise.
Yes, well this is all well and good, but shouldn’t I be answering my own question: why eventually? Well, we’ve covered the excuses, but really isn’t that just plain old procrastination? Yes indeed. If we get back to our Mythologist friends once more, we learn there is a stage in this Hero’s Journey that follows on from the Refusal: The Supernatural Act.
These are the times when things happen that seem to come at us out of the blue, from no rational, logical, or explainable source. Something that we might find hard to beleive at first because it’s way out there; supernatural like it says.
But that supernatural bit doesn’t have to take a spooky form, it might be that the ‘supernatural act’ is an internal insight or realisation triggered by a perfectly natural occurance. That’s what happened for me. What was this non-spooky, natural event that prompted such internal insights and realisations in me and got me moving?
Rain. Yes, rain. It rained almost every day for over six months. I am very very blessed that I wasn’t affected by flooding as so many in nearby area were, and I am thankful for that. But it’s safe to say that rain, mud, no sun, and limited or no access to the outside for days or weeks at a time, soured my romance with the coastal lifestyle.
You could say that through the sound of rain on the roof, I could still hear the call of the desert. In fact it got so loud that, eventually, I could no longer ignore it.
So, eventually, I answered the call, and here I am. Here is a small miner’s cottage and my new hermitage, my new safe haven by the side of the road. The cottage is situated in a mining town that sprung up in the 1880s. So this cottage has been home to miners and their families for generations, including the current owners.
In a sense it’s quite likely that I am the first occupant who hasn’t been or isn’t a miner. Though you might say that my excavations, rather than being in the dark underworld beneath the surface of Mother Earth, are taking place in the equally dark, hidden interior places of Self. A mining of another sort you might say.
Before flying out here, I was thinking about what was actually calling me to the desert (putting aside the rain for a moment). After all, I lived in a small cabin in a park like setting literally five minutes walk to a pristine Pacific Coast beach; I had trees and forest like spaces all round, as well as a small river two minutes walk. And that’s not even thinking about the abundance of wildlife.
And it occured to me that it is the stillness of the desert that was calling to me. This town of Broken Hill is a mid size town (actually a small city with about 15000 people), with the usual shops, cars, people, and the rest.
Yet there is a stillness. No longer can I hear the constant sound of seawaves crashing. No longer can I sense the never stopping coming in and going out of sea tides. And out here, it seems like even the people are moving quite a bit slower too. I’ve yet to see a single person rushing about. And they seem to smile a lot as well.
The street I live on is extremely quiet, and even on the so-called ‘busy streets’ there isn’t the mad acceleration and braking we’d see everywhere on the coast. Of course there is the odd driver who thinks every car is a racecar, but where don’t you get that?
But, actually it’s more than this. There is, beyond the actual literal quietness, a silence that seems to exist as an entity or state of being in its own right.
A stillness that is a solid thing, just as on the coast there was (is I suppose) a constant frenetic atmosphere that seemed to overlay everything. People rushing – on foot or in cars – even when there seems to be no reason for hurry (though of course you can never tell can you?). And not so many smiles either.
Contemplative people, those seeking solitude, and peace and quiet in which to pray, to live slowily, and to explore the divine, have been drawn or called to deserts (in all its forms) for thousands of years or longer. And I am fortunate enough to have finally (eventually) heeded the call myself.
Here, away from the incessant acceleration and braking (I do like this expresion), and in that stillness that envelops this land, perhaps I can dig a little deeper, uncover a bit of quiet, and discover a piece of solitude.
Out here, in the Outback, life can be harsh for all living beings, often dangerous in its aridity and isolation. It’s a long way from major cities, food and supply chains are extended to extreme limits, and the human hold on the land is precarious at best.
Yet, the paradox exists: out here far from the fertile coasts, the soft sandy beaches, the major urban centres where the mainstream of (human) life goes on, there is a quiet, a peace, a stillness that seems to pervade the very air one breathes.
A wise person wrote something short and sweet that sums all this up for me:
Notes from the Hermit's Cave 