Be Not Afraid

Tuesday 27th November 2012

My day started today with an attempt to meditate.  It’s a practice I’m trying to develop on a daily basis. I’ve been trying on and off for a few years, but never really sticking at it.  Yes, I’m afraid it seems to be a major flaw in my character, not sticking at things and of course I equally know that there is no-one standing over me waving a big stick ready to beat the s..t out of me for failing to do this.

I’ve come to this  choice in life  from my own free will, because I’m basically sick to death of being afraid of everything in life including my own shadow, so when I sit down to meditate, half way between trying to bring my mind back continually to the mantra, which changes every few seconds from ma ra na tha, Christian meditation to So hum, the vibrational sound of the breath, ( and not a good idea from a meditation point of view to chop and change methods like this) back to ‘ I’ve got so much to do, I better make out a list of what I have to do,’ or what should I do next,’ and all the countless jumble that goes on in my head, when I suddenly launch into my prayer of desperation and I seem to internally hear ,‘be not afraid’ It just seems to come out of the silence, ‘be not afraid’ and calmness descends in amongst the clutter.

Now before I’m accused of insanity by saying I hear voices, not a wise thing to say in an aggressively secular world that is presently throwing off the shackles of institutionalized religion, I would like to try and explain that  the way I define this internal voice I hear is that I think this is the  intuitive knowledge of the cosmic Christ dwelling within, the soul, the true self, the part that occasionally if we’re lucky, and if we try hard enough, we can have access to and that reminds us that even though everything is a mess, all is well.  Yes, quite a paradox I know, but nonetheless true.

Anyway I concluded my attempts at meditation with some heartfelt prayers and then after breakfast, I set off to Stephen’s funeral and the hymn that Marion his daughter , sang at the Offertory of the Mass was ‘Be Not Afraid’.

Later when  I came home,I switched on the computer to check up on emails,  messages and posts on facebook and  I found a video that was in some way linked to a friend’s promotional video for his art exhibition. As I finished listening to Ed’s video, I clicked into another one that I thought was also by Ed, but discovered it was by someone I did not recognise, but like Ed's it was on a spiritual theme, and it showed the sun setting over the sea, and what did I see next, but the words in white letters printed on the screen 'do not let your hearts be troubled', quite randomly and by chance or was it?

These were the first words that came to me after my prayer of desperation earlier this morning ‘do not let your hearts be troubled’ followed by ‘be not afraid’.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zeTpISSA5x8

Remembering Stephen

Monday 26th November 2012 

Today I think of all those who have touched my life in one way or another.  A good friend of mine, her Dad passed away yesterday.

Marion comes from a very musical family and I can remember times when myself and some friends were gathered around the piano in her home listening to various members of her family sing and play the piano and we would join in and have a great old session.

From what I could see at any rate, this was a happy and loving family, and when I look back to those times when I would arrive at the house and music would just seem to spontaneously happen, I reflect now on what a unifying and uplifting force music is.

Marion’s father was born during the time of the Civil War in Ireland, and so essentially, he was shaped by civil war politics.  He was a great lover of the Irish language and passed on his love for this to not only his children but some of his grandchildren who are now growing up speaking Irish as their first language.

He set up his own auctioneering business and in later years became a Fianna Fáil councillor.  I know it’s easy to be cynical these days about politics, perhaps for good reason .  I myself am a believer in the need for political satire if it helps to keep our public representatives on their toes, but I also have to qualify that by saying that I have not a clue what I’m talking about when it comes to politics in any shape or form, but Stephen, that was his name, seemed to be a man who represented what is noble about public service, judging by what I’ve heard from the grapevine, but mostly I just remember him as a very nice man who was warm and friendly to his children’s friends who were always made to feel very welcome.

I knew for some time that he was fading, and when I heard of his death yesterday, I remembered all the times I saw him in Marion’s house during our teen years.  He always seemed to have his hat on and when one day, he took this off and  I noticed the lack of hair, I can remember saying, very innocently ‘oh you’re like Kojak’.  That was the American TV series we watched back in the seventies.  He laughed heartily and at times used to slag me putting on a very upper class accent and saying ‘thank heaven’s we’re from Rathgar’, but what I remembered today with great fondness and gratitude was when I was looking for a character reference for a  job in a financial institution, I had to supply at least four references, and his glowing reference was one of them.

Stephen Riney 26th December 1922

Died 25th November 2012 RIP

“Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam dílis”

Darkness and Light

Sunday 25th November 2012


Today I embrace both darkness and light as part of not only my external reality but also my internal reality.  Samhain, November 1st marks the beginning of the Celtic New Year.  It is a time for stillness and darkness where seeds that are planted rest in the anticipation of light.

We too are beings in process, so we rest and learn to listen to the rhythms of nature.  We must be who we are not who we think we should be, or indeed who others think we should be.  We learn also to listen to ourselves, so that we can become more fully who we are.

'The world rests in the night. Trees, mountains, fields, and faces are released from the prison of shape and the burden of exposure. Each thing creeps back into its own nature within the shelter of the dark. Darkness is the ancient womb. Nighttime is womb-time. Our souls come out to play. The darkness absolves everything; the struggle for identity and impression falls away. We rest in the night.'

John O'Donohue
Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom.

The Journey Towards The True Self

Saturday 24th November 2012

Today I ask the question how can I learn to be uniquely myself, to be comfortable in my own skin?
To do this, it seems that I must let go of the need for approval, or of an obsession with winning and losing. I must let go of the need for success and the fear of failure, and indeed also the fear of criticism.  I take great comfort from the following words which I came across from two people I greatly admire.  The first is Fr. Peter McVerry, a Jesuit priest who has worked all his life in the service of the poor and homeless in Dublin and who says like Mother Teresa of Calcutta that he does not pray for success, but asks instead to be faithful ‘I do not ask for success, I ask to be faithful.  If I am faithful, I am already successful and I cannot fail.’

Scripture always talks in terms of being fruitful rather than successful.  Being fruitful to me sounds more beneficial to everyone.   The seeds we plant, become the food that feeds us, that sustain life. Success sounds like it has a degree of vanity and narrow self interest attached to it.  I think today’s obsession with success focuses more on externals rather than genuine interiorarity  which lead to the peace we are all ultimately seeking, that peace that passes all understanding.

I remember as a spirituality student coming across a paper that stated that   “The goal of all inner work is to facilitate the emergence of the true self.”

This paper listed the five different stages of this process as follows;

1. To Understand Myself
2. To Forgive Myself
3. To Accept Myself
4. To Be Myself
5. To Forget Myself

I think there is much truth in this.  How liberating it is to take the focus off ourselves, but in order to be able to effectively be of service to others, we must first take care of ourselves and come to a degree of self acceptance, but at that point, I think it is crucial for our well being to move the focus beyond just self.

I conclude today’s reflection with the following prayer by St. Ignatius of Loyola. Such a prayer might bring up strong reaction in today’s world, and in fact parts of it in myself, if I’m being truly honest, which I strive to be in my writing. I hear myself almost saying, ‘come on fight and not heed the wounds’? Is such a thing possible?  I might find myself saying ‘come on is it healthy to toil and not seek rest, and to labour and not seek reward?  I can almost hear some people saying, ‘come on Rachael, are you living in the real world’ and yet what I take from this prayer is that when you are indifferent to results you become in a sense free of anxiety and what might have started off as seeming like an impossibly lofty ideal, unattainable by ordinary mortals becomes the very vehicle by which we gain our own happiness and liberation from suffering.


Prayer for Generosity (St. Ignatius of Loyola)

Lord, teach me to be generous.
Teach me to serve you as you deserve;
to give and not to count the cost,
to fight and not to heed the wounds,
to toil and not to seek for rest,
to labour and not to ask for reward,
save that of knowing that I do your will.

Success and Failure

Friday 23rd November 2012
In a world where we are often obsessed with success and failure and the pressure to succeed at all costs, I find the following prayer not only refreshing but humbling.
It is written on a bronze plaque on the wall of the Institute of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation in New York City by an unknown confederate soldier.

I asked God for strength that I might achieve.
I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey.
I asked for health that I might do greater things.
I was given infirmity that I might do better things.
I asked for riches that I might be happy.
I was given poverty that I might be wise.
I asked for power that I might have the praise of men.
I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God.
I asked for all things that I might enjoy life.
I was given life that I might enjoy all things.
I got nothing that I asked for, but everything I hoped for.
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.
I am, among all men, most richly blessed.

The Prayer of an Unknown Confederate Soldier

The Writing Dilemma

Thursday 22^nd November 2012

As I sit here wondering what will I write today, I’ve decided my offering for today are two poems, one from myself and another from a writing acquaintance called Christine Broe. I’m happy to say I’m in the same writing group as Christine, The Rathmines Writers Group.

Christine’s is a wonderful poem about the dilemma of no poem and she has given it the same title.  Mine is called Letters and it questions the validity of writing in the overall scheme of things:

No Poem

The pencil squiggles-

let it twist,

The line of words that come
come only from the wrist.

Eight bones -
the westerly most
resting on the page
as I face the window.

White space -
if I were a snail
my silvery afterthoughts
at least would leave a trail
to shine
in the absence of a poem.

White page -
product of some tree
sacrificed, bleached,
set out upon a table
for pulp fiction.

In a state of too much mind
where do I find

white space

where words will settle,

where feeling and image will copulate,
cause a silent echo

in their wake.

I am not the vessel for such gift
today.

I put the full stop here

© Christine Broe  2003 (taken from her collection Solas Sólás, published by Swan Press, 32 Joy St. Dublin 4)

Biography:  Christine Broe was born in Dublin in 1948.  She trained as an art teacher at NCAD, and after many years rearing a large family, trained as an art therapist at Crawford College, Cork.  She began writing during a temporary exile in Luxemburg.  Since returning to Dublin 1992 her poetry has received many awards, most notably, the inaugural Brendan Kennelly/Sunday Tribune Poetry Prize in  2001 and from Italy, the Premio Cittia di Olbia award in 2002.

Letters

'Oh it's writing you do is it?

Where do you get all the time'?

A telephone conversation

from a week ago.

'Yes, well, you know, I........,'

I make excuses for this excuse of a life,

feeling the uselessness of words,

the vanity and egoism behind them

and the certainty that they eventually

like ourselves vanish into thin air.

But this vanity, egoism or whatever

I choose to call it has a need or

a hunger to express itself,

And panic begins to form itself

in a heartfelt prayer

'Jesus I need to be good at something.

don't take this away from me please.'

And as I step into  the vacuum,

they call writers block with nothing

left to say, I attempt a bargaining plea,

'well you could always write your words

through me.'

Yes indeed, writing, words, letters,

the letters of the alphabet

arranging themselves across the page

from the A for abundance

to the Z for zilch.

I know the reason for this latest crises

if such a trivial matter can be called such a thing,

I suspect my conscience recoils

 at the luxury of letters.

Pen in hand,

Paper at the desk,

warm clothes on my body,

and food in my belly.

Praise and criticism alike on

the comments page of the website,

While parts of the world erupt in chaos,

and so many do the real work of helping

to relieve suffering.

'Oh, it's writing that you do, is it?'

©Rachael Stanley

Second Day Along The Dodder

Wednesday  21^st November 2012

Another lovely day, I enjoyed once again walking by the river:

hearing the heartbeat
of the river
I stop and listen

a heron in the
weeping willow
teaches me stillness

at a low ebb
the rapids
have slowed down

racing ahead
the labrador takes
his mistress for a jog