Thoughts on the Tao Te Ching 56

Poem 56

Those who know don't talk.
Those who talk don't know.

Close your mouth,

block off your senses,

blunt your sharpness,

untie your knots,

soften your glare,

settle your dust.

This is the primal identity.

Be like the Tao.

It can't be approached or withdrawn from,

benefited or harmed,

honored or brought into disgrace.

It gives itself up continually.

That is why it endures.

Commentary

Picture of myself some years back

The line that jumps out at this commentator as he reflectively reads the above poem is the one which runs: "This is the primal identity."  What a wonderfully loaded line.  Using the literal meaning of the word "primal" we could substitute into one meaning of the word the following synonyms for it in this statement, namely "original," "first," "initial" or "early."  A second meaning given for "primal" renders the following synonyms: "basic," "fundamental," "essential," "vital" and "central." Therefore, other meaningful ways of stating our Taoist assertion would be: "This is the real identity," or "This is the true identity" or "This is the essence of identity" or "This is the vital identity."  From the moment of first consciousness we are meaning seekers and meaning makers, and certainly the older we get the more strongly we pursue our rather elusive identity.  It would seem that for us moderns that the search for meaning and the search indeed for ultimate meaning is what often keeps us going in life. The question of personal identity looms large for all of us.  "Who am I?" is a question to which we all seek an answer and one to which we do give an answer insofar as we manage to live any kind of meaningful lives. 

My shadow on Donabate Beach

In the philosophy and practice of psychotherapy, and indeed in that of psychiatry, the question of personal identity is essentially very central.  Listening to the client is an empathetic and affirming way is one sure way of helping him or her to greater self-awareness and greater self-acceptance.  And yet, it is surely a huge question as to what the nature of personal identity is in the first place.  One of the founders of humanistic school of psychotherapy, namely Carl Ransom Rogers stated that the goal of all therapy was the actualization of the Real Self, and this is a very good modern equivalent of what our Taoist poet is getting at in the above poem when he mentions "primal identity."  The task of all meditation practices, and indeed what more secular psychologists and psychotherapists refer to as the practice of mindfulness is in a strong sense one and the same.  They both seek to establish a strong sense of the Real Self or of a real sense of living in the Now of existence. Therefore, the turn to the East - and by this I mean both the actual journeys made by many psychologists, psychiatrists, sociologists, creative writers and musicians and many religious scholars to India and Tibet, as well as the written accounts of their experiences and newly gained knowledge and so on - in the middle of the twentieth century should not surprise us at all.  So many Westerners of note began living in ashrams and studying and meditating under various gurus and masters.  From this there emerged a wonderful blossoming of esoteric scholarship that flowed into the New Age Movement that in turn spawned an almost universal interest in Self-Development, Pop Psychology and Self-Help.  Therefore, mindfulness is merely a secularized account of the meditation practices used in the various religious denominations of Hinduism and Buddhism.

The author as a young lad aged 7.  Is this actually the me I am now?

The second phrase that jumps off the page at this commentator is "settle your dust."  How many times have we heard the old wise saying that we must let the dust settle on this, that or the other problem?  We have other similar phrases like: "Let's let sleeping dogs lie for a while" or "Let's sleep on this problem for a while" or "Don't make important decisions when you are upset in any way!" or "Choose your battles carefully!"  These phrases or sayings are all getting at the same wise advice, namely not to be reactor to this or that situation.  The easiest thing for anyone to do is to "shoot from the hip" as another phrase puts it.  Still another saying offers this piece of wisdom: "Act in haste, repent at leisure!" Meditation is all about slowing down and taking our time, of getting centered in the "Now" of being, of achieving a point of equanimity we may call the Still Point of life, of stilling the body, of becoming aware of what it's really like to inhabit or to live in this body, or even more correctly still, what it's like to be this body here in the now of existence.  I have always loved the statement, also a very wise one, that our minds tend to either live in the past (regrets and remorse and sad memories and so on) or in the future (expectations, ambitions, anxieties and/or fears and so on) while our bodies most definitely live in the present.  That, indeed, is why all meditation or mindfulness practices begin with stilling the body, of becoming aware of the body at first, then becoming aware of our feelings and just letting them go, then becoming aware of our thoughts and letting them so and so on and on, and deeper and deeper into the stillness of the "Real Self" or what our Taoist poet calls the "Primal Self."

Thoughts on the Tao Te Ching 33

Poem 33

Knowing others is intelligence;

knowing yourself is true wisdom.

Mastering others is strength;

mastering yourself is true power.

If you realize that you have enough,

you are truly rich.

If you stay in the center

and embrace death with your whole heart,

you will endure forever.

Commentary

The lifelong task of human beings is surely that of getting to know themselves.  However, that is easier said than done and being "true to oneself" or being "honest to oneself" or being "authentic" or "whole" or "integrated" or "individuated," no matter how one terms full self-knowledge, it is truly a long and painful journey.  That is the essential goal of all conscious life. 

Recent photograph of me

It appears that it is somewhat easier to get to know others, but that is only a superficial perception anyhow.  After all, we really only get to know their social, rather than their "real" selves anyway.  Do we ever master others?  No, indeed.  We possibly might master how to manage our "underlings" or staff or whoever at our places of work, but that is the extent of that.

Our task in life, as we have stated it above, is that of getting to know our true or real selves. This takes courage as we have to stand up to the power and opposition of our egos which are, on the whole, fed with much driving power by society.  Facing down the ego, then, requires much courage!

Greed is one of the basest of desires as we never can get enough of success and possessions and of apparent control of others.  It takes wisdom and the practice of much meditation to arrive at a sense of detachment from others and from the things of this world.  One day we realise that actually we have too much things and that things really don't satisfy our true and real desires.  Even at times the love of others, the we-ness of love itself cannot really satisfy our inner desires for fulfilment.  True detachment and the love that springs from it can be greater than human love.

This is the love that we read about in the Old Testament that is greater than fire and that many waters cannot quench it.  It is a love that stretches beyond death, and we have a hint of eternal life in its expression in that passage.  Likewise, the thoughts of our Taoist poet in the last lines of the above poem are stretching for a similar suggested, if imaginative solution, namely that if we stay in the centre (that is, rooted in the Tao) "and embrace death with (our) whole heart, (we) will endure forever."  In both texts, we have to agree that these are the thoughts of ancient scribes imaginatively reaching towards another world of being - imaginatively reaching to the myth of eternal life.  We remember here that myths are not literal but rather suggest a deeper truth which defies expression.

Thights on the Tao Te Ching 30

Poem 30

Whoever relies on the Tao in governing men

doesn't try to force issues

or defeat enemies by force of arms.

For every force there is a counterforce.

Violence, even well intentioned,

always rebounds upon oneself.

The Master does his job

and then stops.

He understands that the universe

is forever out of control,

and that trying to dominate events

goes against the current of the Tao.

Because he believes in himself,

he doesn't try to convince others.

Because he is content with himself,

he doesn't need others' approval.

Because he accepts himself,

the whole world accepts him.

Commentary

In our last post we commented that all control is self-control.  It is surely also a parallel truism to observe that all acceptance is self-acceptance and another to opine that all love springs from authentic self-love.  One can run oneself ragged helping others, even work oneself into nervous exhaustion.  It is when, paradoxically, one really authentically looks after one's self that one can be truly caring of others.

Evergreen Tree: Newbridge House

Once again, I must confess that the above Taoist poem is a little too negative for me, and I believe it recommends a certain passivity and fatalism that sticks in the throat of us moderns.  However, there is a certain wisdom is the advice that it is generally better not to force an issue, not to push things beyond breaking point with others.  Without a shadow of a doubt, such pushing leads all too inevitably to war, and we have far too many examples of these wars in today's world.  It is also a truism to comment that violence leads inevitably to more violence and thence it spirals way out of control.

Once again, I invite the willing reader to read the above poem reflectively and let some word, phrase or line offer itself as a mantra for a short meditation.

In this Season of Seasons, this Season of Peace and Justice, I wish all the readers of these few thoughts, peace in their own lives and those of their families.  Namaste, friends.

 

Thoughts on the Tao Te Ching 28

Poem 28

Know the male,

yet keep to the female:

receive the world in your arms.

If you receive the world,

the Tao will never leave you

and you will be like a little child.

Know the white,

yet keep to the black:

be a pattern for the world.

If you are a pattern for the world,

the Tao will be strong inside you

and there will be nothing you can't do.

Know the personal,

yet keep to the impersonal:

accept the world as it is.

If you accept the world,

the Tao will be luminous inside you

and you will return to your primal self.

The world is formed from the void,

like utensils from a block of wood.

The Master knows the utensils,

yet keeps to the the block:

thus she can use all things.

Commentary

Old, partially rotted wood, Newbridge House, North County Dublin

Once again we find the Taoist balance of opposites most apparent in this short poem. Modern popular psychology and psychotherapy speak about men needing to integrate their feminine side and about women needing to integrate their masculine side.  The late great Professor Carl Gustav Jung would have certainly popularised that idea.  There is indeed much sound argument to support the fact that males and females contain a "seed" of the opposite sex to speak metaphorically.  In the human psyche the Mother archetype looms large, is almost all encompassing.  We speak of Mother Earth, the Motherland and call almost everything we hold dear by the feminine pronoun.  "She's a lovely little boat/car/bicycle or whatever..." I read somewhere that Jung made much of the fact that Nazi Germany spoke of the Fatherland and that this archetype was the main common psychological preoccupation of that fascist regime.  There is possible more than a grain of truth in that observation.

Our Taoist author advises the pilgrim on his/her journey to self-knowledge "to know the male" yet to "keep to the female."  Perhaps one could do worse than suggesting that here in this poem the male could represent the head (intellect/mind/the rational) whereas the female could represent the heart (feelings/emotions/intuition/the non-rational).  A blend of both is needed.  In other words, the call is to an integration of opposites yet again as a way to the Truth.

Another quality often associated with femininity is that of openness and receptivity - an openness like that of flowers blossoming into the rays of the sun.  In like manner, our poet philosopher is inviting us to be open and receptive to everything in the world, all objects, all animals. indeed to all beings, not just the human ones.

The Réalt na Mara (Star of the Sea) monument on East pier, Howth

Again, the poet uses the images of black and white.  He calls upon us to know the white (the masculinity and the possibility of growth) and yet to keep to the deep mystery of the black (femininity and fertility).  In such a way, we become a pattern for the world.  In being so whole and open - in other words, being so wholly open or so openly whole, we become patterns for the world and will attract all beings to us in our acceptance of them.  All of this means that we have to accept the world largely as it is, because, truly, we can change no one but ourselves.  It is in changing ourselves that we can change the world almost in spite of our best efforts.   In accepting the world, the Tao begins to live inside us.  Now, this is not a call to passivity or to the state of inertia where we do nothing.  It is a call to radically look inside ourselves, change what we can change and accept what we cannot.  From there on we are called to be compassionate to self, others and to the world.  In this way, we change ourselves and, in the course of doing that, change the world for the better.  Again, here we are right in the very heart of enigma and paradox.

By way of conclusion, I invite the reader to read over the above poem slowly and meditatively and to let any line, phrase or word suggest itself as a possible mantra for a five or ten minute slot of meditation.

Journal of a Soul 69

Authenticity

Lighting a candle in St Stephen's Cathedral, Vienna, November 2014

If there is one word that appeals to me on my spiritual journey it is that of authenticity.  I associate it with the people who have had the most impact on my seemingly insignificant or significant life - depending on your perspective on things.   There are many synonyms for this word but the ones that capture its true sense for me are: genuineness, sense of being true to self, congruence, sincerity, "this is me, warts and all," the naked truth, the right thing for the right reason, integrity, openness, credibility, "walking the walk," true to one's word, true to the real self and trustworthiness.

Again, it is Shakespeare who gets to the heart of the matter for me, even if he does put his insightful words in the mouth of one of his more pedantic characters like Polonius in Hamlet: 

This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell, my blessing season this in thee!

(Act 1, Sc 3, ll. 78-82)

These are a father's words to his son who is leaving home, a father who wants his son to succeed in life.

Congruence:

In counselling and psychotherapy one often hears in conversation and reads in the relevant literature the word "congruence" as a synonym for "authenticity." Carl Ransom Rogers, one of the founders and main lights of the Humanistic School of Therapy believed that the congruence of the therapist with him or herself and with the client was the most important aspect of the therapy session. (It is also interesting to note that the Humanistic School of Psychotherapy prefers the term "client" to "patient" as the therapist is not like a Doctor or Expert with all the answers.  Rather he or she is a facilitator who helps the client grow in self-awareness.  People are congruent when they are not trying to appear to be anything other than who they actually are.  There is simple no pretense.  

Another word Rogers offers us for authenticity is genuineness. The quality of congruence is the most important attribute in counselling, according to this leader in Person-Centered Therapy (PCT).  This means that, unlike the psychodynamic therapist who generally maintains a 'blank screen' type of presence and reveals little of their own personality in therapy, the Rogerian is keen to allow the client to experience them as they really are. The therapist does not have a façade (like psychoanalysis), that is, the therapist's internal and external experiences are one and the same.  In short, the therapist is authentic.

Authenticity

Street Trader, not far from St Stephen's Cathedral, Vienna, November, 2014

Authenticity is also a much loved word in the field of existentialism.  The WIKI (See HERE ) states this philosophical connection thus: "In existentialism, authenticity is the degree to which one is true to one's own personality, spirit, or character, despite external pressures; the conscious self is seen as coming to terms with being in a material world and with encountering external forces, pressures and influences which are very different from, and other than, itself. A lack of authenticity is considered in existentialism to be bad faith." This last term was coined by one of the fathers of existentialism, Jean-Paul Sartre (1992, p. 87)* where he states that “... bad faith is a lie to oneself... The essence of the lie implies that the liar is in complete possession of the truth...” and further “... I must know the truth very exactly in order to conceal it more carefully and this not at two single moments... but in the unitary structure of a single project.” (ibid., p. 89)  

I noted with interest that Sartre had instanced jazz as a good example to illustrate the potency of authenticity as an act.  Having attended many poetry, literary and musical events over the years I have always been struck by the sheer honesty (another expression to communicate the reality of authenticity) of all these artists in the presentation of their work. That my late cousin Bernard Brophy (who died in May 2010, RIP) who was both a jazz musician as well as being steeped in the Irish musical tradition was such an authentic human being is also a very happy association in my mind at this moment as I write these words this evening.  

However, perhaps the greatest examples of authenticity are the ones we encounter on a daily basis, those good, honest and often unacknowledged great souls who are so true to themselves that their being in the world is pure grace and gift to the rest of us.

As I type these words, the Rehab People of the Year Awards (See HERE) are being presented on our main TV channel RTE 1 and all of those lovely people - heroes in the truest sense of the word, true givers no matter what the personal cost - are living examples of what it means to be true to oneself, to live by one's own lights, to accept the truth no matter what the personal consequences, to follow the narrow but liberating path of authenticity, and to follow that path because it is the only one that promises true peace of mind and real liberation.

*Sartre, J-P. (2009) Being and Nothingness.  New York, London: Washington Square Press.

Journal of a Soul 21

The Elusive or Illusive Self.

There have always been sceptics in philosophy and, indeed, in all branches of knowledge.  We may trace scepticism back as far as the dawn of consciousness, I would suggest.  The most famous ancient sceptic was Sextus Empiricus (roughly 100 to 200 A.D.), the very English translation of whose surname would lead us to believe that he needed to be presented with the evidence of his senses to justify his believing anything.  Since the knowledge of reality, (whatever that is, though our common sense would have us assuredly accept the world and all its contents as such!) is always mediated by fallible bodily senses there is no way of proving things are one way or another.  This is in keeping with the Pyrrhonian School of Scepticism whose catch cry may be proclaimed simply thus: "No more this than that!" Such early scepticism worked as a sort of therapeutic apostasy which resulted in practice in a kind of docile acceptance of life in all its vicissitudes.  

Many other philosophers through the ages, of course, were very sceptical, and among these we may certainly number the classical Rationalists like Descartes, Arnauld, Spinoza and Leibniz and, indeed, the classical Empiricists like Locke, Hume and Voltaire to name several. 

However, setting the philosophical excursus of the opening paragraphs aside, we normally equate scepticism with general doubt, and more specifically with, say, the questioning of the existence of God.  Then, added to that, there has even been a scepticism as to whether the Self exists, never mind the questionable existence of a metaphysical Being called God.  Indeed, as we search for some self-identity or for some notion of selfhood in this journey we call human existence, we must face these thorny questions.    The more we journey onwards on this earthly pilgrimage (a glaringly religious but apt metaphor), the more we become dissatisfied with too simple, too pat or too trite an answer or answers.  Further, the more we travel onwards (or downwards or upwards, indeed - choose your own metaphor!) the more we come to realise that it must be left to the individual wayfarer to come up with his or her own authentic answer to the problems life throws at us to either comprehend or perhaps simply accept.

My title above uses two similarly sounding but different adjectives to describe the mystery of the Self, which I capitalise in a Jungian fashion here.  The Self is never a finished product.  Rather it is a project ever in the making; a project I take on to make or design or form like a potter with the clay (a Biblical image).  In that sense, it is elusive.  We simply cannot sum it up in precise words or say that it is a totally finished product. However, we know that as creators of a work of art (the Self in this case) we are very much totally involved in the project.  The second adjective "illusive," which I have used above in my title, I reject as being a descriptor of the noun "self" at all because this word means "not real, though seeming to be."  

The Self is very much a real phenomenon as any psychotherapist or psychiatrist will confirm for you if you need to go to such phenomenological or psychological lengths.  I mention the word "illusive" above and here solely because many great philosophers (most notably David Hume) and many scientists over the years have rejected the notion of Self completely and have adjudged it an illusion.  In this regard, the current writer was both drawn to and a little unnerved at the naive and somewhat arrogant certainty of the title of a recent book, written by a scholar and scientist, which runs: The Self Illusion: Why there is no “you” inside your head. [Hood, B (2012)] This book lies firmly in the tradition of scientism.  By scientism I mean the belief in the universal applicability of the scientific method and approach to all phenomena, including the human person, without exception.  It was the rise of scientism, as distinct from science per se that brought about what I term the eclipse of the phenomenon of the Self.

Who am I? Where did I come from?  Where am I going? are age-old questions and are as old as consciousness  is itself.  They are the first self-reflective questions which are the very hallmark of consciousness and belong to the term almost by definition.  As we go through our normal daytime routine we often ask ourselves as regards our fickle emotions, "Which is the real me?  Is the real me or true self the angry me, the selfish me, the happy me, the compassionate me, the helpful me, the moody me, the joyful me, the suffering me, the moaning me, the selfless me, the generous me, the mean me etc?"

The next few posts will be on that topic.  Where is the true Self at all.  

Journal of a Soul 14

We identify people by their different characteristics: the contours of their body, the shape of their face, the colour of the hair or the sound of their voice or even of their laugh. Their selfhood or character is summoned up by the powerful blending of all these characteristics.  I wish to concentrate on only one of these qualities here, namely the last listed one - the sound of the human voice.

Some years back, I remember viewing a TV programme on those poor lost souls - the homeless or those of our number who live on our streets.  The most haunting thing about the whole programme was, in fact, a short recording of one of their number - some old tramp - singing a song or a hymn - I can't remember which at this point in time.  One heard snatches of this song judiciously placed at various emotionally moving points in the programme and at the end as the credits rolled.  Effectively, the voice of this anonymous tramp brought a tear to my eye, and, I'm sure, to many more viewers.

Arranmore lighthouse - July 2010

Some days ago I was teaching/helping/counselling a teenager who has been through some very rough times in his short life.  Another two students were due to attend this social education/personal development class but were absent on this occasion.  There were two other adults - a teacher and an SNA -  in the room.  I didn't wish to do anything too deep or too personal with the young teenager (16), but I knew he was a brilliant guitarist and singer who wrote some of his own songs.  I duly invited him to get a guitar from the music room and play some music for us.  What we ended up with was a 30 minute performance where the young man sang his heart/soul out literally through his music.  One song, he told us, was written for one of his best friends who had ended his own life, and the lyrics mentioned how this poor lost soul used cut himself with a knife.  We three adults were moved by the sound of the young man's voice, by the passion in it, by the soulful, tender and healing nature of the music.

How true it is, then, as the dramatist William Congrieve (1670 – 1729) declared that "Music has charms to soothe a savage breast."  This young man in my story has learned the lesson well that he can heal himself through his creativity.  It is one of the main contentions of  the  Existential School of Psychotherapy that all forms of creativity are avenues to healing the human soul.  The great American Existential therapist Rollo May always underscored this seminal point.

And so, as this young man sang his words, he weaved his musical magic which brought tears to other eyes.  Music in general, and the singing voice, which is also a wonderful instrument, are both means of great healing.

And as to what music may be, we are all at a loss to explain in the philosophical sense.  And yet, we know how real it is when we hear it and are emotionally and aesthetically moved by it.  And somewhere in its depths and heights, widths and breadths, we meet something powerfully healing and renewing.  It is something deeply connected with our true humanity.

Also, when people write poems or songs, they put a certain passion into what they compose and this passion is for a perceived beauty or value or truth which they have somehow apprehended, that "something understood" which the lyrical poet George Herbert (1593 - 1633) mentions as one of the results of the power of prayer.

There is also something natural and beautiful about good music, an inevitability of phrasing and sound in harmony with the heart and soul.  Like the first few posts in this particular blog, finishing with the soulful sound of a human voice may be the most appropriate way of ending this brief post. 

I'll put a link here to a group of lads called The Original Rudeboys as I taught one of their number and a brother of another of them.

Check out some others of their numbers, too.

Enjoy!

The Original Rude Boys

Journal of a Soul 5

Clump of wood, Isca Marina Beach, June 2012

As I write a monastic silence prevails, and how I love periods of silence.  There is nothing to be heard around me and my little apartment except the twittering of the birds and the occasional noise as a neighbour moves.  The Carthusian Monks or Trappists speak of the Magnum Silencium – the Great Silence.  Whatever about a great silence, a small one - Parvum Silencium - is enough for me.  At this moment in time I am the recipient of a small silence which reigns in my Heart.  For these occasional small silences my Soul lives.  Enter into the sanctuary of your own Soul, a deep voice within tells me.  And yes, this peace of mind is what monks and nuns of old and of new mean when they say they meet their God in the great and small silences of their lives.

Just above, I have said that I am the recipient of the gift of silence.  And gift –“donum” as they call it in Latin – is one of the most powerful words we can use spiritually.  We experience life as a “given” or as a “gift,” as something we have no real control over – either in its coming or in its going, in its growing or in its passing away.  And, it is only when you reflect on your life in the silence of your own Heart or Soul that you know this, or learn in absolute humility to accept the bounty of life over which you have no absolute control, though we often like to fool ourselves with our technologies of all types that we have some.  However, the wonderful Anglican Divine and Poet, John Donne, had an answer to this egotistical hubris of humankind when he stated in one of his sermons that we should not ever ask for whom the bell tolls, for, verily, it tolls for us.  Our mortality is at once, then, our greatest strength and our greatest weakness which takes most of us almost a lifetime to accept.

Indeed, one does not have to be a monk or a nun, a Christian or a Buddhist to know this.  One can be a believer of any hue or none, indeed, to learn to appreciate the sheer gift and bounty that life is. Moreover, you can either learn this lesson positively or negatively, but learn it you will.  As I sit here now in the silence of my little Calabrian sanctuary I am learning it positively by being open to the gift that all life is to me and for me.  There were times when I encountered the gift negatively, that is, in all those times when I experienced loss, when little or indeed big things were taken away from me – the death of my father, the loss of a job, the disappointment in not getting promotion, the dissolution of a relationship, the slow dissipation of strength as I age, the odd bout of ill-health.  All these very negative things subtract much from life and sometimes they can bring us down into the very pits and dungeons of dread and despair. 

Then, thankfully, there are these moments of small silence as I call them, moments of sheer blessedness when one’s Heart almost sings for joy at the sheer giftedness and bounty of life.  As I say, this is where even an atheist can pray.  Spirituality is a most human thing, and in its sheer depths and heights, in it lengths and breadths, there are those who call it divine.  And, I say, “why not call it such, if you so wish?” because once I felt like that, too.  But for this solitary pilgrim, this word “divine” is a metaphor for the heights and depths of humanity at its best.  Religion, uncoupled from the energising power of spirituality, is a frightful thing indeed.  Uncoupled from spirituality, whose fruits are faith (faithfulness), hope (hopefulness) and of course, love (lovingness), religion descends into what its worst critics like Dawkins, Dennett and Hitchens would have it – a veritable and unique source of evil in the world.  Unhitched from spirituality, religion becomes at best a tawdry and bankrupt, if arcane, system of rules, and at worst a corruption of truth in the pursuit of temporal power in the guise of the divine.

One of the local bars/restaurants in Isca Marina

And therein lies the moral of this short tale.  Seek out the silent places and spaces in your own Heart or Soul.  Drink at the wells of your own depths. Seek your own truth by travelling down into the dark passages of your own being.  Acquaint your Self with the shadowy corners of your own Soul and well as with its brighter pastures.  Climb the frightening cliffs of self-knowledge in the hope of gaining some little Self-acceptance.  But in all of this, dear friends, remember to linger often on your journey, and just sit in Silence and let it take you into its loving and sustaining embrace. Truly, you shall not be disappointed. 

Journal of a Soul 4

Self in Calabria recently

I write these lines from the South of Italy under blue skies. I am almost a different person here – a different Soul, a different Self. People speak about getting away from it all, going on holiday, getting a break from the dull monotony of routine. Here I am in Isca Marina, a little town some 10 kilometres south of the more major town of Soverato. I have just been with my neighbours at the swimming pool in our little compound of apartments called Isca Calabretta. It is around 34 degrees Celsius and I am burnt from the sun. No matter how often I promise myself that I shan’t get burnt, I always end up being so despite whatever precautions I take.

Having been reading a little light philosophy and a rather well written novel I am even more reflective. These posts are just as I have said a journal of a soul; a journal in pursuit of identity; a way of expressing whatever my grasp is on my elusive Self. The Scottish philosopher and empiricist David Hume doubted if there was even such an entity as the “Self.” He was wont to say, and indeed express on paper, that we humans were no more than a bundle of perceptions. And strangely he never seemed to be disturbed by the thought of who it was that was sorting these perceptions into bundles anyway. Maybe he had no need to be disturbed as he had never ever embraced such a question.

Anyway, as I sit here so far away from my routine of school teaching which is a very intense job these days, I feel that I am on retreat from the world, in a different space where I am meeting myself [my Self] anew, at a different level, at a very much deeper level indeed. I have just returned to the quiet shade and strong security of my apartment where I am typing these few lines.

As I age I marvel at where all the passing years have gone. Am I the little Tim Quinlan that sat fearful and shy as a six year-old boy in a new and strange primary school in Dublin, Ireland in 1964? Am I the little scared boy the old nun Sister Lucy shook because I could not read any Irish? Am I the little boy who was taught so well and nurtured so well educationally by the wonderful old balding teacher Mr Murray? What a wonderfully good teacher that old man was despite being so near retirement! I did so well under his care that he sent me on to a higher class.

Am I the same Self that transferred into the frighteningly huge world of secondary school where there were over 1,000 pupils? Or the same Soul that entered college at 18? Or the same Self who became a teacher, entered Religious Life for three years, did further study, and taught in four different schools, had this or that relationship, strangely mostly with girls called Ann(e), a name that features prominently in my personal history?

You know, philosophers seem to have a problem with how, as it were, that Self endures or perdures over time. Indeed, some seem to think that while I may be the same human being, with the same identity, there really may have been several differing persons. My consciousness, now, say when teaching or lecturing, that I am a knowing and knowledgeable professional in my field of Special Education, able to speak at Plenary Sessions of various conferences, chair debates and lectures, I have attended over the years, is apparently not the same consciousness as that of the scared little six year old boy who was brought to Dublin, a strange and huge city, from a very small midland country town called Roscrea in the County of Tipperary. And yet, I dispute this on a matter-of-fact basis that I can remember being that little boy, just a tiny bit.

That philosophers, and highly intelligent ones at that, can doubt this continuity over time is an interesting fact. As I promised that these musings will not be philosophical or psychological in any academic sense, I shall desist from either arguing for or against this conclusion. Anyway, I’m not overly sure I have understood their arguments one way or another. Thankfully, I will, therefore, neither need to display my knowledge nor my ignorance to the good reader.

And yet this Self that I am wants to put structure on its being, wants to gather together the different strands that go to make it up as it were. This Self is a male, some 54 years old, with greying hair, has lost some 4 teeth in those years, has a somewhat reducing pot-belly (called una pancia down here in Italy), loves Italian food and wine, can speak three languages, two like a native - Gaelic and English – and a third, Italian with a somewhat increasing facility. Add to this rather strange recipe that I suffer from High Blood Pressure, High Cholesterol and Clinical Depression and you get possibly a more rounded picture of the Self that I am. I write poems mostly in Gaelic though I have written some in English. I also have written a book on meditation, a practice which I engage in daily for at least 20 minutes to keep sane. I ascribe my ability to keep afloat to my periods of centring myself (my Self) in meditation. That I have lived without any relapses into depression for the past fourteen years, albeit with the help of medication, I attribute mostly to my writing and my practice of meditation. They keep me together. They somehow set boundaries, as it were, to Hume’s annoying theory of the self as a bundle of perceptions. The poet in me refuses to be called a mere bundle or stack of sense impressions. I am no automaton registering impressions from the world out there on some virtual hard disc within me.

I spent seven long weeks in a psychiatric hospital when I was 40 years of age which was at once both frightening and healing. The journey of the Soul or Self into self-knowledge and especially self-acceptance is a slow and painful one, and probably necessarily so. Wisdom can never come cheaply. And so as I sit and write these lines, I am setting boundaries to my Self; describing it, looking at where it has come from; perusing the stops it has made along the road; marvelling at its continuity over time, despite what those philosophers have said; rejoicing in all those significant others it has met over time which has helped form, shape and mould it; praising its great teachers who were unstinting in their help; being thankful for all those good books which have helped so much in easing the passage onward; thankful always for the presence of good friends and family who have helped it carry its burden.

And, then, dear reader, as I bring a close to these summer thoughts, I praise the Soul which shapes them. And strange, too, dear reader, is it not to speak of the Self in the Third Person, in a more objective and yet so powerful way?

This old Body-Soul or Soul-Body, with its aches and pains, [and indeed I am not looking for sympathy here – just stating the facts of the matter as I would not trade my personal pains for the world as they have bought me whatever wisdom has been my reward] is unmindful now of what fate lies in store for it. All it must do is learn to trust itself [its Self] and deeper trust for “every tatter of its mortal dress” as our greatest national poet W.B. Yeats once put it.

A presto, amici,

Tim

Journal of a Soul 3

Introduction

We humans know more than we are conscious of, according to the late great Victorian Catholic theologian John Henry Cardinal Newman.  In other words, the rational is only one small part of the human mind.   There are also our emotions to consider.  Newman did not talk about the unconscious as such, because for him those unknown spaces in the human heart were in fact the seat of the Holy Ghost as they would have called the Third Person of the Blessed Trinity in those halcyon days.  This was the profound mystery of humanity and that of the human soul, the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit at the very centre of human life.  All Christians believe in this doctrine: viz., the Indwelling of the Holy Spirit.If you are not a Christian in the strict Church-going sense, but belong to those who are pilgrims on a more humanist journey through life, you can still be open to the fact that the above doctrine is a wonderful metaphor for the mystery that is at the heart of the human person.

These posts in this new blog will not be discursive or academic in any sense. Rather, they are going to be journal entries recounting my journey in search of Self.  In this case they will be spiritual in the broadest sense of the meaning of that word.  My understanding of "spiritual" is the innate ability within us to connect both with the mystery within us and with the mystery outside of us, both in others and in all the world in general.  In that sense, I mean also our innate ability to tap into the source of life - whatever that may be - some call it God, others a Benign Energy at the heart of the universe, others Order, and others still the impersonal inner drive of the universe towards a more perfectly evolved manifestation of itself.  Now, these posts, being essentially existentialist (if the reader will excuse the juxtaposition of two seemingly contrary words) my aim is to be personalist in tendency and to desist from any polemics here at all.  In these pages, no pure philosophy or theology or science of any description will be found.  In short these posts will be, in the words of the wonderful Pope John XXIII, "The Journal of a Soul."

The Music of the Soul

Ever since I was a young boy I can remember my teachers always telling us that "Music has Charms to sooth a savage Breast," and lines of poems that I like have a tendency to stay with me always.  On checking, I find that these lines come from the pen of William Congreve (1670 – 1729) who was an English playwright and poet.  On perusing the provenance of the lines, I further find that they are the opening words of a play called The Mourning Bride (1697) and are well worth quoting here:

Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,
To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.
I've read, that things inanimate have mov'd,
And, as with living Souls, have been inform'd,
By Magick Numbers and persuasive Sound.
What then am I? Am I more senseless grown
Than Trees, or Flint? O force of constant Woe!
'Tis not in Harmony to calm my Griefs.
Anselmo sleeps, and is at Peace; last Night
The silent Tomb receiv'd the good Old King;
He and his Sorrows now are safely lodg'd
Within its cold, but hospitable Bosom.
Why am not I at Peace?

As you will have realised after reading the above there is much profundity in these lines.  The question: "What then am I? Am I more senseless grown//Than Trees, or Flint?" even when taken totally out of context as I am doing here, is so relevant to every human being.  We, too, even though unbenighted by grief as the bride is here, can ask what it is actually to be, to exist at all?  We can also ask the last question here, too - "Why am not I at Peace?"  A teacher-friend of mine, long since retired, always said wisely that in the end we have to live with ourselves.  There is much wisdom in this saying.

As I journey on the road - in via - to self-knowledge, nay, further, to self-acceptance, there is much truth in his observation.  As I exist in my world, I find that I am a being with a moral centre, too.  How am I to act in this, that or the other situation in which I find myself from one hour to the next as I journey through life.  What is the moral self?  This is also a question worth asking, if I am to live with myself with any degree of equanimity and peace of mind.  As I pursue these reflections hopefully I'll come up with some existential answers to these questions.  Quite clearly at this juncture I have nothing further to say about this moral self.  These are not academic or polemic posts and so they will be solely the result of my reflections and meditations a personal discernment.

And, in that journey to self-acceptance music has helped me greatly.  Returning to my opening lines in today's post, I believe the power of music is such that, although at times it may be combined with verbalization as we find in song lyrics, there is much in music that hits us at an unconscious level, at levels of being far deeper that we are cognitively aware of.  As we listen on and as we note our reactions with ever more trained an ear we will become more aware of these hidden depths.  There will be deeper stirrings of our being which may even bring a tear to our eyes as well as balm to a tired spirit.  I am not at all a music cogniscento and know little except that which stirs my soul.  I will finish this post with two versions of one of my favourite songs - Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen (the composer) and the late great Jeff Buckley.  Both these renditions rock me to the foundations of my being.