The Cross of Self

“Yet do not misunderstand my words. I did not say that you must desire to un-be, for that is madness and blasphemy against God. I said that you must desire to lose the knowledge and experience of the self. This is essential…It is possible, of course, that God may intervene at times and fill you with a transient experience of himself. Yet outside these moments this naked awareness of your blind being will continually weigh you down and be as a barrier...just as in the beginning of this work the various details of your being were like a barrier to the direct awareness of yourself…See how necessary it is to bear this painful burden, this cross of self?”
—Privy Counsel Ch. 13

This issue of the self is one of the most difficult aspects of contemplative practice. Intellectually, we rebel at the notion that “self” is a problem because we cling to this concept so desperately. And even once we’ve made peace with the idea of losing the self intellectually, in practice it remains the last and greatest barrier to real contemplation.

It is also difficult because our understanding of human psychology has advanced to the point that we share a general consensus that a healthy sense of “self” is fundamental to personal well-being, and that not being able to perceive or honor appropriate boundaries with others can lead to a variety of emotional problems. Likewise, we imagine that if we lost the “self” we would cease to have emotions or even a personality. All of these misperceptions are rooted in a lack of understanding about the real nature of the contemplative experience.

Everyone has had a contemplative experience, whether they realize it or not, and the author comments on this when he mentions those transient times when we are filled with an experience of “God’s self.” It is not necessary to use theological language to identify these moments. We have these moments when we look up at the stars at night and are filled with a sense of awe at the majesty of the universe, or when we see the ocean and are struck speechless at its beauty, or we look into the eyes of our child and are overwhelmed by the enormous mystery of unconditional love.

In those moments, we do not cease to be, but we are lifted beyond the normal boundaries of our “self” and experience an interconnectedness that is far beyond it. Our self remains intact, but we are given a brief glimpse into the infinite ocean of being from which the self (and all other “selves”) emerge. This is the contemplative experience, and we know it well. Meditation or centering prayer practice is meant to nurture a deeper sensitivity to that reality beyond the self (which nevertheless contains the self), so that we live in greater, ongoing awareness of it.

This and More Than This

“But now I want you to understand that although in the beginning I told you to forget everything save the blind awareness of your naked being, I intended all along to lead you eventually to the point where you would forget even this, so as to experience only the being of God.”
—Privy Counsel Chapter 12

In the Buddhist tradition, a distinction is made between meditation practice for concentration (shamatha) and for insight (vypashana). The idea is that the untrained mind is a bit too wild and unsettled for wisdom to emerge immediately in a new meditation practice. The mind must gain focus. And so the meditator begins by focusing on the breath, and returning to the breath over and over again when distractions arise, until the mind becomes laser-like and bright in its focus. The breath becomes ever more subtle as the process goes on.

Eventually, the mind is settled enough that the meditator can begin to peer into the nature of the thoughts and feelings that arise in the mind. This is insight practice, and here we study each mental object by looking carefully to see its impermanence, the unsatisfying results of clinging to it or pushing it away, and by looking for the separate “self” that creates it (and we don’t really find one). Thus, we gain greater liberation over the landscape of our minds.

The Christian mystics use slightly different language for this process, but the steps are nearly the same. In the Cloud of Unknowing, the author recommended that the beginning contemplative practice with a “sacred word” to calm and focus the mind. In Privy Counsel, he does not mention the word at all, but instructs us to focus on a naked awareness of our own being (which is a kind of insight meditation). But now he tells us that this has all just been preparation for the next step, which is the raw, unmediated experience of the being of God.

In this final experience, the self is “forgotten” as the contemplative is completely submerged into the infinity of Being itself. The author likens this to the experience of lovers. “The lover will utterly and complete despoil himself of everything, even his very self, because of the one he loves…He desires always and forever to remain unclothed in full and final self-forgetting.”

We want to know more about this experience and to describe it, but it cannot be described in words. It can only be experienced. I've already said too much about it by way of commentary. I'll end with this: those who have been there say that it is a kind of pure awareness of the present moment, just as it is, but that the experience of this takes us beyond this and connects us to that which is more than this. And in that vibrant life between this and more than this is the whole universe.

Jumping In

“But since God in his goodness stirs and touches different people in different ways (some through secondary causes and others directly), who dares to say that he may not be touching you and others like you through the instrumentality of this book. I do not deserve to be his servant, yet in his mysterious designs, he may work through me if he so wishes, for he is free to do as he likes. But I suppose after all that you will not really understand all this until your own contemplative experience confirms it.”
—Privy Counsel Ch. 11

Wonderful humility here on the part of the anonymous author, and his humility teaches a great lesson. One of the greatest miracles is how the Divine works through all of us. When we speak to one another, we hear the voice of God. When we look at each other, we see God’s face. When we touch each other, we touch the body of Christ, the body of the Universe.

And it matters not one bit how broken we are individually. I take great hope in the conviction that the saints are not really all that different from me in depths of their hearts (not more morally pure or pious, for example), but rather in their courage to let go and become an instrument of grace and love in whatever humble way they can. Which means all that is necessary for me is to likewise let go.

This letting go is what the author means when he says we don’t understand any of this esoteric language until our own contemplative experience confirms it. Standing on the edge of the pool looking at the water is not swimming. You have to jump in.

Fruits of Contemplation

“[I]n declaring the dignity of the contemplative work above all others, we must first distinguish the fruits of [a person’s] ultimate perfection. These fruits are the virtues which ought to abound in every [person]…you will discover that all the virtues are clearly and completely contained in contemplation itself…It is the cloud of unknowing, the secret love planted deep in an undivided heart…It is what leads you to silence beyond thought and words..[I]t is what teaches you to forsake and repudiate your very self according to the Gospel’s demands.”
—Privy Counsel Ch. 11

This is the “by their fruits you will know them” wisdom. I suppose it is possible that a person could develop high levels of concentration (a byproduct of meditation), and still be unchanged on an emotional and spiritual level. But to genuinely make progress as a meditator leads inevitably to a metanoia of the spirit. Peering deeply into the inner depths of our being, we eventually begin to see the whole universe unfold there in the quiet darkness of our heart. We gaze directly at the face of God. It is not possible to come face to face with the Ultimate Reality contained within ourselves without being transformed on a fundamental level. And the deepest breakthrough is when we allow the “wall” that separates the “self” from that Reality to finally fall.

Fingers Pointing at the Moon

"Believe me, if a contemplative had the tongue and the language to express what he experiences, all the scholars in Christendom would be struck dumb before his wisdom. Yes, for by comparison the entire compendium of human knolwedge would appear as sheer ignorance. Do not be surprised, then, if my awkward, human tongues fails to explain its value adequately...Whatever we may say of it is not it, but only about it."
--Privy Counsel Ch. 11

A thoughtful comment offered in reply to Wednesday's post pointed out the parallels between Buddhist meditation and the form of contemplative Christian prayer described by the author of Privy Counsel. The techniques are indeed nearly the same, but sometimes a slightly different vocabulary is used, reflecting the different theological/philosophical traditions that underpin each method.

My own experience is probably not unlike that of many others who have discovered the contemplative tradition within Christianity. Ironically, I explored Buddhist meditation first, and only later found this rich mystical practice in my "original" path of Christianity. My interest in Thomas Merton led me not only into a more serious look at Buddhism, but also introduced me to modern Christian writers like Basil Pennington and Thomas Keating, who revived the ancient spiritual disciplines of the Desert Fathers, the anonymous author of The Cloud of Unknowing and the Book of Privy Counsel, and all the others who later entered that stream like Meister Eckhart, St. John of the Cross, Julian of Norwich and St. Teresa of Avila.

If the mainline Protestant and Catholic churches paid more attention to this mystical path in their own religion, it would probably be unnecessary for so many young seekers to abandon the church in favor of Buddhist, Hindu and other non-Christian paths. But I don't think it's a bad thing that so many of us have, because I have certainly been nourished and grown exponentially as a result of my ongoing practice and work with Buddhist teachers, and their perspective gives me an even richer understanding of contemplative Christian practice.

The methodologies of Buddhist and Christian contemplation are indeed nearly the same. Where they differ is mostly in the language used to describe what is happening. But even here, both traditions acknowledge that really there is only one experience, and that the language differences are relative and not absolute. As the author of Privy Counsel is saying in Chapter 11, language is by definition dualistic and cannot convey the actual experience of union/non-duality. As the Buddhists say, all of this technique, all of this teaching, all of this talk is simply a "finger pointing at the moon." The point is to see the moon itself, which takes you to a wordless experience beyond seeing, beyond me, beyond the moon.

The "Sleep" of Awareness

“It is not without reason that I liken this work to sleep. For in sleep the natural faculties cease from their work and the whole body takes its full rest, nourishing and renewing itself. Similarly, in this spiritual sleep, those restless spiritual faculties, Imagination and Reason, are securely bound and utterly emptied. Happy the spirit, then, for it is freed to sleep soundly and rest quietly in loving contemplation of God…while the whole inner [person] is wonderfully nourished and renewed.”
—Privy Counsel Ch. 9

Two comments on this passage. First, the author notes the actual physical benefits of contemplative practice, for which he had a limited vocabulary in the 13th century, but which are now firmly established by modern science. Secondly, his comment on the faculties of imagination and reason emphasize again both a fundamental part of the practice of contemplative prayer and also an outcome of the process.

The mind of a meditator is not blank. It is full of all the things minds are usually full of. The difference, however, is that the meditator sees the thoughts and feelings for what they are, an impermanent part of the whole flow of the universe. This may happen first through progressive technique. The contemplative may begin practice by simply ignoring thoughts and feelings as they arise, returning again and again to the breath, a mantra, or another object of awareness that grounds her in the present moment. Later, she may from that place of centeredness peer into the thoughts and feelings and note their impermanent, empty nature, seeing that they rise and fall away like all other phenomena and therefore are not to be clung to or pushed away. Finally, she may arrive at a place of choiceless awareness in which there is no effort to ignore these “faculties,” no noting or comment of the mind at all. They just simply come and go through the vast mind of the contemplative, and like all things are lovingly embraced and then surrendered back into the ocean of awareness.

The Contemplative Threat

"Keep your human objections to yourselves, you half-hearted folk! Here is a person so touched by grace that he can forsake himself in honest and unreserved self-forgetfulness. Do not tell me that by any rational appraisal he is tempting God. You say this only because you dare not do so yourselves. No, be content with your own calling to the active life; it will bring you to salvation. But leave these others alone. What they do is beyond the comprehension of your reason, so do not be shocked or surprised by their word and deeds."
--Privy Counsel Ch. 8

Way back at the beginning of the Cloud of Unknowing, the author distinguishes between the active life and the contemplative life. The majority of people, he says, will be called to the active life: a lifestyle of ethical conduct, discursive prayer and conformity to religious and social expectations. This is the lifestyle championed by the institutional church, and there is no harm or inadequacy in this calling. However, a certain number of faithful will be called to the contemplative life, which is what the author spends the rest of Cloud and all of Privy Counsel describing: a lifestyle of deep silence, wordless meditation, spiritual knowing through "unknowing" and a sense of vast peace and infinite love.

Unfortunately, the contemplative tradition has always been misunderstood and often persecuted by the institutional church. I think there are many reasons for this, primarily that the contemplative breaks into an inner space that is marked no longer by conformity and submission, but to freedom and understanding. This freedom, while appealing and mysterious to anyone who spends time in the presence of a real contemplative person, can also be threatening to those in power, and confounding to those who are not prepared to follow that path themselves.

Hopefully, through the work of groups like Contemplative Outreach, an appreciation for the mystical traditions of the faith is now being nurtured within the institutional church, but we have a long way to go. In the long-run, Christianity will continue to lose its relevance to the modern world unless the contemplative spirit can be revived and brought to the center of Christian faith and practice.

Drenched in Love

“Where shall we find a loving person, rich with a transcendent experience…who understands so well the unity of his essential presence in all things and the oneness of all things in him…? Surely such a man will be deeply drenched in God’s love and in the full and final loss of self as nothing…and thus he will rest untroubled by feverish activity, labor, and concern for his own well-being.”
—Privy Counsel Ch. 8

In this brief space, with a few short words, the author of Privy Counsel offers a universe of meaning and experience. He describes the contemplative first and foremost as one who perceives her unity with all things and the oneness of all things with her. Peering deeply into our inner being, we see the lines between self and other blurred to the point of indistinction, and a vast interconnectedness of all phenomena.

The feature film I Heart Huckabees, which premiered last year, a comedic exploration of the contemplative experience itself, provides a wonderful look into this interconnectedness (or “inter-being” as Thich Nhat Hanh describes it). The protagonist, a young man who full of anger and despair at those who he believes are against him, is finally brought, through the influence of good teachers, to see that the pain he feels is the same pain his enemy feels. Ultimately there is no division between us and our enemies. We are one and the same.

The author of Privy Counsel notes that the chief quality of the contemplative is that she is “drenched in love,” because love is the only adequate reaction to such blessed inter-being.

Trusting Yourself

"I am in great need of a spiritual habit. I find the path of my spiritual life to be a very broken one. At times I crave faith...religion...someone or something to believe in but my interest often wanes. I always start with the best intentions but find that I grow bored. I expect immediate results and when they don't appear I quit. I guess that I’m really just lazy. I need a quick fix. "
--comment posting on "The Hobo Journal"

I appreciated the thoughfulness of this comment to Wednesday's posting. In reply, I'd like to say that I doubt very much that you are lazy. You are probably much like all of us, harried by the hectic pace of life. I find that simple habits like eating well and exercise are not easy to come by.

Many of the spiritual masters teach that letting go of an outcome is the first step toward real spiritual growth. This, of course, is a paradox: for why would we ever start a practice of any kind unless we expected a result? The best way I know to respond to this koan is that the mind of enlightenment appears to be the everyday mind. All the same old thoughts, feelings and desires arise in the mind. But the difference is that there is so much space in the mind, the thoughts, feelings and desires are not a problem; they don't completely fill the space. And so we can see these mental phenomena for what they are: impermanent, unsatisfying if clung to or pushed away, and that no separate "self" is creating them.

Abstract, I know. I never could understand it until I had a little taste of it on retreat. Even now, though I can remember it vividly, the lessons of the experience easily fade from my memory and unless I pay great attention, my "everyday mind" easily becomes a prison instead of the ground of enlightenment.

As a word of encouragement, I might say that spiritual practices can take many, many forms and you should just trust yourself that whatever you choose is the right thing for you at this moment; and don't be afraid to do something different every day. There are traditional methods of prayer and meditation, of course. But for some people a simple walk in the woods is spiritual practice, or running, or really anything, if the activity brings us back to our center and reconnects us with the larger reality so that we view experience more through Divine Eyes.

Joseph Campbell, the great mythologist, was once asked what method of meditation he used. "I underline sentences," he said. As someone whose primary spiritual practice has always been simple reading and reflection, I have always found that beautiful.

A Spiritual Habit

“'And the foot of your love shall not stumble.’ This means that when, with experience, this interior work becomes a spiritual habit, you will not easily be enticed or led away from it by the meddlesome queries of your natural faculties, though in the beginning it was difficult to resist them…As I have already explained to you, this simple work is not a rival to your daily activities. For with our attention centered on the blind awareness of your naked being united to God’s, you will go about your daily rounds, eating and drinking, sleeping and waking, going and coming…In the midst of it all, you will be offering to God continually each day the most precious gift you can make. This work will be at the heart of everything you do, whether active or contemplative.”
—Privy Counsel Ch. 7

A habit of any kind is simply something we’ve done so many times that we internalize the action and do it without much effort (I think of buckling my seatbelt, an activity that I do almost robotically when I get in the car). A spiritual habit is an activity of the heart and mind that conditions it to effortlessly perceive the world through Divine Eyes.

The author of Privy Counsel notes that when we begin the practice of contemplative meditation, the mind easily wanders away from the focal point of our awareness, but with practice concentration and centeredness become easy to the point of becoming our natural state of mind. Then, meditation is not just something that happens when we sit on our cushion or chair, but begins to permeate every activity.

I have practiced meditation in one form or another for a dozen years or so, and self-judging thoughts frequently arise in this mind: “You are not serious about the spiritual path; You hardly ever meditate; You aren’t dedicated, etc.” I was greatly relieved on retreat with Matthew Flickstein last spring when he told me what I already know: there are many people with great clarity of mind who never practice meditation at all. And this is the point: not that we would have a perfect meditation practice, but that mind of meditation—open, aware, compassionate and all-embracing—would become the ordinary way we experience our lives.

Circle of Control

“[The author of Proverbs] then goes on to tell why this interior work is better when he says that it is the first and most pure of a man’s fruits. And little wonder, when you realize that the high spiritual wisdom gained in this work freely and spontaneously bursts up from the deepest inner ground of his spirit. It is a wisdom, dark and formless, but far removed from all the fantasies of reason or imagination.”
—Privy Counsel Ch. 6

I have personally been struggling mightily with my work lately. I work at a school for “at-risk” kids whose exterior lives are, for the most part, a shambles, and as a result their interior lives are pretty much a wreck too. Amid all that wreckage, I’m supposed to offer them a quality education. My frustrations have run high in recent weeks as I’ve collided again and again with the impossibility of fixing all the things that are broken in their world.

Yesterday I went for a run, kind of a crazy dash through the neighborhood, ostensibly for my health, but really just taking my anger out on the pavement. I was simply mad at the way things are. And then, abruptly, I just stopped there in the street.

What dawned on me, bursting up, as the author of Privy Counsel says, from the deepest inner ground of my spirit, were the words “circle of control.” This phrase has become a mantra I’ve used with my students lately, trying to help them see that they have little control over other people or the external circumstances of their lives. Their actual circle of control is very small, governing really only their response to the present moment, but in that circle there is great freedom and great power. And as has always been the case, I discovered that what I was teaching my students was really what I needed to learn myself.

I have no control over others, especially these kids that I work with. I cannot control the politics of my country, the rules of my workplace, or the weather. I cannot change my parents or their parents or anyone else whose lives and actions have left a mark on the reality the rest of us share. To be angry about that is to assume that I should have a wider circle of control than others. The brokenness of my students is really just my brokenness viewed from a different angle. We are mirrors for one another. There is just one of us, and one brokenness.

I resumed my run through the neighborhood, but now running the way I did as a child: not for my health or to relax but for the pure joy of running. My consciousness settled back into my real circle of control, and I felt the first real peace and freedom in days. From this ground of centeredness, we can actually have great influence, over politics, over our workplace, and especially over the inner condition of our minds and hearts. We find that by letting go of controlling others, we actually have much greater power and presence than ever before.

Effortless Joy

“'And your presses shall run over with wine.' These presses are your interior spiritual faculties…This wine holy Scripture speaks of is accurately and mystically understood to be that spiritual wisdom distilled in the deep contemplation and high savoring of the transcendent God. And how spontaneously, joyously, and effortlessly shall all this happen through the working of grace. Busy toil of yours is no longer necessary.”
—Privy Counsel Ch. 5

The fruit of the contemplative experience is this overflow of deep, abiding joy, (Ananda or bliss as the Hindus say). It is that quality of peace, contentment and equanimity that we perceive so fully developed in spiritual masters. And from that ground of joy, all experience just seems to flow effortlessly. There is no strain, no difficulty, as we see that all things arise and pass away from the same infinite wellspring. As the Tao Te Ching says,

The wise one accomplishes without action
She accepts the ebb and flow of things.
Nurtures them, but does not own them.
And lives, but does not dwell.

Is-Ness

“I want you to understand clearly that in this work it is not necessary to inquire into minute details of God’s existence any more than of your own. For there is no name, no experience, and no insight so akin to the everlastingness of God than what you can possess, perceive and actually experience in the blind loving awareness of this word, is. Describe [God] as you will: good, fair Lord, merciful…you will find them all contained in this little word, is. God’s very existence is each and all of these. If you spoke of [God] in a hundred like ways you would not go beyond or increase the significance of that one word, is.”
—Privy Counsel, Ch. 5

God’s being is Being Itself. No doctrine can express such infinite is-ness, no church can contain it, no word can describe it. Even the word “God” is a construct, a placeholder for that which is beyond mere conception. All experience arises out of this Ground of Being that we awkwardly call God.

This is what some have called such-ness: the infinite nature of the pure, unfiltered experience of the present moment. It is as simple as our breath, as the touch of our loved one, as the blinding beauty of ceasing thought and just observing the glory of what is.

Holding a child’s hand, plunging into cold water, a burst of laughter…in these moments the entire universe and the Ultimate Reality is revealed in its completeness.

No Greater Love

“And no greater love can any other man have than to sacrifice his very self for the good of all who are his brothers and sisters by nature or grace.”
—Privy Counsel, Ch. 4

In Chapter 4, the author briefly makes a strong, orthodox profession of Christian faith, and ties soteriology (the study of salvation) into this practice of contemplative prayer. Thus far in Privy Counsel, the anonymous author has talked at length about God and spiritual practice, but has made little mention of Christ. He quickly addresses this, probably intuiting that a casual reader might assume that his emphasis on meditation and the direct experience of the Divine sets him outside the mainstream of Christian thought.

The author makes it clear that his practice is firmly rooted in Christian theology, though the experience of God transcends all category and description. In his salvific death and resurrection, Christ provides an example of contemplation in action. Just as Jesus surrendered his “self” and bridged the gap between God and humanity, in meditation we surrender our own sense of a separated self in order to reveal the ultimate interconnectedness of all beings and all phenomena. The self metaphorically dies on the cross as all attachments and aversions are surrendered, and with the enlightened heart and mind that emerges from contemplation, we are reborn to new life.

The Final Frontier

“If you begin to analyze thoroughly any or all of man’s refined faculties and exalted qualities…you will come at length to the farthest reaches and ultimate frontiers of thought only to find yourself face to face with naked being itself.”
—Privy Counsel, Ch. 3

This “naked being itself” is paradoxically both the destination of spiritual practice and its origin. This is the place from which awareness and love arise and to which they return. This is it, in all its various names: the Ground of Being, Buddhanature, the Godhead, Satchidananda, etc. Here, we see all the individual qualities of our personhood floating within a vast sea of being and consciousness. Here we see the interconnectedness of all phenomena and to the extent that we can respond at all, it is simply to offer up our being into that ocean of light, for our good and the good of all other beings, in “a single all-embracing prayer such as this:

That which I am and the way that I am,
With all my gifts of nature and grace,
You have given to me, O Lord, and you are
All this. I offer it all to you, principally
To praise you and to help my fellow Christians and myself.”

This is, to the extent that words can be used at all, the essential prayer of all the saints and bodhisattvas.

Just Sitting

“Master [your thoughts] by refusing to feed them despite their rage. By feeding them, I mean giving them all sorts of intricate speculations about the details of your being to gnaw on. Meditations like this certainly have their place and value, but in comparison to the blind awareness of your being and your gift of self to God, they amount to a rupture and dispersion of that wholeness so necessary to a deep encounter with God.”
—Privy Counsel, Ch. 3

Again, the point of contemplative prayer is not thought. But the author recognizes that the first and most common challenge of contemplation is the discursive mind. His counsel is pretty simple: don’t give your thoughts any weight, importance or encouragement. Notice that he does not condemn the thinking faculties of the mind. To do so would be pointless: human reason is a tremendous gift.

Thinking is not the problem. It’s our attachment to thinking that creates the barrier to understanding. Thoughts will arise and pass away. Sometimes, as the author points out, thoughts can be harnessed and used for important spiritual purposes. Prayer with words is a perfect example. But this is not contemplation, because thoughts have that tendency to reinforce our attachment to our “self,” our separateness, and therefore cause a “rupture and dispersion of that wholeness so necessary to a deep encounter with God.”

The fundamental practice of contemplation is just this: allowing the thoughts to arise without clinging to them or averting from them, and allowing them to pass away with the same equanimity. This is what the Zen masters call, “just sitting.” When we do this, our wholeness is reestablished, and we dwell in oneness.

The Hungry Mind

“No doubt, when you begin this practice your undisciplined faculties, finding no meat to feed upon, will angrily taunt you to abandon it. They will demand that you take up something more worthwhile, which means, of course, something more suited to them. For you are now engaged in a work so far beyond their accustomed activities that they think you are wasting your time. But their dissatisfaction, inasmuch as it arises from this, is actually a good sign, since it proves that you have gone on to something of greater value. So I am delighted. And why not? For nothing I can do, and no exercise of my physical or spiritual faculties can bring me so near to God and so far from the world, as this naked, quiet awareness of my blind being and my joyful gift to God.”
—Privy Counsel, Ch. 3

Again, I am just quoting the opening to this chapter in its entirety. Here this medieval author writes with clarity and insight and using vocabulary I’ve come to expect from contemporary meditation teachers and spiritual masters.

Anyone who has ever endeavored to meditate will recognize what he is describing here immediately. The faculties of mind and body react with great hostility to the stillness and silence of contemplation. The mind longs to be fed a rich diet of sensory stimulation and discursive, self-reifying thought. But meditative prayer denies the mind this supper, because the soul knows on some deep, existential level, that it will not satisfy its longing.

Many teachers counsel their meditation students not to be alarmed by the torture the mind experiences when meditation begins. At first you think you’re going crazy or that you have lost ground spiritually when these hostile, negative thoughts begin to rush through the mind. The author of the Cloud says not to worry about this. It is a natural response, and an indication that we’ve gotten down to the real business of prayer, which is the real business of living.

Keeping Still

“Fickleness and indecision are signs of self-love.

If you can never make up your mind what God wills for you, but are always veering from one opinion to another, from one practice to another, from one method to another, it may be an indication that you are trying to get around God’s will and do your own with a quiet conscience.

As soon as God gets you in one monastery you want to be in another.

As soon as you taste one way of prayer, you want to try another. You are always making resolutions and breaking them by counter-resolutions. You ask your confessor and do not remember the answers. Before you finish one book you begin another, and with every book you read you change the whole plan of your interior life.

Soon you will have no interior life at all. Your whole existence will be a patchwork of confused desires and daydreams and velleities in which you do nothing except defeat the work of grace: for all this is an elaborate subconscious device of your nature to resist God, Whose work in your soul demands the sacrifice of all that you desire and delight in, and, indeed, of all that you are.

So keep still, and let Him do some work.

This is what it means to renounce not only pleasures and possessions, but even your own self.”

—Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation