by E. Alan Meece
Reflection for the Unitarian-Universalist "resilience" theme service, Feb 16, 2020
First Unitarian Church of San Jose
Resilience is the word I chose for my special word of the year last year. The long little paper with that word on it is still sitting on my TV.
I am naturally curious and inquisitive. Like many folks, I have persevered because I looked beyond and rose above difficult circumstances. In my quest I have discovered what makes me want to stay alive.
Sometimes I pay attention to this, but like most people sometimes I don't. My quest takes time, and curiously enough, whether I am resilient or not seems to revolve around questions of time itself: the past, present and future.
In my hard times, I wonder if my past experiences and actions define me, or whether I can access a realm in which new energy, abilities and ideas appear to me. I need a source from where something greater can come. Carl Jung has said that without an experience or knowledge of the extra-mundane, a human being is ripped apart by the storms of life. When I wonder if I am going crazy, and think that I am a stranger in a strange world, I remember that I am not just me, but that the world I'm in and all its other people are also me, and that I am connected and never really alone. And to be truly resilient I remember that this one life alone is not sufficient. I expand my horizons beyond death. I am the offspring of 4 billion years of life, which has the resilience of a tree that when finding the light blocked on one side, turns in another. But for my own life I wonder, if it just ends, and if life just ends for others too, whether it might as well never have begun. My life, therefore, may in some way be eternal. Only then does it seem worthwhile to me.
I recommend this quest for the greater divine reality, and the greater resilience it can bring. I have much to learn about this, but I won't quit. Although my quest and my journey are defined by time and space, I know that my real self is not located anywhere. My position and my momentum can't be defined at the same time any more than any wave or particle can be so defined by a modern scientist. As Bob Dylan said on his tambourine trip, in the sky there are no fences. Sometimes I look up and I remember its awesome beauty. Then the rush of gentle winds reminds me that living beings have endowed our Earth with Spirit. Nature and the divine are not apart, but are One Being.
I am more resilient when I am living in the moment. When I have been meditating and focusing on being here, I have more energy. For example, when I am playing the organ here, perhaps getting nervous about whether I will hit the right notes, I am more likely to hit them if I have meditated and am actually being here. I am more resilient when I know that I am living always now; when I remember that I am just a part of all that is. Sometimes I discover that I am active and passive at once; interdependent among others and the world, not just an isolated body. When I breathe out, I am also breathing in. And when I breathe in, I am breathing out. When I dance, I am being danced. When I am being danced, I dance. I let go and I feel peace. I worry less and therefore I feel more resilient.
The future, like the past, can be a conundrum and a mixed blessing. Endless planning for the future only makes it likely that when the future comes, I won't be there, but will still be planning for the next future. On the other hand, through imagination I know that I am not just what I have done, but what I might still do; not just what I have been, but what I still can be. Others have betrayed me, and I have mishandled situations, but no-one has quite robbed me of my dreams. I extend my past experiences into something beyond what they were. The prosaic and the practical never satisfy me.
My real world is the dreamy and creamy feelings that flow lightly around and through me that make my soul rise up. These are most of all what make me want to persevere and stay alive. Music and painting describe them best; so I use words as guitars and paintbrushes and hope they suggest something. I might imagine myself with a friend or a lover rowing a boat together in a still lake near the sea. I imagine climbing up a mountain with friends among spring flowers. I imagine inspiring a group with my unique ideas, and others sharing theirs in turn in a special communion. Like Bob Dylan, I go out to the windy beach far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow. I can look around me there, or anywhere, anytime, and see a subtle, misty nectar, an elixir of light that rises and shines around me. It's a light inside that makes me want to drift with the tide. Maybe to home, or maybe beyond home, to the home in my wandering soul. Our closing song about going home mentions both the Earth and the larger Universe, which used to be called Heaven. But we know what Jesus and Buddha originally taught, that heaven is the spiritual level of our being, wherever we are.
I also feel hopeful and resilient when I connect myself to the larger culture that's moving forward. Sometimes I see a new age dawning, and I feel a new spirit rising. Like John Lennon, I imagine. As Ted Kennedy said, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die. And so I continue to rise. My quest for resilience goes on.
After my reflection, Marta Norment read Maya Angelou's poem Still I Rise. My reference to Heaven and Home was inspired by Randy Newman's song Heaven is my Home. In a little bit of synchonicity, I observed that this song was the theme music for Paula Nunes for her program with Tazz Powers on KKUP, where we both used to have programs. Paula was co-founder with myself and Jeff Norment, now Marta's husband, of the association that produced the Holistic Arts Fair. Due to betrayals by others, I had to leave both endeavors in the 2010s decade. But, still I rise.
First Unitarian Church of San Jose
The World Card of Wisdom Around the World