MYTH IS NOT FICTION

Myths are not mere fictional stories but narrations that are intended to make us think wider and deeper. It is to elaborate on this theme that Joseph Campbell wrote his famous book Myths to live by.

Diane Pendola explains in her writing:
"The Expanding Heart" :

http://www.ecocontemplative.org/elfall06print.html

 Stretched out like a horizon: 

                        on this side what is seen.

                                    over there, the unseen; 

                        on this side, the known, 

                                    over there, the unknown

My mind pushes toward the horizon and in my advance the horizon retreats, always inviting and always out of reach.  Philosopher Raimon Panikkar calls it a "horizon of intelligibility".  On this side of the horizon we make sense of our world but there is always more that we cannot see, cannot know.  We grow.  We gain knowledge.  We learn the earth is not the center of the universe.  Our horizon expands to include planets beyond our planet, galaxies beyond our galaxy.  Our myth-making expands with our awareness.  The creation stories that helped make sense of the world for our ancestors appear to us as fictions.  And yet myth is not fiction. 

One of the foremost authorities on mythology, Joseph Campbell, says of our myth-making: 
Mythology is poetry, it is metaphorical.  It has been well said that mythology is the penultimate truth-penultimate because the ultimate cannot be put into words.  It is beyond words, beyond images, beyond that bounding rim of the Buddhist Wheel of Becoming.  Mythology pitches the mind beyond that rim, to what can be known but not told.  So this is the penultimate truth. As we engage with our ever-expanding knowledge of the universe a new myth emerges, a new way to create meaning, to make sense of our ever unfolding experience.

Joseph Campbell suggests that the emerging symbol for this new myth is our planet as seen from space:  a beautiful round gem of multi-faceted life in an otherwise vast and largely mysterious universe.  From this new horizon of space the earth is seen as fragile, precious and unique, without national, religious or ethnic boundaries.  From this new horizon the earth emerges as our one and only Home, needing our protection and worthy of our loyalty and our love.

Through the lens of contemporary science emerges this new cosmology, what Thomas Berry calls the Universe Story.  As we bring our whole being into engagement with this New Story, which means our hearts as well as our minds, faith as well as fact, it can become our sacred story.   Raimon Panikkar  describes  faith as existential openness towards transcendence.  The experience of faith is primal for the human being and constitutive of the very meaning of our humanness.  

Some might argue that science is not myth but fact. But even this points to its mythical content. Myth, Panikkar asserts, is the truth we presume, the ground we do not question, the horizon against which our world becomes intelligible.  When myth becomes knowledge and understanding it is no longer myth but logos, no longer the back-drop of our knowledge but the content. And don't we see scientific facts themselves pushing ever toward a horizon that recedes before them revealing new knowledge that makes the old knowledge look small or obsolete?  Our knowledge is never complete.  It only reveals itself against the yet-to-be-revealed.  It is ever expanding just as the universe that this new cosmology reveals to us is ever expanding.

Through this new cosmology I am discovering deeper reservoirs of meaning that illumine my own Christ-centered spirituality which in turn is integral with my personal, familial and cultural myth.  One theme I find illumined is the reality of suffering and evil. We all struggle with the presence of evil in the world.  At times the tension between the true blessedness of my own personal life and the suffering through out so much of the planet feels overwhelming.  I feel into the center of myself and I sense that I am not big enough to contain the suffering, to respond to it, to effect it in any way. In my heart I carry this suffering and the suffering itself demands that I expand, that I allow my heart to be effected, even to break, in order for a bigger spaciousness to open up within me.  In this I am a microcosm of the universe itself which is expanding and which has often found suffering, violence and death essential to its own transformative processes.  I find I always have a choice.  I can close down, harden my heart and cease pushing toward that horizon of the not-yet-born, thus sealing the door to any further revelation (which appears to me a very denial of my humanity). The other choice is to open, soften my heart, allow suffering to enter and expand me as the universe itself is expanding.  It is through this vital choice I participate in birthing an ever-new creation.

Science & Religion

Nonoverlapping Magisteria
by Stephen Jay Gould
http://www.stephenjaygould.org/library/gould_noma.html

(late) Stephen Jay Gould, an agnostic, argues for co-existence of Science and Religion in non-overlapping domains of teaching authority. The link given above leads to his long exposition on the statement of Pope John Paul II on evolution. The concluding paragraphs are reproduced below. 

magisterium (teaching authority); 

each subject (science and religion) has a legitimate magisterium, or domain of teaching authority—and these magisteria do not overlap (the principle that I would like to designate as NOMA, or "nonoverlapping magisteria")

Concluding paragraphs:

I am not, personally, a believer or a religious man in any sense of institutional commitment or practice. But I have enormous respect for religion, and the subject has always fascinated me, beyond almost all others (with a few exceptions, like evolution, paleontology, and baseball). Much of this fascination lies in the historical paradox that throughout Western history organized religion has fostered both the most unspeakable horrors and the most heart-rending examples of human goodness in the face of personal danger. (The evil, I believe, lies in the occasional confluence of religion with secular power. The Catholic Church has sponsored its share of horrors, from Inquisitions to liquidations—but only because this institution held such secular power during so much of Western history. When my folks held similar power more briefly in Old Testament times, they committed just as many atrocities with many of the same rationales.)

I believe, with all my heart, in a respectful, even loving concordat between our magisteria—the NOMA solution. NOMA represents a principled position on moral and intellectua] grounds, not a mere diplomatic stance. NOMA also cuts both ways. If religion can no longer dictate the nature of factual conclusions properly under the magisterium of science, then scientists cannot claim higher insight into moral truth from any superior knowledge of the world's empirical constitution. This mutual humility has important practical consequences in a world of such diverse passions.

Religion is too important to too many people for any dismissal or denigration of the comfort still sought by many folks from theology. I may, for example, privately suspect that papal insistence on divine infusion of the soul represents a sop to our fears, a device for maintaining a belief in human superiority within an evolutionary world offering no privileged position to any creature. But I also know that souls represent a subject outside the magisterium of science. My world cannot prove or disprove such a notion, and the concept of souls cannot threaten or impact my domain. Moreover, while I cannot personally accept the Catholic view of souls, I surely honor the metaphorical value of such a concept both for grounding moral discussion and for expressing what we most value about human potentiality: our decency, care, and all the ethical and intellectual struggles that the evolution of consciousness imposed upon us.

As a moral position (and therefore not as a deduction from my knowledge of nature's factuality), I prefer the "cold bath" theory that nature can be truly "cruel" and "indifferent"—in the utterly inappropriate terms of our ethical discourse—because nature was not constructed as our eventual abode, didn't know we were coming (we are, after all, interlopers of the latest geological microsecond), and doesn't give a damn about us (speaking metaphorically). I regard such a position as liberating, not depressing, because we then become free to conduct moral discourse—and nothing could be more important—in our own terms, spared from the delusion that we might read moral truth passively from nature's factuality.

But I recognize that such a position frightens many people, and that a more spiritual view of nature retains broad appeal (acknowledging the factuality of evolution and other phenomena, but still seeking some intrinsic meaning in human terms, and from the magisterium of religion). I do appreciate, for example, the struggles of a man who wrote to the New York Times on November 3, 1996, to state both his pain and his endorsement ofJohn Paul's statement:

Pope John Paul II's acceptance of evolution touches the doubt in my heart. The problem of pain and suffering in a world created by a God who is all love and light is hard enough to bear, even if one is a creationist. But at least a creationist can say that the original creation, coming from the hand of God was good, harmonious, innocent and gentle. What can one say about evolution, even a spiritual theory of evolution? Pain and suffering, mindless cruelty and terror are its means of creation. Evolution's engine is the grinding of predatory teeth upon the screaming, living flesh and bones of prey.… If evolution be true, my faith has rougher seas to sail.

I don't agree with this man, but we could have a wonderful argument. I would push the "cold bath" theory: he would (presumably) advocate the theme of inherent spiritual meaning in nature, however opaque the signal. But we would both be enlightened and filled with better understanding of these deep and ultimately unanswerable issues. Here, I believe, lies the greatest strength and necessity of NOMA, the nonoverlapping magisteria of science and religion. NOMA permits—indeed enjoins—the prospect of respectful discourse, of constant input from both magisteria toward the common goal of wisdom. If human beings are anything special, we are the creatures that must ponder and talk. Pope John Paul II would surely point out to me that his magisterium has always recognized this distinction, for "in principio, erat verbum"—"In the beginning was the Word."

Carl Sagan organized and attended the Vatican meeting that introduces this essay; he also shared my concern for fruitful cooperation between the different but vital realms of science and religion. Carl was also one of my dearest friends. I learned of his untimely death on the same day that I read the proofs for this essay. I could only recall Nehru's observations on Gandhi's death—that the light had gone out, and darkness reigned everywhere. But I then contemplated what Carl had done in his short sixty-two years and remembered John Dryden's ode for Henry Purcell, a great musician who died even younger: "He long ere this had tuned the jarring spheres, and left no hell below."

The days I spent with Carl in Rome were the best of our friendship. We delighted in walking around the Eternal City, feasting on its history and architecture—and its food! Carl took special delight in the anonymity that he still enjoyed in a nation that had not yet aired Cosmos, the greatest media work in popular science of all time.

I dedicate this essay to his memory. Carl also shared my personal suspicion about the nonexistence of souls—but I cannot think of a better reason for hoping we are wrong than the prospect of spending eternity roaming the cosmos in friendship and conversation with this wonderful soul.

[ Stephen Jay Gould, "Nonoverlapping Magisteria," Natural History 106 (March 1997): 16-22]; 

Holiness within us is waiting to be experienced

The Holy Man
by Susan Trott

Review by Lee Ambrose

What do you do when sleep eludes you? Many "count sheep" but, Susan Trott chose a different way to deal with her insomnia. She began to envision a "Holy Man" and the pilgrims who would make their trek to see him to gain wisdom and understanding. Woven with bits of Buddhist philosophy, this engaging little book is a set of thirty four vignettes—each depicting a different character flaw in mankind. Each character flaw in turn becomes the perfect springboard for a story of enlightenment.

Author Susan Trott has written several novels including The Housewife and the Assassin, Don't Tell Laura,Incognito, and Sightings to name just a few. Her work has received praise from The San Francisco Chronicle and The Bloomsbury Review. Her writing is published around the world. Some has been optioned for motion pictures.

Joe is a quiet soul. He lives with several other monks in a hermitage on a nameless mountain top. Every summer, he welcomes the many pilgrims who travel to the mountain top to see him. Every year, more pilgrims come and the wait to see The Holy Man becomes longer. During the waiting period, human nature being what it is, stories within the story unfold. Sometimes a pilgrim has already learned a valuable lesson by the time he or she arrives at the door of the hermitage to see Joe.

The grandmother who never receives thank you notes from grandchildren, the man whose jealousy is all-consuming, the alcoholic, the veteran who can't forgive himself for the loss of life he contributed to during the war, the impatient woman, the self-absorbed "famous person"—all of these characters and many more make up a cast of incredibly human individuals. Readers are sure to see a bit of themselves or someone they know within these brief chapters.

Each character's story and redemption is told in an engaging manner reminiscent of a fable. Human frailties are exposed, character flaws are mended, and pilgrims go back out into the world as changed beings because of their experiences along to path to The Holy Man. Everyday concerns are examined with gentle wit, profound wisdom, and simplicity.

When the days become shorter and the temperatures become too cold for people to wait for days and days to see The Holy Man, Joe begins his own period of silence, solitude and reflection. He envisions the people who passed through his home during the summer—he imagines the changed lives they are living and creating.

As Trott brings this delightful tale to a close, she leaves her reader with a sense that there just has to be a sequel in the making... and, in fact, she did write a sequel (The Holy Man's Journey) which was published in 1997. It too is an engaging little book—but that is a book review for another day! 

Excerpts from: "The Holy Man" by Susan Trott

There was a holy man who lived in a hermitage on a mountain. Although solitary, it was not strictly a hermitage because some monks lived there with him. Even before the world began to seek him out, he was rarely alone.
When word got out about him, people came to see him during the summer months when the hermitage was accessible, firs t a few people, then more and more until there was a long line climbing the steep mountain path single file - tens, hundreds, and then thousands, some of whom never made it to his door before the snows forced their return..........
When the door opened wide, the next pilgrim in line, waiting beyond the gate, would be summoned forth by a man in a wheat colored robe, a small, non-descript-looking person.

"Yes?" he would ask when the pilgrim reached the threshold.
"I have come to see the holy man."
"Follow me, please."
He or she would follow the small man through the house, along a hallway with doorways open to various rooms into which the pilgrim would peek hastily, but the monk ahead was already moving so very quickly through the house that the pilgrim couldn't linger but literally had to rush after him.
In no time at all they had passed through the entire first floor of the house and were at a large door similar to the one the pilgrim had entered. It was the back door. The monk opened it wide and said "Goodbye".
"But I have come to see the holy man!" said the visitor plaintively.
"You have seen me," he gently replied.
And the next thing the pilgrim knew he would be outside, the door solidly closed behind him.

This is why the line moved so rapidly and how the holy man got to see so many people - or so many people got to see him. The trip through the house was twenty seconds, add another twenty for greetings and partings, another twenty for returning to the front door, and what you have is a person a minute.
Most times the holy man would add, "If you look on everyone you meet as a holy person, you will be happy," which added seven seconds.
Rarely, but sometimes, which were happy times for him, he sat down and talked to a pilgrim. ...........

[

What did pilgrims feel about being given such short shrift after their long inchworm trudge up the mountain? .....
.....even the nicest amongst them, when the door shut on their departure, felt some of these feelings: wronged, hurt, cheated, disappointed, betrayed, ill-used, angry.
But it was amazing how fleeting this letdown was, because, as they stood outside the door, somewhat dazed, feeling any or all of the above, they began to review their visit to the holy man and to understand. The door had been opened to them.

How many places would this happen in a world of peepholes, locks, bolts, and bars?
The door had been opened wide and the one-man reception committee had stood there, eyes alight, a small smile, saying, "Yes?" -a "how may I help you?" sort of yes.
Whereas the pilgrim had not greeted him at all, had not introduced himself, said hello, how are you, may I please come in, but, instead, full of his own importance, his own mission, had treated the door-opener as the lowliest servant, saying, "I've come to see the holy man."

And the door-opener, realizing the visitor's mission had already been accomplished, showed him out. Thinking this, the pilgrim felt very sorry about his behavior and vowed that he would come again next summer and do differently.

He tried to remember what the holy man looked like and couldn't, because he hadn't looked at him. He wouldn't recognize him if the same man opened the door next year, but no matter. He would be courteous and respectful to whoever opened the door. In fact, he would be gracious to everyone from now on, imagining that everyone was the holy man, that everyone indeed had holiness in him. This would be very hard. Still he would try. Because that was what he had learned from the holy man, and it was a huge, wonderful, staggering lesson.

And it meant, yes, it meant that even he himself was a holy person somewhat.

The Great Quest for Truth:

The Great Quest for Truth:

The Quest for Truth begins at the moment of birth with the struggle for life in strange surroundings. Bewildered by the expulsion from the dark, watery nourishing home of the Womb into the starkly lighted harsh external world with a violent push and the severance of the vital link with the sharp blade of the knife, the newborn cries out for air to breathe and nourishment to hang on to life. The initial struggle for life ends with the tender and loving hugs from the mother who forgets her labor pains to welcome God's gift of the bundle of joy, throbbing with life and demanding ever more care and attention which she is always willing to give. In return, the child rewards the mother with warmth and a joyful life and its first words "amma", "maa".

Our struggle for life and with life continues for decades without our understanding the Truth behind our lives: what is this thing called life that we are living, what is the purpose of our life, where are we going as the years fly past us and finally, who is it that is living this life. Who is this "I" that claims my life and determines how it should be lived, who shouts with joy at successes and cries with pain at failures? The puzzle becomes more complicated with age and we despair at the absence of answers satisfactory to the "I" who poses the questions and rejects the answers given by other wise men.

Until one Wise Sage appears on the scene and tells us plainly: your quest for the Truth shall end only when your questions cease and you look inside yourself and experience who you are. 'That thous art', you have learned from the sacred scriptures; the moment you experience the truth of this statement, you have truly realized and there is nothing more to learn or know.

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Ramana Maharishi's Upadesa Saram: slokas 26-30

Learning from the Wisdom of the Body

Learning from the Wisdom of the Body

Good for the body is the work of the body, good for the soul the work of the soul, and good for either the work of the other.                                            -- Henry David Thoreau

Learning from the Wisdom of the Body

--by Viral Mehta, Original Story, Jul 12, 2012

Every time I watch it, I get goosebumps. The one-minute "Power of One" video combines evocative visuals of people who've impacted the world by working toward the greater good, inspiring us by their example. Gandhi. Mother Teresa. Ruby Bridges (the first black child to attend an all-white elementary school in 1960).

It's amazing that our interpretation of experiences can generate such a visceral response. The fact that we get goosebumps when we are inspired or afraid is one of many everyday indicators of just how deeply and intricately connected our minds and bodies are. In fact, the mind and body are an intertwined whole -- and there is great wisdom in the totality of our mind-body experience.

There are sparks of this recognition even in the world of technology. An increasing number of tools leverage something called "feedback loops”.  Some of these are bio-feedback devices that work by helping us become more aware of the body, giving us real-time feedback about physiological functions so that we can learn to consciously change them. They've been effective in improving many conditions, including stress, depression and even pain.

But there are even more powerful feedback loops at work within ourselves. We are actually sub-consciously picking up on certain internal signals that orient us toward balance and optimal well-being. It's what, for instance, makes pregnant mothers naturally hungry for foods rich in the specific vitamins that they need. And it's this ability that allows us to, say, walk into a troubled meeting, and immediately sense that "the tension in the air is so thick you can cut it with a knife."

There's a reason why we describe that tension as being palpable enough to cut. We can physically feel it. Most of the time, we think of the body as a mechanical system on auto-pilot, and we don't pay much attention to it. But if we sensitize ourselves enough, we can become aware of the body's aliveness. With every breath, the heart pumps fresh oxygen and blood, continually rejuvenating every part of the body. We know that every cell of our being is in flux, and a massively interdependent set of systems are at work constantly.

But these aren't all strictly physical processes. We perceive and interpret through our minds, which in turn affect our bodies. The brain assembles neurohormones based on our emotional states, which get pumped into our bloodstream. And all of our cells have receptors for these chemicals, so we end up experiencing our mental states throughout our bodies. Though this process is constantly at play, we can go beyond being passive spectators to the whole phenomenon -- we can be active participants.

Think about how anger works. Let's say that my friend is supposed to meet me somewhere, and she is late. Initially, there's a mild feeling of annoyance. "She's always running late." That mild annoyance triggers a subtle, unpleasant, bodily feeling. But let's say I'm not aware of it. Beneath the surface, then, my habituated mental response kicks in, which only increases the intensity of that bodily feeling. The mild annoyance soon becomes full-fledged anger. So mind affects matter, which in-turn affects the mind, forming an unconscious cycle.

The body actually reflects the mind right away and can help lead us back to balance. Of course, it's not as simple as turning on a switch, but with practice, this "feedback loop" can start serving us. We can inject more choice into any situation. In every experience, we can learn to tune back into the ongoing stream of our inner experience, remain centered and choose our response. Even in simple things, like managing our emotional state when a friend is late.

This feedback loop goes well beyond just improving our physical health -- it points us to greater truths. At its core, it allows us to tap into our inherent drive, to keep improving and learning from our experiences, to continue evolving. The term "homo sapiens" comes from the Latin verb sapere, which means "to taste, to be wise, to know." Wisdom itself is defined by psychologists as the coordination of "knowledge and experience" and "its deliberate use to improve well being."

In fact, we are hardwired to grow in wisdom. Actively learning from our experiences is what makes us quintessentially human, and when this experiential learning is rooted in an integration of mind and body, we are leveraging a natural feedback loop. By using this built-in technology, we become better students of cause and effect, finding more and more windows of opportunity to be aware and to make better decisions. Best of all, this technology is a gift -- it requires no purchase, and can be activated at any time, waking us up to our own innate wisdom.
Source:  http://www.dailygood.org/view.php?sid=273 

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Renunciation In Action

Renunciation in Action

By: Swami Parthasarathy
http://www.speakingtree.in/spiritual-articles/science-of-spirituality/renunciation-in-action?track=1&uid=34555&date=20120704

Action is the insignia of life. The law of life proclaims that none can remain without performing activity. Everyone is made to act according to one’s own inner temperament. If you choose to remain idle, you lead yourself to destruction. Look at Nature. Observe the stagnant pool and the running brook. Where water stagnates it turns filthy and dirty, whereas running water is clear and pure.

If you are to succeed in life, if you wish to be prosperous and peaceful, you must adopt the principle of running waters. Follow their line of action. The river keeps moving, overcoming all obstacles, ever-progressing. It never stops until it reaches the ocean. So must you pursue the path of action until you reach the abode of Truth. Vedanta highlights the gospel of karma action. It emphasises the importance of fulfilling your obligatory functions in life.

Scriptures caution us that even to maintain your body, you must be active. If any part of your body remains inactive for a period of time it loses its strength and vitality. Your body needs to be kept in constant repair. You must exercise daily. But people detest the idea of physical exercise. Instead, they choose to indulge in sensual pleasure. But even enjoyment of sensual pleasures needs proper maintenance of the physical body. Neglect of physical exercise would prove detrimental to your material and spiritual wellbeing. Hence, the first spiritual lesson Swami Vivekananda gave to his followers was: ‘Go, play football!’

Vedanta insists on work, work and work. Equally so, it glorifies renunciation. There is an apparent contradiction. How can action and renunciation go together? The answer is: Real work is founded on renunciation of the ego -- which is work performed without the egoistic feeling, ‘I-am-the-doer. I am the sole architect of all that I do.’ Real work is turned out when the body plunges into action while the mind is attuned to an ideal set for it. A true worker is one who pours out his efforts for a higher cause beyond his selfish interest. It has to be done without an egoistic arrogation of doership. That is the spirit of renunciation to be practised. Such work commands success and prosperity concurrently with peace and bliss. You can practise it in your home, in business, in society, everywhere. There is no need to retire to the forests for living a life of renunciation.

The idea of working in a spirit of renunciation has confused people. People either become attached, entangled in their work or turn cowardly and seek escape from it. Realise that action is inevitable. You cannot avoid your obligatory functions. In the epic Mahabharata, a great battle was fought between two royal forces. Arjuna was a warrior-prince leading one of the armies. He aimed at destroying unrighteousness and resurrecting righteousness in the country.  The stage was set for the battle to commence. At that crucial moment Arjuna wanted to withdraw from the scene. The warrior declined to fight. He shrank from his obligatory duty. It was then that Krishna gave Arjuna the sermon of theBhagwad Gita. He advised him of the necessity and art of right action and how action embraces the principle of renunciation. He asked  Arjuna to renounce his ego and fight the battle impersonally for the welfare of the people. Empowered by this knowledge, Arjuna fulfilled his obligation as a warrior and won the battle.

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