Tag: Quaker

Slant shots with a cosmic ricochet or two 

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

When you sit for Meeting and see only chessmen on a board around you, you’ve lost touch with yourself.

Who knows whose game has you trapped, much less in what game.

Example of miscommunication:

“Are you Saved?”

“Are you Self-Realized?”

“Are you Yielded?”

Before Self-Realization, my belief that truth or the mystery could be found and answered in a woman’s love, classical music or jazz, a fine set of books. And thus the constant sorrow interspersed with flashes of delight. Now, further along, a taste of energy that goes so far beyond as well as a dryness of what’s been lost.

As for the girls I desired in high school? How common! [Sex and spirituality are closer and more essential than is often acknowledged. My, this could fill volumes!]

3 July, ’77 … evening Quaker Mtg at Dory Matson’s, the Wilkenings were there … Ellensburg?

First Mtg after summer: 20 adults, five children.

Me, thinking of the Mountains and Rivers sutra

and our Meeting’s love of hiking-skiing-camping

3:X: Been wondering about the break with the ashram, whether it even still exists …

What is the role of religion in a “man’s world”?

To give death meaning?

To uphold what’s good, noble, heroic?

To overcome the Little I?

Meeting last Sunday was at Michael and Tarn’s …

My first Quaker memorial service was Ken Scott’s …

The difficulty most had with the silence, women whispering (gossiping?) to husbands, etc., a packed room — having many standing didn’t help. The service began with the family singing songs informally …

He was 31 …

~*~

JESUS APOLLONIUS

Did Christianity change the Romans?

Or did they change Christianity?

Their vestal virgins redressed as nuns?

Thus, the Reformation

as another uprising of Germanic tribes

against Roman tribute

The mafia

supports its church

~*~

ARE WE GETTING CLOSER TO QUAKERS OR ZEN?

“There were no representatives of the gods inside; the place was empty, and the secret shrine contained nothing” — Pompey, on the Second Temple of Jerusalem

“They worship on the clouds and the Spirit of the heavens” — popular saying of the Jews, recorded in Juvenal.

Geeze, is that all it takes to confound Empire?

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

As my world turned

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

So we were settling in.

our orchard tenant shack here
like Snyder’s place in Dharma Bums
out back of a holy family’s
out toward the birds
and simple
like the long-legged house
of Wendell Berry’s uncle
close to nature
beside the river

Noz [our black cat, half-Siamese] goes berserk when we’re not home: rolled a geode across the floor and ripping caulking from the windows …

Noted on 15:VIII:77: Kitty received notice of her in-state status today. Next up, $50 in the mail to Central.

A week later: With Celeste over Saturday night.

And then we to Seattle Sunday: dinner at Costas [my delight at souvlaki?}, then a movie house of 99 seats, lobby three times larger than the viewing room …

In the morning, my wishing Kitty would say something profound rather than weeping over a slender girl or some fine threads …

Back in our desert orchard:

Tarts baked in stars

So hot that apples sunburn

and I’d thought Ivar’ was joking

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

As our circle connected and stretched

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

In the morning, beside the fire, Kitty said if we were still in Indiana, we’d be at Meeting right now, which spurred thoughts of friends and places. Then Carol Grow phoned, to say the Dolphs had friends/guests coming from Oregon and we’d meet at 8 — no potluck, just what turned out to be good, deep energy.”

Was this Smitty Young Bear?

Ivar noting “something strange” in the Valley, the lack in most of it of older, well-maintained structures — instead, the use of trailers, storefronts, a “boom town” attitude … we were also into a deep drought.

The Scotts, of Ellensburg, home from sabbatical … they’re highly regarded and outgoing … but their son is dying, something that returns them to Friends after backing off for years — burned too often, too much standing up for conscience, let somebody else do it …

In short, the Quaker gathering was becoming the center of our social world.

 As I noted 6:III:

Meeting growing closer, deeper, with strong, invisible bonds … a beautiful, loving communion … speaking initiated by Louie’s strange, deep, loving, and troubling speaking … our next meeting will be at their place … where I would pick up what I thought was a curious white, striated and very heavy rock from their mantelpiece only to be told it was a mastodon tooth …

On 17 apr:

Meeting in E’burg, in the morning, at Joe and Myrtle Wilkening’s … they can’t come Sunday nights but mornings or Saturdays are good … also got the address for another place to meet here, through them …

Later, we stopped at the Dolphs’ on our way back from a salmon bake in Toppenish we couldn’t find. Cut asparagus along the canal banks. Learned their little tenant shack is up for rent. Now, trying to find the courage to move in there … smaller but much, much cheaper …

At home, finding an ad in Crossroads, another couple sitting for Meeting … called them and learned of two other couples. So our Quaker circle here, in a single day, has grown by half again, if we arrange ourselves …

~*~

Ten days later, we were half-moved into the little house … and trying to cut back to fit into it …

So the move took place at the end of April? I would have placed it a month a letter, from memory.

The move put us much closer to the earth and agriculture that were so essential to the existence of the county. It would also spur much of the action in my novel, Nearly Canaan. It brought me closer to the culture and ecology of our environment.

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

How a new Quaker worship group came together

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

On the 12th, received two pieces of mail. The first, a list of local Friends and their addresses from University Meeting in Seattle.

The second, a letter from Swami urging me to stop procrastinating and return to the ashram.

A perplexing, even symbolic, clash but neither to be taken lightly. Especially a message from one’s guru stated directly and forcibly. Yet my guru-of-gurus, my heart, is not there. I am not ready to answer beck-and-call, to go back to a single trunk, to do no personal writing (or submissions). I have taken on responsibilities and opportunities here and perceive a need for Yoga/Quaker alternative to fundamentalist jangling, even before considering possibilities Native poets and others offer to my outlook.

Then yesterday received a challenging, derogatory rejection from Loon, as if to say, “Why are you bothering to write?”

24:X:76

Cold, damp, in a Binghamton mood / my aura dark gray, the one who has known God and is now out-of-light yet sitting in the morning, lifting me away …

And then a strange call from Tacoma Friends … me sounding phony yet happy to hear from another …

The 2nd Yakima Quaker gathering, my first, came after 17:XI … the phone number and directions for Tom and Carol’s …

Out Summitview to 74th, turn right up a grade with orchard on right, straight to end and take a left, West Lincoln going west a half-mile, starts to up over irrigation canal, a T go left, PRIVATE DRIVE DO NOT ENTER, around crush rock, past house under construction, the only house on left, go up to 2nd driveway, park on (?)

The Meeting here started worshipping in September, as if by my prayer … once a month, initially, with potluck and children …

21:XI:76 … got a letter from Tacoma Meeting and a call from Seattle Sunday night (arranging to be there).

Continuing 21:XI:76, first mention of Zenny and Bloom, who stayed over at our place … she was happy to have a shower, since they have neither a shower nor electricity yet on their blackberry farm … the house was uninhabited 11 years, in the woods with a wood-stove …

Kitty realized, from talking to them, how middle-class we’ve become — she’d been wondering (from her coworkers) if we were really strange

Extended talks with Zenny, and his Buddhist background, explored fronts of reconciliation between Yoga/Zen and Quaker traditions, “Eastern paths Quaker stumbled onto by fits and starts but without full knowledge of what it had discovered”

Also, how much wasted time in becoming convinced! How much unnecessary agony! How many fall away who could be helped by clearer direction?

So much bad information / misinformation is floating around out there!

Also raises matters of theatrics or colors rather than heart-essence. All around. (For Friends, the thees and thous or Quaker Oats figure.)

Already, I was glimpsing how the “Christ trap,” as I saw it, as Lord and Savior leads into “salvation” and “sinners” and the shallowness of “I’ve found it!” In this line of thinking, Friends were left vulnerable to the Methodist/Baptist pickings, depleting Quaker ranks.

Many seekers in Christian veins have been turned away by verbose non-answers (Fox: how they turn upon themselves), shallowness, lack of compassion, exploitation of man and nature (including persecution of others), and self-righteousness.

Yes, Jesus was divine. But what about others, too? “If I understand Friends correctly, all men are divine,” including women and children. (Today I would add that many turn their backs on it and despise it.)

Quaker faith is Christian and more. Sitting in silence returns us to our own hearts, our truest guru.

I do not mean book learning but rather the practice between a teacher and student, leading to an awareness within the student of his own God-nature, regardless of whether the term “God” enters into it (in many ways, the Quaker term “Light” is far better — no images of the Sunday School

[Today I’m surprised how closely these early observations develop into LightSeedTruth.]

29 nov, note another letter from Swami Lakshmy, for money (again) and questioning increasingly deeply …

Need for sacrifices, even though we are not making it financially — in fact, most of my pay steps from Fostoria have gone into rent (from $50 a month to $135 ti $275) and then into art supplies, food, and clothing … the car still the same …

4:XII:76 still bummed out by Swami’s (increasingly) harsh/strident letters, because I was already in the midst of a what-am-I-doing-here contemplation in the weeks before and been suffering root rot regarding writing — a dry, dryest of hearts: loss of laughter) …

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

Among unspoken initiations along the Way, befitting an Ashram Journal  

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

When we sit silently in worship, clouds that separate us may evaporate, allowing us closer to oneness, our own fullness, which is the essence of God.

The closer we get to Truth, the more tolerant and understanding we become of others. There can be no lasting revolution in the world until we’ve changed ourselves, as in reborn or liberated or enlightened, even self-realized.

 

Getting to know the Quakers better

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

“Live adventurously,” as one woman at Quaker Meeting recalled reading. Another was upset that our “silence” can cover too many “barren spots,” as snow does. Had I replied, it would have been in anger, praising the silence. [Fifty years later, I would confirm the occasions when silence ignores an elephant in the room, a tension or injury that needs to be addressed: an opportunity for Truth to work.]

Another in Friends worship quoted Montaigne: “Respect the man who seeks Truth; be wary of him who has it.”

 So many people reading spiritual and religious books do not comprehend them. Recognizing this makes me understand why Tibetan masters, among others, were so careful to keep their teachings “secret” or “hidden,” lest others ruthlessly exploited the words.

Why Jesus talked in puzzles – parables – rather than open logic.

 I notice that Paul is more important to Christianity than is Jesus.

 In this journals review, I’ve been struck by how much identity – first as a yogi and then as a Quaker – shaped my decisions and action, morally, especially.

A visitor to Meeting told how Quakers and other Protestants in her community were caring for a dying Zen monk. She didn’t know why.

Meeting, for me, became a community of Light, upholding the essence of yamas and niyamas, something that is often lost in the pageantry or theater of various schools of Asian practice, at least in the New World. The ethical constraints and actions, that is.

 In worship-sharing, an “important event age 5 to ten” … one Friend observing her grandfather’s suicide as the first death in the family

For me, the natural museum classes.

 Millard, after Mtg, mentioned how Jesus’ time was the most beneficial period for spreading a new faith. The Roman armies had subdued rivalrous tribes/nations, persecuted highway bandits, and built roads throughout the empire.

Paul, as a Roman citizen, could travel anywhere without a passport (or its equivalent).

Alice, quoting “an old white-haired woman in a Pennsylvania Meeting,” reminded another worshiper, “But if the vocal ministry doth not speak to thy condition, thou canst pull down thy body over thine ears and thus continue thy meditation.”

 All the Quakers I came to know were intense people, and thus as instruments they moved toward fulfillment, however humbly or stubbornly.

 At Gulli’s Brahms last night, Dennis remarked that one woman has put a number of people off. Not me. Perhaps I’ve simply grown to ignore that side of her.

Sitting is silent worship with the meetinghouse window open to a world of birds and breathing, children’s laughter, an electric saw, the wind even a neighbor’s radio with the smoky voice of an indistinct church organ, not that any of them matter

~*~

From Spiralbound Hoosier, with commentary from now.

Feed the fire

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

And so I am, when finished transcribing a journal in my spiralbound series.

The title line was from another wide-margin volume in that series.

Was I journaling at the office, too? Or even awaiting the bus? That would explain the lengthy, detailed entries so close together by date. When dates were included.

~*~

Meditation, quiescence or Dhyana, not enough: the practice should be fierce!

As with fire.

Still, tension or anger

reduce to nothing!

Nothing tangible, that is. How divine!

 

Avoiding the G-word while examining faith

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

One of the things I’ve learned over the years is that turning any discussion of religion away from the doctrinaire formulas and instead to direct feelings and experiences can be quite refreshing, even inspiring.

Essentially, that boils down to shifting from “head” speculation and instead to personal encounters, “heart,” if you will. It moves the focus from the abstract to something more concrete.

In my book, Light Seed Truth, I try to take that a step further by avoiding the G-word altogether except in direct quotation. Part of that stems from a Jewish tradition that considers the name of the Holy One to be too sacred to be uttered, leading instead to substitutes that include the all-cap LORD in English translations, meaning The Name. And part stems from just how different our individual perceptions of the word can be, often defaulting into an old bearded male of some sort, despite other options. Even Adonai and Elohim carry different connotations, not that I go into them. Just be aware.

Besides, the G-word can too easily create a wall between those who “believe” and those who don’t.

Add to that the surveys that find atheists, overall, are more familiar with the Bible than are members of varying denominations, and I do want to include them in the discussion.

In my ebook, I do hope to encourage an appreciation for wonder itself in our lives.

Not a bad place to start, is it?

You can find the volume in the digital platform of your choice at Smashwords, the Apple Store, Barnes & Noble’s Nook, Scribd, Sony’s Kobo, and other fine ebook retailers. You can also ask your public library to obtain it.

Look for the witness in the work, too

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Cinema critic Roger Ebert was talking of the importance of the witness in every movie and pointing to the places where the character appeared in the film under discussion, mostly in a lower corner. The comment flashed me to the reality of how often the hardest thing to see is what should be the most obvious. It’s not just the elephant in the room, but also smaller things we take for granted.

One way or another, all fiction is built on the observer, who is also to some degree an outsider or misfit, too. (If there are any exceptions, I’d love to hear them.) Four of my novels, for instance, were intuitively built around a photographer, a profession that makes Cassia’s father a well-trained witness. In turn, as she investigates his archives, she, too, becomes a witness, even before she starts commenting on his earlier life.

Of course, as a reader, you also become a witness. Or even a voyeur, as Camille Paglia has contended. It’s almost like every page is a microscope slide to be interpreted.

Curiously, I now see this also at play in a long-term non-fiction project in my life. Forty 40 years ago, seemingly by accident, I became involved in trying to uncover my father’s ancestry. I thought we were simply homogenous Midwesterners who had always been in Ohio from its beginning. What I discovered, though, was that one branch was – but German-speaking and largely akin to Amish. My name-line, however, was Quaker by way of North Carolina and its slaveholding culture. Both strands were outsiders to the larger society and also pacifist. It opened my eyes to alternative histories and to a recognition that stories don’t always have to resolve nicely – three people may record their memories quite differently, and maybe all three are true, if not factually accurate.

Oh yes, the research was often collaborative, with correspondence going and coming from others working on parts of the puzzle. It wasn’t always quite as lonely as drafting fiction or poetry.

To my surprise, as my novel What’s Left was taking shape, Cassia started assembling bits about her Greek-American grandparents, who had died before her birth, and then beyond to her great-grandparents, who brought the family to the New World. Like me, she found valuable clues in the surviving snapshots and formal portraits regarding their personalities, as she also did in the letters and other documents.

None of my ancestors came by way of Ellis Island, and on Dad’s side they were all in this country by the time of the Revolutionary War. I once pondered doing a series of novels on them, but I’m still intimidated by the technical challenges – a realistic language they can speak and we can understand being high among them.

Witness, I might add, has an extra dimension in Quaker thinking. It’s not just what one sees or hears but how one lives. The goal is integrity, as in wholeness or consistency. Is that what others see in us or our lives and work? Or even as our goal and ideal, even when we fall short reaching for it?

And, as a final twist, I’m realizing that the Indigenous perspective of looking back seven generations when making decisions for the future would take me back to the birth of Orphan George in 1701.

I do find that mindboggling.

~*~

You can find my genealogical gleanings on my Orphan George blog.

The novels, meanwhile, are available in the digital platform of your choice at Smashwords, the Apple Store, Barnes & Noble’s Nook, Scribd, Sony’s Kobo, and other fine ebook retailers. They’re also available in paper and Kindle at Amazon, or you can ask your local library to obtain them.

Carpooling

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Bob Stratton tells of driving home from work in Lordstown when a thunderstorm rolled up:

“One of the fellas in the car said, ‘Hey, the car behind us is sure coming comin’ up fast with its brights on.’

“It was no car. It was rolling lightnin’ that hit us.”

They drove on to a diner. “I smell something singed,” the waitress said.

“If that’s all it is, we’re lucky,” they laughed, and then told her what had happened.

Several weeks later, stopping there during another storm, the waitress was now telling them their story.

“You must not recognize us,” they laughed. “We’re the fellas it happened to.”