Reflections
Pondering various matters of interest to me.
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- Written by: Stephen Bailey
In my reflection for Ash Wednesday I noted that Jesus sought baptism by John and the baptism was followed by the descent of the Holy Spirit on Jesus. To ask for baptism implies ones readiness to accept the word of the baptiser, to admit oneself a sinner, to do penance, and to accept willingly all that God sends, however difficult. Despite John's attempt to dissuade him, Jesus quietly takes his place in line with all the other people seeking baptism. He declines the opportunity to be excused and voluntarily receives the baptism of repentance that all humanity must submit to. This humble descent to the human level was immediately answered by an outpouring from above onto the one at prayer.
The barrier that separates us from the beatific presence of the omnipresent God in heaven was removed for a moment. Into the rapture of this manifestation, stream the words of parental love: "You are my Son, the Beloved; my favour rests on you."
The Spirit "drove" Jesus out into the wilderness and solitude far removed from those he knew and loved, but also from the crowds along the Jordan. Here there is no one but the
Father and himself. Forty days is the Biblical idiom used to express a long period of time. It is borrowed from one of the elementary rhythms of life.
Romano Guardini writes:
Filled with the Spirit, Jesus goes into the wilderness, swept along by an immeasurable consciousness of mission and of strength. He fasts. What real fasting means – not the going without food imposed by necessity, but spontaneous self-denial – we may learn from the great masters of the spiritual life. Today doctors and educators again know a little more about it. At first only the lack of nourishment is felt; then, according to the strength and purity of the individual nature, the desire for food vanishes, not to return for several days. When the body receives no nourishment from without, it lives on its own substance; however, as soon as this self-calorification begins to attack the vital organs, a wild, elementary hunger is aroused, and life itself is threatened. Such was the hunger of Jesus in the wilderness.
Simultaneously, another, a psychic process takes place: the body becomes more supple, the spirit freer. Everything seems to grow lighter, detached. The burden of gravity itself grows less perceptible. The limits of reality begin to withdraw; the field of the possible to widen as the spirit takes things in hand. The enlightened conscience registers with greater sensitivity and power, and the will becomes increasingly decisive. The protective mechanisms of human nature which shield man from the hidden, threatening realms of existence beneath, above, and beyond him begin to fall away. The soul stands stripped, open to all forces. Consciousness of spiritual power increases, and the danger of overstepping the set limits of human existence, of confusing its dignity and its possibilities, grows acute: danger of presumption and magic, general vertigo of the spirit. When a deeply religious person undergoes these processes his soul can become involved in crises of extreme gravity and danger.
It was thus that Jesus was subjected to temptations by the one who recognised in Jesus his greatest enemy. The first two temptations were rooted in pure duplicity riffing off the affirming words of parental love heard after Jesus' baptism – "If you are the Son of God ..." and then finally the temptation of the will to power. Each temptation was resisted by the same kenosis that Jesus displayed with his coming to John for baptism. He chose to live by every word that comes from the mouth of God, to not test the unfailing love of God, and to subject his will to God alone.
Jesus' agony in the Garden of Gethsemane parallels the outcome.
The narration of Jesus' baptism in the Jordan and his temptation in the wilderness goes to very heart of the sacred mystery of the relationship of the triune God to the incarnation of the Son for "the Word [Logos] was made flesh and lived among us." We can never penetrate it, and knowledge of this incapacity must dominate our every thought and statement concerning Jesus' life. We are able to begin to assimilate this mystery by resorting to anthropomorphic metaphors that remain only metaphors and are not the full reality.
Over 74 years have passed since my existence was immersed in the life of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit at my baptism. In what ways does this indwelling divine life affect how live my life and nourish my relationship with God and others?
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- Written by: Stephen Bailey
The only record I know of regarding the years between the birth of Jesus of Nazareth and the beginning of his public ministry is contained in the Synoptic Gospels. Luke calls this period of thirty years the hidden life of Jesus of Nazareth, writing, "When they [Joseph and Mary] had done everything the Law of the Lord required, they went back to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. Meanwhile, the child grew in maturity, filled with wisdom, and God's favour was with him."
The only glimpse we have of the hidden life of Jesus is when he was twelve years old during an annual visit with his family to Jerusalem for the feast of the Passover. His parents lost him, and three days later found him in deep conversation with the Temple doctors, saying he was "busy with my Father's affairs."
"Then he went down with [Joseph and Mary], came to Nazareth, and lived under their authority. His mother treasured all these things in her heart. And Jesus increased in wisdom, stature, and favor with God and men."
We're told that John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness almost two decades later, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins in preparation for the revelation of the Messiah. At this time, Jesus came down from Nazareth and was also baptized in the Jordan by John.
While Jesus was praying after his baptism, the heavens were torn apart, and the Holy Spirit descended on him in bodily form, like a dove. A voice came from heaven, saying, "You are my Son, the Beloved; my favour rests on you."
God's Triune essence is "Transcendent-Logos-Spirit." The words spoken just after Jesus was baptized reveal this divine nature of the Trinity as the Transcendent fathers forth the Logos ("my Son, the Beloved"); my favour (Spirit) rests on you.
Immediately after, Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. He fasted there for forty days and forty nights.
This meditation marks the beginning of our Lenten journey of self-denial.
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As a human race, we are likely more informed than our predecessors have ever been in the past five millennia since the first origins of written records. However, despite our vast libraries of accumulated knowledge and the means to provide food, water, shelter, and well-being for all, we seem to lack the passion to distribute these essentials equally to those who are equally in need.
There are billions of people alive today who lack the necessary funds, skills, and resources to provide food, shelter and good health for themselves and their dependents. This number does not even include the countless individuals over the past five millennia who have endured a life of hunger, poverty, and deprivation of other basic necessities that give meaning to life.
In Judea two millennia ago, the Chosen People were longing for a Messiah to save them from their life of hardship, oppression, and despair under a foreign empire. They hoped for a traditional king who could take control and improve their lives. Today, we are witnessing acts of aggression, oppression, and retaliatory violence in parts of the Holy Land. Where is the sign of the Messiah who was supposed to fix everything? Is it necessary to commit genocide against those who frustrate the desire to occupy the Chosen Land in autonomy and peace?
The Chosen People failed to recognize the Messiah when he appeared and taught among them.
In my life, how do I proclaim and witness to the manifestation of Christ who asks to make his home in our spirits?
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It is a cause of abiding sadness for me that many friends, family and fellow poets whom I have come to know and love via Facebook, are at a loss to answer the question asked of each and every one of us at the end of this passage.
When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi he put this question to his disciples, ‘Who do people say the Son of Man is?’ And they said, ‘Some say he is John the Baptist, some Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.’ ‘But you,’ he said ‘who do you say I am?’
"It may be that universal history is the history of the different intonations given a handful of metaphors." Jorge Luis Borges
Reflection arising from the mass readings of Sunday 27 August. http://www.universalis.com/NZ/20170827/mass.htm
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- Written by: Stephen Bailey
In recent days I have been reading through the content of forums on the website of The Haiku Foundation and, in particular, Sailing 14: What kind of sword do you carry?
The following message by Peter Yovu together with the poems he quotes struck a particular chord that I intend to explore.
So I’ve mentioned some ideas, like Kaneko’s “words of the body” (by which he means, I believe, the mind-body as a whole), and Al’s formulation from Olsen-- “returning poetry to the primary energies of mind and body”, and I’ve alluded to Eve Luckring’s poem discussed elsewhere:
words/ still pink/ close to the bone
And I brought in, prior to all that, Jim Kacian’s poem from Roadrunner:
the high fizz nerve the low boom blood dead silence
These are possibly difficult ideas to work with, not well represented (or presented) by actual haiku or discussions about haiku in the English language world, and for all I know, not much discussed in Japan.
And all this was intended to be in the context of “vigorous language”, something which Basho apparently praised, though perhaps he conceived it differently than language arising from the “primary energies of mind and body”.
I don’t believe “primary” means the same thing as “primitive” exactly, though I suspect Kaneko might like the latter for its shock value. I think, in fact, it relates to an original impulse around haiku toward raw, immediate perception and the challenge of finding language sufficiently vigorous, or sufficiently alive to meet or even magnify the raw aliveness of Being. Words still pink, or raw, close to the bone, close to the Zero, close to the Enso, the swiftly brushed, never perfect, always perfect circle of ink, circle of incorporation, embodiment. And emptiness.
My response will flow from my initial reading of Kacian's poem published in Roadrunner 11.1.
the high fizz nerve the low boom blood dead silence
In 1980 my wife and I attended a Catholic Marriage Encounter weekend in which we focussed our undivided attention on each other unveiling the mystery of the other by writing letters to each other responding to prepared prompts and then shared our letters with each other in the privacy of our room. The letters were to be attempts to express our feelings about a variety of interpersonal matters using words only to express how those feelings felt physically. What does loneliness feel like? What does joy feel like? How does my body feel it? Explain how a peach tastes to you?
Kacian's single line found resonance in me. In it I sense the very nature of being as experienced in the loneliness of one's self with a fine mastery of that which seems unique to haiku poetry notwithstanding that few haiku achieve that depth of expression. The images are not concrete and, equally, they are not abstract. They portray sensations that are only noticed at moments of "peak experience" and can only be named when "recollected in tranquility".
An individual in a peak experience will perceive the following simultaneously:
- loss of judgment to time and space
- the feeling of being one whole and harmonious self, free of dissociation or inner conflict
- the feeling of using all capacities and capabilities at their highest potential, or being "fully functioning"
- functioning effortlessly and easily without strain or struggle
- feeling completely responsible for perceptions and behavior. Use of self-determination to becoming stronger, more single-minded, and fully volitional
- being without inhibition, fear, doubt, and self-criticism
- spontaneity, expressiveness, and naturally flowing behavior that is not constrained by conformity
- a free mind that is flexible and open to creative thoughts and ideas
- complete mindfulness of the present moment without influence of past or expected future experiences
- a physical feeling of warmth, along with a sensation of pleasant vibrations emanating from the heart area outward into the limbs.
The visceral images of fizzing nerves and of pulsing blood suggest melody and bassline working simultaneously to beget silence and, by inference, death. It is an experience of being embodied. What is more everyday, what is more verifiable in our own experience, what do we know better than the experience of embodiment?
In his 1998 Encyclical Fides et Ratio, Pope John Paul II, wrote:
God comes to us in the things we know best and can verify most easily, the things of our everyday life, apart from which we cannot understand ourselves.
In one line, Kacian has written down, for those who will hear, what the poet felt, at a particular moment, felt like. An echo of Kaneko Tohta's poetics when he refers to "words of the body". We do not get to glimpse the particular stimulus (and neither do we need to).
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When there is a resonance created in you that goes beyond presented content alone. The way things are combined in haiku may not be as simple as the juxtaposition of different images. For example, there could be a disjunctive collision of meaning and expectation right down to the texture of individual sounds.