’katholikos’

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘The Life of St. Ignatius Loyola. Plate 4.‘ – Carlos Saenz de Tejada – WikiArt

You’ve got to respect the whole. That’s how you live the good life, in having reverence for the totality of your experience. Not just for the superfluous, all that is being the foam of life, that exists and appears, that you can see, hear, touch. You will never make a totality from the world of objects, from thoughts and perceptions. These are but occasional appearances, superficies. They are above you as it were, dancing upon you, at the periphery of who you are, but are not the reality covering your experience — its most profound constituent. You’ve got to go beyond the mundane and the obvious. For we keep leaving something out of experience. We don’t take the whole thing. We are choosy, only care for objects, don’t integrate our ‘within’ — where the reality of our being is. Notice that there is a world here, that is encompassing our world — a presence pervading our reality, taking everything in.

Actually, this is what the word ‘catholic’ is about. In Greek, ‘katholikos’ means: ‘pertaining to the whole’. We have to pay due respect to the whole, to the totality. We must look back at what we truly are, and find there the expression of the whole. I am not sure that Ignatius of Antioch had this in mind, when he first coined the term ‘catholic’ in the early 2nd century AD. He probably meant that the new belief, the new credence, was to be the universal truth, meant for everyone, adopted by all. But there was no need for adoption — the baby was already in the womb. There were no beliefs to be had, no hopes to project and entertain, no happiness to seek outside of our common day experience as being. He didn’t see that in this very word was the answer to all religions, to every quest for the divine peace; that what we were looking for was already here, close, so close to our very experience; and that there was no need to form a belief about it, or a new credence.

To accord with the whole is to be reconciled with our true nature — the reality of our being. It is to be ‘of one mind’, which is what reconciliation means, and to be brought together under the vault of one reality. This is achieved by turning towards the One, which is our true and only constituent. Universality wasn’t meant to be achieved in multiplicity. Universality is the quality of oneness noticed. The totality is in every place you happen to be. There is no totality of which you wouldn’t be the vessel. For the whole is not a geography, not a place to be in. It is the embrace of being. There is a totality in and as the being which you are now, here. You are not inside a totality. The totality is inside you. But mind you, this most venerated Christian Patriarch Ignatius of Antioch did say something of the highest order, when he brought up the word. He said that “wherever Jesus Christ is, there is the Catholic Church.” Yes. Yes indeed. Wherever we as our deepest being are, whenever we as our most profound nature-consciousness are, there is the expression of the whole, of oneness — the totality which is the very nature of the Lord’s House, and which is our nature and our house too.

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Text by Alain Joly

Quote by Ignatius of Antioch (died c. 108/140)

Painting by Carlos Saenz de Tejada (1897-1958)

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Websites:
– Ignatius of Antioch (Wikipedia)
– Carlos Saenz de Tejada (Wikipedia)

Suggestion:
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On Courage

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘The Turn of the Tide’ – John Duncan – WikiArt

Not to suffer is not as desirable as we like to proclaim. We have mixed feelings towards our agonies and traumas. In fact, we have come to like the beastly thing. Suffering has given us many of the things we cherish in our life. Suffering has given us the hopes that we love to entertain, the pleasures we have developed as a routine of escape, and all the little addictions we enjoy in secret. It has shaped our drives and the nature of our beloved possessions. And our best friendships may have developed as a result of this beating pang in our heart. So this is not easy to let suffering go. A lot will go with it that is like the backbone of our beloved self. Being at peace and happy comes with a price.

There is some identity in our suffering, where is hidden a private treasure that we’d rather keep and nurture. If we are honest, we have to confess that our wounds have made us what we are, have formed the self that we believe we are, the personality that we have come to befriend. We haven’t fought our suffering with constancy, and have come to collude with it, socialise, associate, fraternise. We have indulged in every bit of it. We have surprised ourself having feelings for our pain, entertaining a secret love affair with everything that bites us. So to end suffering requires clarity and courage. For we won’t abandon a dream so easily, or put an end to a pleasure without balking. We need to be convinced. Our road to true happiness is paved with reluctance. We have a natural and well-rehearsed resistance to bliss.

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Reflecting on how courage is found at the heart of ourself… (READ MORE…)

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The Religious Life

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘Two monks’ – Carl Bloch, 1861 – WikiArt

Spirituality is an exaggeration. We need to exaggerate our commitment to truth, and be ‘spiritual’ for a time. We need to take on this role. Being is to be favoured at the expense of experience. This is the way to re-establish a lost truth, to re-assert what we truly are against what we have conditioned ourself to be, by force of habit. It takes a lot to fight an addiction, to forget a well-rehearsed habit, to extricate ourself from our deeply imbedded identifications with our body and mind. What’s running in our head has a persuasive power, and perceptions have a way to project everything perceived as being out there, into what we commonly conceptualise as a world separate from ourself. So spirituality is a sort of rehab. We go to the church or the temple only because of our failure in making a cathedral of our experience. We attend the mass in reason of our not being grateful for the given bread of our life. And we meditate for lack of noticing that the meditator is a superimposition on our simple experience of being. We’re overdoing it, but it’s for the good cause. We need a magnifying glass to notice what is hidden in the cacophony of experience.

But spirituality is not a way of life. it is a temporary overemphasis, a dramatisation. We were never meant to be spiritual, or a believer in a religion. Religion is a teaching, a suggestion to realign ourself with truth rather than with an acquired belief. It is the temporary treatment for our suffering. It is the gentle scolding of a parent when we have made a mistake. It is benevolence — an encouragement towards a happier living. It is a bond and a reverence towards the simple reality of our being. So spirituality is an effort towards effortlessness. It is an attempt to recognise the given in ourself, amongst all the things that we have acquired and wrongly identified with. We have to dig out our true nature as pure, undivided, peaceful being, and have to be for a while a zealot for this, an ultra, a devotee of being, and to leave experience alone, to restrict our commitment with the world of things. It is a descent into spirit, before spirit pervades the totality of experience.

So all the paraphernalia of religion, all the words and practices of spirituality, and the endless commenting on the commenting, are only a means to acquire what we already have and already are, although unknowingly. Practice is to just be, and be happy. Prayer is to live a life that has meaning and clarity. Meditation is to have a vision of what we are, and with that vision, to love and share our deepest nature with others and with the world. It is to restore reality, in order to give ourself back to it. Because we cannot understand, feel, love, and just be, we have elaborated rituals, prayers, teachings. Spirituality is not the truth, only the means to access it, as devotion to a deity is but the path towards true, unconditional love. So we might want to push our practice. We might have to snob experience for a while, to leave it in the marge, in order to concentrate on our being only being. And we might want to stay there, in being — a yogi of presence. We don’t want to be an occasional visitor. We long to be a resident, to have being as our eternal companion. To feel that we are that naturally, and effortlessly. We want to drop all affectation. Effort is only a temporary device, to defeat a bias acquired over life times, and instilled by a whole society. We want to be free of ourself, and to quit being a believer, or a practitioner.

Then life becomes a temple, whether we are in the busy heart of a city, or in a monastery, whether we live the active life of a working hero, or the silent one of a dedicated monk. There will be a day when our life will take place in the clarity of being. When our daily activities will receive the flow of a constant radiance of meaning and beauty. When love will be the very canvas of all our relationships. When our duties and chores will be clothed with a flavour of sacredness. On that day, this tragic and magnificent exaggeration that spirituality is, will be replaced by a life that is discovered to be unaffected, spontaneous, uninhibited, relaxed, and genuine. Maybe this truly is the religious life.

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Text by Alain Joly

Painting by Carl Bloch (1834-1890)

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Website:
– Carl Bloch (Wikipedia)

Suggestion:
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The Distant Country

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘The return of the prodigal son’ – by Elena Murariu, 2018 – Wikimedia

How ironic this life is, isn’t it? How incongruous to have imagined that this is the real deal: being a person locked in and bound to the limits of a body. How astonishing to have this certainty to be a self that feels separate and needs to be fulfilled. To think we have to fight our way through the world, and suffer with such consistency. To have been persuaded that seeking is our way of life, without which we are doomed to poverty and stagnation. Yet the illusion of our being in a world is so convincing that we had to buy its many effects and constraints, and be subjected to its perils. So we have gone far away, thinking that we could live remote from our true home and identity, that we could roam the world on our own, and snob our essence. So we have landed into what we are not. We have lived the adventures of a person, gone through challenges and despair, carried ourself through time and space, and lived attached to worries and hopes, to the aches of regrets and loneliness, and the brief consolation contained in the occasional relief from our wrestling with the physicality of the world. So we have paid the price of such a lonesome, faraway trip. As Augustine of Hippo once said: “Distant country signifies forgetfulness of God“. We have left our father behind, despised his presence, judged his love as unworthy. Unhappiness is intrinsic in having mistaken an illusion for the reality, just as it is natural to be in the shadow when we hide from the sun. But maybe there is a return from our erroneous view. Maybe the time has come to stop being tied to a false idea, and to return from our adventures into deceitfulness.

Now see that this faraway trip is but the following of a belief. It is our being led into an illusion, a fantasy — shared by all — that the life in and as this body-mind is all the reality there is, and that the way we live and believe is our truthful condition, to which we have to submit ourself. We have swallowed that suffering is the condition of life, and the way to alleviate it resides in either circumstances, good luck, or smart choices. But in fact, suffering is but the consequence of our departure from our true, forgotten nature. It is the natural outcome of our prodigality, of our obsessive desire to possess and be more than what we already are, of our seeking happiness inside the development of our adventures into ego-land. But as far as we may have erred into agony and chance, there is chiselled in our very nature, a return into the open arms of our simple, inescapable being. This quiet resting as our innermost being is the home from which we should never depart, no matter how enticing is the call for an adventure in the distant land of separation. There is a father or mother here, a being eternal, always waiting for the return of their prodigal son or daughter. And it is in the nature of this return to be a welcoming one, for the simple reason that you are yourself the embrace contained in being only being. So your return to the father was never a return from any kind of reality, but the noticing that we had in fact never left its loving embrace, and that all that was needed is our letting go, our bowing to the grace contained in simply being.

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Text by Alain Joly

Painting by Elena Murariu (born 1963)

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Website:
– Elena Murariu (Your Portal to the Art of Icon)

Suggestion:
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The Greatest Trick

Posted on by Alain Joly

In fact, the understanding of our true nature is the simplest thing on earth. We have to, repeatedly, not be doing anything. The problem is: we cannot help but doing something, hoping something, trying something, anything, to get us where we think we should be. Where we are is never enough; never somewhere we should go to. What we are is not satisfying; we have to attain something that is better, no matter what. Even being, we think that we have to be being it — as if we were not already being. In all analysis, there is in fact such a thing as ‘nothing to do’ in spirituality, but only at the point when we are already not doing anything. If we are doing something, well, then we are doing something. This doing is an expression of our belief in not being ‘there’ yet, in our incompleteness, in our striving to get somewhere, to be someone. Then we have de facto missed all possibility of realisation: for we are already established in doing, in efforting. At this point, it is too late to not be doing anything. We need to revise our judgement.

We have been overtrained in doing. Maybe this doing is in fact what we have become — the essence of our self as a seemingly separate entity. We are born the moment we have the impulse of doing something, of being a doer, a knower. This is our original mistake, what we should never have been doing. We think we have to be somebody; to be nobody is a curse, a shame, an emptiness that we have to fill at all cost, even at the cost of losing ourself. So there is comfort in being a self, a somebody, in achieving something, in doing anything at all. The fact that we should be suffering for it, and be limited by it, well that’s the nature of existence, are we told. We are willing to pay that price for doing something, for being somebody. So let me do. Let me be. That’s how to feel ‘I am’ for now. That’s the story which was handed down to us. That’s how we have been regimented by society. And we have by now rehearsed it long enough, to perfection. We think that we’re not doing it when the doing has already been achieved. We are in fact implementing doing all the time while believing we are not doing it. This is the greatest trick that was ever performed on us.

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A playful reflection into the question of the doer… (READ MORE…)

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A Cathedral of Grace

Posted on by Alain Joly

We always want to be at a distance from experience. In fact, we keep behind, we don’t get involved — at least not entirely. We are aloof. We keep experience at bay. That allows for a certain safety, we think. But that distance is the distance we keep from ourself. This is the chasm we have opened, through which we have numbed ourself. So we had to fill this chasm with a belief in separation, with the idea of a being separate from other beings and things. In this chasm is born our loneliness, and the vast field of our search for happiness. This search is but our desperate attempt to fill the gap we have created and nourished. And this chasm is how we have been made to think ceaselessly about ourself. How we have been made to judge, hope, project, regret, complain, expect, believe. These are — we think — the measure of our control in life. But they are in fact the loss of our innocence. For this chasm or distance is what our suffering is made of. It is the way we have found to not be wholly being — being appearing to be a dangerous flame, of a consuming nature. So we have stepped safely aside. In this keeping away from the flame, in this refusal to die, is our chasm, our whole precipice of pain.

But this flame of being is in fact our fountain of peace. It is what makes us present, uncompromisingly one with experience, with nowhere to go but ourself, and nothing to be but that which we already are. In this place of being, we are not allowed distance, and time is proscribed. There is nowhere to go in being. Nothing to be but being. This flame of being will cancel the distance that was your safety. It will devour you, digest all your hopes and projections, burn your regrets, crush your fear, and debunk all idea of separation. You are thus crashing in being, and are consumed in its flame. Experience is now revealed to be nothing but the experiencing of your self within your self. You are given no room for separation, and are discovering yourself to be the sublime core of all that can possibly exist. You may look all you want, you won’t find yourself anywhere, for the simple reason that there is no location for you to be in. And you will find no space for a self to have experience, for the experiencer has dissolved in experiencing. This merging of your self with experience is how suffering is made impossible. This is how you are made present here and now, one with everything and everyone. And this is how you are made to feel in awe with what you see, hear, and touch. You are ravished to just be, and are suddenly placed at the teeming heart of your self, unable to not fully, gorgeously be. You are entering a cathedral of grace, and are placed in a well of light, amongst songs of glory.

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Text and photo by Alain Joly

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Lectio Divina

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘The Great Boulevards’ – Pierre-Auguste Renoir, 1875 – WikiArt

I have been feasting on some words recently. I was sitting leisurely on a cafe’s terrace, watching life coming and going, browsing through my phone with some ideas in mind. And there it came, and took me by surprise, like a koan suddenly unveiled, a pathway revealed without my knowing. There it came, taking the form of one single, simple phrase that seemed innocuous, by Saint Augustine:

“Is any man skilful enough to have fashioned himself?”
~ Augustine of Hippo

And that emptied my mind. It made me sink into no content, aware of all that is now; my self suddenly made a container for life. We all feel that we are so smart and powerful, or so stupid and powerless. That we have made ourselves what we are, and feel in consequence the pride or shame of it. That we have destroyed, or elevated ourselves. That we are responsible for our happiness, our success, our failure. That we have moulded our thoughts and actions, wilfully designed them. That our beliefs are believed. Our thoughts thought. Our words uttered by a ‘somebody’ here, inside the skull. But these are all beliefs, and beliefs are flawed from the start. Beliefs need a believer to believe them, and look as you may, you will never find such one behind your deeds. For the simple reason that there is no self behind our selfing. We have therefore never been in charge, never been truly responsible for collecting what we have collected, for misusing what we have misused, and for making the mistakes that we have made. Except in hindsight, in thoughts and beliefs, in cascades of randomly built illusions and memories in which we are caught and made blind. And these are what we have busied ourselves managing and arranging into a sensible self. And that self has gotten in the way of our living harmoniously.

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The ‘Lectio Divina’ of a quote by Augustine of Hippo… (READ MORE…)

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