"That which we have chosen is given us, and that which we have refused is, also and at the same time, granted us. Ay, that which we have rejected is poured upon us abundantly." (Isak Dinesen, Babette's Feast)
"For lack of attention a thousand forms of loveliness elude us every day." (Evelyn Underhill)
Last week at this time, we were in Ketchikan, Alaska, walking in a 50 degree drizzle, huddling against each other and bundled against the chill and drizzle to view a park of restored Totem poles. The weather perfectly fit the occasion, and I can't imagine seeing their stark and somber beauty any other way than through the misty veils of cloud and rain. The original materials of these carvings, the guide tells us, were used to allow them to slowly deteriorate and return to Nature, but they were removed from the villages, each bearing a story of clan or history or burial or celebration, and brought here for preservation of a culture that is challenged and proudly surviving.
Fast forward through an amazing week, and we are also huddled in now, from the extreme heat and humidity of a Louisiana August day, as Michael recovers from an unfortunate bout of stomach distress, brought on by a ship-board virus, or a bad sandwich at the airport. Either way, we are both happy to just be for a couple of days, catching up on mail and some quiet reading, although missing opportunities to be with our families for the time being, on this very brief interlude before heading back to Vancouver Island.
In the meantime, we are allowed the slow processing of some lovely, gentle, and breath-taking experiences of the last week. Before we left the ship, Michael said, "At my age, I don't like to use the word 'never,' but if I had to, I'd say I'd never take another cruise." And I knew what he meant. It was a sensory overload of bells, whistles, schedules, noise, racing children, food, alcohol, activities, shopping, music, relentless in nature and excess. If an activity wasn't on-going, it was being announced, or we were being left notices about it. While he went to the gym each morning, I walked the jogging track on the 11th deck, watching black smoke pouring out of the stack, and wondering about the environmental impact and waste onboard. In those moments, I felt the smallness of spirit and heart that come with judgments and preconceptions, and that limit our compassion.
Then Brother David's gentle message about gratitude would saturate my awareness. In that presence, suddenly I saw inter-generational gatherings that would surely imprint memories in families for years to come. Teens walked slowly with aged grandparents, and infants and toddlers were magnets for smiles.The food became a source of gratitude for its abundance and variety, although the diverticulitis limited my tastings - a blessing in disguise, I decided. The staff and entertainers, from 50 different countries, were all earning salaries, with many sending at least part of their wages back home to support families, or paying for tuition. Our small stateroom had a lovely balcony where we could enjoy the sounds of the sea as a lullaby at night, and watch a spectacular moonrise on our last evening. The people in Brother David's "Gratitude" group, as we were known amidst the other conventions onboard, were a diverse group from Austria to Australia, and we were blessed with all of our table companions. It is so easy, with even a minimum of awareness, to be drawn into this state of a 'thousand forms of loveliness," that otherwise elude us.
Brother David's talks, held ironically in the room that at night doubled as a disco, were the highlight, of course, for me. Michael came with me to the first one, I think out of curiosity from hearing of the Cortes Island experience, and because there were limited options since we were at sea. We had also been seated at dinner with 6 other people who were attending the talks, and each of us had spoken of our connection to Brother David the evening before. That first talk held Michael's interest enough that he came to all of the other sessions, as well.
Once again, the words and expressions and being of this lovely man floated through the ages of his wisdom-gathering effortlessly. His expansion on the theme of being relentlessly grateful for all that we are given encompassed theology, biology, poetry, suffering, evil, illness, joy, and the overall Unknown of the mystics in relation to spirituality and religion today. On the day he spoke of the self, of the mirror-like image of the Divine in each of us, I smiled at a baby slowly crawling up the steps followed by his watchful grandmother. When he came to the top, he looked up and spied his own image in the mirrors of the elevator door. With complete and utter charming gurgles of delight, he pulled himself up and waddled to the image, hands extended, and joyfully leaned in to press his little cheek against the one smiling back at him. This, I thought, is how we should perceive ourselves each day - through the grace of Spirit and the awareness of the mystery that lies deeply within. "The veil of things as they seem are drawn back by an Unseen Hand," O'Neill wrote. "Seeing the Secret," Brother David added, "you ARE the secret."
Michael said it best when he said that Brother David seemed to be limiting himself to about one percent of his mental and spiritual capacity and wisdom in attempting to share and bring us along with him. We were all hanging on to the sacred kite strings of his spiritual soaring.
Of course, in addition to all of this, was the immense beauty of Alaska revealing herself, with fyords, ice melt tumbling down canyons, glaciers and ice-green waters, dotted with crystal aquamarine ice floes. On the morning that we slowly motored into Tracy's Arm, the music was blissfully turned off on the loudspeakers. Waiters with trays of warm mugs of hot chocolate circled the decks, where people were wrapped in woolen blankets and every type of outer gear. Michael and I stood in wonder as the ship made a turn, and we saw in the distance the ice-blue of the glacier, looking like the sea frozen in a rush between two white mountains. There was no sun, but there was a prism through tears from a heart over-flowing, and a deep resonance with all who sing: "Thy power throughout, the universe displayed!" The soul was already in song before the mind caught up: "How Great Thou Art."
On our last night, as we cruised out of Skagway, our table had the panorama window seat to a movie of island mountains, snow-capped and draped in spider web fog, the dim light of an ending day showcasing the fullness of their glory. Some of them seemed to be nothing but tall peaks plunging down into the ocean, inhospitable for living, exquisite for the soul. All eight of us watched as Alaska floated back behind her veil, the hustle and bustle of the dining room also fading in the moment. We realized with deep reverence the wisdom of a truth we had been told earlier that day:
"Silence beneath the words is the ultimate dialogue between souls." (Brother David Steindl-Rast)
YAY GOD
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