Spiritual Love

[Guest guest]

Spiritual. I love the word. Some don't, I know. I love the word

because, for me, it describes a vibrant reality of

living. 'Spiritus,' the Latin. 'Ruah,' the Hebrew. It means breath.

The breath of life. The animating force. Aristotle called the soul,

the life principle. Spirituality is that (activity, attitude,

awareness, behavior, developed character) that allows a person to

enter into the life principle as vibrantly, as honestly, as

courageously, as peacefully as we can. Spiritual.

Spiritual love (Preetee), means love without expectations.

Ordinarily when one loves anyone there is some form of expectation

attached and it is conditional. However spiritual love is

unconditional, no matter what the circumstances are. This form of

love is divine and only develops after a considerable amount of

spiritual practice when one perceives God in everyone. So also, we

become happier individuals when our love is not adulterated or

diluted by expectations.

Worldly love i.e. love with expectation is based on the similarities

with another person's nature. But there is no guarantee that all

aspects of our nature will be similar or compliment the other

person's nature. When we begin to discover the difference, that's

when the strife and trouble begins.

On the other hand, spiritual love or love without expectation is

based on the unchanging Soul. This is akin to how a string links the

beads on a necklace whatever the shape, colour or size – the external

nature is not important. The hole in each bead represents our soul

which is the same for all of us i.e. the God in one is not in any way

different from the God within another.

Christian Baldwin wrote that, " Spiritual Love is a position of

standing with one hand extended into the universe and one hand

extended into the world, letting ourselves be a conduit for passing

energy. "

" So, perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world

in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have,

and then when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we

have left, " said Jack Riemer of the Houston Chronicle.

In the end, the lucky ones see the world with great love, and play

whatever music they can with whatever strings they have left!

This is not really high-fallutin' stuff here. It is practice in the

every day. It is some basic patterns of awareness and the effort to

live within those patterns that can make a life more meaningful, more

peaceful, more alive, more gratifying, more in tune with the basic

truths and the best we can be living out these truths.

So we use breath as a metaphor, and begin to talk about love that is

spiritual, love that bequeaths a life that allows a person to enter

into the life principle as vibrantly, as honestly, as courageously,

as peacefully, as joyfully as we can.

Many of you have read or heard of the Jewish philosopher Buber

and his book, " I and Thou. " In a shortened version perhaps one could

say that his whole philosophy is that, " all real living is meeting. "

He is saying that the 'I' of a person is only truly itself when it is

lived is lived in the 'I/Thou' context as opposed to the 'I/It'

context. The idea that a spiritual life is one which connects

one's 'I' with all else in reverent 'Thouness.'

In an 'I/It' stance, the I is not in true relationship with another.

It is an objectifying stance that keeps the 'I' from seeing another

or life in whole, keeping the 'I' lonely in separation. This

objectifying stance not only makes the individual lonely and removed,

and it is the core of why many, many horrible things to happen in the

world. As long as someone can be an 'It' all sorts of violence can

ensue. The 'I/It' paradigm creates enemies. It allows us to

cavalierly abuse the environment and each other. Buber has a

wonderful passage about a tree and the difference between an 'I/It'

and 'I/Thou' relationship with a tree.

In the 'I/It' paradigm, we can say that sin is the lack of connection

to the awareness of the interdependence of life. Living from

the 'I/Thou' paradigm puts everything in a connected mode and is

really what love is.

Buber wrote that the primary word is 'I/Thou.' Whenever we can speak

that primary word, love is present.

Buber writes about our lives in the womb being the ultimate

experience of 'Thou' when we are totally connected to the life force.

Upon birth we begin to differentiate and to become an 'I' separate

from The Great Mother. We become an 'I' capable of living an 'I/Thou'

life through the initial 'Mother Thou.' The spiritual journey is

about staying differentiated as a unique 'I' at the same time staying

connected to all life in an 'I/Thou' relationship.

I've just watched the movie " Billie Elliot. " What an exquisite film!

All about the process of learning to love from the place of 'I/Thou.'

is an 11 year-old boy whose mother has recently died. He lives

with his grandmother for whom he cares, his father, and his teenage

brother in a coal-mining town in England. They are poor. The miners

are on strike. The family is full of hardship, anxiety, and grief.

Beautiful is taking boxing lessons. A case can be made for

boxing being the ultimate 'I/It' sport. The task of literally beating

up the other in order to win. is not good at it. But

watches the girls' ballet class in the next room and feels himself

pulled there. He loves to dance. The extraordinary thing about this

character is that he goes to the girls and he accepts an invitation

to join them despite cultural norms. Despite what anyone would say

about him, he goes for the strengthening of the 'I,' the soul, the

person who is calling him from the inside out to be a dancer in this

life. He doesn't want his macho father to know, so he hides his

ballet slippers under the mattress and practices in the bathroom.

But dance he will! For is already living out of the original

word of 'I/Thou' which calls for the 'I' to love itself beyond

convention. The original word of 'I/Thou' transcends gender-role

expectations and many other cultural norms. To see this young boy so

self-differentiated; it is a sight to behold! Scene after lovely

scene of this boy answering his being's call to greatness. In this

regard, he is living a spiritual life as his being is connected to

the life force in a courageous and vibrant way against many odds. His

teacher, as brusque and cold as she can be sometimes, sees

whole; she sees where his spirit wants to go. They enter into a

relationship from the context of 'I/Thou.' There is a scene of them

dancing together that is the primary word of 'I/Thou' set in motion.

It is to die for. (Interesting phrase isn't it, " To die for? " Dying

to the old self into new being.)

As you can imagine, eventually 's father catches him dancing in

the community center. He rages in and stops toe to toe with his son.

meets his gaze straight on and begins to dance for his father.

It is a respectfully defiant dance that says, " I will be my

greatness. Here I show you. See me whole. Love me in my greatness. "

gives his father the opportunity to live from the 'I/Thou'

stance. He invites him to open his heart and to go another way. He is

saying, " don't you stay stuck in your anger and one dimensional way

of looking at the world. Come along with me to transformative love. "

When the spirit dances true and unashamed, when the heart is opened,

and the mind free, nothing will stay the same.

Thou. My spell check says it is not in the dictionary. How sad. It is

a word, in my opinion, that in its saying making sacred that which

one is pointing to in its saying. When one is living from

Buber's 'I/Thou' paradigm, there can be no hate. " Hate is by nature

blind. Only a part of a being can be hated. " So then, by seeing

others whole and with a heart of compassion, there is no hate.

Hey, now. This does not mean no action against that which harms you.

This does not mean living with abuse in the name of no hate. The 'I'

sometimes needs to boundary itself from the presence of another in

order to respect itself. Yet, it seems to me that one must ultimately

do the work to make the other (who may feel like the enemy 'It') into

a 'Thou', if one wants to be free within. This can be a long and

arduous journey, but a very fruitful one if one wants the inner and

outer life to be more vibrant, courageous and peaceful.

" The original word is 'I/Thou', " said Buber. All true living is in

meeting. It is relational. It beckons forth the best in self and the

best in the other. We breathe into our beings the vitality that comes

when we listen deeply to another without judgment. We breathe in that

true meeting, and we change ourselves. We sit with another who rubs

us the wrong way, and we breathe deeply and ask our heart to be open

in compassion. We realize that with compassion we begin to see how

cut off the other is from their own greatness of being. We do not

have to get anxious about what they are saying. We reflect in how cut

off from joy their being is in its current state. By our listening or

gently boundary setting or offering our own story or holding a hand,

we invite that person to realize how 'Thou' they are. We know right

away when someone puts us in the light of 'Thou,' even if we say

nothing, that they are being treated in a sacred manner.

Elliot has a childhood friend named who is gay and a

cross-dresser. (By the way, these two ways of being do not always go

together, but in this film they do.) is straight and a ballet

dancer. He does not just tolerate his friend, he meets him in honesty

and openness. Many tender scenes of two very different boys loyal to

one another in their becoming. No finer example of an 'I/Thou'

relationship.

Oh dear, I guess I can't tell you the end of the movie which would

make a great end of the sermon! I want so to tell it. Suffice is to

say that continues to encourage those around him to be with him

in a sacred manner of love. The ending is powerful, redeeming, and

big. Yet it is in the small nuances and interactions that the story

lives. In our spiritual interactions it is this meeting; a brief

meeting and that meeting, and then this one lived from the heart of

compassion and the knowing which we are all connected in this life.

There is great suffering and what we all want most deeply is to be

seen, met, and loved. We want to move from 'I/It' relating

to 'I/Thou' relating. This is the angst of our cry the day we are

born. This is the joy of existence when we remember what we were born

knowing.

This is the meaning of the word spirituality that I cherish. The

practice is to live congruent with your best sense of who you were

meant to be, and then to serve the world by acting in relation to the

world from an 'I/Thou' mindset more and more and more often.

Poem

The thing is to love life.

To love it even when you have no stomach for it, when everything

you've held dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands and your

throat is filled with the silt of it.

When grief sits with you so heavily it's like heat, tropical, moist,

thickening the air so it's heavy like water, more fit for gills than

lungs.

When grief weights you like your own flesh only more of it, an

obesity of grief.

How long can a body withstand this? you think, and yet you hold life,

like a face between your palms.

A plain face, with no charming smile or twinkle in her eye, and you

say: yes, I will take you.

I will love you, again.

Ellen Bass, Author — California

In the end, the lucky ones begin to see the whole world with great

love, all of it - the pain, the greed, the fact of our own death,

seeing those we love die or suffer, abuse. In the end, the lucky ones

begin to see the whole world with great love no matter what; all of

it - the joy, the giving, the fact that we live at all, the privilege

of being with those we love no matter what the duration, great

gentleness. If we are lucky, we will do what we can to be in

relationship with life from an 'I/Thou' frame of reference and make

the most of this dear gift of life in whatever circumstance we find

ourselves. A story now from the book, " Living An Extraodinary Life, "

by White.

Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give concert at Avery

Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. If you have ever been

to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small

achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he

has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches.

To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and

slowly, is an unforgettable sight. He walks painfully, yet

majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he slowly sits down,

puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks

one foot back, and extends the other foot forward. Then he bends down

and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the

conductor, and proceeds to play.

By now the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he

makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently

silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is

ready to play.

But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first

few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it

snap. It went off like gunfire across the room. There was no

mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had

to do.

People who were there that night thought to themselves: " We figured

that he would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the

crutches and limp his way off stage - to either find another violin

or else find another string for this one. "

But he didn't. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then

signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he

played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion

and such power and such purity as they had never heard before. Of

course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work

with just three strings. I know that, and you know that, but that

night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that.

You could see him modulating, changing, recomposing the piece in his

head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to

get new sounds from them that they had never made before.

When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then

people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of

applause from every comer of the auditorium. We were all on our feet,

screaming and cheering, doing everything we could to show how much we

appreciated what he had done.

He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, raised his bow to quiet

us, and then he said, not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive,

reverent tone, " You know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find

out how much music you can still make with what you have left. "

What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I

heard it. And who knows? Perhaps that is the [way] of life - not just

for artists but for all of us.

" So, perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world

in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have,

and then when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we

have left, " said Jack Riemer of the Houston Chronicle.

In the end, the lucky ones see the world with great love, and play

whatever music they can with whatever strings they have left!

[Guest guest]

Thankyou for your beautiful post ! I too loved the film Elliot...the last scene is just breathtaking, is'nt it ? What I remember most though,aside from that boy's unquenchable ,fierce,spirit to BE what he is in action, was his tender, kindness for his befuddled old grandma. That , I felt was the core of all his true strength of spirit. As for Itzak...what an inspiration. As I am presently endeavoring to "play with the strings that are left"...that was a wonderful story to hear just now. Much appreciated,

Sylvia

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