Faith and spirituality have been keys themes this summer. First, I spent a month doing research at the archive, and now I am trying to deepen my meditation practice. I intended to write here about the time at the archive, but time has gotten away from me, and life has intervened.[This is gong to come out choppy and not as I had envisioned. Apologies in advance if it takes some work to follow. Oh ... and it got to be super long. Oops.]
Sunday at meditation, instead of a dharma (they call it damma) talk, we had a practice talk. I have never been a part of one of these. I should give some clarification about my practice. I eschew organized religion in every form. So, I love to go to meditation, particularly for the community, but I don't necessarily talk to the people there. In fact, I have found myself actively not talking to people at either the Sunday or Thursday night practice this month. Partly, I just have needed the space. I am headed to meditation to get some quiet time, the only place I have the hope of making my mind just stop and empty. And it doesn't always work.
As I said, I am drawn to a meditation session for the community, but not necessarily for the people. (Though when I first arrived in Albuquerque, I imagined joining a sangha (meditation community) as a way to meet people.) I love the energy in a group of people meditating. It is like an unheard hum that buoys me. I feel not so alone but not intruded upon. I find that most of the people who go to meditation are introverts. If you know me, you would never characterize me as an introvert, but, in an odd way, I am.
I like people, and I enjoy interacting with people, but I find the experience exhausting. I don't know how to limit the input, it is like a constant barrage of energy intruding on my personal space. Don't get me wrong. I am a glutton. I can't really be around people and not interact. I am learning to put the headphones in and try to concentrate. But, even then, I look around, I survey, I collect information and as a by-product, pick up external energy. At meditation, I close down to the visual stimulus, and focus on the spiritual energy. Instead of feeling drained, I feel buoyed. I feel restful, as close to peaceful as someone like me can get.
This week, when the person leading the practice discussion invited us to share our path to meditation and, potentially, to Buddhism, I wasn't sure if I really wanted to go there. Actually, I did, but I wasn't sure how to frame what I wanted to say without being disrespectful of the other ways that people approach this practice. I wanted to say I am not into organized religion in any way, but that this is a centering practice and that I enjoy the community. I listened mostly... and they did what introverts do. They found some obscure intellectual point to discuss rather than sharing their personal path to the practice. Finally, one woman spoke up and gave her very personal description of a crisis she is going through now and how her practice is seeing her through it. Not exactly her path to the practice, but at least something personal.
I took this opportunity to open up to those gathered... proving that I am not their kind of introvert. I shared, probably too much, more than I had intended, but it was good to open up some. And afterwards, this seemed like the opening some of them had been waiting for in order to talk to me. As with all things relationship in my world right now, I am not sure if it is what I want, but having support from these folks seems like a positive addition to the energy in my life.
I have a troubled relationship with prayer. I am not sure if I have shared it here before... but in a nutshell, I respect the faithful, but I don't believe in asking for things from some benevolent or malevolent god. Truthfully, I am in awe of really faithful people. Like those meditating, they give off an energy that holds me. I don't know if prayer or meditation can bring me or anyone anything in particular, but that moment of being held is extraordinary, and, perhaps, worth more than the granting of any petitions.
While I was at the archive, I visited the shrine. How could I not? This woman, now a saint, is formidable regardless of the religious tradition to which you ascribe. I entered the shrine the first time as a tourist (and an anthropologist, I can't really go anywhere without that identity), reading all the exhibits and taking in the marketing of the life of a saint. When I walked into the crypt, however, there was an undeniable energy that startled and overwhelmed me at first. I had been thinking about how I would feel there, and I couldn't predict if it would be skepticism or faith that would prevail. I had set aside one extended lunch period to be there, but then I I had used the time for an interview and then I dawdled over lunch, so I didn't have a lot of time for praying if that was what I decided to do.
There were two older women there praying. When I visit a chapel or a shrine, I like to be up front, close to the source whether it is the altar, or in this case, the tomb of the saint. The other women had situated themselves towards the center of the visitor area. So, I didn't feel like I could block their view with my only sometimes faithful body. Next to the tomb, there was a basket for placing prayer requests. On a table, small slips of paper were handy for writing these requests. I picked up two pieces of paper, and I wrote my intentions.
I hadn't really given too much thought as to what I would request, but I knew that I wanted to bring to her attention my nieces and nephews and my parents. I just couldn't help myself and I knelt at the tomb and touched the relic placed on top. I configured my requests into words and tears filled my eyes. I would explain why I was crying if I understood, but I don't. I needed to get back to the archive, but after all I had been reading, I knew I needed to thank her for taking care of my grandmother. However imperfect my grandma's time at the school might have been, this woman provided a home for her and her siblings and cousins at a time when they didn't have any other recourse. And from what I had been reading, I knew that the women who had dedicated their lives to children like my grandma had done it with the best of intentions. So, I thanked her, and the tears poured down my face, just as they well up now.
Several days later, I spent some time in the chapel, and the tears flowed again. The faith of the nuns I met at the shrine, that they exhibited in their care for me and other strangers, reminded me of my parents faith. I don't feel that faithful about anything in particular or even in the abstract. But, I recognize the comfort and protection it offers to those who are faithful. Maybe that is what moved me to tears. The only thing I can know for sure is that my time there was part of the process of prying open my heart to a great many things. Back in December when I was writing papers about the school and the nun who had started it all, those tears had flowed freely in as unexplained fashion as now.
The night before my last day at the shrine, I realized that I had not bothered to ask any of my friends or family (who are faithful and do believe) if they wanted me to light any candles for them or to place any intentions for them in the prayer basket. I quickly emailed and texted a few people who I thought might be interested. Several people, most of my family and a some friends, wrote me back. I had told them that if their intentions were too personal to share with me, that I would just light their candles for the intentions in their hearts. My issue with prayers and requests is that I feel that we are conditioned to ask for everything, things we could do for ourselves. I try to fashion my request, whether they be to a god, a saint or the universe, as the strength to deal with this or that situation. But on occasion, fear and uncertainty take hold of my heart and I ask for something outright, like that my parents be healthy or safe. I try to temper that fearful prayer with the acknowledgement that they have had long, healthy, happy lives, and asking for more is not really appropriate, but there it is. I had asked for others' intentions with no judgement, but I was so moved by their responses. Let's just say there was plenty more crying at the crypt...
In the midst of all this thinking about spirituality and faithfulness, I read this piece. I enjoyed it too much to not share it ... it is about shrines to the Virgen de Guadalupe all over Los Angeles. It is really worth the read.
photo credit: me, fancy camera, in Santa Fe near the cathedral, October 2010.
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