Only the silent hear

Here's a big chunk from Joseph Pieper's, Leisure: The Basis of Culture:

Leisure is a form of silence, of that silence which is the prerequisite of the apprehension of reality: only the silent hear and those who do not remain silent do not hear. Silence, as it is used in this context, does not mean 'dumbness' or 'noiselessness'; it means more nearly that the soul's power to 'answer' to the reality of the world is left undisturbed. For leisure is a receptive attitude of mind, a contemplative attitude, and it is not only the occasion but also the capacity for steeping oneself in the whole of creation.

Furthermore, there is also a certain serenity in leisure. That serenity springs precisely from our inability to understand, from our recognition of the mysterious nature of the universe; it springs from the courage of deep confidence, so that we are content to let things take their course; and there is something about it which Konrad Weiss, the poet, called 'confidence in the fragmentariness of life and history.'...

Leisure is not the attitude of mind of those who actively intervene, but of those who are open to everything; not of those who grab and grab hold, but of those who leave the reins loose and who are free and easy themselves–almost like a man falling asleep, for one can only fall asleep by 'letting oneself go.' Sleeplessness and the incapacity for leisure are really related to one another in a special sense, and a man at leisure is not unlike a man asleep...It is in these silent and receptive moments that the soul of man is sometimes visited by an awareness of what holds the world together.

There is a lot there to think about. I had a hard time working today, preferring instead to dream of leisure.

The wisdom of leisure

Tonight I went to my first meeting of the “Sophia Circle“ (Sophia is Greek for wisdom). It sounds very grand and official but it is actually a group of about twelve moms who currently have or did have kids in the school my sons attended who want to get together and read and discuss some of the books our kids will read or did read in the humane letters class of this school. (All of us would agree that our kids are much better read than we are.) Leading the group is one of the actual humane letters teachers. I think she is doing it for the fun of it, but still we are passing an envelope each month and putting in five dollars a piece so that at least she and her husband can hire a babysitter one weekend night that month and go out somewhere.

Tonight our assignment was Leisure: The Basis of Culture by Joseph Pieper. (You may have noticed that I had a quote from that book on ”Daily Thought Infusion“ today and you’ll see more.) It was a challenging book to understand. It helped to hear others give their thoughts, offer their questions, suggest their understanding. It also helped immeasurably to be guided by a gifted teacher and discussion leader.

The Cliff note version is that without leisure we can’t live a fully human life. But true leisure isn’t what we typically think of as leisure. It’s not a coffee break in the middle of a work day, it’s not going to the movies, it’s not going to a concert. True leisure is stillness, contemplation, passivity, receiving, celebration. True leisure includes no motive for a means to an end. Mysterious components of leisure include sacrifice, worship, acceptance of who God made us to be. Without leisure we can’t ever become more than just a person for whom work comprises his or her entire sphere of life. While financial means aren’t required for true leisure, a certain spiritual power is. I’ll try to add another post about this book but need to let it percolate a bit.

Next month, the assignment is The Odyssey.

Life advice from Earthlink Customer Support

Granted, I'm too attached to my internet connection, but I think that's excusable when the people who give me my paychecks and to whom I deliver my work are half a country away. Not to mention the friends with whom I stay in touch. So it's not unexpected that I become displeased–even agitated–when my internet connection fails. Even more so if it seems a computer problem. Thankfully, my internet connection seldom fails. It did fail, however, a week or so ago and I'm still thinking about it. To be more correct, I'm still thinking about how it came to be fixed.

It stopped working about midnight, just as I was shutting down my computer. I tried everything in my meager repertoire of computer problem-solving strategies, but I couldn't figure it out. What's more, a couple never-before-seen ominous error messages appeared on the screen. I went to bed worried that something bad had happened deep inside my new computer system, or at the very least, something was going to take a lot of my time to get it going again.

First thing in the morning I called Earthlink customer service. A very calm voice came over the line asking how he could help me. I spilled the scenario of events surrounding my computer internet "crisis." His response, "OK, here's what we'll do." Then he proceeded to tell me what to do. "First, turn off your modem. Now, unplug it." Step-by-step, he guided me. At each point, he assured me "I'll wait" as I searched for the right button or cord. After methodically going through each step, the problem was solved. I watched with relief as a web page loaded. He received my profuse thanks and was about to hang up when I said I'd like to make sure that my e-mail worked. Instead of disregarding this unnecessary check and hurrying on to assist his next caller, he said, "Yes, let's do that. I'll wait." Of course, all was well.

Why am I still thinking about this incident a week or so after it happened?

Maybe it's because it is such a blessing and relief (and rarity) to ask for help from a customer service line and then be helped so quickly, effectively, and graciously.

Maybe it's because I wish all problems could be resolved this way--a call to someone who sees the way out of the problem and will wait with you as you follow his or her directions from point A to point B, from point B to point C.

Maybe it's because I think there's a model here for how we could be more helpful and patient with the people in our lives who are trying to navigate difficult issues.

Maybe it's because the solution to the computer/internet problem may be a bit more universally applicable than just within the arena of hardware and software. What the Earthlink support technician had me do was turn off and unplug everything. Wait a few minutes. Then methodically–one thing at a time–plug everything back in, turn everything back on. He explained that all the components needed were to be reset and to do that they all needed to be shut down. I'm thinking that's not bad advice for system overload and malfunction in people....Time to reset....Unplug....Be still....Bring everything back to core position....Start up again, slowly, with order....Have someone nearby waiting calmly.

Island Time

"It took me a month to get over the shock of having life possibilities." So said Lily, Sue Monk Kidd's protaganist in The Secret Life Of Bees. This is only one of the great lines in a book I enjoyed very much. Because I liked it, I went to Kidd's website and signed up for her e-zine, which lately, among other things, has been giving updates about the coming release of her new book, The Mermaid Chair.

Today her latest issue of the e-zine arrived in my e-mail inbox. In her characteristicly gracious letter to her readers, she described her recent bone weariness. "I’d been working at a pretty high pitch for several years, writing, speaking and traveling, and I’d loved every moment of it, but honestly, now I felt tired down in my bones, in the wrinkles of gray matter in my brain. I was what you call spent. In an audacious act of letting go, I decided to give myself over to a lapse of time. I would, I told myself, take the whole winter to rest. Three months of doing nothing."

Three months of doing nothing. Wow. Just imagine. She then shares how they found a place on an island off the coast of Florida and how she listens to the waves and the pelicans and sits on the lania (porch in Florida-ese) and watches the sunsets. She also shares with her readers that she is writing that very newsletter long-hand on a legal pad as she sits on the lania by the light of the setting sun.

It all sounds glorious, right? Absolutely! And I so hope that all her creative juices are sent soaring by the end of her winter break so that she will continue to write fabulous books (I also like very much When the Heart Waits: Spiritual Direction for Life's Questions). I feel compelled to admit, however, that for all my years of supposed maturity I couldn't stop myself from thinking--with a slight pout--by the time I got to the end of the letter: But I want to be wintering on a Florida island, sitting on a lanai watching the setting sun and doing nothing! Let me be clear, I don't begrudge her the opportunity, I'd just like to be on a neighboring island.

Island time for me, however, is a long time away if it ever comes. And once I got a few minutes of covetousness out of my system, followed by appropriate confession and repentence, I got back to being okay with that. I also got to thinking about how much I need little breaks during a day, mini-vacations so to speak, and like many of you, how often I forget to take them. Maybe it's when the little breaks are forgotten over a period of time is when Island Time can appear to be a medical or mental health emergency.

What little breaks do you sometimes work into your routine days that have a mini-vacation feel to them? For me, I like to walk to a nearby coffee shop without bringing work with me, or go for a walk but try to look at what I pass as if I've never seen it before, or read a few minutes of a good novel, or stand or sit outside with my face toward the sun. It doesn't happen often, but going to a movie matinee is a great mini-vacation because it feels so much more a splurge and escape than an evening movie. If you'd like, won't you share an idea or two for what we can do in lieu of Island Time?

Many thanks to Sue Monk Kidd for her e-zine newsletter and the reminder of taking a break. She ends her letter with, "How beautiful nothing can be."

Sabbath

A neighborhood book group that I'm in is currently reading Mudhouse Sabbath by Lauren F. Winner. In this book, Winner interprets Jewish tradition and spiritual practice for Christians. As Winner puts it, "It is, to be blunt, about sprititual practices that Jews do better. It is, to be blunter, about Christian practices that would be enriched, that would be thicker and more vibrant, if we took a few lessons from Judaism. It is ultimately about places where Christians have some things to learn." (It's a great book, by the way.)

Sabbath living is one of those areas where things can be learned. All of us were struck by her discussion that Sabbath wasn't simply to be a day of rest, but that it should be a holy day, a day set apart to the Lord your God. A day lived "truly distinct from weekly time." A "fundamental unit" of time around which we organize our lives.

In my neighborhood group we talked about whether or not we really set apart Sundays as truly distinct from weekly time. In other words, work aside, is Sunday unlike any other day in terms of the activities we do? I had to admit that I'm at my computer often on Sundays, not necessarily working, but catching up on personal email or reading websites that I don't have time to during the week. Not bad activities in themselves, enjoyable for the most part, even restful. But as a writer who sits at my computer much of every day of the work week, is it a way to spend Sabbath in a manner that is truly set apart? As you can see, I'm still struggling with this question as it is Sunday and I'm sitting at my computer writing this entry.