As part of the Living School curriculum, I have been rereading the Christian classic, "The Cloud of Unknowing". It has been at least 35 years since I looked at this text, and as is often true with previously read books, in seeing from a different time and place perspective, reading with "new" (fresh) eyes, I end up finding things in it I did not see before and making connections I could not make before. Was it Heraclitus who wrote, "A man cannot step into the same river twice"? Neither the man or the river are the same from moment to moment - yet there is a continuity of process.
I listened to an old Alan Watts lecture when I was in Atlanta this summer which spoke to this same, but not same, concept of process as entity. He used one of the Universities in California (I think it was the University of California, Berkley) as an example of this same but not same process as entity. Anyway he said this entity, this institution of Berkley does exist, has existed for over a 100 years, yet year to year none of its parts are the same. Students come and go, Professors, come and go. Curriculum changes. Policies change. Buildings are built, torn down, renovated and repurposed from year to year, even day to day. In short, the University of California, Berkley of today, has none of the same parts as did the same University of 100 years ago, yet it is recognizable as the "same" University. He was using this example to explain how we humans are not a permanent self in the same way Berkley is not permanent but process. It is, if you will, process or change which is "permanent". But I digress. Today I wanted to share with you a happy new connection I made in reading the " Cloud of Unknowing" yesterday. It started when I found this bit in the Ira Progoff translation. It is in chapter VIII where the unknown author of the Cloud is talking about spiritual life and states there are two parts to it, an active part and a contemplative part. He goes on to say in part 6.
"The active life is the lower one, and the contemplative life is the higher one. Active life has two degrees a higher and a lower, and the contemplative life likewise has two degrees, a lower and a higher. Also these two lives are so joined together that neither of them may be had fully without some part of the other, although they are quite different in their respective parts".
He then goes on to say in part 7,
"Why is this so? The reason is that the highest part of the active life is at the same time the lower part of the contemplative life. Because of this, a man cannot be considered to be living fully the active life unless he is living partly as a contemplative, and correspondingly, a man is not living fully as a contemplative unless he lives a partly active life".
I don't know about the "higher" and "lower" bits, but the above writing did make me immediately think of my Ordinary Mind Zen lineage which emphasizes awakening in everyday life, and also, of a line from my beloved "Affirming Faith in Mind" (written by Sengtsan, aka Kanchi Sōsan d. 606, third Chinese Zen patriarch) which states "Awakening is to go beyond both emptiness as well as form"
Same - same but different. Different - different but same!
For some reason this delights me. When I made the above connections I immediately remembered a story about Martin Buber which had delighted me in a similar fashion a few days before. I ran across this story when I was doing some casual research on Buber. (I had started rereading his "I and Thou" a few weeks ago as preparation for entering into this Western non-dualism practice/study I have taken up). I hadn't remembered the story at all until I saw it again this time around. Now it has deep meaning for me, and I understand it in a way I could not back then. Here is the story taken from the website:
http://philosophycourse.info/lecsite/lec-buber.html
1. If you learn about Buber's life (born, raised, and lived in central Europe during the decades that saw the rise of the Nazi movement), you will see how much his life experience influenced and shaped his whole philosophy. He had been a professor of religion and philosophy and had both taught and written books about religious experience and mysticism. And then sometime in the middle decades of his life he had an experience that had an enormous impact on him. The experience was this:
He had been upstairs in his rooms meditating and praying one morning, fully engaged in deeply religious intensity, when there was a knock at his front door downstairs. He was taken out of his spiritual moment and went down to see who was at the door. It was a young man who had been a student and a friend, and who had come specifically to speak with Buber.
Buber was polite with the young man, even friendly, but was also hoping to soon get back to his meditations. The two spoke for a short time and then the young man left. Buber never saw him again because the young man was killed in battle (or perhaps committed suicide, the story is not entirely clear). Later, Buber learned from a mutual friend that the young man had come to him that day in need of basic affirmation, had come with a need to understand his life and what it was asking of him. Buber had not recognized the young man's need at the time because he had been concerned to get back upstairs to his prayers and meditation. He had been polite and friendly, he says, even cordial, but had not been fully present. He had not been present in the way that one person can be present with another, in such a way that you sense the questions and concerns of the other even before they themselves are aware of what their questions are. "Ever since then," says Buber "I have given up the sacred. Or rather it has given me up. I know now no fullness but each mortal hour's fullness" of presence and mystery. The Mystery, he says, was no longer "out there" for him, but was instead to be found in the present moment with the present person, in the present world. (Between Man and Man, p13 f. ‘It was in the late autumn of 1914, and he died in the war,’ wrote Buber to Maurice Friedman on August 8, 1954.)
He no longer sought The Mystery "out there," but instead found it disclosed in the sacrament of the present moment.
Another person might have seen in this experience only a reminder to listen to your friends more, or to wake up and smell the roses, but Buber saw in it much more. It led him to a major life change and to an ethic, a metaphysic, and a theology, that brought him to see the world completely differently than he had seen it before.
He articulated much of this worldview in I and Thou, a profoundly beautiful work that has had an enormous impact on the lives it has touched. It has become perhaps one of the most influential books of this entire century. Its influence has been felt in disciplines as diverse as poetry and physics, theology and biology, philosophy and psychology. It is not an easy book to understand, partly because it puts a demand on the reader to read it in a certain way (see below), but it richly rewards the reader's efforts. When colleagues and I have assigned this book in our courses, students often find it among the most powerful books they have ever read. (The only worthy English translation is the one by Walter Kauffmann.)
I would like to explore this a bit more now, but I have to stop here and pack. In a few hours I leave for a ten day trip to Sweden. It may be a while before I can return to this topic, and to this blog. We'll see.
"What is this? "
"Only don't know"
paraphrase from Seungsahn








