Tending to the Sacred Fire

*“We are the Flame-Born Sons of God, thrown out as sparks from the wheels of the infinite…” –* **Manly P. Hall**

(This was originally published in 2021)

A human that has forgotten where he comes from has also forgotten what he is.

We live in a world of ever-increasing complexity. At the same time, there seems to be a diminished popular understanding of our profound roots, both as an Earth-risen species, and as a manifestation of the eternal, essential Principle of all existence. In such a world, it is easy to get lost — for our precious human flames to burn low and dim… and perhaps, for individual flames to be snuffed out entirely.

I began this blog by asserting the necessity of rekindling humanity’s deepest connection to life… of re-awakening the human being to the incredible beauty and meaning that is always present and available for apprehension by her living body and mind. Not a moment goes by in this life that can’t, in some way or another, be experienced as meaningful and worthwhile. All it takes are the eyes to see it, the mind to know it, and the soul to feel it.

There are a plethora of deeply-rooted human experiences that, though the details of each might vary, are fundamentally common. These experiences — these nodes of humanity — act as fuel for the beautiful fire of the human heart, and connect us with the common spirit of our species. As the mighty gust of wind turns a small simmering flame into a blazing-hot bonfire, so too do these experiences lift the human being from his spiritual slumber, and awaken him to the glimmering glory of his own existence — of existence itself.

Walking beneath the forest boughs as beams of bright sunlight breach through the leaves; sitting around a fire with friends and family, enjoying a fresh, hot meal; feeling the shining sun upon your face as you toil for the sake of your sacred home. These experiences, and so, so many more, link us nearly directly with the human beings who came before. We are their progeny, and thus our minds and bodies are closely related. What nourished them, will in most cases nourish us, too. We ought to remember that as we wake up each morning and face the new day — as we chart the many courses of our lives and seek for worthwhile futures.

The seeker of self-knowledge will find many of the greatest lessons in Nature herself, and many of the most profound nodes of human experience are linked with the ways walked before modern technological advancement. But tending to the sacred fire does not mean casting away all the inventions and innovations we now take for granted. Despite their vices, which may be many, these creations should ultimately solidify and increase our sense of just how incredible the human being truly is. Science and technology provide some of the most magnificent examples of our capacity for co-creation with the universe, which ought to be seen as one of the most noble human aims. These modern creators are like the leaves at the tip top of the tree, reaching ever-upward for the sky. But a tree cannot survive if her roots are not nourished. The human being cannot reach his full, vibrant flowering without tending to those roots. Looking back through the centuries, and even beyond the bounds of known civilization, can help to remind us of those roots — of what we are.

Of course, the long and sometimes arduous path of self-knowing stretches far beyond time spent with Mother Nature… but something as simple as a walk beneath the sun is perhaps a good start. Perhaps the essence of all things is the simplest of all… and the closer we come to that simplicity, the closer we are to the Source. As the ever-blossoming flower of existence continues to grow in complexity, we naturally stretch further and further away from that simplest seed of all. That is why it is essential to keep reminding ourselves of that root, so that as we reach ever-upward, we don’t forget what holds us in place.

Ultimately, each individual will strike those nodes of humanity on their own. They will experience those moments that make the world glimmer, that cause them to know with every fibre of their being that life truly is worthwhile… even during the darkest nights of their human experience. We all have our own paths to walk, our own individual destinies to fulfill. Self-knowledge is the key, and ultimately, much of that knowledge will come simply by living with an open heart, an attentive mind, and an unbreakable love for life exactly as it is — in suffering and joy, in night and day, in conflict and peace. No story is worthwhile without that play of apparent opposites. Remembering that you yourself are a character in that ever-unfolding narrative of human existence helps greatly in keeping that essential love of life aflame.

Aside from experience itself, there are many guides and teachers who can help to light our way. That is why the preservation and continued engagement with the many wisdom traditions of the world is another key for the tending of our sacred fire. Not only are the experiences of our ancestors woven throughout our physical bodies, but many of the greatest manifestations of their mental and experiential quests for understanding are written down, ready for us to approach and apprehend. The near-countless tomes compiled throughout the ages can act as yet more sacred compasses on the road of a life well-lived. These great minds do not all agree on the nature of reality or the most worthy path, but all of them do provide some window into the complex and multi-faceted human condition of which we are all a part. The more comprehensive and wide ranging our view, the closer we will be to understanding our reality. Contemplating both the rights and the wrongs of these many thinkers can only help in our continued search for truth (which we will never fully grasp, despite our noble efforts and successes).

One idea among them all, however, steadily stands as the pinnacle of our object of contemplation, understanding, and peace.

For ages, the human heart and mind has been drawn, as if by some pull of essential reason — or, better said, by some kind of reverberation — to the notion of an underlying, foundational force that holds and pervades all things.

The atoms in your body function from the same principles as those in the sun… as those in the budding star at the furthest reaches of the ever-expanding universe. All things are bound by the same underlying fabric and Law of manifestation. We are all essentially of One. A single whole that encompasses both expansion and contraction, integration and disintegration, creation and destruction.

Our roots ought to be remembered in their entirety — from the very tip of our most recent, outward, fleeting and complex emanation, to the eternal, forever silent Source from which all manifestations of the wonderful world gush forth.

A mind kept moored to that sacred memory can always experience a visceral connection to life.

In this way, we can tend to the sacred fire of our own souls, and keep alight the beautiful blaze of humanity, no matter how hard the rain falls… no matter how violent and dark the coming clouds appear on the horizon.

The Yearning

*How many of our ancestors have reached for the sun? Have seen its bright beams break through their fingers?*

~ This was originally the cover page of Wandering Ways. It was particular to an earlier moment on my path, and has in some way lost its general relevance. I would like the blog to be about much more than this portion of my journey. Still, I think keeping these thoughts on the site is worthwhile. ~

From May, 2020… before I left my family home to pursue a path more closely linked with nature.

Hiraeth (Welsh): a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

I know I’m not the only one who feels a strange sense of wrongness in the world.

It’s nothing new. That profoundly human sense has been with us for, perhaps, as long our collective memory stretches. Ever and always, we yearn. Ever and always, we reach for the unreachable… we stretch our tiny arms and grasp at the beams of the sun.

Why do we reach? What are we so desperately hoping to touch, and take for ourselves? After eons of wondering, it’s still hard to say.

I suppose, however, if we had to put a word to it… it might be connection… connection of all kinds… but essentially, we yearn for connection and identification with our experience at the deepest level… to be viscerally awake in the face of life.

For a long time, I have felt that the connection our souls seek is somehow dulled down and obfuscated by the conditions of the modern world… that the human being is more likely than not to be lulled into a deep slumber of the spirit, which robs him of the worthwhile life.

Several years ago, I expressed that feeling in a notebook scrawling. It reads: Can we recapture the simple beauty, erased by the modern machine, whose rumbling belly has churned out these easy comforts – these shackles for the spirit?

Whether right or wrong in all its aspects, that old fragment of thought was a cry from the depths of my soul… and, it is a cry that I know echoes in the silenced hearts of so many others — yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

It’s important to mention that it’s not universally felt, that sense of wrongness in the world.

There are many who truly do feel at home in today’s society… who are awake and satisfied, or at the very least, content in their slumber. For them, I am glad. I’m not here to say that anything is absolutely right or wrong.

To their credit, reason seems to suggest that we are fools, doesn’t it? How can we rebuke a world mired in the boons of modern innovation? How can we seek something else in a society filled with so many possessions of convenience?

Maybe we are fools. Maybe it’s not the world, but rather our ability to relate to it. Maybe the problem is ours.

Regardless, the sense of wrongness remains. The yearning remains.

It hasn’t left me despite all the supposed success I’ve had in my short life. And I know I’m not alone.

This blog will be a space of reflection on that strange condition of the human spirit.

It will also be a journal of sorts as I step away from my career path in journalism, and move towards a way of life more closely connected to the earth and to community… of working the land, building, tending to animals, and directly acting in service to my fellow man… all in a beautiful corner of the world.

I have a lot to learn.

To bow to the beautiful

Here’s a pair of poems from Friedrich Hölderlin, a German poet and Hellenic pagan of the 18th and 19th centuries.

They sparked a good think in me today.

~ To the Fates ~

Give me just one summer, stark sisters,

One more autumn to ripen my song.

Then I’ll gladly die, my heart filled

With that sweet music.

The soul, which never had its godly rights

In life, won’t find peace in Orkus either.

When just once the sacred lies

In my heart, the poem is perfected.

Then I will welcome the world

Of silence and shadows and happily leave

My song behind; once I lived

Like the gods, no more is required.

~ Socrates and Alcibiades ~

“Why, holy Socrates, do you constantly

Embrace this man? Don’t you have greater concerns?

Why do you gaze on him

With such love, as on a god?”

He who thinks deepest loves the liveliest things.

He who truly sees has the wisdom

To rely on the majesty of youth,

And in the end bows to the beautiful.

A Newfound Peace

June 6, 2020

I just experienced a peace that I haven’t known in a long time, if indeed I’ve ever known it at all.

It came after breakfast — a simple piece of homemade bread with cheese, alongside two eggs, sunny side up, with a coffee to compliment.

This small, somehow profoundly satisfying meal, I enjoyed from the dining table of the isolated volunteer quarters which I was graciously given by Paul and Barbara, the founders, builders, and owners of this wilderness resort, nestled by the sea in a truly magical land. I arrived here two days ago, after a two day driving journey from my home city.

Yesterday, I helped Paul with the task of filling up a couple of hot tubs. Such a seemingly simple thing to do… and yet somehow it required a fair bit of thought and effort… more than one might think. The tubs were far enough away from the main lodge, through a stretch of forest, meaning they were relatively removed from the water source. Placing that long stretch of hoses through the trees in just the right way so it could reach the intermediary water and power source was one of those tasks that, in its apparent simplicity, managed to fill my soul with a strange and old satisfaction. I suppose its direct connection to a practical need combined with its closeness to both nature and another human being did the trick. Perhaps the formula for spiritual fulfillment is that simple.

Once the task was done, Paul called a break for lunch, after which, he said I would have a choice: to go swimming or kayaking in the ocean, or do some lawn mowing. I chose the latter.

I wanted to work. I wanted to be out on the land. I wanted to be helping people, and learning. The sea was tempting, but wasn’t quite what I was looking for. So, after an hour and a half of relaxing, I called on Paul and asked to be shown the lawn-mowing ropes. He was happy to oblige, and I got to work. I actually felt somewhat bad about cutting the grass like that, and destroying all the flowers that were sprouting from the earth. But I suppose one ought not fret over such things. We are human, after all, and in nature, some things will inevitably be trampled under our feet.

After some good, hard mowing, the gas in the machine ran out, and none was present to replace it. I returned to the main lodge to find Paul and more fuel, but he was gone. So I spent some time speaking with a couple of the other volunteers, one of whom was from India, and the other, from England. Interesting combination of backgrounds, I thought, especially after the former mentioned her education in a British schooling system. History provides such a strange, rich background for interaction with the world, and other people.

Paul returned after a little while, just as some weekend guests were beginning to arrive. After greeting them, he turned his attention to me, and waved off the request for more gas. I’d done enough for one day, he said. I appreciated his deeply humane attitude.

Soon after returning to my quarters, I began to feel incredibly but deliciously tired. I also realized that I felt better, and more satisfied, than I’d ever felt after a day in the newsroom. Something about this kind of work is altogether psychologically and spiritually different from the work I’d done before. My soul felt sated, if only for that short moment.

The resort is filled with cabins, yurts, and domes, each of which acts as a temporary living space for folks seeking, what I presume to be, the same peace that fell over me after breakfast.

The peace… the peace… the peace… what can I say about the peace?

I suppose, the nature of this peace is inner silence and stillness. When the heart stops reaching… stops yearning, stops desiring, if even for a moment’s time… that, I think, is a true state of peace. And, somehow, that’s what I just experienced following breakfast.

Usually, back in the city, when I was cooking, I almost impulsively opened my laptop and turned on some noise… whether that was music, or some podcast — there always had to be some background noise. I suppose that was a manifestation of this endless yearning… something, anything to fill the hungry heart. Noise seemed to be my impulsive solution.

But not this morning. This morning, I got up after what was close to a 12 hour, dream-filled slumber, slipped on some long-sleeve, cozy clothes, and began to prepare my meal. Coffee first, then food. As I was preparing, I felt that old impulse rise up in me: open the laptop, put on some background music. Thankfully, it didn’t last long. I resisted, with the help of the silent forest surrounding my little cabin, and the bird songs that periodically added to that serene silence. I didn’t need the noise. The peace was overpowering.

So, I cooked. The homemade bread that was delivered to my door two evenings before smelled as sweet as ever, and the cheese, though the store packaging said it had expired a year ago, was delicious, if a bit sharp.

I sipped my coffee, and waited for the food to be ready. Once it was, I poured the contents onto a plate, and wondered for a moment if I should go sit on the porch with the food, to enjoy it in the fresh air. That impulse, I think, was yet another manifestation of the yearning heart. The little cabin and its dining table, adorned with a green, flowery table-clothe, somehow wasn’t enough for that pesky impulse. Realizing there was no table on the porch, I submitted to eating indoors, on the corner of the table, facing the open door — some amount of nature was necessary, and I opened the nearest window to optimize.

So, there I sat, in silence, enjoying quite a yummy little breakfast. The food didn’t last long, but the moment did. I sat there, the dirty, yolk-soaked plate in front of me, alongside a half-drunk mug of coffee. And, I just… sat.

Usually, in the city, once the food was done, I was up right away, cleaning (or half-cleaning) the dishes, with some noise playing in the background. I was on to the next thing, the next attempt to fill my yearning heart, right away. Maybe that activity would be to half-attentively listen to some deranged political podcast, or maybe I would take some book and sit outside, trying to muster enough attention to read it. Or maybe I would try to meditate. Or maybe I would go play my guitar. Anything — anything — to satisfy that never-ending itch to do.

But not this morning. This morning, I just sat. Thoughts would enter into my mind, but somehow they weren’t as aggressive and all-consuming as usual. They came, had their impact, and left, leaving a window of momentary peace between them. I sat there like that for a fair stretch of minutes, without even a hint of movement, eyes non-attentively resting on that open door.

It wasn’t so long before I realized how deeply peaceful I felt, and how incredibly alien that peace was to my usual experience of breakfast, and life in general. Nothing was pulling me in any direction, at least not for the moment. All the yearnings of my heart seemed satisfied then and there, and the peace was so strong, it actually seemed to weigh upon my body, holding me in place. Movement would come eventually, but for that moment, it was some far off state of being, unknown and unwelcome.

Of course, once I began to realize just how strangely peaceful I felt, the thought occurred that I ought to write about it. But I didn’t jerk myself up and begin the task right away, frantically grasping for the action. No… I sat there for another few moments, letting the silent peace press gently upon my soul, soothing it for just a little longer.

Then, in that peace, with the satisfaction of that realization, and the coming positive action of writing, I reached for my laptop, and began to type.

The fidgety feeling of a foolish second cup of coffee has hold of my body now, but the peace hasn’t altogether passed. I feel as beautiful as ever, and I thank God for it.

The birds are singing outside, and clouds are passing overhead.

Yes… thank God.

A Look Back and a Step Forward

For over half a decade, I have worked hard to secure a career in journalism.

After years of pursuit, I realized that I was following a path paved by a hidden trauma.

It was footage of warfare from half a world away that politicized me, and it was that politicization that led me to journalism. The details of that terrible war are unimportant for now. But what I saw in that video — people wailing to God in anguish as hellfire was rained upon them, and blood-soaked bodies strewn in the streets — sparked a lasting fire in me.

Strangely enough, I believe that video — those terrible images — traumatized me… due both to its content and to the context in which I viewed it. It was in the name of that then-misunderstood drive that I launched on my quest to save the world.

There’s nothing unusual about that. How many young people have been, and continue to be, drawn towards such crusades? It’s an experience as old as history, at least.

My application for a degree in journalism and political science was the first step in that hopeless hero’s journey.

The time I spent in the journalistic realm was vital. It led me down many fascinating roads, and gave me experiences I will never forget or regret. It gave me many meaningful moments, and allowed me to help people in ways I never thought I would.

But, it also led me deep into the vile vortex of derangement called politics. I entered that world so sure of what was right, and now I leave it totally dazed and confused.

The problem, as far as I can tell, is that nearly everyone is right and wrong about something. The degrees of that rightness and wrongness vary from person to person — from belief system to belief system — but I’m quite confident that no one has all the answers, and they certainly don’t have all the solutions. The world is simply too complex and multi-faceted for any one belief system to get it all right. And the problems that can arise when using power to apply a flawed system on the world can be catastrophic, as history attests to again and again.

So, I’ve abandoned my ideological pursuits for systemic perfection, and now hold only one, solid political belief, which can be summed up in the old, latin phrase: Sic Semper Tyrannis — Thus Always to Tyrants.

To be clear… I’m not saying that everyone is always wrong and foolish in the political world. Of course, there are many fair and decent ideals out there, and many sound, interesting analyses to be made of the world. Many wise, knowledgeable, and well-intentioned people strive to, and sometimes succeed in, making the world a better place.

Who knows… maybe one day my fire will be rekindled. But for now, at least in terms of my own experience, it seems that political activity is a futile effort… it’s an endless game that comes, all-too-often, with hatred, resentment, anger, and confusion.

If you’re out there making real strides towards a more just and harmonious world, then God speed to you. But my own disillusionment remains — and it isn’t new. It had already taken hold about a year before graduating.

But, as things go, only weeks before officially leaving the confines of the classroom, I found a job posting for a small city newspaper. Not knowing what else to do, I applied. And, lo and behold, all the work I’d done throughout my degree paid off — I got the job, and fast.

So, I finished up my final courses, leased a car, and within weeks, hit the road to begin my long-awaited career.

The year of my life spent working as a professional journalist was perhaps the most significant I’ve ever had, for so many reasons that I can hardly begin to describe here… reasons that stretch far beyond the newsroom.

But it’s significance, unfortunately, was negative. It broke me down entirely, and left me without a coherent core.

My only true solace during that dark journey was nature, and, ultimately, beauty.

As a manifestation of that realization, I wrote this poem early one working morning, as I despaired at the day and the many months of pain ahead… it was inspired by some delicious classical music I was listening to on my headphones:

Beauty bears the burden weighing woefully upon my heart.

The padded boat which carries me down life’s long looming river,

Is made of God’s great song, and never truly quiets.

Ever ready to be heard is the sound that soaks the soul,

Guarding me forever from Earth’s ferocious flame.

Music was my greatest comfort on those hopeless mornings.

On weekends, I spent much of my time wandering through the abundant forestlands in the area, bathing in the beauty of the world. I quickly became fascinating by all the little growing things, sprouting from the earth.

I realized that nature and beauty — that God — is something I would love for the rest my life… that it is the truest and most enduring love of my heart.

Politics, on the other hand, fell out of my good graces. I began to resent it — to hate it, even. For so many years, I had drank from its ever-spouting fountain. Little did I know, it was poisoning me.

In stepping towards a lifestyle more closely connected with nature, I am attempting to ween myself off that addictive fountain of anger, resentment and hatred.

I am choosing instead to follow the path of my heart’s highest love.

It is for the sake of that love that I move forward.

Moments on the Journey

There is something viscerally familiar in the experience of knowing that, before long, you will be stepping through the threshold of your old home’s door, and heading off into the wide, wild world. It is apprehensive and hopeful, all at once.

It is also, perhaps, one of the most primordial human experiences. Nearly none of our ancestors would have been free from the necessity of the journey. The ancient residue of their wandering ways lingers in our hearts, and calls us forth from the safety of our four walls, beckoning us to life.

Home… we need it, just as much as we need the winding path.

But, beyond that door of old comforts is where the greatest beauty lies. It is where the sun rises and sets; where the birds and chipmunks sing; where the soul-awakening rain falls; where the life-blooming soil sends fresh scents ever upward, filling us with appreciation and love for the world.

Beyond that old door also bellow the greatest beasts. It is where the curious, hungry wolf prowls; where the hurricane howls; where the mountain path turns into the steep cliff face; where the most brutal of our human brethren roam.

They come together, don’t they — the beauty and the beast. It is in their strange dance that we find the visceral experiential quality and connection to life the soul so deeply desires.

Only in stepping through the threshold of that old, beloved door can we hope to find them, waltzing together in the moonlight, while the looming tidal wave of inevitable doom approaches from the glistening sea, twinkling beyond the tree line.

Only on the journey can such experiences be found — those moments that remind us just how strange and wonderful this life truly is.

Years ago, while staying on a kibbutz in Israel, I wrote this on the wall of an abandoned volunteer quarter: You won’t find life at home. Sometimes, it must be sought out. Be a seeker in this world, ripe for discovery… witness a most beautiful sunset.

I have tried to live by the spirit of those words for as long as I can remember. I have danced with both beauties and beasts… felt great joys and great sorrows… loved and hated… fallen, and risen again.

I can say, after all, that life is a most worthwhile ride… and every human journey, no matter how great or how small, is worthy of song.

But, the yearning is never truly satisfied, is it? If the essence of the soul is infinite and eternal, then how can it be filled? And, if purely earthly and body-bound, well… it seems to have an endless appetite.

Strangely enough, even such a futile search can produce the most beautiful experiences. The journey is never truly over. Even death is an event horizon, beyond which mystery remains.

And so, I will keep seeking. I will keep wandering down the winding road of life… eyes, ears, and heart open to all the strange little beauties and beasts I find as fellow travellers along the way.

I hope to find you out there, friends.

What an incredible place this is.