De Mello: Moving from Our Head to Our Heart

De Mello: Out of the Head     

“The head is not the best place for prayer. It is not a bad place to start your prayer. But if your prayer stays there too long and doesn’t move into the heart, it will gradually dry up and become tiresome and frustrating.”—Anthony de Mello in Sadhana: A Way to God (Liguori, 1998).    

Anthony de Mello’s Sadhana: A Way to God, Christian Exercises in Eastern Form, is an amazing book—a collection of “one-of-a-kind, practical spiritual exercises” that blend Eastern and Western spiritual practices for contemplative prayer. De Mello describes contemplative prayer as communicating with God using minimal words. He lists forty-seven exercises, all of which can be learned by practicing each one weekly.

In his first section, de Mello repeatedly teaches that contemplative prayer follows an awareness of the body, not just the mind, leading to an awareness of God’s presence. 

The second section explores how we use our imagination in prayer, such as keeping an imaginary scrapbook of times when we were loved and felt God’s presence.

 The last section describes devotional prayers, such as the Jesus Prayer.

The awareness exercises help us get out of our heads and into our bodies—where de Mello says we must return to our senses. He describes the head as a place to begin prayer, but becoming aware of the feelings in our entire body, paying attention to our breath, and returning to our senses keep us in the present moment.

It is in the present moment that God meets us—not where we anticipate or dread the future, or resent or take pride in the past, but in the now. Our head lives in the past or the future. Our body and heart ground us in the present moment.

Joanna. https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Painting as a Spiritual Practice: Learning About Shadows

  Painting as a Spiritual Practice: Learning About Shadows

Guest Writer: Ken Fellows

 A Graceful Penumbra

ken fellows

     Someone painting a house … not usually a subject for watercolor. Walking past this scene in Stonington, Maine, I was drawn to the painter on his ladder … riveted less by the man than by his graceful, dramatic shadow. How remarkable that an ordinary human, doing such everyday work, could cast a near-balletic penumbra. On reflection, this seemed a dramatic physical representation of the concept, found in both spiritual and psychological literature, that human personalities have both a consciousness and a latent shadow side. 

     I have been painting in watercolors for many years, and incorporating shadows into my work has always been intentional and personally rewarding. Shadows define light in a picture. Without them, there is only color to build interest in the subject or scene. Shadows in paintings can be any color. Art classes often teach that they should be the complementary color of the object they cover, which is the 'painterly' way. Most people think of shadows as black or gray, but scientists say they are variations of blue. Whatever hue an artist chooses, shadows have highly variable shapes and sizes, edges both faint and sharp, and a random distribution in any scene that attracts and intensifies interest.

       Painting shadows in watercolor can be something of a high-wire act. Because watercolor is a light-to-dark, transparent medium, the lightest colors must be painted first. Unlike oils, if a color is painted too dark, it can't be corrected by covering it with a lighter color. As a result, the shadows in a watercolor painting are usually the last step … laid down over the lighter colors in a scene. A lot can go wrong: shadow washes too dark, misplaced, or unrealistic … and the painting is ruined and can't be corrected. 

     During my pre-teens, long ago and well before TV, I listened daily to radio dramas.

One of my favorites was THE SHADOW …, a mystery program that always opened with a deep, ominous voice asking: "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!" Since those days, I've always found shadows intriguing. Later in life, my profession as a radiologist may also have influenced my perspective. A former medical colleague at an art show remarked, "Well, I see you're still dealing in shadows."

     For some, shadows are seen as the dark side of human personalities. The psychologist Carl Jung has written that "everyone carries a shadow," and "the less it is embodied in the individual's conscious life, the blacker and denser it is."

The spiritual teacher Patricia Adams Farmer supports the idea that one must attend to one's shadow side with "compassionate self-awareness." She further

advises: "Our shadow side is part of our humanity, albeit the more primitive, unpleasant, and difficult aspect. With courage, we can look deeply into the dark”

“side of our being – not to judge and condemn – but to understand, to suffer with, and to love back into the wide, rich tapestry of our being."

     My favorite painting teacher, Dewitt Hardy, taught that artists "are in the business of making miracles." For me, my watercolor efforts have no chance of achieving that aspiration without effective shadows.

Ken Fellows

Joanna. https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Visiting Places Where Miracles Happen

 Visiting Places Where Miracles Happen

Caravaggio. Supper at Emmaus National Gallery London

“A cancer inexplicably cured. A voice in a dream. It is possible to look at most miracles and find a rational explanation in terms of natural cause and effect. It is possible to look at Rembrandt’s Supper at Emmaus and find a rational explanation in terms of paint and canvas.”—Frederick Buechner, Beyond Words (HarperOne, 2009).

I believe in miracles. Once a week, I step into a room full of people who are themselves miracles. It is a 12-step recovery group of people who once were crippled by addiction and now are “happy, joyous, and free.” They talk about what it was like then and what it is like now. I have heard some of their stories hundreds of times, but each time, I see more similarities to my own story and identify more closely with theirs. Sometimes, a person’s story is so similar to mine that I think: That IS my story—the differences blur. Everyone in the room is a miracle, and I realize I am, too. And so, each time, I leave that place profoundly grateful.

I see other miracles every day. Someone calls or comes for a visit. I just listen and listen. In my mind, I have no idea what to say. Sometimes, words that seem to help my friend come out of my mouth. I am in the dark about where a particular statement might have come from. I know it’s flashing into my mind, but it’s a miracle, not of my own making. Some would call it the Spirit working in our lives.

I see people living for many years despite cancers that in the past would have killed them in months. These are all miracles. People who find cures are miracle workers. These scientists and physicians are often inspired by seeing patients die of a particular disease and are determined not to see that happen again. 

I remember a conversation with my grandmother when I was a junior in medical school, as we rode together in the back seat of a car. She told me she could not understand how people do not believe in miracles when they see a newborn baby. I just smiled, but in my mind I was thinking: “Grandmother, I know how babies develop. I know all the secrets and stages of how they come to be born. These are all facts of science.”

Over fifty years later, I know my grandmother was right because I have seen so many sick newborns. The birth of every baby is a miracle.

Tomorrow, watercolorist Ken Fellows will discuss the best advice from his favorite art instructor, who said, “Artists are in the business of making miracles.” Buechner also reflects on seeing Rembrandt’s Supper at Emmaus at the Louvre in Paris. Rembrandt has captured the miracle. Many other works of art qualify as miracles as well. They connect us to the God of our understanding: Rembrandt’s Return of the Prodigal Son at the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg; Caravaggio’s Supper at Emmaus in the National Gallery in London; Georges de La Tour’s The Repentant Magdalen at the National Gallery in Washington, D.C. 

Buechner challenges us to remember the many works of art that speak to us individually and to look at them anew. Do we truly recognize the miracles offered to us in art books today, or should we plan a pilgrimage to see these masterpieces firsthand, learning more about the miracles they hold and about ourselves?

Joanna  https://www.joannaseibert.com/