The Spiritual Practice of Fishing

 Spiritual Practice of Fishing

“If, then, I were asked for the most important advice I could give, the one I considered most useful to the men of our century, I should simply say: in the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, and look around you.”—Leo Tolstoy in Essays, Letters, and Miscellanies (Scribner’s, 1929).

All the fishermen I know are early risers. Some go out on calm rivers, often with an experienced guide.

I also know other fishermen who prefer the ocean's larger waves.

I sit outside each morning on the Gulf Coast just after sunrise, watching lone surf fishermen arrive like clockwork at the water’s edge with fishing rods, rod holders, buckets, bait, and folding beach chairs. They are early risers, arriving before the pelicans, seagulls, and dolphins come out of hiding. The members of this all-male club mark their territory by spiking two rod holders into the sand, the only signs of human presence. Then they unfold their chairs, bait their lines, cast them beyond the roaring white surf, and sit and wait between the two holders for the rods to jump and bend. 

The nibbles are infrequent, so they spend most of their time sitting and staring out into the Gulf. They peer out as if they can see all the way beyond South America. They do not take out their cell phones or read books. Instead, they wait patiently, usually for several hours, presumably with great faith that their efforts will connect them to the gift of unknown food from beneath the sea.

One fisherman describes some days of fishing, feeling the joy of being a young boy again. On other days, he identifies with Hemingway’s struggles in The Old Man and the Sea.

I have become so fascinated by watching the fishermen that I recognize them by their walk, what they wear, whom they talk to, when they come out, and how long they stay. When I speak with them, they teach me a great deal about spirituality, faithfulness, and surrendering to a spiritual practice. Indeed, some fishermen call their daily routine a spiritual practice, while others would be appalled at calling their fishing such a name. Nevertheless, they all agree that this recreational sport brings them peace; most realize they are not after the fish. It is re-creation. 

Perhaps this uncertainty, grounded in faith, is also part of our spiritual practices: Centering Prayer, the Rosary, the labyrinth, prayer, fasting, Lectio divina, and worship. The peace comes from offering time, a piece of our life, to the practice, rather than always reaching a goal or making or receiving a connection. 

My second gift from our fishermen is that I have stayed grounded, connected to my surroundings, and living in the present moment by observing them. The fishermen are teaching me to look beyond the turbulent water’s edge and to have faith that there is something greater than any of us, constantly connecting with us.

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

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/