Universal Language

The fascinating principle underlying Zen stories with all their seemingly irrelevant remarks is quite simple. It is all explained in the Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch, when Hui-neng says, "If somebody asks you a question about matters sacred, always answer in terms of matters profane. If they ask you about ultimate reality, answer in terms of everyday life. If they ask you about everyday life, answer in terms of ultimate reality.

—Alan Watts, What Is Zen?

I haven't written for awhile because there have been so many things going on in my poor little brain that I didn't even know where to begin. I guess I've been going through a bit of a psychospiritual crisis. Meditation has not been working for me lately as well as it used to. I'm having a hard time being in the world in a non-anxious, accepting way. Disassociating with my ego is not helping me tame it, and navigating its demands is not bringing me the spiritual freedom I crave.

I read a book recently by Thomas Moore called A Religion of One's Own that made a distinction between the spirit (transcendent, mysterious universal forces expressing themselves through and being perceived by an individual being) and the soul (contingent, idiosyncratic personality with earthly desires and fears), and argued that the point of a personal religion is to help one integrate these sometimes conflicting aspects of oneself. I decided that it would be good for me to become part of some spiritual community. Not that I want to join a group of people who believe all the same things as me, but that I could use some regular conversation about my spiritual practices, experiences, and conceptualizations thereof.

So I went to the Unitarian Universalist church last Sunday. Thought it might be a good idea, since I'd gone there as a kid. My grandparents on my mother's side were both Unitarians, and I generally have a certain respect for the UU premise that all religions have kernels of truth it behooves us to explore with open minds.

But alas, there was nothing spiritual going on in that place. It was all soul stuff: personal stories about recent joys and sorrows, reminders about upcoming lectures and debates, and a plea from a woman representing Dying with Dignity for Unitarians to come to the aid of her cause. OK, there was some singing too, which can be a spiritual exercise, but it was half-hearted and frankly pretty awful.

And no mention of God or anything mystical whatsoever. Just a bunch of really old people reminding themselves that they are nice and thoughtful when it comes to moral decisions. I thought there might be some deeper discussion to be had over coffee and cake after the service. But the couple I ended up talking to just kept telling me about their worry that the church's minister might be a "closet Christian."

I guess he showed up at some recent public panel discussion wearing a minister's collar. The others on the panel were apparently all clergymen of one sort or another, so that made sense to me. I reminded Brian and Theresa, the concerned couple, that Unitarianism is technically a Christian religion and that the minister is definitely entitled to wear the uniform of his profession. "I know," said Brian, "but the thing is, I'm not convinced it was a joke."

I'm not sure what I expected. Maybe that the unconventional parish would have discovered a new way to pray that doesn't bring problematic concepts of God into it. Or that they would have figured out a way to discuss the undiscussability of the mystical communion and revealed truths that all religions represent a yearning for.

Instead, I just found a little club where ancient atheists can pat each other on the back once a week and assert that they don't need God to be good. I suppose that's nice for them and probably has some value.

But later that night, I went to the basement of another church to hear Stravinsky's Firebird Suite (1919 version). It was being played by a small amateur orchestra in which Alison's roommate, Claire, plays oboe. I didn't have high expectations, and there were definitely inexpert moments. But there were also times when the group seemed to find some magical power beyond what their collective inexperience should be capable of, and the transcendent finale moved my heart, mind, and spirit in a way that no religious service ever has. I left feeling like I had been part of a holy congregation after all that Sunday.