Some of us think our way into acting, and others act our way into thinking. Those of us who act our way into thinking tend to subscribe to Phyllis Rickter’s beloved adage, “Sometimes, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”
Obviously, the world needs both kinds of people, and we’d better get to know one another! What I know for sure, though, is that when the situation is dire, you need a critical mass of “actors” triaging the front line; the “thinkers” should stay back, and figure out how to get us out of this mess.
This is pretty much how the world looks to me, right now—teetering on the bring of disaster—and I find that, as a people, we are somewhat frozen in terror. My friend and colleague, Rev. Jim Robinson, tells about a recurring nightmare he had throughout his childhood: He was trying to escape from a terrible monster that was always just at his heels as he fled, or tried to flee, with his heart beating out of his chest and the feeling that his legs had turned to Jell-o. Always, he awakened, bathed in sweat, knowing that the monster had only slunk away temporarily.
Then the nightmare came again, and as Jim began to run, to try to run, a voice from deep inside commanded him, “Turn around. Turn around.” In the terrible dream, Jim stopped, and turned on the monster. He found himself facing a mirror. In place of the monster, he saw only himself.
What does it mean to be chased by our true selves, frightened to death of ourselves? For Jim, it signaled a life of deep, spiritual searching, both for his most authentic being, and, as he began to know himself, for the ways in which he could make of himself a gift to the world.
How do we make of ourselves a gift to the world? J. Krishnamurti taught, “An ideal actually prevents direct action upon what is. To have peace, we will have to begin not to live an ideal life, but to see things as they are and transform them.” Whether we think first or act first, ultimately, we have to act.
Ram Dass and Mirabai Bush write, “Musicians say that the hardest part of practicing is taking the instrument out of the case.... Too much rumination can keep us from getting into the process, which is where we will really learn. We do not want to take on more than we can do with clarity of mind and an open heart, but once we begin to awaken to the suffering of others, and the interconnection that binds us [—that deep embrace of the seventh principle of Unitarian Universalism—there is] an imperative for action....
“Take out the saxophone.... Be bold. Take the fist step. Make the leap.”[1]
I’ve said this recently and I’ll say it again: It’s not so much the fear of the unknown that stops us as the fear of how we will be changed when we give ourselves away. Bad news: I suspect we do not really know what love is until our hearts have been broken. Opening our hearts to care deeply, even, to love the world, means we risk breaking our hearts. It also means becoming who we are, all of what we have to give, and all of whom we can be.
Fear, fear, fear. Here are Ram Dass and Mirabai Bush again:
“Working with the homeless, the poor, and others on the edge reminds us of our own vulnerability and the compromises we may have made in our lives to create material security. Working with [people with HIV/AIDS or other life-threatening illnesses] is frightening because it often reveals our fear of our own death. Working with international issues shows us the fragile balances in the world order and how close we always are to war [and possible annihilation]. Working with the environment reveals deep fears of losing the very ground beneath our feet, [the water we drink,] and the air we breathe. But these fears are there, within us, anyhow. When they become more apparent, it is a gift;” they keep us awake to what is there. To a point, fear is an amazingly effective stimulant; “we can use our fear to increase our awareness.”[2]
True freedom, though, is “an open state of fearlessness.” I pray for that, pray for courage. Curiosity, willingness, flexibility, and great love will also help us take effective action.
Neem Karoli Baba said, “You can plan for five hundred years, but you don’t know what will happen in the next moment.” I am uplifted by Isaiah, known to us as a prophet from the 8th century before the common era, but who was once just a regular guy. G*d asks, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And Isaiah, acting his way into thinking, responds, “Here am I; send me!”[3]
I wonder how many of you have had the pleasure of reading the great Hindu myth, the Ramayana. In my favorite passage, a monkey named Hanuman is asked to serve Prince Rama by leaping across the Indian Ocean to carry Rama’s gold ring and a message of love to his beloved wife, Princess Sita, who is being held hostage on the island of Sri Lanka by the evil, ten-headed, twenty-armed, demon king, Ravana. Hanuman has grave doubts as to whether or not he will be able to do it, and no idea about what awaits him on the other shore. Perhaps there is someone else, he thinks, someone better suited to the job than a monkey. But, as the tale tells it, “there was dismay and faint sorrow, and it was time to be strong.” Hanuman agrees to deliver the ring.
The little monkey is the symbol of total devotion and selfless service. It is said that he is so close to Rama—a variation of Ram, the word for G*d—that he is known as “the breath of Ram,”[4] or, as we might say it, spirit. Here’s my favorite part of the Ramayana, from a translation by William Buck:
Hanuman climbed a high hilltop, and looked out over the vast ocean. “He held his breath and sucked in his stomach. He frisked his tail and raised it a little on the end. He bent his knees and swung back his arms, and on one finger gleamed Rama’s gold ring. Then, without pausing to think, he drew in his neck, laid back his ears, and jumped.
“It was grand! It was the greatest leap ever taken. The speed of Hanuman’s jump pulled blossoms and flowers into the air after him, and they fell like little stars on the waving treetops. The animals on the beach had never seen such a thing. They cheered Hunuman, then the air burned from his passage, and red clouds flamed over the sky, and Hanuman was far out of sight.”[5]
My spiritual companions, may we face ourselves, and face the world, arms wide open. Courage! Courage! Here are we. Let us leap.