a new kind of spiritual practice

I am convinced that we are funny, fickle creatures. Whenever a restaurant closes, everyone on the internet mourns and comments how much they loved it – how it had the best food ever. They feel safe to wax eloquent about the virtues of the restaurant because it is gone – no one can ever go there and prove them wrong. Because everything on the internet is either good or terrible. There is no room for nuance or space for context. This shows up especially in food. A particular dish is objectively good. It was enjoyed once, or many times, in a particular context and so that proves it is “good.” But we all know that context affects food more than anything else. If I am hungry, really hungry, whatever food I eat that satisfies that hunger, tastes better than it does objectively. Similarly, if I get sick shortly after eating, whatever I ate can become repulsive to me for a long time. In this way, food is not objective. It is necessarily shaped and coloured by context and experience.

I was once given a peanut butter sandwich at a time when I was truly hungry. I started liking peanut butter sandwiches on that day. I still enjoy them. Before that experience, surrounded by choice, I had never liked peanut butter sandwiches. But the enjoyment of that one sandwich has stayed with me, adding a note to the musical scale of my tastes. The context of being without options and true hunger, grew new taste for something I had previously dismissed.

This internet-phenomenon is ubiquitous. It portrays people in this way too. No nuance or context necessary. People, mostly based on their appearance, are deemed good or bad; worthy or scorned. And yet, even books have a way of mirroring real life better than that. In a book, we fall in love with characters based on their individuality and disposition, not their appearance. Often we only have a vague description of their appearance. Social media would have us believe it is “appearance that reveals character” – that those who are worthy of our affection or attention, will be objectively beautiful. In truth, the people I love well become beautiful to me. And I see in them true beauty that, like a magnificent sunset, cannot be fully captured in a photo. 

When I was in my mid-twenty’s, I met a new co-worker who, by his appearance, was repulsive to me. I remember thinking he was not really worth getting to know and at first only saw him at a distance. After a few weeks as we worked more closely together, I began to see him more truly. His character was exemplary. He showed the highest respect to all his fellow co-workers, even the young part-time ones like me. He had a smile and a kind word for everyone. Before long I began to find him beautiful – not in the objective, appearance kind of way – but an admiration and genuine affection grew in me that made me unable to remember how I had ever seen him as ugly.

My point in all this is that spiritual connection (and the tools I might use to focus or attune to that connection) is similar. It is filled with nuance and is subject to context. Spiritual practice isn’t merely good or bad. It just is. And at times it satisfies my hunger in such a way that makes me exclaim, “That was delicious!”  When all has been stripped away, what remains is a more accurate picture of the value of the thing. This is how I feel about my faith. All the clutter and false eyelashes and spray tan have dissolved. Through the lens of “appearance is beauty,” my faith is quite ugly right now. But what remains is true and real. Like the believable protagonist in a good book, it is loveable without any clear focus on appearance. My faith just “is.” It is strong and weak and fickle and solid. Its truest form is its longing. It longs for goodness and wholeness in the midst of mystery, and in the face of suffering.

Lately I have begun painting. Truly, I have no aptitude or talent in the way of visual art. I have never taken even a high school art class. Objectively, my paintings are pitiful and a little embarrassing. But the process! The way putting paint to paper brings me close to myself is a spiritual practice. I attempt to recreate a scene that burned itself into my memory by its beauty, and in so doing, I sit in the beauty of that moment again and again, reaching inside to dip my paintbrush in the magic of the joy that scene splashed inside my soul.

These days, I am re-inventing my own definition of spiritual practice. And I am finding a deep well of pure, refreshing water. If I am neglecting the front lawn, and the flower beds are overgrown and un-pleasing, it is because I am doing work on the inside. I’ll get back to cleaning up the yard eventually, but first I have to clean out this basement. I’m taking lots of breaks to paint and sing (neither of which I can do as performance, but both of which bring joy in the doing.) And I am working hard to clean out all the cobwebs and clutter that grew while I was focusing on performance and objective beauty.

This is my first ever painting. I call it “Highway to Heaven.” When I drive to work every morning at 530, I am often impressed by the beauty of the sky. I exclaim aloud and am filled with gratitude for just being alive in such a place. One of my favourites is when the moon is directly above the highway with a few stars scattered around, and the trees feel like a set from a play – all lined up in rows in varying shades of green and grey and black.

This freedom from the objectification of beauty, from performance and excellence, is the birthplace of authenticity and self-compassion. I hope you, my friend, find yourself longing for true spiritual practice. And I hope you don’t let outside appearances keep you from seeing it right in front of you. Much love! xo