Read the Opening Pages

Pages 13–15

Orientation

This book is one point of view.

I offer these Contemplations as invitations—not as answers—and invite you to participate in whatever each one awakens in you.

There is nothing you need to figure out before you begin.

You do not need to understand what I mean.

You do not need to agree with me.

You do not need to arrive at a particular conclusion.

You may read slowly.

You may pause.

You may return.

You may disagree.

You may notice something you have never noticed before.

You may notice nothing at all.

The questions and practices that follow are invitations—not assignments.

They are not designed to test what you know.

They are opportunities to notice what you experience.

Perhaps you will discover that a word carries something different for you than it does for me.

Perhaps a sentence will stay with you long after you have finished reading.

Perhaps something will stir a memory, a question, a feeling, or a possibility.

Perhaps something will challenge you.

Perhaps something will feel familiar, as though you are remembering something you already knew.

Let your own experience become your teacher.

Consider the possibility that each Contemplation is a portal through which you may encounter a knowing that lives somewhere deeper than intellectual understanding—something at the core of being human that we may have been conditioned to forget.

You might read one Contemplation once.

Or you might return to the same one for days, weeks, months, or years.

You might read aloud.

You might journal.

You might share one with another person.

You might walk with a question.

You might simply sit quietly and notice what arises.

There is no prescribed way to use this book.

Perhaps the invitation is simply to become curious.

To slow down enough to notice.

To listen beneath the words.

To allow the spaces between the words to speak as well.

And perhaps, as you enter these Contemplations, you will enjoy exploring what you are remembering—

and what you are discovering.

Pages 16–18

The Invitation

When I was a young undergraduate, I was enthralled by the astounding similarities I discovered among mystics from different comparative religious traditions. Across centuries and cultures, esoteric writers seemed to point toward universal spiritual experiences rather than toward the need for deep analytical study to access the mysteries of being human.

They asked questions that still live within me:

What are we doing on this planet?

How do we live with more joy and peace?

How do we suffer less?

In 1981, I participated in a two-weekend workshop where the trainer shouted something at me in a way that was clearly intended to pierce through my personal wiring.

At the time, I had been living with an underlying belief that if I could just figure out more about life's deepest challenges, I would eventually become more content and satisfied.

He shouted:

"UNDERSTANDING IS THE BOOBY PRIZE!"

I had no idea how he knew that was my agenda.

I had spent years believing that a comprehensive intellectual dissection of my mind—and perhaps the human mind—might eventually solve my own struggles and, in some way, humanity's struggles as well.

My life has been something like climbing a ladder as high as I could go, moving beyond my fears of falling, and then descending down that same ladder into deep caves within my own inner universe.

I have spent much of my life learning to get out of my head and to consider another possibility:

What if understanding is not always the doorway?

What if some experiences are diminished when we insist on explaining them?

If I completely understand a miracle, have I taken it out of the category of being a miracle?

Does understanding necessarily deepen my experience?

Or can I sometimes be more fully alive by entering the energy, mystery, and wonder of something I cannot completely explain?

At some point, I stopped wrestling with the question:

Do I want to learn more intellectually?

and began asking:

Do I want to be in the energy field of miracles?

This book is one point of view.

I offer these Contemplations as invitations—not as answers—and invite you to participate in whatever each one awakens in you.

As you enter these Contemplations, there is nothing you need to figure out or understand.

Let your own experience become your teacher.

Consider the possibility that each Contemplation is a portal through which you may remember some knowing that lives at the core of being human—something we may have been conditioned to forget.

I invite you to enjoy exploring what you are remembering,

and what you are discovering.

Pages 19–21

The Journey

Sometimes when we explore, we just go.

Whether we are traveling outside or inside, do we want a map or a compass?

Or are we willing to use the sun rising and setting to give us some direction?

As I have written, read, and reread these Contemplations—and the questions and practices that follow—I have noticed themes developing and unfolding.

I did not see them when I first wrote the original three that I once referred to as the Trilogy.

Perhaps that is part of the nature of exploration.

We begin with one idea and discover that it is connected to something we could not yet see.

I am sure there is no right or wrong way to follow any map.

There are many ways to get from here to there.

What is our measure of the "right" way anyway?

So I am offering you some landmarks as possible considerations for using these Contemplations in ways that might be fun, enjoyable, and useful in your life.

Like wine that opens with oxygen and offers different tastes to your palate when it breathes, consider creating some space to let these Contemplations breathe.

You might experience them individually.

You might return to them at different times.

And over time, you may begin to notice how they are interrelated.

There are insights, visions of landscapes, and shifts in your senses that may arise when you are present with any one of these Contemplations.

And there is another dimension of possibility when you begin to experience how they are interdependent and intimately related.

These Contemplations are not twelve separate subjects.

They are more like facets of a single inquiry.

Wonder may lead us toward the Sacred.

The Sacred may open our awareness of Interconnection.

Interconnection may awaken Belonging.

Belonging may invite us into Harmony.

Diversity may challenge our relationship with difference.

Healing may ask us to reconnect what has become separated.

Compassion may change how we accompany ourselves and others through that healing.

Beauty may change how we see.

Enough may change how we value.

Resilience may change how we interpret falling, failing, and beginning again.

And Remembering may invite us to recognize that perhaps none of these qualities are entirely new.

Perhaps they are qualities we have always carried—

and are learning to remember.

You might discover that the order itself is less important than what begins to awaken as you move among them.

Enjoy how playful your mind can be when you are in discovery mode.

I have noticed that when I am exploring, it is useful for me to ask whether I am staying open—or whether some word, idea, or practice has me feeling constrained, restricted, or contracted.

When that happens, I slow down.

I breathe.

And I ask:

"What am I learning here?"

Perhaps you will find your own questions along the way.

Allow the Contemplations to speak to you.

I am exploring too.

Perhaps we can become more aware together.

Thank you for being willing to explore.