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Extending Our Circle
of Compassion
by Michael
Schut
Q & A With Doug
McKenzie
Interview
Views
on the News:
Mel Gibson’s “The Passion” — What’s All the Fuss About?
by Robert Corin Morris
Interweave,
Inc.
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Box 1516, Summit NJ
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973-763-8540
Robert
Corin Morris,
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Suzanne
Morris,
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Lisa
Green,
Assistant Director
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Extending Our Circle of Compassion
by Michael Schut
from his book Simpler Living, Compassionate Life
In the summer of 1993, I learned that the Governor of Alaska was allowing wolves to be herded together with helicopters and then shot. In order to (temporarily) increase the caribou population, and thus increase the number of hunters (and their money) the state could “entertain,” wolves were being gunned down from the sky. My response to this news was complex, and has lived in my memory ever since.
My first reaction was one of denial, of disbelief, which soon gave way to anger . . . I paced the living room, frustrated and brooding. Eventually I found myself outside and sat down on the edge of our shaded front porch, my toes absent-mindedly curling the grass underfoot and my chin cradled in my hands. I sat there for some time. Anger gradually gave way to sadness and I was somewhat surprised to find tears pooling in my eyes and wetting my cheeks. As I watched my tears fall to earth, I imagined the dry summer soil welcoming those few drops and the grass’ fibrous roots absorbing the scarce moisture. I thought of the sun’s relentless summer energy evaporating the water particles, drawing my tear towards itself. I pictured that water vapor being caught up into the atmosphere, eventually blown to Alaska and cooled in the northern air. As it cooled, the vapor coalesced into rain drops, some falling on an Alaskan stream. I imagined a wolf pack padding toward that rushing stream for a cool drink. Was it possible that my tears (brought on by the death of a pack member) might provide life to another pack member as he or she lapped the refreshing water?
My response still surprises me. In retrospect, it might have made more sense to me if a favorite pet or a respected leader had died. But I somehow felt deeply connected to those wolves. I felt that their death made me less complete . . . Perhaps it was the joy of knowing they were safe in their homes that died a little; perhaps my hope that our crowded world might reserve earth’s remaining wild places for wild things died a little; perhaps the wild and instinctual part of me died a little; perhaps the dream of someday encountering wolves in the wilderness on a moonlit night died a little. Perhaps my hope that we humans might “come to our senses,” that our relationship with the natural world might indeed heal, died a little. But all of that seems too analytical and does not convey my sense of their death being partly a kind of death within me: the mystery of my feeling diminished knowing they were gone . . .
Such stories must be told. This is one I tell again and again for it speaks to me of the potential extent of the circle of human compassion, a sign of connection with all of creation. I felt and shared in another’s loss, even when the “other” was one with whom I didn’t realize I shared an intimate connection. For a moment the perceived walls of my separation came down . . .Keeping those sturdy walls intact, blocking out that pain, is to protect ourselves, but it is also to numb ourselves—keeping the pain at bay, but ultimately also the joy.
For while this story began as a painful one, I also understand it as a joyful one: the joy of realizing my connectedness to “the other,” the joy that life unexpectedly may spring on me. As if just underneath the fabric of our everyday lives is a tapestry so rich, complex and beautiful that if we were but able to see, we might realize our constant participation in the dance of creation. A dance revealing that another’s joy is our own joy, that another’s pain is our own pain.
I also see it as a joyful story because I and many others were inspired to act . . . The news spread quickly amongst us; many chose to write letters to the governor and members of Congress. Eventually enough people around the country acted on their sense of connection to those wolves to force Alaska’s governor to rescind his order.
Michael Schut, Program Associate at Earth Ministry in Seattle, will present
Finding Your Place in the Earth’s Story: Tools for Compassionate Living,
Saturday, April 17, 9:30 a.m.-2:30 p.m. at Interweave
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Q&A
Doug McKenzie returns this spring for Modern Physics and the Spiritual Journey II, a follow-up to last year’s popular series, open to new and returning participants. This time around, Doug will focus on what we can learn from physics about the obstacles we face as we proceed on our spiritual journeys. We asked him to talk about his intersecting interests and what he’s learning on the journey.
What drew you to physics? Was there a specific person or incident that sparked your interest?
When I was about 12 my older brother said that he could calculate the tension in the wire that supports a telephone pole and that seemed like a miracle to me—that he could actually calculate it without having to measure it. Then when I was a senior in high school I did an experiment with light. After lots of effort I was able to demonstrate that the light behaved exactly like the equations said it would. I knew, at that moment, that I was in the presence of deep laws and that they worked, they were true.
What surprised you about your first Interweave “Modern Physics” class? What did YOU learn?
I learned that to really convey something that I feel to be true is a lot harder than just saying it. I can say that the two kinds of particles in nature, fermions and bosons, correspond to the male and female principles and that this correspondence can enlighten our understanding of the relationship between men and women. I can say that, but without lots of discussion it probably won’t mean too much to other people.
What’s going on in physics these days that you find exciting?
The idea that we can study nature (out there, separate from ourselves) is, I think, possibly being called into question. The issue seems to be that our consciousness (whatever that is!) may be creating the fundamental framework within which we are studying the so-called objective world. This might make the objective world a little less objective. Unfortunately my level of mathematical sophistication is nowhere near high enough to give any substance to these statements, so for me they are not all that exciting. My real excitement in physics corresponds to my mathematical sophistication, which at this time is only up to about the 1960's!
If knowledge can be an obstacle on the spiritual path but such an asset in other areas (for example, physics), how do you live in that tension?
This situation falls into the category of a seeming contradiction or paradox. Why is knowledge an obstacle in one area or situation but not in another? I think that knowledge is sometimes a help and other times an obstacle, and it depends on factors of which we are often not aware. For example, you may think you know the best way to do something like, let’s say, make coffee. You could go for years thinking that's true until you have a cup of coffee brewed differently and you like it better. If you hadn’t thought that you already knew the best way you might have looked for other ways sooner. This could be an example of knowledge being an obstacle.
In our ordinary lives it's hard enough to keep an open mind, but at least we are helped by the constant barrage of other opinions, new methods and alternative viewpoints on almost any subject. Of course we fight back with great vigor against these encroachments, but at least there is a call to reconsider our points of view. In science, the method itself demands the assumption that our knowledge is incomplete.
In matters of the spiritual journey, however, we are often at the mercy of whatever viewpoints we happen to hold. What new input do we receive? What new information? This is a situation where the knowledge that we have can easily be an obstacle to seeing something in a new way. This is why experiences that flow from serious illness, accidents, death and other hugely invasive incidents are so highly prized on the spiritual journey. These incidents are able to penetrate our knowledge base that we are normally comfortable with and open us to new impressions and understandings.
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