Companions in the Sacred World

by John Gray

“This, my dear, is the greatest challenge to being alive: To witness injustice in the world and not allow it to consume our light.” The late Thich Nhat Hanh, revered Vietnamese Zen master, prolific author and global peace activist, said and wrote many, many other such words of wisdom and sound advice. His innumerable insights have helped and encouraged generations of spiritual pilgrims along the way.

Is it difficult “to witness injustice in the world and not allow it to consume our light”? The answer depends on who you are and where you focus your attention. We are presumably aware that we are truly and fully in the world, yet not at all of it. We may see myriad things deemed to be just or unjust in the world we create, but I am the light of my world, and nothing external can consume or eclipse that. We know that we see in the light that we ourselves express. Since what I see and how I see it is inexorably determined by what I express, it’s clear that I am responsible for the world that I see. It’s also clear, to me anyway, that below the crossover point of divine identity, so-called objectivity is a myth. 

So, how’s your day going? Here’s a snapshot from my daily life: Most of us are on the road pretty often these days. I don’t say this metaphorically (although it might be a good metaphor), but I mean physically on the road, driving. We’ve all heard the familiar Department of Motor Vehicles admonition, drive defensively. For a long time, my automobile piloting motto has been, drive radiantly. Maintaining an alert focus of calm control, my atmosphere of peace fills my car and extends all around it, especially ahead. I’m a big bubble of serenity going 70 on the freeway.

As it happened, a few days ago, alone in the car, driving per my motto, music playing from the radio, the calm of the moment was all at once interrupted. Blaring Announcement

“THIS IS A TEST of the emergency alert system. This is only a test. The message you are hearing….” Familiar? It is to most Americans, and probably a similar system is in place in countries throughout the developed world. The raucous noise, obviously designed to get attention, is followed by a message which would presumably contain instructions about what to do in the event of an actual emergency. The first necessity is to pay attention, then after the noise comes the message. 

An emergency is generally defined as an urgent, usually unexpected occurrence or occasion requiring immediate action. It’s the noun form of the verb to emerge. To emerge means “to come forth into view or notice as from concealment or obscurity.” The Latin root of the word means “to arise out of.” What is arising out of my heart and mind? What is emerging? This is what I express, this is what I give to the world. And, “…out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaketh.” (Mat. 12:34) A pure heart delivers truth. An impure heart just adds to the noise.

In this busy, noisy, crazy world, what do I pay most attention to? If it’s the noisy news, for example—regardless of preferred media choices—it’s like hearing that attention-getting blare and trying to make sense of it; it’s like trying to somehow discern its meaning. But there is no sense and there is no meaning to the blaring noise. I prefer to interpret noise as a test of my inner emergency alert system. This test is going on all the time. I’m not suggesting we ignore the news media; just that we not allow our feelings and thoughts to get sucked into that noisy maelstrom so we lose touch with our inner heavenly alert system. 

Noise is defined in my dictionary as loud, harsh, or confused sound and “an electric disturbance in a communications system that interferes with or prevents reception of a signal or of information.” And catch this: the origin of the English word noise is a Latin root, nausea, meaning seasickness. 

So, the noisy world is not only loud, harsh, and confused, it’s sick. It’s more than just sick, it’s terminally ill, and its disease is, sadly, readily communicable. This world of noise and nausea is in the process of passing away—that’s what all the shouting is really about—and I sense it is passing pretty rapidly.

This is the first stanza of Alan Fisher’s recent poem, In and Out:

What do we allow in, and what do we give out?
Do we still walk around with fear and doubt?
Do we buy all the news that the media sells?
Or do we stay true to what our inner voice tells?

We may each ask ourselves, what takes up space in my consciousness? The noise of the cacophonous human world? Or the quiet good news that a new heaven is present everywhere, here and now?

I am not interested in being hopeful,
Or optimistic, or
Working diligently to reverse the
Patterned path of history we tread
So reliably toward collapse.

I want to walk steady in the world
Learning what balance feels like
Blessed by the active presence
Of companions in [the] sacred world.

Those lines were written by Margaret Wheatley. I first met Meg in the early 1990s and took part in several of her workshops and gatherings over a decade or so. These took various forms, but in one way or another, their themes blended personal development with enlightened business and life leadership and applied spirituality. Meg is a noted author, speaker, and thought leader in diverse fields of upward aspiration. The portion of her poem I quoted is included in Meg’s latest book, Opening to the World as it is, Poems of Experience.

Her phrase, “companions in the sacred world,” carries profound meaning. She’s a lifelong proponent of community. And perhaps, though I don’t actually know, she has a sense that there is finer community beyond human collectives. Those who know themselves as we truly are—creator beings having human experience—feel intimately acquainted with colleague beings, both incarnate and not. We are all companions in the sacred world, in the whole, holy world—and not just people, but all life. What a contrast to that world of noise!

Last week, Pamela and I planted this season’s tomatoes in our small backyard garden plot. We’ll add a few squash plants soon. Holding a fragile plant in my hands, I recalled the theories that I’ve read about how plants work, how they alchemically convert the energy of sunlight into their (and our) food through the marvel of photosynthesis. Plants receive sunlight energy to convert carbon dioxide and water into glucose, releasing oxygen as a byproduct. Holding a little tomato plant, however, concepts of its biology receded, replaced by simple gratitude for the miracle of it all. In that fleeting moment, the tomato revealed that it is, in essence, made of light. So are we! All of creation is light in form.

I feel the god of brevity steering my words today. Let’s live in our bubbles of serenity, purposefully cruising the freeways of our lives, while far vaster processes move perfectly to manifest order and beauty. As companions in the sacred world, we stand united among those who steward this re-creation. Let there be light. Let there be light!

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