(12) Stability

"Find the place that God has given you and take root there. The
ability to stand firm, to be where you are and to dwell with oneself
is a sign of maturity of mind. This is stability."
[From Thomas Merton's Monastic Conferences at Gethesemani.]

Forever so long I have read over and over the thought of the
late famous monk, Thomas Merton. And the quote above really
connects with my own experience. Often in monastic literature
the idea of stability is about staying in a given physical location.
It's a mainstay for monastic community. On the other hand, those
living outside abbeys, monasteries, priories, for those who live in
the world, there seems the requirement to find one's *place.*
Sometimes this circumstance is easier said than done.

In my own case there's both an inner and an outer to this
situation of stability. And the two perspectives interweave
through one another. Also, I believe that as we progress in
maturity we see a lot of shifting with these perspectives. Life
is not always rock-solid, and that circumstance oft comes into
conflict with more traditional monastic ideas of stability.

Over the course of my life I have made many moves, to
different places and environments. So during this period of
moves, how can one possess any sense of stability? Nearly
from the beginning of my own monastic-oriented life, I had to
come to realize that I would have to forge that sense of stability
*inwardly.* Again, easier said than done.

It took me years to work through this inward project, forging
my own home anchor--if you will. How did I manage? Well,
I certainly wasn't very conscious of having achieved stability
whilst along the way. It was mainly by hindsight that I slowly
began to realize that I was becoming more and more stable
within myself. Via this hindsight I began to gain some small
insight on what had happened. Overall, it was about
"accepting" myself.

But it's not easy accepting one's self, if one doesn't have a
grip on one's self. That's how I started out. One day I began
to realize that I didn't have a clue as to who I was, am...And
just pondering on my navel didn't seem much of an approach.
What was there to ponder upon? Nevertheless, when one
does start down the road of serious introspection, helpful
tools pop forth here and there.

In my own case, the first major tool of "understanding" was
depth psychology. I had had some exposure to Freudian
Psychology, but it held little appeal for me. And I cannot
remember when I first encountered Jungian Psychology,
but it was if the lights went on! I really connected with the
archetypal world so important to Jung's psychology. In time
I moved into some serious dream-work, assisted by some
equally serious study. And has been said in a famous flick:
"If you build it, [they] will come."

Sure enough my Big Dreams--as Native Americans put
it--made their appearance, over a multi-year period. And
it was my working with these Big Dreams that I first really
felt that I had an encounter with the Numinous--and that I felt
I was beginning to make out my own archetypal constellation
that I could call "Self." With this, I was on the road leading
towards inner stability. I began to know who I am, what I
wanted to be, what I needed to do. And over these many
years I have stayed on this discovered "track," and this has
led to my sense of an inner stability.

Still, there's the other side of the coin, outer stability. There's
a lot of reading material about monastic stability, more than
often written by traditional vowed monastics. Many of these
writers were very much aware that they were offering advice
for those non-traditional monastics who lived outside the
cloister. Their books are "how to" types of advice. And it's
good advice, too! These books continue to build-up your
inner stability, but they also can provide information on how
to forge a sense of community on the outside. It's always
back to "community." But what happens if you are disposed
towards being a solitary?

Naturally, if someone wants to break all ties, go out to the
desert like the ancient monks. I've trekked through deserts--
both inner and outer--but I had the good sense to leave.
I'm an urban person, though I honor Nature and work for her
benefit.

Nonetheless, eventually I came to enjoy both solitude and
community. I finally began to see my own little monastic
community that I have built.

There's my home, almost a cloister with an actual fence
around the property. Not originally meant to cordon off,
but mainly the fence was just a part of how our neighbor-
hood was built, put together. Still the fence provides privacy,
a space for solitude,a space where beauty can be built and
enjoyed. Over the years I landscaped the property, working
with the soil, dirtying my hands--not unlike the monks in their
monasteries who do the same.

Beyond this, I evolved a new life as a philosophical essayist
and story-teller in addition to being a docent naturalist. These
avocations have kept me involved--out of trouble--and they
have become my monastic *labora.* Traditional monks also
work in various disciplines and pursuits. One still has to make
a living; or if already self-sufficient, one does need the balance
of an active life vis-a-vis the contemplative life. There's also my
lovely library--that I sometimes call my *luminarium*--where I
can go, quietly read, and work more into my spiritual life through
its offerings. And than there's my local church, an Eucharist-
oriented church that actually has its historical roots in the great
Benedictine cathedral services of medieval England. And here,
too. I find fellowship. Put altogether, my home, my gardens, my
library, my church--they serve, in my mind, as a monastic-type
community, where I enjoy a strong sense of stability.