“We don’t teach meditation to the young monks. They are not ready for it until they stop slamming doors.”–Thich Nhat Hanh to Thomas Merton in 1966

It is not what Richard Rohr has taught me, so far. It is, instead, a reflection on the slight glimmer of a changing consciousness that is struggling to emerge— perhaps as a result of reading Richard. As I look around at the stacks of books dotting the landscape of my two-bedroom rental in Albuquerque, I see other writings— not about religion or spirituality or philosophy per se— that are touching me and reminding me, and yes, sometimes scolding me by association for my sometimes ego-motivated ways. Think about the last time you grand standed, or the instinct that told you that you were entitled to cut in line or cut off another car vying for a better spot in the parking lot, or the chicken shit way you treated someone who works with you or for you, or the dishonesty or the meanness you gave leeway to concerning a family member. The list goes on and on and one. Right triumphs, or so we often think and act on.

I read a lot. By comparison to others, I don’t know the merit of what I read. Sometimes my ego cares about things like that, but not all that often. On any given day, I have a novel going for the times I just want to languish, like the hot Rio Grande Valley afternoons, with the swamp cooler rumbling in the background. I also have something concerned with what’s it all about that occupies my time early in the morning, before I’ve had too much time to get all muddled with going through the day— mowing with the electric mower and battling a 100-foot extension cord, waiting in a long line at the traffic light and then dashing through the yellow light turning red, wanting to pommel the customer service (sometimes a questionable title) representative on the other end of a wireless call about your internet service or to the bank holding your mortgage.

For the last several months, some of those books intended to help me find my center have been written by Richard Rohr, and most recently, Thomas Merton. I wouldn’t compare the two, beyond saying that they’re both Roman Catholic— Richard, a Franciscan friar ordained to the priesthood, and Thomas, who was a Trappist monk, also ordained to the priesthood. Because I am a lover of old things and the arts, I usually have a book nearby that concerns a current interest. Lately it’s been writings on old Native American jewelry, Navajo saddle blankets, New Mexican furniture of the New Deal, and old western saddles.

Two days ago I read in its entirety Calico Joe, John Grisham’s latest piece. On the surface, it is a story about baseball. But really, it’s a story about relationships, love, success and failure, and not surprisingly, the ego— the very same ego that leads us to hate and revenge. And yes, the very same ego that would have us doing seemingly harmless things like slamming doors any time of the day, any day of the week. Anyone with a clue about the aim of meditation wouldn’t have to think long to understand Thich Nhat Hanh’s conversation with Thomas Merton: “We don’t teach meditation to the young monks. They are not ready for it until they stop slamming doors.” I was reminded of that once again this morning when the hinged lid on my percolator coffee pot didn’t close right. That happens a lot. I shook it and slammed it just a little as I headed to the stove  to brew my morning pot, and I thought about those Buddhist monks. Nope, not qualified to be meditating there yet.

In the last five years I’ve read some of Thich Nhat Hanh’s writing— Anger, True Love: A Practice for Awakening the Heart, Living Buddha, Living Christ, probably more titles that I’m not remembering. All of my books, except for the ones I’ve read in the last 18 months are packed. About the time I started reading Thich Nhat Hanh, I was dabbling in meditation, which hasn’t become a practice, yet, but does manage to somehow rescue me on those days that the muddle gets a little too close to robbing me of my sense of well being. An utterly aggravated back and neck led me to the massage table yesterday, where the student therapist talked about balancing the body before she ever laid a hand on me. Later, as she worked the knots in the tendons of my neck, she talked to me about what it means to have a strong fire element and the importance of balancing that element with water. I get it. I get it.

In his book Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life, Richard Rohr explores our challenging journey—one that wants to lead us to discover and embrace our spiritual essence, a journey that actually begins with the many years we spend developing and defining our ego, individually and as part of the family, culture and institutions we are born into. [NOTE: My take in a few words and in no way intended to represent what Richard would say about his own book] I came to this book after a friend e-mailed me a review of it in the summer of 2011. Richard’s name was not new to me, but I had not read anything by him— only pieces about him.

Four years ago, the woman in Texas who had been my mother’s hospice chaplain told me that I might want to look up Richard and get to know something about the Center for Action and Contemplation that he started here in Albuquerque almost three decades ago. I was living in Santa Fe, but I went to the internet to read about Richard. It wasn’t until January of 2011 that Richard’s name came up again. A friend and I were in an antiques gallery in Old Town Albuquerque, where an older Hispanic woman was standing in for the owner. When we walked in the door, she addressed me as if she knew me. I just thought she was being friendly. I am a Texan, after all, and we expect that from one another. Quickly, though, I realized that she thought I was Father Richard Rohr, her parish priest, and she went on to talk about her admiration for her priest, a most likeable man. As it turns out, we do look a little alike, although when one is a doppelganger, he doesn’t necessarily see the close resemblance to another. We all smiled at the coincidence. Fast forward to summer of 2011 and to reading Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life. I was connecting the dots and had been connecting them for a long time. It’s sort of like the bumper sticker, “God bless the whole world. No exceptions”, or “We Are All One”.

Last winter I heard Richard speak in person at a local bookstore. Arriving early, which is my norm, I was greeted by a couple already seated on the back row. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Richard Rohr?”, they asked. I smiled, and told them that I had never seen Richard in person. His talk that day centered around his newest book, Breathing Underwater: Spirituality and the 12 Steps. I’ve met Richard one other time since and passed along the comments about how we look alike. He smiled as he shook my hand, adding that he was flattered. My smile comes from reading his words and hearing him talk. He’s on the journey, and his sharing of his discoveries is palpable. His work continues— “Our Mission: We are a center for experiential education, rooted in the Gospels, encouraging the transformation of human consciousness through contemplation, and equipping people to be instruments of peaceful change in the world.” (from the Center for Action and Contemplation website)

In an article from the Summer 2012 issue of El Palacio, the official magazine of the Museum of New Mexico Foundation, Bruce Bernstein, the director of the Southwest Association for Indian Arts, writes about Native artists that they “...understand their work as creating and continuing life rather than as making inanimate objects”. (p. 21) He goes on to say that “art is life”. For me, it is a simple step to Thich Nhat Hanh, Richard Rohr, John Grisham’s Calico Joe, and so on and so on. I’m getting it, even though I will no doubt slam down that cantankerous coffee pot lid on another day, just like I jerked around that misbehaving lawn mower extension cord this morning and the water hose that refused to leap all the way off the grass after I gave a drink to the still-young tree planted by the owner of this house last summer. At Thich Naht Hanh’s monastery, I might not be ready for meditation, but that is not going to stop me from being reminded and reminding myself that I must keep learning, changing, and growing as I continue my journey home.