A Quiet Rhythm
By Brother Vladimir
The rhythms of life are more tangible when a person lives in the country. Surrounded by rolling hills, expanses of forests, and mountains, the imagination gradually becomes purified of the dross; stripped of the heavy images that have been deposited there, often without our knowledge. The inner life gradually becomes clarified like fresh spring water.
Sensory impressions are a subtle food for the soul no less than the physical food we ingest and the invisible air we breathe. So often we fail to regulate what we absorb, and the quality of our impressions is too coarse, too heavy, unrefined, or downright toxic. The colors of nature, the gentle horizons and sloping hillsides, the quiet and peace—all of this is like a soothing balm, a form of therapy that bathes the nerves of our chronically over-stimulated nervous systems.
And then there is another rhythm: the cycle of daily liturgical services. Interspersing the periods of work and solitary contemplation are these communal events, the collective bookends that frame each day: early in the morning, and around sunset. These primordial rhythms are like a sundial, carving up the ordinary day into radiant slices. An immersive rhythm that encourages a gentle inward turn and helps to reinvigorate the consistent and loving effort to cleanse our hearts and souls, not only for ourselves but for all others.
To pray from the heart, with sincerity, for our relatives and friends, living and departed, yes, but also for the poor, the oppressed, those in prisons, hospitals, the homeless and the mistreated. It is all here in these services: the beauty of senses in the soft glow of candles, the fragrant aroma of incense, the vibrant colors of the icons, and the sonorous chants. The words of the daily prayers and slow meditative reading of Holy Scripture spreads a nutritive net that exerts its wholesome influence throughout the depths of our being.
Sources of Daily Renewal
Collective worship is sustained by the roots of one’s intention and consistency in cultivating personal prayer time. Preparing the soil of the heart, before and after the formal services inside the church, fosters a receptive environment within which the prayers and hymns can take root.
The first hour or so upon waking sets the ground for the entire day, informing how we receive and digest our impressions. There is something very tender about rising early in the morning, ideally before the sun is up. The time to become naturally recollected within. The pause to enter into meditation, and the soft reading of sacred poetry and scripture that prepares the soil within, and plumbs deep wells of renewal and life. Early in the morning, the mind is settled, clear, and full of spontaneous bubbling up of gratitude—gratitude simply for being alive. What more could we ask for?
“Blest be this morning for the joy it affords us to stand before you once more, O Lord…” (Matins prayer of Thanksgiving, Sighs of the Spirit, NS).
The gentle words of these early morning prayers, full of child-like innocence, gradually kindle warmth from deep within the core: "Now that you have raised me from bed and sleep, O Lord, fill my mind and heart with light...."
The most mundane of life's rituals can become shot through with meaning and purpose when met with receptive attention instead of an agitated focus on productivity and efficiency. Creating intentional pauses just to smell the freshly ground coffee beans or to feel the warm liquid tea making its way down to the belly are more than adequate opportunities to feel incommensurate amounts of contentment and satisfaction when the light of attention is allowed to shine on these activities.
From the cabin it is about a 40-minute drive to the monastery for the Matins (morning) service. Driving over, through rolling hills and forests, just as the sun is rising, is a very special, tranquil, and almost mystical feeling. There's a hushed peace that covers everything. Like a receding tide, the darkness withdraws to reveal the beauty of the natural landscapes here and the beginning of a new dawn.
“Be blest for the mountains and valleys, for the lakes and rivers and streams, for the forests, deserts, and plains and all that inhabits them…” (Matins prayer of Thanksgiving, Sighs of the Spirit, NS). "How manifold are your works, O Lord! In wisdom you wrought them all! The earth overflows with your riches!" (Psalm 104[103]:24).
The belly and heart naturally start to open and come to life like a budding plant, and radiate from the interior, increasing feeling for the subtle depths that can be so easily covered over during the busyness of the afternoons. All of us are tired travelers, and the dust of life clings to us. It is important to make regular appointments and leave reminders to ourselves that we need to brush all that dust off so as to become available to meet reality with a dynamic freshness.
The liturgical services have a potent healing power, but we must be attentive and receptive in order to fully receive what they offer us. The luminous words of the prayers, Psalms, and sung hymns (troparia and kondakia) are like regular infusions of liquid light that rejuvenate and effect the deep healing of the soul. The words are poetic, but they are rather like translucent shells, the outer coating of a vitamin pill, within which is encased a far more subtle and potent power—a spiritual energy that is invisible but palpable.
If the words are followed with attention they allow one to tap into this reservoir of spiritual energies, to sense and touch exalted feelings that are far above the sentimentality of emotions and far above even the aesthetic beauty of the externals. The beauty simply leads one to this inner kernel of radiance like a trail of breadcrumbs, to an elusive center point where a greater life in-flows into our deep self. In feeling our way into these currents of vitality that reside inside the prayers and sacred hymns, we move past words to the ineffable sensations that glow through them. The spiritual energies being alluded to are precisely our “daily bread” that can nourish us from the depths as we go about our daily activities. But that nourishment requires allowing the outward forms to penetrate deeper inside and to slowly sink from the head to the heart.
Throughout that process, we can also become aware of all those obscurations that normally prevent us from being in direct contact with and participating in these spiritual energies and from allowing our lives to be perfumed by their fragrance on a more regular basis. Usually we become aware of this in flashes of insight that can go by so quickly that they’re hardly noticed. How often do we stay stuck at the surface of ourselves? Doesn’t our life energy often get tied up in knots and leak away from us in the hundreds of inane thoughts, worries, and hang-ups throughout the day? How often do we literally scatter away our life force in unnecessary commitments, in meandering day-dreams, meaningless deadlines, and self-imposed expectations? To hold grievances, to feel “owed” by life, to hang on to the same old limiting beliefs and nagging anxieties, to be incapable of forgiving ourselves and others…these are the invisible enemies that steal the gift of life from us. And yet it’s all so preventable. You can always get your life back. But unless we are careful and vigilant, attentive to our own interiority, we could so easily miss the beauty of it all.
Daily participation in liturgical services inspires an interior commitment: to living more mindfully, to making a consistent effort to “prime the pump,” and to clean the heart on a regular basis. This very day and moment is the perfect time for a good spring cleaning. The more we cultivate seeds of gratitude, the more opportunity they will have to grow and eventually to sprout green shoots and multicolored fruits. Who knows what fruits we still have to offer to this world that we’ve scarcely imagined are even possible? What hidden talents are just waiting, hoping that one day we'll notice them and give them some time and care? Let us give ourselves the love of attention and curiosity. Can we allow ourselves to become as children again, eager to wake up and begin another day? “Each morning fill us with your love, that we may jump for joy and gladness all our lives (Psalm 90[89]:14).
Dusk and evening mark another turning point. The darkness in the country is deep and regal. Sitting alone by a burning candle, in silence and reverent awe before the sheer gratuity of having gone through yet another day. For however many years of the lifespan are given to us, to honor this gift we’ve been given, that we can never have sufficient gratitude for and appreciate adequately in all its grandeur and improbability. This is what we honor.
The words of an evening prayer are like a lullaby:
"Blest be your name, O Lord, now and forevermore! From the rising of the sun to its setting, praised be your holy name!" (Vespers prayer of Thanksgiving, Sighs of the Spirit, NS).
Comments