The Recap
I began this strange odyssey with a mission and a goal. The goal - to gain some insight into the spiritual beliefs and practices of the people of my generation (or of this Millennial epoch); and the mission - to achieve this insight, however small it might be, by visiting and talking with folks who live in fringe communities in America.
This was the route: beginning in New Orleans with an invented fake god and a meditation on absurdity, I went south and then north and then west. I traveled from a fledgling Jewish suburban co-housing Community in Southern Florida, to a German-Christian missionary sect in Western Florida, to an ecologically focused off-the-grid mountain village Community in North Carolina, to a throwback hippie township Community in Central Tennessee going through its own generational shift, to a young urban Christian Community in Chicago working to make sense of their tradition in the modern world, to a spiritual Sufi Community in Louisville holding fast to the powerful unbroken antiquity of their tradition, to a town in Iowa where Transcendental Meditators are trying to bring peace to the world, to the Arizona desert where a futuristic architecture-based desert urban center is trying to find its legs after the loss of its founder, to the growing farm school of the fraternal Grange of Mendocino County California, where the principles of local agriculture and appreciation for the cycles of the earth are tied intrinsically to the spiritual lives of those who live there.
In those places, and during all the many hours and days of travel between them, I met strangers and friends and family and asked all I saw my questions: do you believe in God? What do you believe in? How do you find meaning in this world? I documented and reported on this blog what I encountered and heard, and also wrote about the complexities I was finding in my own quest to find some kind of understanding of just what in the hell is going on here.
If this is your first time visiting the blog, go on and click the links in the previous paragraphs, have at it, explore some.
Introduction to Some Final Thoughts
This is going to be the final post, at least for awhile. Seeing as I began this project by relaying a plan to listen to the stories of every person in America, I leave open the possibility of some continuation in the future, but for now, this’ll be it.
So, with that in mind…
Some Final Thoughts on Generations
A story:
Right after college, I spent six months WWOOFing (WWOOF stands for: World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms) on an organic vegetable farm in East Feliciana Parish, Louisiana. From September 2010 until March 2011, I was one of an eclectic group of people from all over the world who’d come to hilly, wet, green Northern Louisiana to learn some about farming, share an experience, and create, however briefly, a fun and meaningful Community. We worked together, lived together, cooked together, ate our meals together, talked about our lives, voiced our thoughts openly in a safe - but critically pensive- space, and tried to build something that was bigger and better than any one of us could possibly create on our own. (…the conflict between individuals freedoms and Community strength, and the tensions and potentials of this very basic tectonic crash of American ideals has been one of the themes of this blog…which I wrote about in more detail here). Better, as in: for the betterment of our world, which most, if not all, of us believed would be furthered by sustaining a family-owned farm that cultivated and sold healthy organic vegetables.
One night, after a dinner eaten together with the family of the farm, with the wine flowing freely and discussions growing philosophical, Hutch, the Louisiana born and bred farmer who was our host and teacher in farming, began reflecting aloud on this whole grand experiment of having an odd group of worldly strangers living in his house. It was a welcome development in the evening. There was always a little bit of tension between us WWOOFers and the family. We were, after all, something of an invasion into their home. While we didn’t sleep in the house, we did use it frequently. We cooked our meals in their kitchen, took our showers in their bathroom, cleaned our clothes in their washing machine, and, on cold nights like this one, we ate with them in their dining room. Hutch rarely made mention of the imposition of having five to twelve extra people around his home - he was a polite Southern farmer after all, and no doubt he was aware of the necessary sacrifice of some privacy when exchanging room and board for the building of a working farm - but still, the occasional mists of frustration with the whole arrangement were tough to ignore.
Which is why, four or five glasses of wine into the long dinner, Hutch’s revelation of his beliefs and where they came from, were so heartening.
“My grandfather used to take me fishing,” he said, “we were close. And he taught me what I believe to this day about, I guess you’d call it an approach to life. We all start like this, he taught me,” and he placed his hands parallel to each other on the table, palms facing each other, “that’s our base, what we’re born with. Now most people move forward through life, they get older and older, and they go from this base into a narrower and narrower view of things,” he pointed the tops of his fingers toward each other and pushed his hands forward so that the space between them grew narrower, like an upside down V, “but the better way to do it is to constantly grow wider,” and he pulled his hands back to their starting position, placed the bottoms of his hands against each other to make a rightside up V, and then began moving them away from his body so that eventually his arms were splayed on the table, wide and open. “It’s how we expand ourselves, and get to know new people, and keep our humility about everything.”
He was telling us not only that he appreciated us working to keep his farm going, but that he appreciated how our presence as individuals in his life was helping him to expand his worldview, to live in keeping with his grandfather’s wisdom. It was, needless to say, a moment that’s stuck with me for the last few years.
I bring up this story now for two reasons. The first might be obvious: It’s a really good lesson! For four months I’ve been traveling and listening to people with the intent of more directly experiencing Hutch’s grandfather’s wisdom. Hopefully I’ve imparted some sense of that through the words of this blog. The trek across cultural, demographic, generational, and religious demarcations is, to me, the highest pursuit of thoughtful spirituality. Not as a means of knowing as much as possible, or of having experiences for the sake of experiences, or even of becoming a repository of stories to tell at parties (though this is pretty fun), but as a means of keeping humble while expanding a sensibility of what it is to be a living person today, to be human. That’s what Hutch’s grandfather taught.
The second reason might be a little less apparent, but has to do with the fact that the lesson came from Hutch’s grandfather. One of the fundamental sadnesses I’ve experienced over the last few months, what has felt at times to be among the deeper tragedies of contemporary American society, is the vast communication gap between people of different generations in this country. In my travel across these lands I’ve noticed a similar pattern of disconnect between age groups: young people searching for a singular point ahead to run to full speed, often narrowing themselves in all kinds of ways to reach it, butting up against already narrowed older people, angry at the young who don’t listen when they speak in words of absolute truth rather than humble wisdom. Of all the enlightened successes of working, striving Communities, it is the ability to build and sustain meaningful relationships across generational lines that I find most inspiring. Young people who respect and listen to the perspective and sagacity of their elders, and elders who find renewed vitality and vigor in the energy of the young. It is a lasting shame that this does not spread to our mainstream culture. What strength we would find if such relationships were better cultivated in the mainstream, rather than just on the fringes!
One more thing:
It ought to be noted that Hutch's grandfather's wisdom is much easier to talk about than to practice. This is one of the reasons Hutch and his family actually opening their home and hosting WWOOFers for a time is so laudatory. Because to practice it, you have to go out in the world and actually practice it. The ability to listen and have compassion for others is a muscle, and it must be exercised consistently, or else it becomes atrophied. And this exercise is a means of accessing the deep connections we have with each other. This is to say: no matter how liberally-minded I might be in my abstract thought, the exercise of hearing the truths of other people as truths, whether those truths align with my own or not (maybe especially when they don’t), is the first step in experiencing the deep contradictions of the vast interconnectedness of the Oneness, of this whole silly business of existence. And it’s those contradictions, after all, the frictions and energy they create, that catalyze our progress, our creativity, our meaning.
Some Final Thoughts on Religion and Spirituality
In his book God in Search of Man, Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, “It is customary to blame secular science and anti-religious philosophy for the eclipse of religion in modern society. It would be more honest to blame religion for its own defeats. Religion declined not because it was refuted, but because it became irrelevant, dull, oppressive, insipid. When faith is completely replaced by creed, worship by discipline, love by habit; when the crisis of today is ignored because of the splendor of the past; when faith becomes an heirloom rather than a living fountain; when religion speaks only in the name of authority rather than with the voice of compassion--its message becomes meaningless.”
I began this project citing the Pew Research Study that noted the decline of religious affiliation in this country. I’d also had conversations with religious leaders in crisis mode, worried about the future of their traditions, quoting the “demographic problem,” searching for ways to make their religions more palatable to the young, often holding stubbornly to the dogmatic religious doctrine that “if only you all would listen, you’d hear that we have the answers!”
What I found among the people in the places I visited, and within myself as I traveled and thought about these issues, was not a desire for the answers of religion, but a desire for access to religious wisdoms to go along with some invitation to personally challenging thought and practice. It was the thoughtful desire to approach the ancient problems and complexities of existence with access to wisdom texts and understandings, as well as the benefits of modern thought, the methodology of scientific questioning, and the mindfulness of cultural pluralism. I found that spirituality, that inner-directed sensibility in pursuit of finding meaning in life, in directing our actions to the betterment of ourselves and the world, is not - at least in my admittedly non-scientific survey of people across America - on the wane. It’s simply searching for a better means of practice and expression than current religious institutions allow.
This may be the end of this blogging project, but here’s to a continuation of the search.
Lastly, Thank You!
To all who followed and supported this adventure, I want to express a heartfelt thank you. Spiritual Fringe would not have been possible without you.
Alright, that’s it. Get on with your lives already. Go be, do some good, try to worry less.
Or something like that.
Yeah, whatever.
I began this strange odyssey with a mission and a goal. The goal - to gain some insight into the spiritual beliefs and practices of the people of my generation (or of this Millennial epoch); and the mission - to achieve this insight, however small it might be, by visiting and talking with folks who live in fringe communities in America.
This was the route: beginning in New Orleans with an invented fake god and a meditation on absurdity, I went south and then north and then west. I traveled from a fledgling Jewish suburban co-housing Community in Southern Florida, to a German-Christian missionary sect in Western Florida, to an ecologically focused off-the-grid mountain village Community in North Carolina, to a throwback hippie township Community in Central Tennessee going through its own generational shift, to a young urban Christian Community in Chicago working to make sense of their tradition in the modern world, to a spiritual Sufi Community in Louisville holding fast to the powerful unbroken antiquity of their tradition, to a town in Iowa where Transcendental Meditators are trying to bring peace to the world, to the Arizona desert where a futuristic architecture-based desert urban center is trying to find its legs after the loss of its founder, to the growing farm school of the fraternal Grange of Mendocino County California, where the principles of local agriculture and appreciation for the cycles of the earth are tied intrinsically to the spiritual lives of those who live there.
In those places, and during all the many hours and days of travel between them, I met strangers and friends and family and asked all I saw my questions: do you believe in God? What do you believe in? How do you find meaning in this world? I documented and reported on this blog what I encountered and heard, and also wrote about the complexities I was finding in my own quest to find some kind of understanding of just what in the hell is going on here.
If this is your first time visiting the blog, go on and click the links in the previous paragraphs, have at it, explore some.
Introduction to Some Final Thoughts
This is going to be the final post, at least for awhile. Seeing as I began this project by relaying a plan to listen to the stories of every person in America, I leave open the possibility of some continuation in the future, but for now, this’ll be it.
So, with that in mind…
Some Final Thoughts on Generations
A story:
Right after college, I spent six months WWOOFing (WWOOF stands for: World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms) on an organic vegetable farm in East Feliciana Parish, Louisiana. From September 2010 until March 2011, I was one of an eclectic group of people from all over the world who’d come to hilly, wet, green Northern Louisiana to learn some about farming, share an experience, and create, however briefly, a fun and meaningful Community. We worked together, lived together, cooked together, ate our meals together, talked about our lives, voiced our thoughts openly in a safe - but critically pensive- space, and tried to build something that was bigger and better than any one of us could possibly create on our own. (…the conflict between individuals freedoms and Community strength, and the tensions and potentials of this very basic tectonic crash of American ideals has been one of the themes of this blog…which I wrote about in more detail here). Better, as in: for the betterment of our world, which most, if not all, of us believed would be furthered by sustaining a family-owned farm that cultivated and sold healthy organic vegetables.
One night, after a dinner eaten together with the family of the farm, with the wine flowing freely and discussions growing philosophical, Hutch, the Louisiana born and bred farmer who was our host and teacher in farming, began reflecting aloud on this whole grand experiment of having an odd group of worldly strangers living in his house. It was a welcome development in the evening. There was always a little bit of tension between us WWOOFers and the family. We were, after all, something of an invasion into their home. While we didn’t sleep in the house, we did use it frequently. We cooked our meals in their kitchen, took our showers in their bathroom, cleaned our clothes in their washing machine, and, on cold nights like this one, we ate with them in their dining room. Hutch rarely made mention of the imposition of having five to twelve extra people around his home - he was a polite Southern farmer after all, and no doubt he was aware of the necessary sacrifice of some privacy when exchanging room and board for the building of a working farm - but still, the occasional mists of frustration with the whole arrangement were tough to ignore.
Which is why, four or five glasses of wine into the long dinner, Hutch’s revelation of his beliefs and where they came from, were so heartening.
“My grandfather used to take me fishing,” he said, “we were close. And he taught me what I believe to this day about, I guess you’d call it an approach to life. We all start like this, he taught me,” and he placed his hands parallel to each other on the table, palms facing each other, “that’s our base, what we’re born with. Now most people move forward through life, they get older and older, and they go from this base into a narrower and narrower view of things,” he pointed the tops of his fingers toward each other and pushed his hands forward so that the space between them grew narrower, like an upside down V, “but the better way to do it is to constantly grow wider,” and he pulled his hands back to their starting position, placed the bottoms of his hands against each other to make a rightside up V, and then began moving them away from his body so that eventually his arms were splayed on the table, wide and open. “It’s how we expand ourselves, and get to know new people, and keep our humility about everything.”
He was telling us not only that he appreciated us working to keep his farm going, but that he appreciated how our presence as individuals in his life was helping him to expand his worldview, to live in keeping with his grandfather’s wisdom. It was, needless to say, a moment that’s stuck with me for the last few years.
I bring up this story now for two reasons. The first might be obvious: It’s a really good lesson! For four months I’ve been traveling and listening to people with the intent of more directly experiencing Hutch’s grandfather’s wisdom. Hopefully I’ve imparted some sense of that through the words of this blog. The trek across cultural, demographic, generational, and religious demarcations is, to me, the highest pursuit of thoughtful spirituality. Not as a means of knowing as much as possible, or of having experiences for the sake of experiences, or even of becoming a repository of stories to tell at parties (though this is pretty fun), but as a means of keeping humble while expanding a sensibility of what it is to be a living person today, to be human. That’s what Hutch’s grandfather taught.
The second reason might be a little less apparent, but has to do with the fact that the lesson came from Hutch’s grandfather. One of the fundamental sadnesses I’ve experienced over the last few months, what has felt at times to be among the deeper tragedies of contemporary American society, is the vast communication gap between people of different generations in this country. In my travel across these lands I’ve noticed a similar pattern of disconnect between age groups: young people searching for a singular point ahead to run to full speed, often narrowing themselves in all kinds of ways to reach it, butting up against already narrowed older people, angry at the young who don’t listen when they speak in words of absolute truth rather than humble wisdom. Of all the enlightened successes of working, striving Communities, it is the ability to build and sustain meaningful relationships across generational lines that I find most inspiring. Young people who respect and listen to the perspective and sagacity of their elders, and elders who find renewed vitality and vigor in the energy of the young. It is a lasting shame that this does not spread to our mainstream culture. What strength we would find if such relationships were better cultivated in the mainstream, rather than just on the fringes!
One more thing:
It ought to be noted that Hutch's grandfather's wisdom is much easier to talk about than to practice. This is one of the reasons Hutch and his family actually opening their home and hosting WWOOFers for a time is so laudatory. Because to practice it, you have to go out in the world and actually practice it. The ability to listen and have compassion for others is a muscle, and it must be exercised consistently, or else it becomes atrophied. And this exercise is a means of accessing the deep connections we have with each other. This is to say: no matter how liberally-minded I might be in my abstract thought, the exercise of hearing the truths of other people as truths, whether those truths align with my own or not (maybe especially when they don’t), is the first step in experiencing the deep contradictions of the vast interconnectedness of the Oneness, of this whole silly business of existence. And it’s those contradictions, after all, the frictions and energy they create, that catalyze our progress, our creativity, our meaning.
Some Final Thoughts on Religion and Spirituality
In his book God in Search of Man, Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, “It is customary to blame secular science and anti-religious philosophy for the eclipse of religion in modern society. It would be more honest to blame religion for its own defeats. Religion declined not because it was refuted, but because it became irrelevant, dull, oppressive, insipid. When faith is completely replaced by creed, worship by discipline, love by habit; when the crisis of today is ignored because of the splendor of the past; when faith becomes an heirloom rather than a living fountain; when religion speaks only in the name of authority rather than with the voice of compassion--its message becomes meaningless.”
I began this project citing the Pew Research Study that noted the decline of religious affiliation in this country. I’d also had conversations with religious leaders in crisis mode, worried about the future of their traditions, quoting the “demographic problem,” searching for ways to make their religions more palatable to the young, often holding stubbornly to the dogmatic religious doctrine that “if only you all would listen, you’d hear that we have the answers!”
What I found among the people in the places I visited, and within myself as I traveled and thought about these issues, was not a desire for the answers of religion, but a desire for access to religious wisdoms to go along with some invitation to personally challenging thought and practice. It was the thoughtful desire to approach the ancient problems and complexities of existence with access to wisdom texts and understandings, as well as the benefits of modern thought, the methodology of scientific questioning, and the mindfulness of cultural pluralism. I found that spirituality, that inner-directed sensibility in pursuit of finding meaning in life, in directing our actions to the betterment of ourselves and the world, is not - at least in my admittedly non-scientific survey of people across America - on the wane. It’s simply searching for a better means of practice and expression than current religious institutions allow.
This may be the end of this blogging project, but here’s to a continuation of the search.
Lastly, Thank You!
To all who followed and supported this adventure, I want to express a heartfelt thank you. Spiritual Fringe would not have been possible without you.
Alright, that’s it. Get on with your lives already. Go be, do some good, try to worry less.
Or something like that.
Yeah, whatever.
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