Spiritual teachers

I’m a fairly non-confrontational person and I naturally tend to shy away from relationships that aren’t easy. Or maybe I just naturally focus on relationships that flow easily and smoothly. I’ve made a lot of progress with this, but there are still relationships in my life that remind me that I still have work to do in this area. Generally speaking, it isn’t necessarily out of fear or anger but probably more out of laziness and frustration. Some relationships require more emotional and mental gymnastics than other relationships. Some relationships require more maturity on my part than I think I’m willing to live up to.

I realize I’m deficient in this area (and others) and this is why I love the idea of a spiritual teacher, someone who doesn’t claim to have the answers but is willing to explore with me and help me find mine. I have quite a few in my life, some in formal roles and some are more informal. I love how they bring their own unique personal experience, personality and expertise to help me explore the aforementioned issue and help me see my blind spots.

One teacher has me stare at a flower pot for 3 minutes and asks me to tell her what I see. I spend about 20 seconds doing that and then start moving into what it all means. She stops me and tells me to go back to just describing what I see. Then she tells me to move to the other side of the pot and do the same thing. She notes afterwards how quickly I moved into meaning and says that one of the things that she loves about me is that I try to find meaning. She also tells me that sometimes it’s good to stick with “what is” for a while longer instead of immediately jumping to assigning meaning too quickly; otherwise, I miss out on some of the details. Details like the differing textures and smells of the different flowers and leaves, or the way the late afternoon sunlight filters through the leaves above and plays with the different textures in the flower pot below.

Another teacher skypes with me early in the morning while I make my morning smoothie. He explains to me how his relationship with his children has helped him understand his relationship with his parents. He asks me if I’d cut off a broken arm. Of course I wouldn’t and I hadn’t ever considered it, but perhaps I do it subconsciously/unintentionally. I smile as I realize that the severed hand that travels throughout my house will now take on new meaning.

A third teacher shares with me his own experience that mirrors some of my own experience. Empathizes like only he can. Then he shares this excerpt from a talk by Dian Saderup:

"We talked for another hour. I basked in the almost-tangible bond of the Rudolph's love, built over decades of trial, rejoicing, error, and success. The texture of accumulated life shared between Brother and Sister Rudolph radiates with joyous mystery. Her mind is as clear and active as almost any I have encountered, while Brother Rudolph, I venture to say, has scarcely an intellectual bone in his body. Yet I have never seen marital love and union more complete, more refreshing, more subtle. Maybe I am foolishly idealistic, but I nurture the hope that one day my bond with [insert person/entity with whom engaging is difficult] will be as deep, rich, and mysterious as the bond Eveline Rudolph has with her husband. I may find myself unlike [person/entity] in many ways, but there is always the possibility — through time and endurance in collective experience — of transcendence, of tolerant, fruitful love, and humble respect."