Sabbath Thoughts: Tension as Sacred Space

Beauty withstanding the test of Time, Glastonbury Abbey, 10th Century

Deuteronomy 30:19 (NIV)

"This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live . . ."

Angst? Or tension?

I've been thinking a lot about the difference between these two since yesterday’s post....

TENSION:

A balance maintained in an artistic work (such as a poem, painting, or musical composition) between opposing forces or elements; a controlled dramatic or dynamic quality.

ANGST: 

A feeling of deep anxiety or dread, typically an unfocused one about the human condition or the state of the world in general

The poet and critic Allen Tate used the term “tension” to refer to the balance needed between the literal and the metaphorical meanings in a poem, and it refers to a mutually dependent relationship between these different forms of meaning.  Although the existence of both kinds of meaning in a poem creates a conflict, they are both necessary because it is this conflict or tension that gives poetry its meaning. 

So I pondered this as I was working around yesterday, and have some half-formed thoughts.

First is this idea of tension as "a balance maintained in an artistic work between opposing forces or elements; a controlled dramatic or dynamic quality."

If as Tate says, tension gives poetry its meaning, what can be extrapolated from that idea which can be applied to the "artistic work" of living one's life artfully or creatively, and then of course to the products of one's living creatively such as one's art or poetry or music, but also, and equally important,  in one’s relationships or work life, etc.   This idea or possible connection is especially meaningful if you are seeking to live your life in a different direction than the popular culture offers, 

I have more questions than answers about this right now I think . . . such as (and these questions are in no particular order):

What does it mean that most people, even many people of Faith, live their lives nowadays without much attention to the art of living it, with little interest in achieving a balance or harmony between their inner world and the outer world. It is the surface of their lives and the world around them that engages them . . . the material world.

How does that lack of proper understanding of creative tension relate to the modern claim that lesser poetry or art lacks the requisite angst, or rather they are lesser because they lack it, and lacking this "angst" the poems or paintings cannot make "profound" observations about the human condition or nature, or for that matter they cannot even be "good" poems or art?

That without challenge and pain and angst there is no real meaning . . . that in the celebration of the beauty, joy, and mystery of being alive nothing can be said of any real interest or value to the "thinking person"? (This is not to discount human suffering, which is quite another topic.)

That clarity is banal, and that obscurity to the point of meaninglessness is "thoughtful"?

That skill and craft are lesser tools for the poet or artist, if even necessary at all. That anything one calls a poem is Poetry, and everything one says is art is Art?

I want to understand this kind of tension more fully, and I want to understand how being more aware of it in my life and spirit can add depth and meaning and joy to my existence.

And I want to understand if possible what is the attraction of people today to angst, and this almost rage they have against meaning, and purposefulness, and Beauty.

art |ärt|

noun

the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power; works produced by such skill and imagination

Hmmmm........ nothing here in this dictionary definition about angst . . . .

Lots of pondering on my part and probably not much coherence at this point.

I just know that Life was not intended to be a conflict-free zone.

I also know that I want to celebrate the "tension" of being alive in this world, but I know that I must do that by making the right choices.

Deuteronomy 30:19 (NIV)

"This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live . . ."

And what shape or form do those life-giving choices take?   I suspect the most important choices of this type are the ones often most easily overlooked or discounted.

As for the great masters of literature, art, and music of the past, I don't think expressing their personal angst was foremost in their intentions for their works at all.
Indeed a kind of tension was there for them . . . the tension between whatever else was going on in their lives, such as ill health, or their awareness of the fleeting nature of time, or death and loss in war, and their desire or need to exercise their God-gift of creativity.  However, they did not lace their works with whatever angst they might have been feeling, inflicting it on future generations who would read or view their work, as though their personal angst was of primary significance.

Instead they celebrated the beauty and purpose they saw around them, even in the mundane, and tried to communicate, to pass on to those who would follow after, what they had discovered that was of meaning and worth.  That is not to say that all great poems or paintings were pretty or pleasant, but even so they were beautiful in their desire to be life-affirming and transcendent in some way.
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Angst or Creative Tension?

The sun is shining so a little fun today . . .

Is there a 12-step program for keyboard killers?

If so, just point me to it. I often share my tea with my keyboard.   The other morning it didn't like it one bit!

So after buying a new keyboard yet again (*sigh*), I wrote the following “affirmation of commitment” in jest to a friend:

I will not drink tea while computing!

I will not drink tea while computing!

I will not drink tea while computing!

I will not drink tea while computing!

I will not drink tea while computing!

I will not drink tea while computing!

I will not drink tea while computing!

I will not drink tea while computing!

Because we are “poetry buddies” he pretended that I had been trying to write a poem and the above was the result of my efforts:

He wrote back:

“Well, this poem certainly has potential, good repetitions, and I cannot argue that it does not rhyme well.... but where is the angst all good poems must have?   The obscure reference to the rocky road that the poet travels.... a palpable sense of impending doom, the poet's daily meal of gruel made bearable only by the promise of a sunset or a rainbow....... a chat with a stranger met on a dusty road?   Try a daffodil, the croak of a frog late at night.... or a stormy sea.  Fog is good too.  Of course a field or two never does any harm.... especially in autumn....or cliffs, with birds, lots of birds....

Birds, frogs, rainbows, fields, gruel, dust, strangers, posies and angst....  use the poet's toolbox. It solves a lot of things.

Keep trying... you certainly show promise...”

So not to be outdone, I worked all day to try to use all the items in his “critique” and came up with this:

Be Anxious for Nothing Phil. 4:6

Angst rides on the storm that gathers overhead,

Gloom is palpable almost to the hand.

The despair is thick, seems to rise each morn

To blanket and smother the land.

The world’s gone materially mad, it seems.

Buying and selling their only interest.

Where is the peace, the contentment,

The heart that deep joy has blessed?

Man’s attention has turned away from honor and courage

And the world abounding in natural beauty,

Things that fed the soul, gladdened the heart,

And gave rise to a man’s sense of duty.

But the poet long ago was the soul of his race,

As he gathered men round the fire.

With his toolbox of words, meter, and rhyme,

He could mend broken spirits or inspire.

In those earlier days, the poet as minstrel

Gave hope through his song and his story.

But gone are those days when heroes abounded

And hearts were tuned to Nature’s glory.

The bard would point to past deeds of yore,

Or weave in the majesty of Creation,

And heroes would arise, ride out on their steeds,

Champion virtue and defend their nation.

And as the poet traveled the dusty road,

Seeking hope to counter the wrong,

Each man that he met, whether stranger or friend,

Would hail him and ask for a song.

Did the poet point round, with a sweep of his hand,

To daffodils as they danced in the breeze?

Or the song of the winds which accompanied him?

Did he pause in his rhyme to say, “Behold these!”

Did he ask, "Where’s the angst among natural things?

They’re heedless of dark clouds of doom that impend.

Overhead larks still sing, the wild geese take wing,

What could be the message they send?

The frog croaks satisfaction with the state of things

From his perch by the side of the pond.

The stately egret stakes out his domain,

Doesn’t bother with what might lie beyond.

The stormy sea is no real threat

To the creatures who ride its wild tide.

They’ve learned to trust though tempest-tossed,

Take the ebb and the flow in their stride.

The parade of colors on a bright autumn day,

The rainbow that arches the field,

Are visible signs that must be attended

To receive the joy they can yield.

Though mists may obscure, they may also enhance

The beauty of the early morn

As they settle and swirl ‘round valley and ridge,

And with opals the trees adorn.

Could it really be that the tenor of the day

Depends on the heart that responds?

How we accept invitations given to the eye,

Will determine what gladdens or desponds.

When the rocky road that the poet travels

Arrives at the forked intersection

Between despair and hope, discontent or joy,

A sign beckons, “Choose Resurrection.”

He remembers the eagle as it soars from the cliff,

The daffodils as they wave in the wind,

He remembers the lift of his spirit they gave,

And attends to the message they send.

He chooses to walk with his eyes open wide,

With the power of his personhood in his hand.

He says "no" to the gloom, rejects the despair,

And confident, yet grateful, takes his stand.

Flinging his verse to the world around him,

He soars with the eagle, dances in the wind.

Some will listen, and some turn away,

But the choice is theirs in the end.

When the Bard concludes, the message is clear:

To approach an earthly heaven,

Look around at all that is offered to you,

Accept with gratitude the gifts that are given.

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HOWEVER, you will discover I found no place for the “gruel” on the list, so if you insist on having gruel in your verse, here’s a couplet for an alternate ending.  *grin*

So gruel or gravy, it’s up to you,

‘Cause the world offers a thick rich stew.

**The photo is a gannet, one amongst God's many miracles.

The gannet is a perfect example of the Creator’s art. There is no angst there. There is tension though, as the bird utilizes the sea winds to stay aloft.  If she folds her wings, she falls and if there is no wind, she falls, so she moves her wings and expends energy to stay aloft.  She uses that necessary tension creatively to fly.

So contrary to all the pontifications of the modern literary or art critics, creative tension is a more worthy goal in art or poetry or life than angst.
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The Banishment of Beauty

The Lady of Shalott, by John William Waterhouse 

  More often than not it's very discouraging to visit our museums of art and our public places where art and sculpture are being displayed, or to go to an art show or gallery exhibition and feel so alienated, or even insulted, by what is being presented for our acceptance as art.  It's evident that one of two things is happening:  either there are no longer contemporary artists who understand and appreciate aesthetic principles and have the skill to create their work using these principles, or there has been a conspiracy to expunge Beauty from the major modern art museums or to exclude art that is based on aesthetic absolutes from the same type of public or private funding programs or media support that the more "progressive" art and the artists who perpetrate it receive.  

So it is heartening to me whenever I hear someone speaking up in a public forum and pointing out that the Emperor of Modern Art is not wearing any clothes.  

Scott Burdick, a contemporary traditional artist who himself is a disciple of Beauty, is one of those artists who are beginning to speak out against the monolithic art establishment, and we must take seriously our responsibility to listen and to respond with our support of their endeavors.  We must cheer them on!

Burdick has taken it upon himself to create an exposé of what has been happening in the contemporary art world, in fact,what has been happening for a very long time in the world of museums, art critics, university art departments, the media, and the NEA, etc.  Burdick rightly points out that when you control these things, it is relatively easy to advance your agenda:  

"Their power lies in their total domination of what will be seen and heard by the wider culture.

They do not stifle expression by having someone arrested, but merely by their lack of notice they banish an entire artistic movement to invisible irrelevance, literally written out of the books like the History of Modern Art [the most prevalent textbook in university art history programs.] 

The power to ignore is their weapon and it has been wielded with devastating effect."

What is the agenda of the art establishment?  He argues persuasively that it is the banishment of Beauty.  Modern art is all theory-based, he explains; it's all about isms. It's an anti-aesthetic movement whose rationale is that we have "progressed" beyond the need for aesthetically beautiful art.  Beautiful art is not to be taken seriously because it has nothing to say to the human condition of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.  Beauty is no longer valid.

But Burdick gives us hope when he reminds us that there is "an aesthetic underground that has kept alive the principles of beauty and technical excellence during the past century of artistic madness.”  But they must work “under the public radar, selling their work, pursuing the age-old craft of aesthetic excellence, and essentially ignored by the artistic establishment and critics, invisible to the larger society.”

In his presentation, he takes the viewer through the sad history of the past century in art by alternating between modern "masterpieces" and lovely works of art that have been created concurrently with those modern pieces but essentially have been ignored by the curators and critics.  But it is so heartening to see the wealth of beautiful art that has been being created all along.  However, it is sad that the general public doesn't have the access to these works that they should, or that we cannot take our children to see these beautiful works of art hanging in our public institutions.  It is as if after the Impressionists very little worthwhile beautiful art has been created.  

However Burdick encourages us:

Beauty and Truth have been driven out of the temple.  But despite the most ardent efforts of the art establishment, the flame of beauty has been kept alive by the members of an unofficial aesthetic underground who simply refuse to fall for the nonsensical theories of art that seek to degrade rather than elevate the human spirit.  

The change will come from the ground up, like all revolutions, with the general public demanding control back of the hijacked institutions their tax dollars support.

We all owe a debt of gratitude to those artists who have kept the classical skills of painting and aesthetic expression alive during the dark years of the anti-Beauty movement that has so dominated our century.  Most of them will not see the promised land, but it is their clear vision of the truth that has kept Art from dying out.  In the meantime, let me say, ‘Long live Beauty and Truth.’” 

Click HERE to enjoy Scott Burdick’s program on The Banishment of Beauty.  Yes, it’s an hour long, but it’s divided into four 15-minute segments, and there’s so much to learn about what has been happening right under our noses for the last 100 years.

The bonus is that you will see wonderful examples of beautiful art that you might never have access to otherwise.  I do not know if Mr. Burdick is a man of Faith, but he is certainly engaged on the side of Truth.

As people of Faith, we understand the world spirit that is behind and animating this banishment of Beauty.  Our contribution to this aesthetic underground movement is to stand for Truth, Beauty, and Goodness in our own lives in the choices we make and also to diligently reclaim our heritage for our children so that they are not victims of the culture. 
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Sabbath Thought: Gratitude

Psalm16:5,11 

Lord . . .

The land you have given me is a pleasant land.
      What a wonderful inheritance!

. . .

You have shown me the way of life, and you will fill me with the joy of your presence. 

Mindful

                    by Mary Oliver

Every day

I see or hear

something

that more or less

kills me

with delight,

that leaves me

like a needle

in the haystack

of light.

It was what I was born for -

to look, to listen,

to lose myself

inside this soft world -

to instruct myself

over and over

in joy,

and acclamation.

Nor am I talking

about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,

the very extravagant -

but of the ordinary,

the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.

Oh, good scholar,

I say to myself,

how can you help

but grow wise

with such teachings

as these -

the untrimmable light

of the world,

the ocean's shine,

the prayers that are made

out of grass?

To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common--this is my symphony.

                                   -William Henry Channing, 1810 - 1884

There are joys which long to be ours.

God sends ten thousands truths,

which come about us like birds seeking inlet;

but we are shut up to them,

and so they bring us nothing,

but sit and sing awhile upon the roof,

and then fly away.

                                        ~Henry Ward Beecher

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How to Harmonize

A January moon at the end of my lane

How to Harmonize

harmony |ˈhärmənē| • the quality of forming a pleasing and consistent whole

Achieving harmony, that quality of forming a pleasing and consistent whole, is a product I suppose of what one chooses to “tune” oneself to, at least that is what poet Mary Oliver seems to suggest in her poem "Wild Geese."

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

                                 from Dream Work by Mary Oliver

Makes much sense to me that what one attends to will color and shape one's attitude and will give "loft" to one's spiritual and emotional altitude.

So what am I paying attention to?   The things that would cause me to despair, or the "meanwhiles" that are offered me daily from Nature and from the people I love . . . the invitations I receive to pay attention to the things that give Joy and lead to Harmony.

Like the golden Canada geese I saw on that Sunday . . . or the wind of wings I heard one Monday evening as I stood at the end of my walk from taking the garbage out to the curb.  A mundane task was blessed with the invitation to look up and see the beautiful, low flying geese winging their way to set down on the field where I had seen their fellows on that Sunday evening.  They were so close I could see their chest feathers and thought I could almost feel the rush of wind at their wings.

Today I am remembering the lines from an old hymn which always helps me harmonize:

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet,

Sung by flaming tongues above.

Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,

Mount of Thy redeeming love.

“But those who trust in the LORD will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.”  Isaiah 40:31

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A Sign along the Way

Click on photo to study the beautiful light

How does one savor an experience?

If merely held in the mind long enough for attention to be paid to it, asking that question itself will lead to an increased awareness of any given experience.  How?

I believe that between the stimulus and the response is a moment which through practice can be extended and expanded to become a timeless moment, the kind of moment which will give you the time and space to be more fully present to the activity, or object, or person being experienced . . . a opportunity in which to seize the moment and draw it into yourself and make it a part of who you are in a way that no unheeded experience can.

This idea was really brought home to me one evening on a walk when I was passing by a grassy area outside the village where I live. What I saw took my breath with its beauty . . . but because I was pondering this idea of how do we savor, I began to ask myself was it enough to merely see this sight in passing?   Was there a way I could draw this bit of serendipity into me and savor it, and glean something deeper from it that would make it more than a passing impression which I might easily forget in future?  Because that sight had such a special quality on that evening, I didn't want to lose it.  I felt if I paid attention to it that it could become a lasting gift.

So in the interest of savoring it I asked myself, not what did it mean, because at that surface level question I might have drawn a blank. Instead I asked myself, what could it mean, especially in the light of my present circumstances at that time?   Yes, it was a pretty view, but was there something that, if I really listened, it was trying to say to me?

I don't mean to be "airy fairy" about this . . . I just wanted to be truly present to this beautiful experience, one of those that often is so transitory.

And so in quietly taking the time to pay attention to the sight, in savoring it, it began to shape itself into a form I can carry with me along my way . . . a poem.  Please bear in mind that I have never considered myself a poet, so if you're thinking that about yourself, you might surprise yourself one day too and feel the impulse.

A Sign Along the Way 

On the village green, the dying sun

Was spilling golden light

Over the backs of the Canada geese

Who had broken the path of their flight

To pause in this place serene.

How could they know the peace they lent

To a heart that was steeped in sorrow?

A word it seemed had been silently given

That one could still trust that the morrow

Might surprise with a hope yet unseen.

For how they arrrived here,

What knowledge, what grace

Had guided them along their hard journey

To be set down in this favorable place,

Is a lesson the faint heart might glean.

©A. Rutherford 

I consider the accompanying photo above a real blessing too.  I had not taken my camera along with me, and was really regretting that I had not been able to capture the sight of the golden geese that had been so inspirational to me.  But on a "nudge" I began looking through Photobucket's images of Canada geese and literally gasped when I came upon this one which was so close to what I had experienced, with the same aura of mystical peace.

I nearly always take my own photos, but I do want to give credit when I have not taken the photo myself. In this case, the name of the photographer on Photobucket was given, which is not often the case, so much appreciation to Chris Nash, although in all likelihood he will never see this post.

Postscript   I must say, however, that whenever I have read this poem to myself since that evening, all this explanation fades away, and the physical walls of my room fade away, and I am again in that timeless space on the green with the grazing geese, and my heart lifts.  That’s the benefit of making a beautiful memory to be stored away and savored again and again.


Phil. 4:8  ". . . whatever is lovely . . . think about such things." 


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