Barry
11-29-2010, 11:43 AM
A Teaching
by Marc Deprey
There is a teaching of great wisdom once imparted to me as a boy. I know its deep insight only now. Its graceful simplicity masked its depth, so when I first heard it, I passed over its meaning, and grasped only the rhythm of its words. The racing of any finely tuned intellect can quickly pass it by, so I hope you can rest into it. The teaching is—
“Row, row, row your boat, gently, down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily—life is but a dream.”
You've heard it before? But perhaps you haven't thought of it as a teaching of profound wisdom. Let us look into its meaning—
First off, we are told that we must row, which is usually a repetitive, circular motion or action of the arms. One pull of the oar is normally called a stroke and each stroke happens in an even relation to the next thereby creating a rhythm. The teaching tells us to create this rhythm, this rowing, evenly and steadily. But more than a description of the action itself, is the teaching's basic message that we must act—that we must rise to meet this world and not sit idly by and expect it to meet us.
In our doings, the teaching also tells us to repeat our efforts. “Row, row, row…” because we are to make our effort not once (which could be by accident), or twice (which could be a mere coincidence), but three times. Three times is the minimum number of times we need to see something happen to know it is intended—that a pattern is emerging. For us, this repetition indicates our intent and reveals our devotion to the effort. For if we are intend on repeating our efforts, the teaching tells us we will be rewarded. Our commitment to this repetition, our discipline, proves our devotion. Our repeated rowing is therefore an expression of devotion—an expression of love.
The repetition of the word “Row” also reveals to us the number three. This number often comes up in fairy tales and myths. When a lesson is to be learned or a story is to unfold, there are usually three characters, (three brothers, three daughters, three horses, etc.) A challenge is inevitably made to the first of the three who inevitably falls, followed by the same challenge to the second and their own failure. The third one is usually victorious, as the challenge occurring yet a third time cannot now be a mere accident or coincidence. It is now seen as a meaningful lesson sent by the Fates for some purpose—and therefore, the challenge must be met.
The number three is also a sign for the outside world, the world of incompleteness, matter in creation, the world of becoming. Three is an indivisible number, and by its nature incomplete, longing for wholeness. By using the number three, our teaching is giving us a hint as to what realm we are rowing in. It is in the realm outside our skin, the world of labor and responsibility, the outside world.
In the Arthurian legend of the Fisher King, Parsifal is confronted with the number three one lonely evening. Tired and hungry, Parsifal is traveling down a deserted road looking for a place to spend the night. He has traveled many miles and slain many a dragon. He happens upon a small pond and notices a man in a boat fishing. He calls out to him inquiring where he might find a safe haven for his night's rest. The man tells him, “There is no place to stay within thirty miles of here.” In the times of the horse, thirty miles was a day's ride. That would be too far for Parsifal to go as dusk was already descending. He looks down, deflated and dejected. But right then the man says a curious thing, “Fair knight, if you go down the road a little way and turn left, you will see my castle; in there you will find sustenance and warmth.” We then ask ourselves, why would the man tell Parsifal that there was no place to rest within thirty miles yet a castle is just down the road? Myths, like dreams, waste no information.
To go left is to go inside. Right, conversely, is the direction to the outer world. What the man is saying (and he turns out to be the Fisher King himself) is that in the world of thirty (or three, i.e. the right, outside, temporal world) there is no rest. That you will not find shelter (or peace) in the external world, but if you go down the road, turn left (into the inner realm) you will find a glorious castle within yourself. There you will find what you are looking for.
“Row, row, row…” tells us more about our doings and how to be in the world than most books—and this teaching is far from over. It goes on to say “...your boat". We are to “Row, row, row, your boat…"
On the walls of the once buried city of Pompeii, there are several paintings of boats. The Romans thought of them as symbols for the soul, a vessel containing our most precious essence. And although each boat may look different, its cargo is the same. In essence, we are a drop from the cosmic ocean, contained in the vessel of our body, floating through time. But the teaching tells us; it is our boat, under our control. This is significant. In another time, when individualism was not as accepted as it is today, people needed to hear the message that we are responsible for our own salvation. We cannot abdicate this responsibility to ourselves, or conversely, over inflate it. We have a duty both to ourselves and to the world.
This part of the teaching tells us that our vessel is only a boat—a boat that contains us in this creation, floating its cargo over rough seas, its cargo more important than the boat itself. So our culture’s preoccupation with how we look and how our body is shaped is sorely misplaced. Our soul's journey is much more important than how our vessel looks. Is it not the water in the cup that quenches our thirst, not the cup itself?
Then our teaching gives us another most important insight, one lost in our busy modern world. We are told to row our boat “...gently...” This is perhaps the hardest lesson of this teaching. How can we do our daily activities, repeatedly, day by day, taking responsibility for our own souls, and do this gently? Isn't it more important to bust through the waves, force the oars into the churning waters? Aren't we supposed to fight for what must be made real? The teaching tells us no. In a way, the rhyme may be reversing these questions by asking us—what value is the energy we expend in grasping for control?
One interpretation of the Garden of Eden story is that the sin of Adam and Eve was not in the eating of the forbidden fruit, but in the grasping for it. The act of reaching out for ultimate knowledge is us moving beyond the limits of our experience into the realm of the Gods. When we act to inflict our will on the earth are we not grasping for a reality we feel is most just, most pleasurable, most meaningful? Is this not acting as if we were, in fact, God?
So we are told to go through life gently, without grasping, without inflicting our will on the world. Gentleness also connotes caressing, touching lovingly, being genteel. Gentleness may also mean not leaving a wake. Leaving things as undisturbed as possible. Gentle means loving the world around us. As this is done, so the world reaches out to caress us in return and loving gentleness surrounds us as we do our daily tasks.
Our teaching tells us to do our daily tasks with devotion and discipline (practice and commitment). We are to do this knowing we are independent beings and that we have the responsibility for our own separate destiny. As we act, however, we must do so with humility, because although we have a great responsibility, we also have the duty to move in this world with grace and sensitivity to all that surrounds us. But the teaching is not finished—
“Row, row, row your boat, gently, down the stream. ...”
Here is an another part of the teaching that flies in the face of our modern sensibilities. Not only does our modern culture tell us to live “in the face of challenge”, “against all odds”, our images of success are also beyond heroic proportions—“get rich quick”, “build your own empire”, “win big”, “win it all”. The message of our culture is that we need to inflict our will on the world—against the world—and only then will we find our glory. Our teaching, on the other hand, tells us something quite the opposite. We are told to row “...down the stream...”.
We are to move with a natural current, not against it, as our culture would have us believe. Sometimes we need to be reminded that we are not salmon and that we are not made to go upstream. But underlying this teaching is a most meaningful and hopeful gift—that a naturally occurring current, an energy, exists and wants to move us in the right direction. If we have any hope as a species, it is in the following of this current.
But our teaching goes on…
We have been told to row with discipline but that also there is a current to follow. So we may ask, if there is a current, why row at all?
As we act with devotion and discipline to move our souls into life's natural current, we are reminded that like a small stream, this natural current is never overpowering. On a practical level, this means the current is not always easily found. The teaching tells us the natural current in our lives is more like a humble stream, not a powerful river. (Is it not true that the major changes in our lives are the summation of many small shifts? Like the meandering of a small stream?) So in answer to the question, why row? the teaching responds—since the natural direction of our lives exists as a subtle energy (like the flow of a small stream), we must row in order to keep within its current. We can never know when the current will change direction or when it might trickle to a slow pace. We may hit a wide part of the stream were the current is weak and spread out. We may be passing through a dry season where the water is shallow. In order to follow a stream, one must be attentive, and not drift among the low-lying branches that cover the shore. The teaching tells us to have faith, that there is a direction, independent of our consciousness, that we can follow if we are attentive. But the main lesson we moderns must hear is that we mustn't struggle against the current. The stream ultimately reaches the ocean of our origin—we must learn to surrender to its course.
The first section of our teaching tells us about how to be in the world, how to interact with the linear aspect of time, the movement of creation. The second part of the teaching is more concerned with our inner experience, and this is made very clear right at the beginning of the last section—
"Row, row, row your boat, gently, down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily..."
We are given the number four now to let us know what realm we are in—the inner world of completeness, cyclical time, and myth. Returning to the story of Parsifal, the number four appears again. When Parsifal enters the Fisher King's castle he finds four swords on the wall and four shields. Four maidens appear, each carrying an artifact. The first carries the sword used to wound Christ in the side, the next, the whip used for his torment, then the robe Christ wore, and lastly, and most prominently, the fourth maiden carries the Holy Grail—the cup Jesus drank from in the Last Supper. Inside this castle the number four is everywhere, as it is complete number, whole, containing all the directions. When we see the number four we are within the inner world of our experience, which is complete in and of itself.
There is no question our teaching wants us to understand that although it is important that we act with devotion and discipline, how we feel inside while we “row” is more important than the rowing itself. We are giving the instruction to “row” three times, but the exhortation to do the rowing “merrily” four times. The word merry means full of fun, festive. It is the opposite of determined, focused, and grasping. Our mood in life should be one of a festival, a celebration. We are to be in a space of joyous play. Our inner experience while we move through life should be that of a child—boundless, joyous, and free. This is central to our teaching's message.
Our piece of wisdom ends with the most profound statement of all, an observation of sublime consequence and liberating meaning—
“Row, row, row your boat, gently, down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily—life is but a dream.”
This is a truth our egos fight against daily. The reality we experience seems so absolute, so concrete, and so blatantly real. It is hard to accept that we are only experiencing a small part of reality. But science has grown our understanding of the world, and we know through practical experiments—hard data—that the reality we experience is, in fact, incomplete. Nuclear sub-particles appear from nothing, they move from one space to another instantaneously, they change direction & behavior without structure. Even the world we see through our eyes is incomplete as invisible frequencies of electromagnetic radiation move through and around us beyond our sight. In fact, what science is telling us is that there is no one “reality”, just relative perceptions.
The new revelations of science may prompt fear among those who need absolute certainty. We, on the other hand, through our teaching, are liberated from the need to grasp the meaning of life, into an acceptance and surrender to life. Our teaching tells us that we should not invest all that we are into the joy and pain of this world, because it is not "It". The teaching puts our experience into a different context, “...life is but a dream.” and like a dream, we are better served experiencing it without a need for certainty and absolute knowledge. We know this need is based on fear, and our teaching tells us we have nothing to fear since our experience is not truly real.
So in total, our teaching is most profound and complete. We are told to experience the repeating days with disciplined practice and devotion. We are to do this knowing all the time that we are independent souls and that we have the responsibility of our own separate destiny. But we cannot let pride carry us away. Our actions must be done with grace and sensitivity to the world; we must consider the effect of our actions on the world around us. The life course we follow is a natural one, with a wise direction. There is an energy separate from us that we can follow, but we must be attentive. We must learn to feel its presence and steer ourselves into its flow. It is small, but always present.
Our inner experience of the ride is most crucial, as we are to be child-like in our passions—festive and celebratory. We are to have fun, be fun, and feel fun. Our experience of this reality is incomplete, and therefore, our total investment in this creation would be misplaced. Our teaching tells us simply— we have nothing to fear, nothing to fear from a dream.
So remember,
“Row, row, row your boat, gently, down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”
Amen.
by Marc Deprey
There is a teaching of great wisdom once imparted to me as a boy. I know its deep insight only now. Its graceful simplicity masked its depth, so when I first heard it, I passed over its meaning, and grasped only the rhythm of its words. The racing of any finely tuned intellect can quickly pass it by, so I hope you can rest into it. The teaching is—
“Row, row, row your boat, gently, down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily—life is but a dream.”
You've heard it before? But perhaps you haven't thought of it as a teaching of profound wisdom. Let us look into its meaning—
First off, we are told that we must row, which is usually a repetitive, circular motion or action of the arms. One pull of the oar is normally called a stroke and each stroke happens in an even relation to the next thereby creating a rhythm. The teaching tells us to create this rhythm, this rowing, evenly and steadily. But more than a description of the action itself, is the teaching's basic message that we must act—that we must rise to meet this world and not sit idly by and expect it to meet us.
In our doings, the teaching also tells us to repeat our efforts. “Row, row, row…” because we are to make our effort not once (which could be by accident), or twice (which could be a mere coincidence), but three times. Three times is the minimum number of times we need to see something happen to know it is intended—that a pattern is emerging. For us, this repetition indicates our intent and reveals our devotion to the effort. For if we are intend on repeating our efforts, the teaching tells us we will be rewarded. Our commitment to this repetition, our discipline, proves our devotion. Our repeated rowing is therefore an expression of devotion—an expression of love.
The repetition of the word “Row” also reveals to us the number three. This number often comes up in fairy tales and myths. When a lesson is to be learned or a story is to unfold, there are usually three characters, (three brothers, three daughters, three horses, etc.) A challenge is inevitably made to the first of the three who inevitably falls, followed by the same challenge to the second and their own failure. The third one is usually victorious, as the challenge occurring yet a third time cannot now be a mere accident or coincidence. It is now seen as a meaningful lesson sent by the Fates for some purpose—and therefore, the challenge must be met.
The number three is also a sign for the outside world, the world of incompleteness, matter in creation, the world of becoming. Three is an indivisible number, and by its nature incomplete, longing for wholeness. By using the number three, our teaching is giving us a hint as to what realm we are rowing in. It is in the realm outside our skin, the world of labor and responsibility, the outside world.
In the Arthurian legend of the Fisher King, Parsifal is confronted with the number three one lonely evening. Tired and hungry, Parsifal is traveling down a deserted road looking for a place to spend the night. He has traveled many miles and slain many a dragon. He happens upon a small pond and notices a man in a boat fishing. He calls out to him inquiring where he might find a safe haven for his night's rest. The man tells him, “There is no place to stay within thirty miles of here.” In the times of the horse, thirty miles was a day's ride. That would be too far for Parsifal to go as dusk was already descending. He looks down, deflated and dejected. But right then the man says a curious thing, “Fair knight, if you go down the road a little way and turn left, you will see my castle; in there you will find sustenance and warmth.” We then ask ourselves, why would the man tell Parsifal that there was no place to rest within thirty miles yet a castle is just down the road? Myths, like dreams, waste no information.
To go left is to go inside. Right, conversely, is the direction to the outer world. What the man is saying (and he turns out to be the Fisher King himself) is that in the world of thirty (or three, i.e. the right, outside, temporal world) there is no rest. That you will not find shelter (or peace) in the external world, but if you go down the road, turn left (into the inner realm) you will find a glorious castle within yourself. There you will find what you are looking for.
“Row, row, row…” tells us more about our doings and how to be in the world than most books—and this teaching is far from over. It goes on to say “...your boat". We are to “Row, row, row, your boat…"
On the walls of the once buried city of Pompeii, there are several paintings of boats. The Romans thought of them as symbols for the soul, a vessel containing our most precious essence. And although each boat may look different, its cargo is the same. In essence, we are a drop from the cosmic ocean, contained in the vessel of our body, floating through time. But the teaching tells us; it is our boat, under our control. This is significant. In another time, when individualism was not as accepted as it is today, people needed to hear the message that we are responsible for our own salvation. We cannot abdicate this responsibility to ourselves, or conversely, over inflate it. We have a duty both to ourselves and to the world.
This part of the teaching tells us that our vessel is only a boat—a boat that contains us in this creation, floating its cargo over rough seas, its cargo more important than the boat itself. So our culture’s preoccupation with how we look and how our body is shaped is sorely misplaced. Our soul's journey is much more important than how our vessel looks. Is it not the water in the cup that quenches our thirst, not the cup itself?
Then our teaching gives us another most important insight, one lost in our busy modern world. We are told to row our boat “...gently...” This is perhaps the hardest lesson of this teaching. How can we do our daily activities, repeatedly, day by day, taking responsibility for our own souls, and do this gently? Isn't it more important to bust through the waves, force the oars into the churning waters? Aren't we supposed to fight for what must be made real? The teaching tells us no. In a way, the rhyme may be reversing these questions by asking us—what value is the energy we expend in grasping for control?
One interpretation of the Garden of Eden story is that the sin of Adam and Eve was not in the eating of the forbidden fruit, but in the grasping for it. The act of reaching out for ultimate knowledge is us moving beyond the limits of our experience into the realm of the Gods. When we act to inflict our will on the earth are we not grasping for a reality we feel is most just, most pleasurable, most meaningful? Is this not acting as if we were, in fact, God?
So we are told to go through life gently, without grasping, without inflicting our will on the world. Gentleness also connotes caressing, touching lovingly, being genteel. Gentleness may also mean not leaving a wake. Leaving things as undisturbed as possible. Gentle means loving the world around us. As this is done, so the world reaches out to caress us in return and loving gentleness surrounds us as we do our daily tasks.
Our teaching tells us to do our daily tasks with devotion and discipline (practice and commitment). We are to do this knowing we are independent beings and that we have the responsibility for our own separate destiny. As we act, however, we must do so with humility, because although we have a great responsibility, we also have the duty to move in this world with grace and sensitivity to all that surrounds us. But the teaching is not finished—
“Row, row, row your boat, gently, down the stream. ...”
Here is an another part of the teaching that flies in the face of our modern sensibilities. Not only does our modern culture tell us to live “in the face of challenge”, “against all odds”, our images of success are also beyond heroic proportions—“get rich quick”, “build your own empire”, “win big”, “win it all”. The message of our culture is that we need to inflict our will on the world—against the world—and only then will we find our glory. Our teaching, on the other hand, tells us something quite the opposite. We are told to row “...down the stream...”.
We are to move with a natural current, not against it, as our culture would have us believe. Sometimes we need to be reminded that we are not salmon and that we are not made to go upstream. But underlying this teaching is a most meaningful and hopeful gift—that a naturally occurring current, an energy, exists and wants to move us in the right direction. If we have any hope as a species, it is in the following of this current.
But our teaching goes on…
We have been told to row with discipline but that also there is a current to follow. So we may ask, if there is a current, why row at all?
As we act with devotion and discipline to move our souls into life's natural current, we are reminded that like a small stream, this natural current is never overpowering. On a practical level, this means the current is not always easily found. The teaching tells us the natural current in our lives is more like a humble stream, not a powerful river. (Is it not true that the major changes in our lives are the summation of many small shifts? Like the meandering of a small stream?) So in answer to the question, why row? the teaching responds—since the natural direction of our lives exists as a subtle energy (like the flow of a small stream), we must row in order to keep within its current. We can never know when the current will change direction or when it might trickle to a slow pace. We may hit a wide part of the stream were the current is weak and spread out. We may be passing through a dry season where the water is shallow. In order to follow a stream, one must be attentive, and not drift among the low-lying branches that cover the shore. The teaching tells us to have faith, that there is a direction, independent of our consciousness, that we can follow if we are attentive. But the main lesson we moderns must hear is that we mustn't struggle against the current. The stream ultimately reaches the ocean of our origin—we must learn to surrender to its course.
The first section of our teaching tells us about how to be in the world, how to interact with the linear aspect of time, the movement of creation. The second part of the teaching is more concerned with our inner experience, and this is made very clear right at the beginning of the last section—
"Row, row, row your boat, gently, down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily..."
We are given the number four now to let us know what realm we are in—the inner world of completeness, cyclical time, and myth. Returning to the story of Parsifal, the number four appears again. When Parsifal enters the Fisher King's castle he finds four swords on the wall and four shields. Four maidens appear, each carrying an artifact. The first carries the sword used to wound Christ in the side, the next, the whip used for his torment, then the robe Christ wore, and lastly, and most prominently, the fourth maiden carries the Holy Grail—the cup Jesus drank from in the Last Supper. Inside this castle the number four is everywhere, as it is complete number, whole, containing all the directions. When we see the number four we are within the inner world of our experience, which is complete in and of itself.
There is no question our teaching wants us to understand that although it is important that we act with devotion and discipline, how we feel inside while we “row” is more important than the rowing itself. We are giving the instruction to “row” three times, but the exhortation to do the rowing “merrily” four times. The word merry means full of fun, festive. It is the opposite of determined, focused, and grasping. Our mood in life should be one of a festival, a celebration. We are to be in a space of joyous play. Our inner experience while we move through life should be that of a child—boundless, joyous, and free. This is central to our teaching's message.
Our piece of wisdom ends with the most profound statement of all, an observation of sublime consequence and liberating meaning—
“Row, row, row your boat, gently, down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily—life is but a dream.”
This is a truth our egos fight against daily. The reality we experience seems so absolute, so concrete, and so blatantly real. It is hard to accept that we are only experiencing a small part of reality. But science has grown our understanding of the world, and we know through practical experiments—hard data—that the reality we experience is, in fact, incomplete. Nuclear sub-particles appear from nothing, they move from one space to another instantaneously, they change direction & behavior without structure. Even the world we see through our eyes is incomplete as invisible frequencies of electromagnetic radiation move through and around us beyond our sight. In fact, what science is telling us is that there is no one “reality”, just relative perceptions.
The new revelations of science may prompt fear among those who need absolute certainty. We, on the other hand, through our teaching, are liberated from the need to grasp the meaning of life, into an acceptance and surrender to life. Our teaching tells us that we should not invest all that we are into the joy and pain of this world, because it is not "It". The teaching puts our experience into a different context, “...life is but a dream.” and like a dream, we are better served experiencing it without a need for certainty and absolute knowledge. We know this need is based on fear, and our teaching tells us we have nothing to fear since our experience is not truly real.
So in total, our teaching is most profound and complete. We are told to experience the repeating days with disciplined practice and devotion. We are to do this knowing all the time that we are independent souls and that we have the responsibility of our own separate destiny. But we cannot let pride carry us away. Our actions must be done with grace and sensitivity to the world; we must consider the effect of our actions on the world around us. The life course we follow is a natural one, with a wise direction. There is an energy separate from us that we can follow, but we must be attentive. We must learn to feel its presence and steer ourselves into its flow. It is small, but always present.
Our inner experience of the ride is most crucial, as we are to be child-like in our passions—festive and celebratory. We are to have fun, be fun, and feel fun. Our experience of this reality is incomplete, and therefore, our total investment in this creation would be misplaced. Our teaching tells us simply— we have nothing to fear, nothing to fear from a dream.
So remember,
“Row, row, row your boat, gently, down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”
Amen.