Stepping aside

I had no thought of doing an audio diary, nor for that matter of producing a music video, let alone combining the two into a hybrid. Some things evolve by accident: you and I for example, if you can believe it, have evolved in exactly that way. Certainly the best things in my life have just happened. Mostly I strove and yearned, in a reaching-out which discovered myriad ways of making mistakes, like variations on a theme, ringing the changes on a peal of bells. I’m beginning to think it has only been when I stepped aside that the thing I most value has happened. In this blog I’ve often referred to such occurrences as moments. Timeless in themselves, they’ve been brief by clock reckoning. I used to think they came about by physical circumstance, sensual input or triggering of ancient memory. I have worshipped wild Nature and aimless wandering like Wordsworth among the daffodils. Now across seven centuries, Meister Eckhart teaches me that these moments result from stepping aside. The term he actually uses is abgescheidenheit, usually translated as “detachment”. Raymond Blakney in his 1941 translation calls it “disinterestedness”. Today, in a resurgence of violent invasions reminiscent of those days, I think his word is the better chosen.

The above is by way of introduction to the YouTube audio blog above. The opening image shows a scene from the legend of St Brendan, in which he sailed with some fellow-monks from Ireland to the Fortunate Isles, which some have identified as Newfoundland. Encountering a whale, they clambered aboard, and performed the holy Mass upon its tolerant back. As for the rest, it tells its own tale, in a rough-and-ready manner. In crucial instances, I’ve left my audio clips in an unedited state, the whole point being to capture the spontaneity. The words could have been better chosen, and I think you will find the opening readings—from Meister Eckhart—daunting at first. Accordingly I’ve provided a transcript below, occasionally edited and annotated.

[piano introduction from “It never entered my mind”, by the Miles Davis Quartet]

From Meister Eckhart: a Modern Translation, Raymond Blakney, 1941, the chapter headed “About Disinterest” (original in German, approx AD 1300):

I have read much of what has been written, both by heathen philosophers and sages and in the Old and New Testaments. I have sought earnestly and with great diligence that good and high virtue by which man may draw closer to God and through which one may best approximate the idea God had of him before he was created, when there was no separation between man and God; and having delved into all this writing, as far as my intelligence would permit, I find that high virtue to be pure disinterest, that is, detachment from creatures. Our Lord said to Martha: “Unum est necessarium,”, which is to say: to be untroubled and pure, one thing is necessary and that is disinterest.


[Short piano interlude, from “My Funny Valentine”, Miles Davis Quartet, 1957, from which the other interludes are derived except where otherwise indicated]

Now I ask what the object of pure disinterest is. I reply that it is neither this nor that. Pure disinterest is empty nothingness, for it is on that high plane on which God gives effect to his will. It is not possible for God to do his will in every heart, for even though he is almighty, he cannot act except where he finds preparations made or he makes them himself. I say “or makes them” on account of St. Paul, for God did not find him ready; he prepared St. Paul by an infusion of grace. Otherwise, I say that God acts where he finds that preparations have been made.

[Reader, if you are no Christian, but an agnostic, this talk of God may make you uncomfortable, but there is no need for concern. God was as real to Eckhart’s time as Darwin’s evolution is to ours. Evolution provides explanations, validated scientifically. God was and is validated experientially. Today, no belief is required, but experience is still available.]

[Miles Davis on muted trumpet.]

Vincent: On Friday my trusty voice recorder took a suicide leap out of my pocket, “hoist by its own petard”, so to speak. It had a wrist-strap, which I never used for that purpose and which tended to dangle from my pocket. I must have caught my hand on it. So there it was, gone: jumped before it was pushed, helpful to the last, knowing far better than I did how out of date it was. A mere seven years ago, I’d swapped my cassette model for a digital one. My new one as you can hear has high-quality sound.[I erroneously said on the recording that the old one was 12 years old.]

[Piano interlude.]

I seem to be spending all day changing a light switch, with now some doubt surfacing as to how necessary it was in the first place, and coming out with different answers to that question. [A two-way, two-gang switch in the kitchen needed some upgrade as I thought, part of a redecoration project. I bought a smart new one, but could not work out where to put the wires, ended up taking it back to Screwfix, cleaning the old one & refitting it exactly as before, so that the switch on the right continues to operate the bulb on the left. This seemed to use up most of Sunday.]

[Laid-back trumpet interlude.]

The impeccable moment: stepping out of Screwfix [after buying a replacement switch]. Into the rain, there is my car. How do I describe this impeccable moment? It is a perfect emptiness.

[Piano & trumpet interlude, while I step into the car, after which you can hear the sound of windscreen wipers & background engine sound.]

These moments happen; and that’s all that matters. It has never really occurred to me that the moment could be prolonged, into a connected continuity, not just in moments, but the fabric of my whole existence. Because those moments were never sought. Or when they were sought, they could not be realized, the quest was fruitless. And I see clearly that when it happens, in a completely banal environment, on an almost meaningless occasion—there could be no way of seeking it out. I suddenly see, guided by Meister Eckhart, even via his Christian terminology (intrinsic to where he is standing, as a high-up Dominican speaking in his sermons to other senior Catholics, perhaps, in his sermons) that his language is still perfectly adequate to reach my understanding, crossing the centuries without need of modification, just some good translation. And this he gets from Raymond Blakney.

[Opening bars from “Milestones”, by Miles Davis; marking a return to Screwfix, to exchange one switch as faulty and return the other as not needed]

And the other thought, as I came (to Screwfix) for the second time, was while I was in the shop, and there was this sense of “Yeah, I am all right, as I am. There was a sort of awkwardness (when I thought) “Yes, I should have done this and done that . . .” Yes, it was like, my adequacy to live in this world . . . is not in question. That question has never been asked . . . except by me. And that is just one of the quirks of being human; that if you want to learn to be human, you learn to deal with it.

Here’s a song called “Moments”. It was written by Bryn Howarth who sang it as part of his support act to Fairport Convention’s tour in 1975. That’s when Sandy Denny heard it. Her cover version is the last song she ever recorded before her death in 1978.

[Song: “Moments”, followed by fade-out and end.]

Postscript: Disinterest in welcome moments of respite brings gladness. Further preparations are being made. Even the simple action of changing a light-switch is fraught with human fallibility, and I’m not just talking of incompetence in DIY. Living is not simple, but our failures, yours and mine, are worth as much as others’ success. Add the lot together, and what do you get? This world.

PPS: I started with the idea that an audio blog would save all that typing, could facilitate daily posting. Some hope! We’ll see. Perhaps there will be one reader/listener who think it’s worthwhile, will see through all the amateurish imperfection to what was intended. But if not, the attempt still has been worth it. Special thanks to Cindy for ongoing encouragement.