THE MONK AND THE ARTIST
Soon after we came back to the US, someone introduced this poem in a group spiritual direction session, and I ended up sharing my reflection. Below is the poem followed by my reflection.
The Monk tends the edges
And graces the borders of the in-between
He sees the hidden worlds between worlds
Walks in the shadowy lands
Amid awake and asleep
The Artist lifts the veils
And reveals beauty that would go unseen
She sees inside the creases and crevices
Unfolds the color of flowers
Puts scent on canvas
Together they play
Dancing on the narrow edge
Of time
That is NOW
They greet the present moment
Brushing past each other
Sharing secrets
Deb Swingholm, The Artist’s Rule: nurturing your creative soul with monastic wisdom
The first two lines grabbed me as I identify immediately with “the monk” tending the edges and gracing the liminal space. I see myself standing and living on the edge of the inside, thus, identifying with the monk. Inside is where the proven normality lies. Nothing wrong with what is normal and accepted, but I have known for long that that is not for me. At the same time, I am not so far out that I cannot identify with the inside, precisely because I have operated from the inside and know what it is like to be inside. There is a good tradition as much as a tradition that is unhelpful or just simply burdensome and not useful at all. I am quite happy to reside in a liminal space, almost to the point of associating being on the edges as my calling. The good tradition unlocks and empowers the freedom within, I would submit. The bad tradition enslaves and judges, violating the freedom within.
I, as a monk, have “walked the shadowy lands” where light and darkness co-exist. I have also “seen the hidden worlds between worlds.” Shadow and darkness are not to be avoided like some sort of plague, but to be embraced as part of life’s sweet aloneness journey to discover what we are made for. It is hidden, because it is far from the center grid, and even when some people may see it, it is often ignored. Sometimes, a great paradoxical mystery is that the hidden invisible worlds are more real than the manufactured actual visible worlds. While it takes seeing to live, the invitation is to live out what we are seeing. That is what faith is.
Then appears The Artist. The colors and scents reminded me of our time in Yangpyeong, almost to the point of a tender ache in my heart. It is a longing ache because this section of the poem encapsulates what I experienced through the Artist’s unveiling and revealing. I have seen the captivating beauty of nature and the goodness of human hearts I would not have seen or what would have gone unseen. I have experienced deep longings of the heart and slow lingerings that unveiled the gift of now. I dearly miss the morning walks flanked by the river and the rice fields and random chance encounters of God’s daily surprises or God’s treasure hunt as my wife would say. Thanks to the Artist who lifted the veils so I could see and experience. The combination of the Artist lifting the veils and my unhurriedness allowed me to see creases and crevices of wonder and beauty. The wonder was the beauty seen, or in my case, finally seen. And the invitation for many more. . . I witnessed the beauty, the beauty of The Artist, the beauty of The Artist’s creation, and the anticipating beauty of what is to come through The Artist’s work.
I love the expressions of “together they play,” “dancing NOW,” “greeting the present moment,” and my favorite line in this poem, “brushing past each other.” I am reminded of Rumi’s line, “We rarely hear the inward music, but we’re all dancing to it nevertheless.” My dance which is uniquely mine, because of its inward music infused with the dance in the NOW (which is none other than God) is the dream dance of divine and human partnership in the context of the present moment.
This playful freedom invigorates and energizes the soul within. Without freedom, the soul never fully flourishes. In fact, the soul shrinks and shrivels beyond recognition without freedom. The monk and the Artist playfully collaborate and create something only that this pair of humanity and divinity could create. This joint creative process is a playful work and a work of play. And if it is done right, it opens a door for others to join in the unleashing of creative play. As I shared during the session, the phrase, “playful holy ground” when referring to my experience at Yangpyeong was uttered out of my soul. Thus, “brushing past each other” becomes the secret that only the monk and the Artist share and cherish. Perhaps, in the end, it is not merely the beauty of The Artist’s creation, but an unrepeatably unique beauty flowing out of collaborative endeavor between the monk that I am, and the Artist God is.