Nothing Above, Nothing Below
Meditations on Elder-Wisdom, Acceptance, and Divine Incomprehensibility
I sit in a middle pew. We bow our heads in horseshoe formation.
Before me, a little girl sticks her tongue out at her older brother. He stares back, unflinching. Her expressions grow increasingly dramatic and strange until finally a smile breaks across the brother’s face. Satisfied with her accomplishment, she bows her head with the rest of us.
Behind me, an old man begins to snore. The soft rumbling is reminiscent of a napping dog, which makes me want to curl up on the bench and drift away with him. I am taken by the rhythm of his dreaming breath… It is a gift, subtly profound, to share space with someone whose body is comfortable enough to ease into rest amongst strangers.
Then I remember we are not strangers… We are friends.
Each Sunday I sit here, amongst these friends, simmering in contemplations of God and humanity and my place in this strange and beautiful family of things. Today, I ponder:
How the wars we fight externally are a reflection of the wars we fight within.
How feelings such as peace, pain, faith, and fear can all co-exist in the same moment.
How love can feel both so close and so far away.
How every being is God in drag. Including you, including me.
Quaker meetings are a mostly silent experience. However, if Divine inspiration greets you, you may stand and openly offer a testimony-revelation-insight-question to the room. On rare occasion, the silence prevails and no one rises to share. But usually there are at least 2-3 people who stand and speak, animating the room with goosebumps, sighs, and quietly shed tears.
This is the root of the unmediated spirituality at the core of Quaker philosophy. Though they do have a set of values they aim to embody (simplicity, peace, integrity, community, equality, and stewardship), there is no priest guarding any gates, no guru dictating codes of conduct and morality, and no preacher claiming a higher access to ultimate truth. They believe that each individual has direct access to the Divine.
While some meeting houses are more explicit in their focus on Christian teachings of Jesus, the meeting I attend is non-denominational and welcoming of all cosmic perspectives and faiths. Whether you pray or meditate, contemplate or snore, you are welcome to sit, listen, and express as an equal.
I began attending these meetings in 2021. Despite sitting amongst friends each Sunday, I don’t consider myself a Quaker. I’m not a Christian. Nor a Buddhist, Yogi, Sufi, or Daoist… My spiritual path has been a meandering one, incorporating immense heart-lessons I’ve learned from every faith, as well as spiritual encounters from hiking trails, subway trains, restaurant kitchens, and recital halls.
Every morning I sit in my own solitary meditation for 30-60 minutes. It’s a beautiful practice—one that has allowed me to connect more deeply with my body, with my unconscious fears and desires, with compassion for humanity, and with the great mystery of the universe (which I call God).
So, why do I bother practicing with the Quakers each week? Because they offer something I can’t access when I’m alone: elder wisdom.
At these meetings the youthful and middle-aged are the minority. The bowing heads are by and large silver-haired with deep wrinkle lines mapping decades of smiles, frowns, and furrowed brows.
I’ve always gravitated toward elders. Whether at a wedding, a coffee shop, or an airport, I often find myself sitting with the oldest person in the room. There’s a deep gratitude I feel in those moments, listening to stories and memories and reflections from a life long-lived. There’s a permission I feel, too... I notice I’m more relaxed around elders than I am around most peers. It’s as though a calming pheromone is released by those who know they are standing in the final chapters of life. One that signals to my hyper-aroused neurons, “It’s ok. Life is bigger than whatever fear you hold. In this moment, you can let it go.”
So when we sit in silence contemplating peace and war, love and hate, life and death, and an elder begins to speak… Naturally, the whole room leans forward.
There’s a reason we stand in awe at the edge of grand canyons, millions of years in the making. In these spaces, where a wide arc of life has passed through, the voice of God echoes with a special tone.
~~~
An elder stands:
Today I contemplate outrage
versus moral courage. In these
times, I so readily feel outrage.
I am an old woman who has
seen much tragedy and despair.
Still, it's not too late for me to
find courage. That is what I seek
as I sit here with you, friends.An elder stands:
Ram Dass says that
a God defined is a God
confined. A God formed
is a God deformed.
May I recognize that which
I have confined and deformed.
Where I have judged or juried.
May I instead remember love.An elder stands:
I am thinking of the boy
I once was. The God I was
given: a harsh, cold, violent,
man. How afraid of him I was.
I look at the children here.
Here, where we contemplate
love. Where we contemplate
peace. Where God exists
in the seed of every heart.
In this shared silence of ours,
I have nothing to fear. That
little boy has been set free. An elder stands:
We're all familiar with the
ways God can be known:
falling in love, a summer's
breeze, children's laughter.
As for the ways in which
God cannot be known...
We sit... And we ponder...
We feel into the stillness.An elder stands:
On this day of the dead, I'm
remembering who we have
lost... All their love, all their
lessons... I'm remembering
those who walked in humility.
Living examples of integrity,
and kindness, with warmth
emanating from their hearts...
Those who taught me that no
one is beneath me, nor is anyone
above. They give me an ideal to
hold, even if I never reach it myself.~~~
In a death-averse culture that hides elders away from the rest of the community, these moments at the Quaker meetings are sacred to me. Not only are the archives of personal and collective history that our elders hold immensely profound, but our elders are the wayfinders. They can hold our hands, offering faith and encouragement as we cross significant thresholds and face uncharted territories.
Which is why, in all my encounters with elders, there’s inevitably a part of me seeking guidance.
When I ask an elder: “What was your experience in the war?” or “How did you become a chemist?” or “Did you always want to be a mother?” or “What was it like to watch your wife’s health slowly decline?” or “What do you think happens when we die?”
In a way, what I’m really asking is: “How do I navigate the uncertainty of these times?” and “How can I find professional fulfillment?” and “Could I become a mother without losing my sense of self?” and “How will I possibly be able to bear the loss of my loved ones?” and “How do I find peace with who I’ve been, and who I’ve become, when I face the end of my own life?”
These questions, and the sentiments behind them, feel simple. Basic, perhaps even in an unsophisticated way. But nearly everyone I know is grappling with these most basic questions, challenges, paradoxes, whether we consciously acknowledge it or not. Will I succeed? Will I find fulfillment? Am I loved? Can I face the inevitable pain that lays before me? How will I survive the uncertainties, the atrocities, the divides? When my time has come, will I be ready to die?
Below are nuggets of wisdom I’ve been reckoning with from listening to elders at Quaker meeting. Wisdom that speak to the questions above. Reading them does feel a bit simple/basic/unsophisticated. I mean, the insights seem obvious... But I’ve found that embodying these teachings is a feat far beyond any intellectual comprehension:
The quandaries of incomprehensibility (whether human or Divine) that I wrestle with likely won’t go away. In other words, old age will not provide answers to the existential questions of my youth. If anything, my angst will soften into a semblance of acceptance, but the mysteries and uncertainties will remain.
I am not an obstacle to be overcome. I am who I am. Personal flaws and limitations are inherent to the human experience. While it may be noble to strive for greater humility/compassion/grace/honesty/integrity/etc throughout my lifetime, I likely will never “realize” the “ideal” version of my Self, even when I reach elder-hood. I am better served by endeavoring to accept myself as I am today. Shadow, spoils, shortcomings and all.
In order to truly know love, I must embrace the inevitability of pain. The older I get, the more people I know die. Of course this is how it works—we don’t all make it to the finish line at the same time, or when we want to, or how we want to. Loss rarely feels fair, no matter if it’s a tragic death or a mild disappointment or a collective injustice. Perhaps as I age I’ll become more equipped at tending these wounds, but when cut by the pains of love it will most surely sear.
No matter the wrinkles upon my own face, I can always greet the world with a beginner’s mind and child’s eyes. Life is a playground if I allow it to be, and I get to make up the game as I go. By infusing levity and gratitude into my heart, I become more adaptable. And when I am adaptable, all of life’s circumstances become opportunities for growth, play, and experimentation rather than perceived roadblocks and setbacks. If I can release the pressure of becoming an expert as I age, I instead get to bask in the joy of being a lifelong student.
~~~
I sit in my own silence, and I ponder acceptance. I attempt to soften into it. Can I find humility? Can I strive without grasping? Love without hiding? Embrace an imperfection? Greet the world with a playful heart?
In this singular moment, I do feel myself soften... It may only be a inch, but even a millimeter is mega.
Infusing this elder wisdom into my contemplations, suddenly life doesn’t feel too scary, or too painful, or too heavy to hold...
I feel into the stillness.
I contemplate moral courage.
I recognize where I have judged, and choose instead to remember love.
I find God in the seed of every heart.
I have nothing to fear
for nothing is beneath me,
nor is anything above.
Thank you for your sight, this testimony. beautifully realized.
Beauty 🤍