I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Jamie Alm’s reflection on contemplative presence and family life.
How do I live as a monk in the world? How do I bring contemplative presence to my work and/or family?
In my early days of motherhood, I would jealously read about monks with endless hours to contemplate beauty, goodness and truth in the silence of their cloistered lives. I envied their uninterrupted life. It looked so pure, so impenetrable. They lived in a spiritual fortress that could protect the creative contemplative life.
In those jealous days, my creativity faltered in the face of fear, distraction and busyness. I longed to get away, to be silent and pray for all that I needed to lament and grieve. I resonated with Jesus’ desire to be alone after the violent murder of John the Baptist. But then the five thousand came and they hungered for his stories. Jesus deferred the solitude he desperately needed. He lingered to nourish those who interrupted him. How did he weave and craft such compelling stories from the space of interrupted solitude? How did he create a feast from such a basic offering of 5 loaves and 2 fish?
I have three vibrant, complicated daughters with perpetual hunger as they navigate this bewildering world. Their needs often manifest as interruption to artistry. It is hard to steal away and find solitude that is essential in cultivating a creative life. I live in a city where there is rarely silence. In the early morning, the birds surrender their songs and harmonize with the train. In the late evening, the thumping cars broadcast loud music and display the power of their engines. These sounds remind me that the city never sleeps. I know this to be true. In the middle of the night, my daughter climbs into my bed and interrupts even this sliver of stillness. There is no place to be alone.
Slowly, I have learned to cultivate a contemplative life that improvises. I welcome and over-accept these ordinary interruptions, weaving them into the fabric of my life. The improvisational contemplative life demands that I hone the skill of paying attention, forming prayers that the Jesuits call a “long loving look at what is real.”
Years ago, my daughters and I were at the Tukwila Library, a bustling community space. Here one finds the convergence of people and stories from around the world. Tucked into the corner, behind the picture books and graphic novels, another young mother, wearing hijab, began salat. Her four year old daughter climbed on her bent back, as if the child had just been invited to ascend a portable jungle gym. Swiftly the child gently swung around her mother’s neck becoming an adorning jewel. With her mother’s next movement, the child shifted her position, mounting her mother’s back like a bold horse rider. Submission and power were on full display in that hidden corner of the library. And then the salat was finished and both mother and daughter rose, faces shining.
These days, I transport myself into the sacred world of that praying mother in the library, learning to steadfastly hold Love’s Gaze throughout each movement of the day. The interruptions— of fighting children, the nuisance of health insurance hotlines, the relentless laundry— form a muddy swirl around me. They demand I welcome the messiness of real life. I host these seemingly unholy moments and invite them to climb or hang or mount or play within my contemplative world.
The long loving look allows me to slowly see. Where there is sibling conflict, the invitation comes to engage in the catalytic work of conflict and resolution. We grow the practices of listening and peace-making into our messy daily lives. Where there is bureaucracy and paperwork, I listen to the customer service woman on the other side of the phone and remember that she bears the image of the Divine. Where there are piles of laundry, I am invited to embrace quotidian mysteries of work that will never be complete. Rather than resentment, I receive the scent of grace— fresh linens again today. These daily grind moments ground my feet in the muddy mess of life where I am increasingly present to Mystery unfolding in the midst of the daily noise.
Within this improvisational contemplative life, YES solitude is constantly interrupted AND a verdant landscape is growing. The muddy world of children, bills and chores has formed a robust and complex soil nourishing my creative life. My daughter retells her nightly dreams and they become seeds for growing plot lines. Humble encounters within the grocery store line inspire narrative frameworks, tilling the soil of my hardened heart. Sometimes the urge to create art waits in me like a peony bud ready to burst. The practice of telling healing stories grows like climbing vines, wrapping over my entire life. A garden of creativity flourishes in this life of interruptions. I contemplate this mystery.
Jamie Alm learns, lives and builds community with her family in southeast Seattle while running an amateur bed and breakfast. She is trained in Speech Language Therapy and Narrative Medicine and is an emerging writer. She loves all things related to words and story.
