David's Desk is my opportunity to share thoughts and tools for the spiritual journey. These letters are my personal insights and opinions and do not necessarily reflect the sentiments or thoughts of any other person in Lorian or of Lorian as a whole. If you wish to share this blog post with others, please feel free to do so; however, the material is ©2021 by David Spangler.
FOURTEEN YEARS
It’s amazing to me to think about, but with this David’s Desk, I’m starting my fifteenth year of writing these monthly essays. Fourteen years have gone by since I began this project. Frankly, I had no idea it would last this long! That it has done so has been due to the support and enthusiasm which you, my dear readers, have offered me and the kindness you have shown in welcoming my thoughts into your lives.
From the beginning, I set out a couple of rules for myself. The first was that I would avoid as much as possible writing about politics. The second was that I would not “chase the news,” that is, use David’s Desk to make comments about current social conditions and situations that might be making headlines in the media that month. I felt that there were already a number of very talented and skilled commentators who were writing editorials and blogs covering current events and the machinations of politicians. While I have strong political and social views and opinions, I did not feel my strengths lay in sharing them as some kind of a pundit. What I could do, as I state in the preamble to each Desk, is “share thoughts and tools for the spiritual journey.” This journey is very much in my wheelhouse, so this is what I have tried to do each month.
Still, our spiritual lives are not separate from our social, economic, and political lives. They are all entwined in our wholeness and embedded in the ongoing evolution of our world and of our humanity. There is no doubt in my mind that we are all engaged in a struggle to turn a corner in how we view and treat ourselves, each other, and our world. I am a bone-deep optimist and will always be so, but my optimism doesn’t prevent me from seeing that this struggle is central to whether or not we will thrive—or even survive—as a species.
Because it has many facets, there are equally many valid ways we can define this struggle. One way is the need to rethink our relationship to the Earth in the face of climate change. Another is to deal with the many inequalities that exist in our societies whether these are economic, gender-oriented, racial, religious, or of some other nature that allow one group to have advantages denied to others. I often think it is a struggle to move from fear—fear of others, fear of loss, fear of powerlessness, fear of the new and unfamiliar, fear of the future—to trust: trust in each other, trust in opportunity, trust in the power of cooperation and mutual service, trust in possibilities, trust in adaptability to meet the future with grace. On the whole, it is a struggle to move from division and conflict to wholeness and cooperation.
However we name this struggle, our spiritual lives are part of it. The purpose of developing spiritually is also to develop in the other parts of our lives that engage with the world. I may not focus in these essays on ways of participating in the struggle for change. This is because I trust in your ability to figure that part out for yourselves, since I don’t know the unique conditions and possibilities—or challenges—of your life. You don’t need me to give you action instructions, but I believe I can help by offering perspectives that can inspire you to act and that affirm your ability to do so with love and wisdom.
Thinking back over the past fourteen years of David’s Desk, there are many essays that I’m proud of, but there are two that stand out for me. I’d like to reproduce them here.
The first is David’s Desk #146 which came out in July of 2019:
WHERE IT STARTS
This month’s David’s Desk is a short picture story with a moral.
I live in a suburb about twenty miles east of Seattle, Washington. The city itself is on Puget Sound, a large body of water that separates us from the Olympic Peninsula to the west and that ultimately opens out into the Pacific Ocean. Here are some pictures of what the Sound looks like:
My home is about twenty-five miles or so from Puget Sound itself. Beautiful as the Sound is, I normally don’t think about it as I go through my day at home. I can’t see it from where I live, so it’s easy to forget. It seems removed from me.
Unless I walk through our neighborhood….
Throughout our neighborhood, there are storm drains where rain water can run off. They look like this:
They are not beautiful. But they are very useful and necessary when it rains!
If you examine the picture of this drain, you’ll see a little sign embedded in the concrete of the curb or sidewalk above it. Here’s a closeup of what the little sign says:
This sign tells me that in terms of being connected and thus of potentially having an impact upon it, Puget Sound is not twenty-some miles away but right here at my feet. Right here where I am standing by one of these storm drains, I am connected to the large body of water that is the Sound.
In effect, this:
is also this:
Something small, utilitarian, and locked in concrete is connected to, and thus part of, something majestic, beautiful, and spacious.
Rather like the relationship we have with sacredness
Every time I take a walk around the neighborhood, I am getting a little lesson in connectedness. Each time I see one of these drains with its accompanying sign, I’m reminded that what I do in my neighborhood (at least in terms of putting things down these drains) affects Puget Sound. Truly, the Sound starts here.
For me, this is a perfect metaphor for how we are connected with each other and with the world and the universe beyond in many unseen but nonetheless impactful ways. If there is one lesson humanity struggles to learn right now, it is this lesson of just how interconnected we all are. It is a lesson of how our actions can have an effect on people and places in ways we can’t measure by physical proximity. It’s a lesson in our interdependency.
What we generate in our lives through our thoughts, our emotions, and the ways we choose to express them can have a far-reaching influence in a world that is so much more than just its physical nature and appearances. Love and hate both connect, though with very different consequences.
It is also a metaphor for how we in our ordinariness and individuality are also part of something vast, special, and all-encompassing. Whether I call it the World, the Universe, or God, we are each part of a source of beauty, spaciousness, and abundant life. We are each part of something larger, a Wholeness affected by all that we do.
The message of the little drain-signs in my neighborhood always remind me of the interconnected nature of creation and of the profound lesson we need to learn
The second David’s Desk I want to remember and celebrate came out in August of 2015. It was my 100th essay, and I celebrated it by simply publishing a picture of my desk (my desk looks a bit different now; the two Gandalfs are still there flanking my monitor, along with Yoda and Dr. Strange, but all the other icons have been replaced by new ones; after all, the winds of “nerditry” bring change!):
ONE HUNDRED
Amazingly, this is the 100th David’s Desk. Frankly, when I began writing these essays nine years ago, I had no idea they would last as long as they have. Nor do I have plans to stop. After all, in another nine years, we’ll reach 200. Maybe I’ll retire then!
I’ve been thinking what topic—what jewels of wisdom—would be suitable to celebrate reaching 100. A number of thoughts came to mind, but none quite seemed what I wanted. Then it occurred to me. I should just show you what my actual desk looks like!
David’s desk
Here my nerdy geekness and love of movies, fantasy, superheroes, and science fiction are on full display. On the left stands my Gandalf the Grey bobblehead, followed by Sunshine Care Bear (a favorite of mine from when our children were little), Joy (from the movie Inside Out—I mean who doesn’t want a little Joy in their lives?), Chewbacca and Hans Solo from Star Wars, an Elven maiden warrior stepping out of a castle door, Yoda, Dr. Strange (Marvel Comics’ Master of the Mystic Arts—obviously a role model!), Storm (also a Marvel superhero, a woman who can control the weather—always handy in the Pacific Northwest), a Viking (a gift from my friend Søren in Denmark), a small Bear stone, and finally Gandalf the White bobblehead.
These figures are each meaningful to me in one way or another, usually by representing something important to me in the realms of myth and archetype from which inspiration often comes. But mostly I love them for their playfulness. I am basically a whimsical fellow.
On the screen is an aerial view of Issaquah, the town where I live, taken by my oldest son John-Michael one beautiful summer day when he was paragliding off one of the foothills of the Cascade Mountain range. The large lake is Lake Sammamish which is a five minute walk from our home. Oh, and yes, that is a Yoda bobblehead on top of the monitor.
Revealing the true David’s Desk may give you some insights into the strange workings of my mind, at the risk of discouraging you from wanting anything more to do with me! I hope, though, it will encourage you to stick with me for another nine years, and to appreciate the icons, the myths, the heroes, and the whimsy that are part of your lives.
With this stroll down memory lane, I wish you a wonderful and delightfully foolish and blessed month of April. I’ll see you in May!