Our job at this stage of our development, says R. Steiner, is to transform our feeling life through the I. Huh? What what?
The “I” is our higher ego, the one that outlives our physical body. The feeling life is the entire body of likes and dislikes, identities and aspirations, tastes, judgments, attachments, and impulses, both noble and low, that we tote around with us. And the work of the I in transforming that body of feelings is somehow connected with the deepest part of the original Christian message. That’s about as far as I can see into that.
Oh, and to get there we’re supposed to work with imaginations. These are the little (or big) insights we receive about the way things work, or thought pictures, or events we bring to life through our thinking, and through our thinking we bring higher consciousness down into the world.
As for me, I know I’m not good at any meditative discipline. Maybe in the fall I can take something up again. All spring and summer I’ve been taking grace for granted—spending from my savings so to speak—and turning away from meditation with a will. I feel like there may be a reckoning for this at some time to come; but I also know at some level I’ve chosen it and will learn a lesson from whatever the consequence is. Of course, if I’ve done harm, or failed to do some good, through my lack of a practice, I hope for a chance to restore things in this life. (More grace, please?)
Even without a practice, I’m hungry all the time for a glimpse behind the curtain. So I’m hungering and at the same time refusing to do the main thing that might feed me. The hunger, or rather the eagerness for the experience of growth and living, tells me I’m not completely asleep, and I’m trying—trying, not mastering, but trying—to be silent more and let the world speak to me through its forms. I’m trying to observe things without naming them or explaining them. That is a kind of practice, more of an abstaining than a doing, and I know it’s like scattering seeds—some will grow, but only to the degree I’ve given them good soil to grow in. The rest are not wasted, of course, but their effect is much less than it could have been.
There you have it—Summer.