Reading in the zone

According to the sage of Ecclesiastes, "Of the making of many books there is no end ..." He's right! A recurring nightmare for bibliophiles is that there are just too many books to read, and the one you really need to read has escaped your notice. I am always glad when I make a new find.  I wonder often, "How did I miss this one?"
This was the case for a book recommended to me at our annual retreat, Edward Hays's Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim. Since the retreat, Jane and I have been using it as supplementary material for our morning office. The prayers and psalms are written in a contemporary style, noticing the concerns of everyday life. They are ordered around the seasons of the year, with a recurring motif that the planet is one small speck in the universe, always in motion, "moving outward into infinite space." Hays has some helpful prayers for each day of the week (morning and evening) changing with the seasons. The prayers are supplemented with psalms for different occasions and states of mind: "A Psalm of Icy Awareness," "Psalm of the Springtime Sun," and "A Psalm of E=MC2" give you a flavor of the variety.
The book finishers with a "Survival Manual for a Cosmic Amphibian: Equipment, Exercises, and Instructions." This alone is worth the price of the book. It comprises  an excellent introduction to spiritual practice and discipline.
Of the many prayer and devotional books I have looked at, this book is very close to the spirit of the Lindisfarne Community. The prayers and psalms are written in inclusive language. Hays includes prayers from many traditions, though clearly rooted in the Christian tradition. He writes "outside the box."

There are different ways to read — speed reading, cramming for a test, reading to find out information, reading for sheer enjoyment.  Then there is spiritual reading — reading of a different quality. Reading "in the zone." I have listened on the radio recently to a few games of tennis at the Wimbledon championship. A match is progressing more or less routinely when, as if turning a switch, one the players gets "in the zone." Anything she does works, there is a fluidity about her game, which was missing only a few minutes before, there is something seemingly effortless about her play. It's difficult to describe what has happened, but "in the zone" seems to fit. The listeners know what is meant, even when they can't describe it. 
In my taiji play and meditation practice I know the feeling. In the beginning "the zone" is an allusive dream. In time, with more practice it becomes easier to find "the zone." In sitting meditation, where once the "monkey mind" was the order of the day, the "horse mind" becomes more the norm. This change happens every semester for students as I teach them to meditate. The first few weeks are full of fidgeting. By week twelve, most students can more less find the zone and enjoy "slipping into it" before we discuss philosophy.
What does "the zone" in spiritual reading feel like? It is easier to say at first what it is not. It is not reading for information (though information of sorts is found). It is not reading merely for pleasure (though pleasure is often felt intensely). It is reading to make connection of spirit to Spirit. It is interior reading, journeying deep into the psyche. It is more often than not slow reading — ponderous, meditative — pausing often as a phrase or thought strikes a chord. It is reading that starts with a text, but moves beyond the text as imagination takes over. At times it feels as if the universe opens and glimpses of Reality are felt, but no words can be found to tell it. Spiritual reading is transformative. Spiritual reading gives perspective to life — what may have been problems or issues before reading simply melt away as inconsequential or else new insights and solutions arise.
Spiritual reading need not be books about spirituality. I have often found myself in "the zone" reading a novel, or a textbook, poetry, or the newspaper. Like the tennis player whose game is routine,  unexpectedly something occurs, with a new quality, a new sense. Some years ago I was reading Lawrence Durrell's 1957 Justine. Out of nowhere I was arrested by just one sentence:
I see now that he was one of those rare people who had found a philosophy for himself and whose life was occupied in trying to live it.
I tried to read further but couldn't. For a few minutes I was simply lost. In "the zone."  Thankfully, these gifts are often given. Look out for them.


+Ab. Andy