For Hannah Arendt on the Vita Contemplativa and Coffee
“Never is he more active than when he does nothing, never is he less alone than when he is by himself.” Cato
As a younger man I selected songs to play when the dreaded time came, songs I liked but grew to hate when I associated it with being pulled from my safety and peace. Now, it’s gentle but haunting stock sounds that float into my ear and eventually brain. I’m confused, bewildered even though yesterday morning and today are the same, and tomorrow will match. I can’t articulate it at 5:30am but my confusion seems to stem from disrupting and manipulating my body's natural rhythms. I'm bewildered because externally imposed timelines on rest seem oppressive.
When I remember who and where I am, I remember to have thoughts of gratitude. The world I exist within is just as I left it. The humans I love and the cats that tolerate me are here, breathing and dreaming. I am alive and I can tell because of the dull ache in my knees and back and I notice my urgent need for coffee; I am aging, the sun is setting on my youth and each day I settle into my more permanent reality, a privilege many of my loved ones no longer know, so I intend to humbly thank my creator.
After coffee. I’m addicted to coffee, my head hurts and my attitude suffers without it, my father and his father were both addicted to coffee so I cherish this vice like a family heirloom and consider myself lucky that it’s only coffee.
The pot hisses and bubbles. While I wait, flashes of terror interrupt an otherwise soft start. Thoughts of how my existence holds me in bondage. Responsibilities, work obligations, social expectations, Donald Trump, consumer capitalism, complicity, and how I’m one day closer to death. But then I breathe, my chest and abdomen expand, and that’s a good thing, plus the coffee is ready. A smart man said he desired to be “free ‘til I evaporate.”[1] A different smart man said there’s a prerequisite to being free. To be independent of life’s necessities, to exist within and contemplate the beautiful, not merely the useful. This type of freedom is necessary to know truth, truth in the form of God, the eternal.[2] When the coffee is gone, the world I must enter will do what it’s designed to do: hi-jack action, contemplation, and thought, erode freedom and truth, and replace it with compliance and pragmatism.
I can procrastinate entering this world because it’s only 6am and I’m just getting started.
The hot black liquid mixes with the cold white one and my brain emerges from hibernation. I read about the last year of Malcolm’s life and how faith and love can transcend country and politics.[3] I read about Marx and orient myself to the idea of “being much” over “having much.”[4] I read Hanif Abdurraqib’s radiant, relatable, and often heartbreaking stories of place and time.[5] I read Chogyam Trungpa’s instructions on peace through meditation.[6] I read the book of Isaiah and wonder how the evil of idol worship persists today.[7] The world is a context created by humans, where truth and knowledge are achieved through human action, where we place faith in our own intellect and ingenuity and have little use for contemplation, little use for God. Maybe that’s one way idol worship persists.
Despite the acidic film forming in my mouth, there is more coffee, and I should drink it because perhaps my body will store it somewhere like a life vest that I can use this afternoon when I’m drowning in yawns.
I found my meditation cushion, it was a gift from a very granola ex-girlfriend, or that’s how she wanted to be perceived. Her granola-ness was her best quality, but it felt flimsy, like a child who wears a Halloween costume in April; they seem to enjoy it, so no one says anything. The gift has proven useful on my path, or rather as I strive to become the path.
Do not centralize inwards
Have no longing to become higher
Completely identify with the here and now
Remember these things without thinking about them, notice the breath while letting it occur naturally. It’s like rinsing the brain with cool water, it’s like unfolding a giant road map, it’s treating thoughts like thorns that you notice, gently remove, and discard. Language cheapens the experience, so it is better to sit in quiet observation, so I do that.
After 10 minutes another alarm sounds and I need to move on, I finish the final now cold sip of my sacred beverage and prepare to pray. I ask my creator to increase my faith, I ask for the armor that Paul spoke of,[8] and the peace Isaiah said God offers. But I remember, René said to start by saying thank you.
Hear my prayer, Lord
I offer it with humility and gratitude
Thank you for waking me up and for surrounding me with love, with loved ones
I am a man, and men suffer and die
If that is not in the plans for me today, then let me make a joyful noise all day long
God cover me in your armor
Give me the presence and awareness to resist fitting in, to resist control
Give me the strength to not succumb to fear, want and excess
Remove my need to perform in front of the world
Give me the discipline to perform for you alone
A performance of thoughts, actions, and words to glorify you God
Give me the courage to be curious rather than certain
Use me as a warrior against ignorance
Ignorance of the eternal, ignorance of love
Even if the war is fought privately, within me
Use me as a warrior against passivity
Against the type of tranquilized functioning that is an instrument of tyranny
Give me endurance to think what I am doing
And when they wander, shepherd my mind and heart back to you
For your love I am forever grateful and offer my life as a sacrifice
To be in your peace
Not the peace of this world
But your peace
Forever and ever
Amen
I tap my finger on the weather app icon: a high of 93 degrees today. My skin has a more olive tone than some of my brothers and sisters from the Caucasus Mountains but I’m still white, so the sun is a friend with whom to hold firm boundaries. Like a drinking buddy who likes to fight. We can hang out but with rules. The New York Times has calamities to tell me about, text messages and emails tap me on the shoulder. The world will not allow me to be alone any longer. My worth depends on my productivity, my activity. My precious time and finite attention are required in exchange for more moments like this. I acquiesce, but not entirely.
By: The Knight of Infinite Resignation
AKA Dr. Spencer Childress
[1] Ocean, F. (2016). Nights. Blonde. Boys Don’t Cry.
[2] Aristotle as cited in Arendt, H. (2018). The human condition. University of Chicago Press.
[3] Breitman, G. (1967). The last year of Malcolm X: The evolution of a revolutionary. Pathfinder Press.
[4] Small, R. (2014). Karl Marx: The Revolutionary as Educator. Springer.
[5] Abdurraqib, H. (2024). There's always this year: on basketball and ascension. Random House.
[6] Trungpa, C. (2003). Shambhala: The sacred path of the warrior. Shambhala.
[7] The Holy Bible: New International Version. (2002) Zondervan. Isaiah 44:9
[8] The Holy Bible: New International Version. (2002) Zondervan. Ephesians 6:10