Author Archives: Steve Jacobsen

I worked for 43 years in the nonprofit and spiritual development fields....Executive Director of Hospice of Santa Barbara, Director of La Casa de Maria Retreat Center (before it closed in 2018 following the mud and debris flow event), and as a Presbyterian pastor in a variety of states and settings. I've been active in inter-spiritual work for 20 years, particularly with the Jewish, Muslim and Buddhist communities. I've served on several nonprofit boards and published a dozen articles. I enjoy baseball, classical music, listening to peoples' personal stories, politics, history and my family.

My Brown Bag Lunch with a Nobel Scientist, Quiet Time in My Backyard, and Faith as a Signpost

When we first came to Santa Barbara in the early 1990s, I was finishing a leadership program through Seattle University. One of our assignments was to interview leaders from different disciplines: the arts, education, business, and science. I didn’t know any scientists, so I asked one of my parishioners who worked at UCSB for suggestions. “You should interview Walter Kohn,” Hank said. “People say he may get the Nobel Prize someday.” It was also known that, despite his fame, he came to campus every day on the city bus.

I called Professor Kohn’s office and left a message. He called me back and agreed to meet. “I bring a brown bag lunch every day and eat in my office,” he said. “Why don’t you bring your own lunch and we can talk?” We set a date.

I don’t remember what food I prepared, but I made sure to bring it in a brown paper bag.

I found his office and knocked. He invited me in and offered me a chair.

What remains vivid in my memory is his description of growing up in Vienna in a close Jewish family in the 1920s and ’30s. He was also grateful for the excellent public education he received, including the study of Greek and Latin. He said he gained a lasting appreciation for how Roman civil society and traditions put a high value on personal integrity and public service, which he sought to embody in his life and career.

After the Nazis took control of Austria in 1938, he was separated from his parents, who were later killed in the Holocaust. He made it to England, then Canada, and finally the United States. Along the way, he took advantage of every educational opportunity that came to him. He eventually found his calling as a scientist and came to UCSB in 1979 to become the first director of the Institute for Theoretical Physics.

As is often the case, what we remember from meeting a person may not be the details of what they said but the feeling we gain for who they are. I was struck by Professor Kohn’s modesty, his graciousness, and his desire, born of the suffering he had seen as a young man, to make the world a more just, caring, and peaceful place.

Five years after our lunch, Professor Kohn was awarded the Nobel Prize in Chemistry for his work in quantum mechanics. He died in 2016 at the age of 93.

The memory of that lunch came back to me recently as I was reading a compelling account of the intellectual and cultural legacy of Vienna in the 1920s and ’30s, much of which was brought to America by émigrés after World War II.* I realized Professor Kohn was one of those remarkable people, and a living embodiment of that world.

Looking for more information about him, I found this quote:

“I am very much a scientist, and so I naturally have thought about religion also through the eyes of a scientist. When I do that, I see religion not denominationally, but in a more, let us say, deistic sense. I have been influenced in my thinking by the writing of Einstein who has made remarks to the effect that when he contemplated the world he sensed an underlying Force much greater than any human force. I feel very much the same. There is a sense of awe, a sense of reverence, and a sense of great mystery.” **

A few days later, I was having my morning quiet time in our backyard. When I first become still, my mind is flooded with thoughts and feelings about what happened yesterday and what I’m anticipating in the day to come. When that flow settles, I try to get out of myself and observe my surroundings. I want to notice anything new: Have the leaves of the sycamore tree changed color again? Are any agapanthus still blooming? Is that squirrel running across the top of the fence the same one I saw yesterday?

But this time all was still, and nothing stood out. Then I became aware that just because I don’t see anything dramatic doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot of life going on. Every tree and plant is quietly processing its life in response to the changing environment. Every spider is caring for its web or planning the next one. Every blade of grass is growing cell by cell. The children in our neighborhood, getting ready for school, are growing and changing every day. And as I am processing and planning and growing (and letting go), I am part of all that: “an underlying Force much greater than any human force,” as Professor Kohn said.

I want to remember what his family and so many like them went through. Like him, I want to be part of the ongoing effort to let the impact of our lives be rooted in reverence, not destruction.

Faith is not about having everything figured out. It is a signpost pointing in a direction we want to go, a direction that leads to discovery, delight, hard work, and service.

Professor Kohn wrote an eloquent account of his life story for the Nobel Prize award which you can read at Walter Kohn Life Summary for Nobel Prize

* Vienna, How the City of Ideas Created the Modern World, by Richard Cockett

**https://todayinsci.com/K/Kohn_Walter/KohnWalter-Quotations.htm#google_vignette

Useful Flemish Proverbs

Before A. I. meant “Artificial Intelligence,” it could have stood for something even more amazing: “Artistic Imagination.” This appears when human beings feel a desire to express something important and use their natural creative abilities and skills to bring into being a song, an image, or a story. Sometimes such creations are meant to be divine offerings. Sometimes they are meant for human entertainment or amusement. And sometimes they may be a combination of the two.

I have written before about the famous Flemish painter from the 1550s, Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Recently I came across one of his works that I had never paid attention to: “Flemish Proverbs.” Flemish was the dialect of Dutch spoken in Flanders, the northern region that is now part of Belgium. Bruegel gathered 126 folk sayings about everyday life that were popular in his time and painted a simple illustration of each one, then arranged them in an imaginary village scene. He didn’t share a list of what sayings he was illustrating, leaving it to viewers to try to figure it out. (Perhaps a forerunner of “Where’s Waldo.”) Fortunately, scholars who know the language, culture and history of that time have decoded the images and matched them to the sayings.

Some of those incorporated in the painting are still in popular use: “Swimming against the tide,” “Banging one’s head against a brick wall,” and “Armed to the teeth.” Most have faded away. But I find pleasure in reading the list of sayings and seeing how Bruegel illustrated each one. I’ve chosen ten to share. I’ll introduce each one with an imaginary situation we could be in where the particular proverb might be fun to use.

Let’s say you know someone who planned to get something done, but it’s not working out as they expected. You could say, “That sure didn’t work.” Or you could say, “Well, you know the old Flemish proverb: ‘The herring does not fry here.'”

How about when you see someone trying to change a situation and you can tell they don’t have the resources they need? You could say, “You don’t have what it takes.” Or you can pose a question: “What can smoke do to iron?” (Both sayings refer to the same scene with smoke rising from the grill.)

What if you were invited to dinner but arrived late and discovered all the food was gone? “Well,” you could report, “By the time I got there, I found the dog in the pot.” (The dog is hard to see…he’s behind the man on the right…being sneaky, as smart dogs are.)

Maybe you know someone who always wants to talk about the same topic every time you are with them. Instead of telling a mutual friend, “Can’t he talk about anything else?” you could say, “He’s always gnawing on a single bone.”

Someone is aging and experiencing a decline in their ability to do everyday tasks. They tell you they can’t imagine why this is happening to them. You could say, “Of course this is what’s happening…you’re getting old! Get used to it!” But that’s a bit harsh. Instead, you could smile, put your hand gently on their shoulder, and say, “An old roof needs lots of patching up.”

Somebody is experiencing changes in their life which they think no one notices. You might say to them, “Don’t you know we can all see what’s going on?” But a nice way might be to mention the change that is occurring and say, “Well, you know, some things grow out the window.”

A person is having good things come their way, but you have a friend who resents this person’s good fortune. You could say, “What’s wrong — Are you jealous?” A Flemish option might be, “Are you unable to see the sun shine on the water?”

What if you are talking about someone who has taken on a venture or action most people know was very risky, and now that person is having serious problems? You could say, “They should have known better.” But if you’re speaking to someone who doesn’t mind off-color language, you could shake your head and comment, “Well, you know the old saying: ‘He who eats fire, craps sparks.'”

Let’s say someone is excited about something or someone after a first impression, and you are concerned they are going too fast. You want to caution them to be careful. You could say, “Slow down!” Or you could pass on some more colorful words of caution: “Remember, ‘horse droppings are not figs.'”

A final example. Perhaps you know someone who delights in sharing personal information about others. You could say, “That person is a real gossip.” But if you’re feeling a bit Flemish, you could phrase it more artfully: “There is someone who likes to blow in the ear.”

These are ten of 126 sayings that Bruegel heard in his day-to-day life, found amusing, and illustrated. He arranged them all into one large canvas which we are able to appreciate centuries later. We can see ourselves and people we know in what he has given us. We can also savor the entire scene as it portrays everyday life in all its absurdity, creativity, and delight. Not many would call this “religious art.” But if spirituality involves seeing life with reverence, how can we view “Flemish Proverbs” and not have a soft spot for humanity?

Notes: 1) Sometimes this painting is referred to as “Netherlandish Proverbs;” 2) To see an article that gives historic background, an index of all 126 proverbs and where to find each one in the painting, you can go to the Wikipedia site “Netherlandish Proverbs;” 3) To see a high-resolution image of the painting, you can go to Netherlandish Proverbs HIRes

Dolly and Wendell

In the closing days of August, two great Americans died: Dolly Parton, age 80, and Wendell Berry, age 92.

In some ways, they had much in common. They were from the same part of the country — Dolly’s roots were in the “hollers” of Tennessee and Wendell’s in the hills of nearby Kentucky. They both carried with them an appreciation of rural values and a powerful blend of humility and pride. And they both expressed personal truths in a way that spoke to us all.

As best as I can determine, they never met.

I never saw Dolly in person, but like so many, grew to appreciate her art, her persona, and what she stood for. She honored her upbringing and used her fame and fortune to help others. She welcomed every person she encountered. She always took the stage with joy and purpose. As a music critic friend of mine noted this week, “The nation — nay, the universe — has lost one of its great lights and levelers.” [i]

In contrast, I knew Wendell Berry to be a shy man. I saw him in person on three occasions: in 1986 at the Campbell Farm in Washington where we were volunteers, in 1993 at the dedication of a local community-supported agriculture project, and several years later as part of an “Environmental Poetry” series at UCSB.

There have been many tributes to each of them in recent days. I have nothing to add to honor Dolly. But I do want to offer something to honor Wendell.

This week I looked back over my blog posts and discovered I’d written about him eight different times. I decided to share two selections.

What Young People Need

When he spoke at UCSB, he read from a novel he was working on, Jayber Crow. This was followed by a question-and-answer period. Someone asked if, given his dedication to family farms, gardening should be a required subject in high school. Berry paused for a minute, then said, “No, students should read Homer and the Bible, because they need to know the problems they are facing are not new.”

What Jayber Crow Understood

I bought the novel Wendell had read from soon after it came out in 2000. Jayber grows up in the small town of Port William. Early in life, he felt a possible calling to ministry and attended seminary but became disillusioned and left. He returns to Port William and becomes the town barber, gravedigger and church custodian. From these vantage points he witnesses people’s lives unfolding. In one passage, he’s sitting at the back of the church during a service. The young visiting preacher is a fire-and-brimstone kind of guy, and Jayber reflects on those he’s encountered who see the world from that perspective:

…They learned to have a very high opinion of God and a very low opinion of His works — although they could tell you that this world had been made by God Himself.

What they didn’t see was that it is beautiful, and that some of the greatest beauties are the briefest. They had imagined the church, which is an organization, but not the world which is an order and a mystery. To them the church did not exist in the world where people earn their living and have their being, but rather in the world where they fear death and Hell, which is not much of a world. To them, the soul was something dark and musty, stuck away for later. In their brief passage through or over it, most of the young preachers knew Port William only as it theoretically was (“lost”) and as it theoretically might be (“saved”) and they wanted us all to do our part to spread this bad news to others who had not heard it — the Catholics, the Hindus, the Muslims, the Buddhists, and others — or else they (and maybe we) would go to Hell. I did not believe it. They made me see how cut off I was. Even when I was sitting in the church, I was a man outside.

In Port William, more than any place I had ever been, this religion that scorned the beauty and goodness of this world was a puzzle to me. To begin with, I don’t think anybody believed it. I still don’t think so. Those world condemning sermons were preached to people who, on Sunday mornings, would be wearing their prettiest clothes. Even the old widows in their dark dresses would be pleasing to look at. By dressing up on the one day when most of them had leisure to do it, they signified their wish to present themselves to one another and to Heaven looking their best. The people who heard those sermons loved good crops, good gardens, good livestock and work animals and dogs; they loved flowers and the shade of trees, and laughter and music; most of them could make you a fair speech on the pleasures of a good drink of water or a patch of wild raspberries. While the wickedness of the flesh was preached from the pulpit, the young husbands and wives and the courting couple sat thigh to thigh, full of yearning and joy, and the old people thought of the beauty of the children. And when church was over they would go home to Heavenly dinners of fried chicken, it might be, and creamed new potatoes and creamed new peas and hot biscuits and butter and cherry pie and sweet milk and buttermilk…

…The people didn’t really want to be saints of self-deprivation and hatred of the world. They knew that sooner or later the world would deprive them of all it had given them, but they still liked it. What they came together for was to acknowledge, just by coming, their losses and failures and sorrows, their need for comfort, their faith always needing to be greater, their wish (in spite of all words and acts to the contrary) to love one another and to forgive and be forgiven, their need for one another’s help and company and divine gifts, their hope and experience of love surpassing death, and their gratitude. (162-163)[ii]

The first time I read this passage, it brought tears to my eyes. It captures why I have felt privileged to serve all my congregations. It’s never been about promoting any particular doctrine or instilling fear. Instead, it’s been about practicing a down-to-earth reverence for all of us “ordinary” people trying to live our “ordinary” lives with grace and care. Wendell described what I have always felt but did not have the words to express. I think Dolly would know exactly what he was talking about. I’m grateful to them both.

[i] “Goodbye, Dolly,” Joe Woodard, Santa Barbara Independent, September 3, 2026

[ii] What Jayber Crow Understood

The Sirens’ Song

This week I saw Christopher Nolan’s new movie, “The Odyssey.”

As the movie unfolded, I did my best to try to compare Nolan’s version with what I remember from reading the original epic some years ago. One surprise for me was how he portrayed the encounter of Odysseus with the Sirens.

Odysseus has led his men through many challenges as he returns home after the Trojan War. At one point, the ship must pass by an outcropping of rock where the Sirens live. As legend has it, the Sirens are mythic female figures who sing to passing sailors with a “honeysweet sound,” enticing them to abandon their vessel and join them — but anyone who does will drown. Odysseus has his crew plug their ears with wax so they will not be tempted. But Odysseus wants to know what can be so dangerously compelling. He has his crew bind him to the mast and agree not to release him until the ship is safely past, no matter what he might say to them.

A storm is raging as the ship comes near the island and the Sirens begin to sing. Odysseus feels the power of their call, but the ropes restrain him. This is Matt Damon’s expression during his experience:

The ship passes through the storm and beyond the Sirens’ voices to safety.

Over the centuries, many readers have assumed the Sirens’ power comes from musically arousing the most irresistible human desires. But Nolan offers us something else.

After Odysseus is released, one of his men asks him what he heard. In the theater I heard some of what he says, but it went by quickly. I made a mental note to find the exact words when I had a chance.

Two days later, on a website dedicated to the movie I found this excerpt from the script:

“Eurylochus: What was the song of the sirens like?

Odysseus: All the things you want it to be. Then, all the things you wished you never wished for. It was the delicious itch you go to scratch but find it’s under the skin. You can’t reach it. So the delicious itch becomes unbearable. Told you what you most want, is what you most can’t have.
And what you most can’t have, is what you already had, and lost. It was the song of all the promises I failed to keep. And it told me I don’t really want to go home.” *

I found myself rereading these words carefully. It seemed the sentences could be read as pairs, and each pair describes some of our deepest feelings. What did he hear in the song?

“All the things you want it to be. Then, all the things you wished you never wished for.” What would it be like to feel everything you’ve wanted in your life compressed into one moment? And at the same time, feel all the regrets you have accumulated about past desires?

“It was the delicious itch you go to scratch but find it’s under the skin. You can’t reach it. So the delicious itch becomes unbearable.” You reexperience all this and there is no release.

“Told you what you most want, is what you most can’t have. And what you most can’t have, is what you already had, and lost.” I first thought this is just another reminder of remembering a lifetime of unfulfilled desires. But “…what you most can’t have, is what you already had, and lost” is something more. We feel the pain of knowing again all the things we once had but now have lost – people we’ve loved, our youth, opportunities we missed in years gone by, and past decisions we’d make differently.

“It was the song of all the promises I failed to keep. And it told me I don’t really want to go home.” The intense memories continue and now include our personal failures. Perhaps this last sentence suggests that, knowing his shortcomings and pain so vividly, maybe he doesn’t deserve to go home.

No wonder he is in anguish as he experiences the power of all those desires and regrets.

If the story ended there, it would be a depressing drive home.

But the movie doesn’t end here. As his journey continues, Odysseus seems to find a new sense of peace. He’s faced a lifetime of pain and regrets in one intense cathartic experience. He does not abandon hope or give up on himself. He heard the song, felt the feelings, and survived. He can now move toward his life’s completion in peace.

As life goes on, memories of unfulfilled desires and regrets may rise and call to us. If we had to experience them welling up inside us all at once like Odysseus, maybe we’d let out our own primal scream. But we are not on that ship and there are no Sirens calling to us. We can let such feelings and memories arise within us as they may do. Instead of making us desperate, we can meet them with self-compassion, love, and forgiveness. And then let them go.

Lead Image: Red-figure stamnos with Odysseus and the Sirens, 480-470 BCE, British Museum

*https://www.imdb.com/title/tt33764258/quotes/?_ssoLoop=1

Playing the Cards We’ve Been Dealt

Recently I’ve known several people making important decisions in their life. Take a new job or keep the one you have? Stay in your small town or make a move to a big city? Folks who are getting on in years wonder, “Can I keep doing this activity or do I need to give it up?” “Shall I go forward with this recommended surgery or wait?” Meanwhile, I’m facing some of my own decisions. In the process, an old country song started playing on my inner personal jukebox: “The Gambler,” which was major hit for Kenny Rogers back in 1980. Here’s the chorus:

You’ve got to know when to hold ’em

Know when to fold ’em

Know when to walk away

And know when to run

You never count your money

When you’re sittin’ at the table

There’ll be time enough for countin’

When the dealin’s done.

Investigating the song’s history, I learned about the scene it imagines. Two strangers are riding a lonely train at night. The older fellow offers to tell the younger one the secret of life in exchange for some whiskey. The young guy accepts and hands him the bottle. The old timer tells him that getting through life is a lot like playing poker. “The gambler states that every situation can be played for better or worse. The trick is to recognize what is worth keeping, choose one’s battles, and not dwell on losses. After he finishes talking, the gambler crushes the cigarette out, and dies in his sleep during the night, leaving the narrator to ponder his wisdom alone.”^[i]

You’ve got to know when to hold ’em

Know when to fold ’em

Know when to walk away

And know when to run…

I have limited expertise playing cards. I mastered “Go Fish” by age 5 and later learned how to keep up with “Uno;” more challenging games such as bridge were beyond me. But my older brother taught me how to play poker when I was young, and when I got to college I enjoyed playing with friends. I appreciated the blend of luck, strategy, and acting that made for winning poker hands.

One of the life truths revealed in poker is reflected in the saying, “You’ve got to play the cards you’ve been dealt.” We say that when we look at a situation and realize we can’t change the facts, as much as we’d like. But a skillful poker player over time makes the best of whatever cards they have.

We know some people are born into families and situations with many advantages – financial and emotional security, for example. Others come into life with factors that make it difficult to feel safe or believe they’ve got much of a chance to do well. We also see examples of people born into wealth, privilege, and fame who have difficult and sometimes tragic lives. We don’t get dealt the same cards as everyone else — we all get different cards and must learn how to play them as best we can. In that truth, the old gambler was right. “The Gambler” meets the standard for every great country song: “Three chords and the truth.”

But as much as I like the song, I kept thinking about the message. For me it’s missing some key bits of wisdom.

One is the value in having a higher purpose beyond just playing to win for ourselves. Our personal experiences and strengths can help us find our way. But we can also use them to benefit other people.

I think of the many hospice volunteers I’ve known. Often, they have been through personal losses and tragedies and, over time, were able to heal. Having been through that, they felt a calling to help others who are facing the uncertainties of life and experience of grief. They don’t try to fix people but instead care for others with patience and reverence. They take the cards life has dealt them and play them in a way that helps others, and in the process find a sense of satisfaction not possible if they focusied only on themselves.

The same is true in recovery and mentoring programs, and many kinds of service.

Another missing element is the power that comes from being known and cared for by a force beyond ourselves. In many Gospel stories, Jesus is traveling from village to village, encountering a wide range of people. Some have an illness that makes them socially unclean and untouchable. Others have made poor choices in life and have assumed those decisions will define them forever. Others feel they are of little worth due to their gender, age, or ethnic background. Each of these characters hold certain cards in their hand and assume their disappointing lives are the product of bad luck and fate; these are the cards they deserve, and they’ll never have another chance. Why not “fold em” and give up? But Jesus comes, sees them, and engages them. He touches and heals people who are ill. He gives women and children honor and respect. He sits at tables to break bread with social rejects. In his actions and words, he offers each person a spiritual wild card — the wild card of grace. With this new card in their hand and heart, they can see new possibilities in their life and a new community where they are welcome. They discover that, “when the dealin’s done,” a winning hand is not how many chips we have stacked up for ourself, but how we’ve played the game and why.

Lead image: keepnaturewild.com

^[i] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Gambler_(song)

Presence of Mind and the Search for Soul

Last week I shared personal thoughts on what it means to have “presence of mind.” I considered examples of how we use the word “mind” and what it means to have the mind “present.” I offered examples: the performance of a master teacher, the act of a gracious theologian I once shared lunch with, and watching Willie Mays play baseball. I ended with this:

It seems “presence of mind” appears when someone can observe multiple thoughts, feelings, or sensations simultaneously and, from a calm place in the middle of it all, decide what is best to do or say. What emerges often feels like fresh insight rather than just a reaction. Truly wise and spiritual people seem to be able to do that well, and it has very little to do with formal education. I have decided to begin contemplating the relationship between “presence of mind” and what some call “soul.”

This past week I set out on that exploration. I reviewed what I had previously written about “soul.” I found three excerpts worth sharing.

“Your Soul Is Like a Wild Animal”

In 2009 I read A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life by the academic-turned-spiritual-mentor Parker Palmer. Early on, he says he will be using the word “soul.” He knows his academic friends will be dismissive of both the word and the concept. But he believes there is something within us best described with this word — a point of connection and wholeness that all spiritual traditions understand. He also offers a useful metaphor: “The soul is like a wild animal — tough, resilient, and shy. When we go crashing through the woods shouting for it to come out so we can help it, the soul will stay in hiding. But if we are willing to sit quietly and wait for a while, the soul may show itself.”

He goes on to say that much of our culture keeps us distracted, and so our soul withdraws. But in moments of quiet and inner attentiveness, our souls cautiously appear. In those moments, we realize who we really are and how miraculous the world is; in those moments, we often find guidance, assurance, and hope.

Palmer says there is another quality of soul that is like a wild animal: “Like a wild animal, the soul is tough, resilient, resourceful, savvy, and self-sufficient: it knows how to survive in hard places. I learned about these qualities during my bouts with depression. In that deadly darkness, the faculties I had always depended on collapsed. My intellect was useless; my emotions were dead; my will was impotent; my ego was shattered. But from time to time, deep in the thickets of my inner wilderness, I could sense the presence of something that knew how to stay alive even when the rest of me wanted to die. That something was my tough and tenacious soul.”^[i]

Takeaway: Finding ways to cultivate “presence of mind” sets the stage for getting in touch with our “soul.”

“Mind Proposes, Soul Disposes”

I once attended a week-long retreat at Esalen with the wise scholar of global spirituality, Huston Smith. My notebook was filled with things he said I wanted to remember. One was a phrase: “Mind proposes, soul disposes.”

I take this to describe an experience we are all familiar with. A thought arises within our mental awareness that seems like a suggestion or an impression. It can appear like words on our inner screen, or perhaps our personal voice speaking to us from within. This is the mind proposing. What do we do with this proposal? A different kind of awareness comes into play as we consider the suggestion. We ask ourselves: Is this the way I want to feel? Is this suggestion something I really want to do? Is this a path I want to follow? As we decide, it is the soul disposing — our inner, “higher self” coming into play, indicating a possible direction like a compass. Then it’s up to us to decide whether we go that way.^[ii]

Takeaway: When “present,” the mind can consider all the information and feelings coming into our awareness. The soul then chooses the best path to follow.

“The Buddha Touches the Earth”

I cited the ancient story in which demons pester the Buddha, trying to sow doubt about his enlightenment. He responds by touching the earth, and the demons flee. I like to think of our traditions as ways of “touching the earth.”

Spiritual traditions include specific teachings, participation in community life, and the practice of serving others in tangible ways. As our culture becomes more fragmented and people more socially isolated, many studies have shown that being part of a spiritual community leads to increased emotional and physical health. Our traditions ground us in what really matters, giving meaning to all we do.^[iii]

Takeaway: Presence of mind creates a space for our soul to show up. Then we ponder our choices. We may choose to rely only on our own perspective. But we don’t have to. Our traditions give us a vision for what a meaningful life looks like. Sometimes that means putting aside our personal priorities. Sometimes it may mean following new paths that lead to unexpected joy and renewed purpose. In moments of decision, we can ask ourselves: Is this a direction that my best spiritual ancestors and community wisdom would recognize as worth pursuing?

What helps you find “presence of mind”? Regular times of unplugged, silent contemplation? Worship experiences? Long walks? Immersing yourself in music, art, activities, or acts of service that inform and inspire you? And when your shy soul appears, what voices do you trust to help you know what direction you might go?

^[i] ^[i] https://drjsb.com/?s=soul

^[ii] ^[ii] https://drjsb.com/2023/11/04/mind-proposes-soul-disposes/

^[iii] ^[iii] https://drjsb.com/2025/09/06/touching-the-earth-grounding-our-soul/

Having “Presence of Mind”

Recently I walked by a person having a phone conversation. As I passed, I heard the phrase, “…and she had the presence of mind to….” I didn’t eavesdrop any further to hear what “she” did, but I was struck by that phrase: “presence of mind.” I had never thought about it before.

Over the centuries, much sophisticated thinking in philosophy, science, and spiritual traditions has focused on what the “mind” is and how we might distinguish it from the physical brain. I knew I could turn to the internet and find plenty of information, but I decided to ponder it on my own. I began thinking about the way we use the word “mind.”

For instance, we may say someone is “absent-minded.” We don’t mean their brain isn’t working, but that their attention to the present moment isn’t here.

We hear someone say, “Mind your manners” or “mind what you are saying”; the speaker assumes the person being spoken to already knows what behavior or speech is appropriate but needs a re-mind-er to put it into practice.

If something we’ve been talking about isn’t worth pursuing anymore, we’ll say, “Never mind.”

If we sense someone is holding an idea back and we want to encourage them to share it, we’ll say, “Go ahead, speak your mind.”

And if we get a sense that no one is overseeing a particular situation, we might say, “Who’s minding the store?” And on it goes.

The more I thought about “presence of mind,” the more it became clear that we all may have a “mind,” but it’s not always “present” in our thinking.

I then thought of three real-life stories that illustrate people having “presence of mind.”

Years ago, I was enrolled in a graduate seminar on effective teaching. I remember one experiment in which researchers wanted to understand what makes a “master teacher.” They created multiple ways to observe what was happening in real time in a classroom, coding and analyzing the information. The teachers were, of course, presenting a lesson. But what the researchers saw was that the teachers also knew each student’s personality and behavior patterns, as well as the social dynamics of the class. The teacher was never so tied to the curriculum that they were blind to whatever unspoken dynamics were unfolding moment to moment, and they could adapt their focus and performance as needed to keep students engaged. Another way to put it: they had the presence of mind to do what was needed to meet a complex situation.

I remember a lunch I shared at La Casa de Maria Retreat Center with a teacher I greatly admired, the theologian John Cobb. We were engaged in a serious conversation about some topic. At one point, I could see an older man behind John had just come through the buffet line and was holding his tray while trying to decide where he could sit. Without interrupting our conversation, John reached back toward the adjacent table and pulled out a chair so the man could sit down easily. I was stunned. I remember thinking, “I don’t think John even saw that fellow… “ it was as if he sensed his presence. John was gracious in all that he taught and did, and what I saw confirmed that his graciousness went beyond intellectual conversation — he had literally extended himself to help another person. (Thinking back on it later, I thought, “That must be what it’s like to be a Jedi.”) His behavior was an example of having “presence of mind.”

There are athletes who exhibit something beyond mere physical talent. One of the greatest baseball players of all time was Willie Mays, the centerfielder for the San Francisco Giants. Willie was a great hitter and baserunner. He was also a terrific outfielder who, when a batter hit the ball, seemed to instantly know where to run to intercept it. But he had something more than that. One sportscaster said Willie always had “the game in his head.” Even with his back turned to the infield as he ran to catch a ball, he was already calculating where to throw it once he caught it, and it was uncanny how often he surprised everyone with the accuracy of the throw. We see the same trait in basketball players who can be running full speed down the court and still sense exactly where to pass the ball so it meets a teammate who hasn’t gotten there yet and may not see it coming until just the right moment. “Presence of mind” amid intense competitive activity is a beautiful thing to witness.

We could go on exploring all the ways this phrase illuminates human behavior. But maybe we’ll stop here and try to reach a modest conclusion.

It seems “presence of mind” appears when someone can hold multiple thoughts, feelings, or sensations in awareness at once and, from a calm place in the middle of it all, decide what is best to do or say. What emerges often feels like fresh insight rather than mere reaction. Truly wise and spiritual people seem to do this well, and it has very little to do with formal education. I think spiritual practices can help us find that point of awareness where we access not only our own best thoughts but also guidance beyond ourselves. I have decided to begin contemplating the relationship between “presence of mind” and what some call “soul.” I’ll share an update next week.

Will Rogers On Getting Old

We were with the grandkids up at Mammoth Lakes this week so I nobly focused on being with them instead of doing any writing.

But some time ago I saw this list of thoughts about growing old from Will Rogers. I hesitated to share it for two main reasons: 1) it’s kind of corny; 2) it’s the kind of thing old people share that, when I was younger and I’d see something like this, I thought it was, as we would say then, “lame.” But I’m getting lame and I’m getting old and I like fresh sweet corn and guess I’m now the old guy who shares something like this.

About Growing Old From Will Rogers…

First ~ Eventually you will reach a point when you stop lying about your age and start bragging about it.

Second ~ The older we get, the fewer things seem worth waiting in line for.

Third ~ Some people try to turn back their odometers. Not me; I want people to know why I look this way. I’ve traveled a long way, and some of the roads weren’t paved.

Fourth ~ When you are dissatisfied and would like to go back to youth, think of Algebra.

Fifth ~ You know you are getting old when everything either dries up or leaks.

Sixth ~ I don’t know how I got over the hill without getting to the top.

Seventh ~ One of the many things no one tells you about aging is that it’s such a nice change from being young.

Eighth ~ One must wait until evening to see how splendid the day has been.

Ninth ~ Being young is beautiful, but being old is comfortable and relaxed.

Tenth ~ Long ago, when men cursed and beat the ground with sticks, it was called witchcraft. Today it’s called golf.

And, finally ~ If you don’t learn to laugh at trouble, you won’t have anything to laugh at when you’re old.

Choosing Our Copilots

Some years ago, bumper stickers appeared with the slogan, “God is my copilot.”

A little later some animal lovers came up with an alternative sticker: “Dog is my copilot.”

Now when I open Microsoft Word, I’m offered the help of “Copilot,” Microsoft’s AI chatbot.

It looks like we now have got at least three options for support as we are navigating life.

I am using my AI tool Claude for various tasks these days and it is very useful. Recently I was thinking I should make a list of the titles and dates of all the blog posts I’ve written but hesitated because I knew it would be tedious. I asked Claude to do it, saying I think there have been around 200. Claude accepted the task and a few minutes later said, “Done — turns out you’re at 283 posts, not just ‘close to 200’! (Post #200 landed back in December 2024, and you’ve kept going strong since.) The index is chronological, oldest to newest, with each title linking straight to the post.”

It’s hard not to play along with the feel of a conversation with a person, so I replied, “Wow. I’m impressed. Thank you.”

Claude responded: “You’re very welcome! Four and a half years of weekly reflections is no small thing — glad you have the whole journey laid out in one place now. Happy blogging!”

What’s not to like about that? I’m saved from a unappealing task and the entity that does the work becomes my personal cheerleader.

The challenge becomes knowing how far to take the relationship.

Last January, the New York Times reporter Joseph Bernstein wrote a piece entitled “It Makes Sense That People See AI as God: A religious fervor surrounds our relationship with technology.”^[i] In it he cites a series of studies exploring how AI is becoming something like a divine force in peoples’ lives. One example he gave was prayer.

You can turn to both for guidance. One thing great about AI is you can get a clear response within seconds. How often does that happen with God?

Bernstein says personal chatbots are designed to always affirm us so we will stay engaged; we soon can become more dependent on them — which is where profit lies. They tell us what we want to hear and avoid “hard truths.” We don’t have to go anywhere to get an answer – just be in front of a screen. And we don’t have to interact with other people who can sometimes be annoying.

In terms of spirituality, much of what our traditions offer us is affirmation: we are created in the divine image, we are loved, we are forgiven. But the traditions offer us more than that. They offer us practices that help us own our shortcomings and mistakes. Sometimes they offer us truths we may not want to hear — not to condemn or belittle us, but to help wake us up. To paraphrase a popular saying, “the divine meets us where we are but doesn’t leave us there.” We are called to recognize selfish tendencies when they appear. We are called to care for more than ourselves.

I have a friend who was a Jungian analyst and therapist. I used to see her when I wanted to understand a provocative dream or get some perspective on an important decision. She had established trust with me, so I knew she cared for me as a client and a person. But our relationship was strong enough that she could point out blind spots in my thinking. That didn’t always make my life easier, but it was welcome. It’s what I needed to hear.

In Mark 10, Jesus encounters a rich young ruler who asks, “What must I do to have eternal life?” Jesus tells him to keep the commandments. The rich young man says he’s done that but still feels he’s lacking something. Then Jesus does a second take – he looks closely at the man with love – and sees more deeply into him. He then tells him he needs to sell all he has, give the proceeds to the poor, and join Jesus’ community. But for the young man, that’s asking too much, and he goes away “grieving.” A.I. can offer a standard answer to a common question, but it will never look into someone’s heart with love and genuine insight.

Our traditions pass on stories and parables that can inspire and comfort us but also challenge us to go beyond what is comfortable to find something better. And being on the journey with others in spiritual community offers us both the real-life, hard-earned wisdom of other people and opportunities for us to offer each other support.

Some observers have begun to make a distinction between two options for our relationship with AI: “Cognitive offloading” and “Cognitive surrender. “Cognitive offloading is the use of external tools (like calculators or GPS) for strategic task delegation, where you remain in charge of the goal and critically verify the output. Cognitive surrender…occurs when you stop constructing answers altogether, passively accepting AI outputs as your own judgment.^[ii]

I’m going to “offload” tasks to my AI tool Claude when it seems appropriate, letting it be my “AI copilot” for what it is good at doing. But I’m not going to surrender my important personal decisions; I’m keeping as my spiritual copilot the living, divine presence I’ve come to know and cherish over the years. And I’m not leaving my dog out – she’s welcome to share in my walks and naps, giving me a comfort a keyboard never can.

^[i] https://www.nytimes.com/2026/01/23/style/ai-algorithm-god-religion.html

^[ii] https://addyosmani.com/blog/cognitive-surrender/

When the Soul Suddenly Appears: Reflections on “Terminal Lucidity”

A story in this week’s New York Times focuses on unexpected behavior in dementia patients: “The Strange Phenomenon of Terminal Lucidity.”^[i] The article raises interesting questions about the relationship of the human brain to the soul.

The story begins in 2000. A mother in Switzerland called her son in Vienna. She told him to call his grandmother who, for the last year, has been in a nursing home and not able to carry on a conversation. “Somehow, she’s back again,” she told her son. He called his grandmother. She answered and conversed with perfect clarity. She said “…for the past few months, she hasn’t really been herself…and “very, very tired.” For the next ten minutes, they shared wonderful memories of his childhood and the experiences they had together. As their conversation came to an end, “…he sensed beneath the joy a painful finality – that this conversation would be their last. Several days later, his grandmother died.”

The young man, Alexander Batthyany, became a psychologist. In 2009, he came across a journal article which included “reports of unexpected mental clarity in gravely ill people.” The article offered a term for such events: “terminal lucidity,” and gave examples. Batthyany recognized this was what he had experienced with his grandmother. He wanted to know more. He gathered a team of colleagues and sent out surveys to see if others had similar stories to share. More than 60 people responded. “In story after story, Batthyany’s respondents described elderly people who suddenly reached for a loved one’s hand; made amends for past wrongs; offered thanks; or simply seemed, through a shift in their eyes, to become present again.”

In 2014, Batthyany presented his research at a conference of the International Association of Near-Death Studies. An article summarizing the proceedings caught the eye of Basil Eldahdah, a program officer at National Institute on Aging in Bethesda, Maryland. He had always assumed damage caused by dementia is irreversible. “But if it were true that mental clarity and memory could return in the latest stages of the disease, even just temporarily, Eldahdah realized, “it would call into question our models of what’s actually going on in the brain.” In 2018 he gathered a group of experts in his NIA office to discuss the topic.

They developed a plan to use video cameras to monitor patients whose families had given permission to be part of the study. Over time, they gathered more examples. A woman who had stopped speaking for several months began speaking in full sentences with detailed memories of her late husband and her rose garden. A man with dementia who had been physically active for 10 years began staying in bed and sleeping for long periods of time. The staff felt he may be near the end of his life and called his family. By the time they arrived, he was out of bed and speaking clearly, reminiscing about his childhood. “The nurses and his family were stunned. He stayed alert like this for two days, at one point telling his family, “I’m leaving soon.” Nine days after the episode ended, he died.”

The team gathered more stories: “…many were subtle instances — a flash in the eyes, a few meaningful words — that occurred weeks or even months before death.”

The article concludes with the case of a woman named Mary who had not been communicating clearly for some time. One day she began doing so in subtle ways with the nursing staff. At first, they didn’t pick up the cues she was giving. But viewing the video later, they could see that she had been trying to express her wishes. They called the woman’s husband, who viewed the video. He too recognized his wife had been reaching out, although it was not clear what she wanted. “It may well be that Mary’s soul is back,” he told a member of the research team.

The article evoked several thoughts for me.

I have seen how difficult it can be to care for people with dementia. Family members will often say the person they knew is “no longer there” even though their physical existence continues. Anyone would hope for moments when that person would reemerge in a way we would “recognize” them again. If that occurs, it is a precious gift. But it may not.

I learned from hospice teams that someone can be declining physically and withdrawing in the final weeks, sleeping most of the time. But then they may regain energy, become alert and communicate. The family may think the person is recovering. But they withdraw again, becoming incommunicative before dying. I was taught this is common and known as “the charge” — the body summons up energy to make one last push into awareness before letting go.

Finally, I am struck by the behaviors deemed significant in the study:

· In the final moments, sensing both “a joy and finality.”

· Times when the dying person “…reached for a loved one’s hand; made amends for past wrongs; offered thanks; or simply seemed, through a shift in their eyes, to become present again.”

· “Subtle instances — a flash in the eyes, a few meaningful words.”

· Feeling a person has been far away and then sensing that “their soul is back.”

In hospice our aim was not just supporting people and their families who were being impacted by a life-threatening illness. We also wanted to recognize what living well looks like. We don’t have to wait until our last days to claim moments of soulful clarity. We can welcome experiences when we feel joy and finality at the same time. We can reach for a loved one’s hand, ask for forgiveness for past actions, be grateful for what we are experiencing, and be present with one another. It’s in those moments when we are living in our soul. We might even invent a term for such times: Living Lucidity.

^[i] https://www.nytimes.com/2026/07/14/magazine/terminal-lucidity.html?smid=nytcore-ios-share