Spirituality is a combination of personal mentality and an individual’s interpretation of themselves in relation to the world around them. It develops over the course of a lifetime as one gains external experiences from both society and Nature, and is altered by their own perceptions of how these aspects influence their future ways of viewing themselves in relation to the universe. There are multiple sources I have found myself drawing my own spirituality from including; those discoverable in nature as Matsuo Basho expresses in Basho’s Narrow Road, one’s origins or sense of home covered by Grace Nichols in “The Fat Black Woman’s Poems”, and both the state of solitude and events of your childhood according to Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet.

There are limitless possibilities to the conclusions someone can draw from nature as a part of the world around us. It offers a simplistic sense of understanding and deep internal reflection towards the act of being alive. I find it valuable to notice and appreciate the non- materialistic side of the world. It offers a reality check so-to-speak of my current standing in the cycle of life. Basho shares this respect for living life forms by expressing that “the way those cherry blossoms…touched [him] deeply” (101). These flowers have no audible voice for themselves, but yet they have the power to speak to us in a spiritual sense, a sort of inspirational form of existence. I find a similarly touching encounter lying in the stars with their vast coverage of the dark sky. They do nothing extraordinary, similar to the cherry blossoms, but allow for self-taught teachings of our place in the world. I find their presence calming and they motivate my mind to think in ways apart from my own physical needs. Over the years, I have come to the conclusion that the stars in nature represent different aspects of ourselves as individuals. Nature has the power to reflect spirituality based on your interpretation of it, what you see when you look at different parts of nature. I see parts within myself in sections of the stars, including my past and the ways in which I used to think, similar to how “an indubitable monument from a thousand years ago…allowed [Basho] to contemplate the minds of ancient people” (75). The ways I used to think in my childhood are distant to me now, and they’re interesting to reflect back upon to see how my mentality has developed over time.

You begin your ways of viewing the world throughout your childhood experiences. Sometimes it’s important to “continue to look like a child upon it all as upon something unfamiliar, from the depths of one’s own world” as this beginning perception of the world does not lack importance compared to my modern self-perceptions (Rilke, 53). A large piece of one’s childhood is the places where they grew up. If Nichols’ is referring to herself as the speaker in her poem “Tropical Death”, then she expresses how she wants to die in the place where she grew up, with “a brilliant tropical death / not some cold sojourn / in some North Europe far/forlorn” (lines 3-4). The environment of one’s childhood is essential in our early thoughts about our place in the world, acting as a starting baseline for future spiritual molding.

With our spirituality sharing the same origins as our physical selves, we gain knowledge and contentment within ourselves about our purpose in this world as we age and move around the globe. The journey to forming this internal perspective of life is one that must be taken alone and without the influence of other people’s ideas. Rilke said, “we are solitary” as I believe this to be our natural state of being, as humans (50). I agree that “you should not be confused in your solitude by the fact that there is something in you that wants to break out of it. This very wish will help you, if you use it quietly, and deliberately” (Rilke 53). We learn from solitude and being alone with our thoughts, as it allows us to form a personal acceptance of ourselves in connection to external influences–being our past and present experiences. Being alone, we can limit the extent to which the ideas or judgments of the people around us influence our ways of thinking. It allows us to cope in times of frustration and sadness which also develops our personal sense of identity. According to Rilke, “almost all of our sadnesses are moments of tension that we find paralyzing because we no longer hear our surprised feelings living…because we stand in the middle of a transition where we cannot remain standing” (64). We cannot remain standing in one place of emotional distress for the remainder of our lives. Dealing with emotional baggage brought about by a negative experience is essential to shaping who you are. You learn from these experiences in the sense of whom you have become as a result of them. From here, you can go about reshaping yourself through mental work and self-acceptance once considering “whether these great sadnesses have not rather gone right through the center of yourself? Whether much in you has not altered, whether you have not somewhere, at some point of your being, undergone a change while you were sad?” (Rilke 63). To come out of this with a more positive outlook, the issue must be dealt with head-on and accepted as an event that has become a part of you, regardless of any denial you may have on the subject. This process of self-acceptance and return of self-certainty in your role as part of the world is similar to that of a pilgrimage–and “one virtue of pilgrimage” is, “the joy of being alive” (Basho, 75). Despite some experiences being more negative than others, “the point is to live everything” in its entirety (Rilke, 27). Life is a journey through various experiences, with each one of them having something to be learned and added to one’s view of the world from an internal perspective.

The Buildings of My Spirituality, A Collection

My Childhood Self Origin

I am from the peeling black numbers on stolen bar mugs
and fractured toothpicks.

From the warped brick patio,
of the tall green townhouse
next to the gritty run-down playground.

I’m from the broken up driveway,
and its crooked borders of chalk drawn streets.

From long strands of drool
that drape down and dangle from shrinking candy necklaces.

I am from sand angels in the dunes of Ferncroft Country Club.

From the sprinkler mist,
that leaves an aroma of wet grass
on my bathing suit.

I’m from the waft of strawberry shampoo,
as it swirls down the shower drain at the YMCA.

From the personalized igloos of New England,
with locations west and south of the garage.
From rosey cheeks pinched white by winter winds.

I am from the sea of snow
that swallowed the black sled,

Out to Dinner

Ice box car. Cold––
Words.
His feet fill the empty footwell.
Motionless. Stunned frozen.
Vague memories of the living room radiator’s seeping warmth
Amidst this ambush of criticism.
Oil on the garage floor. Immature. Irresponsible.
Wake up. Pay attention.
Migraine.            Dad’s bottle left on the coffee table
But the whiskey on Dad’s breath laughs at the boy’s own pocketed driver’s license,
Of course he’s incapable of driving
…to Dad’s standards.

Astronomy

The stars
are not twinkling lights
against a limitless empty canvas.
They are not massive pits
of endless fire and ice.
Their constellations are not pictures
of timeless tall-tales.
No. The stars
are the truthful soul-bearings of our pasts.
They are the perceptive memories buried within ourselves.
They are the brightness within our voids,
the insightful reminders of who we are.
The stars are our individuality amongst each other.

Journey

I only move forward
Face ahead and eyes wide.
Leaving a trail of history,
An imprint of memorable twists and turns
Spotted with experiences
And painted with people.

The sun sets behind my back
And I watch my shadow grow taller
The farther I go.
Together we walk for miles,
Attached at the heels,
Stepping to the rhythm of the wind.

Suddenly the painted rays drop behind the valley
The pavement fades from sight,
Disappearing within the darkness.

Reflections of starlight glisten,
Speckled patterns of light in my eyes.

My head sways
To the tapping of each step,
The patter of my feet on the open road beneath me,
Nodding to the echoes of my toes.
My heels attached now only to the opaqueness,
And I am peacefully left alone.

Works Cited

Basho, Matsuo. Basho’s Narrow Road, translated by Hiroaki Sato. Stone Bridge Press, 1996.

Nichols, Grace. “Tropical Death.” The Fat Black Woman’s Poems, London, Virago Press, 1984.

Rilke, Rainer Maria. Letters to a Young Poet, translated by M.D. Herter Norton. W.W. Norton & Company, 1954.