Hyacinths

The other day, I was listening to Marielle pray, and she was reciting a passage from Gleanings: "Be as resigned and submissive as the earth, that from the soil of your being there may blossom the fragrant, the holy and multicolored hyacinths of My knowledge."

Now, I know what a hyacinth is, but I got to wondering why does Baha'u'llah refer to that particular flower? There are many times in the Writings when He refers to different flowers, such as the rose or the tulip, but He seems to use the hyacinth in a particular way, and I wonder why.

Here is a photo of some hyacinths, and as you can tell, they are a very beautiful flower, with many dense flowers on a single stalk. They are also smell amazing, and their scent is quite strong. Oh, and yes, they really are mutli-coloured, just like He said.

But why a hyacinth?

And thus my search for the day began.

Upon googling it, my first stop was Wikipedia, in which I learned that the hyacinth is native to western Iran. Who knew? It is used on the Haftseen table, that table that Persians put out for Naw Ruz, and it is symbolic of the rebirth that occurs every Spring Equinox.

The hyacinth, interestingly enough, is named after a Greek youth (whose name, coincidentally, was Hyacinth), who was greatly loved by Apollo. In the story, they were throwing the discus when Zephyr, the god of the West Wind, blew the discus off course and it struck Hyacinth, killing him. Apollo, grieving for his friend, refused to allow Hades to take him to the Underworld and, instead, grew the flower from the drops of his blood that were on the ground.

And why, you may ask, do I mention this?

Because Apollo is seen as the god of light and the sun, truth and prophecy, music, poetry, and the arts. Do you see a connection in all of this? To my eye, these are all elements of the same thing. And when you connect them to the Knowledge of God, as in the above quote, you can see how they all relate. When looking up the "meaning of flowers", the hyacinth is said to symbolize knowledge, which is reflected in all of the above. I find it appropriate that the god of truth and the arts would love the symbol of knowledge.

But I wasn't satisfied. I wanted to learn more about what Baha'u'llah says about this flower.

In the Persian Hidden Words, Baha'u'llah says, almost identically twice (in numbers 33 and 78), "Sow the seeds of My divine wisdom in the pure soil of thy heart, and water them with the water of certitude, that the hyacinths of My knowledge and wisdom may spring up fresh and green in the sacred city of thy heart." And again, in that same Book, He writes, "Wherefore sow the seeds of wisdom and knowledge in the pure soil of the heart, and keep them hidden, till the hyacinths of divine wisdom spring from the heart and not from mire and clay."

Once again, we have that connection to knowledge and wisdom, but this time it is combined with the "seeds of (God's) wisdom", and those seeds are sown in our heart. They don't just grow on their own, but need to be planted in the fertile soil of our heart. Oh, and this metaphor can also spawn many articles all by itself, but I won't digress here.

In the Kitab-i-Iqan, Baha'u'llah says that those who "labour in quest of God's will, when once they have renounced all else but Him," "will hearken unto infallible proofs from the Hyacinth of that assembly". So here, the hyacinth is the bearer of the proofs of God.

And you may note, especially in connection with the first quote, that resignation to the Will of God is another theme that runs throught these quotes.

So what have I found in all this?

I think it begins with resignation to God's will, which helps us grow spirituality. By submitting to the various tests and trials that we encounter in life, and accepting them for what they are, we till the soil of our heart. As 'Abdu'l-Baha says, "The mind and spirit of man advance when he is tried by suffering. The more the ground is ploughed the better the seed will grow, the better the harvest will be. Just as the plough furrows the earth deeply, purifying it of weeds and thistles, so suffering and tribulation free man from the petty affairs of this worldly life until he arrives at a state of complete detachment."

When the soil of the heart is well prepared, then we can "Sow the seeds of My divine wisdom", with the hope that those seeds will take root. If we regularly water that soil with "the living waters of Thy knowledge", and illumine it "with the light of the fear of God," then it is fairly certain that these flowers will grow.

But how will we know they are growing? Because our words will become more fragrant, attracting those around us, as we strive to speak with the knowledge of God. But this knowledge is not uniform. It is multicoloured, shining in many different ways. For some, this knowledge will express itself in public talks on economy, for others it will manifest itself as a poem. There are some who show it as a beautiful building, and others as music. This knowledge will find expression through all the ways that people communicate with the world, especially in the arts. But one thing remains constant: all of these flowers are attractive.

A Bit More on Totems

Yesterday I wrote a post about education and totems, and the recognition of different personality types. A very profound comment, which I reposted there, suggested that "We have to be able to teach all modalities (aural, visual, kinesthetic) to all children." And while I completely agree with this, it is not quite the same as what I was talking about.

While thinking about it, I realized that there are different things being learned in school, different things being taught by the teachers. The primary one that society seems to focus on is the intellectual stuff, which can be taught to the teachers and further conveyed to all the students. To do this, we need to learn to reach all the students in many different ways, not only because people learn differently, but also because people pick up different things in each modality. This is experienced by all of us as we go through the Ruhi Books in the training institute in our area. We learn some things by memorizing, and other things by answering the various questions. We learn still more by doing the practices, and then reflecting on how that experience sheds new light upon what we have studied.

But there is still something else, altogether, to be said for the teacher / student interaction in the school setting: Not all teachers can reach out and connect with every student on that profound level that makes a huge difference in the life of that student.

Oh, and this is not the fault of the teacher, nor the fault of the student. It's just the way it is.

Aside: There is a great story of a famous teacher of the Cause (I think it was either Ali Kuli Khan or Lutfullah Hakim, but I wouldn't swear to it) who was giving a  talk one evening, and Ruhiyyih Khanum was there in the audience. At the end of the talk, they said, "And now Ruhiyyih Khanum will tell you a little bit about the Faith." She was shocked by this, but went up and spoke anyways. Afterwards, she went up to the speaker and asked what he thought he was doing, putting her on the spot like that. He explained that there may have been people in the audience whom he would never have been able to reach, just because of their different personalities. No matter how he tried, he said, he would never be able to connect with them. Perhaps, because she was different, she might be able to reach them, and how could he deny them this opportunity?

This is how I feel about teachers in the school system.

When I was a child I had some excellent teachers who, through no fault of their own, just didn't connect with me. They were excellent teachers, and I learned a lot from them, but there was no "connection" there. Then there was another teacher who almost universally hated by my classmates, but for some reason, her and I just became very good friends. She is one my cherished teachers and I would say she changed the course of my life.

This is what I'm referring to.

My history teacher, whom everyone loved, and who taught us so much about the love of history, just didn't click with me. My chemistry teacher, however, did. She first taught me a lot about the subject she was paid to teach, but then went on and taught me about how to see what is important in life.

It seems to me unrealistic to expect all teachers to connect with all children. Life just doesn't work like that. We are not interchangeable cogs on a wheel. Some people we work well with, and others we don't.

And it is here that I find the personal animal totem a useful metaphor. Oh, and to be sure, this is different from the family, clan or tribal totems. You just need to do a bit of a search on totems to see the difference.

So bear with me while I recount what I know of how this system worked.

A child would be born and grow up in a village. They would be watched by everyone around them. All would get to know who they were. Then, at the appropriate time, which differed amongst different tribes, the child would be given their totem. This was a public ceremony, presided over by either a shaman or an elder. Through this, the child would be consciously aware of what their totem was, as would everyone else. Also, the totem was not usually chosen by the child, but by people who had lots of experience and knew what traits to look for.

Today, I have worked in offices where personality tests were adminstered to help people understand inter-office dynamics. To me, this seems a bit similar to the idea of the totems that I am talking about in a school. But let's face it, it far more fun to be a skunk than an "istj".

You see, when we are a bit more aware of how people interact, we can actually put that information to good use. Those of us who have had the bounty of staying after school with a teacher, willingly, and helped them clean their room while they just chatted, know of what I am speaking. It is those conversations, those friendships with someone in a position of authority, that are life changing.

So why not do what we can to encourage it?

Children's Education and Totems

My wife and I recently went to an exhibit on Aboriginal American artwork, and it included many totem poles, shamanic masks, sculptures and paintings.

We also recently taught a children's class on spiritual development in our neighbourhood.

In the exhibit there was a stunning mask of the bear spirit, and a sculpture of a raven shaman.

In the class there was one beautiful little child who was so shy, but she comes to life whenever she colours. There's another child who always wants to run around and play rough games.

'Abdu'l-Baha once said that the Aboriginal peoples of the Americas "will become so illumined as to enlighten the whole world", "should they be educated and guided".

Baha'u'llah said that we should "Regard man as a mine rich in gems of inestimable value. Education can, alone, cause it to reveal its treasures, and enable mankind to benefit therefrom."

In a previous article, I wrote about how each of us shows forth these gems of divine virtues differently, and how it is a challenge for the teachers of children to understand how to polish each rough stone the way it needs to be polished, in order to bring out its best qualities.

As my wife and I were talking the other day, we realized that we already see the very beginning of this recognition within our current educational system, through the idea that people learn differently, or that there are different types of intelligence. We found ourselves having to applaud the recognition that some people learn, for example, by lecture, while others learn by writing, and still others by doing. We were very grateful that others understand the notion that some people have, for instance, a high physical intellingence, like most sports players, while some might have a mathematical intelligence.

But both of these understandings only deal with the input side of school and education. They don't actually help in the interpersonal stuff.

As we walked amongst the totem poles, we found ourselves looking at what we presumed was the history of a family. As we gazed in wonder at the shamanic masks, we saw ourselves staring at the open recognition of different personality types, expressed through the attributes of the animals.

We already understand that the various animal spirits represent different attributes of God. We know implicitly that the Bear Spirit, to name one, can be easily seen as God, the All-Powerful. Or that the Raven can be viewed as God, the Creator. This is nothing new to us.

But when we look at a child and watch them move with a sinuous grace, playful in all aspects of life, generous beyond all expectation, we recognize that they can easily be seen as an otter. And that the other child, lumbering around in a body too big for him, slightly aggressive and very assertive in his demeanour, can be looked at as a bear. Neither one is better than the other, and neither one is any less precious, but they cannot be handled in the same way. The games of the otter are not the same as the games of the bear.

In the Aboriginal cultures, from what we understand, these children would have been given their totem by their community, consciously acknowledging their strengths, and then guided by people of that same totem, or personality type. Each would have been raised to be the most productive person they could have been in their culture, drawing upon their strengths and compensating for their weaknesses.

Today, it seems that all children are expected to fit into a similar mold, even if it is recognized that they may have different learning styles. They are not expected to seperate into their individual specialties until at least university. By this point, sadly, many have already dropped out of the school system, or are so thoroughly entrenched in their habits that it is practically too late to do anything about them.

And while it is not practical to have a dozen different school systems for the myriad personality types, there are some lessons to be learned from this tradition of the Aboriginal peoples.

Marielle, who was a school teacher for many years, shared some insights about this.

She spoke about those children whose natural assertiveness made them more prone to being bullies, and how they tended to abuse those teachers whose personalities were far more placid. It was expected that the Principal would be the one to handle these issues, but quite often they, too, were far more gentle than was good for the situation. She then talked about one school where she worked in which it was the janitor who stepped in, even though it wasn't in his job description. He was the one who looked out for the teachers, and if any child stepped over the line, he was swift to call them on it. When I was a kid, it was a gym teacher who filled that role.

And all of this led us to some practical thoughts about this problem.

A school, you see, is not made up of a bunch of individual classrooms. It is a full community, dedicated to the raising and educating of children, helping prepare them to become the best contributing members of society that they can. It is there to help them draw upon their strengths, and compensate for their weaknesses.

When we recognize that it is the job of all the staff in a school, including the janitor, to do this, then we have more resources to draw upon. This would also be aided when we better understand how different personality types can work with the different children.

But it isn't limited to the staff at the school. It can't be, nor should it be. The school is just part of the circle of resources for the children. That circle, to be healthy, also needs to include the school board, the parents and all the other people of the area in which the school exists.

We should look at the personality strengths of each teacher and help them learn how to draw upon their strengths of virtue, not just their intellectual education, in helping guide the children.

And besides, in the end, this approach will also help the children learn to interact in a healthy manner with all the other children in their school, too. Which is a great lesson to prepare them for life.

Maybe this is one of those rays of light that this culture will shine upon the world.

The Arts - a Thought

Maybe it's just me, and I'm sure it is, but I couldn't stop laughing this morning. I was looking through the compilation "The Importance of the Arts" and ran across a quote from the Guardian:

Shoghi Effendi wishes me to acknowledge the receipt of your letter dated October 27th 1931, together with the accompanying music of "The Lonely Stranger" sent through.... He sincerely hopes that as the Cause grows and talented persons come under its banner, they will begin to produce in art the divine spirit that animates their soul. Every religion has brought with it some form of art -- let us see what wonders this Cause is going to bring along. Such a glorious spirit should also give vent to a glorious art. The Temple with all its beauty is only the first ray of an early dawn; even more wondrous things are to be achieved in the future.

Isn't that beautiful? Isn't it encouraging? I can just imagine being the recipient of this letter and thinking, "Wow, he approves and is hoping that this music of mine will help animate someone's soul." Even more, I might think he was calling my piece "glorious", but I don't think I'd go that far.

Then he goes on and gives us a vision of the glorious future of this mighy Cause, linking it to the Temple, the most conspicuous work within the Faith at that time.

So what, you may be thinking, did I find so funny? Well, like it said, it's probably just me, but I shifted the emphasis a bit as I re-read it. I seemed to focus on the hope that "talented persons" enter into the Faith. Does that mean that the person who wrote this music was not talented?

Ok. Obviously not. But it was enough to give me the giggles for some time.

In fact, when I showed it to my friend Bob, he gave me a far more lucid explanation.

He said that it may have been a good piece, and Shoghi Efendi applauded that, but that they may have missed a point. The artist may have been lamenting the loneliness of the Stranger, and perhaps Shoghi Effendi wanted something more upbeat. Or at least less lamenting.

It is rare, Bob said, that a lament really uplifts someone and "animates their soul".

Well, all this got me thinking.

I looked through some old copies of The Baha'i World, and there, in volume five, 1932 - 1934, I found the work in question.

It is a fairly simple piece, a duet played andante. This is a moderately slow tempo, but not so slow that it's a dirge. It is between allagretto and adagio, or two beats per second. The lyrics read fairly well, but they are not what I would call uplifting. My friend called them "juvenile", but that could have also been the way I was reading them. Here is a small sampling:

Welcome to the stranger in this desert drear
His most holy footprints follow without fear
He will guide and keep thee; give to Him thy hand
Our dear Master leads us thru earth's toilsome land

To my eye, it's not exactly inspired, but it's a good beginning.

I now read this letter of the Guardian's as an inspiration, a way to say, "Good start, now keep practicing."

It is also a reminder that we are not yet at the point of producing the "great art" of this Dispensation, a reminder that is found throughout the compilation. But just because we are not yet there does not mean we should give up. It just means that we are the very beginning of this Dispensation. And as he says elsewhere, "We need poets..." "We need... writers..."

Now, upon re-reading, and getting all of those pesky giggles out of my system, I see this as a call to raise the standard higher. And today, there are many works of art that are of a considerably higher quality than what we saw within the Faith 100, 50 or even 20 years ago.
 
But you know, we still have a long way to go: "even more wondrous things are to be achieved in the future".

Training

Last weekend I was helping a friend out by subbing for her as a tutor of Ruhi Book 7. She had to go out of town and didn't want that to interrupt the flow of the course. It was kind of funny, as she had told me that they were at the last section of the second unit, so I should prepare for the arts in the third unit. When I got there, the participants told me that they were about five sections from the end. I guess my friend made a typo about the section. We actually finished where we were supposed to begin.

But this session got me thinking.

When we began, I explained that I really didn't know the participants and I wanted to get to know them a bit before getting into the book itself. In the midst of our conversation, I asked a question that I think is pertinant to Ruhi Book 7, the one that helps train you to be a tutor of the previous books. "What is the difference between teaching and training?"

I think many of us never really stop to think about that. I mean, have you ever noticed how the Universal House of Justice refers to this core activity? I may be mistaken, but I don't believe that they refer to it as "Stucy Circles". They call it "the training institute", of which the study circle is one component. Some of the other pieces of this institute are things like the sequence of courses, but I'm sure you already know all this.

Teaching, to me, is the imparting of information, while training is the gradual development of skills. Sports players are not taught how to be better players; they undergo training. And this training requires practice, reflection, information, analysis, and more practice, and on and on.

Based on the conversation that we had, the other participants and I, it seemed timely to share this quote from 'Abdu'l-Baha. After I read it, their reaction told me that it was useful, and so, with that in mind, here it is:

The Blessed Perfection suffered innumerable ordeals and calamities, but during His lifetime He trained in all regions many souls who were peerless. The purpose of the appearance of the Manifestations of God is the training of the people. That is the only result of Their mission, the real outcome. The outcome of the whole life of Jesus was the training of eleven disciples and two women. Why did He suffer troubles, ordeals and calamities? For the training of these few followers. That was the result of His life. The product of the life of Christ was not the churches but the illumined souls of those who believed in Him. Afterward, they spread His teachings.


It is my hope that you all may become the product of the life of Bahá'u'lláh and the outcomes of His heavenly training. When the people ask you, "What has Bahá'u'lláh accomplished?" say to them, "He has created these; He has trained us."

Thinking about this gave me a deeper appreciation for this core activity. We, or at least I, often refer to it as a study circle, which seems to place the emphasis on study. This gives great weight to the book learning side of it.

But when I think of it as a part of the training institute, then the emphasis is more properly placed on the training and practice side of it.

Today I believe we could do no better than to remember these words of 'Abdu'l-Baha and look at what He is trying to tell us. The purpose of Baha'u'llah's life was not to build the temples and the Administrative Order: it was to train us. Each and every one of us.

Oh, and as a tutor, or as a teacher of the Faith, that means not just us. It means those to whom we are reaching out, also. Truly each and every one of us.

When I am sitting there in a study circle, listening to the questions and insights of the other participants, I try to remember that I am listening to those saints and angels that Baha'u'llah is helping to raise. When I listen to the heartfelt questions of the seekers with whom I have the pleasure of talking, I need to keep in mind that these are the souls that He has sent to help train me, too. And that they, also, are being trained. We are all being trained to raise up a new civilization based upon spiritual principles, in which all peoples are given the love and respect due each human being upon this planet.

This is why He suffered. This is the outcome of His life.

And this is one of the reasons why I am so grateful to be able to walk this path with each of you reading this. Thanks for making it possible.

Daylight

It's odd, what catches my attention. I mean, there I am, going about my day, walking with my son to catch his schoolbus, and an idea pops out of the woods and say "Write about me! Write about me!"

A few days ago, as we were walking, and the sun was beginning to think about getting up, Shoghi said that he wished he could sleep in just a little bit later. Well, I can certainly relate to that.

I said to him, "Shoghi, do you know what we do tomorrow?"

He looked up at me, hope gleaming in his eyes, "Sleep in?"

"Even better." I could just hear him thinking what could be better than that. "We set the clocks back to where they belong."

Now how odd of a phrase is that? And what does all this have to do with the Baha'i Faith? Patience, dear Reader, patience. I'm in a fairly stream-of-thought mood today.

So there I was, walking with a five-year old boy, trying to explain daylight savings time (when we turn the clocks back, does that mean it's daylight wastings time?) and why we have it. And before I begin, yes, I m aware of the various reasons touted for having it. I just don't buy it. That's all.

You see, we, humanity, have a habit of thinking that we can control every aspect of our world around us, changing it as we will to suit our desires. As I explained to Shoghi, we forget that we live in a world of nature.

Noon, in  case it has slipped anyone's mind, is when the sun is supposed to be at its zenith, the highest point in the sky. But rather than accept this, and adjust our lives around the movement of the planet, we try and change the numbers on the clock, instead.

To my eye, it is yet another sign that we are just not living in touch with nature around us.

I asked my son if he had noticed that the sun is getting up later and later every day. "Of  course, Papa."

I asked him if he had noticed that the moon is getting lower and lower every morning when we walk to the bus. "Yes, Papa."

Then I asked him what letter the moon looked like that morning. After thinking about it for a moment, because it was hidden behind a cloud, he said, "C, Papa."

"That's right. And is the C getting fatter or thinner?"

"Thinner." He practically jumped with joy, because he knew that one.

"Did you know, Shoghi, that many people today do not know that? They don't know that the moon moves further east every day, if you check at the same time day after day. And they don't know that the C-moon gets thinner. If you ask them which order the moon goes in, whether it is C-O-D or D-O-C, they don't know. I would guess that the majority of the people around us are not aware as many things in nature as you are right now."

Then he asked me the simple question about why we change the clocks. What could I say? Many people have argued that it is good for the environment, cutting down on the amount of energy used with lighting and air conditioning and stuff, but this has never been proved. In fact, there are many contradictory studies about it. Some say that it helps retail sales, sports and other things that are done after work hours that use sunlight, but it adversely affects just as many other things, including sleep patterns and record keeping (at least during that questionable hour), not to mention the effect on farming and farmers.

No. I see this as a silly attempt to try and exert control over time, instead of adjusting ourselves to the realities of the world. If we really were concerned about retail sales, why not just adjust our store hours? If we were concerned about advertising revenue on prime time television, why not shift the schedule a bit, instead of trying to move the whole clock? For one who tries to be flexible in the way he lives his life, this whole concept of daylight savings time just seems absurd to me.

But this is not an isolated incident. To my untrained eye, it follows on the heels of a number of other attempts at similar things. Back in the 18th and 19th century, there was the attempt of seperating church and state, which, while not a bad idea in the way that it was originally stated, has gone to a ridiculous length in that people are being chastised for using their moral beliefs in trying to make political decisions. Then there was Marx's attempt at removing the spiritual from the political world altogether, with Marxism and Communism, not to mention the various strides in this direction made in the psychological and scientific realms.

(I may be stepping out on a limb here, but I see this as mankind's final attempt to "go at it" without God. It is of interesting coincidence to me that Marx lived during the formative years of the Babi and Baha'i Revelations. Now, so much later, we are really beginning to see that we cannot "go at it" without God.)

It seems to me that we have so much freedom here on this planet, but there are some things we cannot control, and we balk when we find things we cannot do. We need to include God and spirituality in all our daily works, while being careful not to overstep the bounds of courtesy and love.

And we cannot stop the movement of the planets, even though we can bring light to our previously darkened nights.

No, this whole idea of Daylight Savings Time really seems absurd to me and every year, twice a year, I wonder why we bother.

There is something beautiful about being able to go outside, look at the sun, and say, "Yeah, it seems to be about noon."

Strings and Teaching

I may have mentioned it before, but I am currently writing for another blog, called Spiritually Speaking. It is part of the Times-Colonist website, the local newspaper here in Victoria. As I've been mulling over the purpose of this other blog and what I hope to do there, a few thoughts about teaching came to mind. I figured it might be a good idea to place them here for your consideration.

To start, let me tell you a story. It's a familiar one to many of us, I'm sure. It all begins when someone asks me about the faith, usually with something along the lines of "So what is Baha'i?" This is always asked as if such a broad question can be answered in just a few moments. Then I begin to panic, thinking this may be the only chance I will ever have of telling this person about the Baha'i Faith, and what if I blow it, and they never get a chance to hear about it again and how would I feel when I get to the next world, and the list of internal panic questions just goes on and on. Well, then I begin to speak as fast as possible about the Baha'i Faith which began in 1844 when the Bab, a young merchant from Shiraz, Iran, declared His Faith to Mulla Husayn, cramming as much raw data as I can into the space of just a few moments, and did I mention Tahirih, the only female Letter of the Living, and the Conference of Badasht, and how 'Abdul-Baha came to North America in 1912, and Shoghi Effendi appointed 27 Hands of the Cause just before he passed away, hoping to touch on every aspect of the Faith as much as I can before they run screaming into the distance. And, as I predicted, I never get a chance to tell them anything more about the Faith.

I'm sure you know what I mean, and recognize that this is not the best way to try and share the Faith with someone. Knowing this, a number of years ago I took it upon myself to try and find a simple way of answering that question in under a minute. But then I realized that this wasn't enough. I needed to answer the question in such a way that they were encouraged to ask another question that would tell me what they wanted to hear.

Aside, as if all that wasn't enough of an aside yet: I remember hearing one person do this to some unfortunate guy. He asked, and she went on for what seemed like two hours. Non-stop. Almost without breath. It reminded of Mark Twain's comment that he hadn't spoken to his wife in fifteen years, because he didn't want to interrupt her. This gentleman and I were both too polite to interrupt this woman. As soon as I could, I politely stepped in front of her, and asked the man if he liked baseball. It's not that I did, but I noticed that he had something baseball-like in his hands (a program or magazine or some such). This took us on a totally unrelated topic, and changed his expression from "get me out of here" to "let's talk some more". From there, we spoke of unity on the teams, and how important unity is in our life. He then wanted to come to a fireside that was being held later that night.

All this to say that I don't think it is enough to merely answer a question, or to tell someone something so that they say, "Thanks, that answers my question." For that is a dead end.

No, I want to engage them in a conversation so that they will then ask me something in return. My favorite thing is when I'm asked a really good question and have to say, "Wow, that is wonderful, but I'll have answer it next time", for then the conversation is not over.

It is sort of like Shaherazad and the 1001 Arabian Nights. She had to keep the Shah wanting more of the story. If she ever got to the end, she would have died the next day, and she knew it.

But for us, it is a bit different. We are trying to share something so beautiful, so profound, and we are trying to help create a new civilization in the process. We can't just tell people what we think they want to hear, for most of the people out there really don't care about the Letters of the Living, or have no interest in hearing yet again about world peace or gender equality. They have their own interests. And we need to listen to them to find out what they are.

It is sort of like what Baha'u'llah is reported to have said, in Stories from the Delight of Hearts: "Consider the way in which the Master teaches the people. He listens very carefully to the most hollow and senseless talk. He listens so intently that the speaker says to himself, 'He is trying to learn from me.' Then the Master gradually and very carefully, by means that the other person does not perceive, puts him on the right path and endows him with a fresh power of understanding."

You see, "He listens very carefully". He finds out what they are interested in, and then helps elevate the conversation, just like in Ruhi Book 2.

But how does this apply to writing? We know that this doesn't work in conversations, but it can also kill a readers interest.

With this other blog, I realize that the first thing we need to do is find out what is of interest to the readers. Then we need to write about it. Just a bit. Offer a little taste of what the Writings say, and leave room for comments. If we do not leave room for comments, and tie up everything nice and neat, then we are not engaged in conversation. We are lecturing. We can speak on controversial or conservative issues; I'm not sure it really matters. But if we speak about controversial issues, in a respectful and loving manner, then the editors will see lots and lots of exciting comments and be more inclined to keep the forum open.

This is what I mean when I say "strings" in the title. We need to offer a bit on an idea, but not so much that there is no room for comment. We can talk a lot about one aspect of something, such as God's love in the presentation in Book 6, and only a tiny bit about something else, such as the Covenant. This opens up the conversation in that direction, as many will ask about it.

It is the same with writing. We can write about the gay marriage issue, as I once did, helping place it within a context that makes the issue easier to grapple with. Some may have noticed that I never said what the Baha'i perspective was in that particular article, but that is because it was irrelevant to the issue at hand, which was about re-framing the question. Once I did that, it helped a number of people realized that they were, in fact, confusing the two issues (one being the legal marriage and the other the religious marriage). By this point, they were aware that I didn't condemn anyone for not being Baha'i, and were open to hearing our perspective, whether or not they agreed with it. If they did, fine. If they disagreed, they knew it was ok. They could freely choose to follow another path, without concern of me attacking them for it.

To see more on this issue, take another look at the outline you made for the presentation in Ruhi Book 6. You will see that it talks about the eternal Covenant. From there, it talks about Baha'u'llah, the latest link in this eternal chain. It just makes sense. "Eternal covenant", you say. "And Who are some of these Manifestations," they may ask. You list a few and be sure to end with Baha'u'llah. They may ask a bit about Him, and you talk about the pivot of His teachings: unity. They then naturally ask to hear more about Him, which carries you forward in the talk. At every step there is room for questions. At every point, whether in conversation or in writing, we need to keep it open to hear the response from others, to hear what is happening in their heart. For then you will hear what to write about next.

And this is what I think about when I'm writing about the Faith. How do I keep the conversation open? And on-going?