Month: October 2021

It never ends, does it? I mean the peeling back of the layers that conceal mystery. As much as I already think that there is much I understand and perhaps even know, there is more to be understood and known. It lies just beyond my reach, just beyond the margins of my mind. And I love the pursuit.

I know it will not end, at least not in this current reckoning of time. My plunge into mystery will never exhaust me, and I intend to never tire. All things, everyone I meet is an invitation for me to explore further. I enjoy and delight in the gradual, tantalizing reveal.

So often these days, I find myself saying “may I realize that I no longer have a path to travel.” I do want the path to end, to reach the other shore, but perhaps today is not that day. Today is another time to unfold the mystery of every thing and every one that crosses that path I still travel. That unfolding of the next layers of mystery will continue to give me an abundance of joy.

I realize that I carry my own mystery that I am constantly exploring and revealing to others. I do not want this to be a rushed project because I think that the deep experience of intimacy is in the gradual explore, the gradual reveal of mystery. I want there always to be the part of me that is not yet obvious to me or to anyone else. The time will come when all will be revealed and known in the most intimate way possible. At that time I will have learned to experience my degree of intimacy with all things. I will eventually experience how I am connected to all things.

But that time has not yet arrived. I know in slight and revealing ways that I am connected to everyone, to all things. But there is still great mystery about that connection. Today is another opportune time to peel back the layers of mystery just a little bit more. It is another time to reveal and to discover. It is a wonderful time to plunge into the mystery that awaits.

For me to speak of the world around me as an illusion is not the same to say that it is not real. The illusory nature of my world, so often spoken of in Buddhist circles, is not for me the same as saying it is unreal.

The illusory world in which I exist is more like what I experience in vivid dreams. My waking moments are more like being in a similar kind of dream world. Things seem no less real than they do when I am asleep and dreaming.

When I am sleeping, I sometimes experience a small amount of agency. I am able to steer the direction my dream is going. When I am awake, not sleeping, I obviously have greater agency and can have a significant effect on where my illusory, not-sleeping dream world goes. I am aware that all my actions have outcomes and consequences, and so I have a great amount of agency in how my not-sleeping world evolves.

Even in my not-sleeping dream world, the idea of waking up has relevance. The name commonly given to the Buddha is based on “the awakened one.” For me becoming awakened means to wake from a world of inattention and habituation. My being awakened means to live in a world where consciousness is alert and vigilant. Perhaps it is still a world of dreaming, but my awakened experience is characterized more by bliss, clarity and non-conceptual awareness.

My sensory world is certainly real, even if it is illusory, like a dream. Becoming wakened to the illusory nature of that dream world helps me see that there is also a deeper reality that is beyond forms and concepts. I consider that deeper reality to be accessible to the degree that I wake up. It is possible to experience that reality that exists beyond what my senses tell me.

I still consider my sensory experience to be real and is itself a storehouse of richness. I indulge in the experience of sensory contact with my not-sleeping dreamworld, I open my heart to what I see and touch. In doing so, I also seem to have a habitual free fall into the deeper reality as well. It all is real.

There I go again, sitting on the edge of my bed as I go over the scheduled events for today and for the several days to come. I am planning. I think of what I will wear today, what I will eat, when I will leave for the memorial event later this afternoon.

Then Rosemerry reminds me that I am once again “planting myself in the future as if it will be easier to be present then than it is right now.”

Planning is a habit of mine that has served me well, allowed me to see future outcomes, design more efficient ways of guiding programs and staff to where we want to go. It is also a habit that has become a distraction and an allurement. How much more difficult it is to dwell in what is happening right now and be fully absorbed in the present.

I am fortunate not to be pursued by what has already happened. I seem to be able to walk away from the past. I can feel the absence and emptiness for what has been in the past, but I am not shackled by regrets. I am not readily pursued by what has been.

The future is another matter. Perhaps I simply feel and yield to the deep magnetism and energy of desire that makes me want to have 20/20 vision of what is to come, to anticipate the next moment. I want to be prepared, and so I think that everything will fall into place if I plan and anticipate well. Sometimes that actually is true, and planning often has a favorable outcome. But it comes at a huge price.

I think that I miss the deep joy of what it is like to be present. So that is becoming more of my focus these days. I try not to think about where this or that will lead. Instead I concentrate on what is taking place right now. I enjoy it more. I understand it more. I feel more whole. I am more connected. My feet feel the ground.

Thank you, Rosemerry, for the reminder .

I wonder if there is a cosmic me. I’m starting to think of the whole cosmos and me as being one. It is an outrageous reach, but it feels intuitively right.

Actually, it is a kind of contradiction because there really is no “me”, and I am beginning to appreciate this. There is a tenacious illusion of self that I struggle to see around and beyond. As I attempt to to see that there is no self, then all that remains is the all expansive, all including, all possibility cosmos. And I think that cosmos and I are the same.

The crusty, persistent notion of self stands between my paltry experience of living as a human being and the experience of a vastness I am not yet able to grasp. But I’m reaching.

From a strictly materialistic point of view held by contemporary science, there is nothing in me that has not been there since the very beginning. Everything in me existed at the moment there was space and time. Science says that the material me was there at the moment we now call the Big Bang.

What existed before that “first” moment is debated and subject to much speculation. But I feel certain that every part of my physical body has been in existence since just before that first nano second of time when all the cosmos was physically united. That signature of singular cosmic oneness is still carried in my body.

It is fanciful, maybe poetic to say that we are made of star dust, but it goes back before then, before there were stars. Every part of material me, every component has been in existence since the beginning and came from the same original something.

I am made up of many parts that all point back to a common point of origin when time and space as we now imagine it first appeared. As a material entity I am intimately linked to all the cosmos. If I am capable of imagining it, I am inseparable from all that is, from the whole cosmos. I am cosmic, cosmic me.

For my mind to grasp what it is like to be part of this cosmic whole, I have to rid myself of any traditional notions of separateness. I have to rid myself of all the distractions I have made to get through my conventional way of living. But once I can rid myself of all these imagined distinctions, I see that there is no-thing, only emptiness. The cosmic me is emptiness.

The cosmos is an emptiness that is not a “without” except that there is nothing I have imagined. It is an emptiness that is all-embracing. all-containing, all-possibility. It is the cosmos as it really is and not as I imagine and as my senses encourage to see.

It is in this realm of emptiness that I really meet the cosmic me. It is there that I realize my consciousness is not separate but is an aspect of all consciousness. If there is anything I can regard as a me, it is the cosmic all. The all is cosmic me.

While I was growing up, it seemed that no one explained things to me. So I had to figure it out myself. For the most part, that meant I turned to books. I made many trips to the distant library, returning with new-found treasures in the basket of my Schwin bicycle. I found what I sought in reading. In the world of printed words.

Not that much has changed. People are still somewhat difficult for me to understand and I often turn my nose up at any suggestion that I should take this path or that. I definitely resist social patterns of how to behave. I have a companion stack of books at the ready, sitting on the table made entirely of glass next to my well-worn red leather chair. My books are my refuge, as much as they were in the days I pedaled to the library to replenish my supply.

I am following my own path. It is a path that no one has mapped out for me, and a path that calls to me and I step forward. I have no notion where it leads. But I am sure that I will be holding a book under my arm to accompany me along the way. I let go of most else, but books continue to be my refuge.

For me, relaxing is not just about taking a respite from doing things. It definitely is not zoning out. When I am relaxed, my body and mind take the opportunity to become more focused and engaged in a different way. A different and deeper energy is released. I walk into the realm of wildness.

Relaxing has become a routine condition, a feeling of my body that allows my consciousness a space to exist unimpeded and without bother.

When I sit on my cushion to have a time to meditate, I first attempt to totally relax my body. Body movements help me to become aware of my body as a whole before I sit. Some people use aids like guided meditation to achieve that relaxed way of sitting. I enter into a relaxed mode by becoming focused on my whole body before and when I sit.

It has become enough of a habit for me that I can touch and calm my body just by asking it to relax. I do have to ignore a variety of distractions in order to relax. My mind has become more compliant and can now slow down more readily. It helps if I touch my whole body with my attention, my awareness.

My breath often becomes my focal point of attention, but I first become aware of my whole body from head to toe. It helps to feel unimpeded by clothes that cling and suppress open body awareness. But there are chilly times when a fleece cloak is helpful so that the temperature is not distracting and I can let go into relaxing.

I once did body scans, relaxing each part of my body as it was being known. That was useful training. I now find that a few simple mindful movements are sufficient to being my whole body into a state of relaxed awareness. My whole body becomes an object of awareness and so it can relax as one.

What I call relaxing is actually a state of heightened vibrancy and awareness. The awareness that accompanies my relaxed body is unimpeded by distraction and can more easily let go of shapes and forms. Preconceived ways of seeing and anticipating lose their power and I can be aware of things as they really are.

For me, to relax means to open myself to deep awareness and concentration. The curtain rises,I enter the formless arena more easily. My mind becomes more of a free fall when I relax. I am able to glance into the formless ultimate realm of possibilities. My relaxed body / mind slides into the timeless, spaceless realm, if only for a brief moment.

With practice and repetition I hope to learn to linger in that realm longer. Relaxing holds the door open for me.

It begins right here. There is no one I want to feel compassion for more than myself. Compassion for myself, self- compassion is where I begin.

Of all the things I want to unlearn, self-criticism is perhaps the most difficult to tear down. But there is no one I need more to forgive than myself. I actually think it is shallow and maybe useless to forgive others unless I have shed my own sense of guilt.

I was raised on a steady diet of self-criticism and guilt. I grew robust, and at an early age I learned and practiced guilt as a virtue. I learned that to be forgiven by someone, to be cleansed, I first needed to experience and confess to failure. Nothing could have likely prepared me better to be unable to deal with and accept my shortcomings. I was not trained in self-compassion.

My naturally sharp mind was sharpened to see the shortcomings in myself and then in others. For this I was habitually rewarded by my culture, something that persists into adulthood. It built within me an unrealistic and fragile sense of self. Rather than be so industrious in constructing such an illusory sense of self, I wish I had been more adept at forgiving and accepting of who I am. I wish I had learned more self-compassion.

I have begun to turn all that around. I am more content to accept and not criticize my shortcomings. I understand myself better and accept my apparent failures. Forgiveness has become a self-healing balm, and it has become more easy to share its abundance with others. This is possible because I am becoming a pliant student of the nature of self-compassion.

All my life is a metaphor. It is all an attempt to capture the intangible by the way I approach what is tangible. Nothing really is as it seems. All that I think and perceive is an illusionary veil, a metaphor. My life is lived in a world shaped by make-believe. My attempt to experience what is beyond the veil of the perceivable is allowing me only glimpses of its true meaning, its true reality. The ultimate beckons behind the metaphor of the tangible.

It is metaphor that encourages me to live in a garden that constantly beckons me to live behind the make-believe walls of my imaginary house. Plunging into the woods at my cabin or a neighborhood wildflower garden is my response to the alluring siren song that calls me deep beyond the appearance of things.

My life is a metaphor that routinely invites me to leave the cozy safety of my fussy self and be open to a reality that smiles from behind mere appearance. I am reminded of all the metaphors I have sampled to explain the divine, unformed reality that looks back at me from the impoverished images and descriptions used to describe the indescribable .

I know that my resistance to be defined by roles or rules is my attempt to peel back the surface appearance of metaphor and embrace a deeper, hidden possibility. In an attempt to explain the unexplainable, metaphor observes what constantly flits away from and lies just beyond direct experience.

I am drawn to a practice of deep concentration because it involves a totally inactive, relaxed and blank mind. Only then can I begin to experience things as they really are and not as they are explained by my conditioned mind.

Still, I hesitate to step out of the apparent stability of a life made understandable by fanciful metaphor. I feel like I have stepped knee-deep into an ocean of reality, but I hesitate to leave my familiar sense of dryness. I seem unaware that I am already immersed in a sea of air and innumerable other things. But I am hesitant to abandon what I imagine I know and plunge into a vast sea of the unknown and unexplored.

A wave approaches me. Will I allow it to take me away and let me feel the deep surge of a world unshaped by metaphor? How long will I attempt to hold my head above the water? How long will it take me to realize it is my true nature to be a fish?

There is a word I hesitate to use because it has been so misappropriated , misused, and misshaped . For the moment, I seem not to be able to avoid it because beneath its battered, almost unrecognizable exterior, the notion of “love” still tries to capture an infinite reality. Perhaps it has suffered the same fate as the word “God”. Under its may appearances, “love” daily challenges my imagination with its infinite dimensions.

There have been times I have heard others call upon love to explain a driving compelling force in the universe. These are the glimpses I have of love as infinite , ubiquitous and so mysterious. I see love is a way I have of explaining why I put the welfare of children above my own, still recognizing that same motivating force as an expression of my own individual destiny .

Love is a way of explaining what it really means and feels like to be thoroughly energized and alive. It responds readily whenever an opening is provided and flows freely when unimpeded . Love compels me to act and be drawn to another with what seems like an unmeasurable and mysterious power, whether that is a person, a tree or a rock.

Love shapes my world by bringing all things together. I am drawn to closeness and joining just as the moon is held in a gripping orbit around the earth, just as my body is kept from floating aimlessly into the stratosphere.

For me it is a warm paradox that love grips all things and draws them together. While, in this manner, love gives shape to all things in my world, this same force serves as a way of facilitating the ultimate dissolution of that world. The order that love creates is in reality the continuous step into entropy. While love gives all things their order and shape, it compels all things to an ultimate shapeless unity.

In a mysterious way, love seems to be an entropic force that drives the entire universe to be plunging into an ultimate oneness. At the same time we are cascading into ultimate dissolution of form, love joins all things together in a single process. Love is becoming an infinite gesture of letting go.

It is futile to impede love, yet it seems to be the habit of humans to restrict love and interfere with its free, inevitable flow. My own life is crisscrossed with the conditioning of dogmas that seek to impede the free flow of what is my nature.

I prefer to see that there are no limits to love because it is everywhere, in all things, and infinite. It is part of the dynamics of anything I can imagine. It will ultimately have its way, and I intend not to obstruct it or impede its energy. I will do what I can to constantly step into and feel immersed in the infinite pool of love.

I am trying to change my language to match my change in perspective. It is starting to seem strange to refer to “my body” when I am increasingly aware that this body with fingers on the keyboard and feet on the floor is “me!” I am this body, I do not have a body. This body is all that “I” am.

Consciousness is not something that floats outside this body, watching and observing all that is happing with this body. Consciousness is something that this body does. Consciousness is co-extensive with this body as clearly as my sense of touch. I am not aware through my body. This body is aware, which is to say I am aware.

The sensations that belong to this body are my sensations, not my body’s.

It has been a lengthy process for me to come to this way of thinking. I have always resisted the cultural training that objectified this body, that made it something to control, to beware of, to reverence. I have spent a lifetime slowly unlearning all I have been taught about body. Body awareness has not come easy for me, but I have had an intuitive reaching out for that understanding.

This is no subtle shift, but seems to me to be more of a tectonic shift in perspective. My body is not a temple of the Holy Ghost as I often heard. This body is the deity. The more I am able to enter into deep concentration, the closer I get to samadhi, the more I realize that what once seemed outside my awareness is actually within. The Vajrayana path is feeling both comforting and familiar. Will I have the courage to let go of my preconceptions and walk it?

Sensory connection is my only real connection. For me that includes imagined sensation. Imagination is included in what I regard as sensory / body experience. I think this is because imagination is built primarily with my remembered sensory / body experience.

Right now, Zoom is a useful substitute for direct sensory experience. But Zoom still remains a somewhat tragic substitution for direct body experience because I must imagine and then relate to something that is not actually happening in front of me right now.

For me, body is the foundation for longing and desire. Body is a rich source of how it feels like to be alive. At the same time, body is a constant reminder of the impermanence of life.

Body is how I most deeply relate to others. Closeness with others, with trees, with rocks comes in many body experience. I open in awareness in a manner that is intimately involved with and dependent on body. How I relate to others comes in so many forms: how I see, how I hear, how I touch others. I consider it ironic that I learned how not to see, how not to hear, how not to touch, all things that body does so naturally. So much shame has been attached to teaching about body.

It is a gift to feel body. I feel grateful to have the experience of ripening, of shedding the deadening husks of my culture. I am grateful to begin to know what it means to be body.