Author: barryschade@gmail.com

The universe waits to be touched. To me, it seems to be vision that is my most prized sense. But it is in touch that I become most aware of the world. I want to touch it all.

I touch my breath, myself, my friends, my plants. I want to touch all that is not mine. I want to touch it all.

All this will seem to end. It will end for me and for the world I love today. The Summer Glow dogwood bush I brush up against several times a day will no longer flaunt its vibrant leaves. Today, I will pass my bush and touch it again, knowing each of us will be gone. But maybe not today.

This is already a special day to experience the world I love just one more time. I will some day pass away, as will the waving trees, the brisk wind, the glowing sun. We are all together blessed and anointed with yet another measured day of time.

Today is a day never to be given and experienced again. Today will never return to me or to anyone else. All will transform and we will no longer seem to be the same, no longer just as we are today.

And yet, I think perhaps this is just it. There is no true measured today, a single piece of time. Today simply is what is. It is mine to experience and enjoy. It always was and always will be. I belong to today, we are always joined together. We are bound in a rapturous embrace. This is how it is.

It is beginning to sink in for me: there is nothing close to being permanent. When I got up this morning, I began thinking how “This is it!” This moment is what it is all about. The past is beyond reach, the future is beyond reach. This is the best I can do, so make the most of it.

For several years, I have been trying to get my thoughts around impermanence. I feel like I have been walking around the topic, looking at it from the outside, wanting to get a grasp of what it was really like. Now I simply try to let go of my notion of permanent, and what is left is what I have been trying to understand. There is a void. It is a void filled with everything. Here and now.

I can see how naive it is for religious dogma to promise something in the future. Most religions attempt to establish a culture of permanence in a world that is essentially impermanent. There are many descriptions of what happens after we die, all of which are imaginary trips into the unknown. We make promises to one another that attempt to define and even guarantee the future. I cannot even promise with confidence what my afternoon will entail. What I can know, is right here and now. It is all contained in this moment.

There is no such thing as permanent. It is a joy and a gift to experience the moment as free fall. I want to experience it as much as I can. I want to learn to live on the other shore.

This is the text of a talk I gave on July 21, 2022 at the Blooming Heart Sangha. The talk was a little shorter and focused on constraints.

Cultural Constraints on Intimacy   7/21/2022

Back in September, I shared with you my aspiration of becoming intimate with the world.

• I made a number of observations at that time, one of which was that this aspiration for deep intimacy is often counter cultural.   Our culture doesn’t support this aspiration of intimacy.
• What’s this all about?: I think that intimacy with the world is an aspiration we all share, and we describe it in many, personal ways.
• You may recall that the Buddha used 33 different expressions to refer to nibbana.
• Thay expanded the notion of experiencing the other shore in one expression: interbeing.  
• To experience interbeing, is to experience the other shore, experience deep intimacy.
• For me, it is most meaningful to think of interbeing as becoming intimate with what is, with the world.
• That is my basket for holding all those 33 expressions, along with interbeing.     

But it isn’t easy in our culture.  

• I think that we are part of a world that innately craves beauty and intimacy.
• Human culture sometimes supports that craving and sometimes makes it more difficult.
• In this Sangha, we have support for intimacy.   We are following a cultural tradition that relies on mindfulness to take us to a deeper level of intimacy.
• It is a tradition that goes back 2500 years, and probably beyond.
• However, those same 2500 years are littered both with powerful attempts at deep intimacy, and with resistance to intimacy.
• There have long been attempts at intimacy.  In the past half dozen years, archeology has found new ways of uncovering what some of our ancestors were drinking in the vessels they left behind.   
• We are becoming aware that, for a long time, the wine and beer they drank had many other plant-based ingredients, many of which were capable psychedelic effects.
• Ancestors were reaching for an alternative experience of reality, of connecting with the underworld, connecting with the unseen.
• They were seeking ways of stepping into transformative time.

Our current culture does not support deep intimacy with the world, nor the mindfulness that makes it possible.

• We see all around us the unbalance that results in our culture.
• How can we live in balance with the world when we lack a deep connection with it?
• Why is this important?  I find it useful to notice those cultural impediments to intimacy.  I think that by being aware, by paying attention to those impediments, I might more easily find my way into intimacy.

Some cultural impediments:

• Top of my list:  Possessing: Our culture encourages possessing things and one another; it encourages and supports the very thing that the second Noble Truth identifies: grasping.   Grasping things, grasping people blocks intimacy.
• Aversion: Alternatively, as one of you recently pointed out to me, our culture encourages fear;   it encourages aversion, fear of one another, of the world.   I might be able to embrace my fear, but I don’t think I can be intimate with what or who I fear.  
• The ever-present Ego: Our culture strokes and supports the ego, and the ego is an impediment to intimacy.
• Doctrine: Our culture promotes doctrines; usually in the form of religion.   While religion can invite intimacy, a step into transformative time, most religion quickly encases that experience in a golden doctrinal cage. 
• Expections: We see what we want or expect to see, and the culture tells us how to see.  There are so many examples.   I have a friend who is 81 like me, and I could simply see her as my culture sees an 81 person.    I tell her that I choose to turn those numbers around and see her also as 18, and we enjoy the anti-cultural experience, and a fair degree of intimacy.   
• Relationships: The culture teaches us what to see in sexual relationshipsbetween men and women, men and men, women and women, the number of relationships.   That limits many opportunities for intimacy with one another, with the world.   Our own Five Mindfulness Trainings are still playing catch-up to shed the cultural way of seeing sexual relations.
• Body: Our culture has a very ambiguous relationship with the body and with sensory, sensual experience.   Our culture has many ways to celebrate and pursue the sensory, but it stops there and does not penetrate into the experience of intimacy.   
• Desire: Even Buddhist writers have a hard time writing desire without attaching a descriptive sensual desire.   Desire, the deep energy of the universe, eros:  the erotic is hard for the culture to handle.

The list can go on, but I am stopping.   I invite you to add to it, or expand on what I have said.

• I don’t think that it is an accident that “culture” and “cult” sound so much alike.   I approach both very cautiously.
• Culture tells us how to see the world, and when I only see the world as I think it should be, I miss out seeing it as it really is.

I think our practice allows us to step outside of culture and become intimate with the world, to move to the other shore.

• Our practice allows an unconditioned connection with the world.
• Our practice encourages stepping into a transformative time and space, and that time and space is largely independent of the human artifact of culture.  
• Many humans follow the culture and are impeded from intimacy, they are held back by roadblocks.   We form a sangha where we help one another, through mindful practice, evolve into deep intimacy with the world
• When we try to be mindful of the impediments, we can better avoid their influence.

What are your thoughts about the cultural impediments to intimacy with the world?

• How do you experience those cultural impediments.
• How do they affect you?
• How do you work around them?

I think it amazing that baby birds simply know how to fly. And they all seem to do it. They simply know that if they leap from the nest and flap their wings, they will take flight. They boldly leap out into un-solid air. They take a huge chance of free-fall, just because they have the deep impulse of flight. Even if they might be fearful, they do not resist. They abandon the security of a solid nest and take flight.

Flight is in my nature as well. But it has taken me a long time to discover it. Like birds, and like all other humans, I have this deep urge and desire for flight. I dream of it, I sometimes practice it. I am instinctively drawn to the abandon of flight, of accepting the free-fall of truly living.

I have this deep urge to accept the world just as it is, and yet I often resist flight. I sense that I am drawn to take flight into the free-fall of the moment. I want to spread my wings and ride on the uncertainty, undefined aspects of every moment. I want to be present in a way that does not cling to imagined reality, to fears, to security.

Yet I live in a culture that encourages the opposite of flight and letting go. I receive constant encouragement that urges me to hold on to security, to certainty, to a predictable future. My culture works against free-fall and trusting flight. It says to be afraid of falling, of letting go, of flight.

I like what baby birds do. I wish I had more of their same trusting courage that allows them to leap off into un-solid air, fully confident that they will take flight. I want to know my self as habitually stepping into free-fall moments and enjoying the exhilaration of flight.

This was read by five members of the Blooming Heart Sangha when we celebrated the new place where we have begun to meet.

Ancestral Place     

A reflection on the Continuity of Interbeing  5/19/2022

#1

This is the place that, long ago, the earth cooled from ancient fiery rock and formed solid ground.   We stand on that ancestral solid ground formed billions of years ago and which continues to form under us now.  We remember the fiery origins of this ancient land that holds and supports us, the solid earth beneath us.  We are grateful for the firm ground beneath us, for the solid rock that formed from the molten earth many years ago and now supports us.   We feel the attracting presence of gravity that holds us in this place, that constantly holds us close to the earth.   We are held in the experienced embrace of this place, held close to the earth.  We honor the solid ground that holds us and supports us in this place.   

(bell and brief pause)  

#2

This is the place where ancestral seas once stood and water filled the space all around us.    This is where ancient water creatures swam and moved about.   We are grateful for those waters that once filled this space and now nourish us in so many ways.   We remember the ice that once stood here, the ancestral glaciers that repeatedly shaped the face of the land beneath us.  This is the place where countless drops of water have fallen, shaping it and giving it life.   We honor the forms of water that have shared the place that we now hold dear.         (bell and brief pause)  

#3

This is the place where ancestral plants first grew and, a long time ago, learned how to inhabit the land.     Ancient forests of ferns and forests of tall trees have lived in this place, pouring rich oxygen into the same air that we now inhabit and breathe.   Here is where ancestral plants learned to form flowers and became fountains of nectar, pollen and beauty.    We honor the many generations of plants that have filled this place with their seemingly ephemeral presence.   We are grateful that they continue to surround us and nourish us with the air we breathe.     (bell and brief pause)  

#4

This is the place where ancestral animals of many shapes and sizes have walked and crawled.    This land beneath us has felt the ancient footfalls and hefty weight of huge reptiles and dinosaurs.    Even the slight touch of tiny feet have left a lasting impression of their presence, and that pressed earth remains beneath us as we pause on the ground they once trod.    We are grateful for their ancient presence and for their continuing presence in the living animal world of which we are part.  We honor their continuance in our flesh and in all the breathing animation of this place.     (bell and brief pause)  

#5

This is the place where two-legged humans, our direct ancestors, have walked for thousands of years.   Here is where many humans have gathered and felt the same warm sun, the same glowing moon.   Here is where many like us have breathed the same rich air and drunk the same nourishing water.    We are grateful for all they brought to this place, for all they have passed on to us in our flesh and in our way of living.   We welcome the intimacy they offer us.   We welcome the memory of them and of all living beings before us who now invite us into a deep intimacy with this ancient place, this hallowed piece of the heart of the ancient earth beneath us.  We immerse ourselves in the continuity of this place.   We honor this place out of which we have come and in which we are now present.     (bell and brief pause)  

It keeps happening. I have been having conversations with companions that seem to uncover scenes in me I never visited before. I have been discovering parts of me and my awareness that were previously a blur, even obscured and unseen. They are places I never visited before, and they suddenly come into focus. I am almost startled by what I hear myself saying in conversations.

I typically go about my days focused on trivial things it seems. It is in conversations with companions that I realize that these seemingly isolated experiences are actually connected. I discover in conversation that what I thought as fragments of my life are actually part of a complex tapestry. The mis-matched threads of my life begin to take on a shape I never saw before. But for conversations, they might have otherwise remained mere fragments. Now I see them part of a woven whole.

This is a talk I gave to the Blooming Heart Sangha on April 21, 2022. It was titled “My Body, My Bedrock of Intimacy”. It was followed by a discussion among those present of how the senses are part of their practice.

As we begin, I invite you to touch the wooden frame of your chair

• Feel the hardness, the texture of the wood, the coldness or warmth.
• Then touch the fabric of the seat, noticing the softness, the uneven texture.
• Then touch your cheekbones, the flexibility of your skin, the warmth, the softness.   Lightly tap on your cheekbones.
• Be attentive to touch.
• That is the essence of what I have to say.
• My Body, My Bedrock of Intimacy

A few months ago, I shared with you my aspiration to become intimate with the world.

• I counted off seven observations about becoming more intimate, and I’ve talked about a couple of those observations.
• The third observation is that intimacy relies on my body, on my sensory experience as a bedrock, 
• Intimacy is built on a concrete sense of self , the self as present  and that relies on the body.
• What I experience with my body, with my senses is foundational for experiencing intimacy.  
•  This is a bit abstract:  Being mindful of the experienced sensation, such as breathing, gives me an internal object of concentration, an experience of intimacy.   The sensation experience becomes the object of concentration, intimacy.

For me, no sense is as powerful as touch.

• I see my whole body as a sense organ, my whole body becomes a foundation of intimacy.
• There are many ways of experiencing sensory awareness with my body.   Outside and inside the body.
• My practice makes great use of the sense of touch in my hands
• My mindfulness bell rings every hour and invites me to touch anything with my fingers.
• For a moment, I focus on what something feels like; my fingers touch, but my whole body senses.   Then I may experience intimacy with that object.
• I think I am slowly developing a growing habit of sensory awareness, and that makes it easier to be open to intimacy as a habit.   
• It can involve anything I am touching……touching mindfully.

This is not much of a surprise:   I think that our senses remind us we are naturally intimate with the world

• Intimacy with the world is the reality, and our senses remind us of that.
• The body is integral to the practice taught to us by Thay.
• Our senses are foundational to mindfulness;   they are front and center.
• Walking meditation is highly encouraged.
• We quiet our body into a feeling of relaxation for meditating.
• Sometimes we do hugging meditation.   
• The sensation of breathing induces an experience of mindfulness and that awareness opens deep concentration.

For me, nature calls me into my senses…….all of my senses.

• Mindfulness arises when I yield to that call from nature.
• Remember all the experiences you have had;   how, thru the senses,  nature invited you into awareness and deepening mindfulness.
• For me, I think of the view of vast landscapes, mountains, gullies, trees.
• I think of the sound of flowing water, chirping birds, booming thunder.
• I remember the fragrance of fresh dirt, blooms on flowers, 
• I know the taste of so many natural flavors of food.
• Above all, I remember the feel of rough bark, the soft wetness of grass on my skin, the touch of plants as I walk thru my garden.
• Nature awakens the senses, and mindfulness can follow.

This pivotal, foundational role of the senses is not without conflict, not without questions.

Conflict  

• Seeing and employing body sensation as an avenue of mindfulness is somewhat counter-cultural.
• So much of our culture seems caught up in the senses as an end in itself.    Sensation is the object, the goal.  Not mindfulness.  
• I was brought up in a culture where senses, the whole body, was suspect, to be feared, to be avoided.    Sensation was even wrong and even sinful.
• This sounds like an echo of the Second Noble Truth.   Both grasping and avoidance are a root of suffering. 
• There is a middle way of building mindfulness and intimacy on a foundation of sensory experience.

Questions

• Pain:  Mindfulness and Pain;   how are they related?
• Can imagination have a role in mindfulness, in intimacy?
• I think that Imagined sensation has some value, but even that seems to rely on actual, realized sensation.   What do you think?
• I sometimes find it insightful to imagine a time when I no longer have a path to follow, when I have reached the other shore.  I imagine what it would feel like.     That imagined experience significantly opens my mind.   

What about you?

• How do you use your senses, your body?
• Can mindfulness manage pain sensation?
• Does imagination serve as a foundation for mindfulness, even intimacy?
• How do you use your senses?

I have been in a couple of conversations recently where I discovered myself using words I hardly ever hear said out loud. In fact, I hardly ever hear myself saying them. But that may have changed. I found myself breaking through some kind of social seal that keeps some words unspoken. I may have violated some kind of taboo or perhaps I have simply failed to get an imprimatur. I said them out loud.

Not too surprising, those unspoken words, now spoken, are related to sex. They also point out the amazing power of words, now unleashed for me.

Even in the midst of three men, I found it a bit awkward, surprising and strange to say the word masturbation. I felt I had suddenly wandered into a forbidden zone of words when I wondered, out loud, whether buddhist monks or nuns ever masturbated. I then segued into a spoken reflection on how masturbation would once send me into hell, it being a mortal sin for a young Catholic boy. I never learned what masturbation did to young Catholic girls. That part certainly was left unspoken.

I have also been in conversations with women where the word vulva was actually spoken. It led me to query whether women spoke to one another about such things as vulva. I once heard in a very popular movie a reference to vagina, but never vulva.

Which causes me to wonder whether men use the word penis in normal conversations. There are multiple substitutes. We appear to use oblique references that only indirectly identify that specific part of male anatomy. Penis does not quite roll off the tongue as easily as other words that hint at the reality.

We seem to prefer using terms like family jewels or lady parts that euphemistically or indirectly refer to words that must remain unspoken.

I will take my lead from Harry Potter who ignored the admonition against speaking of He Who Must not be Named. For Harry, Voldemort did not remain unspoken. He claimed the power of the word when he spoke. I too am choosing to ignore the admonition against using unspoken words. I am choosing to claim their power.

I don’t know that I am actually broken. But I am sure that I am imperfect. I certainly am less than I can be. For the moment, that is enough. I like the way I see myself in he mirror, maybe not exactly broken, but evidently lacking wholeness.

It helps me to presume the same of everyone I meet. They are in some sense broken too. There is no need to expect them to be totally okay. Just like me, everyone is lacking in some ways. It is better for us if I acknowledge and accept that from the beginning.

Someone said it is a good practice to recite one’s faults when meeting someone new. It is a kind of full disclosure, and sets realistic expectations. I have not tried that overtly, but it is in the back of my mind. “I’m not quite OK, and neither are you.”

Like everyone, I guess I am a little bit broken. Not that I need to be mended or fixed. But I have unrealized potential. Perhaps that appears as a fault. I prefer to see it as room to grow. Perfection might even be boring. Growing into my potential could even be exciting.

A crescent moon can be lovely. With patience, it can also gradually appear in its splendid fulness.