Author: barryschade@gmail.com

For me, it is a constant challenge to stay in the moment.   It is hard to maintain the habit of living in the “what is” without yielding to the urge to live in the future of “what might be.”

The future imagined is even more of an illusion than the experience in which I live moment to moment.  It is the fabrication of an active heart and mind. It delights me with thoughts of wondrous things that might happen and frightens me with specters of scary future events.  It stirs up the desire of how I want things to be.

How much better for me to stay with the “now” and savor its sweetness.   How much better not to attempt to eat next years apples.

There is a great storm coming.   It will be like nothing I have ever seen.  So far I have seen practice events, yet they are only a warm-up for what has yet to come.   It is interesting to me.   I am curious about how it will unfold and I am hopeful about the outcome.   I might as well take it all in, because the gears are in motion, and the storm will come.

We have already changed the balance of the atmosphere and a resulting change has begun.   It is good and respectful that we try to change the thoughtless things we have done to cause this change.   But the coat-hanger approach to releasing energy from inside the earth continues to change our world even while we slowly amend our ways.

However, no matter what we do, there will be great human suffering.

I am comforted that there people in my life that are preparing to face the same winds of change.   They give me hope.   I am not in this approaching change alone.  There are those who will be able to bend with the wind and yield to its power and force.    We will be carried along into a new future if we do not resist.

I will help them prepare to welcome the wind with awe, and they will help me.

Some people have reacted to my un-coupling as though they had just witnessed a train-wreck.  I have to reassure them that it is not so odd, we had simply completed our task.   In many ways, we all could have seen it coming as a normal consequence of events.   Nothing that surprising.    In some ways it was predictable, and we might now anticipate it with the vision of hindsight.

I once said, “We will be together for a long time.”  And we were together for a long time.   We worked together as a couple to raise two boys into young manhood, to create a thriving garden, to expand and beautify a house.   But there came a time when there was no longer a light in my partner’s eyes when I looked into her face, when she began to avert her gaze.

When did that light disappear?   I think it was so many years ago.   We  went through the motions of a couple, often with joy and enthusiasm.   But we no longer exchanged the glances of lovers, as we set our eyes to the tasks at hand.

I now can see a flicker of that open expression of connection in the eyes of people I encounter on the bus.   These are the people who do not avert their eyes when I look into them.    There came a time when my partner could not bear to see me as I actually was, when I no longer reflected her sense of herself, when I was no longer as she imagined I should be.   Then she averted her eyes.   We had become co-workers, connected only to the task.   And sometimes I didn’t even measure up to that.

So am I involved in a train-wreck?   Perhaps that is what normally happens when you put two lovers on the steel path of a contracted relationship.   It is easy then to predict where this train is going.   Eventually the task of working as a couple runs out of steam.

For me, un-coupling is not really a train wreck, but an acknowledgement that the work is done.

It has begun.  It is a new day.   It is a day with all the promise of uniqueness.   I hear the sound of a bird chirping.  A dog barks.    A car passes by.   None of this will ever be repeated again.   None of this will be exactly the same.    And so it will be all during this new day.

The mystery for me is that all these things are happening in the eternal now.   And had I not had my window open just a little, would they have occurred in my world at all?

I want to live in a mystical, magical world where nothing is as it seems.  As I look around, I think that is just about where I actually am.    So I might as well get comfortable with it.

For me, that is the life of a contemplative.   I don’t mean to be someone who is withdrawn, living apart from the world, lost in their own imagination.    For a long time, that seemed to be what contemplation was about.   Being lost in the space between one’s two ears.

Now I think a contemplative is deeply engaged with the world and engages it with vigor, awareness, and intimacy.   This is not the frenzy of running about in the world.    It is walking thru the forest with special glasses on that allow me to see the trees as they really are.   It means I have to first cleanse my mind of all preconceptions of what treeness is.    It’s forgetting what I’ve learned a White Pine is and seeing, touching, smelling this tree.    My imagination and memory are put aside.   My mind and heart are open, alert and engaged with this tree.

This is how I find my mystical, magical tree.   This is how it exists in my mystical, magical world.

I grew up expecting miracles.   It was close to a daily occurrence.   I would pray, and just because I asked, I expected that the order of the universe would change to fit my preference or my design.   I never realized that it would have been more effective if I just changed myself and my expectations to fit the order of the universe.    I would have been much more successful if I had just yielded to what would be.

I suppose that when I stand before the mountain, I can ask the mountain to change, to move just a little to the right so I can pass.    Perhaps just make the slope a little easier for me to climb.   Not let its rocks slide down on me.   I haven’t found it works this way.

On the other hand, there are times the mountain does change.   Not because I ask it  to, but because I change how I approach it.    I change, and so my encounter with the mountain changes.    And that becomes reality.

 

When I smile, do I affect the flavor of the Universe, do I adjust the Humming?  As I ripen, does the Universe ripen too?   For sure I affect my interaction and so determine my own reality.

I think I do move the Universe just a little.  I change the dial on the Humming, just a little.

Last evening I heard a talk by Mark that helped me understand some of what I have been creeping into this past year.  He described meditation as a practice of continuous mindful awareness.   It clicked.   That is what this mysterious experience I’ve been having is all about.   For me it was validating to learn that I have perhaps found a path others have traveled and benefited.

What if I could see everyone as they really are?  Would I be able to see them as the wondrous and exciting presence they really are?  Would I be able to resist the demanding urge to rush up to everyone and embrace them with the most loving embrace I can imagine?

Would I immediately feel the suffering that drags them down wherever they go?   Would I be able to find them in their retreats of false refuges?  Could I refrain from taking their hand and holding it, touching their shoulder, speaking softly, walking beside them?

How would I ever manage to walk the four blocks down Hennepin Avenue from my bus stop to the Light Rail station without hugging everyone along the way.   Everyone, the dirty and ugly, the clean and beautiful.  This would be interesting.

I remember how sixteen years ago we began a new millennium with the excitement of some huge cosmic clock striking another major milestone of time.  All the while I never considered that the measure of time in minutes, hours and days is a human invention dreamed up by old men who watched the sky a long time ago.    I never considered that each of them experienced time in their own way and a minute passing meant something different to each of them.

I live in my own experience of time, something only realized in the past century.  Time is relative.  Even within my own lifetime, my experience of time has shifted.   As I talk with friends, I am usually inattentive to our living in our own individual time zones.   Yet we seem to make it work.