Barry Garden Path

The unweaving of the tight-knit fabric has begun. Deep exploring can do this. I spent so many years living in the well-fashioned, carefully woven edifice of a spirituality which I fatefully inherited and gladly accepted. It was a view of reality consistent with years of careful compliance, rules of practice and patterns of design.

Some of the early years I spent on my knees before the radio, a young boy’s fingers moving across rosary beads. Some times I floated in the fragrance of incense and glow of candles, outfitted in an altar boy’s outfit. In time I replaced that outfit with the robes of a monk and put on the official garb of one who leads others in prayer.

I was steeped, saturated with the shape of traditional spirituality, given oner to it. I came to understand it very well. Yet, I always wanted more. My intuition routinely whispered to me that there was more. The fabric of rich design did not give the welcoming comfort of being home.

Little did I know that it would be someone from a foreign land and foreign tradition who would help me go deeper, finally let go of what had been carefully done. With the unwoven freedom to explore, I have found deeper insight, energy and passion.

What I had been missing all those years was a spiritual foundation based on my own humanity, not the crafted patterns of a religious tradition. As I uncover more and more what it feel like to be human, as I trust the basic goodness of my nature, I understand what was lurking behind the woven fabric of a traditional orthodoxy. I understand better what was trying to emerge from behind all those years of rigorous compliance.

I am now better able to trust the wonders of what is real and yield to all I have yet to discover. It is the unwoven pattern of a realistic spiritual path.

Once again, I am grateful to Thay for what he has done. This time: uncovering Christianity in his book “Living Buddha, Living Christ.”

I have been aware of this book for a long time, and I’ve been avoiding it. I wasn’t ready to hear Thay speak well of a Christianity I know so well, and have found wanting. After all, I was “raised Catholic”, followed the rules, immersed myself in theology studies for four years, lived a monastic life for a dozen years, led thousands of people in Christian practices. 

For me, Christianity was not enough; didn’t quite cut it;  I wanted more. It took a talk I heard in December to convince me that I should listen to Thay.   

Here I am, listening to a Buddhist monk help me to uncover Christianity.

This is all about the first three sections of “Living Buddha, Living Christ”.

• Foreword and Introduction are important because they offer such a contrast.
• Brother David, though well-intentioned, seems to speak from behind a wall of separation, someone not quite ready to sit down at the picnic table and share in Thay’s fruit salad.   
• Elaine Pagels, on the other hand, gets behind the bric-brac of Christianity, beyond the rules, the orthodoxy, the vestments, the institutions and exposes the richness of foundational Christianity.   
• All this based on the chance discovery of hidden texts in the 1940’s and her eventual reading them when they became available several decades later in the early 70’s.
• Elaine Pagels’ books prepared me for what Thay had to say about early Christianity.
• Her reference to Thay’s “spiritual intuition” is very aligned with her own description of the richness and diversity in the early Christian community as expressed in the pre-gospel texts.  
• Elsewhere, she writes about the likely trade connections with India that probably brought Buddhist ideas into the middle-eastern world of early Christians.

Chapter 1, Be Still and Know

• This chapter would not get church imprimatur: “let it be printed”
• Might even be banned in recent Christianity I know.
• There is no monopoly on the Truth.
• Nourished by richness of many traditions
• Let go of views.
• Meditation, mindfulness, is the source of energy and good works.
• Some Christians embody the spirit of understanding and compassion of Jesus. – they allow Thay and us to plunge the depths of christianity. 
• Church has recognized people like this in the past; but put them behind a screen, a veneer of orthodoxy.
• Thay is carefully specific: “those who authentically represent a tradition.”
• True in the context provided by Elaine Pagels.  Her Christianity.

Some things are especially important:

• Importance of experience: live deeply our own tradition; practice  deep looking and deep listening.  
• Importance:  Richness is not in uniformity but in diversity; Wednesday discussion of how we meditate.
• Importance of being willing to be transformed by traditions of others;  not just look for overlapping, familiar aspects.
• Importance:   Interbeing, there are no barriers between us.   

Chapter 2, Mindfulness and the Holy Spirit  (Ghost)

• Thay weaves many themes through this chapter, especially intertwining the notions of mindfulness and Holy Spirit, both a source of enegy.
• Holy Spirit = ‘energy sent by God.’
• Spirit = spiritus = spirare: breathe, or better wind. 
• Energy of the Universe.
• What we experience in mindfulness;   no need to personify.  
• Many avenues for experiencing the energy of the Holy Spirit.
• Central role of experience.    

Thay highlights rich traits of Christianity that have only been, in my experience, outside the main stream,  there in trace amounts.,

• Thay goes below the infrastructure, below the edifice, to foundational elements hidden by centuries of practice and tradition.
• He is a Buddist archeologist who relies on his “spiritual intuition” to uncover rich elements I have wanted very much to be there.     

What if the birds at my feeders could tell me about their speedy travels from bushes to trees. What if the doors on my closet could speak of the idle times between closing and opening. What if the maple tree rooted behind my home could speak of its many visitors it receives daily, speak of the exuberance of its budding leaves, speak of the loss of crisping foliage in the fall.

What if the ground could speak to me of the myriad web of roots, molds and insects that constantly stir its innards.

When I think of what these voices might be like if all the world around me could speak, I only think of sounds reaching out to my ears. I think mostly in terms of my ears perked to hear what is being said. I am slow to remember how everything around me sends out an awareness that I have only to “listen” to, to pay attention to.

If my mind is otherwise quiet, I can hear what it is for a tree to be solidly present in my back yard. If I listen with an open awareness, I can understand the marvels of flight those birds enjoy. When I truly relax my mind, I might be able to penetrate the ground as I walk on it and feel the aliveness the ground might otherwise conceal.

Everything around me proclaims its reality, its suchness. Everything speaks what it means for it to exist. Everything speaks the language of presence.

What if I could pay attention, truly see and hear what surrounds me. What if my awareness could absorb the speech of the world in which I find myself. What if I could learn the language of reality. What if I could hear the voice of everything just as it is.

I think I can. I think that is possible.

This month of isolation has introduced me to a surprising level of contentment. It seems that I am constantly being offered a chance to accept the fact that things are as they are. That repeated exercise has brought a pleasant feeling of contentment.

In some practices of concentration this might even be considered a mild experience of equanimity. I know there is something stimulating and even energetic about strong feelings of attraction or aversion. I am finding that there is a strange pleasantness in the kind of neutrality that is next to but not part of attraction or aversion.

This neutral realm of contentment is still very pleasant, even joyful. It just doesn’t have the same kind of drama I experience when I want something to keep being great or when I want something to stop and go away.

I’m not sure which comes first, the settling into relaxation or the yielding to contentment. Maybe there really is little difference in them. I know there is a point where I no longer resist the way things are. There is a point when I align myself with how things are, how they are unfolding. This is a pleasant place to be.

Contentment is my experience of no resistance, no trying to make things different, no trying to keep things the way they are.

Of all the things I have learned in the past four years or so, the most transformative has been my uncovering the power to relax. This is not the relax typically related to watching a good movie or lying on the couch in the afternoon sun. While these activities can be an introduction to relax, they are far more passive and low energy than the relax I now often do.

When I relax, it is something more. My relax is something that invites all of me to engage, and not to check out. I am at full attention.

For me, relax means letting go of all body sensations. At the same time, I have a vast sensory awareness. Relax can typically begin with a willed sensation in parts of my body, and that quickly shifts to a more expanded sensory alertness. All my pores might seem open to receive, but the physicality of sensory awareness has faded away.

Relax no longer means letting go of energy, but instead means possessing energy with a powerful vibrancy. Far from being energy-less, relax is marked by a wave of energy.

Relax for me sometimes begins with my intention to cocoon. I seem to relax in a more typical way of relaxing, surrounding myself with softness and warmth. Then the sensory stimulus vanishes as I shed the physicality of softness and warmth. Relax sends me into an experience not confined by my surrounding comfort.

Relax involves a release of control, a plunge without holding on. It sends me without direction, yielding to an unseen, unfelt reality.

Relax, for me, is like being on another level of experience. It is a reflection of what it typically means to relax, without all the physicality and other constraints. It is no longer what I might expect in relaxation and I immerse myself in a vast place of no-relaxation.

The entry points to this place of relax are varied for me. I have a number of ways to go there. Sometimes it is as simple as a body scan, guiding my sensations to specific parts of my body. Most often, this is focused on the sensation of breathing, and often settles just inside or outside my nostrils.

Trigger words also induce what I experience when I relax. Words summon a familiar experience and association. Mental forms come forward then quickly lose their shape and conceptual meaning. Short poems I associate with relax are a regular part of my daily routine. Words in my head remind me how to let go, how to become absorbed.

Certain kinds of music allow me to relax, especially music that has a past association with deep experiences of relax. Shapes, scenes and people have a similar effect of triggering my familiar experience of relax.

To relax in this manner is incredibly pleasant. It is filled with the joy of a rich , energetic and exciting experience. Yet it only happens when I experience a vast emptiness. It is highly sensual without the experience of physical sensation.

The real payoff is that relax is an open gateway to mindfulness. It produces an open mind that is not cluttered with formed preconceptions and personal notions of reality. Relax offers a free and unsullied experience of whatever presents. Relax may even be a readiness for insight.

I keep being surprised by the effects of my meditation practice. Not only does it seem a good, even pleasant thing to do. It is also pragmatic. It works by making my life “off the pillow” more grounded and less stressful.

I had the chance to talk about this last evening at our first virtual gathering of the Blooming Heart Sangha. I gave a talk on “Practice That Is Working ” and that gave me a chance to think about this issue in the days leading up to last evening.

Most of all, I became very aware of those moments when my practice was not working. Those were moments when I noticed that I was not at all grounded and I was unusually stressed.

I primarily noticed that, more than normal, my focus has been on the future this past month. I’ve been concerned about what is likely to happen, thinking about where things are going, how long this might continue. I have been paying less attention to the present moment, to what is happening right now.

Second, I noticed how often I’m involved in a projection of myself, my concerns and my anxiety. When I grabbed the olive oil bottle, I instantly thought “How long will this last, do I have enough?” When I got out the broccoli, I assessed “how much broccoli do I have left, do I have enough, how long before I have none.”

Survival skills are useful, and have helped make us the successful species we are. But my survival skills had become accentuated, and I have been challenged to keep them in balance. My consciousness that is a projection of self, mannas, has been especially strong as I repeatedly, habitually engaged in excessive planning.

A third thing I noticed was my habit energy, my strong inclination to do things I am accustomed to do. For awhile, I frequently thought about and planned to go grocery shopping. I struggled with a strong urge, a felt need to go to the grocery store. I was often drawn out of the present and what I needed to do at that moment.

I realized eventually that these things I noticed were obvious to me because of my practice. My practice has allowed me to notice that these things are happening. My practice of observing the operation of my mind made me more keenly aware how I was getting off a stable, helpful track.

Because of my working practice, I am more aware of what is happening in me. Not only am I aware that it is happening, I also have deeper insight and understanding of its nature. I also think I am more deeply aware of how I share a common experience with many other people. I am more aware of my connection with nature, one another, the world.

This awareness has helped me recognize that I have an opportunity to go in one of two directions: fear and anxiety or mindfulness and calm. I have a choice, and I have been doing a bit of both.

One practice that has helped is something I learned some time ago: pause and allow mindfulness to settle in my body. Thay teaches us that a bell sound is an invitation to pause, to allow mindfulness to settle in. For me, I began to recognize the moments of anxiety were an invitation to pause, to allow my body to relax.

After an initial period of anxiety, I learned that when I thought of olive oil or broccoli running out, I could recite a reminder: “Breathing in I relax my body; breathing out I smile. Dwelling in the present moment, I enjoy this wonderful moment.”

This recitation, this collection of words has created a momentary space where I can relax my body. The pause has become a space where I can look more deeply and kindly at my anxiety, my suffering. This is something my practice makes possible, even easy. I know how to not turn away.

This simple, four-line gatha helps me draw awareness into my body. It allows me to feel the stored sense of resilience, the storied experience of self-regulation. The gatha creates a moment of mindfulness, much like a sounding bell. It centers me in the here and now. It allows me to step back and observe my anxiety about olive oil or broccoli. It allows me to feel the sensation of a relaxed body. It allows my awareness to settle into my body.

My practice is more than the pleasant awareness that comes with sitting on my pillow. It also brings me moments of clarity and quiet during times of possible stress.

I am very fortunate not to have to live on the margin.

The pandemic has brought this into focus, that I have the luxury of being able to self-isolate. I have friends that help me to be safe, both by encouraging me to self-isolate and by bringing me fresh fruit and vegetables. I not only have a good and healthy supply of food, I also have a home that I share with only one other person, who is intent on self-isolating as well.

I do not live on the margin of an uncertain income. I am retired and have a monthly retirement benefit and Social Security to rely on. I do not feel the pressure of needing to “go back to work” so that my income and the GNP can be preserved. I don’t worry about paying the rent or mortgage.

I am aware that so many people needlessly live on the margin of adequacy. They are forced into that precarious, worrisome position because so much of the wealth of the economy has been drawn into the hands of a greedy few. There are adequate resources in our country, and the problem is that much of the wealth is being hoarded by so few, forcing a marginal life-style on the many.

I may not consider myself to be one of the hoarders, but I probably am in the “upper 20%” who right now do not have to live on the margin of adequacy. My discomfort brought on by the pandemic is small compared with all those who face the real threat of sickness and great personal need. They know the pain and real threat of being on the margin. I have a zone of adequacy some comforting distance from the edge where many people are forced to live.

I can take a deep breath and embrace gratitude.

Embracing tradition is a tricky matter. Sometimes tradition can refer to the broad, arms-wide-open gathering of a diverse and rich history of a social institution. On the other hand, sticking with tradition can mean following a very narrow and limited history of that same social institution.

I think that I spent a large part of my life with traditionalists who mostly chose the narrow path. I spent a dozen years living in a semi-monastic community that followed a rule of life that hadn’t changed much for over 700 years. In addition, that community had a loyal attachment to the narrow orthodoxy of the Catholic Church.

So I have have experience in following the narrow definition of tradition. Fortunately for me, there were a few departures from that narrow route. I had the good fortune to become aware of certain great thinkers, such as Duns Scotus, who lived in the Franciscan tradition, but notably never achieved sainthood, the official stamp of approval.

I also had one, perhaps two teachers, who had learned to see outside the boxed-in form of tradition. I also had close friends outside the monastic walls who kept me aware of the diverse reality of being human.

Those departures from tradition exposed me to a rich reality that prepared me for what would come later and continues to unfold. This change has happened only because I have stepped away from the narrow notion of tradition, especially that of the Franciscans and the Catholic Church.

At this time, I am immersed in the teachings that have come from the East, particularly the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh, or Thay. It is interesting, and a bit disarming, to visit the notion of christian tradition as presented by Thay, especially in his book, “Living Buddha, Living Christ.”

Thay employs the idea of tradition to capture not a narrow point of view, but rather the diverse richness latent both in Christianity and Buddhism. He credits Christian tradition with a diversity I hardly recognize, except perhaps through the writings of biblical scholars such as Elaine Pagels or censured writers such as Teilhard de Chardin.

I think Thay is both generous and marginally correct in his attempt to describe early Christian thought. He brings to light a spark of richness and diversity that was kept secluded and hidden from public view for much of the past two millennia. I’m not sure most Christians would share his observations of christian tradition.

The tradition of christianity I know and lived so well, is constrained to the narrow confines of orthodox dogma, to carefully worded expressions of faith. I think this is largely the tradition embraced by most christians today.

It took me a couple of years before I was ready to read what Thay had to say about the Living Christ in christian tradition. I simply didn’t agree with him. I can now see that he has an eye to see something that I was searching for during many of my years of being immersed in a restrictive, traditional view of the past.

Mostly because of scholars like Elaine Pagels, I am ready to accept Thay’s insight and description of what early christianity included. Those years, before orthodoxy, were rich with notions very similar to those found in Buddhism. This is the tradition I can genuinely own because it is mirrored in my own experience.

I can embrace a tradition that is like a huge net that is capable of gathering a wealth of rich experiences and a variety of insights. I’m not so appreciative of a tradition limited by orthodoxy.

I find it interesting how my thoughts in the morning suddenly go to my available food and a quick calculation of how long it will be before I do a grocery run. This has absolutely nothing to do with reality.

The reality is that I could eat for weeks from the food I have without having to go out grocery shopping. Even if I have to ration fruit and almond milk, I can survive for at least another week. But still my mind wants to plan and solve this new problem of scarcity.

I may have to adjust my eating pattern, but there is a lot of food to sustain both me and Lily for weeks. Yet I keep wanting to examine and plan. It feels like it does when I go camping and bring along a limited amount of food. I have carefully planned enough food for several days. But I seem compelled to keep checking mentally that I have planned correctly. I resist scarcity, and I have a difficult time yielding to an unbountiful tomorrow.

Today I am thinking of those homes where people have little food stashed away. They do not have a freezer with many left-over soups or a pantry with beans and rice, as I do. Their scarcity is real and not as imagined as mine. I am reminded of a friend I visited many years ago. She was fixing popcorn for her kids because that was the only food in the house.

Perhaps others are more accustomed to live on the edge of scarcity, and are more adjusted to this restriction of not being able to go grocery shopping. My limitation is self-imposed because of the virus danger. But I still have the habit of privilege, the habit of being very prepared to eat whatever I choose.

I am isolated and I am reminded that I have a habit of grocery shopping that calls out to me daily. Every day I examine, I plan, I think of when I might go shopping.

I hope I will be able to embrace the notion of scarcity, even before I have to address the reality.

This most certainly would not happen now because of the social-distancing recommended in the middle of the virus pandemic. But it did happen a little over a week ago.

I had just greeted a friend who immediately raised her protesting hands and said, “I have a cold, I may be contagious.” I immediately said, ” You are contagious in more ways than one,” and gave her a side-hug.

My response was simply spontaneous, but I reminded myself afterwards that I am affected in some way by every one that I encounter. Every one is an experience with a contagious effect. Likewise, I share who I have become with everyone I meet, and they are contagiously affected.

The awareness of contagion differs from time to time, from experience to experience. However, I believe that who I have become is affecting all that I meet. They are likewise contagious to me.

I am more aware of how others can be contagious for causing harm. What I often miss is how we also have the potential to be contagious for benefit and good.