Barry Garden Path

I find that the comparison of the deep happiness that comes from meditation practice with the transitory pleasures of the senses is instructive.  However,  I am not about to dismiss the value of sensory experience and awareness.

The rich taste of dark chocolate, the soothing warmth of my cup of tea,  the hard touch of the desktop next to my keyboard all reignite the deep pleasantness I felt on my pillow this morning.   Sensory experiences remind me through the day of how to find the experience of abundant pleasure.   The memory is stirred.

None of my senses have as dramatic and effective consequence as touch.   Being aware of shared awareness with any entity is a delight that goes beyond any simple sensory contact.   Shared touch with any sentient being, especially humans, is an entry into great happiness, pleasure and joy.

Today I am feeling overwhelmed by the difficulty I have in establishing deep  and meaningful relationships with people.   It is probably an exaggeration to say that I feel immersed in some kind of relationship poverty, but I am aware that anything beyond a casual interaction seems very difficult.

Even in my Sangha, where there could be penetrating interactions, people seem so reluctant to go beyond much more than cerebral exchanges.    That presumes that they even bother to show up.

I am taking an on-line course on deep concentration, “Focused and Fearless”, and the exchanges between students seem anything but fearless. At least 80 percent of the comments are totally in the cerebral area and sadly not at all revealing of where people live and breathe.    Two comments I’ve made, which I considered rather revealing,  received no response .

I don’t understand it.     I feel like I am drifting on some alternate plane, and most everyone else is some where just beyond.    I think I often extend opportunities to connect with others, even to plunge into those places where we really live.     But others seem so reluctant to reciprocate.     I wonder what I am doing that keeps me in this impoverished arena.

Am I alone in wanting and working for deep and meaningful exchanges?   Are other people also taking steps to make that kind of connection happen, but I’m not picking up on the clues?  Maybe I’m simply being too obtuse in what I say.    I have this feeling of being in a relatively stable place, but stable and isolated.

I have this sense that my showing open vulnerability, those places where I really live, receives such an impoverished, faint response.     Reciprocity is only occasionally part of the interaction.    I’ve just about given up on men being able to sustain a conversation on anything but a surface level.     I’m sadly finding that most women also seem to interact in a cerebral arena and not so much on a feeling, more revealing level.

Neither men or women seem able to get beyond the few of showing where they really live.    There is such a reluctance to be really present.    The caution over their vulnerability is so distancing, stifling and disappointing.    I hear so little of their inner workings, their inner struggles.    And so we do not connect.

The poverty of this situation is leaving me sad.

I have lived in a culture where any mention of pleasure is sure to raise suspicious eyebrows.    Any engagement with pleasure is at least suspicious and probably should be avoided anyhow.    Pleasure and hedonism seem like second cousins and, for good measure,  I have learned to be wary of each.

It is quite a surprise to learn that pleasure is the topic of the third module of my deep consciousness class.   A deep absorption in pleasures is in fact inherent in jhanas,  and the pleasures of jhanas are an essential element of liberating insight.

While the absorption in pleasure is part of the meditation practice, any sensory delight can be a source of pleasure when done with mindfulness.   Throughout the day, normal daily experiences of sensory delight can be an echo of the deep pleasure experienced in the concentration methods.   The pleasurable moments spent sitting on my pillow can follow me through the day.

Pleasure is a good thing and not to be  avoided, but is a problem if it becomes a source of attachment.     That works out well because most sensory pleasures are brief and transitory, but the pleasures that come from absorption and deep concentration are lasting.    Mindfulness can create a state that prevails beyond the transitory experience of sensory delight.

It is a state that can stay with me during much of the day.     It is a pleasure that can infuse itself into many sensory experiences.     I am aware that distractions and disturbances can remove mindfulness and interfere with concentration.    When this happens, the pleasure, joy and rapture fades.

However, when mindfulness prevails, even the smallest sensory delight can be accompanied with intense and lasting pleasure.

It is with a deep feeling of vulnerability that I invite others into my living space.   As I descend deeper into those realms where I am truly alive, I am somewhat surprised by the instability I feel.    As I let go of control, as I allow myself to relax, I am aware how much feels totally out of my control.

I’m not at all use to that feeling of things being out of control.    I am not accustomed to allowing others to enter into that out-of-control part of me.  But I just keep moving forward.

Living with the notion of impermanence seems to allow for little stability or predictability.    I’m not surprised to figure that out.    I suppose it is a logical thing to conclude.    I am surprised how vulnerable it makes me feel.   This is especially true of my relationships with others where I seem to want reassurances on at least an occasional basis.

As much as I entrust my vulnerability to my Sangha, my fellow mediators, I am not sure they are capable of being the kind of stabilizing group I would like to have.     I am still waiting to see if they are capable or wiling to go to the scary places I am beginning to explore.   As a group, we still typically dabble in the theoretical arena more than we dive into the personal places that we live.   I am not assured that I can rely on them to be present.

It seems to come with being vulnerable that there really is no safe place.    Safety only comes with the predictable, and there is little that is predictable in vulnerability.    I still have a tendency to grasp for assurances of what the future will be like, even while I have learned to rely on the future less and less.

All around me, I seem to be moving into an uncertain and different future.   Fortunately, I am able to relax about that at least a couple times a day.     Small assurances come into my living place, and for now that will have to be enough.

To live with vulnerability I want to stay as closely focused on the present as I can.    Grasping for a certain future may offer ephemeral assurances, but it is not at all stabilizing once the veil is pulled back and I realize that the future is only an imaginary realm.     I am especially not sure who will be there as a companion in my future.

It is not easy to yield to being vulnerable.

 

It seems that I am constantly being encouraged to think of many ways of becoming aware.   The class I am taking, “Focused and Fearless”, has so many comments from people all over the world expressing what being aware means to them.    They come at it from so many different angles.

I suppose that I also regard being aware from many different aspects.    Each of them seems to serve me in different ways.   There is, however, one fundamental way of being aware that is a routine foundation and cornerstone for me.   In fact, it is my gateway to awareness.   I am constantly returning to awareness of my body.    I become more aware when I am first of all aware of my  own physical presence.   Then wonderful things happen.

Simple body awareness is how I first began to meditate.   It is how I began my meditation practice.   It has continued to be the basis of my deepening concentration.    The physical presence of my body has been the launch pad to deep contemplation.

When I totally relax into the presence of my body, my whole self opens.    I feel deeply.    I see clearly.    I understand in marvelous ways .

I first had to learn the sensations in all parts of my body.    I had to disperse the cultural conditioning that lead me to be wary of my body and all it experienced.    For a long time, it was the palms of my hands that were the focus of my awareness.   I learned to feel the aliveness and vibrancy of my hands.    That awareness then gradually spread to other areas of my body.

Right now, the feeling of my breath is a pivotal experience of awareness, but that is not all.     The breath is an easy, go-to pivot for wandering concentration.     But it is the relaxed, whole body awareness that takes me into the deepest concentration.    It is my whole body that radiates bliss and joy.

Having this feeling of being body aware allows me to easily become aware of the world around me.    When I am body aware, that same awareness readily extends to people I meet, flowers I touch or see, the ground beneath my moving feet.

When that awareness slackens, I instantly return to my own body awareness.    It could be my hands or my breath.   But mostly it is my awareness of my whole body:   arms, head, legs, torso.    It is as if I become a sponge, an open door of attention.   I invite the world.   I am ready to meet and absorb whatever or whoever is before me.

All this body awareness I have learned in solitude.    I wonder what the role of being touched by someone else would do to expand body awareness.    I am often reminded how a simple hug can bring on a wave of concentration and awareness.   I wonder how the impact of massage might have a more beneficial effect beyond the simple sensation of touch and pressure.

Being able to fully absorb the sensation of being touched while remaining in the present moment, seems likely to awaken awareness on a deeper level.    It seems to me that inviting such an experience would require a significant amount of trust.

I suppose that  trusting myself and my body has allowed me to not fear the sensations of my body.    It has taken years, but I now rely on my awareness of my body to make me aware of the world of which I am part.

I have been gifted with an amazing group of guides through my life.    Most of the meaningful guides have been women.    Each of them have nudged me to deepen and open my experience of my feminine self.

I never realized this at the time.   But as I look into my deep engagement with the energy and clarity that accompanies deep concentration, I recognize the impact of their guidance.   Meditation is such a natural, almost effortless experience for me.   I smoothly fall into awareness, and I realize that I have come to this familiar plane with the help of others.    All of them have invited me in various ways to become familiar with and share in their own femininity.

I know them all by name and the impact they had on my awareness.   There was the coaxer, the muse, the lover, the artist, the comforter,  the nurturer.    There was even the one who warned me of the danger that might lurk in the feminine sphere.    The list continues, and goes up to the present.    They have all had a guiding impact.    There were times that I became overly dependent on my guides, but they all contributed to my discovering and uncovering a feminine part of myself.

I find it interesting, but not too surprising, that as I look at the feeling and expressive part of myself, there are few male individuals who have acted as guides.   Men have helped me understand, but few had a hand in guiding me to uncover the deep insight and power in myself.   Even among writers, men are typically more conceptual and cerebral, with those couple of exceptions  who happen to be poets.    My guides have predominantly been women.

I am attempting to return the gesture by exposing my own feminine to men and women alike.    I invite them to partake, learn and enjoy as I, in turn, act as a guide.   This is not at all deliberate or highly intentional.    I simply allow myself be experienced as a guide.

When I meet someone, I often open into a channel that reaches into deep awareness.   This is also an invitation to deep awareness.    It is not a one way process, and not mine alone.   What I do is also an invitation for them to join me on this plane of awareness.   I open a door.

I am curious about them and encourage their curiosity about me.   I want to know all the experiences they have found to be insightful at the same time I invite them to explore the same of me.

It is the kind of exchange I have with students that sit around me at the University of Minnesota.   We have a mutual sharing and curiosity, usually something I initiate.   I am aware of them, and I ask about them and what they experience.    They sometimes mimic my inquiry.   I find that many of them are curious too.

With many people, I notice that the invitation is open-ended and without direction.    The frequent and common denominator is that we might share an awareness between us.

There are no rules.   There are no pre-conceived notions. There is only a prescribed willingness to grow in awareness.

First I had to abandon the outlines of religion to enter the realm of the spiritual and absolute.   Religion has become a corruption of the spiritual realm, and spiritual aliveness demands of me that it be abandoned.    For about 10,000 years, religion has attempted to put the tiger in a cage.    It has offered a close-up experience of wildness that is without the depth or energy of a genuine encounter.

I think that the tiger walks with those who are willing to allow the intimacy of a close companion, including the one existing within.   In the arena of religion, it was the mystics who figured this out, and religion pushed them to the side as a spiritual freak show.    I think they should have been on center stage.

It was in “A River Runs Through It” that the Presbyterian pastor is quoted as telling his son that Methodists are Baptists who have learned to read.    This captures well the contempt that religions have for one another.   It mirrors my own moments of contempt for most forms of religion.

The history of humans, beginning with the serious commitment to a farming lifestyle, reveals an emerging social, civil order.    In most cases, religion played the role of fronting for the social structure.    It became a shill for those in power, attempting to legitimize what humans had become socially, wrapped in the robes of shallow spirituality.    Even the images of gods reflected what the humans of a given time saw of themselves.    That is no less true of today and is typical of most modern religions.

All the while, the tiger has yearned to be free.   Humans have surrounded and confined themselves in social forms that have imprisoned most spiritual aspects of the erotic.    The deep human power of the erotic has been straight-jacketed alike by civil and the parallel religious forms of society.

The rising of patriarchy at the time of  serious farming sought to harness and control the erotic energy of the realm of the spiritual.    The deep erotic impulse came gradually under the control of the male element of society, in both the civil and spiritual realms.

Religions have correspondingly aligned themselves with the male model.   The erotic, which is basically feminine, tries relentlessly to break through the bars of the cage.    The tiger yearns to be free and wild.

My intent is to free the tiger, which I recognize and embrace as female.   I greet her every time I sit in meditation.    I walk with her through the day as I move through my world.   I brush against her energy, feel the depth of her presence.    She informs me of what I encounter.

For me, freedom comes by abandoning the constraints I allowed to be imposed on my thinking by religion and the social norms of being a man.  Allowing myself to feel the energy and power in my body has been a gateway to meditation and into the experience of the spiritual realm.     The deeper I penetrate that world, the more I recognize it as being predominantly female.

I feel and love her presence in me and my whole world.

 

 

It’s really quite simple, but it has taken me a long time to figure it out.    Having an open-heart is not a conditional act.   It is not a conditional state.   There are no built-in guarantees.    The openness is freely given with nothing expected in return.    There is unconditional acceptance and an unconditional invitation.    There is no bartering, no exchanges.

It is the natural way of the universe.    Being open-hearted means nothing is expected in return.    In contrast, humans have invented bartering.    Humans have invented so many ways to get around this basic reality.    Stepping out of a world in which everything was freely given, humans first bartered about goods and land.    Then it was about one another.    Relations with one another became conditional with promises about the future and with attempts to secure guarantees.

It was not the way of nature, not the natural way.   Nature is open-hearted.   Hearts are naturally open in an unconditional manner.    Then expectations gradually creep in that things be different than they are.     Open-heartedness unfortunately often becomes conditional.

I think it is appropriate to say “I would like……”.     But that is a perilous move.    A wish or desire is not an expectation, but the slope is very slippery. It is very hard to avoid expectations or conditional open-heartedness.

In my vocabulary, being open-hearted is another way of saying “I love”.   But the notion of love have so many barnacles attached to it, so many external conditions, that the word is both misleading and deceiving.   So I stay away from it.

I prefer to declare my open-heartedness, now that I am discovering what I think it is really about.   In open-heartedness there is no reciprocity expected.    It is an invitation freely given without any expectation of exchange.   I want it to be my unconditional state and my way of living.

 

 

I am noticing so many things out of balance.    That includes my daily struggle to bring myself into balance.     One difficult balancing act for me has to do with the tension between the future and the ever-present now.    I know that I need to make some plans for the future because I live in an historic, relative world.    At the same time, I know that the future is simply a figment of my creative mind, and the only reality is what is happening right now.

There once was a time that I thought of an after-life in such a way that it highly influenced what I was doing and experiencing in the present.    I now see that there is no after-life.    There is only what is happening right now.    We have imagined and created this whole notion of a future after-life.    Future time is not my home.    My home is only the present.    What is lacking is the balanced ability to see and experience it fully.

I live with humans and we are horribly out of balance with nature.    We have a lot in common with gypsy moths.    Like them, our burgeoning population will destroy the massive society we have created, careening out of balance with nature.    Like the gypsy moths, only a fragment will survive as nature brings our population back into balance.

We differ from gypsy moths because we can be more aware of what is happening.   Unfortunately, most humans have but a vague and loose notion of the world in which we live.    There are so many distractions, including our preoccupation with the future.    Most humans, including me, have but a loose notion of what it means to exist in this world.     Experience of the real world is barely accessible.

All around me, I see humans preparing for a future populated by more children, a future that cannot exist in the changing world.   Every day I read of someone with lofty notions of how to avoid climate change, when they would be much better to simply stop producing children and grandchildren.     Only then do we humans have a chance of being in balance with nature.

Preoccupation with improbable, imagined and other worldly existences obscures the wonder of what it means to be human.   The earth, however, has an innate awareness of the balance required, and is gradually moving into a new order of things.

I want to be more  earthy and present to the true nature of things.    I want to live in balance with the historical and the absolute.    I want to be more aware of the reality that is here, not some vague future beyond, imagined or anticipated.   I want to embrace this changing world that is moving to a new balance.

I accept the change and do not resist it.    I welcome the change for balance as the reality in which my every day is immersed.    My vision is not on some imaginary horizon, but on the today in which I am eternally immersed.

I do not choose to live in the imaginary world of a reality that exists only in hopes and dreams.    That is a reality that does in fact not exist.    I  choose instead to daily fall down on my knees in wonder and in recognition of the sublime nature of the real world in which I find myself.     It is a world that is gradually moving into a new balance, and I want to move with it.    That is the world I choose to experience.