Barry Garden Path

All summer long, I stood under the ancient Maple in my yard and looked up into the branches.   I loved being under all the leaves waving above me and hanging down from the drooping branches.   An umbrella of dark green was all I saw and I felt so embraced by the canopy above me.   It was a cool and comforting place.   I was enveloped by the protective dome.

Now the leaves are gone, and when I stand under the branches, I see the world beyond.   There are bright silver stars at night and I see the deep blue of the day sky.   My tree is still there, but now I know that there is more to see while standing under it.

For nearly all my life, I have enjoyed the comfort and thrill of the illusioned world around me.    My eyes never saw beyond the color and shape, my touch never penetrated beyond the hard and warm surfaces.  I never knew that beyond the curtain of appearances was a whole additional reality.   My senses were caught up in an illusion and only gave me a vague impression of what is really there.

The wonderful world of unseen dimensions, hidden activity, and invisible realities is beginning to be revealed.    Some of the reveal is taught by those who explain the unfolding realities of modern physics.   Some is realized by my shedding the dominating thoughts of my mind.   Some comes from opening my senses in a new way to the deeper world around me.

I have loved my summer tree.   And now I know there is more.

I have been trying to sort out just what I intend my relationships to be like.   It is a question that applies to my dearest, most intimate companions and to casual acquaintances.   I suppose, in a strange way, it also applies to those whose behavior I despise.

This issue is especially keen in my mind as I absorb the meaning of what it means for me to be alone.   I am discovering myself in ways I never have before.    That is both exciting and a little destabilizing.    As I see myself standing alone, what does that mean about my relationship with anyone standing close to me.   How can I be part of one another’s presence without losing touch with my own presence, a problem I have occasionally had.

I think what I most have to give to my companions and want from them is witness.   This is a deep, loving acknowledgement of who they are.   To my closest and most intimate companions, I offer a witness that includes a loving acknowledgement of their presence.   I intend to give unflinching acceptance, first of all to those closest to me.

I intend to listen to their stories, and offer to tell mine.     I will assist and support them.   I will encourage them in their pursuits.   It is what I have to offer as a friend and companion.    It is what I ask of those I invite into the intimacies of my life.

I  think this applies to the whole spectrum of companions, from my most intimate lover all the way to the bigots and racists whose behavior I despise.     It is something I intend to do unconditionally but in different degrees.   I hope to judge wisely how and when to be a witness and when to seek it.

 

Being an observer can mean a couple of things for me.    Some ways of being an observer I am trying to cultivate.   There are others I am trying to  distance myself from.

Eckhart Tolle made me aware of the value of becoming a “watcher.”   It was an important element and tool that I began to use to become more aware, more present.    I especially became a watcher of what was happening in me.    This included my sensations, my feelings, my thoughts.   Almost like stepping back and seeing me and parts of me in a mirror.   Strangely, by stepping back, being less caught up in my thoughts and feelings,  I actually became more aware of them.   In some ways I became more of a disengaged watcher.

This, of course, became an important element of my meditation practice.   Sometimes I am almost stepping outside myself and observing what I am doing or feeling or thinking.   The effect has been to intensify the feelings, the sensations, the experience of being present.

And there lies the paradox for me.    By being more of an observer, I can be more engaged in what I am observing.    This is true of my own body, everything  and everyone around me.   As a witness, I  become more connected to the observed.

I don’t often like to become a “passive” observer of someone else’s imagination.    Entertainment put on a screen is that for me.    There are times for that kind of engagement, connection with someone’s imagination.  There are times to be a spectator.    I like to keep that at a minimum.

Paradoxical as it is, I do like and take delight in being an observer of myself and those around me.   Then I am able, with abandon,  to fall head over heels into that reality.

Ripening, for me, is another name for getting older.   This is not the over-ripe mass of brown apple pulp.   Rather, it is the bright red crispness and luscious sweetness of ripened fruit at its peak.   I think of a piece of fruit as it was destined to become.   Full of flavor, tasty.  This is what it means to get older.

I have emerged from an illusion.   There was a time I celebrated the age of flowering.   It was a moment of fragrance, full of promise, fancy to behold.   I never knew I was only experiencing a forecast of the magnificence yet to come.

Now I know what it means to begin ripening, and I think for me the process has only begun.   The lovely petals of the flowers have long disappeared and the swelling fullness of my humanity is only now beginning to express itself.

My mind has moved to a new skill level, and the memory of what I imagined was my prime time has faded.   This is closer to what I was meant to be.   The toddler Barry was no more human than an acorn is an oak tree.   I was only a faint promise of what was yet to be.

I love the feeling of getting older, this time of ripening.  My heart swells with the fullness of newly aroused anticipation and the glow of ripening is beginning to emerge.   I am becoming a part of the universe in a way I never imagined was possible.  For me, it is a process that has only begun.  I know the best is yet to come, a period when I can more fully experience my oneness with my world.

I never knew there was this hidden path to joy and oneness.  Now I am determined there will be no dried and rotten husk.    I excitedly lean toward the day when it is time to eat and be eaten.

I am beginning to get a glimpse at what it means to develop a skillful mind.   This election cycle, for all its pain, has been a good teacher.  Developing a skillful mind, I think, is simply taking charge of my mind.   For me, it is taking charge of my thoughts.   Telling my mind what it is allowed to think.   My mind is no longer in charge, there has been a coup.

Meditation has been my chosen tool.    It has allowed me to take charge, to bring my mind under my control.    I am practicing being in charge, and my mind is getting the message, finally.   My mind is jealous of its power.   It tries constantly to regain its mystery of my thoughts, of my feelings, of my life.   It asserts itself out of habit, and I have to remind it there is someone else now in charge.   My practice gives me the skill I need.

I now see that my mind is something to be mastered, to serve me.   It is not to hold me in its service, as I think it has for years.   Using my mind the way I choose is truly a skill to be learned.   Perhaps it is much like learning to walk, something I mastered at an early age.    Then I gradually took charge of walking where I wanted   It is only then that I truly had the skill of walking.

I smile when I think of all the effort I have made to take charge of my feelings.   All the while I think my feelings were taking their lead from my thoughts.    Now I am working on taking charge of my thoughts, and I think my feelings faithfully follow.   I am taking charge of my mind.   My mind is becoming better skilled at following directions.   I am becoming more fully human, and that is who is meant to be in charge.

All the talk of building bridges has left me pretty much unmoved and uninterested.    Most bridges are built from both sides, and I am fatigued and realistic about what has actually been done in recent decades.    Both sides have to be ready to construct the bridge, and I have not been seeing many signs that that kind of readiness is present.

Until the bridge can be open to my companions, my family, my community, I’m not going to put my energy into the effort.   When members of all religions, all sexual preferences, all ethnic backgrounds are welcome at the other side of the bridge, then I say “Let’s get going.”

Until then, I am more interested in putting my efforts into the members of my community, my family, my companions.    These are members of my Beloved Community, and I welcome all who want to join it.    But we all have to be able to walk across the bridge.

Repeating an untruth can make it seem true to an unskilled mind.   It is becoming a common experience for me to recognize how much I can create my own reality.   It is a habit of mind, my thoughts are gate-keepers.   It is easy for me to absorb untruths, illusions when I entertain them uncritically.

Repeated untruths become familiar and so they become easier to absorb.   The gate-keeper lets down its guard and admits the familiar uncritically.  The dimensions of untruths take on all the appearance of reality.    A truly discerning mind sees all as uncertain, ambiguous, illusory.

For me this has been true in areas of religion where repeated illusions took on the credibility of being real.    It has happened in relationships where familiarity created an illusion or expectation that became my reality.   How often I have “seen” or “heard” what I expected or wanted to see and hear.   How often have I seen and heard the familiar uncritically, without being attentive and mindful.

I have been tested during this election time.    The media has reported so many untruths in uncritical fashion.   There have been times that I began to accept untruths as reality.    This has been so much of the story of this election, and the reason I stopped paying attention to the news.   My ability to critically filter what I heard and read became over-taxed.    I became weary and weakened in my ability and desire to repel the attacks of so many illusions.   So I put down the paper and turned off the radio.

I think that the needy are a gift.   They are desperate, and so they do not keep silent.   They speak, even shout their pain and anguish.   Their voices become an open invitation for compassion.    They challenge me to open my heart, to really see them, to not turn away.

Their need is so obvious I have to strain if I want to avoid it.    I pass it on my short four-block walk between bus and light rail.   I sit next to it on the bus.    I am aware of their need as I drive through their neighborhood, hear their stories on the radio, read the reports on their plight.  I seem to be surrounded by opportunities for compassion, and I have to choose what to do.

I admit that I am confused by the shouts of hate, anger and prejudice.    These are people who have a deep fear, and are ready to blame others for the causes of their fear.    They often blame people who have more need than them.   How do I get past the hate and anger.    How do I see them as fearful and in pain.    How do I not turn away.

I don’t think I can get past the anger and hate.    I would rather not see them.  They do not stir my compassion.

My ability to experience you has increased dramatically.

In the past year, all my senses have hightened their awareness.  The fragrance of my world has become more intense.    The color and dimensions of my world have become more engaging.   I am more attentive to sound.    Most significant, I am much more aware of the dimensions of my body.  My skin tingles in anticipation of whatever comes near.   Wind has become more present, space is inviting.

I am also more aware of the dimensions of pain and tragedy.   It can be overwhelming at times.   This week I have experienced a couple days of profound sadness because I saw the power of fear, hate and anger.   And I also have thought of all the pain I expect people to experience because of the election.   But I can be aware of it in a way that does not bring me suffering.   I am sad, but it is unlike the welcome experience of my senses which bring me expanding joy and delight.   I am sad but content.

If this is the path of mindfulness, I embrace it with gratitude.

I woke this morning to the news of the further unraveling of the social fabric we have haphazardly woven into our world.   I am sad that the USA has chosen a fabric of rough and uniform texture rather than a delicate and diverse one.   I expect that this will be a harsh and painful time

I also am aware of the unstable climate we have created in our world-wide atmosphere.  I watch as the whole world rushes forward toward an environmental upheaval never before experienced by our species.  There is great human pain in our future, brought about by our effect on our environment.

Even as I expect to share in the approaching pain, I intend not to be swayed or swept away by it or its anticipation.   The social condition in the USA has been making a dramatic shift as so many people yield to their fear and the pain of loss.   Claw and fang are having their day;  tenderness is taking a holiday for many.   I watch, and I wonder if this will plunge us into a time of panicked savagery or awakened consciousness.

My world has passed a significant pivotal point, both social and environmental.  I think we have the capacity t0 work our way through, but I am uncertain that we will.   What will we choose to do?

I am watching, and I will touch what I can.    I will change what I can, but I will not be changed by what I cannot.    I think I will be mostly watching and resolving not to be swept away by fear and panic.