"Life is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration." I remember hearing this over and over again while growing up. My parents said it, my relatives said it, my teachers said it - its what the world around me reiterated. And it was a particularly hard pill to swallow, you see, because I was a dreamer. I lived in a world of vision and fantasy. I was an inspiration junkie. I could be incredibly passionate about an idea or a cause as long as I felt inspired to be. But as soon as the inspiration waned, so would the passion. I became a master of starting projects and leaving them unfinished. It became my trademark. Everyone knew that about me. This became particularly problematic as I grew older and some of life's "important" choices had to be made: what program to major in in university, what career to pursue etc. I chugged along my life's path, starting and stopping, sputtering and wheezing like an old jalopy. And each way I turned I searched desperately for a glimpse of inspiration, a few desperate drops of it would suffice. And when I couldn't find it, I would try and contrive it.
But I always failed and as a result ended up feeling miserable and utterly uninspired. And so I would try and convince myself that there was something wrong with me. That it was unrealistic to want to be inspired ALL the time. That hard work and effort was what was really required. That Life is by nature difficult, challenging and hostile. And that to be truly successful one had to "rise above one's own self and circumstances" and "take Life by the horns" and beat it into submission. And the more I tried to convince myself of this and conform myself to this reality the more miserable I became and the more helpless I felt. Because even in the thickest fog of depression the voice of intuition still continued to whisper to me that I was missing the mark. That I was compromising what I knew to be true. That inspiration is the key...
It wasn't until I began to really delve into the question: "What is inspiration?" that I began to see how I'd been missing the mark.
What is inspiration and where does it come from? We tend to use the words "inspiration" and "motivation" interchangeably believing that they mean almost the same thing whereas in reality they are entirely different. We are all motivated by a number of different factors on a daily basis. By our environment, by stimuli, by our own desires, ideas and opinions, by our social and cultural conditioning, by our genetics, by each other. From the moment we arise to the moment we sleep we are constantly reacting to agendas: personal and impersonal. When we eat we are motivated by hunger on a basic level but also by more complex psychological processes like addiction, body image, self esteem, health and fitness beliefs, medical factors, guilt, fear, lack, compulsion. A simple act such as eating a bowl of cereal can be motivated by a confluence of any permutation or combination of these factors just to name a few. A bowl of cereal can be reflective of our entire belief system and psychological makeup.
Motivations exist in our psyches in various forms and in complex relationship. Motivations also cause significant inner conflict in most of us. Inner conflict is essentially the experience of being motivated to think, act or feel in contradictory directions. An addict in recovery is a great example of this kind of conflict made manifest for all to see. Yet, we are all addicted to our own minds and even though we may not exhibit it as obviously, we are in a perpetual cycle of recovery and relapse.
But most essentially, every motivation can be traced back through its roots to two primary and fundamental motivations: power and fear. Power is the impulse to grow, to evolve, to dominate, to triumph, to prevail, to become more, to become whole. Fear is the sense of the opposite: of decay, of regression, of submission, of surrender, of dissolution, diminishment and fragmentation. Power seems to enhance our sense of self and self esteem, whereas fear diminishes it. We seek power in different forms everyday and turn away in fear from the all the things that deny us. Returning to the analogy of the bowl of cereal, that simple act is a complex interaction of power and fear stimuli operating within us through our thoughts, sensations and emotions. Observe it in yourself - the next time you go to the gym, the next time you send in a report to your manager, the next time you're sitting in traffic - observe how every single move you make is in some form a sum result of all these motivations operating within you.
Its possible to take this one step further. Where does this desire for Power come from? Where does this impulse to be and want more come from? It comes from a feeling of lack, of insufficiency, of an inherent dissatisfaction with the present reality. There can only be a desire to be more if there is a sense of not enough. There can only be a desire to be whole if there is a sense of being fragmented. There can only be a desire to triumph if there is a sense of being oppressed. And this sense of insufficiency, fragmentation and oppression is fear. Essentially power and fear are two faces of the same coin. One feeds the other and neither can survive without the other. In order to understand what power and fear essentially are and how they exist in relationship, lets consider Nature and her laws.
Creation and destruction, expansion and contraction, birth and death, evolution and dissolution - these are the tides of reality. What goes up must come down. Once you inhale you must exhale. One cannot inhale indefinitely. Every expansion must be followed by contraction. Every creation must be annihilated. There is no good or bad, right or wrong in any of this. This is the way reality works. One is an outward motion, the other is a return motion. The Universe expands and the Universe contracts.
Power is the desire for constant expansion accompanied by a corresponding fear of contraction. This is evident in our lives and societies. Its an unrealistic paradigm we have all adopted for ourselves. Corporations are built on a model of constant growth and profit. Economies are setup to constantly expand. Our population is growing at an exponential rate and this is viewed as a favorable outcome. We are as a culture obsessed with youth and vitality. We admire people who retain their youthful features, who live energetically and vibrantly even at an older age. We believe that it is better to have more than to have less. We are fearful of disease and old age. We view death as an enemy rather than a natural eventuality and we are, as a species, obsessed with avoiding it. You see, we want to prevail, we want to grow, we want to expand and we want to triumph. No matter the price. And the price we have paid for this misconception is becoming glaringly evident.
Power and fear are two sides of the same one coin that is Control. They are the drive to control Life and the events and the circumstances that surround it. Power and fear promote the illusion of separation. We have come to believe that we are separate and disconnected entities that have control over how we can interact with each other and our environments. We see the world and the Universe as a "dead space", an inanimate landscape in which we are beings of intelligence with the power to control and shape the events in our Universe. But this sort of thinking lacks any substance. From the most subatomic level, to the cellular level to the Universal level: Life is a constantly moving and transforming flux of energies of which we as a species are only an infinitisemal part. Human life on planet earth represents such a tiny and almost insignificant energy force when compared to the whole that for us to think we are somehow in control is laughable. It would be like saying a single drop of water can act independantly of the Ocean, or that a single cell in the human body can act independantly of the body.
One might argue that it is possible for a cell to turn against the body and become cancerous, for example, acting seemingly "of its own will" rather than that of the body. Yet, cancers are also a part of the natural order and serve Nature's agenda like any other cell. In fact, the analogy of a cancer has been used many times to represent humanity's relationship with its host oraganism - the Earth. Ours has been a parasitic relationship in which we have turned hostile towards the larger organism of which we are only a functional aspect. One might consider our illusions of control and the behaviours resulting as 'cancerous'. And yet from Nature's perspective its all part of the big picture.
Control is an illusion. One that we buy into hook, line and sinker. When things go our way, we feel in control. When they don't, we feel like we've lost control. We're under the impression that we're making it happen. And when it doesn't work, we've failed to make it happen. We struggle to find moments in which we feel empowered, happy, fulfilled and in control. We dread moments in which we feel helpless, miserable, unfulfilled and lacking control. The pusuit of happiness is high on our agendas. We all believe that there exists such a static state of unconditional growth, fulfilment and expansion. We just have to find the secret...
Its all an illusion. When Life goes our way it just so happens that Life is in an outward movement, an expansion. Its the High tide and it makes us so happy because we believe that we have reaped the rewards of our labor. And when Life doesn't go our way, it just so happens that it is in an inward movement, a contraction. Its the Low tide and it makes us miserable and we feel that we have been unfairly and unjustly treated. But its all in our heads and its all our imagination. Life just moves naturally. High tide - Low tide, expand - contract, inhale - exhale, wellness - illness, fortune - misfortune, growth - retreat, victory - surrender, creation - destruction, birth - death. Its just the Tides of the Ocean of Life, of which you are a single wave with no will that is separate from the will of the Whole, no volition that is different from that of Nature and absolutely no shred of control other than the fantasy that exists in your mind.
So if control is an illusion, motivated by Power and Fear: What is inspiration?
Inspiration comes to us from a very different place and is a wholly different experience for what I have described thus far. Inspiration can best be described as a moment of spontaneous clarity. Inspiration rarely comes when we want it to and takes on many forms and seldom the same one. Inspiration and insight go hand in hand. The former is experienced more as a feeling whereas the other is experienced more as a thought. Yet they both result from that single moment of spontaneous clarity.
Most essentially however, inspiration is an experience of momentary trasendence. When we are inspired, we are, for that one moment, completely surrendered to the experience of the moment in whatever form it appears. There appears to be no boundary between ourselves and what we are experiencing, rather it is all experienced as one seamless reality. This feeling of felt Oneness is very different from how we are accustomed to viewing Life. In this one moment, "we" as we know ourselves, cease to exist and there is only "this", the experience.
If we think of all the moments we usually refer to as inspirational ones, we can see that this is true. Watching the sunrise from the summit of a peak, watching an infant in the arms of a mother, watching an old couple walking hand in hand, watching a cherry blossom in bloom, listening to a rousing symphony or the crashing or waves upon the shore - the images are infinite. And yet no matter how we interpret these images and no matter what stories we create in our minds to make them fit within our own paradigms - that first moment when the inspiration hits us, spontaneously, arbitrarily, unexpectedly - it is a moment in which we are transported out of ourselves and we see with the Eyes of the Universe, from the perspective of the One reality. And we are left feeling small, fragile, insignificant and humbled. To be truly inspired is to be in awe, to be humbled, to realize our utter utter insignificance. The only true response to a moment of inspiration is that of reverance - a deep reverance and devotion to the beauty, the magnificence and the wisdom of Life.
Inspiration is an opportunity to see that all is beautiful and all is necessary. The expansion and the contraction are equally vital. Triumph and surrender are equally rewarding. Wellness and disease are equally harmonious. Birth and death are equally natural. And we as essential aspects of the same Reality will experience all of it. There is no constant state of health, peace and happiness except in our imaginations. We will grow, we will decay, we will rejoice and we will suffer. Each and everyone of us will experience this no matter how we convince ourselves otherwise. There is no need to strive for one and reject the other. It all happens in spite of what we want or don't.
Inspiration sees that there is no such thing as control. That we are not separate entitities suffering our own existences. Instead we are indistinguishable aspects of the whole, much like individual waves are to an Ocean. And yet, Inspiration also reveals that just like every wave is already in harmony with the oacean, we are already in harmony with Life. In fact, disharmony is the illusion. One can only be disharmonious if one is separate. The illusion that I am somehow separate from the Whole gives rise to the illusion that I am not in harmony with the Whole which then gives rise to the illusion that I can do something about it (control).
To be inspired is to live in alignment with Life and with every moment as it unfolds. To live in spontaneous relationship with Reality. To be free of the need for control and so to be free of power and fear. To live with humility, reverance and simplicity. To know nothing more about Life than how it appears at the moment. To live gracefully and die gracefully. To eat cereal simply because you are hungry.
A famous zen story goes: A student once asked a Zen Master, "What is Enlightenment?" The Master responded: "When I'm hungry I eat, when I'm tired I sleep."
If I could travel back in time and talk to that young boy who tried to believe, against all intuition, that Life is "1% inspiration and 99% perspiration" I would say only one thing to him:
"Life is 100% inspiration."
Monday, May 7, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
The Game
Ever since I was a child the toilet seat has been the fortunate venue for some of my greatest revelations and insights. Anyone who knows me knows that the bathroom is for me a sort of sanctuary, a place for solitude, contemplation and letting go of excess baggage. I have never been one of those unfortunate people for whom the bathroom represents an inconvenient pit stop on their daily circuit. Instead, I view the bathroom more as a sort of oasis for rest, relief and relaxation. It affords us a momentary escape from the demands of the world. Even in the workplace the same monster boss who called you a hundred times while you were on vacation wouldn't dream of disturbing you in the privacy of your bathroom stall. The toilet is a faithful companion, willing to accept whatever you have to offer.
As a child, I would play this game while on my throne. I would stare at the palm of my right hand and whisper the words, "How am I alive?" Then, I would blink and refocus my eyes, a bit like how you might refresh your internet browser's window. Then I would repeat again, "How am I alive?" then blink and refresh again each time refocusing on the palm of my hand. And I'd repeat many times, working myself into a sort of trance in which, with each refresh, the recognition of what I was staring at would slowly fade. Soon, my palm would turn into this completely alien entity that I'd find myself gazing at in fascination. I would feel my heart begin to race with nervous excitement and I'd get up (yes, in the middle) and waddle over to the mirror and stare at my face seeing it for the very first time. Then continuing to stare into the mirror, I would slowly allow the recognition of who I was dawn on me again. It would literally feel like this "Shiv" that I was, was coming to life in front of my eyes. It was a game that was exhilirating and terrifying at the same time. Each time after, I'd vow never to play it again but find myself hopelessly seduced the next time around.
By my teens however, I lost the interest and the ability to do this. I tried once, but after about 5 minutes of staring at my hand and repeating those words, nothing happened and I felt a bit idiotic for having wasted my time. Maybe I'd become a bit too cynical, or maybe I'd accumulated way too much personality to be able to drop it so easily. Either way, the how-am-I-alive game was forgotten and stashed away in some dusty corner in the attic of my memory.
Although I didn't realized it then, the game was my way of seeing through this identity I had procured for myself. This "Shiv" that I was simultaneously creating and becoming. Later on, no amount of meditation or technique would ever allow me to penetrate through the layers of self identification as cleanly and swiftly as the game once did.
Which brings me to the question: how much of who we think we are is really true? This "me" is a constantly changing landscape. The physical aspect of this "me" - my body with its senses has evolved and is slowly deteriorating. It is no longer as energetic as it used to be, it can no longer take the punishment it once was capable of taking. The nervous system is more sensitive, the digestive system a little more touchy. And this is only in the 30 years it has existed. This body also cannot recuperate without regular sleep cycles, whereas only 10 years ago it could operate on much less. Yes, this body is changing. It metabolizes a little more slowly and heals a little more slowly. While these changes are relatively slight, over the next 30 years they will become significantly more pronounced. And yet, if I were to reflect on what it feels like to be me, that has never changed.
The mental and emotional aspects of this "me" have also changed. My thoughts about myself, thoughts about the people close to me, thoughts about people in general, the world, society. All of that has experienced an evolution of its own. A funny thing I realized about my thoughts is that they are never original. Not a single thought I have ever had actually originated in my own mind. From the most basic idea of myself - the thought "I am Shiv." That, I borrowed from my parents, who had the silly (or profoundly appropriate, depending how you look at it) notion of naming me after the Hindu god of destruction. But even this thought, hardly originated in their minds. More likely (and this is speculation although I'm fairly confident of it) it was my father's fantasy that his son and his legacy may one day personify the virtues of strength, compassion and purity that he held sacred above all else. Shiv is the meanest, swiftest, gunslingin' god in the hindu roster. He drinks poison for fun and uses a cobra as a scarf. You don't just name your kid Shiv unless you're willing to pay the consequences (as my parents will readily testify).
From that most basic thought which is no more than a fantasy and is inherently truth-less, came every other thought form. The "I am Shiv" thought is central to the identity. Like the central hub on a bicycle wheel from which every other thought pattern is a spoke. But even the other thought forms were borrowed. Initially, I borrowed them from my parents - the do's, the don'ts, the yeses, the nos, the shoulds and the shouldn'ts. As a boy, as my world expanded, my thoughts began to reflect those of my peers, the media, my teachers. As an adolescent, I found the mainstream less appealing, and my mind wandered instead down the more unkempt roads of rebellion and non-conformity. And I found examples there too that I could emulate. And in my intense self reflective early twenties I browsed and cautiously adopted the philosphies and ideologies of great philosophers, spiritual masters and thinkers. And then to the perplexing and paradoxical koans in zen and so on. And yet, if I were to reflect on what it feels like to be me, that has never changed.
Emotions and sensations are the bridge between our physical and conceptual selves. In fact, if a thought didn't have a corresponding emotional response there would be no way for the body to respond to it. And vice versa, a physical feeling or emotion gives rise to thoughts. The way I experience emotions has evolved over the years. I am by nature intense and impulsive, yet my relationship with these aspects has changed. The thought-emotion pattern builds upon itself and has a sort of effervescing effect. A negative emotion can trigger a negative thought which enhances the negative emotion which reaffirms the negative thought. And the same goes for positive thoughts and emotions. But if an emotion or thought is allowed to occur without response or investment it quickly dissipates. So through my years of feeling emotions sensitively and intensely, my relationship with them evolved. In fact I now consider myself more sensitive and yet a lot less intense in my expressions. And yet, if I were to reflect on what it feels like to be me, that has never changed.
The physical, the mental, the emotional : everything that makes up "me" - all my opinions, beliefs, feelings, grievances, self esteem both positive and negative, affiliations social and familial, roles and functions, my age, my gender, my nationality, my ethnicity, my spirituality - all of these are the many spokes on the wheel of which the central hub is the "me". And so in order to truly know my Self, I discovered a long time ago that I could try and analyze each spoke and trace it back to the root or I could just simply question the most basic assumption itself.
In asking the question, "Who or what is this 'me'? " any answer that rises up is just another thought in my mind - just another spoke on the wheel. Which is why no answer, no matter how profound, could possibly be true. That is the beautiful stalemate. It is intellectually undeterminable. It cannot be conceived. When we truly see this, we come to realize that it is the question that is the whole point and not the answer. The question is an opportunity, or rather an invitation, to let go for even a moment, all our ideas and notions of who we think we are in order to fully immerse our selves in the experience of what we truly are.
All I am is the dream of a dream and the thought of a thought. At the center of it all there is nothing there. Just a vast and empty awareness. I tried playing the game the other day. It took a while but I experienced it again for the first time since I was a child. And it felt every bit as exhilirating. And every bit as terrifying.
As a child, I would play this game while on my throne. I would stare at the palm of my right hand and whisper the words, "How am I alive?" Then, I would blink and refocus my eyes, a bit like how you might refresh your internet browser's window. Then I would repeat again, "How am I alive?" then blink and refresh again each time refocusing on the palm of my hand. And I'd repeat many times, working myself into a sort of trance in which, with each refresh, the recognition of what I was staring at would slowly fade. Soon, my palm would turn into this completely alien entity that I'd find myself gazing at in fascination. I would feel my heart begin to race with nervous excitement and I'd get up (yes, in the middle) and waddle over to the mirror and stare at my face seeing it for the very first time. Then continuing to stare into the mirror, I would slowly allow the recognition of who I was dawn on me again. It would literally feel like this "Shiv" that I was, was coming to life in front of my eyes. It was a game that was exhilirating and terrifying at the same time. Each time after, I'd vow never to play it again but find myself hopelessly seduced the next time around.
By my teens however, I lost the interest and the ability to do this. I tried once, but after about 5 minutes of staring at my hand and repeating those words, nothing happened and I felt a bit idiotic for having wasted my time. Maybe I'd become a bit too cynical, or maybe I'd accumulated way too much personality to be able to drop it so easily. Either way, the how-am-I-alive game was forgotten and stashed away in some dusty corner in the attic of my memory.
Although I didn't realized it then, the game was my way of seeing through this identity I had procured for myself. This "Shiv" that I was simultaneously creating and becoming. Later on, no amount of meditation or technique would ever allow me to penetrate through the layers of self identification as cleanly and swiftly as the game once did.
Which brings me to the question: how much of who we think we are is really true? This "me" is a constantly changing landscape. The physical aspect of this "me" - my body with its senses has evolved and is slowly deteriorating. It is no longer as energetic as it used to be, it can no longer take the punishment it once was capable of taking. The nervous system is more sensitive, the digestive system a little more touchy. And this is only in the 30 years it has existed. This body also cannot recuperate without regular sleep cycles, whereas only 10 years ago it could operate on much less. Yes, this body is changing. It metabolizes a little more slowly and heals a little more slowly. While these changes are relatively slight, over the next 30 years they will become significantly more pronounced. And yet, if I were to reflect on what it feels like to be me, that has never changed.
The mental and emotional aspects of this "me" have also changed. My thoughts about myself, thoughts about the people close to me, thoughts about people in general, the world, society. All of that has experienced an evolution of its own. A funny thing I realized about my thoughts is that they are never original. Not a single thought I have ever had actually originated in my own mind. From the most basic idea of myself - the thought "I am Shiv." That, I borrowed from my parents, who had the silly (or profoundly appropriate, depending how you look at it) notion of naming me after the Hindu god of destruction. But even this thought, hardly originated in their minds. More likely (and this is speculation although I'm fairly confident of it) it was my father's fantasy that his son and his legacy may one day personify the virtues of strength, compassion and purity that he held sacred above all else. Shiv is the meanest, swiftest, gunslingin' god in the hindu roster. He drinks poison for fun and uses a cobra as a scarf. You don't just name your kid Shiv unless you're willing to pay the consequences (as my parents will readily testify).
From that most basic thought which is no more than a fantasy and is inherently truth-less, came every other thought form. The "I am Shiv" thought is central to the identity. Like the central hub on a bicycle wheel from which every other thought pattern is a spoke. But even the other thought forms were borrowed. Initially, I borrowed them from my parents - the do's, the don'ts, the yeses, the nos, the shoulds and the shouldn'ts. As a boy, as my world expanded, my thoughts began to reflect those of my peers, the media, my teachers. As an adolescent, I found the mainstream less appealing, and my mind wandered instead down the more unkempt roads of rebellion and non-conformity. And I found examples there too that I could emulate. And in my intense self reflective early twenties I browsed and cautiously adopted the philosphies and ideologies of great philosophers, spiritual masters and thinkers. And then to the perplexing and paradoxical koans in zen and so on. And yet, if I were to reflect on what it feels like to be me, that has never changed.
Emotions and sensations are the bridge between our physical and conceptual selves. In fact, if a thought didn't have a corresponding emotional response there would be no way for the body to respond to it. And vice versa, a physical feeling or emotion gives rise to thoughts. The way I experience emotions has evolved over the years. I am by nature intense and impulsive, yet my relationship with these aspects has changed. The thought-emotion pattern builds upon itself and has a sort of effervescing effect. A negative emotion can trigger a negative thought which enhances the negative emotion which reaffirms the negative thought. And the same goes for positive thoughts and emotions. But if an emotion or thought is allowed to occur without response or investment it quickly dissipates. So through my years of feeling emotions sensitively and intensely, my relationship with them evolved. In fact I now consider myself more sensitive and yet a lot less intense in my expressions. And yet, if I were to reflect on what it feels like to be me, that has never changed.
The physical, the mental, the emotional : everything that makes up "me" - all my opinions, beliefs, feelings, grievances, self esteem both positive and negative, affiliations social and familial, roles and functions, my age, my gender, my nationality, my ethnicity, my spirituality - all of these are the many spokes on the wheel of which the central hub is the "me". And so in order to truly know my Self, I discovered a long time ago that I could try and analyze each spoke and trace it back to the root or I could just simply question the most basic assumption itself.
In asking the question, "Who or what is this 'me'? " any answer that rises up is just another thought in my mind - just another spoke on the wheel. Which is why no answer, no matter how profound, could possibly be true. That is the beautiful stalemate. It is intellectually undeterminable. It cannot be conceived. When we truly see this, we come to realize that it is the question that is the whole point and not the answer. The question is an opportunity, or rather an invitation, to let go for even a moment, all our ideas and notions of who we think we are in order to fully immerse our selves in the experience of what we truly are.
All I am is the dream of a dream and the thought of a thought. At the center of it all there is nothing there. Just a vast and empty awareness. I tried playing the game the other day. It took a while but I experienced it again for the first time since I was a child. And it felt every bit as exhilirating. And every bit as terrifying.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Meditation - The Natural Way of All Life
Meditation: this word with all its history and contexts - cultural, spiritual, contemporary. Its one of those weighted words shrouded in mysticism and mystique. It was once known as a spiritual discipline practised only by a fringe demographic - the monks, the ascetics, the masters. In the last half a decade, it has become widely popular in the West as a daily practice to cultivate relaxation, well being and self awareness. In Asia it has been a part of people's lives for centuries. There are many forms of meditation practice each prescribed to achieve different objectives. These range from simpler techniques which focus on breathing, repetition of certain mantras to the more arduos and extreme: kundalini techniques and subjecting the body to extreme physical and environmental conditions among others. But what is meditation? Its a question that I asked a long time ago.
It's like asking someone: What is math? We've all studied arithmetic, algebra, geometry, calculus - some of us have delved even deeper. But in my own experience there are very few occasions I can recall that I ever took the time to question what I was studying and to really develop an appreciation for math in the context of my own life. What is Math's relationship with reality and how do they shape each other? Luckily (or unluckily) for me I did ask that question about Meditation.
Growing up in India - meditation was not a novelty. In fact, it was as mundane as breakfast or geography. A lot of people practised it in one form or another. Kids despised it, parents preached it (but secretly dreaded it) while grandparents told many stories of an uncle or aunt who had met so and so's guru and had had some remarkable out of body experience. Almost everyone I knew growing up had either been a student of or at least consulted with one of India's many 'wise' sages or sadhus (incidently more easy to find than a reliable tax accountant).
In high school, Transcendental Meditation (TM) was part of every morning's ritual. I still remember the vice principal's voice over the PA announcing : "Students, sit back sit comfortably. Close your eyes. Start chanting the mantra and the meditation begins." Try convincing a bunch of 30 odd adolescents to still their minds for 10 whole minutes. Surprisingly though, everyone did it. Except me. I was a troublemaker, I had no choice. I would spend my 10 minutes trying to get the other 29 to follow my lead. Needless to say, the teacher hated me with a passion that verged on murderous. And while the attention-seeking, rebel-without-a-cause persona that I adopted got off on the controversy there was a much more fundamental reason I was protesting.
My introduction to meditation was a very personal affair. One night, at the age of eleven, I was lying in my bed in the darkness waiting for sleep to overtake me. I remember being fascinated by the silence - that loud, all pervading static that would overwhelm me in the quiet of the night. I remember playing games with it, allowing myself to hear it until it got really loud at which point I would turn away from it in fear. This one night the silence was particularly loud and I was feeling particularly adventurous. As it got louder, I sat up in order to listen better. In the pitch darkness of the room there was only me immersed in this vast ocean of silence. And then suddenly out of nowhere the following words popped into my head: "I want to know what God is." It sounds like the worst kind of cliche I know, but that is how the whole journey began for me. The statement confused me because I had had no spiritual motivation whatsoever until that point. Nor was my family particularly religious. They all had their own beliefs and practices but never had any of it been forced on me. And so I began meditating. It became my nightly ritual and I followed my own rules. Sometimes, I'd sit, sometimes stand, sometimes my eyes would be open, sometimes closed. Sometimes I'd repeat a mantra, sometimes I'd just listen to the silence. I practised every night for years.
And so when I began high school I had already cultivated a deep intuition for meditation. I found the daily TM practice in class restrictive and empty of true depth. One day when I decided to play nice and actually meditate with everyone I sat back softly focusing my gaze on the blackboard and naturally fell into a very deep peace. This lasted only a minute before I was rudely roused by my teacher's scowling face, "Shiv Sengupta!" she scolded. "Why are you not meditating?!"
"I am...," I attempted to defend myself.
"How can you meditate with your eyes open??!" she scowled back. What an absurd question? How can you not? That was my response. It was not well met. Needless to say I never meditated in school again.
The experience tainted my perception of the world. It was the first of many similar life experiences that would make me fiercely skeptical of authority, rules and group-think. Meditation to me was one of the purest experiences. To deaden it with rules and ritual to me was the true blasphemy. And so I continued to pursue it in private.
In my early twenties, my meditation practice intensified. It had now become my one fundamental path to that holy grail that is Enlightenment. I wanted it more than anything. And this hunger was reflected in my hardcore and often reckless meditation. The human mind is only an instrument like the human body. It too can be exercised to great lengths and it too can suffer fatigue and injury. I began pushing myself into long intensely focused sessions, a few on occasion lasted over 24 hours. I began to have visions, psychedellic experiences, massive energy surges, feelings of euphoria. It became the way I tested myself and my spiritual determination. And I wanted to do it alone - no guide, no master, no guru. I had heard tales of people having strokes without proper guidance, but it was a risk I was willing to run.
Eventually it took its toll. I became emotionally unstable. While the meditative highs were addictive, the come downs were super low much like it is with most drugs. I became extremely depressed. I began to see the emptiness of my spiritual pursuits.
My relationship with meditation radically changed after my first spiritual awakening. I had now tuned in more carefully with my inner voice: that quiet voice I'd always heared but most often ignored. I began to trust it and to listen to it. It introduced me to a new relationship with meditation. Whereas previously meditation had been an experience more akin to combat where my mind was an oppressor that I had to master, dominate and transcend, it now became more like a dance. Where the mind was my partner and I the witness. I tried to enter each meditation with little or no agenda. To simply sit and experience myself in relationship with my environment. To watch, listen and learn from the wisdom of my own mind and body. To allow the world to be just as it was without the overlay of an ego. And thoughts still came and went. And opinions still arose about the dog barking in the distance or the noisy neighbors and their family drama. But now I invested little effort in following the thoughts or pushing them away. Instead my primary motivation was one of deep curiosity. Yet, I still followed a schedule and sat down to meditate every morning and evening though the energy and intention was a very different one now.
Then, one day I realized I had to stop. I realized that my meditation had become a crutch - no matter how much peace and well-being it gave me. I realized that the way I felt during meditation and the way I felt in my everyday life were very different. And it was what made me crave solitude and made me value my moments of meditation more than those in 'real life'. And I knew that any state no matter how beautiful or peaceful was not true if it was contrived. It was a difficult choice but a necessary one. I didn't want to feel that deep peace in the isolation of my balcony watching the trees swaying in the breeze - I wanted to feel it in daily life: in traffic, while doing the dishes - in the most mundane of circumstances or not at all.
So I stopped my practice. And I felt the effects quite acutely at first. I was thrown off balance emotionally. I had no safe haven to turn to when I felt confused or clouded. There were many times I was tempted to restart my ritual. But the inner voice always reminded me of the wisdom of letting go into the unknown. Not long after I noticed something different. The meditation found me. It came at the strangest moments - uninvited and unexpected: while driving a car, in the midst of a conversation, while working out. These moments of deep peace, objective clarity and felt oneness started to show up for brief instances throughout my day. And if I tried to hold onto it, it would be gone before I knew it. And so I let it be.
Like a bird that I had once caged and now set free, the meditation returned more and more often. It revealed itself to me in all its simplicity. That question: "what is meditation" that I had pondered for so many years suddenly became starkly obvious.
Meditation is the natural way of all life. It is not a practice although we make it into one. Just like walking is the most natural way for humans to move yet one can make an exercise, a sport and an obsession out of it. Walking can be a means of arriving at your destination. But in essence to walk is to be in movement. Therein lies the simplicity and harmony.
Meditation is the natural way of all life. It is a state of being deeply rooted in one's Self. We are all born in meditation. Every infant, every animal, every plant , every rock is in deep meditation. Every river, every tree, every moment is in deep meditation. It is we who having created these mind made realities- in which we struggle and strive and achive and fail and rejoice and suffer - view meditation as a practice by which we can achieve peace. But how can you achieve that which is always already present? We see peace as opposite to war, we see peace as opposite to violence, we see peace as opposite to suffering. As long as we mistake peace to be some static state or circumstance that we can get to if we just TRY HARD ENOUGH....
Meditation is the natural way of all life. There is no way to meditate just as there is no way to be. You are. Whether you like it or not. No matter what the story of your life, regardless of who you think you are and what you have or haven't achieved - you are already in deep meditation with the rest of Life. You are already in peace.
Meditation is the natural way of all life.
It's like asking someone: What is math? We've all studied arithmetic, algebra, geometry, calculus - some of us have delved even deeper. But in my own experience there are very few occasions I can recall that I ever took the time to question what I was studying and to really develop an appreciation for math in the context of my own life. What is Math's relationship with reality and how do they shape each other? Luckily (or unluckily) for me I did ask that question about Meditation.
Growing up in India - meditation was not a novelty. In fact, it was as mundane as breakfast or geography. A lot of people practised it in one form or another. Kids despised it, parents preached it (but secretly dreaded it) while grandparents told many stories of an uncle or aunt who had met so and so's guru and had had some remarkable out of body experience. Almost everyone I knew growing up had either been a student of or at least consulted with one of India's many 'wise' sages or sadhus (incidently more easy to find than a reliable tax accountant).
In high school, Transcendental Meditation (TM) was part of every morning's ritual. I still remember the vice principal's voice over the PA announcing : "Students, sit back sit comfortably. Close your eyes. Start chanting the mantra and the meditation begins." Try convincing a bunch of 30 odd adolescents to still their minds for 10 whole minutes. Surprisingly though, everyone did it. Except me. I was a troublemaker, I had no choice. I would spend my 10 minutes trying to get the other 29 to follow my lead. Needless to say, the teacher hated me with a passion that verged on murderous. And while the attention-seeking, rebel-without-a-cause persona that I adopted got off on the controversy there was a much more fundamental reason I was protesting.
My introduction to meditation was a very personal affair. One night, at the age of eleven, I was lying in my bed in the darkness waiting for sleep to overtake me. I remember being fascinated by the silence - that loud, all pervading static that would overwhelm me in the quiet of the night. I remember playing games with it, allowing myself to hear it until it got really loud at which point I would turn away from it in fear. This one night the silence was particularly loud and I was feeling particularly adventurous. As it got louder, I sat up in order to listen better. In the pitch darkness of the room there was only me immersed in this vast ocean of silence. And then suddenly out of nowhere the following words popped into my head: "I want to know what God is." It sounds like the worst kind of cliche I know, but that is how the whole journey began for me. The statement confused me because I had had no spiritual motivation whatsoever until that point. Nor was my family particularly religious. They all had their own beliefs and practices but never had any of it been forced on me. And so I began meditating. It became my nightly ritual and I followed my own rules. Sometimes, I'd sit, sometimes stand, sometimes my eyes would be open, sometimes closed. Sometimes I'd repeat a mantra, sometimes I'd just listen to the silence. I practised every night for years.
And so when I began high school I had already cultivated a deep intuition for meditation. I found the daily TM practice in class restrictive and empty of true depth. One day when I decided to play nice and actually meditate with everyone I sat back softly focusing my gaze on the blackboard and naturally fell into a very deep peace. This lasted only a minute before I was rudely roused by my teacher's scowling face, "Shiv Sengupta!" she scolded. "Why are you not meditating?!"
"I am...," I attempted to defend myself.
"How can you meditate with your eyes open??!" she scowled back. What an absurd question? How can you not? That was my response. It was not well met. Needless to say I never meditated in school again.
The experience tainted my perception of the world. It was the first of many similar life experiences that would make me fiercely skeptical of authority, rules and group-think. Meditation to me was one of the purest experiences. To deaden it with rules and ritual to me was the true blasphemy. And so I continued to pursue it in private.
In my early twenties, my meditation practice intensified. It had now become my one fundamental path to that holy grail that is Enlightenment. I wanted it more than anything. And this hunger was reflected in my hardcore and often reckless meditation. The human mind is only an instrument like the human body. It too can be exercised to great lengths and it too can suffer fatigue and injury. I began pushing myself into long intensely focused sessions, a few on occasion lasted over 24 hours. I began to have visions, psychedellic experiences, massive energy surges, feelings of euphoria. It became the way I tested myself and my spiritual determination. And I wanted to do it alone - no guide, no master, no guru. I had heard tales of people having strokes without proper guidance, but it was a risk I was willing to run.
Eventually it took its toll. I became emotionally unstable. While the meditative highs were addictive, the come downs were super low much like it is with most drugs. I became extremely depressed. I began to see the emptiness of my spiritual pursuits.
My relationship with meditation radically changed after my first spiritual awakening. I had now tuned in more carefully with my inner voice: that quiet voice I'd always heared but most often ignored. I began to trust it and to listen to it. It introduced me to a new relationship with meditation. Whereas previously meditation had been an experience more akin to combat where my mind was an oppressor that I had to master, dominate and transcend, it now became more like a dance. Where the mind was my partner and I the witness. I tried to enter each meditation with little or no agenda. To simply sit and experience myself in relationship with my environment. To watch, listen and learn from the wisdom of my own mind and body. To allow the world to be just as it was without the overlay of an ego. And thoughts still came and went. And opinions still arose about the dog barking in the distance or the noisy neighbors and their family drama. But now I invested little effort in following the thoughts or pushing them away. Instead my primary motivation was one of deep curiosity. Yet, I still followed a schedule and sat down to meditate every morning and evening though the energy and intention was a very different one now.
Then, one day I realized I had to stop. I realized that my meditation had become a crutch - no matter how much peace and well-being it gave me. I realized that the way I felt during meditation and the way I felt in my everyday life were very different. And it was what made me crave solitude and made me value my moments of meditation more than those in 'real life'. And I knew that any state no matter how beautiful or peaceful was not true if it was contrived. It was a difficult choice but a necessary one. I didn't want to feel that deep peace in the isolation of my balcony watching the trees swaying in the breeze - I wanted to feel it in daily life: in traffic, while doing the dishes - in the most mundane of circumstances or not at all.
So I stopped my practice. And I felt the effects quite acutely at first. I was thrown off balance emotionally. I had no safe haven to turn to when I felt confused or clouded. There were many times I was tempted to restart my ritual. But the inner voice always reminded me of the wisdom of letting go into the unknown. Not long after I noticed something different. The meditation found me. It came at the strangest moments - uninvited and unexpected: while driving a car, in the midst of a conversation, while working out. These moments of deep peace, objective clarity and felt oneness started to show up for brief instances throughout my day. And if I tried to hold onto it, it would be gone before I knew it. And so I let it be.
Like a bird that I had once caged and now set free, the meditation returned more and more often. It revealed itself to me in all its simplicity. That question: "what is meditation" that I had pondered for so many years suddenly became starkly obvious.
Meditation is the natural way of all life. It is not a practice although we make it into one. Just like walking is the most natural way for humans to move yet one can make an exercise, a sport and an obsession out of it. Walking can be a means of arriving at your destination. But in essence to walk is to be in movement. Therein lies the simplicity and harmony.
Meditation is the natural way of all life. It is a state of being deeply rooted in one's Self. We are all born in meditation. Every infant, every animal, every plant , every rock is in deep meditation. Every river, every tree, every moment is in deep meditation. It is we who having created these mind made realities- in which we struggle and strive and achive and fail and rejoice and suffer - view meditation as a practice by which we can achieve peace. But how can you achieve that which is always already present? We see peace as opposite to war, we see peace as opposite to violence, we see peace as opposite to suffering. As long as we mistake peace to be some static state or circumstance that we can get to if we just TRY HARD ENOUGH....
Meditation is the natural way of all life. There is no way to meditate just as there is no way to be. You are. Whether you like it or not. No matter what the story of your life, regardless of who you think you are and what you have or haven't achieved - you are already in deep meditation with the rest of Life. You are already in peace.
Meditation is the natural way of all life.
Friday, April 27, 2012
The Day I Forgot How to Think
I was 22. I was in a strange place in my life and in my mind. Very little was making any sense anymore. I'd been on an 11 year 'spiritual trip' to find myself and I was staring a giant "fuck you" sign that was inescapable. I'd immersed myself in contemplating the ancients and the contemporaries. I'd studied western philosophy until it had begun to curdle my brain. I had banged my head against the Bhagvad Gita, the Upanishads, the vedanta and the Buddhist texts in futility sensing a depth of truth somewhere but in the end always failing to grasp that one elusive nugget. I had begun practicing meditation when I was only 12 and in a few years was experiencing all kinds of kundalini experiences. There were days when I would sit down to meditate and get up only 24 hours later. 3 or 4 hour sessions were the more common norm. But no matter what I tried or did or studied or attempted to grasp, it always eluded me. In the end it always came right back to this 'me' in the room and I couldn't escape him no matter how powerful the meditation or how profound the intellectual rationalization. This 'me' became my tormentor, my slavedriver and my unavoidable shadow. I fell into deeply depressive phases for a number of years which would come and go like the ebb and flow of a tide. But on one particular day, when I was 22, a strange shift began to occur.
I was at my worst. I had fallen into a depressive funk more consuming than any prior. My dad was visiting my sister and I at the time and he insisted we take a day trip to Toronto's Center Island. After much complaining on my part they finally convinced me that getting out in the city on a warm summer day would do me a world of good. It didn't. By the time we had taken the ferry and arrived at the Island I found myself wishing I'd never agreed. Still I felt terrible that I was ruining their day for them. So we decided to go separate ways for a few hours and meet up when it was time to go. I made my way down to the Center Island Beach where a long wooden pier extends about 100 metres into the lake. Finding a bench on the pier I sat down exhausted. The sky was cloudless and the lake a beautiful shade of blue. Sitting there gazing out at the lake, immersed in a deep sense of despair and helplessness, I fell into a quiet meditation. People came and people went. A family of chinese tourists even posed around me and snapped pictures. But I didn't care. I was done. I felt so completely beaten and defeated by everything. My will was dead.
When my dad and sister found me, I was still sitting there, I hadn't moved. 4 hours had passed and my skin had turned black in the sun. I told them that I was extremely tired and that I needed to go home. I barely made it back before the fatigue overtook me. I passed out and slept for over 18 hours....
I awoke to a strange gushing sound. It was everywhere - around me, in me. I could still hear ambient sounds like the birds outside my window and the traffic in the streets but all that was in the background. In the foreground of my awareness was this gushing static almost like a white noise. I rolled out of bed and stepped on to the balcony and my mouth literally dropped. Everything was alive. Everything was vibrant. Everything reverberated with and emanated energy. It was like I was seeing the world for the very first time. Sounds were tantalising: each one had its own unique vibration and if I really allowed myself to listen, each sound could take me on a journey of its own. For hours I just stood on that balcony gaping in wonder at what we would normally consider the most mundane things - a fire hydrant, a traffic light, a bird in a tree, a car driving by. But to me it was so miraculous that it was all even happening that I was literally just doing a double take after a double take after a double take endlessly.
At some point, I think I received a phone call from my dad asking when we were going to meet. That's when I realized that up until that point not a single thought had even entered my mind. Now, as my father spoke to me on the phone, I found myself losing focus on the content of the conversation constantly. Instead, my awareness was more interested in the sound of his voice, the timber, the depth, the intonations and the impressions. The words were just sounds and sometimes I would tune in but then tune out again. After some confusion on my dad's side I told him what was happening. He listened very patiently and he understood. Strangely enough, he said he had read a book on this just recently. He wanted me to read it. It was "The Power of Now" by Eckhart Tolle. He told me that I had experienced a spiritual awakening. I didn't understand at the time. But I read the book and then I understood.
I remained in that state of emptiness for 4 months after. Thoughts came only when I saw the value in having them. Otherwise they left me alone. That incessant mental chatter that I had experienced since I was a child was now gone. With no means of refering to myself any longer I became free of the need to be anyone. When I met people I felt a genuine joy and sense of compassion for them not for who they portrayed themselves to be but for who they really were which was no separate that my self. Nature too, trees especially became great spiritual teachers. But the Lake remained my master. I visited her often to pay homage for what she had shown me. That state of child-like wonderment, that felt connection with everything living or inanimate and most importantly the absence of a self identity. That was the greatest freedom.
After 4 months the intensity began to fade. Thoughts began to creep in more and more and before I knew it I was back to being me again with all the neuroses and the complaints and the wants and the desires to find myself. That was an irony that was hard to understand. But something had changed. A lot had been dismantled, and when my psyche reassembled itself it did so with a lot more missing pieces and holes. So I could never again be so completely convinced of the reality of my own mind.
At 27 it happened again. Again lasting for almost 4 months. But this time it was my heart that expanded and expanded until it finally exploded like a dying star in a supernova. Whereas the first experience was categorized by a deep pervading silence, this one was one of sheer felt compassion. Everything I saw from a beautiful flower to a newspaper fluttering in the wind to a dog taking a leak, filled my whole being with so much joy and gratitude for life that I would burst into tears and just repeat the words "thank you". The gratitude was utter and immense. I cried a lot in those months and so i kept to myself in order not to freak people out. But that also eventually passed. Again my psyche restructered but now the holes were obvious. I never felt suffering again the way I used to.
Last month a shift happened. It was not a monumental one like the previous two. It didnt have any fireworks or feelings of wow. It happened while I was at the computer. It was a split second feeling of "oh". In that one momentary shift I realized that now there is no turning back.
I was at my worst. I had fallen into a depressive funk more consuming than any prior. My dad was visiting my sister and I at the time and he insisted we take a day trip to Toronto's Center Island. After much complaining on my part they finally convinced me that getting out in the city on a warm summer day would do me a world of good. It didn't. By the time we had taken the ferry and arrived at the Island I found myself wishing I'd never agreed. Still I felt terrible that I was ruining their day for them. So we decided to go separate ways for a few hours and meet up when it was time to go. I made my way down to the Center Island Beach where a long wooden pier extends about 100 metres into the lake. Finding a bench on the pier I sat down exhausted. The sky was cloudless and the lake a beautiful shade of blue. Sitting there gazing out at the lake, immersed in a deep sense of despair and helplessness, I fell into a quiet meditation. People came and people went. A family of chinese tourists even posed around me and snapped pictures. But I didn't care. I was done. I felt so completely beaten and defeated by everything. My will was dead.
When my dad and sister found me, I was still sitting there, I hadn't moved. 4 hours had passed and my skin had turned black in the sun. I told them that I was extremely tired and that I needed to go home. I barely made it back before the fatigue overtook me. I passed out and slept for over 18 hours....
I awoke to a strange gushing sound. It was everywhere - around me, in me. I could still hear ambient sounds like the birds outside my window and the traffic in the streets but all that was in the background. In the foreground of my awareness was this gushing static almost like a white noise. I rolled out of bed and stepped on to the balcony and my mouth literally dropped. Everything was alive. Everything was vibrant. Everything reverberated with and emanated energy. It was like I was seeing the world for the very first time. Sounds were tantalising: each one had its own unique vibration and if I really allowed myself to listen, each sound could take me on a journey of its own. For hours I just stood on that balcony gaping in wonder at what we would normally consider the most mundane things - a fire hydrant, a traffic light, a bird in a tree, a car driving by. But to me it was so miraculous that it was all even happening that I was literally just doing a double take after a double take after a double take endlessly.
At some point, I think I received a phone call from my dad asking when we were going to meet. That's when I realized that up until that point not a single thought had even entered my mind. Now, as my father spoke to me on the phone, I found myself losing focus on the content of the conversation constantly. Instead, my awareness was more interested in the sound of his voice, the timber, the depth, the intonations and the impressions. The words were just sounds and sometimes I would tune in but then tune out again. After some confusion on my dad's side I told him what was happening. He listened very patiently and he understood. Strangely enough, he said he had read a book on this just recently. He wanted me to read it. It was "The Power of Now" by Eckhart Tolle. He told me that I had experienced a spiritual awakening. I didn't understand at the time. But I read the book and then I understood.
I remained in that state of emptiness for 4 months after. Thoughts came only when I saw the value in having them. Otherwise they left me alone. That incessant mental chatter that I had experienced since I was a child was now gone. With no means of refering to myself any longer I became free of the need to be anyone. When I met people I felt a genuine joy and sense of compassion for them not for who they portrayed themselves to be but for who they really were which was no separate that my self. Nature too, trees especially became great spiritual teachers. But the Lake remained my master. I visited her often to pay homage for what she had shown me. That state of child-like wonderment, that felt connection with everything living or inanimate and most importantly the absence of a self identity. That was the greatest freedom.
After 4 months the intensity began to fade. Thoughts began to creep in more and more and before I knew it I was back to being me again with all the neuroses and the complaints and the wants and the desires to find myself. That was an irony that was hard to understand. But something had changed. A lot had been dismantled, and when my psyche reassembled itself it did so with a lot more missing pieces and holes. So I could never again be so completely convinced of the reality of my own mind.
At 27 it happened again. Again lasting for almost 4 months. But this time it was my heart that expanded and expanded until it finally exploded like a dying star in a supernova. Whereas the first experience was categorized by a deep pervading silence, this one was one of sheer felt compassion. Everything I saw from a beautiful flower to a newspaper fluttering in the wind to a dog taking a leak, filled my whole being with so much joy and gratitude for life that I would burst into tears and just repeat the words "thank you". The gratitude was utter and immense. I cried a lot in those months and so i kept to myself in order not to freak people out. But that also eventually passed. Again my psyche restructered but now the holes were obvious. I never felt suffering again the way I used to.
Last month a shift happened. It was not a monumental one like the previous two. It didnt have any fireworks or feelings of wow. It happened while I was at the computer. It was a split second feeling of "oh". In that one momentary shift I realized that now there is no turning back.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
The Reality of Opinion (an opinion on reality)
Where do opinions come from? We have so many of them. We're surrounded by them. These opinions about ourselves, about each other, about people we've never met, about people who no longer exist, about the world we live in. Opinions about what the world should look like, about what we should look like, about what other people should look like. About what we should do, about the right thing to do, about what we shouldn't do and about what should be stopped from being done.
Why do we have opinions? Why do we place so much value on them? People who have strong opinions on subjects, especially if they are important ones like war, oppression, politics or human rights, are deemed worthy of at least a certain degree of consideration even if their opinions do not resonate with the common consensus. Yet those who don't hold opinions are often looked at with a sort of pity or disdain or not even noticed at all, much like a homeless man sitting in the midst of a busy street. "Sitting on the fence" is one of the biggest taboos in our society.
But most essentially, what is an opinion? Its an idea, a perspective, a hypothesis on reality at best. Its a way in which we overlay reality with a certain flavor of ourselves.
Opinions are essentially about feeling comfortable with reality. Its our way of knowing without really 'knowing'. Its our way of bridging the gap between reality and possibility, between the known and the unknown. Its our way of feeling useful and meaningful. Reality happens the way it does without our permission. Famine happens, war happens, death happens, shit happens. Also joy happens, peace happens, freedom happens, good things happen. But even all that is just an opinion. The only reality is that Life happens in all its shapes and forms without reason, without permission, without qualification. Opinions create an illusion of control. Because now we can 'pretend' we know, and if we know, well then we can do something about it.
Many argue that a strong opinion is a necessary precursor to definitive action. That you must feel strongly about something to affect change and so forth. In order to take a stand is it necessary to take a mental stand or an ideological stand? In fact, more often than not it seems to work the other way around. That strong opinion stands in the way of definitive long lasting change. The kind of change opinion and ideology affects is not real change, not long lasting transformational change. Its more superficial. A same shit different day sort of mask.
Change is not an ideology its a law of Life. Everything changes and nothing can escape this reality. You, I and the world are changing as we speak. We are aging right now, our cells are dying and regenerating, millions of creatures are perishing and million others being born. Not one single inch of the Universe is static as we speak. Even a human body at rest is a warzone of millions of cells battling bacteria, tissues regenerating and vital communications happening between the various nervous centers.And as you read this, a million stars are dying and a million others being born and countless galaxies are collapsing unto themselves.
Witnessed through the narrow keyhole that is the individual's perception, reality is something we can perceive, breakdown, analyze and address. From this perspective war is evil, fitness is key, cancer is an enemy, organic food is our salvation, pedophiles deserve no sympathy, everyone should vote, high self esteem trumps low self esteem, patriotism is a virtue etc. We slice and dice our experience of Life as we go along craving the tasty bits and balking at the bitter ones. At the very very least we all are expected to formulate our opinions of right and wrong, good and bad. We believe this sort of distinction is the basis of civilized society.
There is a perspective however that seeks to align itself more closely with reality than opinion. This perspective that I'm speaking of is not apathetic, nor devoid of emotion or passion. This perspective doesn't seek to divorce itself from the "evils of the world", it doesn't seek to isolate or distance or detach. This perspective sees the world as a single complex organism and Life as a flux of energy. From this perspective, Life is. Plain and simple. It doesn't qualify any further because it realizes its own limitations to fully grasp the totality.
This perspective recognizes that the individual is only a single infinitesimal aspect of the whole. Yet, it also sees that the individual embodies the potentiality of the whole, much like a single seed in a fruit on a tree contains the potentiality of an entire tree within it. This perspective grasps that the individual is not an isolated entity but rather an instance of infinite circumstances, energies and matter coinciding at a single moment, for a single moment.
It sees that everything is hopelessly intertwined. That birth brings death but also death brings birth. That oppression leads to freedom until freedom turns into oppression. It sees people put more stock in their ideas and beliefs than in realities - as a result they live in memories past and future aspirations. It sees that we've convinced ourselves that life is a survival game, that happiness is some future state, that people are inherently untrustworthy and that the planet we live on belongs to us - to destroy or save as we deem fit.
But most essentially this perspective admits that thoughts and ideas, from the loftiest to the most base, are only figments of imagination. All our beliefs, our opinions and who we think we are is the stuff of dreams.
This perspective doesn't hold on to opinions strongly and seldom feels the need to enforce its will. Although many people dismiss it as a dithering, an indecisiveness or a "sitting on the fence" it is quite the opposite. Consider the metaphor of a tightrope walker traversing a line hundreds of feet in the air. On one side lies a dark chasm which contains all the base traits of evil, apathy, lethargy, ignorance, hate etc, On the other lies the equally dark chasm of virtue, goodness, compassion, righteousness. Separating these two is the fine line of reality that the tightrope walker traverses one step at a time with utmost attention. If his attention wanders towards the chasm of virtue and he begin to think himself virtuous he falls, and vice versa if he identifies with a vice, he falls. Each fall in the end is only a figment of his imagination because when he snaps back to reality, there is only the tightrope and the one step he is taking.
This is a perspective that is intensely open and prepared to respond to whatever reality presents. It is capable of action that is unmotivated by agenda and compassion that doesn't serve some self purpose. It is a perspective that knows that it can never really know and it is at peace with that. While opinions may exist it does not give its allegiance to these opinions allowing them to exist freely within the space of its own awareness.
Why do we have opinions? Why do we place so much value on them? People who have strong opinions on subjects, especially if they are important ones like war, oppression, politics or human rights, are deemed worthy of at least a certain degree of consideration even if their opinions do not resonate with the common consensus. Yet those who don't hold opinions are often looked at with a sort of pity or disdain or not even noticed at all, much like a homeless man sitting in the midst of a busy street. "Sitting on the fence" is one of the biggest taboos in our society.
But most essentially, what is an opinion? Its an idea, a perspective, a hypothesis on reality at best. Its a way in which we overlay reality with a certain flavor of ourselves.
Opinions are essentially about feeling comfortable with reality. Its our way of knowing without really 'knowing'. Its our way of bridging the gap between reality and possibility, between the known and the unknown. Its our way of feeling useful and meaningful. Reality happens the way it does without our permission. Famine happens, war happens, death happens, shit happens. Also joy happens, peace happens, freedom happens, good things happen. But even all that is just an opinion. The only reality is that Life happens in all its shapes and forms without reason, without permission, without qualification. Opinions create an illusion of control. Because now we can 'pretend' we know, and if we know, well then we can do something about it.
Many argue that a strong opinion is a necessary precursor to definitive action. That you must feel strongly about something to affect change and so forth. In order to take a stand is it necessary to take a mental stand or an ideological stand? In fact, more often than not it seems to work the other way around. That strong opinion stands in the way of definitive long lasting change. The kind of change opinion and ideology affects is not real change, not long lasting transformational change. Its more superficial. A same shit different day sort of mask.
Change is not an ideology its a law of Life. Everything changes and nothing can escape this reality. You, I and the world are changing as we speak. We are aging right now, our cells are dying and regenerating, millions of creatures are perishing and million others being born. Not one single inch of the Universe is static as we speak. Even a human body at rest is a warzone of millions of cells battling bacteria, tissues regenerating and vital communications happening between the various nervous centers.And as you read this, a million stars are dying and a million others being born and countless galaxies are collapsing unto themselves.
Witnessed through the narrow keyhole that is the individual's perception, reality is something we can perceive, breakdown, analyze and address. From this perspective war is evil, fitness is key, cancer is an enemy, organic food is our salvation, pedophiles deserve no sympathy, everyone should vote, high self esteem trumps low self esteem, patriotism is a virtue etc. We slice and dice our experience of Life as we go along craving the tasty bits and balking at the bitter ones. At the very very least we all are expected to formulate our opinions of right and wrong, good and bad. We believe this sort of distinction is the basis of civilized society.
There is a perspective however that seeks to align itself more closely with reality than opinion. This perspective that I'm speaking of is not apathetic, nor devoid of emotion or passion. This perspective doesn't seek to divorce itself from the "evils of the world", it doesn't seek to isolate or distance or detach. This perspective sees the world as a single complex organism and Life as a flux of energy. From this perspective, Life is. Plain and simple. It doesn't qualify any further because it realizes its own limitations to fully grasp the totality.
This perspective recognizes that the individual is only a single infinitesimal aspect of the whole. Yet, it also sees that the individual embodies the potentiality of the whole, much like a single seed in a fruit on a tree contains the potentiality of an entire tree within it. This perspective grasps that the individual is not an isolated entity but rather an instance of infinite circumstances, energies and matter coinciding at a single moment, for a single moment.
It sees that everything is hopelessly intertwined. That birth brings death but also death brings birth. That oppression leads to freedom until freedom turns into oppression. It sees people put more stock in their ideas and beliefs than in realities - as a result they live in memories past and future aspirations. It sees that we've convinced ourselves that life is a survival game, that happiness is some future state, that people are inherently untrustworthy and that the planet we live on belongs to us - to destroy or save as we deem fit.
But most essentially this perspective admits that thoughts and ideas, from the loftiest to the most base, are only figments of imagination. All our beliefs, our opinions and who we think we are is the stuff of dreams.
This perspective doesn't hold on to opinions strongly and seldom feels the need to enforce its will. Although many people dismiss it as a dithering, an indecisiveness or a "sitting on the fence" it is quite the opposite. Consider the metaphor of a tightrope walker traversing a line hundreds of feet in the air. On one side lies a dark chasm which contains all the base traits of evil, apathy, lethargy, ignorance, hate etc, On the other lies the equally dark chasm of virtue, goodness, compassion, righteousness. Separating these two is the fine line of reality that the tightrope walker traverses one step at a time with utmost attention. If his attention wanders towards the chasm of virtue and he begin to think himself virtuous he falls, and vice versa if he identifies with a vice, he falls. Each fall in the end is only a figment of his imagination because when he snaps back to reality, there is only the tightrope and the one step he is taking.
This is a perspective that is intensely open and prepared to respond to whatever reality presents. It is capable of action that is unmotivated by agenda and compassion that doesn't serve some self purpose. It is a perspective that knows that it can never really know and it is at peace with that. While opinions may exist it does not give its allegiance to these opinions allowing them to exist freely within the space of its own awareness.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Without Love
(Written in the Winter of 2007)
Without love -
Those moments, they seemed so strange to me.
The night poured forth her melancholy
Into a despairing heart deprived
Of all that which it had ever strived
For, and thinking that it had attained,
Awoke one day to find naught remained
But the heart-shaped shell that had survived.
And without love -
Dreams turned into petty ambition,
That faithless void, my soul’s condition,
The poison they call Reality,
My drug of choice it now came to be.
And for many years, thus afflicted,
My ailing heart remained, restricted
By all reality couldn’t see.
Yet without love -
I rose one dawn to the morning air
Steeped, though I was, in a cold despair
The rays of a red sun warmed my breast
I felt something stir within my chest
And then, as I watched the sun emerge
My heart burst forth with a giant surge
Of love. I knew, then, that I was blessed.
With love -
Life became, once more, a gentle dream
And I, the dreamer, I’d always been.
On a journey new, did I begin,
A life in service of Man, my kin,
For a voice now whispered from above,
And as I listened, I learned that love
Is found not without, but from within.
~ shi-bu
The Song Without a Sound
(Written in the Spring of 2006)
And watched the Moonlight softly stream
In, streaks of silver silence all around.
And with her silent melody
The silver Moon, She beckoned me
To listen to the Song Without a Sound.
And lying there I knew the day
Had come when it was time to say
Farewell and to prepare myself for death.
A Moonbeam fell across my face
A gentle kiss of Moonlight grace
I closed my eyes and took a final breath.
And as the Moon began to sing
I felt the world and everything
Inside, begin to fade and disappear.
Till naught remained but Her and I
Suspended in a starlit sky
As She whispered silver secrets in my ear.
Enchanted, in Her spell I lay
And felt my soul being whisked away
To places that my eyes would never see.
We danced together through the night
On winged feet that took to flight
For distant dreams beyond Infinity.
~ shi-bu
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