Light and Shadow

"One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious. The latter procedure, however, is disagreeable and therefore not popular."  ~ C. G. Jung

The 2016 election cycle has brought to light many disturbing aspects of the 21st century human psyche. Racism, mindless nationalism, homophobia, sexism, xenophobia, religious intolerance, and I'm sure the list can go on... What troubles me deeply is that these issues are not in the least unique to this election, to this century, or even this nation. These have been struggles that have been with humankind since hunter-gatherer days when differing clans, tribes, and villages saw each other as... well, the "other."

These traits lurk in the collective and individual unconscious in the realm of what C. G. Jung called the Shadow. It is that shadowy part of the unconscious that seems to hide from our conscious awareness, whether out of fear or shame or simply an inability to admit that we might not be the people we like to imagine we are. The unconscious is what we don't know about ourselves, and the Shadow is what we don't want to know about ourselves. Unfortunately, all that stuff we don't want to know is what may be giving power to our fears and subsequent reactions to those fears, often in the form of anger.

What good ol' C. G. used to advocate was that this Shadow material be brought into the light and then reintegrated into conscious awareness. It's what he called "individuation." Obviously this process is easier said than done. However, we can take micro steps toward this kind of individuation every day, because the unconscious and the Shadow are almost always at play (and I use that word on purpose; the Shadow is also the realm of the Trickster). This means we have ample opportunities in any moment to become conscious of what might be driving us unconsciously.

So let's stay with the driving analogy and apply this micro process of individuation to our daily experiences on the road. Have you ever noticed that you are suddenly, and perhaps senselessly angry at another driver for some small reason? This could be a little piece of the Shadow peeking its way out of the darkness and making itself known. Now is the time to get conscious! First of all, notice that the anger is probably the result of fear. After all, we are actually in a somewhat dangerous and potentially life-threatening situation on the freeway, so the limbic system (that part of the brain that senses threat) may already be on the alert. Let's say the person in the car in front of you suddenly comes into the lane in which you are driving without signalling their intention. There will be a rapid spike in limbic system activity, and this could lead to a fight or flight reaction that might manifest in anger.

The next thing to notice is how we might "add extra" to this situation. Is the person driving a car with which we have prejudicial associations? Maybe it's a gas guzzler (climate change denier), or perhaps an electric vehicle (tree-hugging hippie), or worse yet, a motorcycle (outlaw hoodlum). Maybe we flash on the gender of the driver. Or they have certain bumper stickers or window decorations that make a statement with which we don't agree. These, and so many more micro-Shadow moments are happening constantly. And they stop having any power as soon as we bring awareness to them.

To be clear, I'm not suggesting that by bringing awareness to these micro-Shadow moments we can understand their origins (e.g., why do pickup trucks bother me so much?). Nor am I promising that it will stop us individually or collectively from being so reactive and lead to everyone "just get along." It's a step. A seed. You take one step, and then another, and pretty soon you've come a long way from where you started. You plant one seed, then another, and another, and someday you have an orchard that bears sweet, nourishing fruit. And who knows? Maybe by poking around in the darkness a little bit we can eventually find the light.

Peace,
Roger

The Three Refuges

"True love and prayer are learned in the hour when prayer is impossible, and the heart has turned to stone."
~ Thomas Merton

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I had to teach a yoga class. I'm sure we remember that extraordinary moment in all of our lives when the unimaginable had actually happened. Like all of us, I was in shock; numb and not knowing where to turn. Not sure if I could give what my students required of me without breaking down.

The class was sparsely attended, which was not surprising. All of us looked like we had been experiencing basically the same emotions of grief, anger, and denial. We all sat in silence for a while. "There are three refuges we can seek in times of difficulty," I found myself saying. "These refuges are The Buddha, The Dharma, and The Sangha..." And so began my first Dharma talk.

This past Tuesday, November 8, 2016, another unimaginable event occurred. The election of Donald Trump has been greeted by myself, as well as my loved ones, friends, colleagues, clients, and students, with disbelief, deep sadness, fear, and anger. It has opened old wounds and resurrected past traumas (one of my students said it was as if the man who molested her as a child had just been elected President). It threatens to divide us even further as a nation.

Yesterday, on the morning after the election, Kathy and I engaged in our usual morning sitting practice. As I have done countless times over the years, I reached for the Dharma as a lifeline, and my groping hand found The Three Refuges.

"I take refuge in The Buddha; the capacity for all living beings to awaken."
"I take refuge in The Dharma; the teachings of The Buddha."
"I take refuge in The Sangha; the community of those on the path to liberation."

Perhaps right now, as was true at the time of the Buddha, the most important of these is sangha. There is, even in the midst of this very difficult time, the opportunity for coming together in ways that are as unimaginable now as the election outcome was to us when we awoke on Tuesday morning. Tragedy brings with it the opportunity, if not the necessity, to share our grief, and to find our way forward, both individually, and collectively

The capacity to awaken (to become living Buddhas) resides in all of us. Even in those people who now seem to preach hatred, bigotry, and fear. Perhaps now we need to tend to our own inner Buddha a little bit more diligently. This might best be done through practices of loving kindness and compassion, both for ourselves, and for all beings whom we encounter.

Of course, the Dharma offers many doorways leading to liberation. For me yesterday morning, it was the Four Noble Truths. Yes, indeed -- I was suffering! The origin of my suffering was my clinging to wanting things to be different than they were in that moment, and abandoning this origin required the opening of my tightly closed fist. This action led instantly to a moment of cessation from the suffering, and the ability to see things more clearly. Once through the doorway of these three Truths, the Eightfold Path opened before me: wise effort, wise mindfulness, wise concentration, wise understanding, wise thought, wise speech, wise action, and wise livelihood.

My day progressed rather peacefully, all things considered. Most importantly, I was able to give what was required for my family, my therapy clients, and my students. By turning toward the difficulty, and by being willing to move into it just a little bit, liberation is always available (at least in drips and drabs).

Best wishes,
Roger

For Thich Nhat Hanh

Thich Nhat Hanh, one of the greatest living teachers of the Dharma for more than 50 years, suffered a severe brain hemorrhage on November 11, while being hospitalized near his Plum Village monastery in France. The latest word is that, at this time, there are signs he may recover.

In this moment, countless individuals in the world are sending thoughts of loving kindness and compassion to Thay, as he affectionately known. These individuals comprise the "sangha," or as Thay has called it, "the community of persons practicing the Way of Awakening, those who travel this path together." He is referring to one of the Three Refuges of the Dharma, the other two being the Buddha (the ability each person has within them to awaken), and the Dharma (the teachings that lead to that awakening).

Thay wrote a beautifully poetic biography of the Buddha, Old Path White Clouds (1991), in which he describes a time when the Buddha himself became gravely ill near the end of his life, but later recovered. After the Buddha was well again, his beloved follower, Ananda, told him of his despair that their teacher might be leaving them to fend for themselves. The Buddha replied:

"Ananda, the teaching is the true refuge. Every person must make the teaching his own refuge. Live according to the teaching. Every person should be a lamp unto himself. Ananda, the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha are present in everyone. The capacity for enlightenment is the Buddha, the teaching is the Dharma, the community of support is the Sangha. No one can take a way the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha within you." (p. 548)

 

Another world-renowned Dharma teacher, Sharon Salzberg, wrote in an email to The Huffington Post, "when I heard he was gravely ill, along with concern and sorrow, I had the reaction I have had on the passing of my teachers. [It is] time for me to try to be better than I was yesterday, to practice and try to serve, to up my game so to speak. I think that's something for all of us to reflect on."

It has been my privilege to have walked and practiced with Thay. His very presence has touched and changed thousands of people, and when you hear him speak, you know you are experiencing the Dharma as authentically as it can be taught in our time. He is a man of peace; a gentle soul, who walks lightly on the earth. He also teaches that his time here is impermanent, as all things are. Thay quotes the last words of the dying Buddha as being:

"Dharmas are impermanent. If there is birth, there is death. Be diligent in your efforts to attain liberation!"

Blessings,
Roger





Taking Refuge

Refuge: Shelter or protection from danger or distress; a place that provides shelter or protection; something to which one has recourse in difficulty.

     The theme of this past Sunday's Dharma talk at the inaugural "First Sunday Sangha" was the Three Refuges, also known as the Three Jewels or the Triple Gem of the Dharma.

The Three Refuges are:

The Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha.

"I take refuge in the Buddha -- the capacity within each of us to awaken."

     Taking refuge in the Buddha does not mean that we try to be like the person named Siddhartha Gautama, who would later become "the Buddha." It means that we recognize that right now, within each of us, there is the capacity to see the world clearly for what it is, and to accept this experience of the world being the way it is. In our moments of being awake, we are liberated from ignorance and suffering. Thich Nhat Hanh wrote, "If we practice the way of awareness, our Buddha-nature will shine more brightly every day" (Old Path White Clouds: Walking in the Footsteps of the Buddha, 1991, p. 185).

     Buddha simply means "awakened one," and the capability of awakening fully to the present moment exists in each of us at all times. As Jack Kornfield is fond of saying, "It is a half-a-breath a way."

"I take refuge in the Dharma -- the teachings and the truth of the way things are."

     The Dharma, or the truths about the world that the Buddha discovered during his own practice, and then taught throughout his lifetime, comprise the path that leads to awakening. Each teaching, or Dharma, is a refuge from difficulties. 

     For example, in the Dharma of the Four Noble Truths, the first Truth helps us to see clearly the nature of dissatisfaction and suffering in our own lives. In the Pali language of the Buddha's time, the word for suffering was "dukkha," which means "wanting things to be different from the way they are." When our Buddha-nature awakens to the present moment, and perceives that we are suffering, we are said to have "penetrated" the Dharma of the First Noble Truth. 

     The second Noble Truth describes the origins of this dissatisfaction, or dukkha: clinging to what we want, and aversion toward what we don't want. 

     The third Noble Truth tells us that when we abandon the origins of our suffering (mainly by releasing the clinging fist of attachment to wanting things to be different), there is a cessation of our suffering in that moment, and we are free.

     The Eightfold Path of the fourth Noble Truth offers us specific ways of living our life in order to know this experience of liberation more consistently. The steps on the Eightfold Path are Wise Understanding, Wise Thought or Intention, Wise Speech, Wise Action, Wise Livelihood, Wise Effort, Wise Mindfulness, and Wise Concentration. (For more on the Four Noble Truths -- or as I refer to them, the Four Knowable Truths, see my blogs on 7/18/10 - 7/21/10 and 7/23/10.)

     When we take refuge in this particular Dharma, we learn how to deal more skillfully and mindfully with the difficulties in our lives so that our reactions to these difficulties don't cause us even more suffering. (See the blogs about the Parable of the Second Arrow on 10/31/09, 1/16/10, and 1/22/11.)

"I take refuge in the Sangha -- the community practicing the way of awakening."

     In Pali, "Sangha" means "community." It describes we who are, in this moment, traveling this path together. The Sangha is is not just within a room. Like the Buddha and the Dharma, it exists within each person, so we carry the Sangha with us wherever we go.

     We can experience the refuge of the Sangha anywhere. Our families can be a Sangha. Our relationships. Our work. Our schools. Your local Starbucks is a Sangha. If we allow the Sangha to be within us through our own diligent practice, the Sangha is wherever we are in every part of our lives.

     Many students have remarked to me over the years about how different it feels to practice in a group rather than alone. It's true: there is an energy that is very discernible within the group experience. There is a smart phone app called "Insight Timer" which allows you to set the length of  your meditation practice, and begin and end it with pleasant sounding bells. Afterward, you can pull up a screen where you can see who else in the world was meditation with you during your practice. The Sangha in a smart phone!

     On my way to teach one morning last week, I found myself in a brief bit of gridlock at an intersection. As I looked around at the drivers causing the gridlock, and at those of us who were stuck because of it, I thought, "We're all in this together." In that moment, in that gridlocked intersection, I had evoked and invoked the Sangha, and my refuge from annoyance and anxiety was my ability to see all humankind around me as suffering in a small way. When we realize that we all share the same human condition -- that condition of suffering; of wanting things to be different -- then we truly realize that we are all in this together. As a result, the weight of our suffering diminishes, and we also open ourselves up to the possibility of some compassion for ourselves, and for others.

     In that moment, as well, we are invoking and evoking the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha within us. We invoke and evoke the Buddha by awakening to the situation as it is, and seeing it clearly. We invoke and evoke the Dharma by understanding the truth of the human condition, and by using skillful means of releasing attachment to having that moment be some other way, thereby experiencing liberation in that moment. We invoke and evoke the Sangha by affirming our essential place in the community of personhood and humankind. Like the Sangha, we are sharing this moment on the path with each other. We are all in this together.

    

    

    

    

Of the Breath

Spirit can be found everywhere. As William Blake wrote in "Auguries of Innocence":

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

Or this from Rilke (translated by James Hollis):

I find you in all these things,
to which I am a brother in all,
in which minuscule seed you minutely hide yourself
and in the Great, you greatly reveal yourself.

Spirit even resides in the breath you are taking right now.

Many thousands of years ago, wise women and men - the sages, priestesses, gurus, and imams of their day - observed that living things tended to breathe, and non-living things did not. They surmised, quite correctly, that breath was very important to life. In addition, they saw beyond the physical and connected breath with Spirit (the word "spirit" comes from the Latin root, spiritus, which literally means "of the breath").

The Upanishads, the oldest Hindu scriptures, some of which were composed perhaps as far back as the 5th century BCE, contain a vision of the Divine as an all-pervading breath known as Brahma: "All this is Brahma. Meditate on the visible world as beginning, ending, and breathing in Brahma" (Khândogya-Upanishad, 8.7.1).

The book of Genesis in the Old Testament directly connects the breath with the Divine: "Then the LORD God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being" (New American Standard Bible, 2:7).

Each day, according to Dr. Richard C. Miller in The Breath of Life, we breathe approximately 24,000 times and exchange over 10,000 gallons of oxygen. Thankfully, we have an autonomic nervous system that regulates this breath for us unconsciously or we would never get anything done! Many of these breaths go by unnoticed by the conscious mind. Unless, of course, something happens that causes us not to be able to breathe.

There is a Zen teaching story about a student who comes to the Master and tells him, "I'm getting really bored with just feeling my breath coming in and going out all the time. Don't you have a meditation that is more exciting?" The Zen Master replied, "Yes. You are now ready for a greater teaching. Follow me." With that, the Master led the student into a courtyard where there was a large barrel of water. "Gaze into the barrel," said the Master. As the student leaned over and looked in, the Zen Master suddenly pushed the student's head into the water. The Master was quite strong, and he was able to hold the student under the water for quite a while, even though the student struggled desperately. Finally, the Master let the student come up for air, and as the student gasped the Master asked, "So... is that breath boring?"

The breath is one of those things in life that we can call "nothing special." However, when we pay attention to the breath on purpose, it becomes something very special. When we devote attention to the breath, we are engaged in a "devotional" practice. Devoting attention to even just a few breaths can help us connect consciously to this moment as it is, and to the Divine within.

It is almost as if Spirit has hidden Itself in the most obvious place.

As the poet Kabir wrote:

Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat.

Our shoulders are touching.

You will not find me in the stupas,

not in Indian shrine rooms,

nor in synagogues, nor in cathedrals:

not in masses, nor kirtans,

not in legs winding around your own neck,

nor in eating nothing but vegetables.

When you really look for me, you will see me instantly --

you will find me in the tiniest house of time.

Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God?

He is the breath inside the breath.

Blessings,
Roger

The Action of Non-Action, Part 2

In the last blog posting, I posed a question that is often asked by mindfulness practitioners:

If we are "supposed" to simply acknowledge a situation, register our habitual reaction toward that situation, and then simply allow it all and let it be, doesn't that mean we will never take action when action is called for?

I then presented a Tantric meditation that helps us perceive that non-action, in the form of stillness, is an ever-present phenomenon. This leads me today to a brief investigation of how non-action can actually be a very powerful form of action in daily life situations.

First of all, I need to emphasize that when I refer to "non-action," I do not mean a passive reaction toward a situation or event (in other words, simply "doing nothing"). Nor am I suggesting that by practicing non-action we are somehow "detaching" ourselves from an unpleasant situation or event so it won't bother us anymore. What I am attempting to describe is the active choice of deploying awareness and attention toward a situation or event, and the awareness of the subsequent reactions of the mind and body in response to the situation or event. 

Once an event is registered in our consciousness, we have choices as to how we will respond to that event. One choice would be to allow the reactive mind to take over, resulting in whatever action the reactive mind deems appropriate under those circumstances. Usually, this reaction would be automatic or habitual - one that we have repeated over and over during our lifetime. Through this mindless repetition, it becomes more or less the default reaction for that particular experience. (This choice is actually quite passive because we are running on autopilot rather than making a conscious choice as to what to do with the situation.)

The more skillful choice that I am suggesting would be to actively witness and participate in the experience as it is happening by bringing mindful awareness to bear upon the situation before we take any outward action. By making this choice, we are actually taking action simply by becoming mindful instead of reacting automatically.  Remember, too, that we always have a choice as to how respond to things, unless, of course, the situation calls for a reflex reaction, such as being in an car accident.

An essential component of this process of "active non-action" is to bring awareness to feelings in the body during the situation or event. For example, there may be a sense of tightness or tensing up in the shoulders or throat, we might notice the heart is racing or the body is pulsating, the face may get hot and flushed, or there may be tingling sensations. Becoming mindful of our physical experiences gets us firmly rooted in the reality of the present moment, and also disengages us from the reactive thoughts the mind might be creating. 

In addition, noting the sensations in the body creates a "reflective space" between the stimulus and the response. In this space, we might be able to formulate a more skillful response to the situation (if a response is actually needed). This process serves the same function as counting to ten when we are angry. In this case, however, the entire process takes only a few seconds. It takes approximately 200 milliseconds for the brain to register the initial experience (roughly the amount of time it takes to recognize emotion in facial expressions), then a second or two to note the arising sensations.

Once we have established ourselves back in the sensory reality of the present moment, we can then turn our attention toward how the mind is reacting. These reactions might include cognitive distortions like jumping to conclusions (making interpretations before you know all the facts), catastrophizing (exaggerating gloom-and-doom), generalizing ("This always happens to me!"), or taking things personally that have nothing to do with us. In the few seconds of space that non-action provides, we can then note that the thoughts we are having are only thoughts, not facts.

So the simple process of directing mindful awareness toward a situation or event is the action, and what we often find is that no more action needs to be taken. 

We can learn this process very easily during our meditation practice. Perhaps, during a sitting, our neighbors make noise that the mind labels as "annoying." After the sense of hearing initially registers the sound, we can then notice the reaction of the mind and body. Maybe the mind personalizes and generalizes the experience. We "hear" the mind saying, "Why do those people always make noise when I'm meditating?" Then we can feel the tension in the body, or notice the hot movement of anger in the chest. Yet, as we continue to allow these mental and physical experiences to simply be, we notice that they change very quickly. We realize the noise has nothing to do with us. We acknowledge that we would rather it were quiet, but we also note that this is merely a preference created by the mind. When we return our attention back to the breath, we experience how quickly the anger subsides and fades away because we have disengaged from the the thoughts that gave the anger its energy.

By repeating this process, both during our mindfulness practice, and in our daily life, we develop a way of being that allows us to respond to things more skillfully and in a way that does less harm, while decreasing our stress and suffering.

Blessings,
Roger

The Action of Non-Action, Part 1

Greetings!

After much too long an absence, I have decided to begin posting again. Many thanks to those of you who followed my Dharma 365 project in which I published a blog a day for a year, and to those of you who are new to this blog, welcome. 

I'd like to inaugurate this new phase with a teaching that I have found extremely useful, both for myself, as well as for my Dharma students and therapy patients. It stems from one of the most paradoxical aspects of the practice, and one that can potentially cause a lot of confusion and raise a lot of questions among mindfulness practitioners:

If we are "supposed" to simply acknowledge a situation, register our habitual reaction toward that situation, and then simply allow it all and let it be, doesn't that mean we will never take action when action is called for?

This is an excellent and important question that has been debated for many centuries. One important perspective on this problem can be found in the Bhagavad Gita, composed perhaps as long ago as the 5th century BCE (from my own translation, 2012):

In action, there is non-action;

In non-action, there is action.

Those who perceive this are wise;

Joining the two, one can perform all actions.  

 (IV, 18)

These slokas would indicate that both action and inaction (and in Sanskrit the word for "action" is karma) are contained within one another. When we sit in our meditation practice, we can perceive that the body is still, but that there is movement within that stillness: constant pulsations of energy (prana) can be felt moving through us; the breath flows in and out; the mind continues to be active, churning out thoughts seemingly without end. 

Likewise, when we place our attention on the movement taking place within the stillness (the place of non-action), we can witness that all of these things arise out of stillness, and then return back to stillness. The stillness, however, continues as "an ever-present background," as my teacher Richard C. Miller has said. All of these other movements - the pulsating prana, the breath, the activities of the mind, and everything else in our phenomenological experience - can be seen as a simply a movement in the foreground of our awareness, against a constant background of stillness.

This phenomenon can be directly experienced through a simple, yet powerful practice taken from the Vijnanabhairava, a Tantric text from the 7th century CE, that offers 112 meditations on "divine consciousness." The following passage is from a translation and commentary called The Book of Secrets by Osho, formerly known as Bhagwan Shree Rashneesh (1974):

This experience [of perceiving the background stillness] may dawn between two breaths. After the breath comes in (down), and just before turning up (out). (p. 30)

To experience this, just follow the feeling of the inhalation as it arises out of stillness. Feel it as it turns into exhalation at the "top" of the inhale, then follow the exhalation "downward" and notice how it "ends" in a pool of stillness. Then the inhale will arise again out of the stillness, turn to exhale at the top, draw us inward and downward to the pool of stillness, and repeats over and over again. Pretty soon, you can begin to tune in exclusively to the stillness, sensing its presence even as the breath is moving "in front" of it (adapted from an unpublished lecture by Richard C. Miller at the Mt. Madonna Retreat Center, Watsonville, CA, August, 1997).

Stillness in movement; movement in stillness. Action in non-action; non-action in action.

Of course, not just the breath is moving in the foreground of our awareness. Anything that we can perceive with the senses comprises this experience of foreground movement against an ever-present background of stillness. After practicing this meditation for a while with eyes closed, the world can look very different when we open them again. We can really sense that everything we see, hear, smell, taste, or touch is constantly arising out of the stillness, and returning back to stillness. The world begins to lose its "solidity," and we can perceive everything, from the atomic to the cosmic; from the ant to the elephant; from the single-cell organism to us, as arising phenomena in a constant state of process - a process that includes action and non-action as essential elements of existence.

In the next posting, I will examine a little more closely how action and non-action play out in mindfulness practice, and how to then apply the insights gained from this awareness in daily life.

Blessings,

Roger

The "How" of Now

There's a saying in German that goes, "It's all in the how." 

What I take this to mean is that we often do not have any control of the "what" of our lives. We don't have any say about the weather, or the economy, or how other people behave. What we do have dominion over is how we choose greet these experiences.

As Deepak Chopra wrote, "you and I are essentially infinite choice-makers" (The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success, p. 40), and while we may not be aware of it, we are making choices in every moment of our lives. The choices we make in each moment affect our quality of life as we move forward from one moment to the next. Greeting an apparently negative or unpleasant event with sturm und drang will only create more stress and turbulence.  However, making the choice to greet that same experience with conscious awareness can lead to much happier outcomes. This practice is especially useful when dealing with those things that repeatedly upset us.

If you can factor into your daily life that eventually (and probably very soon) some event will take place that will fall into the "habitually upsetting" category, you can consciously plan ahead as to how you greet that eventual experience.

For example, if you know that being late to appointments causes you a lot of anxiety, you can factor in the possibility of heavy traffic preventing you from getting to where you want to go smoothly. In anticipating this triggering experience that will probably activate stress and anxiety, you are preparing yourself to respond consciously, instead of reacting automatically. You can even discuss this with yourself beforehand like this:

"Okay, so I'm getting a bit of a late start to work this morning. I hope the freeway is clear, but it might not be. I don't have any control over that. But if there's bad traffic, I'll just remember to breathe and enjoy my drive. I'll try to live in the present moment, rather than predicting a doom-and-gloom outcome. Besides, I haven't been late, yet!"

If it turns out that there has been an accident, and traffic is really slow, then you have the opportunity to be consciously aware of any automatic thoughts that might be triggered, such as, "This always happens to me! I'm gonna be fired! What a loser!" When these thoughts become known, we can see them for what they are: thoughts and not facts. They are just another event that we can become aware of, but we don't have to give into them or even believe them. (And besides, they're not true most of the time, anyway.)

And of course, if traffic does go smoothly and you get there easily and in plenty of time, all the better because you haven't stressed yourself needlessly.

By practicing this kind of preparation, you can be ready for the emotionally activating triggers that will inevitably come your way. With diligent practice, new habit patterns are formed, and we move through life less re-actively, and more gracefully, with much more happiness and ease.

So while we can't change or fix the "what" of things, we can certainly have some say in the "how" of our response to it.

Blessings,
Roger

The Experience

Kabir (1440 - 1518)

When "I" was, the Divine was not, 

now the Divine is and I am no more: 

All darkness vanished, 

when I saw the Lamp within my heart.

The effulgence of the Supreme Being 

is beyond the imagination: 

Ineffable is its beauty, 

to see it is the only "proof."

It was a good thing the hail fell on the ground,
for it lost its own selfhood:
Melting, it turned into water
and rolled down to the pond.

 

That which I went out to seek, 

I found just where I was: 

It now has become myself, 

whom before I called ‘Another.’

When love renounces all limits, 

it reaches truth.

With the load of desires 

which you hold on your head, 

how can you be light?

 

Wherever you are is the entry point.

 

Just throw away all thoughts of imaginary things,

and stand firm in that which you are.

 

Three Hard Teachings

Teaching 3: Liberation Through Equanimity

(This is the final posting based on a public talk given by Joseph Goldstein on January 4, 2011.)

On any spiritual journey, there are countless pitfalls and booby traps lying in wait for the unsuspecting traveler. Some of these hazards can be big and overwhelming, but most are tiny and easy to miss. Until you get ensnared. 

One such tiny trap on the path of mindfulness meditation is using the practice in order to make something unpleasant go away. This is what I have come to call the "Self-Soothing Trap" (see my blog of 1/18/10). If we use our meditation practice as a method for self-soothing, there is always the danger that we will become attached to this outcome and become trapped in it. If we have this expectation of relief, and the feeling we don't like does not go away, we will suffer.

In this practice, we are taught to turn toward pleasant or unpleasant experiences with equal attention. This is one definition of "equanimity": the ability to move into the unpleasant experiences just as deeply as we move into the pleasant ones. In his public talk, Joseph Goldstein said that "being with something in order for it to go away" is a strong indication that we are clinging to an outcome, or resisting something unpleasant through aversion. He suggested that we adopt an attitude that tells us, "If it stays for the rest of my life, it will be okay." So if you are looking to this practice to help you get rid of fear, for example, you are already caught up in clinging to an outcome. 

As mentioned above, "turning toward" the experience is the skillful and appropriate response toward pleasant or unpleasant events. Turning toward them in order to make them stop, however, would be an example of being stuck in expectations. If this is the case, then we will never become truly liberated from the fear.

Furthermore, we need to examine any tendency that might be present to resist the experience. The smallest resistance to something can, once again, lead us into a mind trap of clinging, aversion, and resultant suffering.

So what's the point of having a practice that doesn't help us feel better? Isn't the point of all of this to relieve suffering? The point, as Joseph wisely noted in a Dharma talk some years ago, is that "anything can happen, any time." When we are able to consciously witness the changing nature of things, without interfering or imposing our desires upon them, we develop a new kind of relationship with the unpleasant as well as the pleasant. This allows us to see these experiences from different perspectives, and in doing so, the situations themselves actually change on their own. It may not mean that an unpleasant thing will go away, but it will mean that there can be less suffering around it.

Naturally, of course, our preference would be to not have pain, fear, sadness, loss, and so forth, but this is not possible to control, since anything can happen at any time. That is why I consider this to be a "hard teaching." I believe we would do better to cultivate an attitude of gently cradling our experiences, and our life, in a soft, open hand, rather than constricting it within a closed fist. When the tight, grasping hand is opened, we and our suffering are set free. So in reality, liberation is as easy as remembering to unfold the fist.

Blessings,
Roger 

Three Hard Teachings

Teaching 2: Don't Give the Arrows a Place To Land

(This is the second of three blogs inspired by a public talk given by Joseph Goldstein on January 4, 2011.)

In the previous blog, I mentioned the Parable of the Second arrow from the Samyutta Nikaya. Here is an excerpt of the first part of that parable:

When touched by a feeling of pain, the uninstructed run-of-the-mill person sorrows, grieves, and laments, beats his breast, becomes distraught. So he feels two pains, physical and mental. Just as if they were to shoot a man with an arrow and, right afterward, were to shoot him with another one, so that he would feel the pains of two arrows.

So it really comes down to this: For the arrow to hurt, it has to have a place to land. In other words, if we understand that all of our suffering is created by the mind, we must also understand that there is no "self" other than what the mind creates.

In his program, Joseph called this process of creating a self where none exists "selfing." I had never heard that word used as a verb before, and it turns out to be quite apropos. According to Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary (1973), when "self" is used as a transitive verb it means "to pollinate with pollen from the same flower or plant" (p. 1048). So when we "self" we are engaged in a sort of inbreeding feedback loop. First the mind receives a sensory stimulus, then it creates information (accurate or not) about that stimulus. When we come to believe that information, we create "I, me, and mine." A self is born.

(Perhaps not incidentally, the online Urban Dictionary defines selfing as "the act of saying something ridiculous, with absolute self-righteousness behind it, only proving how much of an idiot the person actually is." And apparently - according to their website, at least - it has become slang for describing masturbation. Who knew?)

Meanwhile, we still have that pesky first arrow to contend with. In the Samyutta Nikaya, the Buddha concluded that a person who does not create a self based on the sensory stimulus of the first arrow:

...feels one pain: physical, but not mental. Just as if they were to shoot a man with an arrow and, right afterward, did not shoot him with another one, so that he would feel the pain of only one arrow. (From "Sallatha Sutta: The Second Arrow" SN 36.6, translated from the Pali by Thanissaro Bhikkhu. Access to Insight, June 7, 2009.)

The cultivation of "no self," or anatta as it referred to in Pali, the language of the Buddha, is perhaps the hardest teaching in all of the Dharma. Because of this, however, it is the most valuable. Anatta offers us a way out of suffering while still allowing us to be fully engaged in life. It is not the same as denying the existence of the "sense of self" created by the mind, Nor is it a trick of somehow detaching mentally from an unpleasant predicament.  It is, however, about knowing every experience that arises for what it is, and being able to live skillfully in the midst of it, without creating more suffering.

Again, as I said in the previous blog, and as the Buddha says above, there really is legitimate pain in life. And good luck trying to avoid it. What we may be left with are horrible memories that can torment us for the rest of our life. The cultivating of anatta is a process of knowing those memories for what they are - objects of mind - and not as facts that are happening in the present moment. In this way, even the most painful images from the past can be allowed to simply move through us, just as the second arrow does when it has no place to land.

Blessings,
Roger   

Three Hard Teachings

Teaching 1: We Are Responsible for Our Mental Suffering

Recently, I went to see the esteemed vipassana teacher, Joseph Goldstein, give a public talk. Joseph was one of the first Americans to be granted permission to teach vipassana in the West back in the '70's, so I believe he knows whereof he speaks regarding Buddhadharma. (Although he will be the first to tell you not to believe anything he says, but rather to experience things for yourself.)

I have been sharing the Dharma for a while now - coming up on ten years - and although I may never have the gravitas of a Joseph Goldstein, I know a little bit of what it is like to be up there presenting these sometimes (often times) difficult to understand and accept teachings. They are hard.

In the first part of his talk, Joseph spoke about compassion. A nice, easy subject that isn't too controversial and doesn't make people squirm in their seats. After all, this was not his sangha, and he did not know the "experience level" of the audience, so keeping things light is a good way to start. 

The pitfall of this kind of approach, however, is that it can give rise to contradictions. If I'm talking about one of the main hallmarks of compassion as being the desire to help someone, I am contradicting the teachings of the Dharma that are clear about releasing attachment to desire to change anything (more on that in a forthcoming blog). This is exactly what happened to Joseph.

When it came time for the Q&A portion of the evening, however, he was able to take the temperature of the audience, and he could see that they were open to a bit more than just the vanilla Dharma talk he had presented. Finally, in answer to a question, he replied, "You may not want to hear this," (I love it when Dharma teachers begin a statement like that), "But we are one hundred percent responsible for the suffering in our own minds."

This means that any mental suffering that we experience, we create ourselves. It does not mean we are responsible for abuse perpetrated upon us, or for any physical illness or pain we may experience. It means that we are responsible for the suffering that comes after those events. If I was abused as a child, the initial responsibility for that abuse rests with the abuser. The continued suffering I carry with me is my responsibility.

It is the same principal as the Parable of the Second Arrow (see 10/31/09 & 1/16/10 blogs). If I am shot with one arrow, that is legitimate, physical pain. If I curse the shooter, lament my sorry situation, and go into a panic, that is the suffering created by the mind.

An antidote to this suffering is to deploy the first three of the Four Noble (or Knowable) Truths. If you find yourself suffering over some past event (the First Knowable Truth), ask yourself, "Is this thing happening right now?" The answer, of course, is "No. It happened a long time ago." So the suffering is caused by clinging to the memory of that experience (the Second Knowable Truth). To stop (or at least ease) the suffering, you merely need to release the tight, clinging fist from around this memory (the Third Knowable Truth). (For more on the Four Knowable Truths, see my series of blogs on the subject from July 18 to 23, 2010.)

This does not mean that we deny the experience happened, nor does it mean that we condone the harm that was done to us. It means that we can be with the memories of the experience in a new way - a way that promotes seeing the events clearly for what they are: objects of mind. When we cultivate this kind new relationship with these past events, we decrease our level of suffering around them. We can then understand more fully that the memories are thoughts, and not facts.

Blessings,
Roger

Uncle Bob

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of meeting my 95 year-old uncle Bob for the first time. He is my father's half-brother, and both of them were the sons of Percy Llewelyn Fison. Until just a couple of years ago, uncle Bob was unaware that he had any living relatives. Thanks to the internet, and a timely posting of Fison family information by my cousin, and indefatigable family historian, Susan, he discovered that he had dozens of relations, some living only a few miles from his Carlsbad, California home.

My paternal grandfather, Percy, was a bit of a rake, you might say. He was a dreamer and a schemer, too, always chasing rainbows in every direction, never staying in one place - or with one woman - very long. And he never made his money the conventional way. For example, I have a picture postcard of him with one of his wives - a souvenir that they sold to finance their successful attempt to walk from Colorado Springs to New York City on their honeymoon in 1912. 

Family myths have arisen around this Will-o'-the-wisp opportunist.  My dad told us that Percy painted advertisements on the sides of barns in the Ozarks region (perhaps this is where he met my grandmother who was a resident of that area). 

Another myth is that he tried to get into the motion picture business during the industry's "gold rush" days in the early 1920's, moving my grandmother and infant father to Los Angeles. Like so many fortune hunters, he never found gold, and the best he was able to do was a few days here and there as an extra. My grandmother, however, like so many other pioneer women, supported the family by dreaming up the idea to provide "boxed lunches" for the extras. So while she stayed home cooking fried chicken and biscuits, Percy sold them to his colleagues on the studio lots. 

More than one family source has commented that he could never pass by a piano without playing it, although he'd had no musical instruction that anyone is aware of.

It seems Percy had a very bad habit of either marrying or taking up with various women, having children with them, and then abandoning them all when the whim took him. My own grandmother fell prey to this pattern twice, and uncle Bob was an innocent victim of Percy's wanderlust, as well. He says he has no memory of his father being there during childhood, and never met his father as an adult. 

Like his other half-brother, my uncle David, Bob has been a minister, and continues to possess an abiding faith in the power of prayer. No doubt, he must have prayed for a family at some point in his life. And in their season, those prayers have been answered.

Bob's daughter told that he is not well, and has been diagnosed with lung cancer. He seemed vital and mentally agile when we met on Saturday, however, and his wife of more than 65 years, aunt Sylvia, moves with an ageless sense of grace, although she is 87. A spiritual center seems to be an important ingredient to longevity. It has been proven so in recent studies, and my own family appears to confirm it.

In comparing notes with my family in recent years, I have been struck by the similarities that run through the Fison clan. Percy's father, Sherwood Fison, was a minister, and two of Percy's sons became ministers as well. (My uncle David commented to me that I have a ministry as well in the form of the meditation sangha I have been leading for ten years.) Like Percy, my father never liked working for anybody else, and always told me to "be your own boss." That's the way it's been for me all of my adult life. I even came to California looking to strike it rich in showbiz.

Like Percy, all of the Fison men are musical and/or artistic. My dad played harmonica, uncle Dave plays the saw (no joking), and I've played guitar, mostly by ear, since I was nine. Now my own son, Zachary Sherwood Tatum-Nolan, cannot pass a piano without tinkling out a few phrases. And of course, he is completely self-taught.

It would appear, therefore, that the Dharma of interdependent causes and conditions that give rise to everything, exist within the family structure, as well.

Blessings,
Roger

The Power of An Empty Chair, Part 2

In the last blog, I wrote about Liu Xiaopo, the Chinese dissident and writer who was awarded this year's Nobel Peace Prize in absentia because he is currently serving an 11-year prison sentence. Here is another perspective on what happens when those in power try to silence the voices of truth and reason.
    
"What He Thought"
by Heather McHugh

For Fabbio Doplicher

We were supposed to do a job in Italy
and, full of our feeling for
ourselves (our sense of being
Poets from America) we went
from Rome to Fano, met
the Mayor, mulled a couple
matters over. The Italian literati seemed
bewildered by the language of America: they asked us
what does "flat drink" mean? and the mysterious
"cheap date" (no explanation lessened
this one's mystery). Among Italian writers we

could recognize our counterparts: the academic,
the apologist, the arrogant, the amorous,
the brazen and the glib. And there was one
administrator (The Conservative), in suit
of regulation gray, who like a good tour guide
with measured pace and uninflected tone
narrated sights and histories
the hired van hauled us past.
Of all he was most politic--
and least poetic-- so
it seemed. Our last
few days in Rome 
I found a book of poems this
unprepossessing one had written: it was there
in the pensione room (a room he'd recommended)
where it must have been abandoned by
the German visitor (was there a bus of them?) to whom
he had inscribed and dated it a month before. I couldn't
read Italian either, so I put the book
back in the wardrobe's dark. We last Americans

were due to leave
tomorrow. For our parting evening then
our host chose something in a family restaurant,
and there we sat and chatted, sat and chewed, till,
sensible it was our last big chance to be Poetic, make
our mark, one of us asked

"What's poetry?
Is it the fruits and vegetables
and marketplace at Campo dei Fiori

or the statue there?" Because I was
the glib one, I identified the answer
instantly, I didn't have to think-- "The truth
is both, it's both!" I blurted out. But that
was easy. That was easiest
to say. What followed taught me something
about difficulty, 

for our underestimated host spoke out
all of a sudden, with a rising passion, and he said:

The statue represents
Giordano Bruno, brought
to be burned in the public square
because of his offence against authority, which was to say
the Church. His crime was his belief
the universe does not revolve around
the human being: God is no
fixed point or central government
but rather is poured in waves, through
all things: all things
move. "If God is not the soul itself,
he is the soul OF THE SOUL of the world." Such was
his heresy. The day they brought him forth to die

they feared he might incite the crowd (the man
was famous for his eloquence). And so his captors
placed upon his face
an iron mask
in which he could not speak.

That is how they burned him.
That is how he died, 
without a word,
in front of everyone. And poetry--

(we'd all put down our forks by now, to listen to
the man in gray; he went on softly)-- poetry 

is what he thought, but did not say.

From Hinge & Sign: Poems, 1968-1993, from Wesleyan 
University Press, 1994. Copyright 1994 by Heather McHugh. 

The Power of An Empty Chair

Until this morning, I had never heard of Liu Xiaobo. He is a Chinese writer who has been imprisoned and held incommunicado by his government for the past year, charged with inciting to overthrow the regime. Today, however, he was thrust onto the world stage as the the recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize. For the first time in 75 years, nobody was there to accept this award - Liu's wife and relatives are either in jail or under house arrest - and so his award was draped over an empty chair during the ceremony.

When will the oppressive totalitarian regimes of the world learn that by trying to silence the voice of one person, you give more volume and credence to that person's message? I would never have given the story about the Nobel Prize a second glance, had it not been for the controversy of Liu's detainment. If the Chinese government had allowed him to speak freely before, there would be no reason for him to even be nominated.

The empty chair on the stage of the Oslo City Hall, with the picture of Liu Xiaobo gazing down in mute testimony, was more powerful and potentially damaging to the Chinese government than any words that one person could ever utter. 

Because he could not speak, today, I have excerpted a portion of "I Have No Enemies: My Final Statement To The Court" which was delivered by Liu on December 23, 2009, after he had been sentenced to 11 years on prison. It was read today by actress Liv Ullmann as part of the Nobel Prize ceremony.

I still want to tell the regime that deprives me of my freedom...I have no enemies, and no hatred. None of the police who have monitored, arrested and interrogated me, the prosecutors who prosecuted me, or the judges who sentence me, are my enemies. While I’m unable to accept your surveillance, arrest, prosecution or sentencing, I respect your professions and personalities.

For hatred is corrosive of a person’s wisdom and conscience; the mentality of enmity can poison a nation’s spirit, instigate brutal life and death struggles, destroy a society’s tolerance and humanity, and block a nation’s progress to freedom and democracy. I hope therefore to be able to transcend my personal vicissitudes in understanding the development of the state and changes in society, to counter the hostility of the regime with the best of intentions, and defuse hate with love.

Freedom of expression is the basis of human rights, the source of humanity and the mother of truth. To block freedom of speech is to trample on human rights, to strangle humanity and to suppress the truth.

Blessings,
Roger 

A Lifetime of Temporary Relief

Late one night a bunch of years ago, I was up watching television when I saw an advertisement for the Craftmatic Adjustable Bed. This modern marvel of sleep technology resembles the kind of bed you find in hospital rooms. It allows you to adjust the angle of the feet, legs, and head so you can sit up in bed and read or watch television, or elevate the knees to ease the lumbar spine. "All with the push of a button!" according to the voice-over announcer.

At the end of the commercial came the slogan: "The Craftmatic Adjustable Bed. For a lifetime of temporary relief from low back pain." Now obviously the legal department over at Craftmatic must have gotten hold of the script and insisted on this wording, but the absurdity of it still makes me chuckle.

In a way, though, this silly slogan sums up the experience of vipassana meditation. The back pain is equal to the suffering we cause ourselves from getting into the uncomfortable positions of clinging and aversion. These postures gives rise to a sense of self ("I want this/I don't want that") which can cause us discomfort. The "temporary relief" is the practice we learn through vipassana of being able to release the tight fist of clinging, or to abandon the aversion, and return to the present-moment reality. 

Because the mind is tenacious, however, the thoughts that give rise to clinging and aversion will probably come back sooner or later, and we have to repeat the process all over again. And again. And again...

When you find yourself suffering because of ruminative, repetitive thoughts that are useless and upsetting, first begin by asking yourself, "Is this thing that I'm thinking of happening now?" Perhaps these thoughts come to you at night when you are lying in bed (whether Craftmatic or ordinary, it doesn't matter). This is a time when we are particularly vulnerable to negative thoughts and ideas. Obviously, the thing you are fearing in the future can't be happening in this moment, so you turn your attention toward a present-moment event, such as the feeling of the body breathing, or the feeling of your head lying on the pillow.

The mind has a built-in bias toward the present-moment experience, and will always favor the present-moment experience over a thought about an imagined future event. You can test this by trying to conjure up the taste of pickles while you're mindfully eating chocolate ice cream. The mind cannot hold these two things at one time, so it makes a choice to pay attention to the event that is actually taking place in this moment. (This would be a desirable trait in terms of human evolution. For instance, the intense concentration required for hunting would not have been possible if the mind had no mechanism to filter thoughts from present-moment reality.)

I really like these bits of empirical evidence that prove how mindfulness can actually work. It gives me a lot of confidence in my practice, and provides a real solid framework from which to teach these techniques to students and patients.

Remember, however, that the relief from the troubling thought will only be temporary. It will probably come back again, sooner or later. Therefore, do not expect miracles. These ruminative thought habits have been with you for a long time, so they are not likely to go away completely in one try. Nor are they ever likely to stay away once and for all. However, if you become diligent with this kind of practice of returning to the present-moment reality, and apply it throughout your day, it will become the new habit of mind, and your temporary relief will be guaranteed.

Or your money back.

Blessings,
Roger 

Time Changes

The time change from Daylight Savings Time to Standard Time took place this morning. I always welcome this one because it seems to give me an extra hour in the day in which to be productive. For one day, at least, I have enough time to do everything that I want or need to do on a Sunday. I can cafe sit with Kathy. There can be a leisurely walk with Sam the dog all the way to the park where we chase squirrels, run with other dogs, and watch the Tai Chi practitioners. The New York Times Sunday Edition can be savored, not just scanned. I can write a blog, cook dinner, then watch a movie with the everyone. 

Time changes also bring home to me the fact that hours, minutes, days, and years are artificial concepts developed to help us to understand change. 

When we meditate, however, we enter into the present moment where there is no time. Instead, it is always "now." Therefore, it appears that we exist in at least two realms: the world of time, and the world of no time. This may explain why a forty-five minute meditation can seem like only a few minutes, or like an eternity. When we are immersed in a timeless place, we don't have the movement of a clock or sun with which to judge the passing of the minutes.

The same experience happens when we are deeply absorbed in a task or project. Paying attention in the present moment in this way seems to hold a key to the timeless, the birthless, and the deathless. 

So enjoy your time, as we begin the final descent into the darkness of the winter season. Connect with time through connection with nature, and connect with the timeless through your meditation practice.

Here is a poem by Mary Oliver, one of six pieces that appeared in today's New York Times to mark the end of Daylight Savings Time:

Lines Written in the Days of Growing Darkness

 

Every year we have been
witness to it: how the
world descends

into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume.
And therefore
who would cry out

to the petals on the ground
to stay,
knowing, as we must,
how the vivacity of what was is married

to the vitality of what will be?
I don’t say
it’s easy, but
what else will do

if the love one claims to have for the world
be true?
So let us go on

though the sun be swinging east,
and the ponds be cold and black,
and the sweets of the year be doomed.

Blessings,

Roger

 

Making Conscious Choices

I just got back from voting. It always makes me feel good in a mushy, patriotic-y sort of way. I was in the first wave of eighteen year-olds to be given the privilege of voting in 1972, and I'm still proud to say I voted for George McGovern. Which may explain the strong streak of cynicism that gets mixed in with my nice mushy feeling. I heard Lily Tomlin say that she was concerned about her own cynical nature: "I worry that not matter how cynical I get, it's never enough to keep up."

As I left the South Pasadena Library wearing my "I Voted" sticker proudly on my chest, I thought about the citizens of Iraq and Afghanistan, and how they have to dip their finger in purple ink to show they have cast their ballot. Except, unlike the situation in those places, I am fairly confident that nobody in South Pas is going to kill me for voting.

We often take a long time of reflection and contemplation before making our choice at the polls. We carefully study the ballot propositions and the candidate's positions. Then we make sure that we punch the correct hole next to the correct number, making sure we leave no chad hanging after the debacle of 2000 (there's that cynicism again).

We tend not to bring this same level of care and attention into the choices we make in daily life, however. Most of the time, the "choice" is simply to go with the auto-reflex reaction of the mind. As Deepak Chopra wrote, "Like it or not, we are all infinite choice makers." At any point we can put everything on PAUSE and take a reflective moment before making our choice. All it takes is a momentary awareness of the situation, and then feeling a breath or two coming and going. This pause can create a bit of space between the situation and the response toward that situation. Responding mindfully, rather than reacting automatically, can make the difference between an effective choice of action, and a disaster.

Too bad we don't get little stickers every time we make skillful choices that say "I Took A Reflective Pause."

Blessings,
Roger

Hallows Eve

Tonight is Hallows Eve, the night when the veil between this world and the Otherworld is at its thinnest, and the ability to communicate between the two worlds is at is greatest. 

By some estimates, upwards of 80% of the United States believe in some form of afterlife. Personally, I'm not sure. I've had some pretty dramatic psychic experiences that make me wonder though, including a series of events that led me to precisely where I am right now. I believe it was a path prepared for me by the spirit of my dead father.

Roger Sherwood Nolan, Sr., who was born The Ides of March, 1921, died on February 10, 1990. At the moment of his death, I was in or near Atlanta, Georgia, where I was fulfilling a contractual obligation as the spokesman for a chain of regional grocery stores. My dad was in a hospital in Irvine, California, in the final stages of colo-rectal cancer.

I had been conflicted about traveling so far away from him. When I asked dad if I should go he adamantly answered in the affirmative. He was always a "make hay while the sun shines" kind of guy. My older sister, Gloria, was there keeping vigil, and he was in good hands. So I traveled to Atlanta, trading in my First Class airline ticket for two Coach seats so that my wife, Judy, could go with me, along with our then-infant son, Zach (Judy was born and raised just outside of Atlanta).

Judy and Zach were staying at her mother's house, while I was being billeted at a hotel near the studio where we were shooting the commercials. To save money, I was using a small pickup truck that had belonged to Judy's father, who had passed away a few years before.  

At the end of the first day's shooting, I was returning to my mother-in-law's house, and looking forward to a home cooked Southern dinner. While waiting at a traffic light, I felt what I can only describe as a cold wind blowing through me. It was a definite "presence" that I immediately sensed as being Otherworldly. 

My first thought was that I was being visited by Judy's dead father. The human mind wants to make sense of these kinds of things, and it seemed logical since I was driving his truck. I may have even said something like, "Ed, is that you?" The feeling passed, the light turned green, and I continued on, logging the experience in my memory to tell Judy when I got home.

I'm not sure if I mentioned the event the first thing upon arriving, but within a few minutes a phone call came for me. It was Gloria. "Dad's gone," was all she said. I knew in that moment that the feeling I had in the truck was the movement of his spirit in some way. "I know," I replied. "I felt it." As powerful as this experience was, however, it could not compare to what would come next. 

A month or so later I found myself back in Atlanta shooting more commercials for the grocery store. Judy and I were using the opportunity to visit some friends of ours who lived on a wooded, and at that time at least, secluded river. 

One evening, after everyone else had gone back up to the house to fix dinner, I stayed behind to meditate, sitting on a large boulder in the middle of the river. My thoughts turned to my father, and I called out to him silently. Within seconds, I felt like I was surrounded by some kind of perceptible energy field. It was like being in the middle of a swarm of butterflies, their thousands of wings beating lightly against me from head to toe.

Then I heard my dad's voice. It was very clear. How long we "spoke" together I do not know. As far as I remember, I never opened my eyes, so there was no physical presence, only an internal dialogue. In answer to my questions, he assured me that he was fine, that the death experience was pretty much as advertised, complete with the bright light and his mother there to help him through. He told me that he was now omnipotent, and that he was enjoying the experience because now he could really be of help to other people. 

To that end, he informed me that he was preparing the way for me and my future. I did not ask him the specifics of this plan, but assumed it meant that I would have a successful and lucrative career as an actor, my main pursuit at the time. He assured me that he was available whenever I needed him, for a while at least, and he signed off by saying "as amazing as all this is, love is what makes life worth living."

Then he was gone. The beating of the butterfly wings subsided, and I finally opened my eyes. It was now quite dark. I got up and walked slowly, and very thoughtfully, up the hill to the house. Everyone was already sitting down to dinner when I appeared. I sat down without a word as every eye in the room stared at me. "What happened to you?" someone finally asked. "You look so different!" 

And I was.

That experience led me seeking out a psychic in Los Angeles who had a sweatlodge in her back yard where I started attending sweats once a month. Where I met another attendee who practiced yoga. Which got me back into the practice I had neglected for some years. Which led to my quitting acting to become a yoga teacher. Which led me to vipassana meditation. Which led me to Spirit Rock Meditation Center and Jack Kornfield, Phillip Moffitt, and other teachers. Which led me to leading a meditation group in Los Angeles. Which led me to returning to school to become a psychotherapist. Which led me to leading mindfulness-based groups. Which led me to Kathy. Which led me to writing this blog. Which led me to this exact moment.

Thanks, dad. You prepared the way very well indeed. 

Happy Hallows Eve,
Roger

 

 

   

#365

A year ago tomorrow, October 30, 2009, I received an e-mail from Kathy saying that she had set up a blog for me. When I went to the site, I saw the blog title: Roger's Daily Dharma. I'm still not sure if it was intentional on her part to force me to write something every day (it's quite possible, since she is one heck of a good writing teacher), but it worked. 

I loved the title. It reminded me of The Daily Word from the Unity Church that I used to read religiously (pun somewhat intended). It contains a daily dose of spiritual wisdom based on a single word or phrase. I have a lifetime subscription. However, the Buddhist publication, Tricycle, already has a blog called "The Daily Dharma," so I decided to change it to Dharma 365, the intention always being to create 365 blogs in one year.

And so, here it is. Three Six Five. 

A year ago, this moment seemed so far away. So unattainable. So daunting! What would I find to write about every day? It reminded me of a scene from Our Town by Thorton Wilder in which the parents of a young man about to be married discuss their own marriage over breakfast on the day of the wedding:

Dr. Gibbs: (After a slight pause; laughing) Julia, you know one of the things that I was scared of when I married you?
Mrs. Gibbs: Oh, go along with you! (Eats)
Dr. Gibbs: I was afraid we didn't have material for conversation more'n'd last us a few weeks. (Both laugh heartily) I was afraid we'd run out and eat our meals in silence, that's a fact. Well, you and I been conversing for twenty years now without any noticeable barren spells. (Eats)
Mrs. Gibbs: Well, good weather, bad weather, 'tain't very choice, but I always find something to say.

Then there was the matter of discipline. Would I be able to keep this kind of thing up for a year? My pattern has always been to maintain some project or lifestyle change quite diligently for a short period of time, but then to lose interest, or get lazy and quit. One thing that writing this blog has shown me is that this is not necessarily true when it comes to the Dharma. I've been practicing vipassana pretty diligently since approximately 1997, and teaching it every week since January, 2002. So in one area of my life, at least, discipline does not seem to be an issue.

Now it seems that the year has gone by rather quickly and fairly effortlessly. I've never run a marathon, but I would imagine that the mind tells those who do that the finish line is too far away and they must stop. For me as well, at some points along the way, it seemed like I could not go on another step. Indeed, there were days when I had nothing in particular to say, and those were usually the days when I found a poem or quote to fill the space. Thank you to all the poets and collectors of quotations from whom I borrowed so freely.

Thank you, as well, to my students from whom I also borrowed. Many times, a chance comment during a class or sangha would be filed away and expanded upon the next day. As best I could, while maintaining anonymity, I always gave credit where credit was due for these nuggets of wisdom. If you were one of those inspirational folks and I did not give you proper attribution, I apologize.

Of course, my greatest inspiration over this year has been Kathy - my life partner, my best friend, my lover, my wife, and my Dharma. (Come closer so she doesn't hear this, but you see, she is the real writer. I am merely reflecting her brilliance.) She has influenced me on this journey beyond measure. She was always there to answer the most basic questions when I had them, and to give me praise when I wrote a particularly good posting. As she once wrote:

One of the ways I try to figure out if I'm on the right track is to ask myself - without fear or ambition - whether it's the path with heart. The answer is always immediately apparent. What I do with that knowledge is up to me.

And so, for putting me on this path, and for starting my feet moving in front of me, I dedicate these 365 blogs to Kathy. 

Finally, thank you for reading this, whoever you are. Feel free to leave a comment, good, bad, or indifferent. It has been a great joy and totally unexpected surprise when people tell me they read this stuff. My gratitude is infinite.

So, in the spirit of invoking help from great writers, I will close this last blog of the project with the last line from The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I think it sums things up rather nicely:

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Blessings,

Roger