i'll be back soon

adventure is the spice of my soul. ;)

suffering softens the heart

I often play back and forth between two fundamentally different frameworks for my spiritual practice. One is atheistic (in that it doesn't require any concept of god to appreciate the sacredness of life). This one draws largely on a scientific humanism or maybe a transcendentalism rooted in nature, and is perfectly compatible with Buddhism, Taoism, and even certain kinds of mysticism.

The other is rooted, although not entirely focused on, a more personal notion of divinity (God, if you will, but let's not get carried away. I don't need all those extra roles as Judge, or Messiah, or whatever, Rumi's Beloved will do nicely.) I have made very little study of Christian, Jewish, or Islamic theology, so I don't feel that I have that much understanding of the different roles or faces of a monotheistic deity. But I do believe that taking that deity (and more specifically our relationship with God) as a core basis of spiritual practice eventually leads to a very different perspective on religious life.

Tonight I had a moment where it felt like suffering softened my heart. Not any kind of suffering, I guess, not ego suffering, or drama, or suffering from vanity or pride. Just simple hard-work, exhaustion, physical or emotional pain, that kind of suffering. Important to note that the suffering alone is not the key, it requires a certain kind of generous and patient mind to experience that suffering, to witness it and offer it up without self-importance or pride.

I understand that there is still a large degree of self-benefit that comes from my work, which means that it's not pure charity and I don't pretend it is. But in some of my jobs (like doing menial jobs for Leila or cleaning the yoga studio) I'm discovering a wonderful sense of delight in hard work that helps or benefits another. Especially with menial work, it feels like I am getting closer to serving, to offering something from an egoless place.

So I had a tremendously painful bit of indigestion after yoga, really extremely painful and way beyond normal. For two hours I am cleaning toilets, scrubbing showers, emptying trash and plagued with an extremely gnarly tummy ache. Also I am really exhausted because I didn't get much sleep this weekend. I've been working since 9am and spent most of the day cleaning out a very dusty and dirty basement and kitchen.

After I finish, I slowly walk to the bus stop and sit down on a bench. And I feel that all the work and pain have softened me up a bit, that's the only way I know how to put it. I've written lately about aridity, or about slowly losing the vibrant awareness of the sacredness of life. If that happens through some kind of closing off, then softening is the reverse, when we let it come back in. Although I'm still exhausted and uncomfortable, I feel a deep sense of nourishment and peace as I look at the sky.

It feels, and maybe this is only a poetic conceit or maybe not, but it feels as if god is sitting quietly next to me on the bench, just holding my hand, not saying much because really nothing needs to be said. And it's incredibly comforting, and it nourishes my heart (something like the presence of a best friend or lover, but different from both). And I feel like I am not so alone.

And now I'm crying uncontrollably, and I don't know why.

whatever rouses you to love

Today I was lucky enough to rescue a very loved friend from reaching my voicemail. Maybe it was more than she bargained for, but it made me very happy to hear her voice. And it also comforted me to know that her own practice is deepening, opening, and sustaining her. She reminded me of the value of spiritual community, and how isolating it can be to practice alone.

She also gave me a wonderful pointing out, which I have heard before, heaven knows, and even tell myself occasionally, but which nevertheless I often need to hear. Be gentle with yourself, or maybe, don't struggle with struggle. I acquiesced to her wisdom with thanks (it does seem to be a theme lately) but also made a point of mentioning, perhaps for the benefit of my ego, that there are powerful transformations that can arise from individual effort.

Now, I recognize fully how deep the roots of my low self-esteem reach, by which I mean that in some ways all this yoga, all this meditation and martial arts training is nothing more than a way to become someone that I will think more highly of. I might even say that in some ways my striving to become "better" is my sole sense of personal value. And even then I suffer, because what good does my "better" do for my neighbors and friends? How do I contribute any good works to this social snafu? How can something selfless arise from so much self-interest?

I embrace these questions, and I trust that they will guide me into my next adventure after I finish working here. At the same time, I find that there is a place where accomplishment (or skillful action) can blend into egolessness without any contradiction. I see this primarily arising out of the recognition that there is nothing I can accomplish or perform that arises only from my own efforts. Take a master of yoga for instance. She did not invent the asanas but learned them from her own teacher. She did not design her body but uses it anyway. A writer is taught to use words but cannot take credit for the language. So creative acts cannot be owned fully, at least not without recognizing how much was given in order for that act to occur. If we begin with this humility then all "accomplishments" are ultimately rooted in selflessness. I also think of this as counting your blessings, which by itself can be a powerful act of opening.

Making use of our raw talent, becoming instruments of our art, acting skillfully and lovingly in the present moment, it all seems connected to that special Zen presence of spontaneity, naturalness, and ease. Simply step aside, it arises without effort or strain.

if only for a moment your holding-back would sit before your generosity...

Discipline is starting to fade into the softest and happiest resignation I've ever known. It's probably just a phase, not too much to worry about. Right now the edge of loneliness feels tempered, desire relaxed into focused application, stress and failure synonyms for urges I've long forgotten.

It's like I'm wandering slowly within the vast space between one meditation and the next. Slowly exploring the rooms of a huge mansion, I'm alone and quiet in the echo chamber of my mind. I've been reminded lately that I can't fully see or understand the changes that are happening in me as a result of this urban asceticism. At the crossroads, I marvel at the shapes which the flower may take. I sense the density of possible form in the blossoming petals.

I'm reading St Theresa right now, a gift from a kindred of faith. She (Theresa) talks about the favors of spiritual sweetness compared to periods of aridity. I like that term, aridity. It reminds me of being stuck in the desert and wringing moisture from the stones. The spiritual life can feel like that sometimes, and if you are bothered by the absence of sweetness then you are missing the whole point!!

Coming to terms with that in my practice directly parallels the loneliness which so often beats my heart into unrest. Go deep enough and the wellsprings of love (just as the company of loved ones) are simply manifestations of a deeper communion we are holding with Truth.

Stay focused on that, my dear one. Many miles to go and no end in sight.

Penelope's Ransom

My friend, B, came to visit me recently. Her appearances in my life, sharp and brief like a needle, have a strange capacity to stitch together large portions of my secret inner world. And because of the kinds of insights we spark in each other, there's a continuous thread that runs through each of our separate odyessys of self, bridging two worlds that lie, at best, tangential to one another.

It's the strangest kind of love I've known so far, because it's unassuming to the point of vanishing. It reminds me a little of that story about two gurus in India, doing the typical cage-match of divine realization. One boasted that his meditation techniques were so great that his body was as hard as iron and could not be cut, punctured, or injured. The other, mildly scoffing, countered that he had dissolved all karma, so that his body was insubstantial in its purity. When a sword was swung at him, it passed through him, whoosh! as if there was nothing there. Score one for emptiness.

It might sound unhinged, but there's a very real sense that being with you and not being with you are irrelevant, so why should I fear? It is not a particular outcome I desire.

notes on going back to the city

Coming back from the wilderness (degrees of spiritual practice, usually a retreat or period of intense spiritual growth), I am always starkly aware of the changes in my perception. Every familiar aspect of my life has intensely vibrant and emotional qualities, every sensation holds a wealth of shocking delight, and overall everything which once seemed so casual and normal reveals itself as precious, rare, blessed.

Inevitably that awareness begins to fade; below are a few qualities of that awareness that I carefully observed during my recent transition back to a more mundane self.

1. The effortless singing of praise - Upon returning from the wilderness I readily and frequently slip into spontaneous prayers of joy and gratitude. These moments are more than mere reflection, they seize my body with an evanescent sparkling as my heart swings wide open. I sense the raw beauty of being alive, the uniqueness of this moment, the sheer miracle of my attendance. It happens easily and without effort; when I first roll out of bed, when I sit down to a meal, when I walk outside and breath in the morning, again and again throughout my day.

As the tangle begins to thicken, I have difficulty settling down into these moments. They seem to happen less spontaneously, they take more concentration to enter, and the sensations are generally dulled, or notably less rapturous.

2. The luxurious pace of mindfulness - I begin to speed up. It affects my thoughts, my actions, and the sequence of events in my day. I start to move with haste from one task to another without properly breathing into the spaces, or appreciating the gentle course of time. Accordingly I commit myself to a task without a thorough sense of awareness, of body, breath, or mind. I finish before I begin, I eat without satisfaction, I sleep without rest.

3. The steady elephant's mind - As I speed up, I must wrestle with my busy mind to focus my awareness. The thought of mindfulness will arise, but it takes a greater effort ("how tiresome is so-called concentration") to open that thought into the actual presence, the simple being and appreciation of this moment. I abhor wrestling with the mind, but without effort I merely drift along in a sea of numbness. I search for a balance; I make efforts without a sense of control; I accept the drift; I know very little and strive for less.

4. Sensations of earthly delight - I am still aware of my sensations, but they have a new kind of distance or flatness. No longer does a simple shower spontaneously become a rapturous ritual of cleansing and thanks. I may think of it briefly, my mind may tentatively reach out and try to open to the host of sensations, but the sparkle is gone. Clear mind, clear mind, clear mind, only don't know. Somewhere a thought echoes that I have lost, am lost, or losing my grip on mindfulness. Clear mind, clear mind, embrace the practice which is mindful of a lack of mindfulness.