Author: joseph mauricio

Posted on by joseph mauricio

The Gentle Precision of Mindful Awareness

buddha_handIn contemplative traditions, Mindfulness refers to paying specific attention to a moment, event or object within the context of meditative awareness. “Meditative awareness” differs with each application, but in the Shambhala Tradition, we see mindfulness as enabling “nowness”, or awareness of the environment around the singular moment. Meditation Master Chogyam Trungpa, referred to “Mindfulness / Awareness as a practice that balanced specific attention to a general sense of knowing. The relationship is reflexive. Being present in the general sense allows us to connect more readily to mindfulness, while being specifically mindful allows the mind to relax into awareness. Awareness places mindfulness in a contemplative context. As opposed to simply “paying attention” in the conventional sense, we are retraining the mind to pay attention, and then open to its environment.  With mindful awareness we employ precise contact in order to gently relax into awareness, allowing intuition, mental clarity and the environment to inform our understanding.

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MINDFULNESS and AWARENESS

Mindfulness is the awake (or, knowing) part of the mind that holds to an object and opens into a deeper awareness. For instance, when we look at something of interest, mindfulness holds it in our short term memory long enough for us to determine what it is. Awareness is the conscious environment (or clarifying space) around mindfulness that allows us to see the event in context. We are mindful of the breath, and we understand that this an important process for settling the mind.   We are mindful of the notes we are playing, and aware of the reaction of those listening.  We are mindful of the correct steps in our dance, while being aware enough not to step on our partner’s toes. Mindfulness is connection to the moment. Awareness is communication to the environment. Mindfulness is looking and awareness is seeing. Mindfulness is acceptance and awareness is understanding.

Mindfulness and awareness are symbiotic. When we are mindful of details we are connected to a greater sense of our life-environment. Awareness, in turn, allows us to know when to apply mindfulness. We are aware that we are not paying attention, so we remember to return to the present, tethering to the earth, by a practical application of mindfulness.

This is because mindfulness is NOT identified with the self and hence able to see, connect and expand into understanding its environment. Grasping, on the other hand, is fused with the self and therefore, likely to not see beyond self-interest and defensiveness. Instead of space being the reference point for clarity, our sense of me-ness becomes a fixed point for reactivity. Ironically, the more we solidify me-ness the more we actually abandon connection with ourselves.  In a panic of losing our moorings, we fixate on that which we reflexively feel will bring happiness. The un-investigated mind will clutch for random straws, and in so doing, lose its compass. Once we dissociate from our innate wisdom and intuition, we abdicate authority over our life. Devoid of conscious volition, we become lost in the momentum of habit and mental patterning allowing the “winds of Karma” to blow us where they will.

Mindfulness is the moment we take back our life. It is the moment we wake up and remember our true nature and return from the dream into awareness of the present.

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MINDFUL AWARENESS PRACTICE

Buddhist texts and tradition speak of a state of enlightenment where the mind simply finds its way to a stabilized openness. They refer to this experience as realizing NATURAL MIND. But, most practitioners of mindfulness travel a spectrum of awareness from being wakeful of the specific details and their meaning, to occlusion of many aspects of our experience, to overly reactive and defiled understanding, to simply reacting in blindness to external stimuli. This seems to speak to the stages of evolution. We drop from the apex of human consciousness, through primal mammalian reaction, to the binary options of our amoebic precursors. When we are threatened, we crawl back to the blindness of the swamp. From those murky depths, awake is a vague remembrance. But, as this is not our true nature, we will always be stirred and reminded. Once we remember, we can choose to take the assertive action of being mindful of whatever moment in which we awake. Mindfulness is the assertive application of waking up, and awareness is the recognition of our natural state. However, this takes re-training the mind away from its defensive tendencies, and this takes time, love and patience. We are literally changing lifetimes of avoidance patterning.  Whether “lifetimes” refers literally to rebirth and reincarnation, or figuratively to programming inherited through evolution, there is a lot of work to do.

An important aspect of mindfulness then, is its practical application.

We can use the application of mind that holds to an object, to gently REST on an object, repeatedly, in order to stabilize the mind.  Then we can train the aspect of mind that compound information, to  OPEN into stages of awareness.  The training is to assert knowing and then let go of the tendency to grip. This takes precision and gentleness. Bravery and compassion.

Mindfulness alone will bring numerous benefits to wellness, such as stress reduction and attention enhancement. Mindfulness practice demonstrably increases our ability to concentrate, reduces cortisol, and engenders confidence born of paying attention to the practical aspects of life. It also allows us to gain tangible access to the present moment, by learning to become mindful of the body, the breath, or aspects of our present experience.  In the Tibetan Buddhist traditions, we also incorporate mindfulness of the felt senses and the physical reality of our being, which enables a comprehensive understanding of the present.

But, mindfulness alone is a bit dry and uncompromising. Awareness expands into the world, our spirit, and our process of self discovery. Awareness gives mindfulness a container to find meaning, and as it is a bridge to connecting us to our world, offers inspiration in our everyday life. It becomes easier to practice if we are becoming more aware of life, and gaining more access to our experience.

In any case, daily practice is training the mind to “PLACE” itself on the point of contact. This is known as developing precision. We are paying acute attention to the moment. However, this “precision” can be aggressive if not tempered by the gentleness of acceptance. Aggression – even in subtle applications like competition or self-improvement – is counterproductive as it is likely to engender resistance, evasion or defensive reaction. Gentle precision is open and non=invasive, while being accurate and on point.  So, we refer to placing the mind, gently and precisely on the object.

Awareness, which is the successive stage of expanding understanding, is achieved by training the mind to “REST” with the experience long enough to boycott patterned reaction and remain awake to the actual experience. This is best achieved if our precision is applied with gentleness. Gentleness allows the mind to expand naturally into awareness without triggering the defensive reactions of our base programing. This is not easy. Again we are working against mountains of defensive and evasive training.  So, the daily practice is training in resting the mind on openness by gently returning from evasion or defensiveness in the mind, back to practical contact with the breath in the body.

So, the practice is to gently and decisively contact the object of meditation and then rest there in body spirit and mind. Awareness comes from that. It can’t be manufactured. But mindfulness creates the ground for the mind to settle and allow awareness to dawn. The “practice” is applying the precision of mindfulness to the breath and relaxing into a deeper body and heart connection to our understanding. When, as will happen, the moment of conditioned mind causes griping, evasion or aversion, we train to 1) notice, 2) release ourselves gently from the grip,  3) fall back to contact with the breath and 4) deepen our connection to the present.

In this way, we are repeatedly breaking the momentum of the conditioned mental stream. This creates a distance between us and our thinking by de-fusing our identity from 0ur  thoughts. We begin to see the patterns of our thinking more clearly when we boycott being immersed in thoughts. In fact, we will begin to see and advance “echo” of the thinking as it occurs, or is about to occur. Sakyong Mipham refers to this process of mind as the “spy” who is on the lookout for gripping mind. Thus awareness of our process begins to dawn. Very naturally we believe less about who we are, and begin to see HOW we are. In this way, we can learn to work with how we are.

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THE IMPORTANCE OF PRECISION

Ideally, mindfulness “practice” is the act of replacing secondary, or tertiary automatic functions of mind with an inquisitiveness that allows the mind to rest with, or open to, the event of perception. Which is to say, rather than being consumed by our past experience and carried away on a flood of feelings and information not necessarily germane to the moment, we release this grasping tendency and return to the moment of contact. This takes great precision.  We are training the mind to be awake.

In practical reality, these successive functions of the mind happen very quickly.  So, in meditation practice, we catch the drift well past the event. What we are usually letting go of may not be the initial moment of grasping, but the fixation and thought immersion that follows. However, if we are dedicated to the process, we will begin to calm the mind, releasing if from the exhausting preponderance of thought that obscures our connection to the present.  In time, the practice of mindfulness helps slow down the process so that we can begin to FEEL the moments that lead to grasping. Working with that moment, we begin to see that in these subtle sub-moments, that we are actually CHOOSING to grasp. And hence, when we are choosing to check out into distraction or fixation.

When we train the mind to actually rest on the moment of choosing grasping, fixing or distraction we are in charge of a fundamental choice point in our lives. We are also very close to opening to the moment of clear perception, or direct contact with our life. However, because of the amount of training we have given the mind in grasping and fixating, a training sadly supported by society and our lives, we may not stay in synchronization with these choice points very long. So, mindfulness practice implies some heavy lifting. The more we train the mind to rest in the present in our practice, the more the mind will be inclined to remain in a relative sense of “presence” in everyday life. The more we encourage the mind to remain present in life, the easier precision in our practice becomes.

But, precision can seem invasive to the mind. It can make us very claustrophobic. And, as the process of holding the mind to an object is so close energetically to grasping (only nanoseconds away), it is important to learn to FEEL our way into the process with great care.

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THE IMPORTANCE OF GENTLENESS

The practice of meditation allows us to unwind the ever tightening reasonings of the mind. Each time we boycott thinking, we train the mind to release its grasping. The work of a meditator is to simply rest the mind on an object without the extremes of fixation, or distraction. This takes a dedication to precision, that is infused with gentleness. This is so much more effective than an assertive application of mindfulness, which militaristically holds the mind in place and lies dangerously close to the aggression of clinging and fixation.

Should we employ gentleness and receptivity to our mindfulness practice, we find that rather than holding on to an object, we are opening to it.  Eventually, instead of the cloud of conceptuality that surrounds the present, we have trained the mind to allow a space of awareness. When we drift off, we find there is no where to go. We reduce the distance between there and here. We increase the possibilities of here. So, mind  easily – and gently – settles into body, sensations and feelings.  When we are relaxed in body, mind and spirit, we can actually rest the mind in place.

In most traditions, a neutral object is selected specifically to diminish potential psychological investment and its attendant grasping and fixation. Like many, I use the breath as the object of meditation, as it is reliably neutral, boring and mundane.  Ironically, our breath is one of the most intimate, amazing and important functions in our life.  While simple breathing may seem boring to a mind conditioned to keep us off balance by searching for and acquisitioning objects it finds provoking, deep attention to the breath ultimately frees the natural flow of the mind.

In order to find this deep synchronicity, the mind must settle.  The body is a perfect tool for this. The FELT connection to the body connects us to the earth. As we FEEL our way in to a somatic experience of the breathing, we calm the frightened animal mind and are able to rest into our body, and through the breath, into a direct experience of the present.

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YIN AND YANG MIND

Mindful Awareness employs two processes: an active placement and a receptive understanding. While it is important to place the mind with precision, if we employ gentleness, we can also enable the mind to receive the attendant information. The process is that the mind goes to a place and asks the local authorities for an update. Then that information is brought back to headquarters. In the case of conditioned unexamined mental processes, the mind is telling the outpost what it expects to hear, and then filters the information to suit an agenda based on past occurrences.  In this regard, the information is seriously compromised.

With Mindful Awareness, we are training the mind to FEEL into situations and RECEIVE information more clearly. We are employing what in Daoist culture is referred to as “YANG” and “Yin” principles of mind. When we are employing Yang mind, we are actively placing the mind. If we do this aggressively, we are moving with too much force to remain aware. But, with gentle application of Yang assertion, we can position the mind to open into Yin mind. Yin mind allows the unimpeded flow of information into awareness.

Yang mind tells us what to do, where to go. Yin mind tells us how we feel, and releases an intuitive sense into our awareness. The combination allows a greater understanding of our experience.

Conventionally, we are always telling ourselves what to do, where to go, what to think. We are placed at the front of our brains pushing ourselves into the next compartment. If we don’t wake up to this process, we will disengage from the present, and live a life one step behind our intentions, constantly trying to catch up. With Mindful Awareness we are trying to find deep synchronicity with the present. In this way, Yin mind – which aligns with awareness – opens us to the environment and reminds us to reconnect to the earth of our mindful experience. Once we reconnect, we can open into our felt experience.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

Passages

Holding On To Letting Go

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After a long night, my dying cat left that morning.  What made the proceedings more than a personal tragedy, as well as an acute teaching, was the strength with which this little guy held on to life, and then very naturally held on firmly to letting go of that life.

In contrast, I doubted, cried, wrote, and tried to fix any anything I could. I kept trying to make it better, to make it perfect, to have a Buddhist approach, a cat’s approach, the right angle on the madness of dissolution. But, in the end, he did what he needed to do. Death is a natural thing. Its not show biz. It doesn’t have to be perfect. In fact its a mess. It always ends strangely with lots of unresolved angles tangled in the web of our need to understand. Unsettled by waves of guilt and grief, welling deep in the body from an ancient past, my mind continually tried to find refuge in reason and meaning. But, there is no reason to dying. And, perhaps, there is no meaning to life. Meanings are are concepts and concepts, in the best case, can lead us to water. They can’t make us drink. Drinking is an action and an experience.  There is no need to analyze it. The natural things of life simply are as they are. To add significance to the actual is to proclaim our importance as beings above nature. As though through our limited experience (and, yes, compared to the complete experience of the universe, even the sage among us are limited) we can somehow reduce and define reality into our conceptual frames. To add meaning to experience is like adding whipped cream to a perfectly cooked roast. It helps define it as food, perhaps, but it only masks its flavor, misses the point and creates distance from the experience.

Ideas are not experience. They are our way of controlling the experiences of life. The more frightened we are, the more we try and label, compartmentalize, understand. When we are frightened, we might take refuge in drugs, alcohol, sex or mindless activities. But, conceptualizing is masking the experience of painful situations just as much as a tub of ice cream. Except, that with ice cream, we know that we’re not helping anything. We know we’re hiding out in the momentary oblivion of sensory immersion and serotonin overload. We also know that reality is there waiting, when the crash occurs.

Concepts are a cagy refuge. They sometimes offer the illusion that we are helping to clarify things, that we are working things out or – in the case of conversations – downloading the pain to someone else. But, we are only running from the direct experience of pain, boredom or confusion, leaving the experience unresolved and unknown. Concepts, ideas and conversation may bring us to the precipice.  But, at some point, to be ion the experience, is to we simply step in to it.  There is just that.

In the case of death, the good news is, its force is greater than our thinking, resistance, clinging or trying to make a perfect exit. A process that has been happening for a long time, simply proceeds apace. The elements begin to dissolve. The body relaxes into the earth and the mind defuses its in physical, emotional and conceptual mooring.

After this night of turmoil, Huxley finally asserted his right to die his way, in the time he needed.  At one point, he reached out for Jen, and in a heartbreaking moment of yearning, extended his paw, looked to her with that focused love and admiration, that was his way, and then relaxed and let go. The doctor came soon after to close the deal with two injections that rendered his already body, completely still. Then there was space.  Silence, stillness and space.  I sat watching the prayer flags on my porch flutter gently in the wind. There seemed to be a gentle clarity that was not diminished by the sense of loss. There was no need to work anything out, nor try and effect the situation. There just was the empty itself, itself. Only that.

And the gentle movement of the prayer flags in the wind.

We live in liminal times. Our life, in transition between one moment and the next. “Now” is not a noun. Its a verb. A continuum of experience, some known, some unknown and much it frustratingly out of reach. By the time we know it, its gone. To hold to experience until we know it, keeps us from being awake to the next experience.  We don’t learn from our mistakes. We learn from our wisdom, and perhaps the only mistake we make, and have ever made, is to not be present.

There are so many moments that would have greatly enriched our lives had we been present for them. It is fruitless, and essentially materialistic, to look back on those moments of supposed juncture and wonder if we had only turned left instead of right. Had we chosen Aeri over Annette, the University over a trade position, the Dharma over the theater. But, this is only a circular masturbatory ritual. We flog ourselves again and again in vicious masochistic loops in order to keep ourselves company after our loss.

If regret is accurate at all, perhaps it would be more fruitful to look back on the places that we simply missed being with what was. The times we abandoned ourselves in a flight of panic. While we have no way of knowing if chocolate would have been better in the long run than vanilla, we can rest assured that we have missed entire junctures of our life. Rather than try and imagine how a change would have made everything perfect, we could look back and see how perfect it would have been to have actually been there. Of course, even that requires us to not be present now. So, the most fruitful way to work with the of presence of mind, is to train the mind to be present. And the best way to do that, is now. Now is the perfect time to be present. 

Meditation is training the mind choose to let go of fixation and preoccupation, and rest  in the present. However, meditation is not about holding ourselves there, but returning to the present, as though we were navigating a ship. Brining it back to the middle path, tacking it gently against the karmic streams that lead us into the weeds of fixation. holding on to the practice of letting go. Each time we let goof an idea, a concept, a reason we release ourselves into the stream of what is. Each time we let go, we naturally fall back into experiencing our life.

We live in liminal times. The ground is changing below us. Reference points that have held the world entrenched are loosening.  We are changing faster than ever.  Saying good bye is saying hello. I miss my little buddy. But, more than that I miss that I may have been more present in our experience together, and have appreciated him more. This is a common feeling in my life. I wish I had been there for more of it. And, so if there is a resolution here, it is to let go of the pain, the past, the references of doubt and confusion, so that I can participate more completely in what’s here. Life is a gift. And we can open the present and receive that gift. Or, we can continue to explain what that experience would be should we actually have it.

Some teachers, traditions, and guides point to a wordless state of knowing. A place where wisdom just is. A place of knowing rather than thinking about knowing. I have a friend who is a midwife in the Richmond area. Her philosophy is that birth is a natural occurrence. It doesn’t need the intellect. It doesn’t need instruction. It is a process that has been going for as long as humans have been here. The best we can do to support the process is protect the space, so that the event can happen naturally. The same is true of death. It is a natural process. And, as a hospice worker, Buddhist Chaplain and a meditation instructor with deathbed experience, I know this. Interestingly, I could not hold that seat when triggered by a being close to me.  Then I saw only the injustice of it and the heartbreaking sadness of Huxley reaching out and one by one missing connections to hold on to life. And so I tried to help. But there is no holding on to life. There is only holding on to letting go and coming back to letting go over and over.

So, holding on to letting go, implies that there are things to open to, and places to let go.  It is always appropriate to let go. In fact, the practice is to let go, continually. But, this is not a negation of anything. It is opening to what is actually there. There is an insistent consistency to our life stream, which connects life to death and death to life. And then there are all the things we think about that, which are frequently helpful, sometimes harmful, but always temporary. Problems arise when these thoughts, dogmas and ideas are held on to so tightly, they try corral our life stream. In this way, we hold on to the beliefs and let go of our connection to the actual experience of living. We hold on to concepts and let go of of knowing. Solidifying our concepts against the flow of experience creates an ontological dissonance that manifests as tension and resistance in our lives. This is very sad, as it replaces personal experience with what other people have told us, and creates a sense of unease in our life. This is not to demonize concepts. In fact, we can gain great value from this process of mind, by letting go of them, and allowing them to re-arise. In this way, the concepts that arise spontaneously may be a more accurate depiction of what is happening. Concepts that have been held on to for years defy the basic principle of nature: that everything changes. Ironically, it seems that the longer we’ve had an idea, the more real it must be. But, if everything changes, it would seem an idea we’ve had for a long time has LESS validity than an insight we glean from being present in the moment.

Concepts may be helpful signposts, but signposts are not the destination. So we acknowledge them, perhaps even weight them against learned experience, but, at some point, move back into the flow of actual experience.

Meditation is a remedial effort to realign the mind to a truer nature in actual experience.  We recognize thoughts, and acknowledging them as such, release our grip on them, and return to the stream of the present. In time, we train the mind to follow, or hold to, its deeper and more natural orientation. In this way, we navigate our stream to its most true direction. If we can do that, perhaps we can be present for the moments of connection, however brief and however rare that make our life truthful. I believe it is these moments that make us awake. These connections slowly puncture the myths in which we’ve become ensconced. And in this intersecting flow of change, perhaps we can find the stillness in our hearts and strength in our resolve to be here for those who are reaching out to us.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

Touching Now

AWAKENING NATURAL MIND

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In the Shambhala tradition, moments of perception are considered sacred, as they contact us to life as it is. The more we train the mind to rest in its immediate moment to moment experience, the clearer life becomes. The more contact we have to this unfiltered contact to reality, the more stabile the mind becomes. This reassures the more impacted aspects of mind and reduces their need to hijack the moment, and obscure reasoning. The repeated coming back to the breath, frees us from the need to over conceptualize experience, and creates a tactile connection to the earth that enables the mind to settle. As the mind settles, its innate clarity dawns. We rest in our experience and contacting the present more deeply and clearly gain a richer and more rewarding connection to our life.

Mindfulness is the primary tool in creating that connection to present experience.

Meditation assumes a certain quietude of mind.  If we are triggered emotionally and unmindful of the feelings inside, we can have a physical reaction to our perceptions.  We actually grasp the object – or more accurately, grasp the IDEA of the object – and either thrust it away, cling to it, or struggle against it.  No longer constrained to our psychology,  grasping is actually a PHYSICAL phenomenon. We lock ourselves in place and become desynchronized from the flow of the moment.  This unease instigates a further grasping that becomes fixation and compulsion. We begin to lose any objectivity, or control over the event. The tension is no longer just psycho-physical at this point, but unleashed into the environment, creating friction in our life. 

In order to avoid that pain, we often eschew the object and drift away in distraction. Thus, we play the game of fix and drift. We fix to things too tightly and as the tension in our body, mind and life reaches a critical pressure, we repel from them into distraction.  Influenced by this strategy, our life supports these vicious mental cul de sacs.

However, if we instigate an inquisitiveness to the process, the mind can open to it and even rest in any aspect of the process. We call this waking up, because it is as though we were awakened from the somnambulistic patterns of inattentiveness.  In mindfulness meditation we endeavor to rest the mind on an object suitable to quieting and opening the mind. We rest the mind on the object and beginning to glean information, we rest further, until we achieve a temporary union with the object. So, while we may begin by holding the object, we are not physically grasping. We are, in fact, releasing.  In meditation we gradually let go into the experience until we become one with the object.

Meditation with the breath simultaneously bores the clinging mind into letting go as it simultaneously awakens the natural mind simply resting in its present experience. But, as our conditioned mind is prone to grasping and distraction, awakening runs counter to our conditioning. Each time we forget, become startled or otherwise interrupt the practice there is a subtle panic that urges us back into thinking, and desynchronization. To many, meditation practice is the arduous retraining of the mind to pay attention without distraction or its needy twin, fixation. Its like going to school. This is why many of us have resistance to the practice and yearn to skip out for a cigarette, imagine our lunch tray, or fantasize about of the cute person at the next desk.

But, when we relax the process entirely and simply learn to gently rest the mind on the object.  But, to rest AND wake up which is to say rest and open. We rest the mind in order to open the mind and see. At this stage, we stop looking and begin to see, we hear rather than listen and feel more than touch. We are training the mind toward a passive RECEPTIVENESS. We are not invading space, occupying space or containing space, but rather allowing ourselves to open into space.

In this way, we are learning to contact possibility devoid of preconceptions. Rather than map out the possible, and follow maps we’ve repeatedly followed into the same cul de sacs in the past, we can simply rest, open and see. Or, you might say, contact, open and receive. And, then instead of clinging to the information, we can train the mind learn to release into the experience.

Contact. Open. Receive. Release.

Once we open, we can receive information. This is  YIN mind. The mind of receptivity. We gain access to the (sometimes) unconscious information that streams back up form the point of contact, to be interpreted by the mind. A purer contact comes when we allow the process to become felt. We open to the information, as it is, before the mind interpretation. In truth, the mind’s interpretations are pretty immediate. But by conjoining that with the actual felt experience, we have a truer access to the information, than our projections, judgements, or concepts provide.

 

CONTACT

The act of contacting an object is assertive. It is an expression of YANG mind. And in most cases, we leave it there and allow the assertive mind to impute its authority overt he situation. After our initial contact, we then tell the mind how to feel, or catalogue our experience against other past experiences. If not checked this type of mindfulness will create a conceptual overlay of the experience. At some point the mind, disembodied from experience, picks up speed and we begin to grasp and cling to the supposed experience in order to find a semblance of ground. Most meditation occurs this way. If we are well trained we feel the grasping and learn to release the thought, and return to the breath. This is better than no meditation, as a wordless connection to reality will eventually occur. However, the experience of direct contact happens when the concepts have exhausted themselves and we – for lack of alternative – relax into the non-conceptual experience of mind. This is akin to exhausting the left brain, so its dominance can recede, and allow the right brain to open.

The ideal state for meditative inquiry into our experience is a balance of left and right brain. In terms of Gentle Mindfulness, we can employ YANG mind to contact the object, and then train it to let go into the felt experience of YIN mind to receive information.  So, a most effective method of employing mindfulness would be in incorporate that YIN mind, or receptivity into the process creating an integrated approach.  So, we are talking about Mindfulness not as a thing, but a process that we can unpack.  Understanding the mechanics of mindfulness, we can train the mind to relax further into the experience and – before we begin intellectual imputation of our ideas – begin to open to WHATEVER information comes back up to the mind.

 

OPEN

Therefore contact is precise and definite in order to know what is its we’re looking at. But the mind remains open enough to receive accurate information. Thus, rather than holding to the information which skews our understanding, we are holding the MIND steady and opening, so we can receive the information accurately. IF ARE AFFECTING ANYTHING, WE ARE AFFECTING OURSELVES in order the hold to the object, without affecting the information flow.

It is like the “Prime Directive” in Star Wars.  We are contacting the exo-planet wiht all means of awareness, but have the directive to gain information without affecting the experiment.

Sakyong Mipham refers to “resting the mind on an object”. It is not invading the object, or appropriating the object, but simply contacting the object definitely, but gently. Touching the object in the present. Touching now, you might say. And then instead of clamping on it, opening to it and training the mind to rest there in nonaggressive contact.

 

RECEIVE

This aspect of the mechanics of the mindful process is akin to allowing information from an outpost to come back to command intact, with minimal compromise or corruption of its integrity. The more aggression employed, the more resistance we create, and the less true our reading of the situation. In this case the object of inquiry does indeed affect the outcome of the experiment. In fact, I believe the purity of an observation is directly proportional to the amount of force applied. The greater the force, the more compromised the assessment. So, relaxing into precision is the means to gaining the best possible reading.

This has profound ramifications in our everyday life. The more open we are, the easier it is for someone to open to us. The more we can keep a steady, open and relaxed entry to a conversation, the more the other is willing to tell you it version of the truth.

However, should we become triggered by the information and, driven by inner impulses, try to find an answer, a solution, or a reaction, we clamp down on the process, and compromise the flow of information. As we search for meaning, we will proportionately begin to understand less about the experience. The more we try and interpret or react to the information, the less we will actually understand it.  In our political world, violent means of interrogation are only meant to intimidate. They act as retribution. But they are crude and limited effectiveness do not gain real information. Real information comes from deep listening.  There has been much said about the steps of training to the mind to listen to others. But, those steps can be employed in listening to ourselves.

 

RELEASE

The process of opening doesn’t end on contact. Nor does it end with receiving the information. Opening up is a way of life. It takes ongoing effort. The effort then is self-assertive. That is, rather than trying to change life, which keeps us from understanding life, at all, the effort is employed to training ourselves to rest in the moment. However, moments lead to moments. Life in the present is moving. Now is a river, more than a destination. So, release is the word I like, as though we were allowing ourselves to renter the stream of experience.

Releasing thoughts is a nice way to energetically explain a non-aggressive approach to working with CLINGING to thoughts. This implies that thoughts are NOT the problem, but that clinging to them keeps us from seeing the larger context with which the thoughts arise. In time, if we allow thinking without clinging to thoughts we can begin to understand the process. In other words, we eschew the what in order to understand the why.

Releasing beliefs is a way of opening our life to experience

 

TOUCHING NOW

T’ai Chi.

 

Posted on by joseph mauricio

Last Night with Monkey Man

2014-11-06 18.24.35Huxley is under the bed, dying. After weeks of thinking one more thing will turn things around, this rugged, angry, difficult and – in the right place and time – extraordinarily loving being is calling it quits. We don’t know what this is, or why its happening.  Diagnoses, like signposts, provided temporary direction. Culled from chapters in a textbook, links off the internet and the stories of mean-well friends, they have been the soup of our days. But, nothing finally to know. And because of this, we kept trying different meds, foods, applications. Finally, I employed a rinsed out dropper full of kitty formula that he hated as a final indignity. No, he said, growling.  I thought the growling was dying. I sat up ready to say good bye. But, then he rose and limped to the other side of the room from me, and lay down. No, he said, panting. I’ll go on my own now. Thank you.

He’s under the bed now, dying. People called him devil cat. Bruiser was the bully of the litter.  Bigger and more forceful than the others, he was the first picked by the new couple, my girlfriend and her ex, nearly ten years ago.  Due to circumstances, he was pulled from the womb too soon. Once back in the apartment, he was introduced to the resident cat – and presumed surrogate mom – Jules.  No mother at all, Julesy proceeded to beat, growl and intimidate him daily. Huxley walked carefully around her but, still a bruiser, he cowed to no one else. He’d take food off your plate, sleep on your side of the bed, or bite your leg if you passed without saying hello. And, he wouldn’t bite and run. He’d bite and stare you down. Swat at your leg, or herd you into a corner by his food bowl standing there as if to say ‘treats or die.’ This was a real Baltimore cat, like from The Wire season one.  And, like any cat-banger, he’d roam the hood, dodging cars, running from dogs and beating rivals. He’d yowl at the door, and come in torn and triumphant, lying exhausted at his water bowl.

Huxley loved the young couple with possessive fierceness. He’d crawl onto their chests and stare into their eyes purring. The young husband began calling him his monkey.  And, as he grew into a handsome and athletic orange tabby lion, he became their “monkey man.”

After the divorce, Huxley stayed with the house and the wife. I started coming around not long later, and it took time for him to warm to me.  He’d jump up in bed with us, stare me down, then walk onto Jennifer’s stomach and settle in, paws on her breasts. He’d look into her eyes with a fearless love and admiration.  He was her baby and her knight. If I was lying beside them, he’d throw me a look of possessive superiority, bleat at me, and turn back to his girl, his love, his lady. His purr in these cases was so mighty you could hear it across the room.  And, if I turned to them, he’d turn back with that cat seat grin and bleat a warning to back off.

Far from being put off by this, it made me love him all the more. We were much alike.

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Huxley is dying under the bed, as I write. I’m giving him space to do what he needs. To take his exit his way, on his terms. But, he’ll be sent off tomorrow by an angel of death who makes house calls. I hate this idea. I hate that he’s there helpless and scared, angry one last time, and that because people don’t want to see him suffer, he’ll have to leave on their terms, not his. People are, after all, the boss.  They’ve done so well with that.  Children of God, under whose scrutiny their stewardship has let creation fall into disuse and disgrace. The Huxley’s are expendable. They are a feel good commodity for a world built on convenience. If it were up to the doctors, he’d be dead already. But, no. He fights and I fight for his right to fight until all fight is gone.

Huxley is lying in the dark, close to the end, I guess. Alex, the ex, has come to pay respects. Huxley didn’t move from the shadows beneath the bed, but they touched hands, paw to finger, as Alex cried. I hear him from the other room. I’m typing to give them space together, and he’s crying with the girl he used to love, and the monkey man who created so much havoc in their lives. They had dreams then, but now there is only this. Tomorrow he’ll be ashes and they’ll each get an urn.

Huxley is dying under the bed and my heart is torn in more places than I understand. Buddhists will say that all life ends and begins and ends and begins. But, he’s such a cool guy. My hero. My buddy. In the endless wheel of suffering, some connections feel unique.

Huxley comes bounding out from the bed and into the office. I look up startled form my computer. For a second it seems its all a dream. He’s fine? Bounding with an energy I hadn’t seen in days. And then he falls again. Rises, stumbles and falls again. I go to him and he growls. Then I realize, he’s come looking for Alex who had just left. Although, he never moved from the bed, save his extended paw, while Alex was there, it was like him to rouse the energy and bound out after. It was his style upon re-meeting to act nonchalant at first, but then then warm up with excitement. Only, he missed him.  Alex was gone, leaving the house tearful and broken only moments before. Huxley lay defeated, his head in his paws, inconsolable, the life being pulled from him into the earth.

There’s no way he can understand this. There’s no way for me to explain it, as I don’t understand it myself. The only explanation is that we failed him, and that I, in particular, have turned on him. We get him to drink some water, and offer him some soupy food. He rejects that and stumbles back under the bed. Jules comes and gladly finishes the food. She doesn’t have the tortuous searing gilt I carry. She’s like, ‘oh, well, gotta eat.’

Huxley’s back in his shadowed redoubt. I’m back at the computer. Jens praying with lighted candles. We’re trying to create a world easy for him to leave. He’s still too tired and broken to stay, but with too much fight and anger to let go. I know how this goes. He’ll suffer all night because I’m holding out for rights he probably doesn’t want. Then an angel of death who makes house calls will come to take him in her van. Then there’ll be two urns with ashes. And a lot of space without him.

But tonight, I feel like I’ve let him down. That I didn’t provide in a way I might have. That after replacing his dad, I never became the dad he needed.  I’ll never be a dad. But, he was one of my charges. He loved stronger, with more courage and more faith, than any person I’ve ever known. This is why humans love animals, and why we, perhaps, romanticize their power. Animals love with an intensity – and integrity – humans can only aspire to. These friends, many of whom live in neglect and suffering, are here to teach us, above all, how to be ourselves.

Huxley and I bonded when I moved in and began fixing the place and mowing the lawn. He hated the sound and commotion, but loved the effort. And, I think the boyness of caring for physical things. Once, when the lawn was done, I sat on the porch surveying the straight edges, and he came to sit beside, sniffing the wind like a great lion sphinx. He’d look over at me. Like most orange tabby’s I’ve known, he was smart and communicative. He got me that afternoon, and I got him. We sat like two bros for a bit. After that, he became my pal. He had this incredible fierceness, but also dependence.  I felt like I owed it t0 him, to protect him, so that angry life could settle into something contented and safe.

But, you can’t save what you can’t hold. And, I was always heading someplace else. One foot out of the bed. Like my dad. Someplace else, and never here. Where was I going that I could ever find a moment that perfect? That cat, this great lion, that all our friends were frightened of, but who would sit on my chest – yes, finally – and when called would look right at me with enormous eyes of hope and faith. Yes, of course I’ll protect you little man. I’ll keep you whole and safe and sane.

Only, I didn’t.

We couldn’t keep the house. So, we moved into a smaller, darker place with no access for him outside. It fit the needs practically, but I fretted that he’d hate it. So, I held up accepting the place because I wanted us to find a place with a yard for him. But yards cost money, and money takes commitment and commitment takes faith in yourself. You can’t commit to what you don’t believe you deserve. But I wanted a yard for him, and so I held up the process then like I’m holding up the execution now. Because I carry the guilt. Because I am the white knight. Because I am stubborn and think I know best but I am nonetheless tarnished by lack of faith, lack of funds, lack of belief in the quest. I live to serve, but I’ve let the windmill win every time.

Huxley actually growled at me and went back under the bed. Maybe to die. Or maybe to lie in dark anger at how impotent his passion has been rendered by a virus, a poison, a disease we can’t even name. All we know is I can’t save him. I know it. And he knows it.

He knows it. His daddy moved out. And, I was unable to keep his home. Only months after moving from the hood he ruled, Huxley lies dying in a place he never wanted to be. And, I will carry this. Carry this. And carry this.

Tomorrow the doctor will come. And Monkey will be taken from the bed and wrestling, growling and hating, die without the peace I had hoped for him. And I will carry this.

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CODA; MORNING

He’s alive in the hall. But, not moving. After along night of suffering, and stillness he was exhausted and all but dead. Jen goes to him, but he groans. So, she sits waking up to his pain on the floor beside him.  The doctor will call soon, come and finish what I now know, should have been already done. He need not have endured this, but for my own stubbornness.  So, we wait, as we have been waiting, in this jaundiced purgatory for the end.

Huxley lay in the hallway with Jen beside him. He wasn’t moving. Then, at one point, he woke, turned and reached out to her, extending a paw looked up at her, paw extended with that look of devotion, faith and love he had always given her. He was her knight, protector and child. It was so inspiring to see that. Absolute devotion. How could this direct contact to the heart come so profoundly, suddenly and with no explanation because of this troubled and wonderful being? But, this is what animals are here to show, isn’t it? How to love without complication. How to anger, lust and worry as we need to, without apology. In short, they teach us how to be ourselves.

The doctor came. She was a young Orthodox Jew, with headscarf, blankets and a bag.  She knelt beside him, as he lay now motionless. After giving instructions, and receiving payment, she administered anesthesia. After a few minutes she administered the second, and final, needle.

We lost our cat Huxley this morning. He was brave, faithful and a holy terror.  There is no only silence and a very large space. Good bye Monkey Man. Alex sends his love. I wrote you this piece and Jen wrote you a song.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

YES, and . . .

WAKING UP TO POSSIBILITY.

Meditation Master Chsunriseogyam Trungpa would frequently begin talks by saying “Good Morning,” regardless of the time of day, or night. It was not about time. It was about the idea of a fresh start, or clean slate. It was about saying YES to our morning in any state of mind.  In the Buddhist Lineage of Shambhala, “the rising sun of the great east” is a central metaphor for waking up.  Its not necessarily directionally east, but the idea of contacting the sun in all the freshness of its new ascent.  

We can do this at any juncture of our lives, in the gaps and breaks and places that open to empty space. For in the empty spaces we find platforms for a new beginning. Empty space sets the sacred stage of creative impulse.

The midday sun is grand, and the setting sun sad and beautiful, but the waking sun has yet to determine itself. Open to possibility, it is the fresh start on a spontaneous journey into our day. When we practice allegiance to waking, we are employing Warrior Principle. The pledge of the warrior is to open to life, seeing each moment as another opportunity to rise to its challenges and rewards. The warrior has the bravery to sit up, wake up and choose to open up to life in each moment.  

Conversely, we can choose to abdicate our seat of warriorship, closing our hearts to the pain that accompanies growth. In so doing, we fall into somnambulent patterns of indolence, slinking  from our bed each morning already ensconced in stories of defeat.

Think about it.

What you think determines your day. And, each day determines your life. At the least, thinking ourselves into tragic patterns and toxic psychologies is clouding the possibilities.  We’re protecting ourselves from our life by using stories we don’t even like. Its similar to when we can’t sleep and click mindlessly on bait at the bottom of the computer screen.  We actually have no interest in any of this, yet there is a compulsion to not sleep, not work, not live, and not choose to rest in ourselves as we surf this strange hypnogogic wave of a half-life. We drift over Brad and Angie, find out who’s gaining weight, who looked better then, who’s mad at whom now, eight steps to looking younger, why dermatologists hate her and one weird trick that is driving doctor’s crazy. All the while we’re adding more junk to our mind and more clouds to the inherently clear skies of our base operating system.

But like the first dawn, our base system IS inherently pure. There is a space in the mind free of doubt, confusion and turmoil. We can access that space in every moment. But, in order to do so, we can train the mind to rest in the present with meditation practice. That open space is accessed through the application of mindfulness. GENTLE mindfulness.

THE GENTLE PRECISION OF MINDFULNESS

Mindfulness has many applications. Generally, speaking it is the part of the mind that holds to an object. For instance, when we look at something of interest, mindfulness holds it in our short term memory long enough to know what is.  If we hold the mind a bit longer we’ll begin to know what it means.  If we instigate an inquisitiveness to the process, the mind can open to it and even rest there in order to synchronize with the object. In mindfulness meditation we endeavor to rest the mind on an object suitable to quieting and opening the mind. We rest the mind on the object, and beginning to glean information, we rest further, until we achieve a temporary union with the object. So, while we may begin by holding the object, in meditation we gradually let go into the experience until we become one with the object.

Interestingly, this is the same process as grasping or clinging that seem to have negative effects on overall understanding. You see, if we grasp the object, we only see what it means to ‘me’.  Meditation   assumes a certain quietude of mind.  If we are triggered emotionally and unaware of the feelings inside, we can have a physical reaction to the object of our inquiry.  We actually grasp the object – or more accurately, grasp the IDEA of the object – and either thrust it away, cling to it, or struggle against it. In any case, we become desynchronized from the flow of the moment and less inclined to see the object accurately, or understand the moment.  When we grasp and cling, we throw the mind off its natural flow and this creates an inner tension. When we grasp further, we actually fixate and lose any objectivity. The tension is no longer just psychological at this point, but unleashed into the environment, creates friction in our life. Fixation does no service to either you or the object of inquiry. In order to correct that, we often eschew the object. We leave the investigation because it has created a compulsion and fixation and drift away in distraction.

Thus, we play the game of fix and drift. We fix to things too tightly and as the tension in our body, mind and life reaches a critical pressure we repel from them into distraction.  In this way, we work too hard to not work hard enough.  Influenced by this strategy, our life supports these vicious mental cul de sacs.

The practice of meditation allows us to relax the process and unwind the ever tightening reasonings of the mind. The work of a meditator is to simply hold the mind on an object without the extremes of fixation, or distraction. But, should we employ gentleness and receptivity to the process, we are opening to the object, rather than holding to it.  We drift off, but there is no where to go. So the mind comes back, again and again until it settles into its body, sense and feelings.  When we are relaxed in body, mind and spirit, we can actually rest the mind in place. This is so much more effective than an assertive application of mindfulness, which militaristically holds the mind in place and lies dangerously close to the aggression of clinging and fixation.

In most traditions, a neutral object is selected specifically to diminish potential psychological investment and its attendant grasping and fixation. Like many, I use the breath as the object of meditation, as it is reliably neutral, boring and mundane.  Ironically, our breath is one of the most intimate, amazing and important functions in our life.  While simple breathing may seem boring to a mind conditioned to keep us off balance by searching for and acquisitioning objects it finds provoking, deep attention to the breath ultimately frees the natural flow of the mind.

In order to find this deep synchronicity, the mind must settle.  The body is a perfect tool for this. The FELT connection to the body connects us to the earth. As we FEEL our way in to a somatic experience of the breathing, we calm the frightened animal mind and are able to rest into our body, and through the breath, into a direct experience of the present.

AWAKENING NATURAL MIND

Meditation with the breath simultaneously bores the clinging mind into letting go as it simultaneously awakens the natural mind simply resting in its present experience. But, as our conditioned mind is prone to grasping and distraction, awakening runs counter to our conditioning. Each time we forget, become startled or otherwise interrupt the practice there is a subtle panic that urges us back into thinking, and desynchronization. To many, meditation practice is the arduous retraining of the mind to pay attention without distraction or its needy twin, fixation. Its like going to school. This is why many of us have resistance to the practice and yearn to skip out for a cigarette, imagine our lunch tray, or fantasize about of the cute person at the next desk.

But, when we relax the process entirely and simply learn to gently rest the mind on the object.  But, to rest AND wake up which is to say rest and open. We rest the mind in order to open the mind and see. At this stage, we stop looking and begin to see, we hear rather than listen and feel more than touch. We are training the mind toward a passive RECEPTIVENESS. We are not invading space, occupying space or containing space, but rather allowing ourselves to open into space.

In this way, we are learning to contact possibility devoid of preconceptions. Rather than map out the possible, and follow maps we’ve repeatedly followed into the same cul de sacs in the past, we can simply rest, open and see. Or, you might say, rest, open and receive. And, then instead of clinging to the information, we can train the mind learn to release into the experience.

Rest. Open. Receive. Release.

 

THE EMPTY SPACE OF CREATION

So, if we turn our mind to its inherent purity and, looking too hard, try and grasp at it, we lose the point entirely. Instead, we might open gently to the space in our mind and simply see without expectation, words, judgements or concerns. We are training the mind away from its addiction to form and beginning to become comfortable in open space.

This takes some effort, as the traverse through open space is a bit unsettling to the more defensive parts of our mind. The defensive nature will clamp the process closed halt the process.  Therefore it is important not to trigger ourselves as we enter into the sacred space of nowness. Thus we move gently without expectation, out of our mind and into our experience. Its like a game of operation. remember that one?

The idea is to move slowly – receptively – without triggering our reptilian defenses. Paying attention. So, rather than investigation, we are more inquisitive and open. There is some inherent risk here, however, as we are opening to possibility and not prejudicing that experience with what is familiar or safe.

In order for the mind to fashion a new pattern, or just create a new synaptic connection, it has to move through the open space of the mind. In this open space of creativity, there are no reference points. Nothing that leads back to YOU or ME. There is no you or me. It seems, well, empty. Openness IS emptiness. It is experience devoid of reference point, framework, or content – at least until that content happens. It takes a great deal of the aforementioned stability to enter this space undisturbed. But, if we can do this, we open into a pure space of potential, where we can spontaneously respond to our world without conditioned programing.  Rather than scripting our experience, we are co-creating.

 

YES AND… AWAKE!

Among other things, I am trained as an improvisational actor. One of my current aspirations is to work with actors and creative artists who yearn to experience the taffy pull of pristine awakening into the creative moment.  I am particularly interested in the confluence of improvisation and meditation, where the conjoining experience is the spontaneous expression of the present. This is the essence of creativity. Like the birth of the universe. Pure creative improvisation. First there is nothing and from that, everything possible occurs.

In improv, if you fail to pay attention the scene breaks down. Conversely, if you try and script the experience the scene can become lifeless. So there is an implicit connection to heaven and earth. We have enough structure to stabilize our experience, and enough possibility to allow it to go anywhere. The key lies in the oft quoted maxim “YES, AND….”  We clear the space of the detritus of past experience. Then we release the narrowed vision of expectation and open into the moment, as it is. We wipe the sacrificial ground clean, sacrifice intention and then open into the natural flow of the moment. We learn to partner with whatever circumstances are naturally taking place.  If someone says, “Good morning, Doctor”, as you enter the stage, the scene will fail as soon as you say “I’m not the doctor.” However, if you say “Yes! Good morning, nurse” then you’ve fully accepted the offering AND created a step towards the next sequence.  An audience feels this is natural and flows according to some “plan”. But that plan is no plan, but simply employing the idea that if we open to our moment without trying to control it, we can step through the curtains and come into deep synchronicity with the present.

In his Dharma Art lectures, Chogyam Trungpa, Rinpoche  called the empty space which precedes a creative impulse, square one. It was a space of purity devoid of preconception, akin to the Peter Brook’s evocation of the “Empty Space” on the black box stage.   Both are akin to the original space of theater as a primordial human sacrificial art. Sacrificing the ego, and its ambitions, in order to gently rest in the present and be of service to the moment. The idea is that when we clear out all preconceptions, we create a space of potential and possibility that allows an open and spontaneous interplay with reality.

Yes, and …

In this way, each moment can be an opportunity to tune into the receptive nature of the mind, and open in to our experience, authentically. We can simply BE and just ALLOW reality to partner with us, to co-create our experience.

Morning is a metaphor we use in meditation training to conjure the purity of our essential natural mind. But we can wake up to a new morning at any point in our day. And we can wake up to a new day, at any point in our lives. In fact, we can do so in EVERY point in our lives.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

Crying To the Sky

A Grace Stronger Than Hate

11215152_10153302971246140_3496759016855973036_nNine people lay in final silent prayer on the floor of the church that had been a place of solace, safety and strength to their families for over a century. The victims, those who died, and those left to suffer for them, prayed as the gunman – just a boy, really – reloaded as many as 5 times methodically acting out his own suffering. With an eerie steadiness he shot and shot again. Finally, he left a woman unharmed instructing her to tell the world of his actions, and his hatred.

And we watched this boy in the strange hair, waving his pistol – a gift from his father – parading in night ranger gear emblazoned with white supremacist logos, and the rebel flag. His hatred buried deep within strangely half sketched ideologies and a belief system as old as the ground on which he stood. And the ubiquitous flag of rebellion in nearly every photo. The flag that flew in defiant full mast even as the nation’s flag was lowered to half. A flag. An ideology half baked, half formed. A symbol of something for that frightened child, who wrapped himself in cloaks of hate, who became bigger than his pain and, in the mania of self-proclamation, falsely witnessed and falsely accused.

The pain of his abuse, relayed in vengeance to unprepared and unsuspecting victims, set off waves of anger and violence in its turn. I was beside myself, and even now, days later, have to edit and rewrite notes of invective as I try to find words of reason. Anger at that flag, anger at the shooter, and anger at our still divided country and its tenacious denial of cruelty, anger at a God who seemingly answered with compliant silence. Anger at the futility of prayer.

Anger is an understandable feeling, but not a platform for understanding. Yet, how can we understand something this insane? How to find meaning in absurd acts of violence? Anger can lead me to the threshold, but only inquisitiveness and interest can lead me through to understanding.

Prayer is futile when it is the incessant blathering of self-confirmation. But, it can be a powerful tool in opening out hearts to an experience greater than our ability to comprehend. Instead of relying on crude scenarios of good vs evil, we can have a conversation with God, the cosmos, our higher power, whomever or whatever exists to allow us the space to disengage from the harmful and access the possible. Prayer is meaningless when we reiterate what we’ve known. But, essential when we don’t know.

Regardless of the god one prays to, the act of simply opening to a deeper understanding brings us closer to our truth. As we move farther away from the truths we are expected to hold, communion with the unknowing brings us closer to how we feel, which is our experience of the truth.  In the Buddhist tradition, we think less of a specific God and more in terms of the personal responsibility we all have to bring goodness into the world. Prayer in a non-theistic tradition is crying to the sky itself, opening to the unknown and having the strength to align our intentions toward goodness, clarity and understanding.

Pain, anguish and longing are powerful motivators. They can so easily drive us into darkness. The anguish in our guts can forge toxic philosophies that keep us locked in patterns of hated. However, we can choose to halt the process, and allow the energy of our broken hearts to open us. In this way, we can use the power of our suffering to touch the goodness inherent in the universe. The goodness that understands the long view. The goodness that recognizes decency in others and speaks to their higher purpose.  When word came that the parishioners of the church, families and friends of the victims were praying for forgiveness, I was stunned. These wounded, angry and brokenhearted people were choosing to align themselves with a power greater than hate. Through their tears, they gained an authority over the violence and spoke for heaven itself.

I am a small man, easily carried to extremes. Greater people knelt in prayer and forgiveness. Greater people opened their hearts in prayer, and torn apart in misery, cried to the sky for the end of suffering that begets suffering and ignorance that spawns only darkness. To them prayer is not futile. It is all there is. When taking arms against arms only breeds war, and the hatred in our own hearts casts darkness on our senses and reason, there is nothing to do, but raise to the sky and open our hearts in aspiration.

Hate breeds hate. The wheel of anger turns from victim to perpetrator to victim to perpetrator, and the only way of stopping this lineage of evil is to stop the lineage of evil. Just that. Stop. To choose grace. To choose to forgiveness and to, in all irrational outrageous courageousness, choose love. Love in the face of anger. Understanding in the face of ignorance. Grace in the face of hatred.

By channeling our anger, hurt and pain to the possibility of openness we align ourselves with the wisdom of the universe, and its inherent compassion and goodness. In this way, we speak to the long game, to the very evolution of humanity from the vicious survival modes of our upbringing, to the thriving and grace of a future based on respect for ourselves and for all of life. Ironically, the survival games, now outmoded, will serve to hasten our extinction. The adaptation required for our race – the HUMAN race of many colors and faiths –  to survive, is to move beyond survival, and learn to thrive.  For our own survival, we’d do well to join our fellows in prayer and open to the possibility of peace and understanding in the world.

So, rather than doing what we always do and inadvertently or intentionally propagating cycles of abuse, we can turn from known, rigid concepts, half investigated ideas, unrepentant flags and statements of hate.  And, in the silence of opening, we can turn broken hearted to the sky. We can choose grace over hate.

 

 

Posted on by joseph mauricio

Love in Every Teardrop – Celebrating the Strong Force of the Universe

Animals-Mother-LoveMy mother was a singer in church, around the house and, after her customary half glass of wine, at parties. Her father was a preacher, and with fingers crippled on his right hand, nonetheless learned to play piano without learning to read music. Music was the most important thing in their house, after God and the bond of love that created and held them. My mother wore Mary Janes and stood pigeon toed in pictures on sidewalks in Bayonne. She dreamed of broadway, and knew all the songs. She married a wild boy from across the bay who soon left to fight for freedom, and found it, repeatedly. I was the first son, and the first grandson and the first cousin within kissing distance of anyone. It was just me and mom a lot of the time, and she’d sing to me – which I loved.  But, then, as the spirit of Sondheim moved her, would burst into song in broad public. And I hated that. I was an old guy for a kid. And, mom lived in her own musical.

She was very pretty and men would always try and talk with her. She would blush and brush her shoes together, knock things over, and make Fannie Brice look composed. She was married, she’d say. I’d be the guy who took her home. And sometimes, she’d cry, and sometimes she’d scream and curse. And sometimes she’d want to give up. But, she never let me go, and never turned me away.

Her dreams of being a singer had to go on hold, I suppose.  An old little boy is still a little boy who needed a mother.  She gave up everything, for me and never questioned it.

When dad came home, I didn’t know him. He got a job that had him traveling a lot of the time and so we got into a rhythm. He’d drop in and rule the roost, then leave again we’d go back to our musical. Dad turned out to be a decent man as he settled into his life. But, it was his life. And, he moved us from place to place following his dream. My mother had three kids, and I was the little man, I guess. I would dress up like a dad in a smoking jacket. I was always dressing up. I held theatrical performances with my brother and sister forced to play menial parts. I’d be Captain Hook. Mom loved to play Maria. My brother and sister would clap their hands and jump around. We’d all do the Jets song, from West Side.

But, there was never enough money.  My mom would have to work, and so would pawn us off to her mom and dad during the week. We’d have to sing God songs then, which were not nearly as fun as Bye Bye Birdie. Then my mom got a job working for a broadway critic named Irving Hoffman in Manhattan. And, I was old enough to go in with her sometimes. Irving loved me. Well, looking back, he may have loved mom a bit more than me, but he always treated me to candy and comics and a good story.  He was very funny and he was so New York. I was in love wit the city. I met Soupy Sales, and my mom twisted Irving’s arm to get me a picture to autograph. Soupy was a sour dude, but my mom shamed him into giving the autograph. She was a tiger when she wanted to be. And she was my champion, always. She got Irving to twist more arms and got me on Romper Room. I was a star, and she was my manager. We were both in twisted arm heaven.

But, then my dad moved us out of the sate this time. And she left what was left of her dreams to follow his. And she always had to work help support us. When they finally broke up, she had to become a live in maid, as she had no where to go. Then I left college and become her roommate for a while. BUt, it wasn’t long before she was lending me money. She always gave everything to her kids. And she never resented it. She lived to care for others. And, she loved more truthfully and deeply than anyone I ever knew.

Her love held us together, and many many times, held me together. It still does. She’s in her 80’s and still supporting her kids on $11 an hour. I got $200 for my birthday. I asked my sister where she got it from. She just shrugs. Maybe she gambles on the side. She’s always got something for me.  And, if she didn’t? She’d still have that all out no holds barred great love. The love of the universe. The strong force that holds all life together, and keeps us from drifting apart into waves and particles.  We lived in so many places. I was embarrassed by many of them, but never felt unloved or unwanted. But, she would also cry. Her life was lonely.  Sometimes, when I was a kid, I’d catch her crying and come up and hug her.  And I knew there were times when it felt impossible to her. But she never faltered. She never fell. And her love kept her together, even as it helped keep us together.

The strong force: love. The love born of tears. The love born of pain. Even as happiness, drunkenness and frivolity keep us shunned of our suffering, so love actually grows from our suffering.  In this way, we become strong. And as all beings suffer, we become bonded with our planet through our suffering.

Pain is the essence of communication. It is the absolute currency of existence. We have  to be present in our life in order to take a place in the world. In order to be present, we have to be willing to embrace pain, heartache and sacrifice. But, its the great love of the universe, the love of a mother, the love of a family, the love of someone who has taken the outrageous step to steward the life of another, that is the force that binds us to to ourselves and all humanity. The Buddhists have a belief that all beings have, at one time, been our mother. And sometimes those bonds were beautiful and sometimes they were harsh. But, throughout time, our connection to our family of beings, lies in our ability to see beyond the particular insults we experience in our life, in order to care for those who have cared for us. The great practice of equanimity – seeing all beings as equal, and equally, worthy of love – is an outrageous statement. That we will care for the world, as a mother cares for its child is the ultimate vow.

And, aside from being patently absurd, this sacrifice is a great empowerment. The willingness to see others as our own, and to care for them is key to our own liberation. If we can learn to turn our minds from addiction to ourselves toward the benefit of others, our world would be complete.  Tapping into that great bonding force, we would want for nothing, except the comfort and safety of all beings. And, in that way, we would have a connection to the greatest power in the universe.

Once, I asked my mother if she resented giving up her dreams for me. She looked sad for a moment, as she sometimes did. Then she said that, along with my brother and sister, I  was the most important thing in her life.  It sounds like an obvious thing to say, almost a cliche, but it was the truth. And like all truth, it rang in the air and cleared everything else away. She sat there, already growing older, pigeon toed in her silly slippers, tears flowing from her beautiful eyes.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

Bringing Meditation to Life

b87fd812-85fe-4567-872a-4a064786e01eIt was a long day preparing for the Sakyong’s arrival. Shambhala Mountain Center was abuzz with activity. The driveway was chalked with the auspicious symbols, and strewn with flower petals. The kitchen was readying the welcome feast. However, it would be false to say that all was joyful in anticipation. And while most were joyful much of the time, the truth is, all of us were crazy some of the time.  The coming of the teacher brings a heightened sense of panic and neurosis. Everyone’s dark side was on display at some point in time.  It seemed as though the environment was being purified for his arrival. And, it wasn’t just the emotions. The facilities would break down. In the days leading up to a “visit” anything that could go wrong would. It was as though Murphy himself were coming, whoever Murphy was.

Only, it wasn’t Murphy. It was the Guru. Our teacher. The man who had given up the dream of an ordinary life in Colorado in order to take over his father’s business. A business far from ordinary. A business that would demand a king-sized ransom, a twenty-four hour a day commitment, for the rest of his life. When the announcement came that he had taken the role of leader of the community he would later call Shambhala, I was sitting in a full tent at the end of a large program at Shambhala Mountain Center. The room of 300 people stood and cheered. I understand there was cheering across the international community. It was like a new day. Like the dawn of Vajrasattva. And, over the years we watched as that man who had been raised and trained as a leader all his life, realize that his father’s wishes for him. There would be no prom, no college, no fraternity, no regular job with weekends to spend with the dog at the lake. Instead, there would be further intensive study with the greatest teachers in his lineage, more protocol meetings with tutors, endless meetings with boards of trustees, more tours to raise awareness for the community and the great work of turning his father’s vision into a reality. A life of service.  A life spent living meditation.

He came nearly every year to visit the centers. And, each visit, in all of the centers, the chaos rose in preparation, and then fell with his presence. That spring the chaos of our world was coming to a head in the hours before his arrival. I had time to go home and change, but no time to shower. When I came into my trailer it was a wreck. I had not had time to clean, or straighten. It didn’t seem right. I took the time and tore through the trailer. It seemed, even though he’d never come to visit my place, that to honor him, I had to honor myself.  I threw out old magazines and covered the bed. Then I almost threw out a lily that was given me as a gift months before. Well into spring, it was only a twig that stubbornly had refused to bloom. It looked ridiculous, but I left it. I grabbed my jacket and tie and ran to the welcome line to await his arrival.

Despite the heightening of our craziness, a barrage of miscues and the slight drizzle that has chosen the very moment to begin, the whole day seemed to open when he arrived. All of us just relaxed. It was as though all of our neurosis had simply evaporated. He was with us, and at that moment the world seemed right. Heaven, earth and humanity fell into alignment.

When I went back to my trailer that night, I was elated and exhausted.  I sat on my couch to take off my boots, but was too tired to undo the laces. I looked up and the lily had bloomed. A flood of warmth came over me. This is what it means to live in a kingdom of sanity. In the mythical Kingdom of Shambhala, it was said that all beings were regarded with respect and dignity. If we recognize and actualize the goodness in others, we activate their great human potential. In this way, we are seeing the best of them and allowing their best to be supported. And, when we do that, we see the best in ourselves. I sat with tears in my eyes, stupid in love with that flower and the moment that surrounded us.

I was fortunate enough to be on duty with him a few days later. He stood at the window of his room, looking out, hands clasped behind his back, surveying his world. It seemed perfect, this man, so humble and so wise helping to make sense of the world simply because he showed up. Simply by saying yes. Simply by being present in his life, he made our lives present, vibrant and real. And standing next to him, holding a glass of water on a silver tray, the world seemed just as it was. Perfect.

Then he turned and in all seriousness said, you know, if people are wiling to hire trainers for the body, they should be willing to hire trainers for the mind. We could start a gym for the mind, he had later said. Mental fitness. In his classic meditation manual Turning The Mind into an Ally, he said that people never think to look at the very tool that informs everything about life, the mind. We’ll train our body, obsess over our weight, and change our hair color monthly, but we seldom regard the actual instrument that is assessing, discerning and running our world.  For him it was clear, his mandate was to bring meditation to life and to the lives of others. He envisioned a living, authentic practice that would actually be part of everyone’s daily life. In its way, the simple warrior’s practice of sitting still until the mind quieted, might be the most potent way to bring sanity to the world.

And, over the years, I’ve seen that living meditation in the Sakyong. With no separation between himself, his life and his practice his statement to the world is his presence. Present in his running practice, present in golf, present writing poetry, and giving talks. Present, as I have had the honor to have seen, in his daily life with his children and his family. Presence is gentleness. It is compassion, in that there is no aggression, or the thought of competition.  With no reason to go elsewhere, the bodhisattva warrior is simply awake and available to the world.

As the chaos and cruelty of the world seems to heighten, as it sharpens its defensiveness and does its best to demean, delineate and destroy itself, the waking warrior can make a gentle, but definite, statement by LIVING meditation in every breath. We proclaim sanity each time we return to our body and make ourselves available to the world. Simply sit and train the mind to be present. And in the perfect quiet of each moment, that gentle stillness comes to life.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

The Fires of Baltimore

Baltimore burned last night.

Ravaged neighborhoods long left for dead lie in the shadows of the award winning, highly praised, renovation of the waterfront, the jewel in Baltimore’s charm bracelet. The influx of money, people and life that filled the harbor and its adjacent neighborhoods, had faltered by the time it reached its east and west flanks.

 

As if to safeguard this precious revitalization, a “zero-tolerance policy” toward crime was initiated. In time, these neighborhoods of hope squandered in neglect became little more than internment camps where residents were guarded and intimidated into compliance. The blind eye of justice turned, and allowed black to kill black, as the runoff from the massive influx of heroin from the docks held families enslaved. I‘ve traveled through the neighborhood that erupted in flames last night many times. Once, I saw a police car with flashing lights stopped in the street and I turned the corner where, in plain sight, drugs were being sold only feet away. Police cars, searchlights from police helicopters, the ubiquitous “blue lights” demarking crime zones, sentries like shadows, the gangs and the kids are all common, and commonly intermingle, here. Less seen, but very much present, are the grandmothers. With their Sunday hats and lace, they the Baptist churches they attend and the clergy are the heart of these communities, reminding us that people live here. People love here. And people do their best to live the best lives they can.

 

The message in those churches is of non-violence, community and love. If God is love, then love is our only option. The message given by Dr. King and the leaders of the civil rights movement was of assertive nonviolent engagement. Violence, whether it be the violence of the streets, violence within the home, or violence toward oneself can only destroy. But, love can communicate. Compassion understands and so creates a deeper bond than intimidation. Dr. King famously told his followers, that the bible said to LOVE your enemy. But, it didn’t say you have to LIKE your enemy. So, even with those for whom we have little trust, love is the best means to communicate. If we attack them, he warned, they will win.

 

From a Buddhist perspective, each of us is love itself, and each has an inalienable right to life. Yet, each of us is interconnected to everyone else. So, while we have a personal right, our life affects those around us. We are all in this together. So, when we learn to love ourselves, we learn to love others. And, we can do that, even if we fear them, or are angry. In fact, as love is the basis of empathy and understanding, it is imperative that we love that which we fear.

 

The funeral for Freddy Grey brought city state and federal dignitaries together in a service filled with hurt, love, faith and anger. Rep. Elijah Cummings was quoted as saying “I’ve often said our children are the living messages we send to a future we will never see, but now our children are sending us to a future THEY will never see…. There is something wrong with that picture.” And, the messages became clear. It is time to stop. It is time to regard all life as sacred. It is time to respect that black lives matter, because ALL lives matter.

 

But, for too long, too many black lives didn’t matter enough. The “lets go get some scumbags” mentality of an understaffed, poorly-trained and ill-equipped police force fostered the dehumanization of a populace they were conscripted to protect. Often they did what they could with what they had. An impossible task, they almost had to objectify the populace as the enemy. So, who were the police protecting? Perhaps things have devolved to the point where police are, in fact, only safeguarding wealth. It seems that much of the world has adopted a corporate mentality. Corporations have no inherent conscience. Its up to the people within to add the humanity. The corporate structure itself lacks empathy. Its purpose is to provide for its shareholders. These structures are fiercely powerful, and while they may be very sophisticated in their acquisitional efforts, they are ultimately very crude. They act primarily for their own advancement or protection. They run much of our world and, in so doing, have created a world much like they are: benevolent as it serves them, but protective against danger and largely ignorant of things that don’t further their charter. Many of us stay out of their way, stepping in the shadows between their lumbering legs. We snuggle up to our flat screens and pretend the world out there is someplace else.

 

In this way, entire communities are ignored and locked into combustible environments that inject aggression internally. Held in place by a force that uses the crime inherent to that situation as justification for using whatever means is expedient, the point isn’t to communicate, but to control. Young men, who in another world would be rising up into the prime of their life, walk with eyes down bundling that energy within.

 

Unfortunately for Freddy Grey, he looked up. Unfortunately for Freddy Grey, he made eye contact.

 

So, it seems the seams in the machine broke open last night. The ill-fitting dissonance of the protectors and those they claim to protect, clashed and Baltimore burned. The wounds opened into the streets. And, now the Governor is here like a dad home from business to scold mom for being too lenient with national guard take control of this family. And now we all get a time out. And, there is blame, not the least between the Governor and the mayor, and there are shouts and there are schisms between haves and have nots, between while and black, between social conservatives and the socially conscious.

 

But, so many of us feel that this could be – perhaps MUST to be – the pivot point of change. In the churches there were calls were for “justice, not vengeance”. Vengeance is short sighted and acts to obscure reason, while justice might presage a change that enables communication and understanding. Perhaps this is that point.

 

But, justice is not passive. Justice CANNOT be passive.

 

And while we now wait, will the world slowly turn back to business as usual? The news outlets are describing a death from “mysterious circumstances” while videotapes clearly show a man severely injured, dragged and pushed unsecured into his unpadded steel battering cell. As days pass in this “thorough investigation”, we wait until the shouting dies down, until the mothers stop crying, until the state decides as it did in Ferguson, as it did in Staten Island, as it has done repeatedly in Baltimore, not to prosecute. And, the system decides, as it has many times before, not to change. The national guard will be in place more quickly then. And, good people everywhere will go on believing their lives matter. And others, whose lives matter a little less, will go back to holding eyes to the ground, holding down the rage, until it blows open again.

 

And there’s the rub.

 

Three years ago the ‘Arab Spring’ caught world leaders off-guard. The NSA, with fingers in so many pies, were unaware of the significance of the movements stirring beneath. Will we learn from this? Or instead, will we do business as usual until something blows open things to restore the balance? Until we meet the next Arab Spring in the form of a much closer, and more immediate Black Dawn?

 

I’m sure there are neo-cons planning to further secure our borders. The NRA claiming the need for the populace to arm themselves from the threat. But, the threat here cannot be met with violence. The threat is a lack of empathy. And, while it falls on both sides, it seems like the onus would be in those with the guns to lay down their arms. The onus is on the leaders to lead by understanding. Empathy is what makes us human. Resilience, firepower, intelligence, strength and adaptability have allowed our species to thrive. But without empathy, compassion or understanding we are standing at the top of a junk heap. Compassion is the flower of evolution. Once we understand the other and begin to see their humanity, we proclaim our own. Opening to our world in strength and dignity, and doing the work within, BEFORE we expect others to follow.

 

Compassion need not be weak. The time for weakness is well past. Compassion simply rests on the premise that if God is Love, then love is our only option. From a Buddhist perspective, if we are fundamentally good, and goodness is our birthright, then understanding the goodness of others is the only option. But love can be strong. It can be true. It can go right up into the danger and not flinch. It can hold itself to itself as it is stronger than hate, it is deeper than hurt, it is greater than fear. Compassion is not weakness of giving in, or relenting, or surrendering. It is standing up and proclaiming. It is saying I am alive and I matter. And you are alive and you matter. And together, we can build a work that makes a difference to ALL of us.

And, in order to do that, we have to let go of our Darwinian impulses to take only for ourselves. We have to let go of our pain and fear and be willing to see clearly, without flinching. For, the truth is NO ONE here is without blame. We have all compounded the problem with our ignorance, or greed. So, we al do the work of opening and the work of remaining open through the change. And the change will come. Oh, yes. Its up to us to wake up and guide the process toward the light, to stand with our hearts open and strong in the face of the clampdown, to open to others and learn from their struggle and to return the planet to those who matter. The people.

 

It is a stunningly beautiful day in Baltimore today, the day after the fires. Among the many images in the paper this morning, the most powerful for me was of the Pastors and congregation facing the police after the funeral. After leaving the church, they walked in line toward the police. Then they stopped and knelt in prayer for a moment. It was a gentle and definite assertion that love, contemplation and connection to higher principles are what is important. Yet, we know that. We know that that is what they, and many of us, believe. But, what happened next was amazing. The congregation rose without hesitation, walked up to the police and just stood there face to face. Look into my eyes. I am human. Look more closely and you won’t see the skin, you won’t see the home I live in or which school I send my children. Look closely enough and all you see is me. And we are all the same. We are all frightened, unsure, doubtful and capable of great understanding. We are human. And we matter.

 

This is where compassion begins.

 

 

 

Posted on by joseph mauricio

TRUNGPA

images-4That winter was thick, frozen and bleak.  We spent long nights at the main house huddled around the woodstove, drinking sake and singing Scottish sea shanties.  The students would trade broken-hearted stories of a teacher whose passing, nine months prior, was still fresh in their hearts.  A man of outrageous warmth and brilliance, Trungpa, Rinpoche shot through their lives like a meteor; there without warning, then gone too soon.  Afraid to leave the fire, and brave the cold walk home, we’d sit till the early hours, forestalling the inevitable with deeper incursions into the heart.  When the sake finally transmuted loneliness into aloneness, and only solitude seemed appropriate, we’d wrap up and venture out past still shadowed deer, into the frozen beds of cabins silhouetted against blue-lit moonscape.

There was a picture of him holding a calligraphy brush on my dresser.  I would light a stick of incense and place it before the picture with a perfunctory wish for goodness to descend on the world. That would be followed by a more immediate yearning to meet his mind through his teaching.  Then I would have a drink of what would be ice cold sake in his honor. Cheers!

———–

The first night I dreamt of him he appeared as a mountaineer named Phil Hillary. I came across him on a narrow Himalayan mountain ridge that descended on both sides into steep valleys.  He wore a dark green flannel Trilby hat with a feather in its band and lederhosen suspenders.  The expanse of the Himalayas opened behind him.  An off-panel personage introduced us and said, “He’ll show you the way”.  He tilted his head and looking above horn rimmed glasses, smiled.  His eyes, like the eyes in the pictures I had seen, were dark, empty and seemingly endless.

———-

Joan was curled on her couch on twelfth street.  She let out a groan, looking up from a Village Voice.  I was cooking.  As it was a New York apartment, the stove was about three feet away from the living room. It was April fourth, 1987. “A famous Lama was just cremated in Vermont.  They can’t let the poor guy rest.  They’re complaining that he drank and slept around. What the hell do they want?  Its Buddhism.  They don’t have saints.  They have people.  Why is our culture scared of real people?”  I was intrigued.  I had been reading Dharma Bums and Chuang Tsu and wanted to meet people who dared to be real.  I wanted to travel the world and meet people no one would ever know, or have ever heard of, but lived their lives for themselves without apology.  People who knew that “finding oneself” was a noun, that seekers need not find, and that sitting still, alone on the floor, was a very good way to travel.

Throwing down the magazine, she lit a cigarette.  Dinner’s ready, I reminded her, indicating the smoke.  Ignoring me, she said, “Allen wrote a nice piece on him.  You should read it.” Allen Ginsberg, the de facto poet laureate of a generation, lived on our block.  We used to see him having brunch at Odessa with William Burrows, Iggy Pop or any number of young men looking into his great grey beard for confirmation of their burgeoning talents.  In public, Allen often spoke of his teacher.  In one such story, he mentioned that on retreat he would write lines in his notebook during meditation.  He felt sitting opened him to a new level of writing.   At one point, Trungpa had asked him to put the notebook away.  Who knows what treasures were denied world literature, but letting go of those potentially great lines opened his heart, mind and poetry to something he hadn’t seen before.  That simple sacrifice opened a new level of creativity.

My nighttime day job was cooking at a burger joint in Greenwich Village. They had a club downstairs where I managed comedy evenings a few times a week.  I was lucky to meet many up and coming would be, wanna be, used to be stars, reiterating brilliant jokes on their way to private bowling lanes in Jersey mansions.  Or, Malibu. Or, wherever. In a world where truth is suffering, I yearned for something real.

———

I ended up in the kitchen of a retreat center in Colorado, with the bravest, most open group of people I had ever known. It was a magical time.  A time of sadness and delight. A time of endless sorrow and great joy.  I understood, in time, that sadness and joy were not opposites, but both sides of one point.  Nowness, he called it.  In nowness, we are complete with a full range of present experience–not needing to avoid, grab or define anything.  Nowness is without occupation, other than full participation in the moment.  In this way, these moments connect us to a life beyond the limitations of judgment and speculation. It was maddening to think that a vibrant, awake and present world lay just beyond the glass ceiling of self-importance. I could see it, but not contact it.

So, I dedicated myself to the work of understanding. I learned more about this man who loved authenticity above all.  I read the books that opened my mind like the vast winter sky, inspired me like the endless summer sun and ignited my soul like forest fires that encircled the community each fall.  He was inseparable from the environment.  And, walking on the land at Rocky Mountain Dharma Center, I came in contact with his presence.  He was the mountains, the steams, the sky, of this community that slowly pulled itself together in his wake.  It is said that when a great guru dies, his spirit rises and invites blessings to descend from the sky.  Blessings like sparks from bonfires rising to meet the endless stars as we’d search each other’s shadowed faces until an older student told us stores of the teacher and brought him down to life among us.  More than stories, this was transmitted experience. We were there together with this great, harrowing, exasperating and brilliant man.  They would effortlessly morph into his peculiar speech, which was part Tibetan, Indian and Oxford educated.  His voice was extremely high pitched, filtered through constrained vocal chords due to paralysis from a car accident.  The students would imitate his singing, in that shrieking improbable voice, completely off-key and unabashed.  He had no embarrassment.  So, we learned to have no embarrassment.

He was crippled, overweight, nearsighted, and unafraid. He was open to anyone, anywhere at all times of the day and would flirt with his world openly and without apology. The left half his body was paralyzed when he missed a turn and drove into a joke shop. At that point, he was wearing monk’s robes as a Lama in Scotland, but otherwise living a very secular life. His contemporary monks and colleagues urged him to see this as a wake up call and reconsider his actions. So, he did just that. He removed his robes.

I wanted to be with this man, but his time was gone. I yearned for a teacher. Even as I immersed myself in his mind mandala, all of his teachings, and indeed Tantric teachings in general, bespoke the need for a real living teacher. I had found my teacher, and he was telling me to find a teacher.  A few months later, I met Trungpa’s son, Osel Rangdrol Mukpo, then referred to as the Sawang, or Earth Lord,who had yet to change his name to Sakyong Mipham.  He had a powerful grace, humbleness and presence.  I knew he had the stillness to become a reference for my spinning. I became his student, without hesitation.

———–

I had a dream. I was at a large table in the dining room of a well appointed home. Beyond an arch, the rest of the house sat in darkness from which here was laughter and music and people talking. I couldn’t see them. I just sat there and eventually stood up and wandered toward the arch. A man came in and asked me to sit back down and wait. It seemed I waited for ages. Just sitting there as everyone had fun in the rooms above. Then I turned and Trungpa, Rinpoche was sitting beside me, sans the mountain Trilby. He tilted toward me and looked above his glasses. “This is the transmission”, he said. And his eyes seemed to be endless pools of black, blacker than black and as deep as an ocean. I awoke and lay in darkness in my cabin.

———–

Later that month, I got a call from the Sawang’s personal service, inviting me to cook for him on a month long retreat. I accepted, again without hesitation. Afterwards, I was amazed to find that there was only he, myself and one other guest. I was the primary attendant. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen.

During that time, my mind moved beyond itself, losing its nowness and looking for attainment, satisfaction, solace. I became immersed in the indignity of cleaning, washing, sweeping. I had visions of what time with the guru would be, but it turned out to be time with my own mind instead. And that mind was decidedly unhappy.  Time that might have been with the teacher was blocked by my mind. There is a great cognitive dissonance between what we think a thing will be and what it is. A teacher shows us what is.

I would feel cut off and dejected. Maybe this wasn’t my teacher, after all.  I fell inside myself, just as I had at the comedy club, thinking that truth was someplace else.

So, I had Trungpa’s books to curl up to in my cabin at night.  I was taken by the fact that his surname was a Tibetan lineage name that meant “one who serves”.  I read about him as though he were an action hero: his daring escape from Tibet, his trials coming to America and building a community.  His wife, Diana, had written that he was depressed after leaving the British Isles, because he hadn’t yet created his community. He was meant to teach and to serve.  Yet, even after he found that community and created a great world around him, that sadness remained.  There was still much to teach. There was still the world to serve.

And then I understood.  This was my opportunity to be part of that noble lineage, a lineage of those who served. And, who better to serve than this man, who had dedicated himself to shaping his father’s tremendous vision into a practical reality?

That night he called me into his room before he slept.  We sat talking about Alexander the Great.  He asked me questions, as though I was the teacher.  He wanted to know how people of my social background felt about leaders, kings and loyalty.  I told him we were skeptical.   I went on further about my theories on social needs and structures, gleaned mostly from what other people said.  I wanted to be well-regarded by him, of course. So, I was trying to impress him. At some point, I realized that he was just sitting there, in silence.  I looked up to him. He turned and looked right into me.  His eyes had that endless black depth that seemed to invite passage to the universe. I don’t know if it was a family thing, or a guru thing, but it shut me right up. I sat there and the silence seemed to ring through the room.

Then he smiled and said, “How about a big breakfast of eggs, sausage and greens tomorrow?”  Of course, I said.  And then he nodded in that way of dismissing me for the night.  I bowed deeply and left.

Back in the kitchen, I prepared his table and the things I needed for the morning.  Then, I turned to the shrine, to offer my closing chants for the day.  On the shrine was a picture of his father, looking straight out at me.  Reflexively, I stood at attention.  In that moment, I was connected to nowness, and to the lineage of those who serve.

 

April 4, 2015