Visible to the Naked Eye

“If the doors of perception were cleansed 

every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. 

For man has closed himself up, 

till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.”
― William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell 

“Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child 

 -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle.”

 
― Thich Nhat Hanh

 

If the truth be told, I guess I've always been a freakin' Geek.  

 

As a youngster,  was curious about everything!  I wanted to know what was really going on -- and what to do about it. 

 

I was interested in most everything. The weather, stars, clouds, rocks, fossils, trees, and flowers fascinated me.  I spent hours observing bees, frogs, birds, squirrels, and other critters.  When I wasn't getting in trouble or being bored in elementary school, I loved learning just for the sake of learning. 

Although I had my nose in a book a lot, I also quite active.  I loved to do science.  I explored. I collected. I identified. I classified.  I took things apart to see how they worked.  

 

One morning, I found a broken box camera in the alley.  I immediately took it home and disassembled it.  I soon noticed that everything appeared to be upside down when I peered through one of the lenses.  WTF? Moments later, I discovered the world righted itself and was magnified when I lined up two of the lenses I had removed. Within a half an hour, I had made a simple telescope from the busted camera.  That night, I charted the position of the bright star that appeared outside my bedroom window.  With my science teacher's assistance, I learned that this star was actually the planet Jupiter.  I kept track of its change of position each night in my notebook-- until a new project appeared and captured my attention.  

 

Yet, although I was rewarded with stars and good grades and acknowledgment (when I wasn't sitting the corner or the hallway in school for not being able to sit still and keep my mouth shut), another arena of curiosity and exploration wasn't welcomed at all.  My earliest perceptions of the spiritual dimension of life were consistently ignored, avoided -- or squashed.  The adults in my life didn't seem to have a clue.

That should come as no surprise.  

 

Like most of you who may be reading this, I grew up in a culture immersed for centuries in a civilization steeped in scientific materialism.  Supercharged by a capitalist economy laced with white supremacy and a distorted and limited form of Christianity, the spiritual dimension of life was dismissed as superstition -- or  relegated to a "heaven" could only be experienced after death.  Even worse, this heaven was presented as  a "members only" destination, available only to those who believed certain specific things about the life and death of Jesus of Nazareth.  If, like the vast majority of human beings throughout the history of our species, a person believed differently, they were promised an eternity of extreme, torturous, suffering.  As a young child, this version of a God who was identified as Love never made sense to me.  (I think Jesus would probably still be turning over in his grave at such nonsense  -- if only he had stayed there.)

Lest Ye Be Like Children

 

At age 79, I'm still a Geek.  I continue to explore the spiritual dimension of life.  I still read, listen to numerous talks, and most importantly, I continue to meditate.  For the past 35 years I've done so almost daily.  So, I've scrubbed my doors of perception -- a lot.  It's been very helpful.  The things that used to tie me up in knots and drive me crazy, just don't anymore.

 

Why?

 

At this stage of the journey, I get a taste of the miraculous nature of life most every day.  I've found that when I remember to come into the present moment and engage my life with an open heart and a clear mind, I am aware of a dimension of being that permeates everything.  In being fully present, I experience a Presence.  In what spiritual teacher Eckhart Tolle calls the Eternal Now, Reality asserts itself -- and it glows.  Contrary to what some folks may believe, Heaven is right here in our midst. 

 

Although I didn't have a way to conceptualize or express it, I sensed this reality as a kid.  (You probably did, too. )

(READ MORE)

Heaven and Hell

 

One Saturday morning when I was in second grade, I went into a rapturous state of wonder as I sat quietly in my bedroom watching dust motes dance through the brilliant shaft of sunlight that had eluded the lowered shades and played through my field of vision.  I was astonished, totally absorbed, moment to moment, in the delightful light show of mini-shooting stars and strobe lights appearing and disappearing from view.  Relaxed, fully present, I experienced a vast, spacious, Presence.  My spirit soared.  It was, as John Keat's noted,  a “Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know” experience.  

 

Then, my mom came through the door, took one look at me, and yelled "Don't stare!" 

 

Zap! 

 

Crestfallen, my body stiffened, my heart contracted.  I descended.  I immediately fell from the grandeur and amazement of a direct perception of the sacred beauty of existence into the body and mind of an eight year old child experiencing confusion, fear and shame.  In a chaotic childhood full of abuse and abandonment, experiences like this continued to tie me up in knots.  A layer of armor continued to form over my tender and gentle heart.  This hardened heart became the foundation of the wounded ego structure that created my view of myself and the world. 

Although I had a number of experiences that propelled me forward on a spiritual path, I didn't get back to another similar glimpse of the Sacred until I was a senior in college in the spring of 1969.  That night, in my second experience with marijuana,  I actually saw a tree for the first time since I was a kid.  After toking up with my wife, I was drawn outdoors to take a solitary walk.  Soon, I once again entered the realm of the Sacred.

 

As I walked slowly across the hilltop campus of the small, liberal arts college that I had raced across numerous times in the helter-skelter of tbe previous four years, I was struck by the deep silence of the warm moonlit evening.  Everything glistened.  Then, at a certain point, the breeze whispered through the leaves of a towering ancient elm tree, "Stop. "

 

I did.  

 

As I turned to gaze at an elm that I had passed hundreds of times, I was transfixed.  This simple, ordinary tree became extraordinary.  I was awestruck by its Presence.  Then, the next moment, everything became extraordinary. The entire universe presented itself as infinitely expansive, exquisite, perfect.  Everything was imbued with a profound sense of miracle and mystery.  Sitting here with the memory, I can feel that same Presence.  In this moment, there is no distinct boundary between time and the timeless.  ( If this is a drug flashback, I'll take it. LOL)

 

And, life being life, at a certain point, I moved on.

 

It would be a couple of years before I would again experience such Presence.  Being the Geek, after that experience, I'd thrown myself into the study of mind, consciousness, and spirituality. As I graduated and moved on into my first teaching job, I discovered "Lilias, Yoga, and You" on the local PBS station.  I was immediately drawn to practice Hatha Yoga. 

 

In those days, yoga studios were few and far between.  So, I had to hit the books.  I relied on Richard Hittleman's Yoga: 28 Day Exercise Plan to develop a practice.  A few months later, I even introduced some of the yoga stretches to the middle school gym classes I taught.  (How a political science major ended up teaching gym is a tale for another time.)  A few months later, I bought a copy of  Richard Hittleman's Guide to Yoga Meditation and poured through it. Then, one evening when my wife had gone to bed, I lit a candle and sat down for my first formal meditation.

 

I don't know how long I sat still concentrating on the flame, but at a certain point: Zap!  A qualitative shift in consciousness occurred. Suddenly there was there was no separation between inner and outer. I could feel my awareness expand into boundless space.  The candle flame and my sensory consciousness flickered and danced as One.    (No, I wasn't stoned at the time.)  This experience convinced me that I should probably begin a serious meditation practice. 

 

I'm glad I did. 

 

These days, I Sit Still by myself for a fifty minute hour most mornings.  Then I meditate a bit more with a small group of kindred spirits on Zoom each weekday morning.  

 

To deepen Practice, I also participate in a day long retreat once a month at a local yoga studio, and usually do a three day personal fasting retreat at least once or twice a year.   I plan to do this during the Winter Solstice this year. 

You may think all this Sitting is a sign of an "advanced" practice.  I don't think so. I just really need it.  

 

My own background includes a particularly chaotic and traumatic childhood.  (I almost Aced the ACE trauma test)  At times, I still wrestle with the wounds of childhood and my deeply-engrained, unhelpful reactions to those experiences.  At age 79, I am still healing. Yet, I'm grateful to say that I can now embrace most days with an open heart and clear mind much of the time.

 

For sure, at times I still can collapse into old patterns.  I can lose my way and be a real jerk.  But, even then, these days I often have enough presence of mind to notice the constriction of consciousness pretty quickly.  Sometimes just the noticing is enough to bring me more fully into the present moment.  There, a spacious clarity and compassion spontaneously emerge.  

 

If not, I often remember to "cleanse the doors of perception" through Practice.  I pause and take a few conscious breaths, bring my attention to my body, and come to my senses.  Letting go of the narrative that had been capturing my attention, I focus on what I am seeing and hearing and expand my attention to an awareness of the space that surrounds me.  At that point, an even greater sense of spaciousness often emerges.  My body relaxes, my heart opens, and my mind clears.  The miracle is engaged.

 

It just takes Practice.  

PS, There are times, of course, that the underlying emotional energy is quite powerful.   In that case it may take more time and effort to regain my sense that "all is miracle."  At times, I will be able to just "walk it off,' transmuting the energy into movement and allowing the sights and sounds of nature to soothe my soul.  At other times I rely on "tonglen on the spot" a form of Tonglen Practice I learned from the late JoAnna Macy.   (I wrote about this ancient Tibetan practice here.)