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, I was curious about everything!  

 

I spent hours and hours observing the weather, stars, clouds, rocks, fossils, trees, bumblebees, ants, frogs, birds, squirrels, whatever.

It all fascinated me.
 

In school, when I wasn't parked in the corner (or the hallway) for not being able to sit still and keep my mouth shut, I loved learning just for the sake of learning.  Although this meant that I had my nose in a book a lot of the time, I also was quite "hands on."  I loved to do natural science.  I explored. I collected. I identified. I classified.  

 

I also loved to explore man-made things.  After a few missteps, I quickly learned to choose my battles wisely.  I promised I would only take apart certain "approved" items to see what made them tick.  Sometimes, I was even able to "fix them" and/or successfully put them back together. 

 

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 things were bigger when I lined up two of the lenses I had removed. Within a half an hour, I had made a simple telescope. That night, I charted the position of the bright star that appeared outside my bedroom window.  The next day my teacher told me that this particular orb was actually the planet Jupiter! He then showed me a drawing of the entire solar system! I went home, an aspiring astronomer.  I gazed at the moon through my telescope, and kept track of Jupiter's change in position each night in my notebook-- until a new project appeared to capture my attention.  

 

Yet, although I was rewarded with acknowledgment and a few gold stars for such things, I soon learned that another arena of curiosity and exploration wasn't going to be welcomed at all.  I had many experiences that brimmed with a sense of mystery and magic.  Yet, these early 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.  In a society supercharged by a capitalist economy laced with white supremacy, and a distorted and limited form of Christianity, the spiritual dimension of life is generally distrusted, feared, or dismissed as superstition.  It was presented as either a scary movie realm of ghosts and demons -- or a "heavenly realm" that can only be experienced after death.  To make matters worse, this heaven was said to be an exclusive, "members only" destination.  It was only available to those who believe in a set of 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, cruelty and suffering.  As a young child, this version of a God who Jesus called a loving father, and the Bible proclaimed was Love itself, made no sense to me.  

 

I'd already glimpsed something much more amazing and affirming.

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Lest Ye Be Like Children

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.   I was astonished, totally absorbed, moment to moment, in the delightful light show that played through my field of vision.  Relaxed, fully present, I experienced a vast, spacious, Presence.  My spirit soared.  It was a “Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know” moment. I had experienced the Sacred.

 

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 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.  It was hellish.  (Later, I would come to understand that it was literally hell itself. )

And life flowed on.

 

I didn't get back to another similarly powerful 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.  I had the eyes to see.  In the silence it spoke to me. I had ears to hear.

 

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 rat race of the previous four years, I was soon struck by the deep silence of the warm moonlit evening.  In the stillness, everything glistened.  Then, at a certain point, the breeze whispered through the leaves of the towering ancient elm tree to my right.

 

As I turned to gaze at a tree that I had passed hundreds of times before, a door opened to a different reality.  I was transfixed.  An ordinary tree became extraordinarily unique and beautiful.  I could feel its Presence.  Then, as I stood there, the entire universe presented itself as infinitely expansive, exquisite, perfect.  My entire field of awareness was imbued with miracle and mystery.  Everything became extraordinary.

 

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

 

Being the Geek, after that experience, I threw myself into the study of mind, consciousness, and spirituality.  An inveterate bookworm, I read everything I could get my hands on.  When I discovered "Lilias, Yoga, and You" on the local PBS station,   I was hooked. 

In those days, yoga studios were few and far between.  So,  In addition to the weekly TV lesson, I relied on Richard Hittleman's Yoga: 28 Day Exercise Plan to develop a regular practice.  A few months later, I even introduced some of the yoga stretches to the middle school gym classes I taught.  (How a radicalized political science major ended up teaching gym is a tale for another time.)  Then, 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.  The instruction was to simply sit still and concentrate on the flame.

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

 

I'm glad I did.  

 

Here and Now

At age 79, I'm still a Geek.  I still read, listen to numerous talks, and  -- most importantly -- I continue to meditate.  For decades I've done so almost daily.  Through Practice, I've scrubbed my doors of perception -- a lot.  It's been very helpful.  Many of 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 more 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 many of us were told, the spiritual dimension of life is visible to the naked eye.  

 

Heaven is right here in our midst. 

 

These days, I Simply Sit Still by myself for a fifty minutes most mornings. Then I meditate and compare notes on life and practice 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 meditation retreat once or twice a year. (I plan to do this during the Winter Solstice.)

You may think that 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 a relatively 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 that I can "cleanse the doors of perception" with mindfulness.  I can 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.  Presence returns. The miracle is engaged.

 

It just takes Practice.  

PS, There are times, of course, that the underlying emotional energy is extremely powerful.  It can be hell to deal with.  Thankfully, I have come to experience the Reality of the saying, "This, too, shall pass." It may take more time and skillful effort ( See Tonglen: Taking It to Heart) to regain my sense that "all is miracle."