Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

"The highest form of human intelligence is to

observe oneself without judgment."

Jiddu Krishnamurti

“The most fundamental aggression to ourselves, the most fundamental harm we can do to ourselves, is to remain ignorant by not having the courage and the respect

 to look at ourselves honestly and gently.”
― Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times

Sometimes a mirror is worth a thousand words.

Although at one point back in the 1970's I actually practiced Mirror Gazing Meditation as a way to explore aspects of my subconscious, these days I don't spend much time in front on a mirror.  

Why bother?  

Being retired now,  I don't have to appear with the proper clothes and haircut at the proper place at the proper time each day. Sporting little hair on the top of my head, a washcloth is usually a good enough brush--and Betsy is generally quite expressive at the points at which I cross the line between un and kempt, periodically coming at my beard and mustache with scissors --  and great zeal. 

These days, it seems that Sitting Practice is my primary mirror. 

Taking the time to gaze steadily and kindly at the flowing river of Mind as it merrily meanders along is increasingly interesting at this stage of the journey.  In fact, with a bow to the Fall Ango practice I observed at Zen Mountain Monastery years ago, I recently upped the ante.  I've committed to going off the grid and observing a Day of Mindfulness each week, as well as Sitting outside to observe the sunset daily when I can this fall.

I didn't leave the Monastery because I don't like to Sit.  Meditation practice is often the most interesting part of my day.

It is also, I think, the most helpful.

As the Practice deepens, I'm grateful to acknowledge that even the more gnarly emotional whirlpools that swirl through my awareness don't seem to rock the boat all that much.  Even the momentary bursts of violent self-hatred and anger that still sometimes emerge are usually just experienced as waves crashing over the rocks.  These days those feelings readily become water over the dam--on and off the zafu.  Just around the bend, the river generally forms a clear, deep pool mirroring the grandeur of the emerging autumn foliage and a brilliant clear blue sky.
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Silence Is Golden!

 “Be still.  Stillness reveals the secrets of eternity. 
When there is silence one finds the anchor of the universe within oneself” 
― Lao Tzu

 "Be still and know that I am God."
― Proverbs 46:10 

There were fifteen of us gathered to Sit Together in Stillness at the Recovery Learning Community's Greenfield Center that night.   

The Silence was Golden.  

As I rang the bell to end our first period of meditation, bowed, and looked around the room, I knew that I wasn't alone.  I could see it in folks' eyes.  

The Presence was palpable.  

As we went around the Circle to compare notes on what we had each experienced during our meditation, the first person exclaimed, wide-eyed, "you could actually hear the silence!" Another added, "the Silence was deafening!" Others nodded.  Everyone knew exactly what they meant.

When we share the Silent Presence, even for a few moments, our Essential Oneness within the embrace of the One Love becomes less theoretical. You can feel it.

I love it when that happens.

The Theory and the Practice

Immersed as we are in a patently materialistic society, a milieu that fosters individualism, greed, speed, fear and frustration, we have been conditioned to experience our world through mental and emotional states that manifest a lot of noise, restless motion -- and a deep sense of separation.  Bombarded with stimulation and stress, our minds habitually filled with incessant chatter, most of us have spent much of our lives being constantly distracted and disconnected from our True Nature.  Disconnected from ourselves, we are disconnected from one another.  A direct experience of what Thich Nhat Hanh terms Interbeing, our fundamental interconnection with one another and the Web of Life, is rarely encountered on a conscious level. 
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Shelter from the Storm

"There is a foundation for our lives, a place in which our life rests. That place is nothing but the present moment, as we see, hear, experience what is. If we do not return to that place, we live our lives out of our heads. We blame others; we complain; we feel sorry for ourselves. All of these symptoms show that we're stuck in our thoughts. We're out of touch with the open space that is always right here.”
― Charlotte Joko Beck, Nothing Special

“Realize deeply that the present moment is all you have. 

Make the NOW the primary focus of your life.”
― Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now
 

A few days ago, I experienced some stormy inner weather as I sat at Greenfield Coffee quaffing my morning brew.

Although "life as usual" for me is always rather unusual, this has been a rather unsettled and, at times unsettling, passage through time and space.  Clouds of restlessness and discontent careened across my inner skies as I sat at the computer screen.

For the past few years, my "normal" life has had me, a 70 year old retiree, facilitating three Mindfulness Circles and doing some other low-key volunteer projects during the week in Greenfield, an old factory town in Western Massachusetts.  Then, on Thursday or Friday each week, I head out of town to spend long weekends in the country east of the Quabbin Reservoir with my Beloved Betsy.

For almost two months, though, this changed dramatically.  A stress fracture to Betsy's ankle prevented her from driving and limited her ability to live her "normal" life.   I was re-incarnated as a "householder", commuting an hour back and forth to her place most days to share the load -- which includes caring for twin five year old grandchildren several days a week, and two dogs, four cats, a two bedroom cottage and extensive flower gardens, 24-7.

As I've kept moving to help out, most of my usual routines, other than sitting with the Mindfulness Circles and MMM have dissolved.  Even my usually rock solid, one hour daily morning meditation, a practice that I had sustained for years, dissolved substantially to be replaced by hours in a car commuting hither and yon.  (I'd grab 20 or 30 minutes when I was lucky.)  Rather than sit with others most weekdays at noon for a half hour with #OMG! (#Occupy Meditation Group!) Peace Presence*, I was lucky to sit one or two days a week.  More often, I was an hour away at that time of day, picking up the twins from pre-school  -- or at the supermarket.  

In the midst of all this activity, my carefully cultivated Napping Practice disintegrated entirely!

Although, for the most part, I was actually enjoying the action, feeling quite vital and useful, as I sat at the computer that day, I was feeling quite stormy and out of sorts.
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Down in the Valley

"The valley spirit never dies.
It is the unknown first mother,
whose gate is the root
from which grew heaven and earth.

It is dimly seen, yet always present.
Draw from it all you wish;
it will never run dry."

-- Tao Te Ching (tr. Waley, 1934)

"When conditions are sufficient things manifest. When conditions are no longer sufficient things withdraw. They wait until the moment is right for them to manifest again."

-- Thich Nhat Hahn, No Death, No Fear

Across the Road from 108 House

Yesterday's drizzle turned into a more substantial rain last night here in the Pioneer Valley.  

I came awake at about 4:30 AM, then rolled over to face the open window.  I then listened as the rain's song wove itself in and out of dreams for a couple of hours.  It was simply luxurious. 

By the time I emerged to shower and Sit, the rain was, once again, a whisper of a drizzle.  A few moments later, as I ambled out to trek across the field in pursuit of a cup of coffee at Atlas Farm Store, that whisper faded into a few puffs of mist wandering silently along the ridge.  Spellbound, I then watched as one, then another, faded from view, disappearing into the arms of the gentle breeze sweeping along the ridge.

Now you see it.  Now you don't. 

That brought to mind the time that Betsy and I sat on the shore of a pond north of here a few years back and watched in amazement as white puffs of clouds emerged from the womb of a clear blue sky.  One by one, flowing from north to south, each took form to stream across the sky for a few moments before again disappearing from view.

Mother Nature couldn't have painted a clearer picture of the Real Deal.  

As Practice develops,  it becomes more and more apparent that we are of the nature of clouds emerging and disappearing in the vast sky of existence.  Watching closely, we see this is happening each and every moment of our lives in the stream of sensations, feelings, and thoughts that play through our awareness.  They emerge and disappear.   

As we take the time and make the effort, we are able to sustain a semblance of calmness and clarity to then embrace the pain and fear that may surface at the cusp of this perception of the ephemeral nature of all phenomenon. Beyond that, we come to sense directly the insubstantial and impermanent nature of our own personal existence.

That, I suppose, doesn't necessarily sound like good news.  And, yet...
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