Pain or discomfort can make me vigilant; comfort contributes to being vulnerable to more suffering. In my case, I realize this from dealing with my physical issues as I get older. What has become evident is that in order for me to feel healthy and not exacerbate my growing physical ailments, I need to eat less more often, drink less coffee and more water, and exercise in moderation. Now these are not new insights for me. I realized this some time ago but what happens is - I forget. When I forget, I under-estimate and over-indulge.
Comfort quietly ushers in the return to activities that offer fleeting enjoyment but always lead to my ignorance; a glitch in mindfulness, a dark spot on the lense of my awareness, where I lose sight of the fact that my feeling of comfort is slowly transforming into discomfort. Why? Because I lose sight of the fact that I am creating this discomfort, and my choices take on the familiar pattern of a revolving door.
In this process, I forget that when I’m feeling good it’s a result of choices I’ve made. First, I begin to adjust my intake in order to cleanse my system. I get back to the point where the discomfort diminishes and I feel good. But too quickly I forget my involvement in this process, and the cycle begins again.
In my case, when I am physically feeling good I forget that in order to continue to feel this way, I need to pay attention to how and what I eat. If not, I overindulge. I then feel less comfort and tend to increase the amount I ate when I was feeling good, in a futile attempt to get the good feeling back. This causes me to move further into the realm of discomfort until at some point, usually when I've crossed a line deep into my experience of discomfort, I realize that I need to alter this new reactionary pattern. A pattern of behavior that I have once again established in an attempt to create, or sustain, my comfort. It works the same for food, coffee intake, exercise, or anything I enjoy.
In other words, I forget that discomfort reminds me to be vigilant about my contributions to the eternal ebb and flow of all the dichotomies of this human existence. A mistake that I make is that I interpret pain, discomfort, or suffering as something that comes from outside myself and impinges on what I have determined to be “my life.” The truth however, is that all of it is my life; be it pain or comfort, happiness or dis-ease. It’s not just my life, but life-as-it-is. And, like it or not, I am involved; I am responsible for the way it is for me.
I realize today that this can be understood within the parameters of my practice. Ignorance is part of the nature of mind. We search for comfort through the dualistic process of human consciousness and intellectualization. The opposite of comfort is discomfort or suffering and it stands to reason that we should strive for what gives us comfort and avoid pain or suffering. One aspect of this way of being in the world however, is a blindness that emerges when we find a level of comfort. We might say we become ignorant; we ignore the obvious fact that there is a dependent-arising with all things and that we are a co-conspirator in the arising of our pain, as well as happiness or comfort.
Whether our involvement is in the form of choices we make along the way, or the posture we adopt to the present situation as it “presents” itself to us in this moment - we are involved. Nothing arises in a vacuum. Dependent-Arising is errevocably embedded in our existence. As human beings we may be “great lord of all things” as Alexander Pope has so eloquently pointed out, yet we are just as surely, prey to all that is human.
November 12, 2009
November 6, 2009
Which: self or real-Self
We often use the same word in different situations with our intended meanings being quite different. Recently, during a re-reading of Sekkei Harada’s book “The Essence of Zen,” I came to a new understanding – my understanding - of the difference in meaning between the terms “self” and “real-Self.”
One meaning for the term Dharma is the world, life, “as-it -is.” This is the essence of Zen, the Dharma, the Way - the present as-it-is. When I recognize that the term Dharma represents Oneness, or life as-it-is before my dualistic mind processes and categorizes Oneness into sensate experience, I am able to imagine what initially appears to be two opposing ideas and recognize them as one idea from two perspectives; self and real-Self.
But let me begin a bit earlier in my thought process. In expressing proof of our existence, the human organism perceives/experiences the sense of a self (ego) and proclaims that since this “I” can see, and hear, and feel, and think - an “I” must therefore actually exist. We accept this as an argument for there being a permanent entity: the self. In this way our biological mechanism of perception and cognition supports the notion of a separate entity which I will call the “ego-self.” This ego-self, however, can also be simply expressed as the result and the sum of the functions of the aggregate of the mind/body processes and it is always changing and therefore impermanent.
All things come into existence through conditions and they disappear because of conditions. Results unavoidably issue forth from causes. All conditions are contingent upon the presence, or absence, of causes. Being attached to a preference for one thing over another is a condition for the arising of seeking, which is a condition for the arising of clinging, which in turn is the condition for Suffering. Just as desire is a condition for the arising of disappointment, desire was contingent upon a prior labeling of something as necessary or pleasurable, which arose out of the condition of sentience. This is one description of Dharma or Dependent-Arising; the way it is for us as human beings. And the idea of a “self” is the result of the conditions that have arisen out of our sensate body/mind functions, also referred to as skandhas, or aggregates of attachment.
So, by the term ego-self, I am referring the process whereby each person relates to the world from the standpoint of “I” and “other.” When the ego-self intervenes it inserts opinions, interpretations, judgments, and preferences. It requires that I see “this” by comparison to “that,” or egoistically for those who enjoy language.
We cannot avoid the apprehension of our life dualistically. And in this dualistic perspective there’s a deeply imbedded sense of “me,” which is juxtaposed to, and separate from, “you” and “other.” The present moment as-it-is, denotes a being-in-the-world without a separation into me and other. No judgments; no better than, or worse than. My meditation practice is about dropping the ego-self and immersing my attention wholeheartedly in the work of this moment. It’s about making an effort to let go of attachment to preferences, fully realizing the dualistic aspect of my being-in-the-world, while guiding my actions by a recognition and acceptance of the present moment, just as-it-is.
So if you are like me, and you are finally able to wrap your mind around it all up to this point, you will likely experience some consternation when you read about something called the real-Self (or sometimes referred to as the true-Self). It seemed to fly in the face of what I had struggled so hard to understand. What follows is how I have escaped the grasp of my confusion.
Our “real-Self” is the Dharma; the essence of all things constantly cycling through eternal change. In this case each passing moment – time, Bob, Nadine, Ken, Jimmy - is the arising of new causes and conditions. However, the key or operative idea in this is change. We are not composed of a concrete entity called “me” going through a process of change. We are change. And our real-Self, is that eternal changing; the Dharma. In other words, we are change as it represents itself to our senses at any given instant….and then we change. Our sensory apparatus cannot process this Dharma except within certain parameters of sensation. We are not constructed in such a way as to be able to process the true quality - is-ness - of each moment. Sentience is our prison, and our sentence is a life-time.
Life is the continual flux or flow of arising conditions (or causes depending upon what term you are most comfortable with). Dharma is the term I'm using to represent this flow of life, including the human organism, as it is unfolding. Therefore, I offer the term Dharma as a representation of the real-Self as opposed to the ego-self that I colloquially identify as “me.”
The “real-Self” is our unfolding. It’s not a discreet entity that has longevity amid an otherwise changing world. Change is the essence all things; the Dharma, the Way. Oneness is an undifferentiated whole-ness out of which our mind identifies limited parameters of sensory experience. And the real-Self is that Oneness which cannot be named or perceived because it is empty of the division, or separation, into a dichotomy of opposites.
What we refer to as discreet entities (named things) are actually contingencies or change as the arising of causes or conditions (aggregates of causes) acting upon other conditions. It is not possible for any single thing to exist on its own, or by itself alone. In our world of material forms, if I think something is true or real, it means I have added a characteristic (reality or truth) to the object or thing perceived. On the other hand, perception offers only “is-ness.” So there remains a dichotomous gap between that thing as-it-is, and that to which the name refers i.e., the quality of real or true, beautiful or ugly. My mind deconstructs the wholeness –oneness as-it-is - into parts or discreet dualistic units; the beautiful or true juxtaposed with the ugly or false. In our material world of form, in order for there to be a reality or a truth, there must be a non-reality or untruth; a dualistic “other.” An unavoidable fact for the human mind in a world of ten-thousand things.
On the other hand, the life of one who has realized one’s true-Self, is one in which dualities are noted but not clung to as ultimate truth. In other words, this manner of being in the world is to dwell peacefully in this moment…Now just as-it-is.
Practically speaking, whether one does something for another, or for oneself, the life of Zen is to forget all that comes before and after, and just do each deed for the purpose of the deed itself: here, now. This is to be your “real-Self.”
One meaning for the term Dharma is the world, life, “as-it -is.” This is the essence of Zen, the Dharma, the Way - the present as-it-is. When I recognize that the term Dharma represents Oneness, or life as-it-is before my dualistic mind processes and categorizes Oneness into sensate experience, I am able to imagine what initially appears to be two opposing ideas and recognize them as one idea from two perspectives; self and real-Self.
But let me begin a bit earlier in my thought process. In expressing proof of our existence, the human organism perceives/experiences the sense of a self (ego) and proclaims that since this “I” can see, and hear, and feel, and think - an “I” must therefore actually exist. We accept this as an argument for there being a permanent entity: the self. In this way our biological mechanism of perception and cognition supports the notion of a separate entity which I will call the “ego-self.” This ego-self, however, can also be simply expressed as the result and the sum of the functions of the aggregate of the mind/body processes and it is always changing and therefore impermanent.
All things come into existence through conditions and they disappear because of conditions. Results unavoidably issue forth from causes. All conditions are contingent upon the presence, or absence, of causes. Being attached to a preference for one thing over another is a condition for the arising of seeking, which is a condition for the arising of clinging, which in turn is the condition for Suffering. Just as desire is a condition for the arising of disappointment, desire was contingent upon a prior labeling of something as necessary or pleasurable, which arose out of the condition of sentience. This is one description of Dharma or Dependent-Arising; the way it is for us as human beings. And the idea of a “self” is the result of the conditions that have arisen out of our sensate body/mind functions, also referred to as skandhas, or aggregates of attachment.
So, by the term ego-self, I am referring the process whereby each person relates to the world from the standpoint of “I” and “other.” When the ego-self intervenes it inserts opinions, interpretations, judgments, and preferences. It requires that I see “this” by comparison to “that,” or egoistically for those who enjoy language.
We cannot avoid the apprehension of our life dualistically. And in this dualistic perspective there’s a deeply imbedded sense of “me,” which is juxtaposed to, and separate from, “you” and “other.” The present moment as-it-is, denotes a being-in-the-world without a separation into me and other. No judgments; no better than, or worse than. My meditation practice is about dropping the ego-self and immersing my attention wholeheartedly in the work of this moment. It’s about making an effort to let go of attachment to preferences, fully realizing the dualistic aspect of my being-in-the-world, while guiding my actions by a recognition and acceptance of the present moment, just as-it-is.
So if you are like me, and you are finally able to wrap your mind around it all up to this point, you will likely experience some consternation when you read about something called the real-Self (or sometimes referred to as the true-Self). It seemed to fly in the face of what I had struggled so hard to understand. What follows is how I have escaped the grasp of my confusion.
Our “real-Self” is the Dharma; the essence of all things constantly cycling through eternal change. In this case each passing moment – time, Bob, Nadine, Ken, Jimmy - is the arising of new causes and conditions. However, the key or operative idea in this is change. We are not composed of a concrete entity called “me” going through a process of change. We are change. And our real-Self, is that eternal changing; the Dharma. In other words, we are change as it represents itself to our senses at any given instant….and then we change. Our sensory apparatus cannot process this Dharma except within certain parameters of sensation. We are not constructed in such a way as to be able to process the true quality - is-ness - of each moment. Sentience is our prison, and our sentence is a life-time.
Life is the continual flux or flow of arising conditions (or causes depending upon what term you are most comfortable with). Dharma is the term I'm using to represent this flow of life, including the human organism, as it is unfolding. Therefore, I offer the term Dharma as a representation of the real-Self as opposed to the ego-self that I colloquially identify as “me.”
The “real-Self” is our unfolding. It’s not a discreet entity that has longevity amid an otherwise changing world. Change is the essence all things; the Dharma, the Way. Oneness is an undifferentiated whole-ness out of which our mind identifies limited parameters of sensory experience. And the real-Self is that Oneness which cannot be named or perceived because it is empty of the division, or separation, into a dichotomy of opposites.
What we refer to as discreet entities (named things) are actually contingencies or change as the arising of causes or conditions (aggregates of causes) acting upon other conditions. It is not possible for any single thing to exist on its own, or by itself alone. In our world of material forms, if I think something is true or real, it means I have added a characteristic (reality or truth) to the object or thing perceived. On the other hand, perception offers only “is-ness.” So there remains a dichotomous gap between that thing as-it-is, and that to which the name refers i.e., the quality of real or true, beautiful or ugly. My mind deconstructs the wholeness –oneness as-it-is - into parts or discreet dualistic units; the beautiful or true juxtaposed with the ugly or false. In our material world of form, in order for there to be a reality or a truth, there must be a non-reality or untruth; a dualistic “other.” An unavoidable fact for the human mind in a world of ten-thousand things.
On the other hand, the life of one who has realized one’s true-Self, is one in which dualities are noted but not clung to as ultimate truth. In other words, this manner of being in the world is to dwell peacefully in this moment…Now just as-it-is.
Practically speaking, whether one does something for another, or for oneself, the life of Zen is to forget all that comes before and after, and just do each deed for the purpose of the deed itself: here, now. This is to be your “real-Self.”
November 5, 2009
A Word about Consciousness
There is an entire field of philosophical inquiry into the nature of human consciousness, but I am defining it here as the capacity to think abstractly, to be able to conceptualize a past, present, and future, and to be aware that I am aware. As far as we know, this is unique to the human species, and to be able to imagine ourselves in yesterday and project ourselves into the future is at once, a gift and a curse. It gives us power over all other sentient beings and at the same time, it makes us more vulnerable to an illusion. One such illusion is when we see something ugly and we think “ugly” is real; when we see something beautiful, and we think “beautiful” is real. The things that we encounter through our senses we consider to be real. The illusion is that we believe that “what we think” is necessarily true outside the parameters of our own consciousness.
I can, for example, tell myself that I will achieve enlightenment in record time, however unlikely that may be. And for no other reason than that I thought it, I can believe it to be a fact. Now it may happen. I may actually achieve enlightenment quickly by some standard, but the thought itself is just a thought, ephemeral as a rainbow. There is nothing inherently wrong with having this, or any other thought. However, it is valuable to remember that outside my mind, a thought has the reality of a dream.
You’re probably nodding your head in agreement. It’s common sense when we lay it all out and look at it. Yet we routinely base our behavior on the mistaken belief that what we think is somehow real. Through some mysterious alchemy the thought becomes more than just chemical charges jumping from synapse to synapse (an obvious oversimplification of the brain’s biochemistry). We begin to pile one metamorphosed idea upon another and before long we’ve even forgotten the origin of what has become a living, breathing prejudice.
If I tell myself that all Muslim’s are terrorists I will first begin see evidence of this in otherwise neutral phenomena, and then I will begin to react to this “evidence,” and finally, act as if the original thought were true in the world outside my chamber door. Or, if through the process of a lengthy mental scenario - aided perhaps by alcohol, drugs, or just an over indulgence in my own storytelling - I decide that my neighbor is plotting to poison my dog, I am liable to treat this unsuspecting, and probably innocent friend, as though he is actually a suspect in my imaginary crime. I will believe my story, not because I’m bad or insane, but because one aspect of human consciousness is that we are wired to always interpret our own view of things as the truth.
Always? Well, unless of course I am mindful of this process, and through a constant awareness, remain in touch with the fact that the subject matter of my thinking is under the control of a myriad of biological, chemical, and psychological factors. In short, it’s not objective.
Take the time to realize this now. Look closely at what you think, the beliefs you hold. How many of them are based on evidence you have experienced? How many are the result of listening to someone else, reading what another has to say on a subject, or blindly accepting what your teachers have said or written? How many are based on fears, prejudices, anger, and ego or pride? I’m not suggesting that everything we think is false; I’m saying we should not take it for granted that a thought represents a truth.
The process of human consciousness is a miraculous tool. We are able to plan for a future, learn from the past, and do either one while choosing new colors for the children’s bedroom. It is however a sword with two edges. It allows us to create, imagine, and project anything, but what we think is self-referential and this is the edge that cuts us. A wise man once said, “Never believe what you think.”
One purpose for meditation is to break through these illusions and our affliction of an attachment to self; to rest in the equanimity of the vast, open nature of our true-Self. The Buddha is reported to have said just before he died, “All component things must grow old and be dissolved again. Seek you for that which is permanent, and work out your salvation with diligence."
I can, for example, tell myself that I will achieve enlightenment in record time, however unlikely that may be. And for no other reason than that I thought it, I can believe it to be a fact. Now it may happen. I may actually achieve enlightenment quickly by some standard, but the thought itself is just a thought, ephemeral as a rainbow. There is nothing inherently wrong with having this, or any other thought. However, it is valuable to remember that outside my mind, a thought has the reality of a dream.
You’re probably nodding your head in agreement. It’s common sense when we lay it all out and look at it. Yet we routinely base our behavior on the mistaken belief that what we think is somehow real. Through some mysterious alchemy the thought becomes more than just chemical charges jumping from synapse to synapse (an obvious oversimplification of the brain’s biochemistry). We begin to pile one metamorphosed idea upon another and before long we’ve even forgotten the origin of what has become a living, breathing prejudice.
If I tell myself that all Muslim’s are terrorists I will first begin see evidence of this in otherwise neutral phenomena, and then I will begin to react to this “evidence,” and finally, act as if the original thought were true in the world outside my chamber door. Or, if through the process of a lengthy mental scenario - aided perhaps by alcohol, drugs, or just an over indulgence in my own storytelling - I decide that my neighbor is plotting to poison my dog, I am liable to treat this unsuspecting, and probably innocent friend, as though he is actually a suspect in my imaginary crime. I will believe my story, not because I’m bad or insane, but because one aspect of human consciousness is that we are wired to always interpret our own view of things as the truth.
Always? Well, unless of course I am mindful of this process, and through a constant awareness, remain in touch with the fact that the subject matter of my thinking is under the control of a myriad of biological, chemical, and psychological factors. In short, it’s not objective.
Take the time to realize this now. Look closely at what you think, the beliefs you hold. How many of them are based on evidence you have experienced? How many are the result of listening to someone else, reading what another has to say on a subject, or blindly accepting what your teachers have said or written? How many are based on fears, prejudices, anger, and ego or pride? I’m not suggesting that everything we think is false; I’m saying we should not take it for granted that a thought represents a truth.
The process of human consciousness is a miraculous tool. We are able to plan for a future, learn from the past, and do either one while choosing new colors for the children’s bedroom. It is however a sword with two edges. It allows us to create, imagine, and project anything, but what we think is self-referential and this is the edge that cuts us. A wise man once said, “Never believe what you think.”
One purpose for meditation is to break through these illusions and our affliction of an attachment to self; to rest in the equanimity of the vast, open nature of our true-Self. The Buddha is reported to have said just before he died, “All component things must grow old and be dissolved again. Seek you for that which is permanent, and work out your salvation with diligence."
Beginners Mind
Zen is full of paradoxical statements and other unlikely verbal bedfellows, many of which we find ourselves sitting with for long periods of time in utter confusion. In my case it would sometimes even be without enough understanding to be confused. Zen Master Hakuin spoke of a Great Ball of Doubt, Suzuki referred to Beginners Mind, and Philip Kapleau in his book “The Three Pillars of Zen,” simply referred to it as Doubt. I read the word Doubt many times and thinking I understood the authors use and meaning, it simply didn’t make any sense. How could doubting something increase your knowledge of it? Since I had learned by this point in my journey that my being confused was more about me than the author, I just let it go and continued to study and sit and listen.
Several years later, having forgotten that I didn’t understand the doubting that others found instrumental to gaining enlightenment, I was listening to a Dharma talk twelve-hundred miles from home and “whack”, there it was. The speaker referenced doubting with the word "not-knowing." Whoa! It was as if the words kaleidoscopically came together and I almost cried. Out of nowhere I understood. I could see where I had for so long been completely blind - ignorant. It was obvious and quite simple. Doubt is not-knowing and furthermore, having an “open mind.”
In her book, “Nothing Special: Living Zen,” Charlotte Joko Beck has written, “When nothing is special, everything can be.” The process of making something special (naming or judging) separates us from all aspects of that which is named which are thereby excluded. If we persist in this process we find ourselves hopelessly entrenched in the proverbial closed mind; closed to anything new and unable to be present to the moment as it is. Not-knowing and not making something special are two ways of saying the same thing.
In the vernacular of Zen an Empty mind is the same as Beginner’s mind, Doubt, and Not-knowing. They all refer to having space within one’s view of the world to be open to really examining everything as though it were new and unfamiliar. An empty mind has much room for learning, whereas a mind that is full will have great difficulty absorbing anything that does not fit into the perspective to which it is attached. In other words all these terms - empty, beginner’s, not-knowing, and doubting - are referencing a particular posture of mind. It is a posture, or mental perspective, which allows for the introduction of something old or new, without preconceived opinions; without attachment to opinions.
In the instance I have described about myself, my mind had a single definition for the word doubt and I was unable to adjust to a new one. I was unable to conceptualize a meaning different from the one I already had, and therefore my first reaction was to judge the new and confusing idea as wrong. That’s what we all do to one degree or another. The mind of a child, on the other hand, processes everything for the first time without prejudice. Not having prior experiences that pigeon-hole ideas, words, and feelings, she is learning for the first time what things mean. However once we learn something, our natural tendency is to resist having it questioned, confused, or reversed. Therefore, as we move further and further away from the malleable mind of childhood, we become increasingly entrenched in the illusion that what we know is the real and the only truth, and we are less able to learn.
If my mind is not empty, in the sense of non-attachment - if it is filled with opinions or prejudices (recognized or otherwise) - I can do little but reinforce what I already think and this validation will be misinterpreted as proof of a truth beyond my personal vision. A mind that is empty on the other hand, is without preconceived definitions, explanations, and ideas about what is being observed. It is to see a thing “as it is”, not how I want it to be, or have been conditioned to see it.
So how do we take an adult mind that is programmed to remain steadfast to its own perspective and make it empty, cause it to doubt, and render it not-knowing? Each of us has the ability to choose to be present to the world in this way and it is through meditation that we strengthen the muscles necessary to achieve this seemingly Herculean feat. We can begin by recognizing that posture is everything.
Several years later, having forgotten that I didn’t understand the doubting that others found instrumental to gaining enlightenment, I was listening to a Dharma talk twelve-hundred miles from home and “whack”, there it was. The speaker referenced doubting with the word "not-knowing." Whoa! It was as if the words kaleidoscopically came together and I almost cried. Out of nowhere I understood. I could see where I had for so long been completely blind - ignorant. It was obvious and quite simple. Doubt is not-knowing and furthermore, having an “open mind.”
In her book, “Nothing Special: Living Zen,” Charlotte Joko Beck has written, “When nothing is special, everything can be.” The process of making something special (naming or judging) separates us from all aspects of that which is named which are thereby excluded. If we persist in this process we find ourselves hopelessly entrenched in the proverbial closed mind; closed to anything new and unable to be present to the moment as it is. Not-knowing and not making something special are two ways of saying the same thing.
In the vernacular of Zen an Empty mind is the same as Beginner’s mind, Doubt, and Not-knowing. They all refer to having space within one’s view of the world to be open to really examining everything as though it were new and unfamiliar. An empty mind has much room for learning, whereas a mind that is full will have great difficulty absorbing anything that does not fit into the perspective to which it is attached. In other words all these terms - empty, beginner’s, not-knowing, and doubting - are referencing a particular posture of mind. It is a posture, or mental perspective, which allows for the introduction of something old or new, without preconceived opinions; without attachment to opinions.
In the instance I have described about myself, my mind had a single definition for the word doubt and I was unable to adjust to a new one. I was unable to conceptualize a meaning different from the one I already had, and therefore my first reaction was to judge the new and confusing idea as wrong. That’s what we all do to one degree or another. The mind of a child, on the other hand, processes everything for the first time without prejudice. Not having prior experiences that pigeon-hole ideas, words, and feelings, she is learning for the first time what things mean. However once we learn something, our natural tendency is to resist having it questioned, confused, or reversed. Therefore, as we move further and further away from the malleable mind of childhood, we become increasingly entrenched in the illusion that what we know is the real and the only truth, and we are less able to learn.
If my mind is not empty, in the sense of non-attachment - if it is filled with opinions or prejudices (recognized or otherwise) - I can do little but reinforce what I already think and this validation will be misinterpreted as proof of a truth beyond my personal vision. A mind that is empty on the other hand, is without preconceived definitions, explanations, and ideas about what is being observed. It is to see a thing “as it is”, not how I want it to be, or have been conditioned to see it.
So how do we take an adult mind that is programmed to remain steadfast to its own perspective and make it empty, cause it to doubt, and render it not-knowing? Each of us has the ability to choose to be present to the world in this way and it is through meditation that we strengthen the muscles necessary to achieve this seemingly Herculean feat. We can begin by recognizing that posture is everything.
November 4, 2009
Chasing One's Tale
Life is change and the human mind is our connection to the experience of living. Changes in the environment are processed through the senses and this movement or change is noted and registered into storage or memory. The self is the result of yesterday’s tree experienced again today. Or in another instance, a taste experienced and recognized as having been tasted before. It has two distinct entities or data points – sugar then and sugar now, the past and the present – and it is at this juncture that the observer “I” is born.
Let’s try an example. When the wavelengths for red enter the eye it is processed by the brain and noted or stored as red light, although the word or ideas of ‘red’ and ‘light’ are not actually present. Just the experience prior to this naming is recorded, as it is; the raw data. Naming occurs within a different function.
When this stored data is subsequently encountered and processed again, recall is triggered and both the present and previously experienced (memorized) data are held simultaneously in the present. In one sense the “self” is, like the color red, nothing more than a logical outgrowth of the process of memory: a meta-function. Without memory there is no foundation for a self, a past or future. Without memory there is no past, without a past there is nothing to project – no future – and no “I” to occupy it.
It is a process within the brain that creates the illusion of a self, an “I”, which is separate from, and unique within, the objectified experience. Stated differently, the “I” is not actually separate from the experience; rather it is an illusion created by the process of memory in conjunction with the present moment. It is an illusion, because in truth there is no self who sees, separate from the act of seeing. The “I” or self is the experience itself.
The irony for me is that the self created by, and through this natural mental process, believes that the split is real and created by an “other.” So the creator of my stress and suffering, while feeling unique and abiding, searches for the cause of its own frustration, separation, and alienation through a misty ignorance of Impermanence. We are, at the very least, destined to be tethered to this process of our own thinking and to “chase the creation of our own tale”.
Let’s try an example. When the wavelengths for red enter the eye it is processed by the brain and noted or stored as red light, although the word or ideas of ‘red’ and ‘light’ are not actually present. Just the experience prior to this naming is recorded, as it is; the raw data. Naming occurs within a different function.
When this stored data is subsequently encountered and processed again, recall is triggered and both the present and previously experienced (memorized) data are held simultaneously in the present. In one sense the “self” is, like the color red, nothing more than a logical outgrowth of the process of memory: a meta-function. Without memory there is no foundation for a self, a past or future. Without memory there is no past, without a past there is nothing to project – no future – and no “I” to occupy it.
It is a process within the brain that creates the illusion of a self, an “I”, which is separate from, and unique within, the objectified experience. Stated differently, the “I” is not actually separate from the experience; rather it is an illusion created by the process of memory in conjunction with the present moment. It is an illusion, because in truth there is no self who sees, separate from the act of seeing. The “I” or self is the experience itself.
The irony for me is that the self created by, and through this natural mental process, believes that the split is real and created by an “other.” So the creator of my stress and suffering, while feeling unique and abiding, searches for the cause of its own frustration, separation, and alienation through a misty ignorance of Impermanence. We are, at the very least, destined to be tethered to this process of our own thinking and to “chase the creation of our own tale”.
What Time is it ....Now?
Does time really go by as it seems? Does time actually pass or does it merely seem that way? Haven’t we all wished for more hours in a day at one time or another? What exactly is time anyway?
One afternoon not long ago I found myself sitting quietly, enjoying the rarely visible winter sun as it filtered through the Venetian blinds casting shadows across my desk and floor. Specks of otherwise invisible particles of dust danced to the rhythm of my breathing and thoughts smiled at my good fortune. However, imperceptibly at first, something changed. Outside it was perhaps the air turning cool as clouds slowly dissolved afternoon shadows and the sun faded behind dark storm clouds rising from the horizon.
Inside it happened in an instant and without warning. An acrid belch alerted the back of my throat to my regret, and I heard the silent yet familiar lamentation, “Time sure flies when I’m enjoying myself.” But what of this winged time I mused and instantly replied, “It neither flies nor otherwise moves - this phantom of my mind.” In fact, I was unable to anywhere find this elusive enemy of my pleasure.
For something to exist for us it must stand out from its surroundings, background, or “other.” Imagine we are standing in the middle of a dense forest at midday with intense sunlight filtering through a canopy of branches and leaves, casting distinct, dancing shadows on the forest floor. The perceived change from light to dark is our brain “seeing” differences or changes within the visual field. Whether we speak of light, texture, taste, or sound - without change we do not recognize a differentiation. There would be no world - no one, no two, no “ten-thousand things”. Ask yourself where time would exist in such a world? Time is change or oneness, being dissected into the Taoist’s ten-thousand things as it passes through the filter of our senses And without this process there is no basis for the notion of time.
“I” and Time do not exist outside our mind. They are the result of accumulated past experiences that are stamped with reality because they are seen again through memory function. The world in which we function, is the product of recall, memory, history. And without it, the self that seems to remember would not exist.
Admittedly, it’s all a bit more complex than that, but simply stated, the “I” or self that we think is a concrete entity is actually just a function of human consciousness and is dependent upon memory. The whole process takes place without intent on our part – it is simply within the nature of human mental functioning, and is at the heart of the human condition.
Today I realize, though less frequently than I’d like, that time is just not real. That is to say, without my mind, time does not exist. Instead, what exists in nature is simply change. When we identify, note, or categorize this change into discreet units, we create what we call the “passage of time”. This recognition of change is granted through the function of memory and without it we would have no more idea of time than that of a stone. Clearly, life is impermanent; it is change. Dissecting this ever moving flow of change, we arrive at the elusive moment that seems to pass too swiftly when it embodies pleasure, and can drag on endlessly when we are anxious or frightened.
Time is our way of noting and immortalizing a moment out of eternal change, and is dependent upon the impermanence of all things. So without change, there is no time. The hands on a clock change position and we call this the movement of time. It is arbitrary, the product of human thought, and dependent upon the proper functioning of our senses. The rate of change can be the imperceptible swiftness within the molecular world, or the relative snails-pace of the galactic universe. The changing from day to night, season to season, or hour to hour are changes that our senses are able to register. But without change all things would cease to exist as they do for us as human beings. Our sensory apparatus rely on this change and regardless of speed, the action of impermanence –change - is existence as we know it…..and it is only now.
One afternoon not long ago I found myself sitting quietly, enjoying the rarely visible winter sun as it filtered through the Venetian blinds casting shadows across my desk and floor. Specks of otherwise invisible particles of dust danced to the rhythm of my breathing and thoughts smiled at my good fortune. However, imperceptibly at first, something changed. Outside it was perhaps the air turning cool as clouds slowly dissolved afternoon shadows and the sun faded behind dark storm clouds rising from the horizon.
Inside it happened in an instant and without warning. An acrid belch alerted the back of my throat to my regret, and I heard the silent yet familiar lamentation, “Time sure flies when I’m enjoying myself.” But what of this winged time I mused and instantly replied, “It neither flies nor otherwise moves - this phantom of my mind.” In fact, I was unable to anywhere find this elusive enemy of my pleasure.
For something to exist for us it must stand out from its surroundings, background, or “other.” Imagine we are standing in the middle of a dense forest at midday with intense sunlight filtering through a canopy of branches and leaves, casting distinct, dancing shadows on the forest floor. The perceived change from light to dark is our brain “seeing” differences or changes within the visual field. Whether we speak of light, texture, taste, or sound - without change we do not recognize a differentiation. There would be no world - no one, no two, no “ten-thousand things”. Ask yourself where time would exist in such a world? Time is change or oneness, being dissected into the Taoist’s ten-thousand things as it passes through the filter of our senses And without this process there is no basis for the notion of time.
“I” and Time do not exist outside our mind. They are the result of accumulated past experiences that are stamped with reality because they are seen again through memory function. The world in which we function, is the product of recall, memory, history. And without it, the self that seems to remember would not exist.
Admittedly, it’s all a bit more complex than that, but simply stated, the “I” or self that we think is a concrete entity is actually just a function of human consciousness and is dependent upon memory. The whole process takes place without intent on our part – it is simply within the nature of human mental functioning, and is at the heart of the human condition.
Today I realize, though less frequently than I’d like, that time is just not real. That is to say, without my mind, time does not exist. Instead, what exists in nature is simply change. When we identify, note, or categorize this change into discreet units, we create what we call the “passage of time”. This recognition of change is granted through the function of memory and without it we would have no more idea of time than that of a stone. Clearly, life is impermanent; it is change. Dissecting this ever moving flow of change, we arrive at the elusive moment that seems to pass too swiftly when it embodies pleasure, and can drag on endlessly when we are anxious or frightened.
Time is our way of noting and immortalizing a moment out of eternal change, and is dependent upon the impermanence of all things. So without change, there is no time. The hands on a clock change position and we call this the movement of time. It is arbitrary, the product of human thought, and dependent upon the proper functioning of our senses. The rate of change can be the imperceptible swiftness within the molecular world, or the relative snails-pace of the galactic universe. The changing from day to night, season to season, or hour to hour are changes that our senses are able to register. But without change all things would cease to exist as they do for us as human beings. Our sensory apparatus rely on this change and regardless of speed, the action of impermanence –change - is existence as we know it…..and it is only now.
Thoughts on Impermanence
The notion of Impermanence has been, ironically, one of the most comforting aspects of my spiritual archaeology. On first impression it would seem to be asking us to think about something that doesn’t exist. But with some further inquiry we find we are being asked to recognize how thoughts, the product of the mind, are ephemeral, and lacking in the permanence we ordinarily grant them. In fact when we meditate for any length of time on our thinking we find that we aren’t even in control of when, where, or how often any particular series of pictures, notions, or ideas will arise. While we are able to direct our thinking to particular tasks in order to function in the world, we find when we try to stop our thinking that we are virtually at the mercy of our “monkey mind.”
With some practice on the cushion we find that we can, on a good day, let go of the mental monkey swinging wildly from one ideational limb to another, and just watch the thoughts come and go; emerging, merging, and receding, as though they were on strings controlled by an unseen puppeteer. I found myself making a smooth transition from this awareness to the ever changing body I observed in the mirror each morning with sagging skin and graying hair. It seemed obvious to me that all of the things in my life were but temporary visions of an ever fluid body of matter. All things are impermanent. ALL things are impermanent; not just the obvious ones, but even those ideas we consider self-evident and readily accept as truth like the Self and Time.
One weekend during zazen with a group in Bath, Ohio, I experienced one of those mini-insights that make all the rigorous, boring hours worthwhile. I was aware of a rooster crowing. It occurred to me that at that moment, that I was the crowing. This was immediately followed by the thought that having thought this, “I” returned, and I was therefore no longer the crowing. This of course led me into a litany of unwanted thoughts and multifarious attempts at dropping them. On the drive home after meditation however, I explored the idea intellectually. What, in truth, is the ‘self’? Where is that me or “I”, which as human beings, we are so sure exists and is separate from all other things?
When fully involved in some task - anything from feeling anger, to thinking about sex, shooting a foul shot, or sinking a long putt - “I” is not present. That is to say, the “I” in I am, is not there. Whenever fully absorbed in the moment with whatever is being done, the “I” is actually missing. (We might even say missing in action.) When “I” is not present - in that moment - I am that which is being done, thought, or felt. If the feeling is anger, love, or if I’m just in the midst of criticism, I am at that moment the anger, criticism, or love. These are not happening to me…they are me. Suddenly it all made sense.
When I think something negative about someone else, I am that which I think. I not only cannot elude ownership of what I think, but I actually become the very thing I’m thinking at that moment. The other person may or may not be what I’m attaching to him, but it is for certain that I am. Positive or negative, for better or for worse, I am married to my thoughts…we are one.
But where does this self or “I” come from and where does it go? The self is present only when my thinking is in the past or the future; when regretting or planning, remembering or hoping. Regardless of the subject, this “I” is present because as objects, the past and the future need a subject. When not fully absorbed in the present, the mechanics of memory and projection will objectify. This objectification process also requires the creating of a subject and so, the construct “I” is born out of the dualism inherent in the mechanism of human thought. Out of an ephemeral past and future we are thrust into a world of seemingly solid matter as the observing “I” or self.
However, when fully in the moment, I am that which is going on in that moment - it is me. And there is no “I” (subject) to observe it (the object). The process of our existence, the standing out from our present moment and remembering a past or projecting into a future, gives the human species the illusion of a unique and separate self (subject) which is experienced and labeled as “I” or “me”.
“I” wasn’t present when typing the previous statements. “I” was replaced by the ideas themselves, and in doing so the typist/thinker was the thoughts. “I” returned as the typing stopped and the typist thought about what had been typed; only to disappear again as typing resumed, fully absorbed in the act of typing this sentence. Then the “I” returned once again and remembered what was written. It’s all very fluid and impermanent this coming and going of “I”. So where is this “I”? Or better yet, what is it? Is it a thing at all?
With some practice on the cushion we find that we can, on a good day, let go of the mental monkey swinging wildly from one ideational limb to another, and just watch the thoughts come and go; emerging, merging, and receding, as though they were on strings controlled by an unseen puppeteer. I found myself making a smooth transition from this awareness to the ever changing body I observed in the mirror each morning with sagging skin and graying hair. It seemed obvious to me that all of the things in my life were but temporary visions of an ever fluid body of matter. All things are impermanent. ALL things are impermanent; not just the obvious ones, but even those ideas we consider self-evident and readily accept as truth like the Self and Time.
One weekend during zazen with a group in Bath, Ohio, I experienced one of those mini-insights that make all the rigorous, boring hours worthwhile. I was aware of a rooster crowing. It occurred to me that at that moment, that I was the crowing. This was immediately followed by the thought that having thought this, “I” returned, and I was therefore no longer the crowing. This of course led me into a litany of unwanted thoughts and multifarious attempts at dropping them. On the drive home after meditation however, I explored the idea intellectually. What, in truth, is the ‘self’? Where is that me or “I”, which as human beings, we are so sure exists and is separate from all other things?
When fully involved in some task - anything from feeling anger, to thinking about sex, shooting a foul shot, or sinking a long putt - “I” is not present. That is to say, the “I” in I am, is not there. Whenever fully absorbed in the moment with whatever is being done, the “I” is actually missing. (We might even say missing in action.) When “I” is not present - in that moment - I am that which is being done, thought, or felt. If the feeling is anger, love, or if I’m just in the midst of criticism, I am at that moment the anger, criticism, or love. These are not happening to me…they are me. Suddenly it all made sense.
When I think something negative about someone else, I am that which I think. I not only cannot elude ownership of what I think, but I actually become the very thing I’m thinking at that moment. The other person may or may not be what I’m attaching to him, but it is for certain that I am. Positive or negative, for better or for worse, I am married to my thoughts…we are one.
But where does this self or “I” come from and where does it go? The self is present only when my thinking is in the past or the future; when regretting or planning, remembering or hoping. Regardless of the subject, this “I” is present because as objects, the past and the future need a subject. When not fully absorbed in the present, the mechanics of memory and projection will objectify. This objectification process also requires the creating of a subject and so, the construct “I” is born out of the dualism inherent in the mechanism of human thought. Out of an ephemeral past and future we are thrust into a world of seemingly solid matter as the observing “I” or self.
However, when fully in the moment, I am that which is going on in that moment - it is me. And there is no “I” (subject) to observe it (the object). The process of our existence, the standing out from our present moment and remembering a past or projecting into a future, gives the human species the illusion of a unique and separate self (subject) which is experienced and labeled as “I” or “me”.
“I” wasn’t present when typing the previous statements. “I” was replaced by the ideas themselves, and in doing so the typist/thinker was the thoughts. “I” returned as the typing stopped and the typist thought about what had been typed; only to disappear again as typing resumed, fully absorbed in the act of typing this sentence. Then the “I” returned once again and remembered what was written. It’s all very fluid and impermanent this coming and going of “I”. So where is this “I”? Or better yet, what is it? Is it a thing at all?
Along the Way
When I first began meditation I was eager to achieve enlightenment. I looked forward to the promise of transcendence, a release from the pain and difficulty associated with human existence. I was young and certain that I could reach this enlightened state - this mystical place where I would no longer ‘grasp at things’ and be able to ‘see’ the truth that liberates men and women from worldly concerns and the ever spinning wheel of “samsara” – and do so in record time. I studied. I read. I meditated. I purchased many books and tried “zazen,” both on my own and with others, and what I quickly found was that nothing happens quickly, especially when you are looking in the wrong place.
I thought enlightenment was a place; a peaceful world outside myself, somewhere beyond this moment. And I figured that if I learned the necessary techniques I would be transported to this wonderland of tranquility. As happens to all good plans of mice and me, there were roadblocks, setbacks, and frustrations that interfered with my timetable for success and nearly caused me to conclude that I had been duped. I began to think that there really was in fact, no such thing as enlightenment. That it was all a sham, a ploy to sell books and….well, you know what I’m talking about ….if I don’t get it there must be something wrong with it.
I continued to study and meditate however, and began to realize that I had not been studying correctly. I had been reading from a place of knowing something rather than from Suzuki’s Beginners Mind. I realized enlightenment and nirvana, like the truth I had been searching for, are available in each and every moment. Enlightenment is not a place to go, or a thing to get. It is being present to this moment, open to all that it contains without it being perceived as good or bad. No judgment; simply being present to it just “as it is”. Enlightenment, we might say, is with everyone at all times.
What does it mean to be enlightened? What was the nature of Shakyamuni’s enlightenment? How does human consciousness block us from experiencing enlightenment…from being enlightened? These were the new questions that rose to center stage.
I have always been suspicious of one who professes to know what the long deceased author meant five centuries ago when he set to paper an idea that got him hung in the town square. I don’t want to repeat this act of self-aggrandizement. I write with the hope that by the time someone reads this sentence, I will have a clearer and perhaps quite different perspective than the one presented here. The lines representing the limits of my knowledge are the same as those representing the limits of my experience, and those limits are expanded by the force of time and the effort I expend to remain open amid the impermanence of life.
I thought enlightenment was a place; a peaceful world outside myself, somewhere beyond this moment. And I figured that if I learned the necessary techniques I would be transported to this wonderland of tranquility. As happens to all good plans of mice and me, there were roadblocks, setbacks, and frustrations that interfered with my timetable for success and nearly caused me to conclude that I had been duped. I began to think that there really was in fact, no such thing as enlightenment. That it was all a sham, a ploy to sell books and….well, you know what I’m talking about ….if I don’t get it there must be something wrong with it.
I continued to study and meditate however, and began to realize that I had not been studying correctly. I had been reading from a place of knowing something rather than from Suzuki’s Beginners Mind. I realized enlightenment and nirvana, like the truth I had been searching for, are available in each and every moment. Enlightenment is not a place to go, or a thing to get. It is being present to this moment, open to all that it contains without it being perceived as good or bad. No judgment; simply being present to it just “as it is”. Enlightenment, we might say, is with everyone at all times.
What does it mean to be enlightened? What was the nature of Shakyamuni’s enlightenment? How does human consciousness block us from experiencing enlightenment…from being enlightened? These were the new questions that rose to center stage.
I have always been suspicious of one who professes to know what the long deceased author meant five centuries ago when he set to paper an idea that got him hung in the town square. I don’t want to repeat this act of self-aggrandizement. I write with the hope that by the time someone reads this sentence, I will have a clearer and perhaps quite different perspective than the one presented here. The lines representing the limits of my knowledge are the same as those representing the limits of my experience, and those limits are expanded by the force of time and the effort I expend to remain open amid the impermanence of life.
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