Becoming

When I grew up I was told I could become what ever I wanted. So, liking boy’s things, I choose to become a boy and was utterly disappointed that this didn’t happen. So I wished to become black, some how I thought that would make me feel save, this too didn’t happen. By then I got the message. But I still wasn’t happy with what I was and started to search for something that would. Coming from a non religious up bringing, I was send to a Christian school, the thought being that it would give me something I’d lacked at home. Knowing this I felt I had to look outside my home to find something to fill my inner need for something bigger than me.

In first grade my teacher told beautiful stories about a man called Jesus, and I fell completely in love with him. I had a real crush on Him, I made him drawings and crafted little gifts, but where to send them? A friend of mine did come from a church going family, so I asked if I could come with, she said yes. The next Sunday I put on my best cloths, rolled up my latest drawing and nervously waited for my friend to pick me up. It was my first time in a church and was impressed by the man in front that spoke big words, the songs and people standing up and sitting down on cue’s I didn’t see. Than there was the magic moment that people walked up to the man in front. “This must be the time when I can give my drawing” I thought, I started to get up but my friend pushed me back in to my seat. “This is not for you, you’re not baptized”. She said. I sat there, stunned, what is baptized and what just happened? I wanted to stand up and shout: “hey wait a minute, I’m in love with Jesus here”, but I didn’t dare. I never trusted that church again.

I thought long and hard and came to the conclusion that if the man I loved was a Jew I should become Jewish. But when you’re eight or nine, living in a small rural community with only a Catholic or Protestant church to choose from, becoming Jewish is very difficult. I got as far as wearing the star of David around my neck and refusing to do the dishes on a Sabbath.

I still wore the star when I went to a Catholic high school, I even got suspended for a week once cause I refused to take it off. My parents pleaded with me to comply and that whole incident sparked a new way to try to fill the void I still felt within. I started being openly stubborn and against everything. I think I kept that up for a good part of four years, that too didn’t make me happy. It did how ever bring me to a place where I doubted everything and everybody including myself, which left me completely open for new thoughts and spiritual paths.

I fell into a group of seekers that had seen far beyond my limited rural world, they took me to all kinds of guru’s and meditations, they had me sing to chakra’s and talk to empty chairs, they gave me countless books to read, and put me through all kinds of altered states of consciousness and a whole series of emotions. And when I was completely raw and turned inside out they sat me down on a safu and have count my breath from one to ten, taught me how to move real slow Chinese style and had me overcome many fears moving fast like the Japanese mountain echo.

And now as I write this, I’m still becoming and very happily I always will.

Shut up!

The aim in many traditions seems to be to stop talking to yourself, the idea being that we talk to ourselves constantly and thus keeping the world the way we perceive it and at a constant. You tell yourself what and who you like and don’t like, how you should feel about the weather, the world., how nice the zebra’s and artichokes look on the white wall and that you should be silence while meditating.

There were times that I shouted “shut up” in my head and then shouted “shut up” to what ever was shouting “shut up” in the first place. I would get angry and upset and incredibly frustrated, but I couldn’t stop talking to myself. Then I started to listen carefully to what ever I was saying to myself about the world, about people and about situations, at first I was amazed about what a blabber mouth I was, but getting over this initial shock I started to listen for the opinions I formed and perpetual jousts I hold dear, I started to test them by asking critical or silly questions which was a shock to the system. After a while it became increasingly difficult to take (what I was saying to) myself serious. I still talk to myself, but because I don’t have to take it seriously I am silent more often, and when I do go off in a rattling rampaged I tend to listen to it carefully with a sincere abandon.

Reminiscing

Strange things memories are, they are neither real nor unreal, they are neither here and now, nor are they there and then, they can stir up long lost feelings and provoke the strange chain reactions. The can be awakened by a smell, a sound, a site, a single word, a touch, a taste or a smile. They can be conjured up willfully or pop up unexpected.

Recently I was looking for a comfy chair and came across a picture of a friendly face I didn’t felt I’d recognize, but the smile that curled in the corner of its mouth turned into the sound of laughter in my head. I knew that laugh instantly and sure enough I knew the person behind the friendly face from a lifetime ago.

Pictures, emotions and knowledge all came flooding in, all trying to be first, trying to be recognized, trying to complete the story behind the smile that curled in the corner of its mouth, all with a color of their own, none of them complete by themselves. Like pieces of a jig-saw puzzle.

How easy it is to be swept away by one of those pieces, to cling on to any of those and not complete the puzzle.
How unlikely is it that the smile that curled in the corner of his mouth has the same memories or that it has a picture of what the completed puzzle should look like.

Events may be shared, time may be spent together, situations may be lived through simultaneously, but memories are hardly ever the same. Different value is places on the same event, the same time, the same situation and rightly so.

But now, here I am, and instead of finding a chair I found this memory, this smile and this unexpected longing. Being without a chair I sat down on my kitchen table and wondered about this longing. Was I longing to hear the sound of laughter from the friendly face for real again, was I longing to see the friendly face here and now, was it a longing for a single word of recognition, a touch maybe or was I longing to be back there and then. I sat on that kitchen table long enough for my bum to get sore and find the answer.

My longing is to find all the pieces of the puzzle, complete it, see it for what it really is to me and give it its unique and well deserved value. So I’ll be clearing my kitchen table for now and start puzzling.

I’m still looking for a comfy chair.

Zebra's and artichokes

Some twenty odd years ago a group of friends tried all kinds of meditations and I trailed along. One day they signed up for a za-zen course and I trailed along.

After the first session of 40 minutes staring at a wall, my bum and back hurt and I was bored. I was happy the bell rang and I struggled to get up, we walked for ten minutes or so in silent’s, this was Kinhin the monk explained, then another bell and much to my disappointment everyone sat down on their pillow again and stared at the wall for another 40 minutes.

Finally I was saved by the bell and there was tea. People shared their experience and so did my friends, I was amazed how enthusiastic they all sounded, lots of how inspiring and enlightening it had been. I didn’t dare tell about my sore bum and aching back, not to mention how I had been bored stiff. I must have missed something I thought to myself. So next week I went back. The group had reduced in size and some of my friends had canceled claiming busy lives. But I sat there, trying to focus on breathing in and out, but I ended up making grocery list and painting imaginary zebra’s on the white wall. As the weeks went by my friends gave up one by one, while I sat staring at the wall full of zebra’s and artichokes.

Then one week after 40 minutes sitting while walking kinhin I became aware of the overwhelming sound my feet made while walking, then the sound of my clothes rustling came flooding in. I tried to make sense of this strange experience and as soon as I did the sounds were just sounds, I shook it off and focused on my breathing again, as soon as I did the sounds were back as sensations, I became aware of more sounds and sensations, of my feet touching the floor, weight of my body shifting and the way my ears felt when these sounds hit. As soon as I tried to think about it, it was gone. I got so absorbed in the ability of turning it on and off that I ignored the bell and walked another round. Eventually I went back to my pillow and counted my breathing, and played with this new found ability.

When we had tea and shared our experience I said nothing I just smiled, and bowed to my teacher he smiled and bowed back.

I stayed which him for a few years and discovered the vastness of awareness and the limitations of mind.

We had a strange relationship we laughed a lot but we argued a lot too. In hind side I think I have more a Tibetan Buddhist attitude of critical skepticism, for him as Japanese Buddhist monk that must have been very strange. However I had and still have a great reverence for him as my teacher.

Before he went back to Japan he told me “be kind to mind” I smiled and bowed, but didn’t get what he meant till only recently.

Semantics

It is good to be precise with words when you try to explain something complex. Be clear with what you mean with a words and stick to it. Sometimes it is helpful to make up a new word or expression and stick your meaning on to that, but stick to it.

When you use words like ego and mind or consciousness and awareness, the world and humanity be clear about what is what, this is not to say that you are right when you describe ego, awareness or the world, you just made clear what you mean when you use that word.

It is all too easy to get lost in a battle of words; it is helpful to remember that words in itself hold no truth. Words are like bricks in the road, it is not the brick that is important, not even the road is important, only the journey has value. When you listen to someone’s journey don’t listen for the bricks, listen for the experience, listen for the trip, travel with them, don’t bicker over bricks.

Enjoy!

A theory on theory (2)

Although it is nice to have a theory, it is only a theory. There is no theory in the world that will replace experience.

Theories are nice to have as a way for mind to make sense of it all and as a way to talk about it with others. It’s good practice to be precise with words when you try to explain something complex. Be clear with what you mean with a words and stick to it. It’s also good practice to feel for the experience behind the words when listening to someone explaining their theory. It is like someone once wrote: ”You can sum up all the words to describe God, then you’ve got a list of all words, but you will not experience God”*

Experience is here and now, with every breathe and every heartbeat you can start anew, you just need to choose to do so. There is no need for “it’s too late now” or “but I don’t know how” you are breathing right now aren’t you…., that’s all you need to know.

Experiencing “the answer” or getting past the zebra’s and artichokes, has no form and no rules, there is no right or wrong and it will go as fast or as slow as you need it to go.

“And it took all that time

just to find yourself,

and that’s how long it had to take

and it was well worth every moment”*

So jump on in the water is fine.

(*quoted freely, Paul Williams, das Energie)