Deep calls unto deep

“This awakening to the truth of who we are is a spontaneous occurrence…you can’t manipulate your way to awakening…it tends to happen when our self-will takes a vacation. Even the will that says “I must awaken now” takes a vacation. As long as you are trying to make it happen, it has a hard time happening, doesn’t it?...And even though it just happens, it’s not a haphazard event…it’s not quite that simple…there’s another catalyst that’s very necessary, and that’s our willingness to look very, very deeply. This is the catalyst of inquiry…the most important thing is to be actually interested in “what am I?”
—Adyashanti, Spontaneous Awakening

I have grown a bit ambivalent about this practice of journaling, especially in the practice of journaling and then deliberately sharing it with others. Perhaps it’s ambivalence toward the use of words themselves.

Words have played a strangely paradoxical role in my own process of awakening. As Adyashanti says, you can’t manipulate your way into awakening, which means in part you can’t talk your way, think your way or write your way into awakening. And my own experience confirms this, because I tried mightily to awaken in just this way, to no avail. And when the process of awakening actually began for real, it had nothing to do with talking, thinking, writing or anything else. But on the other hand, it took lots of words to get me to that point, and so the words served a useful purpose. The words pointed the way, even though they did so imperfectly, until the words were left behind.

And then the paradox: now I see that the words were never left behind, though my relationship to them changed. Words remain, even in the state of deep awareness, because words are a part of the whole human experience, just as ego remains even in the deepest awareness. Truth is completely undivided, which means it contains everything.

So ego is still there, just as Awareness is there (and always has been), and perhaps ego still plays a role in the writing of this journal. The ego has always gotten a little trip out of the way the journal moves others to think, or feel, or respond. And that’s fine. Because the deeper purpose is also served: the awareness that functions through this ego is simply calling to the awareness that functions through other egos, waking up to itself.

The Science of Awareness

"While these traditions [the various schools of Buddhism and Hinduism] do not offer a unified perspective on the nature of the mind or the principles of spiritual life, they undoubtedly represent the most committed effort human beings have made to understand these things through introspection...Buddhism...in particular has grown remarkably sophisticated. No other tradition has developed so many methods by which the human mind can be fashioned into a tool capable of transforming itself...While Buddhism has also been a source of ignorance and occasional violence, it is not a religion of faith, or a religion at all, in the Western sense...

[I]t remains true that the esoteric teachings of Buddhism offer the most complete methodology we have for discovering the instrinsic freedom of consciousness, unencumbered by any dogma...Though there is much in Buddhism that I do not pretend to understand--as well as much that seems deeply implausible--it would be intellectually dishonest not to acknowledge its preeminence as a system of spiritual instruction."
--Sam Harris, The End of Faith

Harris' take on Buddhism as a science of the mind reminds me of Stephen Batchelor's groundbreaking book Buddhism Without Beliefs, which took on the more "religious" elements of traditional Buddhism, including the belief in reincarnation. His position raised the ire of many Western Buddhists, especially those affiliated with the Tibetan traditions, but he gave voice to the many people who were practicing meditation but had no particular interest in the more esoteric cosmologies of classic Asian belief.

Because ultimately, Buddhism is not about belief, it's about the careful analysis of human consciousness and the liberation that comes from dwelling in the awareness that transcends our individual personalities.

Marginalized Mystics

"As for the many distinguished contemplatives who have graced the sordid history of Christianity...these were certainly extraordinary men and women: but their mystical insights, for the most part, remained shackled to the dualism of church doctrine, and accordingly failed to fly...they serve as hallowed exceptions that prove the rule--mystical Christanity was dead the day Saul set out for Damascus."
--Sam Harris, The End of Faith

There are so many thought-provoking elements to Harris' book, but I am not concerned with discussing them all here. He is certainly subject to criticism for many of his statements, which I believe Mr. Harris must relish. My main interest, however, is his discussion of moderate and "mystical" strains within the Western religions, and Harris' interest in spiritual experience in general.

Harris recognizes the rich contemplative tradition within Christianity (a tradition that has been the subject of much of this blog), naming Meister Eckhart and Rumi (as representative of Islamic mysticism), among many others, as heroes of this school of thought. However, Harris also points out what is obvious to any historian of religion. These mystics have been completely out of the mainstream of Christian thought. In many cases (like Eckhart's), they have been branded as heretics. In others (like St. John of the Cross), the institutions these contemplatives founded have flourished, but their approach to spirituality has been largely ignored by the institutional church. And this should come as no surprise. There is nothing church authorities would detest more than common laypeople having direct experiences of the divine, seeing through the paper-thin illusion of beliefs and doctrines, and gaining independent insights into the nature of their being and Being itself. As much as those of us dedicated to contemplative spirituality might hope and dream, it is virtually impossible that such ideas will come to be the core teaching of the Christian churches (and the same is even more true for Islam).

John Shelby Spong, retired Episcopal bishop of New Jersey, Catholic priest-turned-Episcopal/new age mystic Matthew Fox, and many, many others have argued persuasively that the only way for Christianity to remain relevant in this dawning century is if it embraces its own contemplative tradition. Harris says it's unreasonable to think that it will.

But what if it did? What if, by some strange turn of events, Christianity did one day embody the teachings of the mystics as its core approach to spirituality and hundreds of millions of Christians learned and practiced the contemplative path? Would it not essentially cease to function as a monolithic institution? What would the "church" look like? It would be highly-decentralized, loosely-organized groups of free-thinkers who supported one another in the practice of their spirituality, professed nothing that could be defined as a doctrinal belief or creed, and whose use of religious language and imagery would be largely for its poetic and aesthetic value.

Again, given the degree of fundamentalism in the Christian churches today, this is nearly impossible to imagine. However, this vision of "church" looks remarkably like the model of modern Buddhism as it is currently taking shape in the West. And Harris says the Western Buddhist model is exactly the what is needed today to allow a reasonable, experiential approach to the study of human consciousness.

The End of Faith

"Many of the results of spiritual practice are genuinely desirable, and we owe it to ourselves to seek them out...Such experiences are 'spiritual' or 'mystical,' for want of betters words, in that they are rare (unnecessarily so), significant (in that they uncover genuine facts about the world), and personally transformative. They also reveal a far deeper connection between ourselves and the rest of the universe than is suggested by the ordinary confines of our subjectivity. There is no doubt that experiences of this sort are worth seeking, just as there is no doubt that the popular religious ideas that have grown up around them, especially in the West, are as dangerous as they are incredible. A truly rational approach to this dimension of our lives would allow us to explore the heights of our subjectivity with an open mind, while shedding the provincialism and dogmatism of our religious traditions in favor of free and rigorous inquiry."
--Sam Harris, The End of Faith

The Hobo's hiatus clearly did not last long, as this weekend I picked up a book that was recently given to me as a gift and now I can't put it down and can't stop thinking about it. Sam Harris' book The End of Faith: Religion, Terror and the Future of Reason, is a riveting look at how organized religion poses the single most dangerous threat to human reason--and by extension human freedom--in the world today. Harris raises questions that are especially challenging to religious "moderates" who have shed any allegiance to the literal teachings of the monotheistic religions but continue to participate in formal religious observance and to maintain a claim to religious labels. Harris suggests that the spiritual experience that moderates are usually seeking (as opposed to religious belief, which is the currency of the fundamentalists and the religious institutions themselves) can be sought and explored with a historical nod to the religious traditions but without necessarily claiming any religious labels or ambiguously using religious language, customs and beliefs. In other words, we don't need religion anymore to explore the spiritual dimension of the human experience; in fact, religion is a stumbling-block to a reasonable, open investigation of such issues.

About a year ago some guy came up to me on the street in Washington, DC. He was doing some kind of research study on religious belief, and wanted to interview me. The first question he asked me was straightforward and predictable: "Do you believe in God?" I laughed because no one has asked me this question in a long time, and I haven't been able to answer it with a straight "yes" or "no" my entire adult life. I went into a lengthy explanation of my belief, which in the abbreviated version is: "If you mean, do I believe in God in the conventional sense, then no, I do not; no such God exists, in my opinion. However, I do think that humans apprehend a dimension to their lives that is far vaster than the limited, alienated sense of 'self' that we normally associate with our personhood, and because we struggle to get our minds around that, we tend to personalize and anthropomorphize that sense of mystery, and then we call that God."

It's not that I believe in that God as opposed to the other one. I guess my answer was more of an explanation for why some people believe in God, and why that belief has some genuine, experiential foundation. I "believe" in the foundation itself (because I, too, apprehend something larger than "Gary"), I suppose, but I do not believe in the "God" that religion has made out of that experience. Yet, I have continued to go to church and think, write and talk using conventional religious language, even when doing so has been torturous to my intellectual integrity.

Why is this so? I think primarily because I adore the mythology, the drama and the poetry of religious expression. It is a language I can speak very fluently, and I find that using it helps me relate to the world and especially to others who speak "religion" as well. Meantime, I counsel my friends who have seen through the facade of religious belief that it's really all just a poetic game, a way of expressing the Unexpressible because sometimes the heart just needs to give it expression. Unless they have a particularly poetic streak themselves, these friends are deeply unsatisfied by my response. Likewise, those who are conventionally religious can't make any sense at all of my religious participation, since I don't really appear to believe in any of it.

Harris appears to be saying that for the future of civilization and my own integrity, I would be better off to make it clear what I do not believe in, as these beliefs will remain fundamental to the religious institutions and organizations that preserve and perpetuate the religion itself. If suddenly the Church as a unit embraced what I truly believe, it would cease to exist as an organization. Harris seems to think that would be a very fortunate outcome. We would continue to look back on religion as a source of wonderful human expression of our greatest ideas and aspirations (just as we view the myths of the ancient Greeks and Romans today), but we would no longer find it necessary to maintain the institutions of power that gave rise to such myths and that have done so much damage in their name.

Moment of Silence

The eye with which I see God is the eye with which God sees me.
--Meister Eckhart

My postings here have slowed to a trickle in recent weeks, and now I have officially decided that I am putting the Hobo Journal on temporary hiatus. I am spending more time looking inward, into places that do not translate into the kinds of words that make sense for a "blog." My journaling will probably continue (it's nearly a twenty-year habit for me now), but only for myself, at least for the time being. Thanks for stopping by, and when I have something to say again, I'll put up a few words.
-G

The Lens of Concentration

"Parallel waves of sunlight falling on a piece of paper will do no more than warm the surface. But that same amount of light, when focused through a lens, falls on a single point and the paper bursts into flames. Concentration is the lens. It produces the burning intensity necessary to see into the deeper reaches of the mind."
--Bhante Gunaratana, Mindfulness in Plain English

Whenever I start working with the basic mechanics of meditation, there is no better resource than this little book by the Sri Lankan monk Henepola Gunaratana, abbot of the Bhavana Society monstary in West Virginia. Several years ago I had the chance to do a metta retreat with Bhante G at Bhavana Society, and last year sat a five day retreat with his former student Matthew Flickstein.

There are two qualities of mind that we cultivate in medation: concentration and insight. They function in tandem, as Bhante G explains in the passage from which the quote is taken. In my own practice, I am focusing once again on concentration, and I see the afflictive states of mind emerge in even this most basic function. When concentration wanders, I've begun to notice the subtle but deep way in which I berate myself for losing concentration. This is foolishness, as the nature of the mind is to wander and grasp. It would be like berating our ears for noticing sounds. Yet, this is what the mind is doing, so I cannot judge the judging, either. So, I am bringing mindfulness to the judging, but using concentration to quickly refocus the mind back into the present moment. The judging is a way of clinging, and when we truly return full-force to the present, the clinging is broken for a time and the mind can rest.

perihelion--
the cold January sun
seems so far away

Back on the cushion

I am formally meditating again, as regularly as I can. Not sure what triggered the motivation to get back on the cushion, but it’s probably just the cycle of interest that has contributed to my on-again, off-again practice for the last dozen years or so. I have felt my understanding of the practice, and of my own mind, open up considerably in the last year. I had some breakthrough moments on retreat last spring. Just the memory of that little glimpse of clarity has stayed in the back of my mind ever since, gently, quietly calling me back.

Self-judgment is a dominant theme in my practice, though it took me years to see it. I kept judging myself as a failure because I wasn’t getting free of all my hang-ups. This, even though I knew good and well that the practice is not about getting rid of hang-ups. Nevertheless, I judged myself for being so messed up, I quit sitting numerous times because I felt so miserable. I finished each meditation feeling worse about myself. In a particularly sad way, I turned the practice into just another method to beat myself up. Finally, a moment emerged when I saw the judging for what it is: another impermanent phenomenon of the mind. When I started just watching the judging arise and pass away, it lost most of its power. Still, two years after this realization, sometimes I tremble at its tremendous force when it rises up in the mind.

It has helped to view meditation as an act of compassion toward myself, a way of loving myself more. I try to see the act of watching the mind as compassion itself, embracing and letting go of everything that is “me.” This compassion, in turn, has encouraged self-confidence. The little hassles of the day and the little stumbles I make seem puny and unimportant in comparison with the vast, luminous Buddhanature from whence it all arises. There is nothing I cannot handle from this perspective.

I have tried especially to peer into the constantly discriminating element of the mind, which is the generic energy that makes up the self-judging faculty. The dualistic mind judges every experience as good, bad, or indifferent. Catching the mind and watching it dispassionately while it goes through this judging cycle helps loosen its grasp and dominance. I am also continuing to experiment with “choiceless awareness” practice, which is the radical meditative technique Matthew taught us last year on retreat that involves not meditating on anything, but just watching. My concentration seems pretty weak for this practice, though, so I should probably devote more energy to focusing the mind first. I just find myself so eager to “just sit,” the concentration practice seems to get in the way. Just need to watch that too….