Eyes to See Our Seeing

credit: Andreas Krappweis

To praise the sun is to praise your own eyes.  ~Rumi

This human self-awareness is tricky.  In the context of our mainstream culture, where the goal of life seems to be to acquire material things or status markers that will make us feel good (i.e. safe), self-awareness gets hijacked and tethered to superficial pursuits.

We can get lost in it, ending up in a blind alley of narcissism and selfishness. I think spiritual teachings that encourage us to focus purely on transcendence can lead us to a similar sort of place, though the accompanying narrative is more meaningful. There’s a feeling of detachment and isolation in the notion of moving beyond the messiness of life. And we can become obsessed with our progress in doing so.

In both cases, our self-awareness seems to be put in the service of answering that very human question:  “How am I doing?”

In contrast, Rumi’s version of self-awareness reflects a profoundly intentional embodiment, connectedness, and sense of the greater unfolding in which we are embedded, and its beauty and value. I think we are self-aware in order to praise the sun. And to praise our self-awareness in the midst of that appreciation and delight. I think we are self-aware because it allows a special kind of gratitude. What a privilege to dwell inside that thank you.

Nonduality and the Weather

credit: Keith M.

Last night my husband and I were talking about nondual teachings again. And then Marga’s engaging post about actualization and the no self really got me thinking. There was a time when I was really into that stuff. I used to hang on Adyashanti’s every word, hoping for the arrival of my own liberation. But for better or worse, I gradually let go of those aspirations.

The paradox and adventure of being human is that while it is true that we are Soul/essence, we have also chosen to show up in limited form. Our primoridal essence is divine, unlimited, and needs nothing. It is simply Beingness. Yet in choosing to show up in this world of limitation we create soul structures. The ego is the vehicle we necessarily construct in order to function in the world of limitation. It is unavoidable. And it’s a pain in the ass. But trying to live without an ego is kind of like trying to live without a body. It’s not really workable.

Many nondual teachings are about returning to primordial essence and bypassing the messy hassles of the ego-body vehicle. If we can step out of form and abide in formlessness, we don’t have to suffer. In other words, for some folks the goal is to die before we die so we can avoid the discomfort of life. Of course it is true that our essential nature is infinite and devoid of suffering. But I think it’s also true that we came here to do more than commit suicide.

Now I don’t want to unfairly suggest that all nondual teachings are about avoidance. Some teachers do address the second core spiritual question of “how shall I live?” (And not confine themselves to the first core question of “who am I?”) Such teachers incorporate a more balanced approach of working with form and formlessness. But I do think there is a lot of what Andrew Cohen calls “pre-modern enlightenment” teachings, where the goal is simply to return to essence and not actually participate in life. This is unfortunate because the world needs our participation. It is also sad because within those approaches there’s often a subtle hatred of form, and it becomes self-directed. As in: I hate my ego and I want to kill it.

My view is that spirituality is really about working with the tension between our unlimited essence and our limited form. That’s the human journey. That’s what we came here to play with. In working with the ego structures I am less interested in suicide and more interested in having a light vehicle.

I love this journey. I am thrilled to be on it. But I want to take the journey on a bicycle instead of in a hummer. On a bicycle I get to go slower, be more receptive, notice more, get to know the terrain, feel my muscles moving, and be out in the weather.

I came here for the weather.

The Sap Rises

credit: Andreas Krappweis

Tu B’Shevat is an obscure Jewish holy day also known as the Festival of the New Year for the Trees. It begins at sundown today and ends at sundown on Saturday. I know very little about Judaism, but I am always intrigued to learn of earthly elements in theistic traditions.

The Festival honors the beginning of the rising of sap in trees and the renewal of life that spring brings. On Tu B’Shevat we are encouraged to look to trees as teachers, connecting with the energy of the sap rising and spreading out to each branch.

We all experience winters. Sometimes our challenges can seem cold, dark, and brutal. We can feel frozen. Our life force can feel like it has faded to a flicker. Many times it can seem like we’ve come to a standstill with a thick layer of snow covering us.

The Festival of the New Year for the Trees is a good time to reflect on the lessons of our winters, but also to focus on the hope of rejuvenation. Even when it seems like nothing is happening, the sap begins to rise. Perhaps we can feel it in ourselves also.

Traditionally the Festival is marked with the planting of new trees or the eating of new fruit. I love the idea of honoring trees in this way. In a few short months they will be making leaves again and transmuting light into form and fruit. Photosynthesis is the earth community’s original miracle. Our ultimate spiritual metaphor.

I won’t be planting a tree tomorrow, but I will make a donation to the Fruit Tree Planting Foundation to do it on my behalf. They have beautiful projects that connect sustainability, food security, and partnering with trees. I will have some jam, made this past autumn from the fruit of my plum trees. And we’ll have a long conversation.

Celebrate our noble siblings the trees. It is winter and the sap rises unseen.

Soul Dissociation

credit: Michael Maggs

Dissociation basically means detachment from reality. Also fragmentation of the self into compartments. It occurs to me that this is essentially our spiritual predicament. The wisdom traditions all talk in different ways about a fundamental confusion or error. They speak of us going off course and losing our true nature. The soul dissociates. We get stuck in a tiny fragment of identity and limitation.

A.H. Almaas has written extensively, and I do mean extensively, about how normal ego development results in a freaky division between our essence and our ego-self. In order to create a viable ego-self it is as though we have to give up abiding in our true nature. As Freud observed, as infants we externalize our experience, our world, our good, beginning with our mother’s breast and escalating from there. In order to survive, we lose track of our Beingness. Damn.

In the post-Cartesian modern world, where spirituality is marginalized and secularism rules the day, we have additional challenges. The point of life is no longer to discover, integrate, and express our authentic souls. Nowadays life is mostly about seeking external validation through achievement and status recognition. This doesn’t resolve our basic existential uneasiness, but it’s the strategy our culture has conditioned us to pursue in order to feel better. To maybe feel something approximating security or power. Unfortunately it doesn’t work terribly well.

Back when we had soulful cultures we handled the dissociation with stories and wisdom teachings to get us back on track. There was a deep understanding of the larger plot and that knowing was woven into culture. Like in this story about the Sufi Mullah Nasruddin:

A man is walking down the street and encounters Nasruddin, down on his hands and knees under a lamp post. “What are you doing?” he asks. Nasruddin explains that he has lost the key to his house. “Please, kind sir, will you help me look for it?” The man agrees and together they spend quite a long time groping around searching for the key. Finally, the man asks Nasruddin “are you sure you dropped it here?” And Nasruddin replies, “Oh no, I lost it somewhere in my house.” The man exclaims, “Then why are we wasting all this time searching out here in the street?” And Nasruddin answers, “Well, because this is where the lamp post is. There’s light out here and I can see where I’m looking.”

Go inside and turn the lights on.

Integration vs. Bypassing

The Flammarion Engraving, 1888

Why is it that certain aspects of being human get such a bad rap in spiritual circles? I’m talking about the usual suspects: the ego, and our proclivities for attachment, strong feelings, and scenario planning.

Recently I participated in a workshop on mindfulness. Interestingly, the idea of giving significant attention to thoughts and emotions was pooh-poohed as neurotic self-obsession. Focusing on moment-to-moment sensory experience was the preferred mode of being that we were encouraged to cultivate. I just don’t buy it.

Fostering vivid presence, mindfulness, and being grounded in the body is absolutely vital. I have a regular meditation and yoga practice that assist me greatly in these excellent goals. However, I would argue that the experience of our inner world is not in principle problematic, and we unnecessarily give ourselves a hard time when we take on this belief. Further, our thoughts and emotions are no less “real” than sensorial experience. Consciousness and matter are energy, and that energy exists whether our five senses can detect it or not.

The danger in promoting the notion that our interior worlds are somehow invalid is that it may lead to unhealthy avoidance. This is what Robert Masters calls “spiritual bypassing”. This is the idea that we use our spiritual path and the primacy of transcendence to avoid dealing with our stuff. Let’s face it – it can be horribly unpleasant to deal with our stuff. Spiritual bypassing is a welcome reprieve. If we tell ourselves that it doesn’t count, we can ignore it. Unfortunately, it’s simply not true. We all know stories of spiritual teachers who spent decades working on their liberation to the exclusion of dealing with their shadow selves, and ultimately the chickens came home to roost. The shadow owns you, till you own it. The disowned self will kick your spiritual ass.

The real issue seems to me to be a question of balance. Instead of simply redirecting neurotic self-obsession into a fixation on sensory observation, I think it is more productive to explore what exactly constitutes a healthy, balanced, constructive use of attention and presence. What does that look like in the day-to-day? How do we achieve that? The various parts of our humanity need attention, nurturing, healing, and integration. Not exile. Not annihilation. My thoughts and feelings are real and should not be dismissed. Instead, how can I own them and work with them in a loving, transformative way? This reclaiming and integration is the path of redemption. This is the path of the soul.

Circles of Connection

credit: Päivi Tiittanen

I want to continue exploring practices that could foster mutual support for the spiritual-but-not-religious. Let’s start with circles. I am very grateful for the privilege I have to participate in a circle of women who meet regularly for this purpose.

There are elements that seem especially important, including:

• using ritual to create sacred space
• committing to ground rules that maintain privacy, promote deep listening, and create a safe container (e.g. no fixing or giving unsolicited advice)
• participating as equals – no leaders or followers
• embracing authenticity, vulnerability, and honesty
• honoring the diversity of each member’s spiritual path and experience
• using movement, sound, breath, and silence to attune to the group energy and cultivate presence

The opportunity to gather with allies who share the goal of supporting one another’s soul journey is amazingly rich. It is different from simply sitting with a friend or loved one and sharing conversation. Perhaps because it allows us to set aside habitual roles and interpersonal patterns. But there’s something more. The power of group intention and conscious focus opens up a unique space that we cannot access on our own. Speaking one’s truth and being deeply heard by others enables a profound healing that is different from what we can achieve by ourselves. There is something mysterious about the energetic field created by group consciousness that triggers shifts and breakthroughs that may otherwise elude us.

I have participated in other groups and gatherings that were not as helpful. A major missing element was trust and the ease and freedom that it creates. When people bring small, stubborn agendas with them into circles it generates static and noise that clutters up the spaciousness that would otherwise appear. The willingness to set aside the anxious contraction of our egos is a key ingredient of transformative connection.

There are many circle practices beyond my example. Indigenous cultures are full of such traditions, including sitting in council and using a talking stick, prayer, ceremony, etc. Perhaps you can describe examples from your own experience? I recently participated in another circle that had several interesting rules that were new to me. First, the use of names was not allowed. So, when it was my turn to speak, I could not refer to something X said earlier. Second, no questions were allowed. The reasoning was that using names and asking questions pulled the group’s attention too much in the direction of specific participants (the one named and the questioner) and away from the emerging field of the collective.

Perhaps we also form a virtual circle of sorts through our blogs. I like the taking turns and holding space. Heart-speak. Thoughtfulness. Mirroring. I like watching an insight float up from California, or South Africa, or Seattle, and see how it settles and maybe works on me for a spell. The comments… bowing.

On Our Own Together

credit: sanja gjenero

The post-religious spiritual path is lonely. In the polarity of American culture, which recognizes only conventional religion and secularism, there are not a lot of ways to find your tribe. Actually, it’s one of the reasons why I started this blog. Unless you gravitate to a particular modality or practice that you can really identify with and use as a channel for community (e.g. yoga), you’re basically on your own. There’s a sense of isolation in being spiritual-but-not-religious that I want to explore.

What happens to spiritual fellowship in a post-religious world? In the era of mythic religions people on the spiritual path were led by a guru or teacher. They had the comfort and support of a sangha or congregation. And they had a creed that mapped out the glorious, sacred story within which their soul journey unfolded. It’s different for us. Why?

I think a major reason is that we have undergone huge epistemological shifts that have dismantled traditional religious foundations – at least for those of us paying attention. First, we had the Enlightenment and the rise of modern science. Second, post-modernism forced us to accept the reality that what we think we know is actually subjective. The upshot is that we are left without an overarching myth or external authority to explain everything for us. And we no longer have a cohesive social context for our soul journey.

I don’t think this is all bad. Because there are no well-worn road maps we are forced to take responsibility for finding our own way. Unlike religious devotees we cannot simply go along with the set of teachings we are handed. Instead of “hear and obey”, we operate in a mode of exploration and experimentation. This self-responsibility gives spirituality a wonderful aliveness and creativity – the vitality of unknowing. It requires sustained attention and cultivation. We are souls-in-progress.

But I think there is also a downside. For many of us in this predicament, the spiritual path collapses into something intensely (and sometimes stiflingly) personal. In the absence of myth, both the goal and the experience are confined to our own personal growth and development. Yet I think that ultimately, as human beings, this isn’t enough to satisfy us. I think we’re hard-wired to want more. There is an impulse within us that wants to connect with one another and the world. To have an impact beyond our own skin and psyche. Without some outward movement or orientation, spirituality can become neurotic.

This brings up several questions I want to pursue in future entries. First, how can we broaden the context of the spiritual-but-not-religious journey without going backwards? What is the bigger meaning of spirituality here and now, beyond achieving my own personal peace and healing? I am also curious about what new forms and practices are emerging that could support people like me in working collectively on spiritual development. How do we come together in spirit in ways that are appropriate for the non-religious?

Original Face

credit: AnnMei

We live in strange times. Even a zen koan can seem cliché.

Yet the journey of the soul lies in the territory mapped by the question: What did your face look like before your parents were born? And surely it is a journey. Dogen suggests we step backward and inward. That’s what zen masters do. But our mammalian habits also move us inexorably forward and outward.

Does it have to be this way? I think so. I think we incarnate to become ourselves. Not just to be. While there is surely value in turning inward, in meditation and stillness, if that were all that we came into this life to do, why come at all? The flesh-and-blood of our parents inhabits the koan. I am alive and the details of my particular life enable me to ask the koan’s question in a way it has never been asked before. I suspect that’s the point.

I am interested in practices, teachings, signposts, and conversations that move me backward, inward, forward, and outward on my journey. For the most part, this blog will focus on tools and teachings outside the mainstream religions conventions. Which is not to say that there is nothing of value in those traditions, but only that it is not where my attention lies.

The soul is an endless oscillation. A work-in-progress. The light bouncing back and forth between your original face and its reflection.