joseph mauricio – Page 22 – Joseph Mauricio

Posted on March 1, 2016March 9, 2016 by joseph mauricio

Becoming Possible

30Dorabu

LETTING GO OF WHAT YOU KNOW

As you’ve no doubt experienced, meditation theory – from Zen koans to Indian Yoga – often posits contradictions. In meditation we sit up in order to settle down, as we cultivate the seeming opposites of paying attention and relaxing. But what seems contradictory to convention is often complementary to the mind of meditation. The Mind of meditation is more relaxed, and hence, can see a greater spectrum of possibility than the its usual binary categorizations. The perplexities of life are posited as contradictions forcing us to THINK about the thinking process. Magic happens when the conceptual mind becomes frustrated in an attempt to fit reality into a frame it finds comforting. The mind might let go, surrender and open into a grander perspective.

This is the experience of the open space of possibility. It is a space beyond contradiction. In fact, it is a space where contradiction has never existed. It is the space of complete potential.

But, how do we get there? Well, in meditation, we simply sit and stop the mind, so that freed of itself, it can begin to see itself. What we begin to see is the vast potential of space, and the layers of ideas that we have created to try and make sense of that space. In order for us to make sense of the profusion of information available to the senses, our consciousness can be reduced to simple dualities. The conceptual mind, conditioned by the past and looking toward the future, – themselves a duality – tries to find meaning. Contradiction implies language, as in posing a contrary dictum. Therefore labeling is an assumption based on the conflation of more subtle inter-energetic exchanges. Realistically, we need labels to communicate. The problems arise as we begin to identify with the labels and automatically assign assumptive meaning based on uninvestigated and unrecognized feelings. We conflate history, physical sensation, emotional content and any number of environmental or societal factors into a judgement based on this and that, good and bad. We take these judgements for granted. We assume that our view of “good” and ‘bad” actually means something to the universe.

We are born with a basic goodness and natural inquisitiveness. As we grow older, we lose that natural inquisitiveness. The mind begins to configure around smaller and smaller sets of circumstances, as it avoids change instigated by outside stimulus. It is comfortable to rest in the known even if that known is painful or obviously limiting. We investigate less and less until one day, we investigate no further. Eventually, it seems labels are all there is to life. We take these labels for granted substituting designation for actual experience. Because these labels are without substance, they are inherently unsatisfying. Therefore, in our panic for sustenance, we grip and cling to the idea of things, even as contact with those things becomes more and more elusive. Sadly the more we grasp, the less we have.

Ancient Buddhist wisdom warns against mistaking the finger pointing to the moon, for the moon itself. We confuse the labels for the essence. But, each time we take these designations to be real, we discourage further investigation. We take the label as the truth and reduce awareness to a limited dimensional perspective. In religion, science, society and even our meditation practice, we begin to aggressively reinforce concepts with an intensity of ego identification and magical supposition. We dualize our view and begin to demonize opposites in order to further entrench our position. And thus, we are further and further from the truth. We fabricate concepts and magical abstraction as fingers become doctrine, spirituality becomes religion and supposition supplants discovery. The mind creates any number of overlays to help it create narrative and context for its perceptions. Our conditioning, being basically materialistic, will try and assign a value judgement and meaning to the designations we assign. The path of Meditation is a journey toward awakening from the overlay of concepts toward a direct perception of reality. According to Indian and Tibetan Buddhism, the truth of experience is that life is simply as it is. Life is actually so simple and direct that it lies well beyond any language capability. The path of meditation is the journey from sleepwalking through life, to actually experiencing life first hand, in real time. We go from taking designations for granted, through seeing the process of conceptualizing our life, to being willing to deconstruct the constructs. When we least expect it, and certainly when we don’t intend, we will actually glimpse naked experiences of reality. However, it may seem unsettling to our conceptual mind to rest in an undesignated space, without identification. We need to pass beyond a significant firewall to actually rest in undesignated space. Because this open space is with0ut footholds, there is little change to create an identity. This experience must seem sad, frightening and disorientating to a conceptual mind addicted to identification with itself. Each time we glimpse beyond thinking to naked reality, the conceptual mind confronts its own obsolescence. And yet, the experience is also quite exciting to another part of mind. ng our once we have accepted this experience, the conceptual mind, with amazing tenacity, will attempt to reconfigure itself to “own” the new experience. “Yes, this was ‘me’ all along.” However, comfort in identifying with this “deeper meaning” is simply grasping to another, ultimately unsatisfying, layer of construct. If one remains faithful to the path of discovery, it will have to be let go. This is quite painful. It takes patience and persistence to move beyond the defensive constructs of the firewall. Two minds? Well. there are many. In the same way indigenous people’s of the arctic are said to have thousands of words for ice, the Tibetans have many designations for mind. These can be placed in three categories: conceptual thinking mind, nonconceptual feeling mind and our present experience. I say ‘present experience’ to distinguish from the other categories of mind, which reference an identity forged by a relationship with past and future. Simply put, our identity based on past associations and expectations of the future cannot exist in the actual present. Thus, our ideas, concepts and overlays can also not exist there. With the absence of identification and conceptualization all that is left, is everything there is.

At some point, the mind, confounded by its inability to label this growing vastness of experience, will simply stop doing that. At that point, there is no meditation at all. There is simply what is. And while that much less than we make of it, it is actually much more than we understand.

We simply cannot grasp reality with the iron tongs of concept. We cannot grasp at all, as there is inherently nothing there to hold. In order to touch reality, we can only land, albeit briefly, with open arms and meet it on its own terms. In meditation practice, we train the mind to loosen its identification with itself in order to more accurately rest in the moment. At that point, we are able see beyond our self-interest into the open space of possibility. We may feel harmonic associations to our past, but we do not confuse that with what is happening now. We relax our grip and let go of the past in order to see this moment as it is. In this way, we are both mindful of the moment and mindful of our process. And, we are letting go of the interference due to gripping from the panic of identification.

Consider an open hand. If we close the hand, we obscure the object. If we grip the hand, we actually change the object. At some point, out of our own panic, we will actually kill the object. In that sense, we have beaten the unpredictability of the universe. We have frozen a dead object in place. But, even then our object is subject to change. In fact, we have not saved the object at all. We have only frozen the meaning, we have solidified the designation, while we have lost the essence. In order to free reality of life from the prison of interpretation, we must have have the bravery to allow things to be as they are. Things as they are are fundamentally beyond our control. But, if we are willing to loosen control, we are able to allow each moment, every thought and every breath its own liberation. By letting go, letting be and opening up to what is, we liberate ourselves from the designations, expectations and obligations of our mind. Letting go of the probable, the supposed, the compulsions, addictions, obligations, identifications and delineations of our experience is knowing that we do not know. And that is a truly remarkable position. Coming to the end of our road, is quite fortunate. Then we can give up, let go, and open to the landscape as it is. Becoming possible.

Becoming now and only that.

However, by the time you read this, it’s over. Something else is happening. All that was now is now gone. And now there is everything else. So, we are left with nothing but sitting, and sitting still, until the mind gives up control, as it will in any case, in death. Only to surrender now in life. To release ourselves of its limitations with every breath in every moment. And, in each moment life becomes possible.

Posted on March 1, 2016March 1, 2016 by joseph mauricio

The Politics of LOVE

3bc2b461f74275834645cd3815ceab75 There is a strength in a commitment to love. There is assurance in a commitment to non-violence. And, there is an unshakable power in a commitment to understanding. I will NOT act out of reflex, but will hold to the moment until I understand what is best. I will act when conscious. And, I will eschew all reflexive defenses that close communication and rely on awareness, as my best defense.

I will build no walls.

Now going into a new set of elections, the most powerful nation on earth will bargain for its heart. And, where is our heart? Are we one nation under God, as we were brought up proclaiming, reciting as a mantra, so we will never forget? Or are we an ocean of people willing to find common cause in order to keep some of the pie. In truth, ‘American’ is a designation with little meaning except as it defines itself in defiance to others. We are ‘American’ not South American, or North American, Central American, or Mexican. We are not Indian, or Native American. Nor are we in the U.S. native to anything, really. We don’t belong, really to anything except the belief that we are something in relation to other things. And, as that is an admittedly fragile platform, we reinforce our position by determining what we are NOT. We gain more strength in our determination to NEVER become what we are not. Our leaders galvanize the populace in defiance of common enemies. Those enemies are a known threat. But their identity is determined by our position. We shore up barricades in the south to hold off barbarians to the north. In the east, we warn against armies of unwashed waiting in the west. Everything is a threat to someone, and we grow stronger in our determination to hold the other out. We are, in fact, one nation united against someone else’s God.

And so now, at the turn of the teens, technology develops more quickly than sense and children learn to hate more than they know. We are joined in our disdain for the left, our hatred of the right, our fear of heaven and our acquiescence to hell. For, all of us follow God until we are backed into a corner. And, then deals are made that trade our dignity for the momentary assurance of belonging. We belong to heaven against earth, we belong those who oppose those who do not belong. To paraphrase my favorite philosopher Bill Hicks, we all want to create a people who hate people club, but we can’t get anyone to join. So, we do the next best thing, and create an object of our hatred in order to attract the masses.

And, we know, inside, that this is so very provisional. This carousel of cruelty turns with each season and reconfigures with each shift in power. One day we are in and the next, we are out. And, along the way, the more fear we cultivate, the easier we are to manipulate. The more entrenched we become in our hatred, the more quickly our base erodes when tides shift.

There simply must be more than this ancient surge to protect ourselves, this biting back on life with tooth and nail, this selling of our future to safeguard our past. There must be more. There must be love.

Oh, yeah. Love. Say amen. Sure. Love.

Love in the face of hatred? Really? Love is strong, yes. If we make love to our partner in the morning, we float out the door, and it lasts all the way to the freeway, or subway. Ok. But, should we fight with someone in the morning, our anger could last all day. Or, longer. Our anger could eventually define our life. And, then we are oh so easily led. If not Trumped by a demigod, then led around by our own nose like a beast of burden. Led by fear into the blind alleys of small mindedness and conformity. Everyone wants to be a rebel, wave the flag, be an insurgent, be the resistance. And the first thing you do? Pledge allegiance to your rebel state. Place a flag on your pickup and a gun in the window. An individualist, like all the rest.

Yes, love seems like not enough. Understanding looks too passive for change. Peace feels too calm to stand up to the fight. This is because love is not of ego’s creation. It was the first cause and its condition is that all things are possible. Love is natural. It is not stilted, nor configured around a temporary base. Love has the simple power of the universe behind it. In fact, it is the simple power of the universe. Love is not the province of any one God, but the reason for all of them. Love is a harder choice sometimes. But commitment to its principles is so strong. Outrageously strong. When hate feels like the sexy choice. When joining everyone else feels good. When building a wall no one can actually afford gets cheers in the hallowed halls of hatred, it time to sit still for a moment and learn to look at things. Perhaps it is time to make the brave choice, the outrageous effort to hold to principles of wakefulness, to not cause harm, and to never run from pain of the moment. To make choices that are best for all. That is strength. The strength to look at the world and see what needs to be done to heal it, and to pledge our allegiance to stay with the pain devoid of blame until each of us is liberated.

And, when we dedicate ourselves to the benefit of all beings, we are not excluding any. We are not amassing strength at the expense of those weaker, on whom we can pour our enmity. We are believing in ourselves and feeling that love for all humanity. Until ALL beings are liberated. Not some at the expense of others. Until ALL beings are liberated.

That is the politics of love. The power to stand with humanity, and to believe in us completely. Love can be a powerful tool.

Is that naive? If we use force against those who hate we will lose. Those who broker in power are well versed in hatred. As Dr. King told his crew, God said to love your enemy. He didn’t say you had to like (them). So, we can learn to bring love to all that we see as wrong, to al we see as problematic, to all we see as the other. We can bring love to the very things we dislike, and we can begin a dialogue right here. Right here in the loving arms of now.

Posted on February 24, 2016March 1, 2016 by joseph mauricio

Messing Up Royally

An Homage to Perfect Mistakes

There were so many of him. Suave, savage, svelt, charismatic, aloof, in your face and distant. Flaming red hair, uneven eyes, lips that kissed the dark of the world and made the night blush. Androsexual, asemetric, omnidrogenous vixen queen, who reigned as king of a world created from the chaos of unknowing. A world that reformed and recreated with each brilliant mistake.

Driven by the power to create, the young man grew old, and never stopped creating. And, as it is after death, the blackstar rose and we remembered the rose tinted ideal, the ageless beauty, the sadness of his heartbreak, his power of prose and genius of poise. But, in truth, it took forever for Bowie to be Bowie. One mistake after another from David Jones mod-topped saxophonist, through the long haired hippie artist, Bowie fell from star to star until he stumbled upon space, a grande mistake.

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Ziggy was a kaleidoscopic mash-up of stooges, velvets, vaudeville, music hall, Hamilton and Warhol in Matchabelli warpaint and an electric smile. He joined Roxy and Rex and turned the world on its gender specific hind and left us all undefined, before eschewing swing for the swagger of the duke, and then the a young american and then…

He stole from heaven and gave us low, pulled from the depths and blessed the sky with a blackstar. We owe him a great deb. He was perfect. Perfection as the product of great mistakes. This tainted saint an ADHD spirit with an artist’s heart – restless, uncertain and forever ch-ch-ch-changing.

A whole generation of us fell in love with the prepunkpunk of rebel rebel channeling our inner bitchy teen. I was amazed that a secret part of me identified as a girl. And, quite unsettlingly, a girl to whom I was super attracted. In one swell flop I had acknowledged my angry teen damage and fell in love with myself. Honoring the darkside, indeed.

But, artists long for freedom. Some can abide little external form. Patti Smith walked out of the bookstore in which she worked at 23. She had no job again except art. Just art. She and Robert on the floor of a room in the chelsea hotel cut and pasting thier future. All the while with the doubt and self-blame of an artist. Those born to create, live as secret frauds in the societies to whom they pretend.

But, some among us do not pretend. John lennon never had another job except delivering milk one summer for his uncle. That must have been something. The the universe respects tenacity and we keep pounding those chords, making nistakes and falling thru the gates of change, and eventually time and space will correct to meet us, warped around our wRped gravity. Not that I can speak for the universe, but I long to imagine it respects those brave enough to make mistakes. The universe might well be the product of a series of mistakes. It takes one to fondle one.

Always make better mistakes. Make more mistakes. Make louder mistakes.

Celebrate imperfection and find beauty in this moment, as it is. This is ruling your world, as Sakyong Mipham calls it. The ability to rise from your own ashes and be here now, embodied and awake, apologizing to no one. A royal mess. A monarch of your own confusion and your own partner, lover and saint. Standing in the darkness we are privy to a light so bright, the universe can’t help but notice. The light of compassion. And, eventually taming our wild heart, we find in time the method for birthing the spirit from the wood without dampening the flame.

To me, this is the power of meditation. Especially Vajrayana. And Bowie practiced this. The transmutation of pain into power. The releasing of spirit in order ease the suffering of the world. Sit erect facing the flames, settle down to earth to open, accept, and simply breathe until we have distilled pure wisdom. Our costume body, like a bell jar allowing the flame to focus into clear light as we sit and sit and compose a personal opus that lights the world. And when we take a seat there, we are the cracked actor on the stage of now. An actor portraying the monarch, creating a part as it unfolds in complete synchronization with the moment. Our moment. Did we create ourselves, or are we created? Do we set trends, follow them, or die beneath them? We are well beyond simple explanation. All of us. A product of mistakes so great we can only fall forward.

But David danced across stones that would have fell another. He rose to his occasion, took a seat and made a difference.

Posted on October 26, 2015January 24, 2016 by joseph mauricio

VIDEO: Meditation. Consciousness and Clarity of Mind

Posted on October 21, 2015 by joseph mauricio

Remembering Jamie

Jamie’s eyes were like pools of blue flame. Her spirit seemed to be trying to burst from her face. There was a natural exuberance and loveliness that manifested practically, and quite successfully, in the world. I loved her, and was jealous of her. We met while she was a student, working on her doctorate. Sarah Barab, a dear friend and wonderful teacher whom I’ve known for years and years introduced us at an event featuring Richard Davidson at the Rubin museum. Jamie was radiant. We were all so excited. The Rubin was buzzing, a gaggle of Ritchie Davidson groupies, like a Buddhist take on seeing Gaga, or Madonna. We made a pact to meet and bring the work of taking a scientific approach to mindfulness practice to the world.

So, we founded the “Living Meditation Project”, and Jamie agreed to co-teach a new group I was calling “dharmajunkies”. On our first class, she and I sat in the ante-room of The Three Jewels, who had graciously agreed to host us. We got there right at start time, and waited for people to come. A few showed up here and there and we directed them into the shrine room. We were waiting for a reasonable quorum in order to begin. We had gotten caught up talking, as we would do. Her energy was infectious, and she had a way of making you feel as though your ideas were golden. It was as though she were drinking your mind, and adding more liquor as you became intoxicated. At some point someone poked their head out and asked if we were coming in. We went in and were surprised to find that the room was full with people waiting for us.

We met often here and there, discussing plans to bring our mutual passion for meditation to the world. She, Sarah and I did a wonderful workshop called “Embodied Wisdom” at Swanand Yoga. I taught the meditation, Sarah the texts, and Jamie did the science. It was one of the great experiences of my teaching life. Everyone fell in love with Jamie.

As her star rose, it became harder for her to find the time to work. Yet, when we were able to meet, she always made me feel like it was a important to her. She did that with everyone. And, it was a powerful transmission because it was entirely genuine. She seemed to be genuinely honored to know humans of all kinds, in all their pain and beauty. She was never out of touch with how fortunate she was to spend time helping the world by bringing mindfulness practice into popular consciousness. She would drink the passions of human experience and turn them into an elixir for waking life.

Jamie was not without her pain. And, she’d have little patience with hagiographic depictions of her divinity. She suffered from depressions, doubt and a loneliness that she never shared with me, but that you could feel in her heart and in her presence. There were wounds there that ran deeply into the heart of her. But, like all deities (okay, sorry, Jamie but I have to) her loneliness was part of the journey. Her heartbreak was motivation for accomplishment. And, her pain was the means to wakefulness.

Pain is common to all of us. It is through pain that we know each other. And through pain that we can rise in our humanity and learn to touch the essence of life–that is, to touch our humanity. And, it is our humanity – our compassion, kindness and basic goodness – that we have to offer the universe.

I love her and miss her and, like many of us, felt that she was somehow awake and present, after her passing. Tuning in to her, I felt – as did many who knew her – that her energy was as bright and optimistic as it had been in her life. She has remained a voice of encouragement to me.

Its a short life, fraught with hardship and betrayal. But, it is not worth throwing ourselves away over a little heartbreak. We suffer, thats what we do. Its like a Geiko ad. Only there no insurance, really. All we can do is employ our energy to help ease that suffering, by attending to the suffering of others. That is to say, it is our right and could be our purpose, to express our humanity in the face pain.

Posted on October 7, 2015 by joseph mauricio

Giving Peace A Chance

The city that loved Lennon came out to commemorate his legacy by creating a human peace sign in central park. John may have died here, but he also lived here and the activity of his heart continues. And people continue to love him, and his ideals. John wasn’t a saint. But neither are we.

He was brave enough to be who he was, and to tell the world what he felt. What we share is a need to live in a world that is safe and sane and our fear that that will never transpire. Our world seems to move simultaneously toward and from an ideal of world peace. There is so much possibility. But there is less time. And even less ozone. The wealth of the world is bound and diverted into inconsequence. The Humanity that each of us is born with, and that is our given birthright, is subsumed by defensiveness, competition and material greed. And, yet we love and are loved. We are capable – all of us – of great things. It is our destiny to lead the world from harm, but we are frightened to do our part, and understandably so.

The Shambhala teachings encourage us not to run from fear, but to look into it as a means of connecting to ourselves and the present. When we deny our fear, and act out of panic with little regard for the world around us, it is a self-denial that leads to a schism in our being. Fear is human, natural and has great wisdom. However, if we are to move forward in life, we must not cave in to the fear but, as the teachings say, to use that fear as a stepping stone to greater openness. We can embrace the sadness, embrace the hurt, embrace the pain in what Chogyam Trungpa referred to as “the cradle of loving kindness.” Loving kindness is an extended hand, an open arm, and a giving heart. It is a physically open posture. It is not giving in to fear, by clenching around it. It is not lurching past trying to prove something to the world. “Placing the mind of fearfulness in the cradle of loving kindness” is opening to our pain, and having the courage to let it be as it is. Our pain is universal. It is the common language of humanity. We all suffer. By opening to our suffering, we can begin to understand the suffering of others. The Path, altogether, is the personal journey from boundaries to bridges.

Meditation is the core of a wisdom path. In the Shambhala tradition we instruct a grounded and honest practice called Shamatha. Shamatha is the cultivation of peace. It is the simple returning of the mind from disconnection to its rightful place in the present. It is the understanding that we abdicate our power when we succumb to fear, and let the mind wander toward distraction or temporary balm. The practice of Shamatha, or peaceful abiding, is to gently train the mind toward the courage of staying in the body and in the present. This calms the deeper and more reactive parts of our psychology. We begin to calm down as the urges inside us give way to surrender and ultimately insight. We begin to see how running away from ourselves is only creating more suffering. In this way, we begin settle further, and begin to develop true peace within ourselves.

The peace we develop through our meditation practice is unconditioned. It is not reliant upon externals. It needs nothing but the bravery to stay. It is the connection we have with our true warrior heart. It is the courage to be exactly who we are without apology. It is a calm that completes us as our understanding becomes manifest. We have travelled the path, we have seen and learned and felt the truth of our life. And, we have developed the honesty to know when we are here and when we are not. It is available when we see ourselves and are willing to rest in being here without struggle, manipulation or apology.

This peace is not devoid of panic. It is not separate from pain. In fact, it is because of our pain. It is the full acknowledgment of our suffering and a willingness to remain in any case. It has manifested in the core of our being. Inner peace. Our daily practice is giving peace a chance to pervade our system, to grow within us and to deepen into our core experience. We have the confidence to remain, unswayed by the turmoil of the world. We can then be its witness, and be witnessed. As thoughts of materialism, anger, frustration, panic and doubt arise, inste vOtasP8TCXxaE-774Z5Mq3OClNIA_oTlDVIgS4CMe1g ad of acting on them, we can bring them back to the steady rhythm of the breath. Calm our heart and begin to wake up to our world. This radiance cannot be denied. It is seen by others. And, in this way, we instill peace in our world. By learning to love ourselves, we can radiate that love to the world.

Lennon was a great sloganeer. And Give Peace A Chance was one of his most resilient mottos. It worked for me, because of the guileless and simple way of presenting the idea of peace. Rather than a banner of aggression, or a slap in the face, as it was used often in those days, it was a simple thought: Why not peace? It was almost acknowledging that it isn’t easy. It was acknowledging that we will, again and again, long to take refuge in aggression. But, why not try? Just try. When we are hurt, broken, doubtful, angry, lonely or sad we need look no further than simply loving ourselves in the moment, as we are. Giving peace a chance to grow. It might change everything. For each breath we return to, is another statement of willingness to be here, in the struggle, in the heart, in the present in the world that so desperately needs us. Giving peace a chance might change your heart. And that might change the world.

Posted on October 5, 2015January 24, 2016 by joseph mauricio

The Courage To Come Screaming In

The bombs rattled through the week.

The worst bombing of the war. German hate rained from the sky. Slamming, explosive, percussive. This once proud port city, now battered in ruin. Mortar and brick reduced to gravel and dust And blood. And, more pounding. More than sanity could endure.

And then, one night, abruptly a gap.

On October 9th, 1940, an uneasy calm fell over the night, and soon Mimi got a call. Julia had given birth to a son. She came as soon as she could to meet her sister, and the boy who would change their lives forever.

I was writing in my girlfriend’s kitchen. She and her children were visiting her parents in Shrewsbury and I had the place alone to finish a presentation for a class on “Myths and Legends”. It wasn’t a theater or radio class, and so held little interest to me. But, there’d be no passing without the project so, never one to easily relent to pressure not of my own making, I was stuck. The Pats were on tv in the other room. Game to the wire. I was writing at the kitchen table. Words cane out they landed nowhere, stubbornly refusing sentence structure. I would write, and then pace. Write and then Grab a beer, check the game on TV, then back sporadically to write words that meant nothing to any of the others on the page.

I heard Howard talking from the TV in the other room. It sounded like something had happened. I walked in to find the score tied and John Smith lining up to kick with seconds left on the clock. Then the phone rang. I dont remember how it fell. There were shards everywhere. My girlfriend on the phine. “Did you hear?” The game was coming down to the wire, but the world was only hearing one thing. “John Lennon … shot twice in the back, rushed to Roosevelt Hospital, dead on arrival.” My girlfriend telling me he was wounded. More calls. Rumores, conspiracies, bargaining, denial, rage. The game in overtime. Howard reiterating “dead … on … arrival.”

I read my paper aloud in class that next morning, still drunk, with no sleep. I said there were no heroes left. No myths or legends left. Everything we believed had been shattered, slammed, broken and discarded. Did we have a God? Did we have soldiers to admire? Police to trust? Laws to believe? Reasons to be, other than to simply breath through another day of pollution in the stench of a dying world? Were we here to move through a rote existence as fodder for the grind? What was left for those with imagination? What was left for those who longed to believe? What was left for those whose spirit yearned toward a greater cause? Dr. King, John and Bobby, Malcomb X. Any ray of hope, condemned for the sin of shining.

The pounding relentless, percussive existence, the wars, the traffic, the hatred. People living on the streets of the most powerful societies on earth. People with so much, feeding off those who could not feed their children. All of us huddled together under the savage canopy of an unjust heaven. I looked up from my presentation and saw tears in my friend Keira’s eyes. Her over-mascaraed face streaming. Tears in a few others. Embarrassment and shuffling in some. The usual sleepy college drift in most. But, tears welled in me. And anger. Alive with the death of anger, I rained hatred and spoke more lucidly than I ever had in that class, the words having finally joined in a chorus of disappointment and rage.

I got a D on the assignment. It bore no relation to the class, they said. Nor were the teachers, both two generations older, particularly moved. Another of the punk generation, railing against the supposed ills of a society from which they nonetheless fed. The world was shattered that day. But they had grades to keep, and a reputation to uphold in this fucking school that taught the worst conformity in the guise of artistic creative expression. I walked broken through hallways unslept and unkempt hugging, crying, raging. There was a vigil that night. All of us packed into a cold wet night holding candles, singing his songs, which were our songs. There were punks, hippies, business folk, students and workers. I saw a man in a suit with his arm around a pink haired girl. It was a strange mix and spoke to the universality of love that comes from music, and came from this man. There was a commotion behind me. I turned and someone’s dog was excitedly wanting to play, trying to pull his family away, unsure why he was at the park if not to play. No one was upset, and we all took turns playing with the dog. It was incongruous to the mood and a perfect counterpoint to our feelings.

At some point I had sung myself out, was freezing and hadn’t found the solace I wanted. I just gave up and made my way to Alan and Donny’s and sat and stared at the television for a week.

It It seems strangely fitting that many of the progenitors of the rock generation were born in the rattle and rubble of war. The worst bombing anyone had ever known. The relentless pounding of the cities, buildings shaking, the streets rattling beneath. Mick and Keith, Ray, Pete and Jimmy all born amidst the rubble and sludge of war. The rocks of war. Kids who grew up in broken fields, playing in the rocks, eating rations.

England had nothing then. Well, nothing except a bumper crop of babies. Babies no one knew what to do with. So, they sent them to school. The good students were packed away to what was left of good schools, keeping the upper crust flaky. The lesser were sent to technical schools trained to support the rebuilding. And the rest, those whose minds worked in less linear ways, who were battered inside, were poor or sickly, or could actually draw were sent to art school. Sure. There’s no economy. Give em some quills and call it a day.

Rattled loose from the moorings the Rock generation came of age hiding transistor radios under tattered covers in bed, listening to transmissions from pirate stations that played music from America. Black music from America. The same music Bobby Zimmerman listened to under thicker covers in iron belt Minnesota. The same music stolen from the slaves, stolen from Africa, that Keith was hearing in Dartford, and Ray on Muswell Hill and John up north in the forgotten hash of Liverpool in a house called Mendips on Menlove Avenue. All lost in the trance of ancient drummers calling from the dark continents of the heart. Songs of pain and misery that rose up in the glory of God and love and sex and sex and sex. And, just as the boys were old enough to begin to stroke their own night rhythm, came a king from Memphis. And, that just shook their world open. And soon those boys would burst from their covers and reenact the percussive pounding of their birth. They’d steal and plead and cry to have some uncle, mother or friend fork up for a mail-order guitar. And out they rode into the night to bang their choruses of rage and love and hormones through garages, back lots and empty rooms across the country.

Rock was forged from the rubble of war, and would, in turn, unleash its pounding fury on the world. A music born of anger and fueled by the rebellion inherent in the self-hatred of a race born into an exploding world. And John was the heart of that rhythm. His Irish sea captain’s ferocious drive, the incessant strumming of his guitar. His ability to lead by the brute force of a will to survive. John butted his way through schools, and created bands around him to play skiffle, and a new music mash up of rhythm and blues, soul, jive, folk, skiffle, country, rock-a-billy, rock n roll and pop. His Beatles became the first and ultimate punk band. Leather clad, slicked hair, amphetamine fueled adrenaline, hammered into shape in strip clubs on the Reeperbahn in Hamburg, where they learned to “mach show”, pete best hitting the bass drum on every beat in order to pound the rhythm into the hearts and minds and night. Coming back home after these excursions, they were welcomed and tempered by the girls who adored them and nurtured by their mothers – Pete best’s mom who had the club that they played their first domestic residency, george’s mom who would make them food and offer a place to rehearse.

In the Tibetan Buddhist tradition it is said that women, or Dakinis which represent the feminine principle, call forth the teachings, nurture them and bring them into corporeal form. When it comes to magic, women always lead. Men follow, grudgingly, to church, or war, to work and to the dance floor. The Dakinis loved John. They adopted him, and fed him and adored him and his band until the men had to join in, and the world around them could no longer ignore the din. Most of their contemporaries at the time regarded this period as their greatest. They hadn’t had a hit yet, but their reputation resounded before them.

When that fist hit came, the entire country opened to them. Three hits later, and it was the world. And, again it was the girls who screamingly heralded the arrival of a new wave of human thinking.

But, world dominance comes at a price. And the leather clad punk band gave way to cheeky lads in Edwardian suits. The tightly honed fusion of beat, and rhythm and audience, gave way to a screaming spectacle. “The fans gave their money”, George Harrison was said to quip, “but the Beatles gave their nervous systems.”

Other than delivering milk for his uncle, John had never really had another job. He was a millionaire at 21. He was the oldest and first of his generation to open the doors of the heart of the world. Soon, the Rolling Stones, Kinks, and Yardbirds followed bringing American music to America and re-establishing British honor, financially and culturally. You cannot overstate the role the British invasion played in reestablishing Britain’s self-respect, economic stability and cultural integrity on the world stage. The Beatles were controversially awarded the MBE in recognition. They were invited to play for the queen, at which point Lennon famously quipped “would the people in the cheaper seats clap your hands and the rest of you, if you’d just rattle your jewelry.” The world was in love and hate with his arrogance and brilliance. Though he did what he could to squeeze his enormous passions into a commercially suitable box, John continued to head butt his way through life accruing the adulation of fans, the respect of peers but also enemies, great controversy and death threats.

The band ended touring, and went on retreat in India with Maharishi Marahesh Yogi. That relationship was eye opening, and I think had karmic effects for the band, who were to begin disintegration into the separate facets of genius from which it was comprised. Lennon wrote some of his most wonderful songs there, and shortly after: “Happiness is a Warm Gun”, “Dear Prudence”, “Across The Universe” and most notably “Sexy Sadie” which was initially entitled “Maharishi” (“what have you done? You’ve made a fool of everyone”) and the line “you came along to turn on everyone” was perfect double entendre, and a beautiful example of his acerbic wit. But, the band fell apart.

And, then came Yoko. And then came the most public courtship, relationship artistic statement, which became a life screaming out loud in public. At one point in the sessions for the movie “Let it Be” (then titled “Get Back”), Lennon sits with Yoko at his side, and asks Ringo to crash the cymbal to “give me the courage to come screamin’ in.” And then they began “Don’t let Me Down” a song which is a perfect example of the harsh, rugged savage grace of the man, still frightened, still honest, and despite being one half of the most successful songwriting partnership in history, willing to ask his partner for a cymbal to give him courage. I hear the Irish shanty troubadour in him. His relentless drive, imploring the world to listen.

And Yoko Ono, avant guard Japanese underground New York art celebrity either pursued, or ignored him; manipulated or liberated him; enslaved or nurtured him, became his port in the storm. They bonded with a fierceness that consumed both of them, and eclipsed his all boy world. He said, being with Yoko was like being with my mates, except we can go to bed together. In interviews with the two of them he is at one admiring, in love, amazed and also rudely dominant. He interrupts, criticizes, cuts her off, as well as agrees and supports her, sometimes in the same sentence.

He begins a life in public, in bed with her, in bags with her, merging art, pop, communication and activism. He is narcissistic, self-involved millionaire whose genius was to be as he was, and turn it all to promote the good in society. He had a political sloganeer’s knack for a great line, and some of them – “All You Need Is Love”; “Give Peace a Chance”; “Imagine”; “War is Over (If You Want It)” changed things at the time, and have lived with us for a long time. Lennon felt a responsibility to himself to live honestly. But, he also had a genuine love of the world, and the need to use his good fortune and high visibility to help that world.

In 1975, that came to rest, as John settled in to New York City, a regular fixture on the Upper West Side. He turned his business over to his wife, who employed an astrologer to help turn his earnings into millions. Lennon believed in astrology, studied Tibetan Buddhism and UFO’s. They were passions of his, along with wife and child, his box of incredible weed and a television he would surf through endlessly in his Dakota mancave. Some say he remained a junkie. Others claim that those days ended with marriage. Some claim he was bisexual, or even gay, that he used people, that he squandered fortunes even as he pretended to care for the downtrodden. He was violent, chauvinistic, boorish and, at least when Paul met him at Woolton Fete in ’57, had bad breath. What is clear is that he suffered from depression, and a need to isolate. The man never had a job, except to have every word he uttered become a significant statement. He never had a childhood, except the one he was never released from. He never had a life, except that of the biggest rock star of his generation. Whisked away into the bowels of the machine, he never knew normalcy. He was never able to process wounds and heal the hurt that remained so alive within him. So, was he a junkie? Or, was he scared of the world he had helped create, and lived in a cave of his own sequestering, only to emerge butterfly forth at 40 to begin starting over. And then 5 shots rang out and ended that.

The shooter crouched in military stance, about 6 feet behind him, and fired 5 shots into his back and, and as he turned, into his side. Any 4 of those shots would have been fatal. John was killed on his doorstep after he’s returned home from an interview to promote his newly released album. Killed just as he came out of hiding. As soon as he was free again. As soon as he could speak free of the shrouds of heroin, depression and secrecy. As soon as he began “Starting Over”, it was gone for all of us.

I believed then it was an assassination. And, I believe that now. I’m not a flake. I’m a triple Taurus, have a capricorn moon and practicality runs engrained in my DNA. But, I believe he was assassinated. Call me a stooge. I believe John Kennedy, Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King were murdered. Sounds like I’m nuts right? But, whether or not its true in fact, it says something very true about our view of society. We don’t trust it. We don’t trust ourselves. You can’t trust something you don’t believe.

What is it we believe?

In one of his last interviews, he discussed his violent days, and the few times he took it out on the women he knew. This was an intense admission. Naked, as he was. Imperfect and embarrassing. How did this stand with his pleas for peace and love? “Its the violent ones that know how important peace is”, he said. During the inevitable backlashes that seem to rise against his legacy, like mother waves every 8 years, when people then look for arcane scenarios to defrock him, they will claim that his pleas for world peace and invocations of a very practical common kitchen sink version of sanity, were fraudulent. He is routinely discredited because he was violent, rude, hurt people and smelled badly. Well, you know what? I believe that those are exactly the reasons his statements are valid. He understood the hurt the world suffered. He experienced it from both ends. He was imperfect, flawed, and had a heart only an Irishmen could bear. And bear it he did. In public, learning as he went. Learning as we all went. We grew up together. We hurt and loved and laughed together. The pain that made him flawed, made him human, made him genius and made many of us love him.

During one of his last interviews in 1980, Lennon was asked if, in light of the drastic political swing to the right under Reagan and Thatcher, and the gross commercialization of music, art and life, if he looked back on his days espousing peace and love with any regret or embarrassment.

Lennon replied, “If you smile and someone punches you in the face, it was still a smile. You can’t take that away. The smile has always been there.”

And the smile will always be there for those with the courage to come screaming in without embarrassment, with their full heart. And, for those of us who need it most, the idea of imagining peace is most important and real.

Posted on September 1, 2015 by joseph mauricio

Waking The Warrior

Each morning we seem to arise to a pre-scripted litany of complaint. But there is a moment before the deluge, before the bones creak and the muscles scream, before the flood of responsibility strikes like lead clouds pressing down upon us. There is a moment before we drown our fearful footsteps into a cold shower and hot coffee. There is a nano second, a moment, a gap of openness. And through that slight aperture a vast open space is glimpsed and forgotten.

If we had the mental clarity in this moment, we might see our true nature. Open, reliable, awake. In that moment of purity, we are as we are, a warrior without doubt or confusion. We are as we have always been, but have forgotten to be. Throughout our day we have these opportunities to wake up. And, we do. Frustratingly the mind of wakefulness passes by us again and again. Sometimes unnoticed. Sometimes seen, but not believed. And then, in an instant, we retreat. We forget our true nature and choose (albeit blindly) to turn back to a hackneyed world of habit, abuse and recrimination.

But, what if we choose not to forget? What if we choose to wake in the face of a turning earth and roaring like a lion inside, meet the day with a humble gentleness that defies the gravity of our expectations? What if we chose to wake up tomorrow morning, and instead of sleepwalking thru our day, vow to remain awake, alive and present in our life? What if we choose to wake the warrior within?

This might sound like carpe diem. But what is that? Seize the fish?

No, its not about “killing it”, “bringing it”, “Rocking it”, or any of that rah-rah sis-boom kind of coaching that work for a few days before we fall back to the solace of indolence. This is about a real life change. And that change is as near as the next moment. In fact, it is available in each moment. Its about opening up to life, seeing through the cracks in our confusion and beginning to take ownership of our lives one breath at a time. Its about returning to awake and it is what we call Warriorship. It is the bravery to be gentle, the strength to remain open and the honesty to simply be as we are.

Ok. I’ll admit this isn’t fast and furious. In fact, its more slow and peaceful. However, while the former admittedly makes a better fiction, the latter makes a richer and more rewarding life. The Warrior’s view is sustainable, as it sees beyond the aggression of blind appropriation to the panoramic awareness of awake appreciation. But, we must be willing to look at our world BEFORE we choose complaint. We must be willing to chose the uncomfortable space of awake. In order to do that we must be strong. And in order to be strong, we must learn to love ourselves.

Warriorship is not building walls, defining affiliations, or designating easy enemies to rally our ignorance. It is not grabbing the first excuse to accuse others. It is taking responsibility for being awake and accepting the mantle of one whose life is dedicated to helping the world. Sakyong Mipham says, “the warrior is kind to themselves and merciful to others.” His point is that we actually do treat others as we treat ourselves. The Golden Rule, it turns out, is quite true and it is actually as much a curse as a blessing. When we are embroiled in inner conflict we are training the mind to see the world as hostile. When we fight ourselves we cannot help but turn friends into enemies and allies into adversaries. On the other hand, when we rise to the occasion of our moment and respect ourselves by bringing awareness to that moment, we come to see the world as amenable, compliant and ultimately workable. We are able to treat others with the same regard and self-respect as we treat ourselves. With that cooperative, mutually supportive relationship to our world we can be a benefit to ourselves and others.

Being hard on ourselves might seem like a method for self improvement, but it actually erodes self-confidence, ultimately making us weaker. Being kind to ourselves is learning to support ourselves. This makes us stronger. In time, our self-identification shifts from a litany of complaint to the strength of compliance. We learn to become our own support. And, in so doing we become strong enough to help others.

The development of Warriorship is a return to our natural state. Humans were meant to stand erect and see around them. We are designed to reign over the earth, and turn our world into a place of beauty and nourishment for our family and clan. Compassion, caring and kindness are natural human characteristics. But, our capacity for them is easily eroded when we fail to care for ourselves. When we are under great duress, we learn to ignore our natural confidence and begin to doubt ourselves and attack our world. We choose to rape the earth and grab all that we can for ourselves. This is very shortsighted, and frankly in no ones best interest. Everyone knows this. But, what are we waiting for? Who will be strong enough to stand up to the tide of cruelty that we accept as our Human legacy?

Cruelty is not our legacy. it is our choice. Blind, though it may be, we have been making that choice for our lives and it may now be time to wake up to the choice points, and choose an alternative.

The world is changing rapidly. It has grown smaller and there are more humans living on a decreasing amount of arable land. We are reaching a singularity of purpose and survival. Perhaps it is time to see ALL of humanity as our own clan. In order for humanity to survive we may have to turn from grasping at survival and learn instead to thrive. And what denotes thriving as succinctly as generosity and compassion. Perhaps it is time for us to choose cooperation rather than competition. Caring rather than condemnation. Perhaps it is time for us to stand upright, survey our world and begin to see all of the earth as our mantle, charge and responsibility. This is not pie in the sky. This is bread on the table.

But, how will this happen? Will the world figure it out? Will the ancient aliens come to 4settle our old scores? Or, will we each begin to realize that living a life of ignorance and greed is not living at all. Will each of us, or one of us, or any of us choose to turn from this reptilian stubbornness and stand for themselves? This is Warriorship. The willingness to do what needs to be done without without help. And, this will take great strength. And great strength needs cooperation with ourselves. The warrior has far to go, but they must begin with themselves. And, they must begin alone.

This covenant of daring does not need a movement. The Warrior trusts themselves and acts out of a natural care and affection for their world. The Warrior does not need to follow the tide. But, if the warrior is to protect the world, the warrior must first stand for themselves. This takes careful, determined and dedicated training.

Chogyam Trungpa has said that everyone should have an art, a martial art and a meditation practice. In this way, the Warrior is training their body, spirit and mind. A martial art is a way of developing true confidence devoid of dependence on external conditions. Art liberates the spirit. And, self-regard and respect are the natural outcomes of a regular meditation practice. Thus, we have the basis for great strength in our life.

The Warrior’s Body is firm. The warrior should have a martial art. Not just random exercise, but a progressive development of the body, to give us a sense of strength and purpose. Strength and purpose allow the reptile mind to relax and the impulse associated with fear and defensiveness can abate, as the bodily confidence develops.

Sitting up straight in meditation changes brain chemistry, increasing testosterone, and decreasing cortisol. As well, the awake posture calms the deepest part of the mind. It relaxes the animal impulse to attack, retreat or burrow and allows a general sense of calming the reactive mind, because its apparent someone is now watching the ship. Thus, sitting up straight is the Warrior’s posture and the Warrior’s sword. Without this we are so easily swayed.

The Warrior’s heart is open. Although strength males us safe, vulnerability, caring and concern make us human. What is the point of life, if we are not alive. The Warrior’s Art should be something that has limited commercial value. It is creative expression, so missing from our lives today. Drawing, dancing, music, automatic writing, anything that allows the soul to move and to play. Without this we are brittle and so easily broken.

The warrior’s mind is awake. Clarity is the warrior’s sword. Having seen the morass of indecision and doubt, the the warrior develops the strength of inner resolve. The warrior relies on the view and constantly hones the blade of valid perception in order to see clearly beyond the constraints of ego and self interest that only erode confidence. Thus the warrior’s mind is not searching for answers, enemies or blame. The Warrior’s mind sees, feels and knows. Just so. Without this all the strength in the world will only lead to its own self destruction.

Unconditioned confidence. The warrior develops what Sakyong Mipham calls unconditioned confidence. This is an indomitable sense of well-being and of being well, that stems from a familiarity with oneself developed in meditation. It is a confidence rooted in our basic goodness. This confidence is not dependent upon anything outside of itself, hence it is indestructible. It is a confidence that does not fall into complaint. It is a confidence that buoys awareness and allows us to have the larger view, which is our destiny as humans.

In this manner, Warrior learns to love themselves and care for their world.

Posted on September 1, 2015 by joseph mauricio

L u c i d p h e n o m e n o n

our life. experiencing the sacred moment. each teardrop. every raindrop. the clouds falling across the sky, stars exploded in the night. the whoosh of traffic. the glimmering towers of the city. the thumping music below, calling sirens from the rock and sirens in the street. waking up in chaos, and touching the earth of our precious human birth. what else is there? simply the moment to moment reality of a life that will never be as we expect it to be. if that is a blessing, then we believe in magic and our life is our own. If the fact life exists independently of our plans is a burden, then our magic is no good here. try as we might, our life is not scripted solely by ourselves. the only truth is complete acceptance, opening and surrender to what is. letting go of what we hoped it would be.

but, who was it that was hoping, anyway?

so much of our “hopes” were scripted by everyone else. our minds are vast and largely unpredictable. yet our actions are often rote. forged by circumstances deep in our past, we wander neural pathways to the same destinations again and again. all the while believing in an alternate mental construct that only occasionally interfaces with reality.

how do we know what we want, if we don’t know who we are?

and not knowing is the fist step. knowing that we don’t know is the seed of wisdom. and, we know we’re unhappy. maybe always have been. and we want things to change for us. but, instead of changing our life based on what we think we know, which is often what we were trained to know, we can look at where we are. we can discover who we are and accept what is. investigating our life, learning from our experience can happen when we accept who we are. completely. complete surrender to what is.

and then things can change. In fact, everything will, because everything does. when we surrender to what is, and still rise up and move forward, we are working with what is, we are partnering with reality. which means we’re here to learn. which means we’re here to fail.

and we all know how the story ends. yes. life is a series of mistakes culminating in death. sorry that. but its how the universe rolls. so, lets make it good. treat ourselves with respect and each other with kindness and make this the best world it can be for all of us. one breath at a time.

YES, AND …

Posted on July 27, 2015 by joseph mauricio

Welcome to Life, Already in Progress

I had my morning tea on the back porch today. I sat, not yet awake, looking at nothing, really. My first conscious thoughts were about feeling tired, which is how I assume waking up feels. Then the weather, which is how I assume my day will feel. As I slowly came to, I noticed the length of the grass in the yard, the tired declining fence, the tangled woods beyond, and the ugly electrical wires on a pole leading back to the house. I was subtly judging, even correcting, things. I was automatically comparing my experience to imaginary circumstances before I had even become conscious. This commentary comprised of almost thoughts, glimpses and suppositions lay barely audible in the background of my experience.

I think we’re all a bit like this. We wake up most days assuming a blanket of unexamined thoughts that stem from dysfunctional character studies in the novellas of mind. Today’s complaints must have come from an author who’s protagonist is a loser, incapable of correct choices, living in the wrong place, at the wrong time. He employs great acumen to prove the inadequacy of his experience. His intellect is so sharp it cuts at the core of his confidence. His brain is like a hot sauce so caustic it dissolves the food its meant to enhance. He is left waking up into a litany of complaint.

I had another sip of the tea.

And then, I remembered to pay attention to now. Remembering is the fruit of mindfulness training. We can be grounded in the reality of our situation by simply remembering. I am not my thinking. I am especially not my thinking before I’ve had my tea. I remembered this is what mind does. Its a habit, and only that. Its a way of preparing for the day by complaining about it in advance. But, in remembering the game I play in these precious preconscious moments, came the magic of release. In opening to the moment, I regained control over my life experience.

That’s when I saw the baby deer hidden in the dense overgrowth. It was like being allowed to peer into an intimate and gentle part of my world I had not seen before. I was allowed to see something precious and wonderful right from my own porch. I relaxed further. Within a few moments I began to make out the family above the baby. An ear here. A leg there. Pieces of a puzzle of the amazingness of ordinary life. I realized the forest behind my house was alive. I remembered that life is happening now.

I had another sip of tea and noticed the tea was quite good. This tea had been good for some time. My life, it seemed, had been happening all along.

Mindfulness training allows us to become available to our world. We are open to noticing the world, and being woken up by it. In order to readily remember that life is happening NOW, we can train in becoming aware of some aspect of the four foundations of mindful experience in the body, the heart, the mind, or life. The power of meditation lies in remembering. Hence, meditation training is training the mind to remember to come back and open to our present experience.

An interesting aspect of meditation in action is that as we become aware, we self-adjust. Awareness is the true depiction of events, as opposed to a projected idea of what we want those events to be. It is devoid of judgement. When we become aware of imbalance or misalignment, we simply – automatically – adjust. We have been trained to react to worldly occurrences automatically. If a car enters the road in front of us, we automatically adjust. We don’t berate ourselves. We simply turn the wheel. We have been trained to be mindful of driving and aware of the road around us, so it is natural. When mind meets life, life becomes workable.

With mindfulness practice, we can also become mindful of somatic and psychological experience. When we become aware of tension in our body, the body will automatically relax into alignment. When we become aware of feeling ill at ease, if we can relax into the anxiety, the tension will simply release. When the mind recognizes deeper layers of our psychology, experience that is often unconscious to us becomes seen and the energy relaxes. When mind meets body, body sits up straight. When mind meets emotions, the energy subsides and the heart relaxes. But, a particularly magical encounter is when mind recognizes mind.

When we encounter the mind, and see its behavior, we automatically relax away from self-obsession into clear space. Mind meeting mind is mind waking up. If we can train ourselves to slow down enough to see the steps, we can see the choice points, and learn to open into nowness. This is learning to wake up. And, we can do it now. We can do it right here. We need not travel cross country into retreat, lose weight, become vegan or complete so many mantras. We need only remember. If we employ a gentle and persistent approach to waking up, we can actually rest in the ground of appreciation.

At least until the next wave of doubt and discouragement ensues. But then, seeing that, we can remember to come back and open. Notice, remember, come back and open. Eventually, we will pass through layers of doubt like veils of experience and rest for a moment in the non-thinking, wordless, but extraordinarily awake state of our life, already in progress.