Tag: openness

Posted on by joseph mauricio

A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

The Faith to Face the Present

One thing I miss from my early Christian upbringing was the belief that something out there was caring for me, watching over me.

And when I felt cut off as though my spirit had darkened, I assumed I was failing. My disconnect from God was evidence of their displeasure. And so at times, I would resent God. “God fearing” translated to self-hating. While this cosmic psycho push pull afforded me lots of entertainment, it was a closed cycle that grew quickly tiresome.

It became clear, that God was a projection of my feelings at any given time. And that I used them as a personal assistant: give me this, get me that.

In time, I came to adopt a Buddhist point of view, which was less comforting, yet perhaps more rewarding. I found the comfort, solace, and protection I was yearning was accessible if I believed in myself.

My self.

But wasn’t it my self that led me into darkness in the first place?

When Buddhists speak of no self, they are saying that the self, as with God itself, is not a solid thing that can save or condemn. When we say, “inside myself,” we’re talking about a part of ourselves that is not solid. A part of our being that is vast and open.  This is called “Buddha Nature”.

Buddha literally means “awake.” The Buddha, the “awakened one”, was a historical being who instructed followers to work on themselves in order to overcome the delusions that kept them locked in cycles of suffering. As humans, we tend to see phenomena as we project them to be. For instance, we might see a vengeful God, or a loving God depending upon inner circumstance. This is a co-dependent cycle and is not wisdom born of clear seeing.

But if we come to believe, to understand, and to have faith, in Buddha nature, then we develop a relationship that is much deeper, stronger, and more rewarding than simply relying on ourselves. And it is also more reliable than anything beyond ourselves. Buddha Nature is the clarity from which we see the world clearly.

In this way, we are experiencing phenomena as what is called  “self-liberated” – which is to say, things are not how we interpret them they are as they are. We have no obligation to phenomena other than to respond appropriately. We are not required to change ourselves based on what others – or other forces – seem to dictate. We can come to have faith in a deeper and truer self that, although not solid, is always here with us.

So are we saying a self that is beyond ourselves yet within ourselves?

We are talking about a part of ourselves that is beyond the self—that is deeper, more open, and more connected to the vibrance, wisdom, and compassion of the universe. The part of ourselves that is the nature of all things. Buddha Nature is compassion and wisdom, which manifests as what is called luminosity. Like light, like the rays of the sun, luminosity points to an experience that is open and regenerative but not solid. Although not solid, luminosity can be focused toward very tangible and practical ends. Light is something we move through easily, and yet, if we sharpen its focus, it can cut through iron.

When we say that our Buddha nature lies within and beyond us, we’re saying that we are in touch with something greater than our corporeal form and well beyond our life experience. We are in touch with the universe. An important aspect of the experience of a universe is its ability to light itself, see itself, and transmit wisdom to all that exists within it. If we are able to feel that light within ourselves, we can connect to the light beyond ourselves.

In practical terms, this means that there is an aspect of our being that need not be defined, encapsulated, contained, or controlled, because it is well beyond our abilities to do so, but is a very tangible, practical, apparent, and present part of ourselves, nonetheless.

With our meditation practice, we train our mind to open to an experience of Buddha nature and the Buddha nature of others, the world and the universe. It is admittedly difficult for me to feel the Buddha nature of those who have harmed me or those who I feel do wrong. But I am absolutely committed to the view that it is not my job to determine who has done wrong. My job is to remain present and open and recognize those glimpses of light when I see them. There are some beings whose Buddha nature I cannot imagine opening my mind enough to see. Therefore, faith is important in those instances.

So, am I a being of light? Well, that seems a way to make light solid. It’s not the light that will save me. In fact, nothing will save me from what is happening. This is my beautiful life. It’s up to me to live as fully as I can.

When things become hard, dark and solid, I have faith that when I am able to return to the present moment, things will have the best chance to work in a way that is best for me. The present moment is devoid of expectation. So, we are not asking or demanding anything. We are here, with our feet on the ground, trusting that we are what we need, all that we need in this moment.

So, as with all things “Buddhist” the middle way is indicated. Letting go of both our need to control all eventualities, and our wish to curl up and have something save us. We do the work to keep our mind present and clear, and at some point we learn to open to space, Space may open to us.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

THE IMPROBABILITY OF PURPOSE

Setting an Intention For Our Intention

We sometimes find ourselves off course in life. For me this stems from being off course with my mindfulness practice. If I’m not paying attention now, I’m likely not on track down the line. Without mindfulness intentions will to come and go.

Without grounding in Mindfulness successful outcomes are a statistical improbability.

Some of us have very … um … creative minds. Minds that move in many directions simultaneously and wanders back to the point whenever it gets there. Minds that avoid structure like some kids avoid broccoli. You might call this attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. My therapist for instance.

But, our mind is what we have to work with. And I’ve found it rewarding to do the work. To that end mindfulness became very important to me. I had been ashamed of the way my mind didn’t easily conform to social convention. In time, I found my way into the practice by learning that I needn’t force myself into a boxlike arbitrary stillness in order to be present. While my version of present experience might be more fluid than someone else’s both myself and those theoretical someones need to each find our way to working with our minds.

Working with my mind I realized the importance of being present in order to be present in my life. However, I need to find a way to stay present without feeling as though I’m being tied down or forced into someone else’s brain. The truth is, despite years of meditation training, encouraging my mind to rest in the present remains an ongoing practice. It’s less an accomplishment than an application. A daily manual application.

One technique I find helpful is to encourage my mind the time to have my brain feel its way into the present. Not necessarily emotionally. I mean literally feel. Making mindfulness less a mental exercise than an embodied experience. Through repeated practice, presence becomes less something I remember to do and more something my body begins to recognize and remember. Mindfulness in muscle memory, you might say.

This applies throughout the day as it occurs to us. When opening a door, I can feel my hand on the doorknob. Walking across a room, I can feel my feet making contact with the ground. These small moments of embodiment gently interrupt the momentum of distraction and restore a sense of presence. And presence is reassuring. It reminds the fearful part of the brain not to worry because we’re here.

However, it’s not practical to be locked into this. Mindful presence isn’t something we force or hold onto. It is more a place we can return to. We learn to move naturally through our day while remaining grounded in our experience, by coming back as we need to our feet, our hands, our intention.

Until the mind wanders again, that is.

That’s not failure. That’s what minds do. And we can see it as an opportunity to further embed mindfulness into our neuro-stream. In this case we’re embedding full body purpose. The practice is to recognize when we’ve drifted, accept that and remember to return. With patience with our brain we’ll rewire it to recognize, remember, and return. Then our mind can rest more easily where it is placed.

At this point, I should mention that I’m designating our neurological experience its wiring at the “brain” and our ability to establish a purpose in life and experience a spiritual and creative fullness as “mind.” The brain needs to be rewired to remember to return to the tactile present so thye mind can feel calm and clear.

Over time, this embodied mindfulness begins to translate into everyday living. We don’t have to meditate every waking moment. We simply touch base from time to time by reconnecting with the body in throughout our daily life. Lifting our head from the laptop. Feeling our feet in the earth. Remember we’re human and need encouragement as well as purpose.

I’m referring to this as applied intermittent mindfulness. Or, you might say AIM. And the AIM is to flowing through life with ease. Therefore, just as we are seated in our experience, we can be seated in our purpose. You see, the qualities of unconvention make it easy to drift astray for our purpose. How often do we wake up as if out of a dream wondering, as David Byrne notable asked “how did I get here? … Is this my beautiful life?

Our intentions, no matter how noble, are surprisingly fickle when they exist only as thoughts. We think we can do it. Hahaha the “road to hell” and all that. One reason why we can’t keep on track, go off the diet, or forget to get to the meditation cushion is that it’s only an idea. And an idea without a corresponding action is just a thought. If our intentions are only thinking, no matter how well intended, they will change.

Our intentions become reliable when they’re more deeply rooted in the body. Feeling the breath, the feet, the hands, even for a few seconds, gives our purpose somewhere to land. Instead of chasing lofty ideals, we inhabit them. Mind, body, and intention begin working together, and our aspirations become less theoretical and more lived.

We don’t simply intend to be present, compassionate, or wise—we embody those qualities, grounded in one ordinary moment at a time.

In that way, we build a mindful life.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

That Perfect Moment

What happens before a thought?

Is there an instance of space that opens? Before we fill it with a cognition? Before we decide what this moment means? Before the notion of “me” arises again? Maybe in this perfect moment of open space anything and everything is possible.

I wonder whether the birth of a thought is analogous to the birth of the universe. What happened in that impossible moment preceding the Big Bang? Was there a perfect stillness before everything burst into being? Or is that simply another story our minds tell because we cannot imagine beginnings without a “before”?

And is it even possible to reduce our thinking to a singular thought, or reduce the birth of our universe to a singular event. Neither is likely true. Thoughts arise in astonishing succession, perhaps even simultaneously, from different regions of our mind. We notice one. We cling to one. Or perhaps, one chooses us and carries us away into its narrative.

Maybe the universe is no different. Perhaps there are countless beginnings happening all the time. Countless worlds appearing and disappearing, all interacting.

We act as though what we are thinking has always been here and will always remain. Once a thought captures our attention, it suddenly feels solid. Real. Obvious. We stop seeing it as an event occurring in consciousness and begin treating it as reality itself.

The cosmologist Jenna Levin suggests that labeling something “infinite” is intellectually lazy. To declare something infinite may simply mean we’ve reached the edge of our understanding. We’ve stopped asking what might be after we’ve reached our cognitive event horizon.

Perhaps our attempts to find an edge to the universe is an attempt to map the extent of what we know. Once we’ve defined a conceptual edge – or determined that there is no edge – we are trying to define it. To hold it. To accept it as a given. To make it something we can inhabit.

Perhaps we do the same with our thoughts. Rather than investigating them, we crown them with permanence. We believe them. We inhabit them. We defend them. We mistake them for truth rather than recognizing them as temporary appearances arising in the universe of awareness.

One anxious thought becomes my anxiety. One political opinion becomes what I stand for. One heartbreak and my life is over. Before long, we’ve constructed a reality around something that, moments earlier, did not exist.

Meditation can show a snapshot of this process. And that snapshot might offer a glimpse of freedom from it. You see, believing our thoughts disables our ability to see them as thoughts. This is a form of imprisonment because it locks us into living and reliving only what we already know. As comforting as this is, it comes at the expense of everything else we might become.

If we sit quietly and follow the “prime directive” – which is to notice what arises without interference, such as judgement, desire, preference, et al. We will see that thoughts don’t actually arrive in a neat line. They bubble up from nowhere, overlap, interrupt one another, disappear without resolution, and occasionally dissolve before they’ve fully formed. Sometimes there is the faintest glimmer of gap—a tiny opening before the machinery of interpretation begins again.

Gap is intriguing. It is almost impossible to catch. Yet it opens the door to everything that isn’t a thought. Which is to say, everything else. The moment we recognize the gap, another thought has already arrived to congratulate itself for finding it. This kind of mental selfie interrupts the prime directive and invites us to believe what we are thinking. And believing is not seeing.

Perhaps that’s why contemplative traditions place so much value on resting in awareness rather than chasing thoughts. Not because thoughts are bad, but because they are astonishingly persuasive. Every one arrives announcing itself as reality.

And every one eventually disappears.

So, perhaps with meditation we are stepping back and gaining a perspective. What gives us perspective is space. Gap is a glimpse into opened undefined space. In time, singular moments of gap become perspective from which we can see without believing or interfering.

Maybe the “perfect moment” isn’t something mystical waiting somewhere outside ourselves. Maybe it is simply that immeasurably brief instant before experience hardens into certainty. Before we decide what this is, what it means, who we are, or what comes next.

Not because certainty is wrong.

But because that tiny opening reminds us that things are not solid, or defined by the limit of our understanding. Reality is alive. Much of it is beyond our understanding, but that should not stop us from looking. If we release ourselves from beliefs, from hopes and fears, from right and wrong, we may accept what’s there. Not agreeing or disagreeing, just seeing. Seeing everything we see whether we see it or not.

Our universe—whether out there among the galaxies or in here among our thoughts—is not a finished object but an ongoing event. And remembering that every thought, no matter how convincing, came from, and will return to, that perfect moment of gap where everything is possible.