Thoughts Arise

Self loathing, social anxiety, embarrassment, and regret. I have felt them all strongly in my life. I think the misery of these mental states comes from the assumption of a better self. If only I was able to express my true self, life would be fulfilling. But, before we know it, we have been moulded by our genes and our environment and thrust into the world. So what is this ideal by which we judge ourselves? Shunryu Suzuki posited that Zazen (sitting meditation) itself is a direct expression of our true nature. And the peace that regular practice has brought makes me see great wisdom in this teaching. When we meditate we are expressing something that cannot be articulated well with words. In mindfulness meditation we sit in an alert posture and attempt to observe the breath and anything that arises. Through that very intent we accept that control is an illusion. We acknowledge that thoughts, sensations and emotions arise spontaneously. This expresses an unravelling of the volitional se...

I have wondered at times how the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle applies to the reality of the macroscopic world. How does indeterminacy at a basic level lead to predictability at a larger scale? After today’s meditation the principle seems more familiar. I looked for my face and could not find it; I only become aware of it when it's observed. My own subjective experience seems analogous to the uncertainty of the quantum universe. Aspects of my personality only come forth when they are expected by another or triggered by an interaction with the world. Decisions seem to waver within a space of possibility before some series of events brings them to a close. The mind seems to be a wave function of possibilities, collapsing into experience based on its interaction with the physical world. Perhaps someday we will realise that the apparent paradoxes of quantum physics describe our own experience more closely than we thought.    Image from www.freepik.com

I focus on the breath and physical sensations. I notice that there is always a distance between sensations. A four dimensionality to experience that is not centred on any single point. Eventually the focus fades. Thoughts and opinions emerge attached to a self. But, upon investigation, the self in each instance seems to be a stick figure; a vastly abstracted and simplified representation of what I am. My awareness naturally shifts from the head to heart. The warmth in my chest comes with the feeling of expansiveness and the background hum of a gentle emotion. As I let go the illusion of control, an insight begins to form. A true representation of my identity includes the innumerable connections that bind me to this world. Every beat of my heart effortlessly brings the image of a person I have known. Each pulse strikes a chord in resonance with the imagined heartbeat of a remembered soul. Well wishes emanate from my heart and flow across this web of connections with a complete lack of r...

Me; worried about tomorrow's burden. This; the heartfelt tenderness for a beloved voice. Me; separate from the world. This; deeply interconnected. Me; the one averse to beginnings and endings. This; where all that is known arises and fades. Me; weak-kneed in the shadow of death. This; without a familiar beginning or end. This is greater than me. Perhaps a platitude, but also a signpost to serenity. Photo from www.freepik.com

I have dreamt every night for at least a year. The dreams are vaguely recalled, rarely feel significant, and never seem worth the attempt to decipher meaning. But three nights ago I had a dream of a different nature. I waited to see if I would forget the experience, but it has left a deeper imprint. The dream had that noetic quality described by William James; I had the sense of bearing witness to a significant insight. And yet the ineffability of the experience, also described by James, makes it hard to put the vision into words. But I still feel compelled to try. I dreamt of a mandala. Fractal patterns of diamonds and flowers, intertwined in exquisite form, converging on a bright center. White against black. It seemed vast, but there was nothing to compare it to other than the immense darkness that seemed to surround it. I was there in first person; just a presence without a body. The centre of the circle was pulling me in with irresistible force. It felt like impending doom; my deat...

"Two hands clap and there is a sound. What is the sound of one hand?" Hakuin Ekaku Another enigmatic koan. It is like an impenetrable stone. I can only skip it across the water and observe the ripples left in its wake. No one else’s answer will do. I have to find my own. I meditated on it, and now I run with it. Towards the end of my route the trees and plants seem to urge me on. They extend their blessing of life. I feel like reaching out to touch them. At the very least, I lose the instinct to move away from their swaying arms. A leaf brushes against my forehead and reminds me of that part of my face. Where was my face without the leaf? Overgrown native grasses line the side of the track. A long spiky blade scratches my leg. “Stay away.”  Was that my voice? The refrain seems to repeat from both my leg and the prickly plants. How could it occur without either? I spot another person on the track. My identity comes vehemently to the fore; self-conscious and insecure. The quest...

“What you are now looking out of isn’t two small and tightly fastened windows called eyes, but one immense and wide open window without any edges. In fact you are this frameless, glassless window.” “On Having No Head” by Douglas Harding. The word glassless had a profound effect on me. It triggered a palpable feeling that if this view was a window, there was no obvious barrier separating me from the world. Perhaps this was more noticeable because I usually wear glasses and had taken them off. Some invisible concept collapsed; very much like that feeling when you realise there is just empty space where you had assumed a transparent barrier. There is a chink in the armour of my concept of self.   Photo from www.freepik.com