Author Archives: John

Vipassana

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When I began my spiritual quest almost two decades ago, I was unsure what direction to go. I knew I needed a practice, for it was already clear to me that reading and the teachings of others were limited in what they could do. I sought a practice that was proven, one that had passed the test of time. Vipassana, the form of meditation that the Buddha taught, was a logical choice. With a precision that rivals the controls modern science implements to attain valid results, this ancient science of the mind is so exact that for millennia incalculable numbers of practitioners have been able to generate the same results through their practice. While such practice does not produce spiritual realization, it can help us see through the false ideas that blind us to the truth.

Vipassana practice is based on mindful awareness, which means paying bare attention—bare of judgment, decision, or commentary—to what is happening to us and within us during every moment of experience. Progressing through a series of exercises under the guidance of an experienced teacher, we systematically examine every facet of what we believe our “self” to be. Observing how thoughts rise and fall on their own, for example, with no volitional participation helps the seeker to realize that they are not “his.” With practice and refined skills, we are able to discern that the self we construct out of form, feelings, perceptions, thoughts, and consciousness has no foundation in reality. One by one, the assumptions that have so long supported our erroneous belief in a permanent, independent self, are found to be groundless. What we always thought we were gradually dissolves like a cloud in the rays of the sun. Once we actually see this truth about the nature of experience, it becomes apparent that there is no abiding entity to be found.

Picture a piece of Swiss cheese. It typically has holes of all sizes and shapes in it. In your mind’s eye, pick out one hole. Notice its characteristics. Maybe it is bigger than the others around it; maybe it is deeper. It has existed since the cheese was made. Now imagine eating this piece of cheese, slowly nibbling away at the area surrounding the hole. Watch what happens. The hole slowly disappears. When all the cheese is gone, the hole is gone too. Where did it go? It was there a minute ago. You saw it, and even distinguished it from the others. But as you can see, in the truest sense, there never was a hole. There was only a relationship between the cheese and empty space. By labeling your perception, you created a concept of “hole” and gave it a sense of reality. This is exactly what happens with the self, or ego. The concept of “self” is given substance by the label we affix to a relationship between elements that are not the self—form, feelings, perceptions, thoughts, and consciousness. When we study this relationship carefully in vipassana meditation, we can see that there is only consciousness rising and falling with its objects. The ego is a construct, but not a reality. Now you see it, now you don’t.

Suffering

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As much as we all strive to avoid it, the simple truth is that humanity needs suffering. Throughout the ages, mystics have taught a consistent lesson: it is through hardship and reversals of fortune that we are roused from our complacency and the unconscious patterns we are prone to settle into. It is suffering that shakes us up and clears our vision.
When everything in our lives is going well, we can become so engrossed in trivial preoccupations that we lose touch with what is important. Success strengthens our identification with the self and keeps us from transcendence. We have no motivation to find something better. But if we are suddenly and unexpectedly confronted with our mortality and the transience of all we cherish, we are forced to recognize life’s preciousness and seek its meaning. As it is said, we are jolted awake by nightmares, not by pleasant dreams.

When someone close to us dies or we are given a terminal prognosis of our own, the priorities of our lives abruptly shift. The need to redecorate the house, so pressing yesterday, fades quickly into the background. Friction with friends over petty irritations is forgotten. Bank accounts and promotions at work lose their relevance in contrast to our new life-and-death challenges. The explanations we were given by our parents to make sense out of things, though they satisfied our previously superficial inquiries, often come up short in life’s most difficult times. We seek answers to what seems so wrong about life. Why is there suffering? How can a loving God allow this to happen, especially when the victims are innocent children or people who are kind, gentle, and good?

Three years ago I was diagnosed with colon cancer, hospitalized immediately for a colon resection, and subsequently scheduled for blood work or CAT scans at a nearby clinic to be sure it has not returned. I have come to think of my visits as a kind of snooze alarm. As with the alarm clocks so many of us use, we may push the snooze button for a little additional sleep, only to have it go off again in a few minutes. The clinic visits functioned in a very similar way. Every time I sat there waiting for my tests, surrounded by fellow cancer patients – some emaciated, some without hair – my priorities in life were refocused again on what was most important. Suffering is life’s wake up call, and often a blessing in disguise.

May you live every day of your life

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Jonathan Swift, the 18th century author who wrote Gulliver’s Travels, said this and it pertains directly to a central objective of esoteric spirituality. While my book is filled with discussions of abstract ideas that seem far away from the practical, down to earth issues we all face every day, the insights it has drawn from the great wisdom traditions of the world pertain directly to where you are and what you are doing right now. If you have ever tried to meditate, even for a short time, one of the first things you realize is that your mind is chaotic, filled with a jumble of ceaseless thoughts. Until this initial attempt to sit silently and concentrate on a single object, you may not have realized just how out-of-control your mind was. To truly be present, to discover what is real in our daily lives, we cannot be thinking about something else. Nevertheless, that is the case almost all the time.

Why don’t you give this a try? The next time you are talking to someone else, see if you listening? The chances are good that, while you may be hearing their spoken words, your mind is busy formulating what you will say in response! We are all guilty of doing this and that is the reason we seldom are blessed with someone who really listens to us. And even if you decide to be attentive to the next person you have a conversation with, it will become quickly apparent that the thinking we do while they are talking is a very hard habit to break. It is reasonable to assume that if our listening is not diluted by a mind busy with thought, the responses we give to others will be more effective and helpful. They would be based on what the person actually said, rather than on our preconceptions of what they need to hear. When you see how true this is while you are listening, you will begin to understand how it characterizes just about everything else you do as well. If you want to really live your life, you must find a better way, and the great wisdom traditions of the world are a great place to look.

Stop living in your head; embrace the wonder of now

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Do you feel like you’re living in the fast lane? You’re not alone. Many of us live in an unending rush hour. In a world of smart phones and email, texting and twitter, the very devices that are supposed to save us time can have the opposite effect as we hurry to respond to everyone and everything. This manic pace is causing a host of “hurry sicknesses” too, from insomnia and heart attacks to ulcers and migraines. Most importantly, by being out of sync with the natural rhythms of life, we lose touch with the only thing that is real—the present moment.

One remedy to our hurried lifestyles that has been growing in popularity in the West is the practice of mindfulness. In stark contrast to our frantic daily routines, mindfulness helps us slow down and be with what is. To be mindful is to be in touch with the present rather than constantly worrying about the future, dwelling on the past, or being obsessed with the commentary in our heads. Practicing mindfulness—simply being in the now—can quiet the mental chatter and open the senses to the extraordinary miracle of being alive.

If you watch toddlers at play, you will see the kind of thing I am talking about. I get a healthy reminder of living in the now when I spend time with my 2-year-old grandson, Jack. He is totally immersed in what he is doing. No thoughts of yesterday or what must be done tomorrow—only what he is attending to at that moment. And his days are filled with wonder. America poet Walt Whitman pointed to this liberating way of living when he said, “To me, every moment of the day and night is an unspeakably perfect miracle.”

Tragically, many of us don’t awaken to the wonder of life until we are threatened with its loss. A terminal diagnosis makes us appreciate what we have so long taken for granted—a bird singing, the laughter of children, the curl of steam rising from morning coffee, holding the hand of a loved one, the sun shining through the trees. When time is short, petty disagreements and concerns are forgotten and we devote our attention to what’s most real and precious.

When I find myself moving into the fast lane or getting caught up in obsessive thinking, what helps bring me back to the now (besides playing with Jack) is feeling and listening. I try to feel what is happening in my body or I tune in to the sounds around me. Simply stopping to notice the ambient sounds that you don’t typically hear when you are living in your head can immediately help you shift from thinking to feeling, from identifying with the whirl of your thoughts to what the present has to offer.

The truth is, when our minds are filled with competing thoughts and tensions or we’re frantically multitasking, we are less effective in everything we do. We are distracted drivers, mindless snackers, poor listeners, even poor parents, partners, or managers. We do a lot of thinking but little living. Once you’re in the moment, you can pay full attention to the task at hand, appreciate the people you are with, or tap into the creative solution that was staring you in the face all along. In truth, the only thing any of us really have for sure is this very moment. Why not start living in it now?

I was invited to write this guest commentary for the Commercial Appeal, Memphis, Tennessee, and it was published on March 3, 2012.

What is insight?

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Mystical intuition and insight are the heart of esoteric spirituality—flashes of illumination beyond any practice or effort that show the way to enlightenment and the realization of our true nature. Without these spontaneous openings, mysticism would be just another philosophy of life, attempting by reason to unravel the riddle of human existence. Only with insight can the conundrums of form and emptiness, truth and appearance, mind and matter, find resolution. Through them we gain, in varying degrees, experiential access to the underlying unseen order that is our true source and being.

 These intuitions unveil the long-forgotten world that preceded language, those few years of early childhood untouched by the ceaseless cognitive mapping that has subsequently quantified, qualified, and defined every known aspect of what is. Mystical insight is seeing without boundaries or discrimination, seeing with beginner’s mind. It is what the Sufis are pointing to when they speak of discernment through “the eye of the heart.” Abrupt and wordless, these fleeting glimpses of what is bypass the conceptual filters of memories, associations, and learning. They are momentary openings into the way things are, providing a sense of the seamless, unified world in which we are intimately, but unconsciously, embedded. Perhaps you can get a sense of what insights are like from the following two metaphors: dot-to-dot drawings, and sunrise.

When we were children, dot-to-dot drawings were a common pastime and a lot of fun. We would carefully connect one dot to the next, not knowing what the picture would turn out to be. As more dots connected, we could begin to guess, and often, before we even finished, we would suddenly realize we were drawing an elephant or a pony or an airplane. Those who undertake the search for mystical truth, similarly, start by connecting the dots in the dark. Though they may study eagerly, work with a teacher faithfully, and practice daily, for many confusion still reigns. The meaning of such paradoxical teachings is so elusive that few students grasp their intent at the outset. They go on working dot by dot until, without warning, they catch a sudden glimpse of the whole picture—the Promised Land.

We often speak of knowledge “dawning” on us, and in truth, the gradual process by which mystical insight penetrates the ignorance of conditioning is much like the rising of the sun. As its first rays begin to catch the contours of the land, more and more details come to light until the world around us glistens brightly in the morning dew. Similarly, each insight reveals to us with greater clarity the nature of what is, as the light of spiritual realization dispels delusion and unveils the truth of things as they are. For some, this truth may indeed open up in a sudden blaze of understanding like the midday sun, but for many, the moment of true awakening is preceded by the subtle shifts of insight that help to prepare the way. As Emily Dickinson tells us, “The truth dazzles gradually, or else the world would be blind.”

You are not what you think

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When we are born, our vision is fresh. The world as we first experience it is undifferentiated and timeless, and we have no real perception of self or other. We can see the magic of life without filters and become totally lost in fascination, one with our surroundings. But when we are educated, taught language and the lessons of good and evil, our vision becomes restricted. We start to see the world through the dualistic filter of concepts, with the grid of borders and boundaries it superimposes on everything. The holistic wide-angle lens view of our birth is transformed, and our vision refocuses on the sharply defined piecemeal view of reality that makes up our modern culture. While life as we know it would not be possible without language and concepts, and our very survival depends on them, we forget that they are only tools. The map is not the territory, but conceptual habits become unconscious assumptions that automatically frame our reality. We live within the confines of a hand-me-down view of the world that everyone around us shares, and we never even suspect the possibility of seeing in another way.

The process of identification with self is initiated by our parents when they name us and, in effect, tell us who we are. As we grow up, the idea is reinforced and endlessly repeated at every age and in every setting. Whenever we meet new people, for example, from kindergarten to retirement, introductions begin with our names. As if the enculturation of language were not enough, our sense of identity is further solidified by an extensive paper trail, beginning with our certificates of birth. With each year, more documents accumulate around us: school records, medical histories, credit reports, legal agreements, tax statements—just to name a few. As adults, whether we are making a purchase, visiting the doctor, casting a vote, or doing any number of other common things, we are routinely asked to show proof of who we are. The process goes on and on, and we unquestioningly identify with this separate, limited and vulnerable self.

The relationship between self and the wholeness of our true nature can be compared to the way clouds can block our view of the sky. The clouds represent the egos we parade through life: some are large and impressive, others meek or insignificant. Some have beautiful forms that capture our interest, and others flaunt the power of their dark, threatening thunder. Behind the play of these numberless, ever-changing forms lies a sky forever the same. This unchanging presence symbolizes the Absolute, the truth behind all phenomena, and we can see it clearly only when the clouds have drifted away. With us it is no different. Only when our concepts of what we are dissolve in realization, can we begin to see the truth so long obscured.

What is nonduality?

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Nonduality is a term that many folks are not familiar with, but as you may have discovered already in my book or in another one on the subject, it lies at the core of all the world’s wisdom traditions. Nonduality is that forgotten dimension where unity is found in multiplicity, and it is what all the world’s sacred traditions and sages identify as our true nature. Sometimes referred to as the absolute, the invisible, the Divine, or simply suchness, this aspect of our being has no boundaries or divisions, no distinctions between this and that, and no sequence of before and after. Beneath the surface play of phenomena, there is a formless, undifferentiated realm invisible to the naked eye; devoid of all parts, there remains only the unceasing flow and energy of life.

In stark contrast is the reality with which we are all familiar. It is defined by duality; opposition and contrast are everywhere in our ordinary surroundings. Through years of conditioning, we learn to see ourselves as separate and alone in a world of endless divisions, and this delusion of self brings the suffering and meaninglessness so characteristic of the human condition. We are conditioned to see things dualistically, within an either/or framework. Our lives constantly swing between fortune and loss, pleasure and pain, good and evil, and all the other polarities that characterize everyday experience as we know it. This is the realm where we get snarled in traffic, win at tennis, watch our 401(k) go down, and grow old. It sets the stage for the universal spiritual drama, and it is the condition in which we discover our nakedness, self-conscious and separate from everything else. Just as we cannot know hot without cold, or up without down, it is only as individuals alone and vulnerable that we intuit the wholeness that is missing—our true nature. From this moment on, whether we realize it or not, our deepest desire is for this wholeness. It is the state of being we yearn for and the goal of our spiritual quest.

From meditation to mantras, from koans to the Kabbalah, the shared objective of all the great wisdom traditions is clear: all strive to penetrate the conditioning and habituation that blinds us to our true nature. Whether these paths are called mysticism, the way of nonduality, or esoteric spirituality, they find unity where conventional religions see only division and separation. Though separated by centuries, if not millennia, and embedded in cultures that have little in common on the surface, they declare with extraordinary consensus that the world is a seamless whole.

How is one who is new to mystical ideas to grasp the meaning of these words? It might be possible by comparing them to something with which we are already familiar. In this case, metaphorically, a mystic’s realization of wholeness would be like a wave realizing that water is its true nature. This insight would allow the wave to see that the distinctions and boundaries between it and other waves, and the ocean itself, are only apparent. There is nothing but wholeness. The shared identity of all names and forms is a mystical truth that remains deeply buried in the unconscious levels of our being. The fact remains, however, that all is one, and one is all.

Are you present for your life?

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Are you living your life consciously? Are you present for the extraordinary wonder of being alive? Are you awake or are you sleep-walking? Buddhist Master Thich Nhat Hanh says you don’t have to walk on water to have a miracle. All you need to do is walk on this very earth. But you must do it consciously. Now you may be saying to yourself, this is ridiculous. How could I lead the complicated, fast-pace life I lead without being conscious? How do I get so much done? Who just got the promotion or the nice raise? But let me ask you this. Have you ever driven to work, and when you pulled into the parking lot, realized you weren’t consciously present for the drive? Scary isn’t it? We all do this, and we do it a lot. We pride ourselves in our ability to multitask. We are so busy, our minds are so full of things that need to be done yesterday, that we forget to be present for what is most important. Do you ever really look deeply into the eyes of your friend, spouse or partner, and ponder the preciousness of the moment? Is the piano concerto that you have playing only background music, or do you allow yourself to be drawn into its beauty? Do you ever just sit on the porch and listen to it rain? It is the everyday things like this that make our lives so incredible.

Zen teachers tell a timeless story about a fish in search of the great ocean of life. Oblivious to the water all around it, the fish swims great distances in its quest, with no results; it cannot find the ocean anywhere it looks. The fish is living in the ocean, but doesn’t realize it. If the fish were rudely yanked out of the water on a fisherman’s hook, however, the elusive goal would suddenly become obvious: water is its very life. Our experience is quite similar. We are immersed in life, in the flesh and blood of our existence, but blindly seek fulfillment elsewhere. We spend most of our lives in mental games and abstractions, puzzling over what life means, while the truth is all around us. We simply need to wake up and smell the proverbial roses. This is it! Just this. Yet we often don’t realize it until, like the hapless fish, we find ourselves out of our element, gasping for air. When suffering abruptly interrupts the normal flow of things and shakes us out of our routines, it is an opportunity to see life from a deeper, more substantive perspective—but one we often miss. How many of us fail to see the truth of life until we are close to death? Then the simple sound of a bird’s song or the smell of baking bread can bring us to tears. Some fish are thrown back and get a second chance, but it is very risky for us to count on such a reprieve.