Monthly Archives: November 2013

CAN’T WE JUST TALK

Posted by pgazrak on

Recently I’ve been reflecting on how our issues, our “stuff” we are here to work on, emerge early on in our journey and continue to re-emerge as we grow.  I was struck by a memory from my early twenties which highlighted a struggle that continues to this day.  Although much “progress” has been made in this arena, I feel the overall lesson of returning to the struggle has helped me to see deeper than I otherwise would have.

“Can’t we just talk?”

Ignoring my request, she went about her business of preparing for daily meditation.

It’s 5 a.m. and I am about to explode.  Another day of silence.

Although we had been on this retreat for only two days, I was ready to ditch it and leave.  But my girlfriend, at the time, was so committed to keeping the silence, that any provocation on my part was ignored.  There was no way of moving her.  For her, this was what she had hoped the days would be like.  For me the torture was extreme.

I had put myself in a situation I thought I wanted.  I failed to realize what a seven day silent retreat really was—an all-day and all-night observance.  Any contact made with others was relegated to hand signals and hand written notes.  Trying ever so hard to “get it right” by following the path of meditation, I tried to convince myself I would eventually adjust to sitting for hours and to the senseless silence.  The problem was—I never did.

So on the fourth night, after trying numerous times to get my girlfriend to talk, I decided to just give up and walked into the kitchen for a snack.  To my surprise, in the center of a group gathered, was the leader of the retreat talking as if there was no tomorrow.  Trying to “get it,” I found myself just listening as he explained various aspects of his work  detailing the confluence of Christianity and Buddhism.  Fascinating stuff from a man who grew up in Japan, became a Dominican priest, tried to pray in the Dominican tradition eventually abandoning that approach in favor of what he learned as a boy—zazen—the art of silent meditation in the Zen tradition.

Going to sleep that night, I racked my brain to understand what had happened.  Confused by him breaking the silence, I was at the same time moved by his story.  It was an illuminating story for it gave me the sense of how someone adjusts to life, finding his own way.  As a young adult in my early twenties, I had been trying way too hard to get “it” right.  This time it just happened to be silent meditation.  Looking desperately for a “way,” an approach to go deeper into my relationship with God, I was hoping to adapt to this revered approach to prayer.  But I was desperate to break the code, unable to sit for long hours and ultimately wanting to know more about the leader’s life and his process rather than to sit in silence.  Little did I know, that it was a continuation of my quest to connect with an elder, or a mentor who would usher me into adulthood.

So when the leader and I walked together on the final day I looked to him for advice.  I struggled with falling asleep each night, tossing and turning for what seemed like hours on end.  Hoping he would offer me some sound and sage advice, he once again surprised me when he said: “Why don’t you just have a glass of wine before going to bed?”

I almost laughed out loud, being prepared to listen deeply to his wisdom.  Once again confused, yet relieved, I was not being asked to meditate longer or keep the silence for the last hour before bed.  I quickly saw how this man lived by the moment at hand.  His wisdom was here and now.  Practical indeed, but most of all outside the spirituality of denial, outside the box of living, “without.”  His was an inclusive spirituality based on his own experience not some rule imposed by his order.  He had shown us that all week—returning to the Zen Buddhism he was born into.

This is a lesson I remind myself of often—the path of spiritual awakening. It’s not a rigid if you paint by the numbers “you will get there,” but a spontaneous and wonderful adaptation to modern life.  Drinking the wine before going to sleep helped me tremendously.  Not only did it help me fall asleep faster, it helped to rid me of my self-consciousness around falling asleep.  Slowly over time, having that glass of wine was no longer necessary, as I allowed my way toward Spirit to come forward.  In other words, the more I was simply myself, the less I was stuck in the expectation that I needed to do it the “right” way.

I didn’t completely grow out of my neurotic clinging to follow the “right” way.  I gained a foothold and could return to this openness as a way to expand my restrictive self.  I could still be so restrictive, I would catch myself doubting all that seemed dear to me.  This tension, between the “right” way and my way, would become so unbearable, it was a major factor as to why I would finally give in and enter therapy a number of years later.

The lesson to this day remains the same.  I’ve learned a slow but deep respect for the guidance that comes as I quiet myself.  By quieting myself I allow something to move through me, a something that cannot be held and captured and frozen like a photograph.  It can’ t be codified and explained into a theoretical principle, I can then apply.  This something is like the wind which nourishes although I am unable to speak directly about it.  Because it is the air itself, it acts more like the atmosphere which sustains. When I permit myself attention toward this quieter self within, this “wind” sweeps away the the many distractions which pull on me.  It is a daily choice to pay attention.  Wishing it could become the default mode in which I operate, I must admit I would still rather be under the spell of the frantic life which begs me to keep moving and ignore the call to stillness.

Speed kills.  It kills off stillness. It leaves me little choice than to remain stuck in the rush to get high.  Silence, which demands me to press the brake, provides an alternative by simply offering an atmosphere of acceptance.  No place to go.  Nothing to accomplish. I am in the silence with the air moving by this wind, this Spirit of life.  The true acceptance comes when I have decided to remain with this sense of nothing to accomplish.  This inner tension between speed and silence remains, in simple terms, at the heart of my spiritual journey.

Reader of Hearts

Posted by pgazrak on

During the Middle Ages, an elder who offered spiritual direction was known as a “reader of hearts.”  Today I would like to imagine, what a modern “reader of hearts” would look like.

In our world, matters of the heart, are often relegated to popular culture.  I can imagine the heart reader having an uphill battle trying to be noticed, up against the stars of say, pop music. The music, a seduction of the heart, often promises a quick fix to our need for love, personal attention and inner longing.  The reader of hearts would redirect our attention from quick fixes to the slow unfolding of life’s events, where each moment is seen less as a hindrance and more as a gift to be treasured.  The reader would remind us that the heart evaluates quite differently than the mind’s speed to “fix” the problems of life.  In fact the reader would suggest life is less of a problem and more of a mystery to encounter.  As we encounter life as a mystery, we engage with each moment to see what it has to offer.

I imagine this heart reader redirecting our attention to the not-yet-seen, not-yet-known aspects of one’s inner life.  As we slip down out of our heads, we enter the realm of the heart by asking: “What am I to see?  What am I to learn?  What do I truly feel in my heart?”

Recently I found myself agitated almost every moment of the day. I realized how pumped up I was, my mind racing, searching for something to do.  A familiar feeling, this rush of freneticism kept me caught up in my head.

I teach and preach the wonders of quieting the mind to allow the heart’s desire to come to our awareness.  Here I was caught in this rush, as if nothing had changed for me in the last thirty years.  I started asking myself: “What is really going on besides the rush, and the attachment to it?” I began to make a connection to the rush and how familiar it was, a feeling experience from when I was young.  I was revisiting the frenetic pace allowing it to carry me away.

In this frenetic pace, I allow my mind to be obsessed with details.  It “feeds” me, keeping me going without needing to stop.  Like a sugar rush, I am satiated with a false sense of feeling alive.  However the danger of relying on “speed,” makes itself known over time.  Keeping up a pace, without pausing, ultimately leads to a breakdown of some sort.  No, not in the dramatic image of being assigned to a psychiatric ward or being unable to get out of bed in the morning, but in an insidious way, freneticism leaves me, leaves us returning for more, in hope of maintaining the high.  The bottom line, I cannot access my feelings because my goal is to be high, high in my head.  To feel demands a moment, to re-collect the energy within and know what I need.  With freneticism I run out of gas.  And yet, I chase after the very thing that sets the burning-out in motion, the getting high by never stopping.

A fear of unworthiness is the motivator.  If I am constantly absorbed, I keep away the feeling of shame.  A shame pointing to my unworthiness.  Unworthiness in the eyes of others, unworthiness within myself.  A shame spoiling the fabric of life.

So is there any reason I would ever want to switch away from the frenetic pace and face the shame?  The reader of hearts, I believe, would suggest another way of posing that question.  Is not the freneticism itself bringing on shame because I am running away?  The freneticism keeps me away from the shame of never being good enough, and yet only up to a point.  By making the freneticism an addiction, I have now added a layer upon the initial shame.  I am now feeling shame because I can’t stop myself from running. I feel disengaged.  By ignoring my heart, I lose touch with my feelings.  The frantic self becomes what I know.  I wonder: Where did “I” go?  In other words, like a substance abuser, I am upping the ante.  As the new layer of shame is placed on top of the initial shame, I will then have to work doubly hard to free myself of this addiction to freneticism.

There is no way around it, freneticism calls for “pausing.”  Not just to stop and then start up all over again.  But a “pausing” which allows the time necessary to feel what I feel and at the same time, acknowledge the truth of who I am—human.  Human in the fullness of my being.  Not the partiality that shame would wish to make out of my life.

You see the problem is that shame demands I see myself as a perfect being.  In perfection nothing is off.  Everything is on.  Spot-on.  Ready to handle anything that comes my way.  In response to shame, “pausing” asks me to see myself as I am.  I can only come from the “me” I am today-not the “me” who I think I should be.

The process of acceptance of who I am is ongoing.  But the beginning point remains the same—I am who I am engaging in this world now.

Begin now, by promising yourself to pause with me in embracing yourself as a person in process.  As we learn to replace judgement with acceptance, it is the reader of hearts who asks us to remain vigilant in accepting who we have grown to be—both in our head and in our heart.