This morning, watching the white clouds slide across the face of the green mountains and through the valleys, feeling the breathing, energy gathering in silent presence, awake to the joys and sorrows of the world, nothing needed to be different than how it was, and yet nothing stayed the same for even an instant. In our daily lives, there is an amazing mixture of ever-changing sensations, moods, emotions, thoughts, experiences. The weather is sunny one moment, cloudy the next. Rain, wind, snow, sunlight, darkness. Happy, sad. What I’m most deeply interested in, and what I’m always pointing to, is the living reality of this moment before we think about it, label it, categorize it, or tell a story about it. Of course I’m not saying we shouldn’t think or use labels or tell stories—that’s all part of this amazing happening, and all of that has its place. But can we question our thoughts and beliefs? Can we discern the difference between a subtle idea and this living presence, between thinking and awaring? Is it possible in this moment to open up to the unbound presence that is right here—our own true nature—and to be fully awake and present to the living reality that is here before we label it or think about it? That awaring presence is boundless—it isn’t mine or yours, it has no limits. The particular content or shape of this moment (whether rain or shine, pain or pleasure, this or that) is always secondary to this open awaring presence in which it unfolds. When there is presence, there is a kind of delicate sensitivity and openness that beholds whatever is showing up without conclusions or judgments, without shutting anything out, without needing anything to be other than how it is. This pathless path of awakening is about discovering in ever-more subtle ways how we hold on, how we create suffering, how we confuse ourselves—and finding out if it is possible—right now (always right now)—to allow the suffering and the confusion to dissolve, to relax our grip, to open. We may be surprised to find out how attached we can be at times to our suffering, how it becomes a kind of identity, a safe familiar. And so if it doesn’t seem possible right now to let go, then can we explore how it feels to hold on—what is that like? And what is at the very root of that impulse to resist and hold on? It’s not a matter of thinking about that question and then coming up with the right word or the right answer as we learned to do in school—but rather, it’s about truly listening and looking, feeling into it with the whole bodymind—awaring, sensing, wondering, exploring with curiosity and love. This kind of inner exploration is a very alive, delicate, fluid process. It is always fresh, always new—there is no end to it. As I see it, this kind of presence IS love, unconditional love. It is true devotion—devotion to this moment, just as it is—and to what is at the very heart of this moment, at the very core of ourselves, at the heart of every appearance, every sensation, every emotion, every experience. Not turning away or distancing ourselves with ideas and explanations and theoretical assertions—we’re so habituated to go there—but instead, is it possible to simply be present to the sound of a bird, the cold morning air, the clouds passing through the sky, the hum of an airplane, the slight tightness in the belly, the sense of restlessness or unease in the body, the tingling on the skin, the arising and passing away of thoughts—the whole happening, just as it is? Is it possible to be completely intimate, not separate in any way—open, empty, full, undefended, without motive or judgment? If you hear all this through the filter of thought, then it is just more words, more ideas, more concepts to agree or disagree with, to argue with or go searching for…but there is the possibility of a different kind of listening, not through the filter of thought. And it is to that possibility, that aliveness, that living presence that I am always pointing.
Posted on: Sat, 13 Dec 2014 18:20:48 +0000
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