Category Archives: Deep Thoughts

The Shape of the Blanks, II

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Leave the Blanks EmptyLeave the blanks empty and watch their shape evolve. Emptiness has shape. The space of emptiness has definition in relation to its surroundings.

There are numerous times each day when we compulsively fill in the blanks. When a stranger looks as us oddly, we search for the reason. “Is there a smudge on my face? Is my zipper undone? Am I ugly?” When a friend looks at us oddly, we become frantic, especially if the reason is unapparent. “Did I offend her? Did I forget something? Is something wrong?” Even asking for the reason often doesn’t satisfy our doubt. “Perhaps this person is hiding something to avoid hurting me.”

Years ago I read Roland Barthes’ “A Lover’s Discourse”. Barthes’ lighthearted observations of the bewildered lover’s frantic interior dialog offers an entertaining read, but also strikes close to many of our real experiences. When the beloved is late for a date, the lover’s thoughts ping-pong at hyper speed to gain some sense of the situation, running various vignettes across his vision: the beloved making love to someone else; the beloved, dead in the middle of the road; and so on.

In relationships, every look, word, tone of voice, silence, pattern of presence or absence is charted, dissected, rinsed, scrubbed and rehashed to squeeze out any and every drop of meaning. Ultimately, the meaning is contextual; the answers change like quantum particles, leaving more questions. The end result is little or no gain and lots of strain.

When I see someone going through this kind of self torture, it’s as if they are tumbling rocks. As I kid I used to have a rock tumbling kit. My friends and I would gather a dozen interesting small rocks and place them in the rock tumbler with gritty minerals to polish them over many hours. The results was shiny rocks. And that’s about what you get when you try to answer unanswerable questions. The answers may become shiny, but they’re still rocks.

When alone, we tend to fill every thought space with something. We judge, name, analyze, decide and dismiss. Most of these verbs are considered desirable activities when we are at work solving specific problems. But the rest of the day we need to balance ourselves with open awareness and open ended creativity, not answers. Even after we tire of filling in the blanks ourselves, we then turn on the TV to fill them for us.

Over years and decades of filling in the blanks, our persistent attempts to fill the void becomes a compulsive background noise like static. The photo at the beginning of this post depicts this constant state quite graphically. There is no possibility of white, peaceful space with this kind of static going on all the time.

The desire to know all the answers is a natural and comforting habit. We want to have everything tidy and finished. We cling to this habit tenaciously. But that’s not the way reality unfolds. It’s difficult to let go of this feeling of control. Allowing the answers to remain blank can feel like jumping into a void. But as we grow accustomed to the idea, we realize the blanks are not empty at all, but full of a wondrous, infinite possibilities.

What is Flow?

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Flowing Water…to issue or move in a stream, CIRCULATE: to move with a continual change of place among the constituent particles.

There is also a psychological state of Flow. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi defines Flow as the mental state of operation in which the person is fully immersed in what he or she is doing, characterized by a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and success in the process of the activity.

After a year of learning about the Alexander Technique, which is a method of proper use of the body, I believe the concept of “flow” is also applicable to the body. “Proper” posture is not a position to be held statically, but a flow of alert poise from moment to moment.

Can these concepts be joined in a gestalt theme covering body, mind and spirit? I believe so.

Let’s start with the use of the body. The Alexander Technique examines body use from a natural point of view, that is, taking the animal state of poise each of us inherits and learning to apply it consciously. When actor and F. M. Alexander lost his voice repeatedly after long soliloquies, he learned from painstaking self-examination that his neck was contracting into a “startle” position, like a frightened animal, during the stress of acting performances.

Further experience demonstrated that simply relaxing the neck into its natural position wasn’t enough. He had to remain in the pilot’s seat, what he later called “primary control”, the “the central co-ordinating agency built into our very essence and fundament.” (from David Gorman) Mr. Gorman continues by describing how primary control originates evolutionarily from the dawn of organized species. From the slug on up, primary control directed them as it still directs us.

The part of the brain which controls this body awareness is primitive, buried deeply in the middle of the brain. Normal consciousness, with its analytical process, cannot touch it. One cannot “think” themselves into this central state of awareness. The subjective experience of this state feels like “letting into a flow”. A flow of what? That’s where is becomes more complicated. A flowing body with no where to go gets bored quickly!

I have found that as I gained balance and poise in my body, I was able to be more present mentally as well. My mind followed my body’s lead, and relaxed into the moment. My whole being now has a better chance of evolving from this gained awareness.

After reading much of Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s wonderful book, Flow, The Psychology of Optimal Experience, I believe the three parts of body/mind/spirit are really just different angles of the same structure. Just as a box cannot be a box with a side or two missing, we cannot be reduced to one part without losing the entire meaning of “a life”.

Mihaly defines flow as a state of concentrated but contented occupation, with clearly defined goals, reasonable challenges, and evidence of achievement. He interviewed thousands of people about what they feel when they are experiencing optimal enjoyment and absorption in an activity. No matter what someone is doing, from sex to sports to chess; if they are focused and directed, they are fulfilled. Having a goal is not the reason for their contentment, it is the process. Personal descriptions of this state include: transcendence, unselfconsciousness, alertness, confidence, enjoyment, satisfaction and fulfillment.

Seen from this view, the subjective feeling of our lives gains meaning and quality. People who have meaning in their lives are fulfilled. It has nothing to do with money or fame or power. Happy people are happy because they are fulfilled. Period. And those people are more loving, peaceful, forgiving and generous, all of which are symptoms of a rich spirit.

So, we started with the importance of poise and flow in the body, then explored flow for the mind, which, in turn, creates flow for the spirit. Three balanced sides completes the equation.

It may seem like a cop out to define a healthy spirit in terms of a healthy body awareness and life direction. As a person becomes grounded and connected to the world around, her ability to reach out and heal others becomes a natural inclination. As deep fulfillment grows, the more universal Self begins to supercede the personal self. If the goals are shallow and selfish, then he cannot tap into that goodness so easily.

Once again, the idea of spirituality can be defined by observable and knowable concepts. A spiritual person is one who has found balance and poise in their body, mind, goals, talents and desires. As each part comes to life, the whole being is enhanced, and their spirit grows accordingly. As Thich Nhat Hanh said, “Happiness is not a goal, it is the path.” Perhaps that could be rephrased as, “Happiness is not in the goal, it is in the flow”.

May your body, mind and life flow toward fulfillment and a glowing spirit.

Anti-Valentines Day Celebration

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White Bleeding Heart FlowersWatching some “boob tube” (as my mother calls it) on Valentine’s Day, I couldn’t help but notice the most common themes on sitcoms were pitiful rejections and absurd self-deprecation glorified by favorite characters on Will and Grace, Becker and Scrubs.

Though I have trouble understanding the comedy of some of those characters, I can relate to the anti Valentine’s sentiments. Valentine’s Day is perfect for lovers, who already have something wonderful in their lives, to masturbate the genie bottle some more, and for the greeting card and flower business to suck up love’s dysfunctional dollars. Love is often based on co-dependency, on passion rather than committment or understanding. Bottom line; Valentine’s Day crates a lot of pressure to love someone now, or else.

So what does it mean to “love” someone? Do you have to love them all the time, unconditionally, for it to be real love? Should you fake it when they need it and you don’t feel it?

Those who have read my two most recent posts know I was in a very passionate love affair which blew up, for good reasons, in the end. The passion was there, full Valentine’s force, 24 hours a day for two months; then, poof, it wasn’t. End of story. You can’t turn love on and off like a spigot. It comes and it goes on its on.

Last summer, I had lunch with a long time friend/acquaintance who was born on the same day and year as me. Through Junior and High School she was a steady soul in my often turbulent psychic life. Even at 15 or 16, she could look me in the eye and care deeply for me without expectation. No wonder she ended up becoming a psychologist.

Seeing her again after a space of 20 years was like coming home to an old, comfy home I had forgotten about. The same steadiness was there. I felt a natural trust I rarely feel with anyone.

At one point in our mellow conversation about our lives, I blurted out that I think I’m incapable of feeling love for someone. I really do feel this way, always at a deficit compared to the love I am given by so many close friends and family. I’ve been called all sorts of names: selfish, self-indulgent, petty, uncaring, unaware of others feeling, etc. Perhaps these are true at times, but it doesn’t make me an unloving person.

Her answer changed how I feel about love. She said something to the effect of, “Of course you are capable of loving. But no one feels love for someone all the time. I don’t feel it for my husband all the time, but I know I love him none the less. Just because you don’t feel it when you’re “supposed to” doesn’t mean you don’t love them in your own way“.

Feeling love and/or caring for someone has to come naturally, unforced. Over the years of feeling guilty for not feeling love when I was supposed to, I had lost touch with the times I really felt something for someone. Someone once told me that saying “I love you” to a person is like holding a gun to their head. Well, maybe it’s not quite that drastic, but it can feel forced.

So let’s call all the days of the year other than Valentines Day the “Show Love when EVER you feel it” Days.

Happy Show Love when you Feel it Days, all 364 of them.

The Spirit’s Sensual Doors

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I was about to scribble a post about the importance of sensing life with our bodies rather than our minds. I decided to first pop over to a blog or two. At Songs of Unforgetting, I found a post called “When Matter Matters” about a similar subject. Synchronicity.

For the past 6 weeks I’ve been having a major love “affair”. (Hence the lack of consistent posting here.) Though I’m not in a full time relationship with anyone else, this feels like an affair because our interactions are so passionate, so intimate and intense. It’s more than a fling, but it probably won’t lead to a long term relationship. Yet I feel a strong desire to meld our bodies together and become one physical entity.

There are so many subtle sensations going on in our bodies all the time. Acknowledging them can take time, often accomplishes little except the experience itself, and can become addictive for their primary nature. Though most religions disdain sensuality for its pitfalls, the sensuous stimulation of our bodies holds incredible treasures. True, those same desires can torture us with yearning when the stimulation ceases; they can rage into our conscious thoughts until we lose both mind and body trying to obtain an unfulfillable desire. But, like any other gift, there are two sides to how it may be used.

No matter how much philosophy or spirituality you study or apply in your life, you are primarily a sensual creature. Aldous Huxley hit the nail on the head with the title to his book, “The Doors of Perception”, the five “doors” being the senses. If someone exists sans any senses, they are not living. Spirituality cannot save someone who does not exist.

Taste brings us to the joy of food, or the disaster of gluttony. Smell stimulates deep memories and emotions, and is under-rated as a tool for living fully. I can sit outside during a breezy Summer day and experience dozens of smells. It accomplishes nothing, but fills out life. Hearing brings us to music, with its fountains of meaning and feeling. As a musician I sometimes forget how much my personality has been formed by the both the tearful drama of Puccini and the crystalline intellectual structures of Bach. (and each also has the attributes of the other; Puccini has structure and Bach has drama) For me, the timbre and intonation of someone’s voice can be as subtle and beautiful as music. Sight is primary to our existence. Besides its functional uses, it allows us to connect with the beauty of gardens, the power of art, the smile on a friend’s face. Touch is another under-appreciated tool for deepening our experience of the world. Sadly, most of us are touch starved. Descriptions of any of these will never replace their direct experience.

All five senses come together through intimate connections with another person. Taste, smell, sight, hearing and touch become vivid ties between our inner and outer selves. We can literally turn inside out and become defined by our interactions with the beloved. Naturally, this is playing with fire. Passionate intimacy is very, very addictive. Lives are often ruined over this kind of love. Yet it’s value is self-evident.

To the touch-starved person, skin to skin contact is like breathing air for the first time. The fire of touch cleans the soul, brings billions of cells to passionate awakening. It shows our bodies we are not alone. Different parts of the body hold different secrets. One of my favorites is the insides of joints: behind the knee, inside the elbow joint, behind the neck, inside the thighs.

The smells of the beloveds hair and skin imprints on the brain, never to be forgotten. Yet the memory of a smell is not enough. One cannot get enough fresh doses of the lover’s pheromone concoction. Again, the present moment expands to become whole countries of sensual delicacy. The vibrations of the lover’s cooing voice may unlock layers of stress and invite one to sink deeply into the present moment. Seeing the beloveds dreamy gray eyes, tomato red lips or wisps of nearly invisible hair on the earlobes is an exploration of uncharted worlds, territories which will one day fade into oblivion, yet which now careen perfectly into this reality through our own eyes, ears, nose. The salty taste of the other’s skin is unique recipe, yours to drink to satisfaction.

The goal of many spiritual practices is to overcome desire. Desire is dangerous if uncontrolled or unbalanced in one’s life. A monk may spend his life avoiding sensual attachment; yet, that solitary monk is sensually aware of his breathing, the air on his skin, them smells of the flowers nearby. We all occasionally succumb to the excesses of the senses. Should their potentially dangerous temptations make them off limits? Or should they be used as spiritual gifts, with great care and respect? I prefer the second choice.

The secret to balance is to avoid becoming attached to the pleasures of sensual stimulation. Detachment does not mean being cold or avoiding pleasure, just accepting that all this passes. Enjoy and let it pass.

Learning to Let

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Learning is doing and letting. When we face fear, we learn. To learn we must let. We learn that to let we must trust. To trust we must believe. And so it goes, until we get to experience. When we experience, we find change; it begins to carry more weight. We can see things and admit they are absolutely new.

Sure, there are patterns, familiar repetitions, like spirals and swirls and hatcheted hounds-tooth patterns hovering over the surface of our experience. What I mean here is the raw, visceral newness of the moment, like opening a new box of Cheerios, or like watching a candle burn. Our contribution is our trust in letting it be perpetually new. It’s not necessarily pretty, but it’s magnetic in its truth.

Accepting and opening to everything can be daunting, terrifying even. But it can happen. It must happen to really live. And it needs to be acknowledged and practiced consciously.