“Everything and everyone is speaking to us.”
There was once a prince who had at his disposal every worldly
desire one could imagine, yet, Siddhartha Gautama knew that something was
missing. It wasn’t so much an emptiness
as it was something just not quite adding up, a nagging feeling of being
trapped, trapped by one’s own confusion.
The confusion was resulting from a mind that was ignorant, ignorant as
in not yet realizing something. The
world beyond his grand palace was not even a world that existed for him. Like the view once that the world was flat,
this prince went around thinking that his world ended at the palace’s
door. There was nothing beyond it, nothing
that he could yet relate to anyway. The
prince’s world was completely filled up, or so it seemed. Still, he had a nagging doubt and became inquisitive and started to explore the world beyond the castle walls. Just at that moment, the prince made room for the world beyond his narrow view to begin speaking to him.
I tell this story because it gives me insight into my heart and the experience of loving another. When we meet someone, when there
is mutual attraction, there is this sense of moving parts, of a dynamic
experience rich with unknown actions and words and feelings and sensory experiences. New love is fresh and has infinite potential;
we are the artist upon which we will create the masterpiece of our
love. In love there is a second
co-creator painting the mural, and it is our beloved. The actions and feelings and thoughts and
words to be spoken cannot be known because they have yet to occur in the new experience. Vast is the potential of the love, of the
mural. With the painting of the mural,
color begins to fill up the space on the canvas; the emptiness that existed
prior to the love beginning is filled up with experiences. Color emerges. Form takes shape. Images appear. It is mysterious, but the mystery begins to
become defined. As space is taken up it,
we may have the thought or feeling that that the experience taking place becomes
less interesting, because it is no longer new. Actually, this is precisely when opening our hearts further can lead us out of our own little confined palaces, like the prince, to discover that which we were fundamentally ignorant of before; we begin to let ourselves go deeper into our life's truly magical experiences.
My sense is that when we overlay the raw, in-the-moment experiences with expectations, hopes or fears, is precisely when the love, the
mural, loses its freshness, its oxygen.
Colors begin to fade or dull. We
begin to expect something different, like a particular result, and forget the
wide open space that had heretofore existed on the canvas. The freshness of the experience is somehow
lost. We may experience disappointment, and be let down. The unknown, which we before felt
drawn to, now begins to frighten us.
Ironically and profoundly significant is that the nature of the
experience that drew us in the first place was its fresh poignant
impermanence, its momentariness, its
presence. We could never have known what would take place on the canvas, in our hearts, beyond the castle walls. If we begin fixing a point,
defining our love, suffering occurs. We try to freeze love for
fear of it dying or of our beloved leaving us.
How could we ever possibly go on without him or her? Forgetting that we were going on before, we
begin to crush the love, suffocate it, muss up the beauty and images, and the
colors all run together and lose their natural elegance. In our ignorance and confusion, we suffer.
Here is something we have forgotten. We are responsible for our happiness. When things in love start feeling
claustrophobic or even too distant, the whole thing begins to either implode or
explode. The love that was once there so
vibrant and healthy, seems to have disappeared or even worse never existed in the first place. Was it ever present? Was it ever real? Like the volcanic mountain of Mount Nevis by
which I am sitting as it breathes its living force of both the fire of its
teeming core or its cool refreshing water source of its deep natural spring, I sense
magic, a very ordinary life giving sacred energy. I cannot hold it. I cannot define it. I cannot capture it and contain it. I can only let it run through me and feed me
as I then in turn feed the rest of the world that I touch and encounter
throughout my day.
In this world, I comport myself with a code of conduct; it is with the sense that I am meeting the sacred world with a strong upright dignified posture and a soft and tender heart. I, like the prince, knew there was something worth investigating beyond the four walls of the castle, the cocoon of my own mind's narrative and patterns, and it has taken me a good deal of living to get to some semblance of a code that fits with me, my being, as well as my interconnected being in the world. The presence of gentleness, combined with fearlessness, gives nutrients to a life that is founded on basic goodness, and a wisdom derived from our human natural intelligence. The life spark seems to have always been; I derive my confidence and well-being from being present in my moment-by-moment existence in our phenomenally beautiful world. I then in turn can offer back to the world my experience of basic goodness in the form of deep listening, profound kindness and open hearted compassion, all synonymous for love.
In this world, I comport myself with a code of conduct; it is with the sense that I am meeting the sacred world with a strong upright dignified posture and a soft and tender heart. I, like the prince, knew there was something worth investigating beyond the four walls of the castle, the cocoon of my own mind's narrative and patterns, and it has taken me a good deal of living to get to some semblance of a code that fits with me, my being, as well as my interconnected being in the world. The presence of gentleness, combined with fearlessness, gives nutrients to a life that is founded on basic goodness, and a wisdom derived from our human natural intelligence. The life spark seems to have always been; I derive my confidence and well-being from being present in my moment-by-moment existence in our phenomenally beautiful world. I then in turn can offer back to the world my experience of basic goodness in the form of deep listening, profound kindness and open hearted compassion, all synonymous for love.
As we sense our goodness, and risk being touched by the world and leaving our little palaces or cocoons, there are infinite moments when we can wake up throughout our
day. Each and every encounter, even if
it feels contrived or placed with obstacles can awaken us. As we go through our lives, and if we are
blessed enough to wake up a bit through a mindful-awareness practice that we
have been taught, we can more readily avoid the river of obstacles of our own making. This does not mean that we will not be
sad. Impermanence is a
fundamental truth. We lose our loved
ones; things are in constant flux and change.
Life would not exist without change, existence would not even be. We would not be. This does not mean there is less love, there
is just less fixation and more awareness of our life and its fleeting nature. There is the truth that there is a path to
wake up, and waking up tenderly and bravely brings us to touch our own genuine heart
of sadness. It is genuine because it is
always changing and transforming us.
I am spending a week of retreat from my everyday life,
although this experience of being here by virtue of the fact that I am here is
now my everyday life. I am here with a
friend from long ago. I had no idea what
to expect when we came together. Expectations
would have only built concepts and a narrative around an experience that had yet
to be lived. So, I remained open. I knew that I wanted to have a week-long
experience of being present to myself and my friend.
After years of touching my basic goodness, of mindfulness practice, I
have come to the realization and profound awareness that friendship itself can
become intensely intimate. Either way,
showing up as who we are to the other and deeply listening to them and the
world around us as we move through space and time is an expression of
generosity, of basic goodness, of our essence. I have become aware that the simple act of listening,
with an open mind and a willingness to be heartbroken, bridges the distance
between two human hearts. This is true
love, truly loving another human being.
On this island as I see goats, pigs, cows, sheep and monkeys living
symbiotically and at peace with human beings, I see that we can take a lesson
on how to live with our earth in all its naturalness in a more sane and joyful
way.
As in our case, we both have experienced marriage, the birth of children,
divorce, uncertainty, heartaches and breaks, and still we are willing to take
this journey to our centers, to our hearts, to our foundation. My friend has opened his heart to me on this journey we are taking together for this short while. Many things he has been generous and
openhearted enough to share with me will remain with me for my life time. One I wish to share is about listening. As we sat together one tropical evening by
the seafront in Nevis having a drink, he had a realization of when he knew his
marriage had ended; it was when the listening between the two of them had
stopped. That was so simple and
real. It made sense and it was spoken
with such genuine truth and sadness that I felt, as I looked into his eyes
deeply listening without filter or self-consciousness, that I was looking into a
mirror and seeing the ancient, ageless nature of what we are.
As we drove through the beachside yesterday, the clouds began
to form in the east and we traversed a rather rough and rock strewn road to
come upon a raw strip of beach. We
passed bales of wool on the side and a dilapidated horserace course, to end up
in front of a donkey that stood tethered to a wooden post. The donkey had wound himself good and tight around
the pole and both my friend and I immediately had the very human empathetic response
to assist this animal in need. With the
help of our sense perceptions and even a force more primordial than our eyes or
ears, we knew that this fellow sentient being was suffering. We had a visceral response in our core to
relieve the suffering. Without really
pausing he jumped out of the car and tried to get the stressed out animal to
unwind itself. With a heart of goodness
and love, my friend responded and not really knowing how the animal would in turn
react, this sad animal managed to further wind himself up. From my spot, I could only feel my aching
heart, helpless, completely and utterly helpless to do anything useful. The only thing I could do is express my
compassion and feel the immense sadness in my heart, to feel my good human
heart so raw, so broken.
Sensing that the donkey would not unwind and would only work
itself up more and hurt itself, we drove off to a beach which by this time had
become overtaken by wind and a grey storm cloud drawing closer from the
east. We decided to return and as we
passed the donkey, he had managed to completely hook himself to the pole, with
no room to move and with a hoof now caught in the little bit of rope that was
slack. It was one of the saddest sights
I have ever witnessed. Neither of us talked for a bit. Words seemed hollow
and superficial in the face of the realization that our happening upon that
animal, and willingness to do good, may have caused more harm and suffering, however unintended.
This morning as I sat in front of my island meditation
shrine, spontaneously tears welled in my eyes and spilled out for that animal,
for my friend Eric, for my son Kailen, for old and new friends in my heart, for
my own broken heart, for my beautiful world in all its true forms both of
suffering and joy, love and fear, confusion and stability.
I could not have been more in love with my world and everyone
in my life, and everyone around my life than I was at that moment. And I gave thanks for the teachings of truth
and goodness that have been offered to me without our time’s transactional
mindset. The wisdom has been transmitted
so that I, like so many others, might remember and awaken to all that is good
in me and all that is good in everyone.
I ended my meditation sitting
practice with a poem by David Whyte, “The Winter of Listening.” I share with you now reader this poem which
expressed in its unique medium that which I felt this morning, that which I
have been feeling through this whole experience with myself and my friend, that
which I am experiencing as I open my heart to touch love again, to touch my
world again, to become vulnerable yet made whole by opening up to the forces of
the world, its life force and its inevitable heartbreak. Poetry is a doorway to that which we need to
hear and the truth which we may ourselves be unable to speak. It is the voice of our primordial goodness.
THE WINTER OF LISTENING
By David
Whyte
No one but me by the fire,
my hands burning
red in the palms while
the night wind carries
everything away outside.
All this petty worry
while the great cloak
of the sky grows dark
and intense
round every living thing.
What is precious
inside us does not
care to be known
by the mind
in ways that diminish
its presence.
What we strive for
in perfection
is not what turns us
into the lit angel
we desire,
what disturbs
and then nourishes
has everything
we need.
What we hate
in ourselves
is what we cannot know
in ourselves but
what is true to the pattern
does not need
to be explained.
Inside everyone
is a great shout of joy
waiting to be born.
Even with summer
so far off
I feel it grown in me
now and ready
to arrive in the world.
All those years
listening to those
who had
nothing to say.
All those years
forgetting
how everything
has its own voice
to make
itself heard.
All those years
forgetting
how easily
you can belong
to everything
simply by listening.
And the slow
difficulty
of remembering
how everything
is born from
an opposite
and miraculous
otherness.
Silence and winter
has lead me to that
otherness.
So let this winter
of listening
be enough
for the new life
I must call my own.
Every sound
has a home
from which is has come
to us
and a door
through which it is going
again
out into the world
to make another home.
We speak
only with voices
of those
we can hear ourselves
and the body has a voice
only for that portion
of the body of the world
it has learned to perceive.
It becomes
a world itself
by listening
hard
for the way
it belongs.
There it can
learn
how it
must be
and what
it must do.
And
here
in the tumult
of the night
I hear the walnut
above the child’s swing
swaying
its dark limbs
in the wind
and the rain now
come to
beat against my window
and somewhere
in this cold night
of wind and stars
the first whispered
opening of
those hidden
and invisible springs
that uncoil
in the still summer air
each yet
to be imagined
rose.