Start at page 70 for reformat of pictures
Monday, November 19, 2007
Download 1.48 Mb.
|
Monday, November 19, 2007What do we perceive with? Everything is a matter of perception. That is to say, the entire inwardly formed world that arises in a man over the course of a lifetime is a function of what is taken in. (It might be useful to review the concept of the inner solar system in this regard.)
This question of our inward formation and how it proceeds came up over the weekend while I was working on sound edits of the Flinsch readings of Beelzebub's Tales To His Grandson with our small but dedicated team. Today I find myself pondering it from a different point of view. What is it that perceives within us, and how does it perceive? Put in another way, what does the receiving apparatus consist of? For me, the very idea instantly brings to mind a bit of doggerel in German from Beelzebub: "Blödsinn, Blödsinn, du mein Vergnügen Stumpfsinn, Stumpfsinn, du meine Lust." The inference of the second line in this passage is that our ability to sense life is essentially blunted, and--perversely--that we prefer it that way. In studying my own everyday life, and "knowing the difference," as it were, it seems a point well taken. The body itself is an exquisite sensory apparatus, containing within it the ability to sense things we do not sense at all under ordinary conditions. In chapter 30 of Beelzebub, which I was sound editing over the weekend, Gurdjieff presents a long allegory describing the steady deterioration of man's sensory perceptions over the course of human history, until he can only see a tiny fraction of the rays of light he once saw, and only hear a fraction of the sounds he once heard. Considering the sensory abilities of even very common animals such as dogs, the tale is all too believable. In order to develop a finer perception within life, we need to deepen the inner connections within the organism. The task in front of a man who wishes to become whole is to re-establish and complete the connections shown in the enneagram, in an inner sense. This process begins with a careful, lifelong, and systematic inner study of our conditions. Our body itself is the receiving apparatus--if we don't have a cultivated relationship with it, one that reawakens the organic connection between the physical self and the mental self, we cannot receive what is possible. Impressions cannot fall deeply enough into the body to do us any good unless the appropriate channels are open and active. The reason that Dogen extolled the absolute virtues of Zazen was that it cultivates the necessary relationship. Speaking only for myself, I have no doubt that Jeanne DeSalzmann introduced "sitting" (it's Zazen, folks) to the formal repertoire of Work practice precisely because of this. Her insistence on the primacy of developing an entirely new sensation of the body (referred to as "attaining the marrow" or "getting the bones of the master" in Zen) was another outgrowth of this specific understanding. We cannot receive higher food from incoming impressions unless this inner relationship changes. However, do we perceive solely with the body? I think not. The body is the receiving apparatus, but what engages in perception is the attention. That aware and awake part of us that is capable of mustering awareness. Attention to be understood as -a-tension, or, a lack of tension. Something in us need to relax in order for channels to open and water to flow. In approaching this, we may begin to see that the understanding of perception as being divided into individual senses (five or six, take your scientific or Buddhist pick) is a mistaken one. In the same sense that six flowers are one flower that connects one level to another- note do connecting to note do-, six senses are one sense. In awakening our birthright of organic sense of being, we may discover that perception within life is an enterprise undertaken, and received, by the entire organism at any given moment, not just by what we refer to as the senses. The body/mind becomes a metasense, a sensory apparatus that is impartial, or undivided. In the open way, we have the potential to live and perceive through all that we are, not just through the narrow gateways of the eyes, nose and ears. Our very cells themselves receive our life; we may become joyfully drenched, gratefully saturated, in this experience of life we dwell within. And there in that place hangs the fruit that trees may bear, if wells yield water. Much love to you all today. Tuesday, November 20, 2007Housekeeping
Gurdjieff told Ouspensky that a man who was an Obyvatel-- a "good householder"--one who simply attended with what one might call intelligent responsibility to the basic requirements his life-- was already ahead of the man who had grand spiritual aspirations. Of course we find Chogyam Trungpa dealing, more or less, with the same idea--admittedly from a slightly less earthy point of view-- in his classic Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism. And Dogen constantly exhorts his followers to turn to, and experience, the ordinary in their search for what is extraordinary. Perhaps the message here is that there isn't anything extraordinary. Everything is ordinary, although much is unfamiliar. In this sense, there is no supernatural, because everything-even things that appear to violate the natural order--cannot exist outside the natural order. Gurdjieff explained this by saying that things that appear to be "miraculous" are simply the manifestation of what he called higher laws, and the process and progress of science in the 20th century has supported his contention. Without exception, things that once appeared to be very mysterious, even almost magical, from a scientific point of view turn out to be entirely understandable once the meta-principles that govern them are revealed. I'm not sure we have any reason to presume that our inner processes are different. There are many inner states things we may encounter that are, from our level's point of view, miraculous, which are nonetheless simply the expression of something higher. It may be mysterious to us, but in the context of the universe at large, it all fits in as neatly as any piece of the puzzle. This is why man constructs cosmologies -- the presumption is that there is a puzzle, and that all the pieces fit. So what, exactly, is a good householder? We can be pretty sure, he is not attracted by or dominated by consideration of the extraordinary. He isn't trying to become an angel. He is trying to become a man--more to the point, a "man without quotation marks", the aim Gurdjieff said every man should set for himself. One thing that strikes me is as follows: the difference between the good householder and the egoist is that the egoist puts the wish to achieve before the will to work. Because of this, glittering objects attract him and distract his aim. The good householder puts his will to work first; eyes on the task at hand, he is deaf to any allurement. Having said all that, the original point of entitling this blog posting "housekeeping" was because the post has to be a bit short today, and I wanted to take care of two pieces of unfinished business. First of all, several of you have written very supportive comments thanking me for the work that I do on this blog, and I want to say thank you in return. This is an enterprise that we are all in together, this work called life -- and if we offer each other of the best food we can in our exchange, all of us benefit. I benefit as much from the effort to keep this record as anyone who reads it. So my gratitude goes out to each and every one of you who, as readers, participate together in the sharing of ideas and the effort that we all share together. Every single one of us is connected to each other by the tendrils we extend. Secondly, the blog is coming up on its first anniversary, which will take place Sunday, November 25. To date, it has logged over 3600 visitors from all over the world -- not bad, for an enterprise as obscure as this one. I hope to mark the day with something ordinary. LOL. Let's hope that all of us have many more years to share together in this enterprise we call inner Work. May your trees bear fruit, and your wells yield water.
receiving life Today I find myself once again firmly resident with this body, saturated with the definite and undeniable experience of life. Regardless of what else happens, I'm nailed down here, resident within my weight, consonant with my cells, vibrating with the heat and subtle energies that make up the work of the body.
The associative mind comes and goes within this enterprise. I may find myself "stuck" within it, or not-- does it really matter? I wonder. We are routinely identified with the associative mind, the intellectual part, that's true. But isn't there something more there? We receive our life with more than the mind alone, don't we? What flows into the Being-body corresponds-- and co-responds- to the physical body, the emotional body (referring here to the physical structure of the emotional part) and the intellect. It's true, too, that what is received affects the sex center, the instinctive center, and probably the two higher centers as well, but for the time being let's just consider the three "basic" centers. So Being receives life through multiple channels, or flowers. We may not be quite aware of that, although one aim, certainly, is to become more sensitive to the possibility. Instead we find ourselves dominated by the "turning thought" that associations produce. Maybe it's possible to just ignore that part. Like tinnitus (a delightful malady I have been afflicted with for years now, undoubtedly due to listening to too much loud rock music as a youth) the thought from associative center can be tuned out. The trick to it is to find something else inside us that's more interesting. And this is where what we call seeing becomes useful. If we are really making an effort to see within ourselves, we don't get as attracted to associative thought, because there is something more compelling engaging our interest. Yes, we will inevitably lose our attention, and come back to associative thought- which, gosh darn it, seems to be cruising along at its own speed regardless of whether we pay attention to it or not!--but for the time being we find that seeing how we are can occupy a significant part of the inner landscape. So maybe we can give ourselves permission to stop worrying so much about how deficient we are in this area. Part of seeing ourselves is just accepting things like this as a fact and moving on. This underscores why Hui Neng said that it isn't thought that's the problem for us; it's our attachment to it. In the Platform Sutra, he actually recommends that we just let it go. In Buddhism, the idea of allowing thoughts to arise and depart objectively, without interference, and without attachment, is considered a high practice. I don't think they have this one wrong. There is always something we can turn to if our work is alive in us. There is always food being received, support for the effort of Being offered. If we turn away from it, then we turn away--that does not mean it isn't there. Remember, Gurdjieff's system is one of the only ones that says man does not need to "develop" higher centers-- they are already there. It's a matter of establishing contact, of finding the relationship. That may be a rather high calling for all of us. We can't presume to be perpetually poised on the brink of opening our higher centers and attaining enlightenment (although perhaps we are--anything is possible!) We can presume that those higher parts of us are always reaching towards us, hoping for contact, offering us the possibility of opening the doors to receive the fullness of life in a deeper and more satisfying way. If we reach back by showing an interest-- well then. Maybe nothing else in life really matters. May your trees bear fruit, and your wells yield water.
The four abodes of Mindfulness
Today we're back to Dogen's Shobogenzo for additional fascinating parallels to understandings from the Gurdjieff work and other practices. Today, as always, quotes are taken from Nishijima and Cross's translation as published by Dogen Sangha Press, 1999. Today's passages are from chapter 73, book 4, pgs 1-3, "Thirty-Seven Elements of Bodhi." Dogen describes the four abodes of mindfulness as follows: "The first is the reflection that the body is not pure. The second is the reflection that feeling is suffering. The third is the reflection that mind is without constancy. The fourth is the reflection that dharmas are without self." Dogen speaks of body, feeling, and mind. The parallels to Gurdjieff are undeniable: Dogen is describing mindfulness as a three centered activity. Notice, furthermore, that Dogen refers to the practices of mindfulness as abodes: that is, places of residence. He is advising us that the practice of mindfulness consists of inhabitation. I have tried to make this point many times. Dogen is smarter than me; he only needs to say it once. Let's take a look at what he means by each of these abodes of mindfulness. For Dogen, sitting Zazen is the absolute foundation of mindful practice. So we are introduced here to the idea of a three centered practice in sitting. We begin this effort to open ourselves by sitting in order to fully experience, in a three centered manner, the concepts that Dogen speaks about, to experience them not just with our mind as ideas, but with all of our parts, so that they saturate our body, penetrate our gut, and lift our thinking above the merry-go-round of association.
We find this idea in every major religion. In Hinduism and in yoga, we consistently encounter the idea that the body must be purified in order for higher energy to enter and act. In Christianity, man is seen as being born into original sin, that is, a state of impurity which must be cleansed by the Holy Spirit in order for men to receive God. In Islam, man's ordinary state must be purified by the burning power of God's love. In his typical maverick manner, Gurdjieff described all this somewhat differently, by saying that men must see and sense their own nothingness. He also alluded to the fact that we must acquire an organic sense of shame. Jeanne de Salzmann referred to it a bit differently; in her language, we needed to stay in front of our lack. All of these statements are ways of issuing an invitation to participate in a process that is essentially wordless; as such, every description falls short. This practice, in sitting, is to open the body to allow an energy that enters to show us how small we are, and how far short we fall. We see where we are. This is an organic experience that can be sought in sitting within the practice of connecting the centers. If it touches us, it is objective, not judgmental. Dogen creates a beautiful allegory in this chapter by describing the way of purification as the method of washing a robe in water. This robe --the Kasaya, the sacred vestment of Buddhism--is the life which we inhabit. Please read this very beautiful passage, if you can find a copy of the book, which has become rather scarce. The second practice is the reflection that feeling is suffering. Emotion consists of allowing. This is a new concept for us, because almost all of our emotional experience consists of reacting, that is, rejecting. This emotional practice of rejection needs to be turned on its head in both an inner and outer sense. During sitting, once again, we seek to open the centers to receive something higher. This force is the Holy Spirit-- nothing other than pure, unadulterated Love. If we suffer this Love to come unto us, it melts us in such a way that we truly understand what we are--in a way that no words can ever touch. The esoteric meanings of the Enneagram and work with the six inner flowers are directly connected with this effort.
We discussed this the other day in the context of turning, or associative, thought, and we have discussed it in some earlier posts over the past two weeks regarding non-attachment to thought. The essential form of this practice within sitting is to allow the mind to exist without being invested in it. As thoughts continually and inevitably arise, exist, and depart, we retain separation from them. Rather than adopting a pejorative attitude towards our habits and our mechanical nature, we exercise instead an intentional objectivity with regard to their existence. Furthermore we begin to see that all the manifestations of what we call "mind" are temporary. "Mind" as we usually experience it is like the weather; it changes according to the temperature and pressure of life, and the energy available within the system that drives it.
This is exactly what is contained within the statement "There is no "I", there is only truth," the first half of the teaching which concludes with "the way to the truth is through the heart." As usual, it gets better... Dogen immediately follows the description of the four abodes of mindfulness with a description of The Four Kinds of Right Restraint. (also called the four kinds of right exertion.) "The first is to prevent bad that has not yet occurred. The second is caused to be extinguished bad that has already occurred. The third is to cause to occur good that has not yet occurred. The fourth is to promote the good that has already occurred." Let us compare this to Gurdjieff's famous aphorism on right exertion: "Use the present to repair the past and prepare the future." Once again, we discover the deep roots, extending through time and space itself, that connect Dogen's Buddhism to Gurdjieff's Fourth Way. May your trees bear fruit, and your wells yield water. Download 1.48 Mb. Share with your friends:
|