Ever Forward

If we wake up, we’ll know when we are being lied to and we will refuse to listen.

If we wake up, we won’t want the fruits of war. We will recognize that all we want, all we need to feel the security for which we wage our wars is possible through peaceful means, means that would yield more prosperity and advancement than we could ever hope to achieve through war.

If we wake up, we will experience vision and begin to see and seek a way forward that draws from us our best instead of our worst.

If we wake up our ideals will reach higher based on the sense that they are not so idealistic after all.

If we wake up it will become a source of legitimate frustration that those ideals have not yet been achieved.

Ever forward.

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I had a great conversation with an old friend, who always seems to come through with great conversations. He told me about an experience he had recently with the sensation of pure being. There were some incredible details in his story, including a serendipitous encounter with some reading material within hours of the deeply terrifying experience that brought on the sensation.

He wondered how to respond to the experience in terms of practice and lifestyle. He recognized the significance of the event and while I doubt he wants to repeat the circumstances under which it took place, he clearly wants to find ways of cultivating the level of consciousness he’d wandered into. After he described the experience, he asked me if I knew what he was talking about, thinking my time in the monastery might have put me in the way of similar experiences.

“Yes,” I said. “I know what you’re talking about.”

I suggested he not seek to repeat the experience. I suggested he just let it inform how he proceeds in life. It has already served its purpose: his awareness has been heightened. Nothing can take back the ground he covered in that moment. And that, not the sensation of pure being, is the point. The high points come and go, then it’s back to the trenches. Peak experiences are not the point. In fact, St. John of the Cross, one of the great Christian mystics, teaches that peak experiences are a sign of psychological immaturity. A fully purified soul, one habitually immersed in pure being, does not feel it as such. Instead, life is just life and even the hard parts are peak.

Dividing peak experiences from trough experiences can be misleading. The experiences we call sharp, uncomfortable, or even tragic are part of life. Even if they are senseless, God is there, no less so than in the moments of pure being. It’s telling that my friend had his moment under circumstances of extreme duress. It’s the perfect illustration: harsh and heavenly in the same moment.

That’s what life is.

Every morning I roll out of bed, go to my knees, and touch my forehead to the carpet in an effort to surrender to the Absolute. It’s an act of reverence and willingness, and anticipates the richness of divine blessing.

But the carpet smells funny.

Ever forward.

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Sometimes I feel my strength crumble. Just crumble, like an old building in a time lapsed movie. It feels like that, chunks of armor falling off, weakness and vulnerability suddenly exposed to the surface. It's a feeling in my chest, my limbs, like a sickness in my veins. Often, it's actually painful. Life can hand me circumstances that have this effect. No amount of self coaching or input from friends can make it stop. And the circumstances don't have to be anything an outside observer might call significant. But somehow the circumstances touch a deep weakness, a trouble spot down inside, and as a result of the circumstances, I feel the weakness and trouble.

My therapist calls these weak places "young spots." Places where some childhood shock caused me to stop trusting, and therefore to stop growing. So, in adult life, when life serves up circumstances that touch these young places, I re-experience the shock that caused them. I don't need a clear memory, or even a dim one, of the original shock. The feeling is still there and gets shaken loose sometimes. It's a problem because it's debilitating and hinders the progress and creativity.

I have a clear vision of what I want my life to be. Sometimes I'm visited by a certain, recognizable feeling that occurs when I encounter an opportunity of a certain caliber. When I feel that feeling, I realize that this opportunity is connected to my destiny. I still rember the moment I first felt this for what it is. It's powerful, inspiring, energizing. But it's no guarantee of anything. One of my biggest struggles is with the old shock that can emerge when a chance to forward my destiny is threatened, or just feels threatened. Somehow, doubt and lack of trust become huge powerful monsters under those circumstances, and my strength crumbles before them. Confidence disappears. Down iniside me there seems to be a young spot, filled with dark, angry energy, that is doesn't believe my destiny will be achieved, no matter how the universe conspires to achieve it, and lashes out in frustration at the slightest hint of failure.

As exhilirating as the recognition of destiny feels, this dark energy is every bit as strong in the other direction. But there is opportunity here; it's a chance to grow. The hard part is, to begin the growth process I have to genuinely feel the hard feelings. I have to sit down with that dark energy and listen to it. Not try to stop it, not judge it or condemn it, not hate it or resist it in any way. I have to let it have it's tantrum as if I were the parent of a very large, very powerful child. By doing that I set the stage for growth.

The next thing is to watch, observe the situation, search for patterns in my thoughts, responses, tendencies, common reactions to recurring stresses. These things are clues to healing the shock. Usually the circumstances that bring out the shock are similar from one instance to the next, like with my sense of destiny. This practice enables somethng better than just enduring or even managing the feelings. It enables me to "grow" the young spot into maturity so the debilitating feelings recur less forcefully, or disappear altogether. In time, with practice, technique, and patience, I can transform the young spot, maybe even harness the energy it hoards and burns. I can begin to steer the ship instead of feeling keel-hauled.

Ever forward.

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The Old Testament book of Leviticus tells of an intersting custom practiced by the ancient Jews. They would symbolically put all their sins on a goat and send the goat out into the desert. That's where we get the word scapegoat. The Jews weren’t really blaming the goat for anything. And they knew their sin had not really gone anywhere. It still resided in their hearts, and the only way to truly get rid of it was to enact in each moment what they had symbolized with the goat. So, the practice was a way of expressing as a group their knowledge of the inner work they needed to do. The modern scapegoat has no such symbolic value. Nowadays when we scapegoat someone we actually do blame him, not only for something he didn’t do, but for something of which we ourselves are guilty. Blaming others is very common. It’s a fear-based response to the rigors of self knowledge. If the actions of another cause me to feel my own weakness or dysfunction, I blame that person for the feelings and call their actions inappropriate, even if they are not. In a family or social group, this is a great way to keep members in line. It usually occurs when one person makes a move toward spiritual or emotional health. Very often, such actions cause sharp disturbance in the mechanisms and systems the family has constructed to ensure its own survival. Usually it’s not a matter of literal survival. Instead it’s the survival of the illusion the family has of itself. It’s the perpetuation of a quietly, often unconsciously agreed upon group denial. This survival instinct might be sparked by the group need to prevent an internal explosion that has been threatening to happen for years. If the disturbance is dealt with honestly, everyone in the group will have to come clean about their feelings about everyone else. Since most people aren’t equipped to deal with that constructively, it can feel like a tornado brewing. But being unequipped to deal with a storm doesn’t mean people can’t see it coming. So, they seek to avoid it. The energy of that storm has to go somewhere. Enter the scapegoat. The actions of the wayward member contradict the system, and therefore shed light on it. When a family is forced to face its own dysfunction, that sense of exposure evokes a defensive, usually collective response. Instead of facing and changing the dysfunction, the group rallies against the one who caused it to surface and threatens them with some kind of punishment if they don’t apologize or make some reparation. It’s weird. And it doesn’t really work. That’s the strangest part of scapegoating someone. It doesn’t work. Most often, the group doing the scapegoating has to concoct an offense for which the wayward member must be punished. Or, at the very least, take the illogical, untenable stance that some perfectly legitimate action is somehow abhorrent or unacceptable. The whole thing is a lie from front to back. But maybe the worst part of scapegoating is that it’s a pattern. In each instance an innocent victim is chosen and sacrificed, creating a temporary veneer of reconciliation. But it’s not real. The truth is, the group illusion has been protected, the group denial has been sustained. But no real growth or change has occurred. The circumstances that led to the need for a scapegoat are doomed to repeat themselves in some form. Families need to shatter into individuals who relate to each other as individuals. Sometimes that can happen when on person makes one small step toward autonomy and self reliance. In every case where the actions of one send shock waves through the system, there is an opportunity for everyone to grow. But because we are afraid of ourselves we don’t step up. We fall back on the darkside of family, the part that isn't good for anybody, the part which, born out of fear, will sacrifice the very people it's was designed to protect. Ever forward.

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Here I came to the very edge

where nothing at all needs saying,

everything is absorbed through water and the sea,

and the moon swam back,

its rays all silvered,

and time and again the darkness would be broken

by the crash of a wave,

and every day on the balcony of the sea,

wings open, fire is born,

and everything is blue again like morning.

--Pablo Neruda

That poem makes me feel like there's nothing to worry about. Those words: "wings open," "fire is born," "every day." I believe he's right.

Ever forward.

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“Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav’n.” Satan in Paradise Lost by John Milton. Recently I had a conversation with a friend about the way people really are. He seemed certain that if we are deprived enough of the things we need we will become violent and ruthless. He seemed convinced that this is who we really are under the surface, that this is our true nature. I don’t believe it.

It is better to rule in Hell.

As we grow in consciousness, we get closer to being who we really are. The wild and demonic in us is real and it doesn’t go away. But it does become integrated. I think that our capacity for evil comes from our repugnance and fear of the uncontrollability of things. The powerful seek to retain power, and the powerless seek to acquire it, because power resembles control.

Than serve in Heav'n.

But as we grow in consciousness we lose that fear of the uncontrollability of things. We recognize it for what it is: a vast creative force, and an ongoing act of creativity in which we can participate. Fear prevents us from seeing that if we stop trying to control we unlock true power and become capable of a vastness that can hardly be imagined. But it’s not our own power, it’s a shared power, power bestowed. And it far exceeds anything we could hope to generate or wield alone.

It may be true that circumstances in a post apocalyptic world can bring out hideous behavior. Heck, I saw The Road Warrior. It’s one of my top five. And there’s a horrifying amount of that behavior going on right now, even without the apocalypse. But it’s not who we really are. It’s the result of embracing the opposite of who we are, out of a desire to keep control. Or, better: out of fear of losing control. We choose to rule in hell. The trouble is, to rule in hell, we have to live there.

Ever forward.

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Yes, I think so. But call it what you want. There is a force that opposes consciousness and it's been carrying out its operations for millennia. Basic to its plan is to encourage the loss of individual self knowledge. This culminates in whole societies losing their way through vulnerability to lies and abuse. This loss of self is inherited, augmented, and passed on from one generation to the next. It causes all forms of social and personal deterioration by mixing the will to power with self loathing. The ugliest part is that in the end, it's voluntary. All sages throughout history have sought to reverse that voluntary deterioration by calling us back into true awareness of who we are.

But that which opposes consciousness has patience.

It’s not concerned with achieving its goals now. It’s simply concerned with achieving its goals. And it does have goals. The emergence of immediate gratification is one of the weapons of the enemy. It works because the war for consciousness spans generations. As a soldier, I need to be willing to strive toward an end I won’t see in my lifetime. I need to be willing to raise my children to do their part when the time comes, to carry on the struggle.

"Take to heart these words I enjoin on you today. Drill them into your children. Speak of them at home or abroad, whether you are busy or at rest.” Deuteronomy 6: 6-7

But I’m not talking about anchoring an inadequate consciousness in the safety of some religious or political ideology, or some social or financial outlook. I’m talking about promoting a willingess to risk the expansion of consciousness in order to see what’s really going on. To win the war for consciousness we must be just as patient, creative, and far seeing as the enemy.

Ever forward.

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I voted today. As I pressed the button I couldn’t help wondering if my vote was going to be counted. I don’t mean I wondered if it was going to count. I mean I wondered if it was going to be counted. Or, if so, would it be counted as a vote for the person I voted for? The only sane answer seems to be “maybe.” Some people would say, “Of course your vote will be counted, that’s ridiculous.” Other people might say, “No way is your vote going to be counted. This election has already been decided.” I can’t bring myself to agree fully with either extreme. But it’s really discouraging that my best answer to the question is “maybe.” Yesterday, WXPN played a great rendition of Throwing Stones, one of my favorite Grateful Dead songs. Here’s a line: “There’s a fear down here we can’t forget. It hasn’t got a name just yet. It’s always awake, always around, singing ‘ashes ashes all fall down.’” That line really captures the feeling that something isn’t right, that it’s everywhere, and that it’s always working. There are so many places to point the finger, so many things to shout about. Even if you’re certain that all the ills of the world are interconnected and emanate from the same source, and that the source has a name and an address and hands its power and purpose down from one generation to the next, you’re still not looking directly at the problem. Here’s the problem: it continues -- they continue -- because we let them. Who are they? It’s an obvious question, and a vital one. There’s another, less obvious but even more vital: Who am I? Seeking the answer to that question is not just a philosophical exercise. It’s a moral imperative. I cannot be used if I know who I am. If I have genuine, free access to myself I will not permit abuse any more than a mother bear will let her cubs be harmed. To be a soldier in the war for consciousness, I must be conscious. Not informed only, but conscious. To achieve that I must seek self knowledge. There is no other place to begin. Ever forward.

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That’s a common answer at places online -- like Facebook -- that have an information field for religious affiliation: spiritual but not religious. What does that mean, exactly? It always feels like a glimpse into that person’s dissatisfaction with their own religious experience. They seem to be saying that spirituality somehow succeeds where religion fails. That field on my Facebook page says: “I don’t like the word religious.” And I don’t because I don’t like the distinction between ‘religious’ and ‘not religious’ in everyday life. But I don’t like the word ‘spiritual’ for similar reasons. Spiritual as opposed to what? Physical? Religious affiliation: Physical but not Religious. Huh? Being human makes me spiritual. Getting out of bed in the morning makes me religious. So much so that just using the words ‘spiritual’ and ‘religious’ presents a distraction. Eating, working, running, writing, loving my wife: these are religious acts. Or they can be. It’s all a matter of intention. Spirituality without religion is a ghost. Religion without spirituality is a corpse. Put religion and spirituality together and what have you got? Life. Ever forward.

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My therapist prescribed a new exercise in my last session. The therapy he teaches is heavily based on physical exercises, stretching mostly, with emphasis on different postures and parts, according to need. He pointed me back to an exercise he’d prescribed a few years ago, one he calls a “nine-year-old” exercise. That means it’s intended to give access to feelings I had at that age, or still have from that time in my life. As a result I’ve actually relived some of the doubt and uncertainty I felt at that time, which still affects me. I see it this way: a window frame on the third floor of a house can get out of whack because of a fault in the foundation. That fault sets off a chain of disconnects all the way up through the house that finally show up in the crooked window frame. A person can be like that. A pocket of weakness left behind in childhood sends a chain reaction into adulthood that shows up in some insecurity or weakness that can make things hard in the day-to-day. The idea of the exercise is to access those feelings and that energy and make adjustments in order to improve my adult situation. By building that bridge to my weak place – that nine-year-old pace – I can export the needed strength across that bridge from a strong place. I get the weak place to the table by accessing it through the exercise. The strong place is easy to access. Once they’re both sitting down, I broker the deal. The best part is, it works. Ever forward.

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