Christmas Eve

Tonight a friend and I attended a Christmas Eve candlelight service at the neighborhood Presbyterian church.  It was a rather spur-of-the-moment decision to go there, but it turned out to be a good experience for the two of us.  Carols were sung, prayers were said, a sermon was given, and communion was offered.  I was pleased to realize that I finally have enough distance between my former beliefs and my current state of mind to be able to enjoy the service tonight as something interesting to experience in a detached way, as an anthropologist would observe a tribal ritual.  I did not feel the need to cringe at all the god language, or have to restrain myself from a lot of eye-rolling at the beliefs expressed by the pastor.    I happily joined in the singing of the Christmas carols that I remembered from my childhood and just let the rest of the service glide over me.  There was an awkward moment that occurred after my friend and I did not go forward to communion: thinking that perhaps we were not able to go to the front of the sanctuary, they brought the communion to our pew and we had to shake our heads "no".  But the moment passed, the candles were lit and the lights dimmed as we sang "Silent Night".  A nice feeling of contentment arose as I joined the congregation in softly singing the simple words of this song.  I'm glad I allowed myself this experience, and happy that any sort of anger, bitterness, or disappointment that I may have had in the past over my early religious beliefs, is gone.

It truly is a silent night, filled with the wonder of just being alive.

Assumptions

This morning, as I was sitting and pondering, I began looking at some of the assumptions I lived my life by in the past:

a. There is a spiritual realm that we can't see, but that is more "real" than this material world.
b. There is someone in control of both realms of existence.
c.  I am flawed/sinful/sick, and need saving/fixed/healed by this someone, because I do not have the power to do it myself.
d.  I need someone else (friend, lover, guru, deity) to make me complete.
e.  I have to hide my true feelings from others, because they will not like me if I am honest and uninhibited.

I learned these most of these assumptions through the study and practice of religion. It has taken many years for these assumptions to lose their power, though I still struggle with that last one!  Being free of a supernatural worldview has led to a contentment that I used to seek, but never could find, following a religion or spiritual practice.  I love the phrase "comfortable in my own skin", that really describes the sense of happiness I feel so much of the time these days.

Another phrase I've come to love: "giving myself permission".  I give myself permission to follow new interests, seek new joys, feel anger or other "negative' emotions that I used to feel guilty about.  I am what I am, and no longer have to wish I was otherwise.

Non-Attachment

A Buddhist publishing company sent me this quote in an email this morning:

The good renounce (attachment for) everything.
The virtuous do not prattle with a yearning for pleasures.
The wise show no elation or depression
when touched by happiness or sorrow.

Dhammapada 6.83


Egads, no wonder I never felt like I was a good Buddhist, with such a unattainable goal I was presented with!  But for years I told myself that this was the ultimate state of mind, being non-attached, with no extremes of elation or depression, and no hankering after pleasures.  Since I could never live up to this standard, I at least consoled myself with the hope that in my next life I would move closer to the goal.

But now, I question what I formerly felt was the ultimate state.  Is this even achievable?  Perhaps, if a person becomes a monastic, spends most of every day meditating, and living apart from society.  And if a person, after years of strenuous effort, attains this state of mind, what then?  Teaching others to follow the same path they walked?

I guess I really just question the whole idea of Enlightenment, or Awakening, as it has been presented in Buddhism.  To be free from suffering, the "Three Poisons" of greed, hatred, and delusion have to be "snuffed out" (one of the definitions of the word "Nirvana").  But has anyone really become free of these afflictions?  We are taught that the Buddha did, but how can we really be sure?  That was 2500 years ago, in a completely different culture from ours.  Religious views, rituals and practices grew up around what the Buddha is said to have taught, and there is no way we can really know what his message was, or how it has been changed by the monastic order, who have always skewed things toward maintaining needed support from the lay community.

I do think that we can, to a certain extent, lessen the hold that negative qualities have on ourselves, through meditation, or contemplation, or working on adjusting our attitudes to be more in line with reality.  But denying ourselves loving relationships, or pleasures, or trying to escape from the normal feelings of joy, or sorrow, that we experience in our daily lives, is not necessary, or even possible.

It all comes back to this--being honest with myself, whether I am craving something, or rejecting something else, loving someone or feeling angry and hateful towards someone else.  Feeling those emotions, but learning how to control how I choose to express, or not express, them.  This is not Enlightenment, but it's good enough for me.

The Need for a Teacher

For years I read first-person accounts written by people who had found gurus, teachers, or mentors that helped them along their spiritual path.  I was so envious!  I prayed fervently for a guru, and read countless books by different teachers, both Eastern and Western, hoping to find "The One".

When I lived in Texas, I was able to meet a few gurus up close.  I attended services at a Hindu temple for a number of years where a guru was often in residence.  I instinctively knew, though, that the guru in question was not what he made himself out to be, and later circumstances proved I was right.  But despite my uncomfortableness around him, I envied the people who lived in that ashram and felt such a devotion to this man and the path he taught.  Why couldn't I just lay aside my qualms, and surrender?  I tried, bowing at his feet, but felt nothing.

I gradually stopped going to the temple, and decided to learn how to meditate.  Here, of course, I needed teachers to tell me how to do it right, and help me in perfecting the technique.  There were no teachers around at that time, so I read every book on Buddhist meditation I could lay my hands on, and taught myself.  I still hoped that I would find a teacher who could help me make faster progress.  I went on a couple of retreats where there was a visiting teacher, and I took advantage of time spent with her to ask questions, and hope that somehow she would instinctively know what I needed.  Again, nothing.

Living back in my home state of Missouri, I knew that the chances of meeting a teacher here were remote, so I gradually gave up my desire for one.  Yet I still read the latest books on meditation, hoping that this teacher, or that book, would finally help me to have a breakthrough in my practice.  Four years ago, I came across such a book, titled "Unlearning Meditation" by Jason Siff.  His basic premise is that meditation is not the attempt to perfect a technique, but simply what happens when we intend to meditate.  We are to longer look upon thinking as a distraction that needs to be eliminated. (Jason has just released a new book, "Thoughts Are Not The Enemy" which goes into this in greater detail).

I began sitting with my thoughts, seeing where they'd lead.  Profound thoughts, angry thoughts, the making of grocery lists, whatever, it didn't matter--I just sat and learned to be patient.  Meditating in this way had a profound effect on my practice, and ultimately, on my belief system.  I was able to speak with Jason a few times over the phone and found his insights quite helpful.

But the way I practice now goes beyond what Jason teaches, and I do not think of him as my teacher.  He still considers himself in the Buddhist fold, I do not.  I have had hints of a realization in the past year that, though hard to put into words, has become increasingly clear.  This realization is that I can trust myself to find my own answers.  I spent so many fruitless years looking to others who I considered more "advanced" than I, not being able to trust in my "flawed" mind or selfish character.  I needed someone else to drag me out of the pit I'd dug for myself--left to my own devices, I thought, I would just wallow in the mire.

But spending many hours in silence with my own thoughts has granted me a self-knowledge that I've never had before.  Yes, I see clearly where I fall short of any ideal I might have of being a "good" person.  But I also am aware of the capacity to be honest with myself, and this makes all the difference.  I see anger, hedonism, desire, and hate, when they are present, but I know that I am free not to act on them, if I so choose.  I can laugh now at my imperfections, there is no need to hide from them, or to beg for someone else to help in eliminating these defects from my consciousness.

Perhaps there is a danger in following this solitary path, I don't know.  But it is the only way that makes sense to me now.

The Freedom of Giving Up

As I look back on my life, I've spent a good 50 years trying to improve myself.  I've considered myself flawed, in need of "saving", and spent a good deal of my life trying to make a connection with some kind of deity or other to transform my imperfections and make me a "good" person.  I wanted a savior, a teacher, a religion, or a spiritual practice to change me into someone other than what I felt myself to be, flawed, imperfect, sinful.

Enough is enough, I give up.

In the giving up, I am free.  I am learning to accept my flaws, enter into the darkness that lurks in the forbidden places of my psyche, and no longer expend any effort trying to change things that evidently cannot be changed.

I no longer want to practice any kind of religion, or spirituality, or traditional meditation practice.  I spend a half-hour or more first thing in the morning just thinking, pondering whatever questions come to mind, having wonderful conversations with myself, with total, unflinching honesty.  I write down my thoughts in a journal afterward, which is an important part of this process.  I come away from my daily reflection time feeling strong and, finally, self-accepting, as I've spent the time to finally look at myself without blinders. 

A year ago, I was diagnosed with and treated for breast cancer.  Has this experience been the catalyst for such a marked change in my attitude toward life?  Perhaps.  I no longer have any patience for bullshit, in myself or in others. Honesty, at times brutal, is the key to my freedom.  I see clearly my character flaws, my desires that I do not want to relinquish, my anger and my darkness.  But I also see my positive traits, and how I have gained a little wisdom over the years, despite myself.

My freedom is new, fresh, exciting.  I am curious, expansive, eager to learn and grow.  It is a glorious feeling.