Saturday, February 28, 2004
I have no head
I attended a workshop on the work of Douglas Harding today. Harding is a fabulously eccentric philosopher who spontaneously awoke to the true nature of his being about 60 years ago (see links). He has been trying to point others to this truth ever since and his methods are totally original and extremely direct. Harding is a bit like zen masters might be if Bodhidarma had gone to Kent instead of China. This extract is from his book 'On having No Head: Zen and the rediscovery of the obvious'
What actually happened was something absurdly simple and unspectacular: I stopped thinking. A peculiar quiet, an odd kind of alert limpness or numbness, came over me. Reason and imagination and all mental chatter died down. For once, words really failed me. Past and future dropped away. I forgot who and what I was, my name,manhood, animal -hood, all that could be called mine. It was as if I had been born that instant, brand new, mindless innocent of all memories. There existed only the Now, that present moment and what was clearly given in it. To look was enough. And what I found was khaki trouser-legs terminating downwards in a pair of brown shoes, khaki sleeves terminating sideways in a pair of pink hands, and a khaki shirtfront terminating upwards in – absolutely nothing whatever! Certainly not in a head.
It took me no time at all to notice that this nothing, this hole where a head should have been, was no ordinary vacancy, nor mere nothing. On the contrary, it was very much occupied. It was a vast emptiness vastly filled, a nothing that found room for everything –room for grass, trees, shadowy distant hills, and far above them snow-peaks like a row of angular clouds riding the blue sky. I had lost a head and gained a world.
It was all, quite literally, breathtaking. I seemed to stop breathing altogether, absorbed in the Given. Here it was, this superb scene, brightly shining in the clear air, alone and unsupported, mysteriously suspended in the void, and (and this was the real miracle, the wonder and delight) utterly free of “me” unstained by any observer. Its total presence was my total absence, body and soul. Lighter than air, clearer than glass, altogether released from myself, I was nowhere around.
So here I am again, without a head. When I talk to you, you believe there are two heads. But surely you only see one. Harding devised fabulously childish games to point your awareness back to it's source. And of course it's so obvious when you see it. But such a relief! Of course! I remember this! This is how it was when I was little! To track your seeing back to before judgement, before yourself. Thank goodness for that.
I met some other lovely headless people, one man I knew from the Buddhist centre, and a fabulously vibrant young couple from Lewes. They told me Tony Parsons was talking in Hampstead this afternoon, so I followed them over. Parsons is hardcore advaita. He spent three hours answering all questions with 'you don't exist', 'there is no-one here', 'It is not snowing' etc. I used to find advaita satsang rather trying, and I still stick on the business of no self determination, but the effect he has is to turn the awareness back on your own questioning mind. Not the questions themselves, which only generate more questions, but the desire to question at all. The whys and ifs and buts are only excuses to avoid being fully present. When do the questions end?
I attended a workshop on the work of Douglas Harding today. Harding is a fabulously eccentric philosopher who spontaneously awoke to the true nature of his being about 60 years ago (see links). He has been trying to point others to this truth ever since and his methods are totally original and extremely direct. Harding is a bit like zen masters might be if Bodhidarma had gone to Kent instead of China. This extract is from his book 'On having No Head: Zen and the rediscovery of the obvious'
What actually happened was something absurdly simple and unspectacular: I stopped thinking. A peculiar quiet, an odd kind of alert limpness or numbness, came over me. Reason and imagination and all mental chatter died down. For once, words really failed me. Past and future dropped away. I forgot who and what I was, my name,manhood, animal -hood, all that could be called mine. It was as if I had been born that instant, brand new, mindless innocent of all memories. There existed only the Now, that present moment and what was clearly given in it. To look was enough. And what I found was khaki trouser-legs terminating downwards in a pair of brown shoes, khaki sleeves terminating sideways in a pair of pink hands, and a khaki shirtfront terminating upwards in – absolutely nothing whatever! Certainly not in a head.
It took me no time at all to notice that this nothing, this hole where a head should have been, was no ordinary vacancy, nor mere nothing. On the contrary, it was very much occupied. It was a vast emptiness vastly filled, a nothing that found room for everything –room for grass, trees, shadowy distant hills, and far above them snow-peaks like a row of angular clouds riding the blue sky. I had lost a head and gained a world.
It was all, quite literally, breathtaking. I seemed to stop breathing altogether, absorbed in the Given. Here it was, this superb scene, brightly shining in the clear air, alone and unsupported, mysteriously suspended in the void, and (and this was the real miracle, the wonder and delight) utterly free of “me” unstained by any observer. Its total presence was my total absence, body and soul. Lighter than air, clearer than glass, altogether released from myself, I was nowhere around.
So here I am again, without a head. When I talk to you, you believe there are two heads. But surely you only see one. Harding devised fabulously childish games to point your awareness back to it's source. And of course it's so obvious when you see it. But such a relief! Of course! I remember this! This is how it was when I was little! To track your seeing back to before judgement, before yourself. Thank goodness for that.
I met some other lovely headless people, one man I knew from the Buddhist centre, and a fabulously vibrant young couple from Lewes. They told me Tony Parsons was talking in Hampstead this afternoon, so I followed them over. Parsons is hardcore advaita. He spent three hours answering all questions with 'you don't exist', 'there is no-one here', 'It is not snowing' etc. I used to find advaita satsang rather trying, and I still stick on the business of no self determination, but the effect he has is to turn the awareness back on your own questioning mind. Not the questions themselves, which only generate more questions, but the desire to question at all. The whys and ifs and buts are only excuses to avoid being fully present. When do the questions end?
I am hoping this will give me a feedback link;
Friday, February 27, 2004
"A human being is part of the whole, called by us 'universe,' limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest - a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a prison, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons close to us.
Our task must be to free ourselves from our prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all humanity and the whole of nature in its beauty."
Albert Einstein.
How clear is that?
Our task must be to free ourselves from our prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all humanity and the whole of nature in its beauty."
Albert Einstein.
How clear is that?
The gravy question
Several days ago, the Flower and I were cooking for a house guest who had of necessity outstayed her natural welcome; she did not have anywhere else to live and had no other offers of accomodation. She has now moved into her new flat but on this particular evening she was eating with us and had helped out by mixing up the gravy. As we started to eat, she asked us if we liked the gravy she had made. I responded, as truthfully as I could, that it was ok, but that I believed it often needed a lot more of the mixture to thicken up and taste nice. Guest immediately left the room. I discovered recently through a third party that Guest had said she thought I was extremely rude to say such a terrible thing, and also said that she had only asked so that people could tell her how nice her gravy was.
Now I cannot be entirely sure whether I intended any malice, since I was at that time longing to have dinner alone with my beloved in our own home for the first time in quite a while. But I can verify the honesty of my response to the exact question asked. I do try to make clear that I endeavour to live as honestly as I can; by which I mean honesty in terms of personal truth, not as in living strictly within the law of the land. I have had such upsets before, but I find that if you keep going with truth, the people around you are people who respect that honesty, and eventually people who appreciate it. Those who do not eventually wander off. And further, I find that truth can be practised; the more one lives with an honest admission of one's feelings, the more one comes into tune with them. In short, it becomes difficult to kid one's self, and further delusions do not appear.
I suppose there is a degree of self justification in these words for me, but I too sting a bit when someone hears something they do not want to hear. I could feel Guest's discomfort at the time of the gravy incident, but it's all or nothing. But I answer the questions I am asked. What I find is that people do not mean what they say much of the time e.g.
How are you? meaning I feel the obligation to enquire about your health. Just say you are ok.
do you like my outfit? please say something nice about it.
I think you are mad to think of travelling to India I would hate to travel to India.
do you like my gravy? just say thankyou to me for making the gravy.
Bankei says 'the farther you enter into truth, the deeper it is', and I have found this to be true. If I practise the truth I become better at spotting it, better at seeing what is really there, without adding anything to it. If you do not want to be insulted, look at the part in you which says 'how dare you!' and ignore it. Or use more gravy mixture.
Several days ago, the Flower and I were cooking for a house guest who had of necessity outstayed her natural welcome; she did not have anywhere else to live and had no other offers of accomodation. She has now moved into her new flat but on this particular evening she was eating with us and had helped out by mixing up the gravy. As we started to eat, she asked us if we liked the gravy she had made. I responded, as truthfully as I could, that it was ok, but that I believed it often needed a lot more of the mixture to thicken up and taste nice. Guest immediately left the room. I discovered recently through a third party that Guest had said she thought I was extremely rude to say such a terrible thing, and also said that she had only asked so that people could tell her how nice her gravy was.
Now I cannot be entirely sure whether I intended any malice, since I was at that time longing to have dinner alone with my beloved in our own home for the first time in quite a while. But I can verify the honesty of my response to the exact question asked. I do try to make clear that I endeavour to live as honestly as I can; by which I mean honesty in terms of personal truth, not as in living strictly within the law of the land. I have had such upsets before, but I find that if you keep going with truth, the people around you are people who respect that honesty, and eventually people who appreciate it. Those who do not eventually wander off. And further, I find that truth can be practised; the more one lives with an honest admission of one's feelings, the more one comes into tune with them. In short, it becomes difficult to kid one's self, and further delusions do not appear.
I suppose there is a degree of self justification in these words for me, but I too sting a bit when someone hears something they do not want to hear. I could feel Guest's discomfort at the time of the gravy incident, but it's all or nothing. But I answer the questions I am asked. What I find is that people do not mean what they say much of the time e.g.
How are you? meaning I feel the obligation to enquire about your health. Just say you are ok.
do you like my outfit? please say something nice about it.
I think you are mad to think of travelling to India I would hate to travel to India.
do you like my gravy? just say thankyou to me for making the gravy.
Bankei says 'the farther you enter into truth, the deeper it is', and I have found this to be true. If I practise the truth I become better at spotting it, better at seeing what is really there, without adding anything to it. If you do not want to be insulted, look at the part in you which says 'how dare you!' and ignore it. Or use more gravy mixture.
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Brilliant things today
The wall in the stairwell here is about ninety years old, in gorgeous orange bricks that have been sandblasted into a tiny grand canyon of endless vertical landscape; with tiny boulders and gulleys. The brilliant sun we enjoyed today was beaming in at exactly the same plane as the wall; shining almost exactly at sunset for that miniature world. With a regular grid of enormous mortar walls across it.
The laughing man in the drycleaners who had to explain his giggles to me. He had been thrown a surprise birthday party. He had been very surprised apparantly. Perfectly lovely.
rubbish things today
Found a horoscope in a fashion magazine which would tell you how your boyfriend would leave you or let you down according to his sign of the zodiac. A totally paranoid horoscope. What a perfectly stupid idea for an article.
The wall in the stairwell here is about ninety years old, in gorgeous orange bricks that have been sandblasted into a tiny grand canyon of endless vertical landscape; with tiny boulders and gulleys. The brilliant sun we enjoyed today was beaming in at exactly the same plane as the wall; shining almost exactly at sunset for that miniature world. With a regular grid of enormous mortar walls across it.
The laughing man in the drycleaners who had to explain his giggles to me. He had been thrown a surprise birthday party. He had been very surprised apparantly. Perfectly lovely.
rubbish things today
Found a horoscope in a fashion magazine which would tell you how your boyfriend would leave you or let you down according to his sign of the zodiac. A totally paranoid horoscope. What a perfectly stupid idea for an article.
Sunday, February 22, 2004
What a strange place to be is the human body. It is so full of difficult feelings. Pain, jealousy, irritation. No wonder so many people spend so much time and money trying not to feel their bodies. I can cope with mine after about one week of constant yoga. When I locate myself in this bizarre fleshy suit I feel like Neo after taking the locating pill in the matrix. It is always such a shock
I have brought my body back in Hackney, and am looking after the Flower who is in bed with a nasty cold. Why do we get ill? If the body is only the result of what we really are, what is my soul up to when I have a headache?
Just read a lovely reference to my journal here from Taxloss, whose praise on my words is genuine praise indeed. It is of course colossally unlikely that you are reading this without prior knowledge of Taxloss, but should this be the case, I can recommend his musings very highly. Rather a lot of politics, current affairs etc. but always sharper than lemon loo-roll and funnier than pigs in tights. To read his words, I wonder how I lasted so long out there in samsara. The world of humans is so absurdly complicated. So complicatedly absurd. I vow to avoid it for a bit longer.
I have brought my body back in Hackney, and am looking after the Flower who is in bed with a nasty cold. Why do we get ill? If the body is only the result of what we really are, what is my soul up to when I have a headache?
Just read a lovely reference to my journal here from Taxloss, whose praise on my words is genuine praise indeed. It is of course colossally unlikely that you are reading this without prior knowledge of Taxloss, but should this be the case, I can recommend his musings very highly. Rather a lot of politics, current affairs etc. but always sharper than lemon loo-roll and funnier than pigs in tights. To read his words, I wonder how I lasted so long out there in samsara. The world of humans is so absurdly complicated. So complicatedly absurd. I vow to avoid it for a bit longer.
Friday, February 20, 2004
Came upon this poem in a book by Jacques Lusseyran, who lost his eyesight aged nine, but found that he could still see, by referring to his internal experience. He concluded that everything without is within, since he could still feel trees, walls and people, and that the division of inside/outside is an illusion. Of course. He ran a french resistance cell until his was betrayed and ended up in Buchenwald. Here he kept hopes alive with poetry. He recited this poem by surrealist Paul Eluard to an inmate who was tortured by his love for his missing wife.
L'amoureuse
(transl. by Samuel Beckett)
She is standing on my lids
And her hair is in my hair
She has the colour of my eye
She has the body of my hand
In my shade she is engulfed
As a stone against the sky
She will never close her eyes
And she does not let me sleep
And her dreams in the bright day
Make the suns evaporate
And me laugh cry and laugh
Speak when I have nothing to say.
'It no longer hurts. I see her everywhere now. You friend Eluard has cured me' said Lusseyran's fellow inmate. The poem literally moved something within me. Art must surely be one with true vision describing what he perceives as truth with the greatest eloquence. I am at once inspired and humbled. Is Eluard talking about a woman? Maybe, but he shows me that not just the object of beauty, of love, but beauty, like love itself, is always touching you; it is you. What is not? When such a work connects, the heart opens. No problem. No problem.
L'amoureuse
(transl. by Samuel Beckett)
She is standing on my lids
And her hair is in my hair
She has the colour of my eye
She has the body of my hand
In my shade she is engulfed
As a stone against the sky
She will never close her eyes
And she does not let me sleep
And her dreams in the bright day
Make the suns evaporate
And me laugh cry and laugh
Speak when I have nothing to say.
'It no longer hurts. I see her everywhere now. You friend Eluard has cured me' said Lusseyran's fellow inmate. The poem literally moved something within me. Art must surely be one with true vision describing what he perceives as truth with the greatest eloquence. I am at once inspired and humbled. Is Eluard talking about a woman? Maybe, but he shows me that not just the object of beauty, of love, but beauty, like love itself, is always touching you; it is you. What is not? When such a work connects, the heart opens. No problem. No problem.
Recently, I was driving the Flower back to the station for the train back to London. She had been visiting me at the farm. The ride to the station was stony due to a passing trust failure. She suggested we go to visit Wisbech. I could not think of any reason not to as I had never been there. Now I have been there I may never be so easygoing again.
Suffice it to say that the ambience of Wisbech reflected our stony hearts that day. We struck out on wholefood restaurants, the locals preferring to dine exclusively on fried meat. There was a health food shop there but it was the unhealthiest looking health food shop I have ever seen. Forlorn. Hopeless, etc.
However it was worth the trip for one thing. I parked in a bay bearing a sign which read 'disabled badger holders only'. Some local artist had added an r in permanent marker. This still makes me happy now. At the time I was so entertained, I did not realise I was illegally parked.
Suffice it to say that the ambience of Wisbech reflected our stony hearts that day. We struck out on wholefood restaurants, the locals preferring to dine exclusively on fried meat. There was a health food shop there but it was the unhealthiest looking health food shop I have ever seen. Forlorn. Hopeless, etc.
However it was worth the trip for one thing. I parked in a bay bearing a sign which read 'disabled badger holders only'. Some local artist had added an r in permanent marker. This still makes me happy now. At the time I was so entertained, I did not realise I was illegally parked.
A beautiful day here at the farm. Sometimes it really seems as if the weather reflects my internal climate. I miss the Flower. I do not know what she is doing of course; she is in the flat in London. The farm is my sister's place in rural Peterborough.
I spent a long time yesterday watching clouds. If you watch long enough, even stationary clouds can be perceived as moving. Does Flower exist when I cannot see her? My mind wants to see her, wants to know what she is doing. I know this just keeps me from being with those amazing clouds.
There are workmen from a neighbour's house bringing dirt to help landscape the new lawn here. They are bringing in dumperloads of soil. Why do human beings move soil from one place to another? They have manufactured this machine to do so, using great resources and energy, and men are being paid to move it from one place to another. This is their job. What has changed? There was a hole where my sister and brother in law did not want one; it is being filled in. So the difference is the human judgement. The shape of the ground was not so good, now it is better. Does the soil mind?
I spent a long time yesterday watching clouds. If you watch long enough, even stationary clouds can be perceived as moving. Does Flower exist when I cannot see her? My mind wants to see her, wants to know what she is doing. I know this just keeps me from being with those amazing clouds.
There are workmen from a neighbour's house bringing dirt to help landscape the new lawn here. They are bringing in dumperloads of soil. Why do human beings move soil from one place to another? They have manufactured this machine to do so, using great resources and energy, and men are being paid to move it from one place to another. This is their job. What has changed? There was a hole where my sister and brother in law did not want one; it is being filled in. So the difference is the human judgement. The shape of the ground was not so good, now it is better. Does the soil mind?
