Typing the Tao, #5 & 6

All of the teachings point to the same place. There is different imagery and words and technique but under it all, the same destination.

Last night I watched a documentary on David Bohm, a scientist whose ideas tied together theories of quantum physics and consciousness. Science, it seems, may point to the same place as well.

The "valley spirit" is humility. A lack of self. The gateway to seeing and understanding the connection between all.

You can find the documentary, “Infinite Potential: The Life & Ideas of David Bohm,” here on YouTube.

Typing the Tao, #4

"I disturb your peace," she said. And it was true. And then she was gone.

Something clicked in that moment--though it has taken time to really understand.

The peace which was disturbed had been predicated on a carefully-constructed and limited life of simplicity. Few bills. Nothing to fix or maintain. A tiny cabin, a tiny life, with tenuous connections to more.

Somehow, that moment helped me understand that a peace which could be disturbed was not a true peace. The peace I seek is an eternal and internal state of being. One that cannot be disrupted or disturbed.

A year later and my life looks wholly different. It is not simple. It is not so small. It is more connected. There are bills and things which break. It is a larger and more dynamic life.

And the peace? Well. It is there. Always present. Harder to see, experience, relish. Sometimes I find it; often I don't.

A peace which can be disturbed is not true peace.

I will not impoverish myself through an acceptance of poor substitutes.

Typing the Tao, #1-3

My mother died of cancer when I was was 21, and among a few things of hers that I kept was a copy of the Tao Te Ching.

The Tao was likely written in the six century BC by Lao Tsu. It is a classical Chinese text that lays out the philosophy of Taoism. In its simplest terms, this is a philosophy of accepting things exactly as they are—not desiring reality to be different than it is.

For a few reasons, I’ve decided to re-type the Tao. First, I like this translation quite a bit but the actual book, though beautiful, is large and unweildy. I would like to have a more travel-friendly copy to read. Second, I am hoping to connect more deeply with the text by re-creating it.

My mother acquired this version of the Tao in the later years of her life—there was a period where she was searching, as her cancer progressed. She had some range: Raised in the Presbyterian church, she also explored eastern philosophies and Catholicism.

Did she find what she was looking for? I don’t know. But I find myself on a similar path: wanting to connect with the peace, joy and love which exists in (and is) all of us.

The Tao is short—81 chapters, though only about 5,000 words. And there’s a lot in it.

Allan Watts said of the Tao:

“The [Tao’s] whole conception of nature is as a self regulating, self-governing, indeed democratic organism. But it has a totality, it all goes together and this totality is the Tao.”

So … A few thoughts on these first sections.

“The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.” … the finger pointing to the moon is just a pointer, a direction—don’t mistake it for the moon itself. “Ever desireless, one can see the mystery.” … Basic ideas of non-attachment.

Charles Johnston’s translation and commentary explains it:

“He who relinquishes attachment to external nature finds his way to the spiritual consciousness which is the Life behind nature. He finds the Way, the door of spiritual life.”

“Having and not having arise together.” … Non-dualism; there is no life without death, “good” without “bad,” no beginning without an end. These aren’t opposites but natural companions and one cannot exist without the other.

“If nothing is done, then all will be well.” … This isn’t an admonition to do nothing, but to work with the universe and the ways of nature rather than against it.

Or, as is inscribed on the headstone of Charles Bukowski: “Don’t try.”

You might think of Bukowski as a misogynistic, alcoholic chronicler of skid row—and he was. But he also came quite naturally to a kind of booze-addled Tao-tinged approach to life. When asked how he wrote, he replied in a 1963 letter:

“You don’t try. That’s very important: ‘not’ to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It’s like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks you make a pet out of it.”

I’m not sure about killing the bug, but the rest sounds right to me.

Turning 44, and an Intention for the Next Year

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Five years ago, I moved into a tiny, secluded cabin in the woods. Now I live in a beautiful old farmhouse on a main road, just outside of the village of Trumansburg, NY. Before, I lived in Washington, DC. At some times, I lived on the road.

There have been shifts in the last few years. Here's the thing.

A week ago I had dinner with a friend and we discussed the question, "Are we special?" It's a wonderful question, because the answer is "No!" Also, "Yes!"

We live in a society that sells a message that we are special and unique. But there are 8 billion people on the planet. I am absolutely not special. You are absolutely not special. Everything we want, everything we need, all our dreams--someone else has them. And if not one specific person, they've been shared in part by millions. We are NOT special.

Of course, also: We ARE special. So incredibly wonderous--these perfectly imperfect human bodies, our imagination and awareness, our dreams, our capacity to build and love ... that we have come to exist in this moment is an almost-impossibility that occured with total ease. We are the very definition of special. And yet we are not.

I take great comfort in not being special.

I say all of this because I am trying to define my own direction and purpose and values. Which is a melding of skill and self. How can I--how can all of us--use what we have, who we are, in order to create what we value?

Me? I communicate. I stumble, I fumble, and I often get it wrong. But one thing I know about myself, is that I have an honest vulnerability and the skills to communicate it. I'm not special. So. That must mean there can be value in my experience for others.

I am also tired of my self. Tired of being predictable--tired of my reactions, my ingrained ideas, tired of the way my wounds and traumas shape the world I see. I am even tired of the word "I," which I've now used ... almost two dozen times in this short passage (so far).

Six years ago something happened. A brutal loss of friendship and connection. An excommunication. A glimpse of my own and other peoples' limits and capacities. It was an event that sent me into therapy and onto medications, and ultimately towards a deeper exploration.

I once thought that what happened was the worst thing. Now I think it was the best.

These days, I think about all these events as clues. Breadcrumbs from the universe. A trail leading back into myself--and from there, to everyone.

Without knowing it consciously, I spent five years in a cabin searching--not for the answer, but instead for the beginning of a path. The trailhead. What did I learn, after five years of shitting in the woods and going weeks between showers? ... I learned where the path began. I didn't find the end, I found the beginning.

Why did I move into this new house? I ask myself. The answer, I think: I bought this place because I wanted to live publicly. A total reversal of my time in the woods. I wanted to leave behind the image of myself as a big child, living with caution on the outskirts of community. I bought this home to represent a lack of separateness.

A year ago, I dated someone briefly and the relationship seemed full of possibility. There was connection and ease. But it quickly became apparent that my needs were not being met, and the whole thing fell apart in a flash.

For once, I didn't feel guilt. You know what I felt? CURIOSITY. For a relationship that spanned just weeks, it was incredibly impactful.

Since then, my world has opened up. I've learned how to look. And I've learned that the looking is the important part. What's important isn't so much truth, but realizing what is NOT true.

I started looking, and the Me I found was wholly different from who I believed I was. It turns out, I have wounds from trauma I don't recall and wisdom from classes I don't remember taking. It turns out, I am precise and fumble; am curious and afraid. And I'm just like you.

The relationship I mentioned led directly into another, which turned out to be infinitely more accelerating. It revealed the love which exists inside me. That I am.

If there is one thing I've learned--that has been shown to me--and which I now believe deeply through lived experience: YOU ARE LOVE. We all are.

We spend our lives looking for love--be it romantic or familial, a place to fit in or a sense of self--we spend our lives searching for the very thing we are. Understanding that Sisyphean struggle evokes waves of compassion in me. So. Now what?

I just turned 44 years-old, and it's like I want a bicycle pump for my life. I want to inflate it, until the tube is taught. Taut. Both. Communication. Sharing. Looking deep and then bringing out whatever I find.

So. That is my intention for the next year. An endeavor to look, to learn about myself--and by sameness, to know others. And to share what I find.

You aren't separate from me. We are the same. I see it. I can't show you, in part because I don't fully understand it myself. But the trail is so clearly marked that I know without doubt that there is value in helping others find where it begins.

5 Great Books From a Year of Reading

I’ve done a lot of reading in the past year, and most of the books have been excellent.

I wanted to share the five books that have stuck with me most — they’ve brought about changes in my life; I’ve recommended them over and over to other people; they moved me to tears and deep realizations.

Pretty quickly, you can see a theme emerging.

1. The Power of Now. Described as “A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment,” this book has been fundamental to much of the work I’ve been doing—trying to break the identification with thought that I experience. At its essence, this is a how-to guide to awakening. It’s fundamental message is that we are not our thoughts, not our mind, not our ego; instead, what we truly are is the being and awareness which witnesses it all. … I’ve identified as an atheist for many years and have shied away from much that is “spiritual.” Eckhart Tolle’s book simply makes sense to me.

2. Tao Te Ching. While most of my reading on consciousness is non-religous, the Tao is often described as both a relgious and philosophical text. I was introduced to this book by my mother, who explored many different schools of thought after she was diagnosed with cancer. Its opening lines sum up so much: “The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.” … Perception and reality are not the same. It is possible to live in a way which aligns with what Is.

3. Being Peace. Called a ”starting-point for those interested in Buddhism,” this book is adapted from teachings and speeches by Thich Nhat Hanh. If I had to sum it up: The work to become more conscious and aware is important work for the well-being of the world. Individually, it is the most impactful work we can do.

4. Shambhala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior. The key to courage is not being afraid of yourself. Chögyam Trungpa writes, “Real fearlessness is the product of tenderness. … You would like to spill your heart’s blood, give your heart to others. For the warrior, this experience of sad and tender heart is what gives birth to fearlessness.”

5. The Overstory. This is a novel, fiction. … One thing I have noticed, as my interest in awareness and consciousness has grown: The language of enlightenment is everywhere. Wikipedia says Richard Powers’ masterpiece is “about nine Americans whose unique life experiences with trees bring them together to address the destruction of forests.” But this is also a book about awakening to reality. It is the most beautiful novel I have read in years, and I cannot recommend it enough.

Lentil Soup and Body Dissociation: I saw an animal in me

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Meditation advice often focuses on observing your thoughts as things separate from yourself. The idea is to cease identifying with your thoughts, and eventually to stop identifying with your mind and body.

The essential, fundamental You, is an eternal presence behind your mind.

I don’t claim much success in this realm, just for the record. But last week I had a completely new experience.

I was stress-eating lentil soup while getting ready for a work-related conference call. I was eating quickly, not paying much attention to the action or my body. And … I kind of missed my mouth with the spoon.

I don’t really know what happened: I didn’t spill the soup, but there was some kind of hitch. And instead of bringing the spoon to my mouth, my mouth went after the spoon. And in that moment—which lasted just a second, no longer—I dissociated from my body.

For that brief, brief moment, I observed my body eat the soup. I saw it jerk towards the soup like a wild animal. I saw that it was totally unconscious, and I now believe that it ate from a fear of scarcity.

There’s not much more to describe. And as I’ve thought and pondered and told people this story, the memory has become a bit muddled. A part of me now wonders … did that really happen? What was that?

In that brief of moment I observed my body as something entirely separate from Me, and I saw it eat like a wild animal.

If wild animals ate lentil soup.

Meditating on the Bones: Snorkeling on LSD in Culebra, Puerto Rico

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I spent a week in Puerto Rico recently—my first real vacation in several years. I’ve been to the island a few times but this was my first visit to Culebra, which is the smallest of its inhabited isles.

The place is incredible. I find it amazing more people do not visit Puerto Rico—and awful how poorly the US government treats the territory. But that is stuff for another post.

While I was there, I had the chance to do some snorkeling. And paired that with some meditation on the beach, and a low dose of LSD. One day I will post more about my use of acid, and how it can help to access deeper states of awareness. But in general, I describe the drug as pure empathy.

LSD can help people reach startling and joyous realizations and truths, and can produce benefits that persist long after the actual experience. In this instance, I took a fairly modest dose—about a third of your average “trip” amount—and paired it with a series of ideas to focus on.

The beach was not sandy, but instead was mostly rocks and shells and coral. So in essence, I sat on top of many things which at one point had been alive. There is something about dried, calcified coral that leaves no doubt it used to be a living thing.

I was struck by this beautiful realization that sometime in the future—not too long from now—I’ll be dead. And my corpse will rot away leaving only bones, just like the coral I sat on.

But even that wont be the end. With enough time, my bones will be worn away until there’s nothing but sand.

No matter what I do, no matter how much I write or what art I create or how many friends I have, it wont be long until there is zero trace I ever existed. And that comforts me.

Our bodies and egos exist for just a blink of a moment, and absolutely nothing can change that.

Nothing you can do will break that which is eternal—and nothing can truly hurt the energy which is your essence. Call it a soul; call it love; call it whatever you like. My body will fall away and leave only that.

And the snorkeling? Amazing. Acid tends to make the world sparkle, as if everything were new and unnamed.

I actually got over my fear of sharks.