Church of the Churchless

Jellyfish and God, the differences

Main difference: jellyfish are real.

I'm so certain of this, today I sat for two hours on Maui's Napili Beach, watching terrific large boogie boardable waves from the sand, passing them by because of jellyfish warning signs that had been posted.

Having just invested a lot of time in pondering jellyfish, much more than I've ever done before, I've been trying to fathom what cosmic significance this dangerous sea creature (whose sting toxin supposedly is seventy-five percent as powerful as cobra venom) has for my spiritual development.

Assuming it has any at all. But it's no fun to go the nada route, so I'll assume my frustrating perch on the beach contains some sort of message for me.

What struck me, watching the waves crash into Napili Bay, is how virtually every beachgoer respected the warning signs – and, likely, word of mouth "jellyfish" messages.

Big waves usually bring out big wave players. Boogie boarders. Surfers. Bobbers. But today there were very few; none out where the waves were breaking; some close to shore. A big difference from other large wave days.

Lots of people consider science to be an unreliable way of knowing truth, compared with religion. However, when it comes to assessing the risk of venturing into water where jellyfish warnings have been posted, almost everybody uses the scientific method.

Including me. Sitting on the beach, desperately wanting to paddle out and catch some waves, I ran through the costs and benefits of taking a chance on the warning being spurious.

I pondered what little I knew about jellyfish. I talked the situation over with another man whose boogie board was sitting high and dry.

I remembered the Hawaiian adage, "If you don't see locals playing in the waves, usually there's a good reason why; don't be the first person out surfing or boogie boarding unless you're sure you know what the conditions in the water are."

In the physical world, by and large there are good reasons to go with the factual crowd. Studies have shown that group assessments of a situation are more accurate than the average person's (this is why the stock market is a decent predictor of the economic outlook).

So there I was, someone with a blog whose tagline is "Preaching the gospel of spiritual independence," sitting on the sand – going with the jellyfish warning-believing crowd.

Because material isn't spiritual.

When I know something is dangerous, and I've been told that this something has been sighted nearby, it makes sense to avoid it. If I see almost everyone else around me doing just that – staying away from it – my concern tends to be confirmed.

On the other hand, belief in God or other supernatural beings is a lot different. The beach could be plastered with "Warning: Devil in the water" signs, and I'd laugh right by them on my way into the ocean.

Yet the strange thing is, so many people believe them. Like, the Bible. Whereas they'll use logic, reason, and common sense when it comes to deciding whether to venture into a Maui bay, when it comes to religion blind faith rules.

Why don't believers go in the water even though a jellyfish warning is posted? Won't Jesus protect them? Supposedly he's going to save their souls after they die. Can't he save them from a jellyfish sting while they're alive?

Seeking answers to these questions, I checked out www.God.com this evening. I was curious to see which of the world's religions had the rights to this primo domain name. As I could have guessed, it was Christian evangelicals.

There's only six Q and A's on the web site, way less than the questions in my mind. One was germane to my jellyfish situation, though.

I am going through countless problems in my life. It seems to be one thing after the other. I pray every day that God will help me, but He doesn't seem to listen or do anything. Why doesn't God answer my prayers?

My problem precisely. Why the hell did God combine beautiful waves in Napili Bay with a jellyfish warning, when I've been praying for another day of good boogie boarding all week?

The answer started off in an discouraging fashion.

Sometimes when you pick up the telephone receiver to call someone, you find the line is dead. If you ignore this and just talk into the telephone anyway, will the person at the other end hear you and respond?

No, they won't. Because the line is dead and I'm talking to myself. If the God.com web site had ended its answer on this note, that would have been cool – a verification of my churchless leanings.

But it went on to explain why we don't get a response.

It is not that God cannot hear your prayers or that He does not want to listen; the problem lies in the individual: "Your iniquities have separated you from your God; and your sins have hidden His face from you."

Well, I'd consider this possibility if someone could show me God's face so I'd know what I'm separated from.

When I got back to our room I turned on my laptop, fired up Google, and found lots of images of jellyfish. Shouldn't God be at least as well-known as the Portuguese Man of War?

I found an earlier jellyfish warning that blamed the West Maui problem on southerly winds, which is the meteorological situation today. That's a reasonable explanation for why I was separated from the waves.

However, God.com didn't do nearly as well in explaining what I have to do to get together with God. Supposedly He won't listen to me until the barrier of my sins is broken down. Until that happens, my prayers are useless.

I need a relationship with God. Then He will pay attention to me. And how do I get our relating going?

To establish that relationship, you must first believe without any doubt that God exists.

Oh, come on, dude! The Bible says you created jellyfish, but I know way more about their existence than yours. That's crazy. How about showing me some skin (or whatever form you have)? Then I'll start believing in you.

At least a little bit.

Feeling alive, undeadened by religion

Some more Maui meditations...following up on "Big waves, small waves: no difference?"

I enjoyed the comments on this post. I agree: splitting reality up into awareness and what we're aware of – how is this not another duality that the consciousness is all philosophy tries to get away from?

Reading further this morning into Peter Dziuban's book by the same name, my consciousness made clearer by Kona coffee, I'm struck by how Awareness (with a capital "A") can be made into an abstract divinity with pretty much the same characteristics as God.

I've never been aware of Pure Awareness, unsullied by anything I'm aware of. And I strongly suspect that neither Dziuban nor anyone else ever has either.

Yet somehow I'm supposed to consider this the really real reality, even though it is nowhere apparent. I'm supposed to view what my senses tell me as akin to images on a movie screen: passing, ephemeral, lacking unchanging being.

But where is this Being that Dziuban (and Plato, among many others) talk about? How can it be separated from my here and now awareness, which contains many beings, me included, naturally?

Methinks too much can be made of what most probably either is (1) so absolutely simple, we aren't recognizing it as such or (2) so absolutely different, we aren't looking in the right place.

Whatever.

I'm not interested in trading away the aliveness of the present moment for deadening promises that later, someday, tomorrow, after death, eventually, I'll be aware of something other than what I'm conscious of now.

Laurel and I went on a Pacific Whale Foundation sunset dinner cruise yesterday. It sure seemed real. But the whole time I was only aware of what my senses, thoughts, and emotions conveyed to me – not Awareness itself.

Which was good, because if I'd been in a state of Pure Awareness I would have missed the whales and dolphins that appeared next to the boat (against the odds, according to my experienced captain, given that only a couple of whales are still hanging around Maui).

I'm not denying the possibility that consciousness is separate from the body that each of us is (or at least, seems to be) at the moment.

But every time Dzuiban approaches the central question about consciousness that I raised earlier, it gets skirted. Here's an excerpt from a chapter I read today:

A question that may arise based on all of the preceding might go like the following:

"If the mind is not inside a body or brain, then why does the mind's activity stop when the body is anesthetized? How could anesthesia affect the mind if the mind is not there? And if the mind isn't in the brain, then why don't the mind and body function just as well when the brain is damaged or removed?"

Great questions. No good answer. This one leaves a lot to be desired.

So if it appears the state of a "body" is altered via chemical anesthesia or surgery, naturally the state of the "mind" will appear altered too, for it is all the same, one "stuff." It is not because a mind is inside a body…This book is not denying that such things seem to occur.

Well, as I said before I'm not big on relying on quotation marks to define reality. If I seem to be unaware when I'm anesthetized, a literary device – making it into "mind"—doesn't change the situation for me. Or anyone else.

Feeling alive. Isn't this what life should be about? When I'm catching a wave on my boogie board, soaring down a zipline, or watching a whale surface nearby, I'm absorbed in the moment.

I'm not anticipating the future or remembering the past. For me, this is where the feeling of increased aliveness comes from: being here and now, fully.

Positing some state of Being separate and distinct from what's present, this is the province of religion – whether it be a monotheistic creed or a philosophic exaltation of "consciousness is all."

Way back in the '60s I grooved over Be Here Now. I haven't moved much, if anywhere, since. How could I?

Big waves, small waves: no difference?

It's easy not to think too much on Maui. But my blogging addiction presses me toward a Church of the Churchless posting.

Where is my inspiration? In today, in the waves.

They were good sized today in Napili Bay, praise the wave gods. Whenever we come to Maui I religiously bring my boogie board on the airplane. Then I devotedly cart it down to the beach, every time we go, no matter how calm the ocean is.

You never know. You really don't. I've been fooled before. Nice waves can spring out of nowhere. Like satori.

This morning I was reading more of "Consciousness is All." An excerpt hit close to home. Our temporary home.

Imagine a drive-in movie theatre with a picture showing on its large white screen.

In the movie picture, a woman and man are standing on a tropical beach, gazing out over the ocean. There's a beautiful sunset and a boat is sailing by in the distance. As a large orange sun appears to drop below the horizon, the woman and man are talking about what a wonderful day they've had, expressing their emotions of happiness.

Now, Peter Dziuban's point is that all this wonderfulness is just images on a screen. The images aren't real. Only the screen is – the screen of consciousness.

For this example, all that is important is the screen, wholly apart from any picture projected, any movie projector, theatre, observers, or anything else.

Hmmmm. I like Consciousness is All as a philosophy. Oneness is so deliciously simple. Wouldn't it be wonderful if everything was the same thing, and nothing was different? Or…would it?

I can't deny my present reality, where some things sure seem to be a heck of a lot better than other things – regardless of whether they're ultimately real or not.

Since we got here my boogie board has been sitting on the sand. This morning the ocean changed. High pressure moved from the south to the north of the islands, doing something or other to the prevailing winds.

Whatever it was, the result was boogie boardable waves. Not great, but good.

And I felt so much better. More alive, because I love catching a wave and feeling the rush of being carried along by a force much more powerful than myself, yet under my control (sort of) if I can flow with it.

Big waves, small waves. A considerable difference, to me. Yet many mystic types would say, "All is one. Physical and mental sensations are passing phenomena, not part of unchangeable unity."

OK. I still prefer big waves to small waves (my wife feels exactly opposite, being a snorkeling fanatic, so we pray to different wave gods).

The Zen folks deal with this stuff somewhat similarly, or so my shallow understanding of Zen tells me. One school puts a big emphasis on keeping the mirror of the mind clear of dust. Another school says, what mirror, what dust?

There are two primary schools of Zen Buddhism. The Gradual School of Enlightenment is firmly rooted in the scripture of Indian Buddhism and the inheritor of that school of meditation. A verse from this tradition:

"This body is the Bodhi-tree
The soul is like a bright mirror.
Keep it clean at all times,
And let no dust gather upon it."

The School of Sudden Enlightenment created an entirely new phenomenon as expressed in an answering verse:

"The Bodhi is not a tree
The bright mirror is nowhere shining
As there is nothing,
Just where can the dust settle?"

and absorbed the Taoist approach to life. "The world is always held without effort. The moment there is effort, the world is beyond holding."

I guess I'm more of a Taoist than a mirror cleanser, or a movie screen devotee. I like reflections. I like images. Particularly when they're of stuff that I enjoy, such as large waves coming into Napili Bay.

Religions generally preach the merits of an other-worldly attitude. But all I know is this world, right here, right now. To deny my experiencing of it, my love of it, my enjoyment of it – senseless.

That said, I also can see how nice it would be if everything that I experienced was, well, nice. Because I didn't take it seriously and could enjoy it while it lasted – which, given the nature of the world, won't be for long.

Hawaiians are big on "hang loose." A good philosophy of life. There's got to be a way of melding an attraction for the screen, and enjoyment of what appears on it. Some movies are better than others, for sure.

But in the end there's "The End." Waves come, waves go. The ocean remains, though. I just want my boogie board to be out in big waves tomorrow.

When I’m unconscious, why aren’t I enlightened?

My second straight post with a question mark in the title. I still don't know if awareness can be aware of nothing, so I'll extend my ignorance by talking about what happens when we're unaware of everything.

Like, under anesthesia. Or after being hit on the head with a baseball bat. Or in deep dreamless sleep.This latter state is particularly praised by Advaitist sages such as Ramana.

I like Ramana a lot. But whenever he extols dreamless sleep as being akin to a realized consciousness, I'll pause in my reading and think: Gosh, I'm not sure I want to be enlightened if it means I'm unaware of everything.

What's the difference between being (1) dead and gone and (2) alive and unconscious? Not much.

That's why lots of people have signed living wills that allow life support to be withdrawn if they're in an irreversible persistent vegetative state.

As mentioned in my previous post, I'm reading "Consciousness is All" while here on Maui. A good book, creatively and intelligently written, very much in the Advaita tradition – but without the Indian cultural trappings (which appeals to me).

Today I made my way through the "Consciousness is not the 'human mind'" chapter. In arguing that consciousness isn't tied to the body, Peter Dziuban said:

This point can be illustrated by this typical human assumption: "Consciousness has to be inside the body. Why? Well, suppose my body had surgery, and was given heavy anesthesia. Or suppose my body got knocked out. In each case I would be 'unconscious' or 'unaware.' When any of those things happen to my body, Consciousness stops functioning – at least temporarily – so Consciousness must be inside the body."

First, a literary quibble. I understand the purpose of the quotation marks around 'unconscious' and 'unaware.' But they don't change the fact that when I got my tonsils out as a kid and had an ether-soaked cloth put over my nose, I really was unconscious and unaware for quite a while.

Similarly, you could say that when I take my last breath I'll be "dead." Well, it's sort of nice to see those not really quotation marks again. However, they're not going to change the reality of the situation.

Which, for the anesthesia and knocked out examples, Dziuban sees differently from me.

In such cases something seems to cease functioning, of course. But it is not Consciousness, the Infinite that stops. It is the so-called human, sensing "mind," or that which is finite, that stops. They're not the same.

…In other words, it would be everything one appears to be conscious of that gets disrupted, not Consciousness Itself. It would be everything observable that gets knocked out. Consciousness Itself never is observable to begin with – because it's infinite! So the fact that everything observable seems to have gone doesn't mean Consciousness itself has gone.

Though I'm attracted to Advaitist and non-dual approaches, this is where they and me start to part company: when I'm asked to have what sounds like blind faith in infinite Consciousness. How is this different from blind faith in God?

I mean, I'm unconscious. I'm unaware. Yet supposedly Consciousness and Awareness (the capital letters signifying their universality) proceed on their merry way.

They're still there. They just can't be observed. Well, if consciousness is all, as the title of the book says, why isn't it more noticeable rather than less when the obscuring physical body and mind are removed from play?

In other words, why doesn't being knocked out with a baseball bat lead to enlightenment? Now that the senses aren't working and thoughts have stopped being produced by the mind, shouldn't the purity of Awareness shine much more clearly?

Conceptually (and I know: concepts are a no-no in nonduality) this is a big problem for Consciousness is Everything folks. As for those who believe that immaterial soul consciousness is the true Self.

Again, why isn't the soul's intrinsic awareness evident when the normal functioning of brain/mind is interrupted? What happens is just the opposite. We become much less conscious and aware when the body isn't functioning as usual.

On this note I'll end with a pointer to an interesting post by Manjit on the Church of the Churchless message board, who also tilts strongly toward non-duality, but has some reservations about it. An excerpt:

Midway through a 4 week mini meditational home retreat, checking my emails and reading the posts on the main blog, I thought I'd add my personal understandings of the value of 'spiritual practice'.

Spiritual practice specifically in relation to the absolutist, pure non-dual and so-called 'neo-advatist' etc, views or positions. A View that is promoted by so many, including myself on occassion, on the ChurchoftheChurchless blog. More specifically, the complete and total dismissal of any kind of  'spiritual practice' whatsoever, with a kind of implied belief that by simply adopting that View, it will in and of itself resolve all the various factors which lead to the primal suffering/existential angst/incompleteness etc, which caused one to 'seek' or search for spiritual peace or God or whatever.

Having myself often expressed myself with this 'View' too, it may seem strange or contradictory when I say that sometimes this View comes across as rather hollow or shallow sounding? Even stranger, from my perspective, and I have considered it deeply, it is entirely integral!

In the end, what the @#$%&! do I know? Or any of us knows? Maybe a lot. Maybe nothing.

Today I enjoyed Mark Morford's column about the Earth singing its own music, along with the entire cosmos.

Me, I like to think of the Earth as essentially a giant Tibetan singing bowl, flicked by the middle finger of God and set to a mesmerizing, low ring for about 10 billion years until the tone begins to fade and the vibration slows and eventually the sound completely disappears into nothingness and the birds are all, hey what the hell happened to the music? And God just shrugs and goes, well that was interesting.

Yeah, for sure.

Each of us gets a lot less time than the Earth to ring (maybe). Regardless, when our tone comes to an end, at least we can also say, "well that was interesting."

Can awareness be aware of nothing?

My wife and I are in Maui. We've overcome a lot of struggles to get here, as documented in "From snow to sunshine with snafus."

For example, our first class upgrades didn't get us much of a vegetarian meal on Hawaiian Airlines. The Buddha was right: life is suffering.

I like to keep things simple on Maui. Today we sat in some shade on the beach until the mid-day sun drove us into the ocean -- Laurel to snorkel, me to swim back and forth across Napili Bay.

When to lie on the sand; when to go in the water. Of such Big Questions a vacation should be made of.

It's also another good time to work on my Wu. Which involves a query of more cosmic proportions than our beach dilemma. Namely, can awareness be aware of nothing?

Intuitively, I doubt it. But as I so often say on this blog, what do I know?

My Wu Project, or anybody's, necessarily hits a major roadblock if the answer is "No." Seeking the root of whatever lies at the bottom (or top, or middle) Of It All, one is left with something within consciousness – a duality of (1) something and (2) consciousness of that thing.

I brought with me a new book, "Consciousness is All." I figured, correctly, that it'd blend nicely with the mellow buzz of my cup of Kona coffee in the morning, and more generally, with the whole laid back Maui vibe.

The author, Peter Dziuban, has an engaging style. I'm much attracted to what seems to be a complete lack of quotations in his 296 pages. He just says what he thinks, with no corroboration from holy books, gurus, saints, or seers.

After reading just a few chapters I can tell that a central thought regards the reality of pure awareness.

Awareness truly is. For this to be clear, start with pure Awareness, pure Consciousness only – entirely distinct from the body and everything else you seem to be aware of. One who is alert sees that pure Awareness, all by Itself, alone, never changes or goes away.

Hmmm. I don't know about that, though maybe I'm not alert enough to see it. Sure, for every moment of my 59+ years I've been aware (which Dziuban says is synonymous with being conscious).

I've also been aware of something for each of those moments – except when I was unconscious. Then I wasn't aware of anything, including awareness.

I like the notion of pure awareness, of pure consciousness. It just sounds so…pure. And simple. But I can't imagine what it would be like.

Neither, says my skeptical soul, do many (if not all) of the people who talk about it. Again, though, I could be wrong. It just seems to me that pure awareness is like pure existence: a concept.

How empty can awareness or existence be, and still be something that we can be aware of or know as existent? I find it difficult to imagine being aware only of awareness, or of existing solely as existence.

For one thing, it's deeply creepy. Like being dead, yet not quite. Totally alone. A nothing knowing only its nothingness.

But, hey, I'm just 21 pages into Dziuban's book. Maybe things will clear up with more Kona coffee-aided reading. And perhaps the beauty of Maui is what's making me wonder…

Can there be awareness without stuff to be aware of?

Can there be existence without stuff that exists?

Moral relativism is absolutely great

I love to argue with the Pope. It sends a thrill up my lapsed Catholic spine. The notion that insignificant me has a shot (in this case, a certainty) at out-moralizing the head of one of the world's major religions – marvelous!

Pope Benedict XVI hates moral relativism. I adore it. So who's right and who's wrong?

This is why I win: the fact that this is a serious question shows I'm right. Nobody says that the atomic structure of water has several possible answers. Two molecules of hydrogen and one of oxygen always is the correct response.

Recently President Bush approvingly quoted one of Benedict's pet phrases back at him.

In a world where some no longer believe that we can distinguish between simple right and wrong, we need your message to reject this 'dictatorship of relativism.'

Huh? I've never had any problem with people getting in my face and screaming, It could be this, or it could be that! But fundamentalists like the Pope are always telling me how to live my life.

I'll take the dictatorship of relativism over that of absolutism any day. Apparently he first used these words at a Mass in 2005, before he became the Pope.

Today, having a clear faith based on the Creed of the Church is often labeled as fundamentalism. Whereas relativism, that is, letting oneself be "tossed here and there, carried about by every wind of doctrine", seems the only attitude that can cope with modern times. We are building a dictatorship of relativism that does not recognize anything as definitive and whose ultimate goal consists solely of one's own ego and desires.

A six word summary of my critique: the Pope is full of shit. He's got it completely backward. The height of ego is to consider that you know what's right and wrong – not just for yourself, but for everybody.

To the Pope, abortion is wrong. So is stem cell research. And contraception. Catholicism does its best to push these private moral positions into public policy. How is that not the dictatorship of absolutism?

Speaking of dictators (including would-be ones), Dan Froomkin wrote a great Washington Post column on this subject, "Who's the Moral Relativist?" He points out the absurdity of the Great Presidential Relativist, George Bush, lavishing praise on Benedict for opposing moral relativism.

Yet some of Bush's most defining decisions -- such as launching a war of choice against Iraq and his picking and choosing which laws actually apply to him -- suggest a highly subjective sense of right and wrong. Most notably, he defends the use of interrogation tactics that violate human dignity by arguing that the ends justify the means.

Right on.

Moral absolutism always is just skin deep, because there's no foundation to it. Religions have all kinds of different opinions about what's right and wrong. Ditto for philosophies, ethical systems, and other secular approaches to morality.

So whenever you hear someone like Pope Benedict or President Bush extolling "simple right and wrong," invariably they mean, Simply do what I tell you.

Life isn't simple. Neither is morality. Killing is wrong. Except when it's right. Lying is wrong. Except when it's right. Members of the Bush administration have done a whole lot of killing and lying.

They believe it's right. Others, that it's wrong. We've got a difference of opinion here. It'll be settled through more debate, more elections, more court cases.

Thank god, these and other questions aren't settled by a religious authority. This country was founded on sentiments such as "Live free or die," and "Don't tread on me."

I've got no problem with true believers turning their moral decisions over to a fundamentalist moral code. There always will be people who prefer to act like sheep. Following the leader can appear to be a lot easier than finding your own way.

The Pope, President, and other purveyors of moral absolutism just need to realize that their preachiness needs to end where individual lives begin. In a democracy, laws are how society speaks about right and wrong.

Whatever is said from the pulpit is just a bunch of blah, blah, blah to faithful moral relativists like me.

“Perfect” gurus: myth or reality?

Those steeped in a Western monotheistic religion, such as Christianity or Judaism, might be surprised to learn that millions of people in the world today believe that God walks on Earth in a human form – divinely perfect.

Some Christians believe that Jesus was perfect, but his flawed humanity seems to be as important as his divinity. In like fashion, most Muslims consider that Muhammad was a flawless conduit for God's message as revealed in the Koran, but the Prophet himself isn't revered as God.

It's only in the Eastern religions, so far as I know, that a person is viewed as essentially identical with the Supreme Being. These are the "perfect gurus."

Comments on a recent Church of the Churchless post got me pondering this subject. As a long-time member of Radha Soami Satsang Beas, a branch of Sant Mat, I'm intimately familiar with the whole perfect master thing. I've even sat down and talked with a couple of them, Charan Singh and Gurinder Singh.

One obvious fact about perfect gurus is that there isn't any outward sign of their perfection, as this essay describes. Their bodies are imperfect, as they get sick and age. Their minds are imperfect, as they forget things and make mistakes.

So where does the supposed perfection lie? On a different plane of reality – that of soul or spirit. Just as God can't be seen directly, neither can the guru's perfection. It has to be taken on faith.

And believe me, many disciples do.

This is easier to accomplish for native Indians, for example, because gurus are a staple of Eastern cultures. Western minds (like mine) have a more difficult time accepting that outward imperfection masks an inward perfection.

A few weeks ago my wife and I took a Rumba class with another couple. As often happens in dance classes, they got to bickering in a friendly fashion.

"Hey, you should be doing the move like this." "Well, I would be if you were doing your part right." And so on. After a while I saw they were in a big hug, cooing at each other like lovebirds.

"We're perfect partners for each other!" "Yes, we are!" In this case, "perfect" wasn't any sort of objective standard, but a quality of love. You can't argue with that.

However, when perfection is measured against a yardstick, that's different. Who can forget the iconic image of Bo Derek in "10"? (Though I've learned from comments on my most beautiful woman in world post that beauty truly is largely in the eye of the beholder.)

Gymnastics has more definite criteria for assigning a "perfect 10." Yet even here there are subjective disagreements among judges.

So how is it possible to say that a guru is spiritually perfect, when it's so tough to assess physical perfection? Where is the standard for judging how well someone is in harmony with ultimate reality?

This presumes that someone else – the judge – knows the nature of ultimate reality, a.k.a. God. Similarly, it takes a expert who knows the nature of an ideal diamond to assess the relative perfection of a gem.

For many years I've heard disciples speak of their guru as being a "perfect master," or "God in human form." I rarely, if ever, did this. It always struck me as the height of ego to make such a statement, following the adage It takes one to know one.

I'm so imperfect, in so many ways. We all are.

He among us who lacks flaws, let him judge who else is perfect. That person sure isn't me. And I'm also pretty sure it isn't all the devoted disciples who look upon their guru with eyes that see no imperfections in him.

(Regarding the masculine language, I liked the final question on this ExPremie.org page. The suggestion is to ask a guru, Prem Rawat, "Can you think of any Perfect Mistresses?")

As with the couple in our dance class, it seems that often starry-eyed disciples are so much in love with the guru they can't bring themselves to notice any flaws. This is akin to the infatuation phase of a relationship where everything the other person does is just wonderful.

After a few years of living together, those charming eccentricities turn into irritations. The love may be stronger, but the vision is clearer. Ditto with a guru-relationship, ideally.

I don't see any benefit to considering that another human being is spiritually, mystically, or divinely perfect. A student can benefit from a teacher's instruction without viewing him or her as infallible. In fact, it's questionable whether genuine learning can take place without developing an ability to critique what you've been told.

In my martial arts slanted Tai Chi class this afternoon, the teacher said, "I'm going to show you four moves; then you're going to have to figure out what comes next yourself." Now that's good instruction.

Believing someone is perfect and can do no wrong is a stepping stone to cultish behavior. Some gurus are notorious for abusing disciples, sexually or otherwise. Others exercise more subtle forms of control. Regardless, giving up one's capacity to question isn't healthy – mentally, psychologically, or spiritually.

Googling "perfect guru" today, I came across some interesting links in addition to those already shared.

--"The Perfect Guru" strikes me as a parody of perfection characteristics. Others take this piece quasi-seriously. You can decide for yourself.

--A chapter from "Stripping the Gurus" by Geoffrey Falk is about Andrew Cohen. It's titled "Sometimes I feel like a God."

--Here's a "History of Perfect Masters" by a Sant Mat student. See who's in and who's out. Sorry, Buddhists – the Buddha didn't make the list.

--Another "Lineage of Perfect Masters." Some overlap, but there's plenty of disagreement about who qualifies for the Perfect Master Club.

Bitterness and religion: some advice for Obama

I've been doing some thinking, from my churchless perspective, about the controversy over Barack Obama's remark that people in struggling Pennsylvania towns are bitter and cling to religion (among other things).

And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy toward people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.

Clinton has seized on the words "bitter" and "cling" in blasting Obama for his supposed elitism. On cable news today I kept seeing her new ad being played.

In the ad a Pennsylvania woman says that she doesn't cling to her faith out of frustration and bitterness; she finds it very uplifting.

Well, maybe that's true. If so, she's rare.

How many people are drawn to religion purely out of positive motivations, not because they're looking for solace, salvation, or some sweetness that life hasn't been giving them?

Very few, I'd say.

Buddhism teaches that life is suffering. So does country music. Where do you turn when your woman has left you, your dog has run away, and your pickup's been repossessed?

Beer – that's one option. Or, religion. "Jesus has a plan for me." That thought takes some of the sting out of a sucky situation.

Here's my advice for Obama: use this controversy as an opportunity to start a dialogue about religion, just as he did with the topic of race after Rev. Jeremiah Wright's comments set off a firestorm.

In his race speech, Obama painted the subject with a pleasing shade of gray. He talked about religion also, but didn't address why people are so attracted to religious belief. This is a sensitive subject. But it needs to be brought out into the open.

There's nothing wrong with someone clinging to religion because it makes him or her feel better. I've done that myself – for a long time.

I've never been conventionally religious, but when times were tough, I found myself praying in my own non-Christian fashion. When my mother had a major stroke, before I could get on a plane to see her I pleaded with Whoever is in charge of such things to give her whatever good karma I had.

Ditto when I feared that my wife had a serious health problem. My faithlessness temporarily turned into faith as I asked for some sort of divine intervention. I knew I was almost certainly talking to myself, but I was drawn to do the asking anyway.

If Obama would speak honestly about this, it would resonate with most believers. Something like…

"I realize that when I said people cling to religion to explain their frustrations, that rubbed some the wrong way. They feel that their faith springs from love, from devotion, from a desire to serve God – positive motivations.

Sometimes this is true. However, religious belief also helps us cope with pain, suffering, disease, death, unemployment, poverty – the negative side of life. When we're looking for answers, for reasons, and none are forthcoming, it's natural to find solace in our faith.

Life is tough. Some people get through it without religion. They're sustained by something else. But we all need support from somewhere when what we thought we could count on, no longer does.

I'm not ashamed to say that I've clung to my faith in those times. And neither should anyone else, including the Pennsylvanians I've been talking to these past weeks."

Understand, I'm not going soft on churchlessness. To me, it's preferable to see problems as they are in their naked reality, without viewing them through a prism of religious belief.

Losing one's job can be just that – a stint on unemployment and little cash in the wallet. It doesn't have to be suffused with divine meaning ("God is teaching me a lesson.")

However, if someone feels better by framing their problems within a religious belief structure, that's fine. Feeling good doesn't need any justification. Like I said before, it's when we say "I'm right" rather than "I like" that problems arise.

Along that line, I like that a recent poll is showing that Obama is actually gaining ground over Clinton in Pennsylvania and Indiana. This seems to show that voters aren't upset with Obama's "clinging to religion out of bitterness" remarks.

Probably, because they realize what he said is true.

Radha Soami Satsang Beas embraces the Internet

I like it when a religious organization shows some flexibility. So kudos to the group that I belonged to for some thirty-five years, Radha Soami Satsang Beas, for significantly expanding its embrace of the World Wide Web.

Today I learned that the RSSB web site has a new look. Previously there was basically just a home page and a catalog of RSSB publications.

Now there's much more, including essays on the Sant Mat philosophy that forms the core of the group's teachings.

For a long time the current RSSB guru, Gurinder Singh, asked that disciples refrain from discussing Sant Mat on the Internet. Many initiates have been reluctant to read or comment on this blog, or the Yahoo Radha Soami studies group, for that reason.

Now that RSSB itself is more actively disseminating information over the web, hopefully this reluctance will vanish.

I've browsed through most of the web site's pages. Here's a few observations.

The home page says:

There are no rituals, ceremonies, hierarchies or mandatory contributions, nor are there compulsory gatherings. Members need not give up their cultural identity or religious preference to follow this path.

Well, leaving aside the dubious claim of no rituals or ceremonies, dictionary definitions of "hierarchy" are a series of ordered groupings of people or things within a system and the organization of people at different ranks in an administrative body.

Having been a member of the RSSB hierarchy for several decades, I can say for a fact that it includes: (1) the guru, (2) managers of various RSSB functions, including representatives who administer goings-on in different countries and regions within large countries, and (3) secretaries who organize local meetings (satsangs).

If there isn't a RSSB hierarchy, how could I have been fired as a satsang speaker a few years ago?

The reason that was given was my blogging here on the Church of the Churchless, because it had been making a lot of people uncomfortable. Thus I found this statement on the RSSB "Philosophy" page interesting.

They [members] are free to make their own choices in life and maintain any cultural or religious affiliations they choose. RSSB does not involve itself in the personal lives of its members.

Except when the personal life includes a hobby of blogging about spiritual and philosophical subjects, including some critiques of Sant Mat.

Understand: I don't object to a religious organization choosing who it wants to speak at meetings. I'm just pointing out that several pages on the RSSB web site make the organization sound a lot less hierarchical and controlling than it really is.

Along that line, I found that the web site's introductory pages are considerably more ecumenical than the essays, which are a truer reflection of Sant Mat teachings.

The home page starts off with:

Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB) is a philosophical organization based on the spiritual teachings of all religions and dedicated to a process of inner development under the guidance of a spiritual teacher.

Hmmmm. For sure, not all religions agree with the Sant Mat philosophy. Not even close.

I guess the word "spiritual" offers the required wriggle-room, since RSSB would argue that while the outward teaching of every other religion conflicts with Sant Mat, the inner mystical teaching doesn't.

I'd disagree even with that, though. Sant Mat says that the soul returns to God under the guidance of a guru who is divinity made flesh, traversing higher spiritual regions and leaving the material and mental worlds of illusion (maya) behind.

This is far removed from orthodox Christianity, Islam, and Judaism. Also Buddhism and Taoism. Hinduism and Sikhism come closest to being in accord with Sant Mat, but even here there are significant differences.

So this is my biggest quibble with the revamped RSSB web site, and RSSB in general. Sant Mat has a legitimate claim to religious validity, as do all of the world's religions. (Whether a claim can be backed up – that's the big question.)

However, I don't think Sant Mat should claim that it is the common denominator of every religion and spiritual/mystical path, because it isn't.

Consider this statement in one of the essays:

It is only when we finally meet a saint or master that a soul can rise above this level of duality, of action and reaction, reward and punishment, and discover its true spiritual nature…They [masters] re-connect the soul to the holy Word, and explain the technique of discovering God within the body.

Yet the essay also says:

Sant Mat concerns itself with this common ground which is the spiritual heart, or heritage, of every great religion.

Again, this isn't true. I'm intimately familiar with the Sant Mat teachings. I'm also well acquainted with the tenets of the major world religions.

Most recently my study has focused on Taoism and Buddhism, because I resonate best with these approaches to fathoming the big questions of life.

The core of Sant Mat – initiation by a living guru who connects the disciple's soul with spirit, and thereafter guides the soul through higher realms of reality – isn't found in Taoism or Buddhism. Nor is it found in the Western monotheistic religions.

This doesn't mean that Sant Mat is wrong. Just that the RSSB teachings need to stand on their own, and not attempt to be supported by an illusory connection (or even supposed identity) with other religions.

Religions should offer a better deal on death

Yesterday I spent part of a nice afternoon musing about a not-so-nice subject, death. And here I am doing it again, on an even sunnier and warmer Oregon day.

As I said in "Baby boomers confront the big 'boom,' death," dying is an unwanted intrusion into the pleasant pursuit of existing.

Dying wouldn't be so bad if there wasn't a likely nasty side effect: non-existence. Forever.

That'd be a bummer, to put it mildly (only good side is, I won't be around to be bummed out). So humans have invented religions to reduce anxiety about the hereafter.

Which is more properly called the nothingafter, given the dearth of solid evidence that life continues after death.

However, thinking like Donald Rumsfeld – absence of evidence isn't evidence of absence – religions fill the void in our knowledge of what awaits our last breath with some supposedly reassuring notions about the afterlife.

Problem is, those notions don't come close to fulfilling my fantasy of what I want to have happen after I die.

If religions did a better job in this department, I'd be more likely to embrace some fantastical theology. After all, I'm not against feeling good. If a religion could make me look forward to death, rather than dreading it, hey, I might sign up.

I've read a lot of books about the world's religions, but not this one. It's on order, so when I read it, maybe I'll find a fantasy-fulfilling faith that fills the bill.

I doubt it, though, based on what I know now.

Christianity. Kind of vague. The whole deal about the dead being raised bodily at the Second Coming – creepy. I'm not big on sticking with my current body for eternity. Heaven sounds better, but the Bible is distressingly imprecise about the conditions there. I need more info. before I make a reservation.

Islam. The 70 virgins thing sounds fine. However, don't you have to die as a martyr to get them? I'm also worried about the patriarchal sexism of the Islamic paradise. Not much, to tell the truth, but I need to say that in case my wife ever reads this post.

Judaism. Once I sat next to a Jewish couple on a long flight to Hong Kong. I was enthused about learning how Judaism views death. I asked them what they think will happen after they die. I was told, "Jews don't think much about that; we're into celebrating the holidays." Scratch another religion.

Hinduism. Reincarnation is appealing, for obvious life-loving reasons. I'd prefer to know that Brian is still alive though, instead of starting over as a new person. Or as an animal, which would seem to be a demotion. Likely I'd be reborn as my dog's pet, she becoming a human, given how much she owes me for the pampering I give her.

Buddhism. It can't decide whether the Buddha taught that a soul exists. I'm not wild about my karmic tendencies being reborn, but not me. Alternatively, Nirvana (like the Hinduish merging with Brahman) is supposed to be akin to a drop merging with the ocean. What's wrong with a drop staying a drop?

Neoplatonism. In the course of writing a book about the Greek philosopher Plotinus, I learned that he said it'd be ridiculous for Socrates, say, to cease being Socrates just when he attained what he'd been searching for: the One (a.k.a. God). Cool. I could embrace Neoplatonism (but wouldn't have much company).

Taoism. It bothers me that there's so many stories about Taoists trying to become immortal. If returning to the Tao is so wonderful, why do they want to postpone it? Also, Taoists do a lot of joking about death. That's fine, but I'd find dying more humorous after I'm assured that I won't really be dead.

Sant Mat. This religion with roots in north India was my faith for a long time. It says that we can keep on going in astral and causal forms after death, which sounds excellent. But reincarnation also is a distinct possibility. And in the end, there's the drop merging with the ocean thing – sure sounds like extinction to me.

Oh, yes. Just remembered that, like Islam, Sant Mat literature also talks about how the disembodied soul can be tempted by visions of the most luscious women (or men, depending on your taste) who offer up all sorts of astral sensual delights.

That always sounded great to me. But then I'd read that the disciple is supposed to turn away from all that and keep to the company of the astral form of a bearded old man, the guru. Yeah, right. Give me a choice, and I'll see what I do.

Bottom line: no religion offers up a perfectly pleasing vision of how I want to spend my afterlife. Plotinus' Neoplatonism comes closest, since his description of the non-physical Platonic realm of forms basically is "everything we enjoy here on Earth, but without the bad stuff."

I have to admit, though, that I'm not really sure what my ideal eternal existence would be like, even if I could design one from scratch.

I mean, forever is a long time. Even timelessness, an alternative to eternity, could get boring.

Looks like I'll have to take my chances with whatever death serves up. Not that there's any alternative. But like I often say before I meditate in the morning:

If there's any being out there who can bestow a pleasant life after death, make me an offer. My anti-religious sentiment could be discarded super fast in the face of a really real reality.

I am, therefore I am

The older I get, the more I feel like embracing seriously simple approaches to spirituality.

That way, if I become senile, when someone asks me what I believe a ready answer is more likely to spring from my receding lips and failing psyche.

This helps explain why I'm enjoying Stanley Sobottka's Course in Consciousness so much. I've been lugging my laptop into my meditation lair each morning, reading some of his downloaded book-length manuscript before I meditate.

I'm about halfway through. The basic message is exceedingly simple, though it takes over 200 pages to express it.

Consciousness is all there is. That's the essence of Advaita, Vedanta, Buddhism, and some Western philosophies also.

Though countless books have been written about this notion, if you're asked to explain this world view whatever you say or don't say, that's it – already present in your questioner's consciousness, because he or she is conscious.

Over and over Sobottka reminds the reader that everything he's written is a concept, not reality. As is, in his opinion, time and space itself, plus the laws of nature.

What gives his position more intellectual credence is his status as an Emeritus Professor of Physics. Being someone who swings both ways with science and spirituality, I like how he starts off his Course in Consciousness with a solid overview of quantum physics, then heads into the airier philosophic reaches of nonduality.

Much of what Sobottka sets forth is virtually indisputable. Such as, knowledge of reality always comes through consciousness.

Well, yeah. How else could it come? If it's impossible to be conscious of something, what reality does it possess for us? Imagining a unicorn would be a lot more real, because that bit of fantasy would be present in an individual consciousness – which makes it something rather than nothing.

Just not a shared something, a part of supposedly objective reality that we can agree on. I say "supposedly," because Sobottka isn't big on objectivity given his consciousness is everything leaning.

More accurately, he sees subjectivity and objectivity as the same thing – consciousness. So the divisions we usually make between inner and outer, subjective and objective, spirituality and science, and so on, don't really exist for him.

From this perspective Descartes was right when he said, "I think, therefore I am." But he could also have said, "I don't think, therefore I am." More simply, "I am, therefore I am." Or "I am."

Or…anything at all. Like, "1, 2, 3, A, B, C." Whatever.

Whenever I read about nonduality or advaita, I tend to think "This is either the biggest bunch of crap ever, or the truest thing that can be said."

There's no in between, really. Once you say consciousness is all there is, you're committed 100%. Totally right or totally wrong. (Though if you're right, there's no right or wrong.)

Sobottka does a nice job of using quantum physics to support nondual notions. For example, he points out that those who posit some sort of transcendental mystic realm where quantum reality resides don't understand that the quantum wave function is deterministic and requires time and space to function.

So New Age notions about quantum phenomena being metaphysical don't mesh with scientific fact. They also don't mesh with nonduality or oneness, since dividing reality into "physical" and "metaphysical" is decidedly dual.

I also like how Sobottka demolishes the "we create our own reality" fiction. This often is heard from people who know just enough about quantum physics to make misleading philosophical conclusions about it.

He says that while consciousness does play a central role in the collapse of the wave function, which determines what quantum phenomena come into being and which remain potentialities, it must be a universal consciousness that does this – not an individual consciousness.

Again, this points to nonduality. We believe we're unique and separate from others, but it could well be that each manifestation of consciousness actually is an expression of the whole.

One reality. One consciousness. One thing going on.

Simple.

Many would be tempted to say "too simple." However, that "too" leads to "two." Which could be the way things are. But I've got an affection for one.

Loving is one thing, investing another

I've had an interesting email exchange with someone who noted my statement in a previous post:

"Often I hear believers say, on this blog or elsewhere, that sharing their personal experience runs the risk of enlarging their ego. In my opinion, the risk lies in the other direction."

She disagreed, saying that for her (a Sant Mat initiate), love is the whole of spirituality. And love should be private.

The inner personal experience of meditation is regarded by many satsangis as a very personal, private, and precious gift which has relevance only to oneself. The experience is a special gift from the inner master or sound, (or whoever/whatever one calls the giver of the gift), and is far more private than special gestures of love between two people in a loving relationship. In a latter relationship, I would feel that I am betraying something of that bond of love if I were to share their special "gifts" without the express permission of my beloved. So, too, with those inner experiences.

I told her that I respected those sentiments, as I used to feel much the same way. However, given my current outlook, it seems to me that the analogy with a "loving relationship" isn't really appropriate when it comes to a guru-disciple or god-believer connection.

Loving is one thing, investing another. If love is truly all that Sant Mat, or any other spiritual path, is about – great. Love one another is pretty darn pure and simple.

But my correspondent also refers to inner experiences that are gifts of the guru, god, or holy spirit (in Sant Mat, the three are virtually synonymous, sort of like the Christian Trinity).

She implies that these experiences are the spiritual equivalent of a sexual union. You don't talk about what goes on in the bedroom with your physical lover, and you don't talk about what goes on in the meditation chamber with your divine lover.

Here's how I see it, though.

If you're in an intimate relationship, or married, it's presumed you're having sex. You may not want to offer up juicy details, but if someone asked me, "Do you have sex with your wife?" I'd have no problem saying "Sure."

However, Sant Mat disciples – like most initiates of a guru – are extremely reluctant to admit that they're even involved in a metaphysical relationship with their master. They'll say, "I can't talk about it; it's too personal."

Well, I'd like to know details, but I'd be happy with much less. Do you get "gifts" of mystical experiences that you know are coming from the guru? Yes or no. Leave aside a mention of what they are. What's wrong with sharing the general nature of your spiritual relationship?

My suspicion is that what's wrong is that the gifts aren't as clear cut or demonstrable as the Sant Mat teachings promise. This makes Sant Mat more of an exercise in investing, and less an exercise in loving.

Meaning, Sant Mat promises certain experiences. A meeting with the guru's radiant astral form. Journeying with the radiant form through higher regions of reality. Merging with the ultimate cosmic energy in the form of light and sound. Entering a formless realm beyond time and space.

This isn't love. This is investing. It's an exchange relationship, really.

At the time of initiation the disciple promises to keep to certain vows, and the guru agrees to take the initiate under his spiritual wing – guiding the disciple back to his or her divine Home.

Problem is, it's said that this promise isn't always fulfilled in one's lifetime. Thus the investment of meditation, vegetarianism, and such isn't guaranteed to show a payoff until a maximum of three additional reincarnations have been lived.

In lots of cases, though, the guru's gifts are supposed to be bestowed in the present lifetime. This is why the meditation practice is billed as a "science." You do certain things, and certain results happen.

It's akin to handing over $10,000 to a investment advisor who says "I can make your money grow." Then you wait. And you wait some more.

No checks in the mail. Not even any financial statements. You've got no indication that the guy is making any money for you. Reading the investment agreement more closely, you note it says:

--You may not make any money until after you die.
--If you make money in this lifetime, you may not know it.
--You can't ask other investors if they're making money.
--You can't tell other investors if you're making money.

Huh? When you entered into this deal, you were sure it was a good one. So you didn't worry about that fine print. But now that the expected payoff hasn't shown up, you're curious about what's going on.

You can't understand why all the secrecy. If so many people are making money through this investment advisor, why isn't wealth evident? You know some fellow investors, and though they won't tell you how they're doing, their lifestyle appears just the same as before.

When you inquire about this, another clause in the agreement is pointed out:

--If you make money, you can't flaunt it.

I could go on in this vein, but hopefully you get the idea. Sant Mat may be the real deal. However, the way the deal is structured, it bears a lot of resemblance to a financial scheme that would make you think, There's something shady going on here.

So this is another way of explaining why I favor full disclosure of initiates' spiritual net worth. If mystical wealth is being accumulated, let's hear about it.

That's the only way for investors/initiates to know whether the payoffs that aren't being made to them, are to other people – which would go a long way toward establishing the credibility of the setup.

Love doesn't have anything to do with credibility. It stands by itself. Promised spiritual experiences, though, either are forthcoming or they're not.

Show me the money. Then I'll know if the deal is credible.

Flying Spaghetti Monster noodles Jesus

Ooh! I want one! Yes, awesome.

Bless his noodly appendage, the Flying Spaghetti Monster is devouring false religion. Pastafarians are rejoicing, Ramen!

Short cut to losing the ego

Been meditating for lots of years? Made pilgrimages to India? Devoted yourself to serving a church or other faith? And you still have a big ego?

Don't worry. I've discovered another path to egolessness. No Zen master required. All you need is an inexpensive Flip Video and a free You Tube account.

Then make some videos of yourself doing something that you think you can do, upload them, and experience the marvelous humility of seeing yourself from the outside rather than the inside.

That's what I did yesterday on my other blog, with "Me doing Tai Chi." I mention this post here for a couple of reasons.

One, the more people who watch me doing the forms (decidedly imperfectly), the greater will be the karmic impetus toward ego dissolution. At least, that's how I figure it. And I'm so smart, I'm hardly ever wrong.

Oops. There I go again. Bad ego!

Which brings me to Two: It's only by presenting our self that we really see our self. Now, before the advaitists and nondualists jump on that comment, I'm talking about the external side of us, not the subjective side.

Meaning, the side that other people see and relate to. That includes the religious, spiritual, and philosophical beliefs that we hold and communicate through words, actions, emotions, and other means.

Just as it includes less lofty things, like Tai Chi forms that I practice.

Until yesterday I'd never watched myself playing any forms ("play" is Tai Chi parlance for "perform"). I'd seen myself in the mirrors that line a wall of the room where I take classes. But a passing reflection isn't a good substitute for what a video camera captures.

It was a surprise to see how I looked through a Flip Video recording. I was pleased with some things I saw; not so pleased with others. Regardless, I learned a lot.

I learned that how I feel doing Tai Chi from the inside is different from how I look outside. I learned that I need to better meld the inside and the outside, because I don't always make my body move as how my mind believes it is moving.

That's one of the benefits of communicating religious, spiritual, and philosophical beliefs – or the lack thereof. Our words, and the reactions of other people, serve as an observable manifestation of what otherwise is kept inside.

Often I hear believers say, on this blog or elsewhere, that sharing their personal experience runs the risk of enlarging their ego. In my opinion, the risk lies in the other direction.

When we see ourselves from the outside, as others do, that's a healthy (and usually humbling) complement to the often inaccurate vision we hold of ourselves.

Feedback is good. Criticism is good. It can't be offered unless there's something to comment on.

Brain damage = enlightenment?

Jill Bolte Taylor had what she calls a "stroke of insight." In her case it was an actual stroke – which produced a blood clot the size of a golf ball that pushed on her language centers in the left side of her brain.

Watch the nineteen minute video of her talk about the experience. Or read the transcript. It's fascinating and moving.

Neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor had an opportunity few brain scientists would wish for: One morning, she realized she was having a massive stroke. As it happened -- as she felt her brain functions slip away one by one, speech, movement, understanding -- she studied and remembered every moment. This is a powerful story about how our brains define us and connect us to the world and to one another.

Taylor's central theme is that the analytical left side of the brain cuts us off from the marvelous oneness revealed by the intuitive right side of the brain. As she lost her left brain functions, she felt pretty darn good.

However, it took her forty-five minutes to figure out how to call for help. And she went through eight years of post-stroke therapy to recover her left-sided capabilities. If her brain damage was as enlightening as her talk suggests, why wouldn't mystics destroy part of the brain instead of meditating for umpteen years?

The many comments on Taylor's video and transcript are as interesting as the talk itself. Viewers and readers have widely divergent opinions about her experience.

Here's a cynic:

This is a joke, right?

People paid $6,000 to hear this bozo ramble on about a super cliche psychedelic experience?

You can read thousands of very similar (but often much more profound and interesting) accounts at websites like erowid.com (not to mention thousand of books about drugs and altered states of consciousness, and millions of books and movies that have been influenced by them).

… Jeez. Smoke a joint. Drop a hit of acid. Eat some mushrooms, or try any of hundreds of other ways of altering your consciousness... it's a hell of a lot less painful and dangerous than having a stroke.

And here's an admirer:

This is incredible. amazing. beautiful. I happen to be reading the new Eckhart Tolle book right now - A New Earth - Awakening to your Life's Purpose. These two people have walked very different paths but somehow ended up at the same place, and saying more or less the same thing. It inspiring and gives me so much hope for humanity and this place. It is really even difficult to give words to how deeply this talk struck me. I just kept wanting to thank her for sharing herself and her healing with us.

I'm somewhere in between. Which, to me, is the point. We need both sides of the brain. To deny one half or the other is to deny half of human experience.

Taylor says that when she finally reached a colleague by phone, she couldn't understand what he was saying. Nor could she communicate her own thoughts.

Eventually the whole number gets dialed, and I'm listening to the phone, and my colleague picks up the phone and he says to me, "Whoo woo wooo woo woo." [laughter] And I think to myself, "Oh my gosh, he sounds like a golden retriever!" And so I say to him, clear in my mind I say to him. "This is Jill! I need help!" And what comes out of my voice is, "Whoo woo wooo woo woo." I'm thinking, "Oh my gosh, I sound like a golden retriever." So I couldn't know, I didn't know that I couldn't speak or understand language until I tried.

Yet now she's able to share her experience with audiences, because she has the left side of her brain back. And what is her main piece of advice?

I believe that the more time we spend choosing to run the deep inner peace circuitry of our right hemispheres, the more peace we will project into the world and the more peaceful our planet will be. And I thought that was an idea worth spreading.

Yes, it is. There are lots of ways to get more in touch with our right brain – meditation, dancing, athletics, drugs, sex, to name a few. Getting into "the zone" is a good thing. But for sure, it's not the only thing.

Yesterday I felt great in my Tai Chi class. At the end of it we did the long form, 108 moves that should take around 20 minutes to perform (or "play," in Tai Chi parlance).

About a third a way into the form I thought, "I'm flowing today." About halfway through I thought, "There's no way I'm going to stumble or make a wrong move."

As soon as I said that to myself, my analytical side responded with, "Oh no, you shouldn't be thinking that way. You're going to jinx yourself. You're going to talk yourself out of the zone you're in."

But I didn't.

I kept on feeling in the flow. Part of me was in the zone, and part of me could say "You're in the zone." The two parts weren't interfering with each other, as they sometimes do. I didn't have to shut off half of my brain to play the long form proficiently.

And that also is Taylor's message.

So who are we? We are the life force power of the universe, with manual dexterity and two cognitive minds. And we have the power to choose, moment by moment, who and how we want to be in the world.

Right here right now, I can step into the consciousness of my right hemisphere where we are -- I am -- the life force power of the universe, and the life force power of the 50 trillion beautiful molecular geniuses that make up my form. At one with all that is.

Or I can choose to step into the consciousness of my left hemisphere. where I become a single individual, a solid, separate from the flow, separate from you. I am Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, intellectual, neuroanatomist. These are the "we" inside of me.

Quantum and non-dual consciousness

Ah, intellectual and inspirational bliss.

A free, downloadable, thoughtful, well-written "Course in Consciousness" that moves smoothly from down to earth quantum theory to soaring spirituality.

This is my cup of reading tea. I've only been able to quickly browse through the 242 pages of Stanley Sobottka's writing, but I can tell that there's a lot to like here.

Sobottka is an Emeritus Professor of Physics at the University of Virginia, so obviously he knows his scientific stuff.

His deep knowledge of, and appreciation for, Buddhist/Advaita teachings is more surprising – though he isn't the only physicist to wade into some deep philosophical waters (Amit Goswami and Shimon Malin are some others).

Check out Sobottka's short "Dialogue in Consciousness" for an overview of his approach. I resonate with almost everything he says, though I can't help repeating my mantra, "What do I know?"

I learned about the Course in Consciousness from a post on the Church of the Churchless forum. It quoted a paragraph on page 184:

Particularly destructive among the self-deluded spiritual teachers are those who teach that only they and their personal power can bring freedom, or that they are the ones best suited for the task. They would merely strengthen the chains of our bondage. No genuine teacher will imply that we need anything or anyone, since we are already free and complete. A teacher's function is to convey this to the student, and to help him or her to see that. A teacher is at best an invaluable resource to the student, and at worst, a "false prophet", the deluded purporting to teach the deluded, the blind trying to lead the blind.

Amen to that.

This passage from page 101 also appealed to me:

In summary, the following is what physics (plus some simple logic) tells us: There are no objects. There is only a series of observations. There is no observer. There is only nonlocal universal consciousness. As we shall see later, these statements are the essence of both Advaita and Buddhism. (In Advaita, nonlocal universal consciousness is called pure Awareness. In Mahayana Buddhism, it is called primordial consciousness, or buddha-nature.) It is remarkable that physics, which is the science of external, objective reality, can tell us so much about subjective reality, and also can be in such agreement with our most profound nondualistic teachings.

I'm a big fan of science. I also am attracted to the nondual teachings that constitute much of Sobottka's course.

It seems crazy that to know reality, we'd have to ignore half of it: objectivity or subjectivity. Consciousness seemingly links the outer and the inner, science and spirit, physics and mysticism – because if we're not conscious of something, it doesn't exist for us.

Here's Sobottka's Chapter 26: "Very short summary"

The following concepts, like all concepts, cannot describe Reality, but, unlike most concepts, they point to Reality.

1. The premise: Consciousness is all there is. Another word for Consciousness is the impersonal, yet intimate, I.

2. The conclusions:

I am not an object or entity.
Objects and entities are never real.
Whatever is supposed to happen will happen. Whatever is not supposed to happen will not happen. There is no doer, so there is no choice.
The entire manifestation is an expression of Love.

3. The practice: Don't believe this—look and see it for yourself!

This interview with Sobottka also encapsulates his outlook.

[Technical note: Sobottka's web site has links to some interesting PowerPoint presentations. If you don't have PowerPoint, you can view them with a free PowerPoint viewer.]