Church of the Churchless

Here's a positive sign of my (mini) enlightenment

I was really proud of myself tonight. So proud, I'm thinking that what I did could be a tangible sign of my enlightenment, mini, or even micro, variety.

After finding a parking spot a couple of blocks from my 6 pm Tai Chi class in downtown Salem, I walked away from my VW GTI without going back and checking if I'd locked the car via a button on the door handle.

Now, this may not seem like something that distinguishes an enlightened being. It pales in comparison to what supposedly happened with the Buddha under the Bodhi Tree. 

But given how often I do return to my car to peer into the driver's side window to see if the red "locked" light is flashing, I was decidedly pleased that even though doing this did pass through my mind, tonight I recalled hearing the clunk sound my GTI makes when a door is locked. 

Thus this time I'd managed to be mindful of a habitual action: locking my car. 

Many other times, way too many to count, I'd started thinking of something else I needed to do while my finger was pressing the lock button. Since the human brain has limited bandwidth, and really is able to do only one thing at a time skillfully, my lack of attention to what my body was doing at the locking-car moment often leaves me unsure if I'd done it.

Now that I've reached the age of 70 (which seems astoundingly old whenever I see it in writing), I'm paying more attention to the few pearls of wisdom I might be able to pass on to the young'uns. Here's one pearl, as prosaic as it may seem:

Try to keep your mind and body on the same page of reality.

This is Mindfulness 101, of course. Others have said the same thing, and better, in the many books I've read about meditation and mindfulness. For example, here's a passage from Thich Nhat Hanh's wonderful little book, "The Miracle of Mindfulness."

Our breath is such a fragile piece of thread. But once we know how to use it, it can become a wondrous tool to help us surmount situations which would otherwise seem hopeless. Our breath is the bridge from our body to our mind, the element which reconciles our body and mind and which makes possible one-ness of body and mind. 

Breath is aligned to both body and mind and it alone is the tool which can bring them both together, illuminating both and bringing both peace and calm.

Life is short. The older we get, the more this becomes obvious. Some people deal with this fact by making a Bucket List of things they want to accomplish before, as the saying goes, they kick the bucket. 

I used to embrace that sort of attitude.

But now I've come to feel something different, and seemingly more attainable. I simply want to be as fully aware as possible of whatever it is I'm doing until I take my last breath. What that whatever is doesn't matter a whole lot in the grand scheme of things.

By which I mean, there's an unbridgeable gulf between (1) existing as a living being, and (2) dying and not existing at all.

(I'm an atheist, so I don't believe in life after death. However, even religious people should admit there is no solid proof of this, so my point holds for everybody in my decidedly personal opinion.)

So let's say I write a best-selling book -- which previously was on my Bucket List. So what? How does that change my life? How does it affect my everyday existence? I still need to fix my breakfast, wash dishes, walk the dog, and, yes, lock my car. If I'm thinking of how great an author I am while doing those things, I've lost part of my living.

Again, Thich Nhat Hanh makes this point way better than I can.

If while washing dishes, we think only of the cup of tea that awaits us, thus hurrying to get the dishes out of the way as if they were a nuisance, then we are not "washing the dishes to wash the dishes." What's more, we are not alive during the time we are washing the dishes.

In fact, we are completely incapable of realizing the miracle of life while standing at the sink. If we can't wash the dishes, the chances are we won't be able to drink our tea either. While drinking the cup of tea, we will only be thinking of other things, barely aware of the cup in our hands.

Thus we are sucked away into the future -- and we are incapable of actually living one minute of life.

Meditation isn't mystical. It's about awareness of actual reality.

For about 35 years I had some deluded notions about meditation.

Back then I embraced a teaching that said meditation was about concentrating at the eye center (third eye, basically) so one's mind/soul could enter higher realms of mystical consciousness.

Now I realize that this wasn't what genuine meditation really is all about. A book that I've gotten back to reading, "Altered Traits:  Science Reveals How Meditation Changes Your Mind, Brain, and Body" has helped me understand this. 

I bought this book in September 2017, wrote a rather critical blog post about it in April 2018 ("Awareness is a process, not a thing") and recently read a couple of additional chapters that make me feel considerably more positive about the book.

Here's some highlights from those chapters, which describe what happened when the brains of some highly experienced meditators, both Buddhist monks and others, were examined through modern scientific devices: EEG and fMRI. The key theme here is Open Presence.

Researchers found that the brain waves of Mingyur Rinpoche, a Tibetan monk, were off the charts when it came to his ability to almost instantly enter a state of compassionate meditation. But those spikes diminished, yet didn't disappear, when he went into a rest period. Thus his brain had acquired a lasting trait, not just the ability to enter into temporary states of consciousness.

When another researcher tested whether Mingyur could generate an elaborate visual image or had extrasensory perception, he flunked both tests. Here's a passage from Altered Traits about this.

Mingyur, it turned out, had done no practice with visualization since the long-gone, early years of his practice. As time went on, his meditations evolved. His current method, ongoing open presence (which expressed itself as kindness in everyday life), encourages letting go of any and all thoughts rather than generating any specific visual images.

...As for "extrasensory perception," Mingyur had never claimed to have such supernormal powers. Indeed, the texts of his tradition made clear that any fascination with such abilities was a detour, a dead end on the path.

Which is exactly my experience, though I make no claim to being anywhere near as experienced with meditation as Mingyur is. What we're trying to do in meditation is experience reality as it is, not as religious fantasies make it out to be.

An eighteenth-century Tibetan text urges meditators to practice "on whatever harms come your way," adding, "When sick, practice on that sickness... When cold, practice on that coldness. By practicing in this way all situations will arise as meditation."

...Mingyur Rinpoche, likewise, encourages making all sensation, even pain, our "friend," using it as a basis for meditation. Since the essence of meditation is awareness, any sensation that anchors attention can be used as support -- and pain can be very effective in focusing.

...Each yogi (including Mingyur) was compared to a meditation-naive volunteer matched for age and gender. For a week before they came to be studied, the volunteers learned to generate an "open presence," an attentional stance of letting whatever life presents us come and go, without adding thoughts or emotional reactions. Our senses are fully aware, and we just stay aware of what happens without getting carried away by any downs or ups.

When the yogis and volunteers were tested to see how they reacted to a 10-second slight warming of a firey device, followed by a 10-second blast of hotness, the control groups' pain matrix in the brain reacted almost as strongly to the slight warming as it did when the high heat came on.

So their "anticipatory anxiety" caused them distress even before the real pain arrived. By contrast, the experienced meditators showed little change when the plate warmed just a little.

Interestingly, though:

But during the actual moments of intense heat the yogis had a surprising heightened response, mainly in the sensory areas that receive the genuine feel of a stimulus -- the tingling, pressure, high heat, and other raw sensations on the skin of the wrist where the hot plate rested. The emotional regions of the pain matrix activated a bit, but not as much as the sensory circuitry. 

This suggests a lessening of the psychological component -- like the worry we feel in anticipation of pain -- along with intensification of the pain sensations themselves. Right after the heat stopped, all the regions of the brain matrix rapidly returned down to their levels before the pain cue, far more quickly than was the case for the controls.

For the highly advanced meditators, the recovery from pain was almost as though nothing much had happened at all.

Pretty inspiring. This shows that the human brain/mind is capable of more than most people are able to express, or experience. Yet this capacity isn't supernatural, divine, or godly. Here's some final quotes from Altered Traits.

We can only make conjectures about what state of consciousness this reflects: yogis like Mingyur seem to experience an ongoing state of open, rich awareness during their daily lives, not just when they meditate. The yogis themselves have described it as a spaciousness and vastness in their experience, as if all their senses were wide open to the full rich panorama of experience. 

Or, as a fourteenth-century Tibetan text describes it,

...a state of bare, transparent awareness.

Effortless and brilliantly vivid, a state of relaxed, rootless wisdom;

Fixation free and crystal clear, a state without the slightest reference point;

Spacious empty clarity, a state-wide-open and unconfined; the senses unfettered...

Religions forget that we humans are animals

Calling someone animalistic isn't an insult. It is a fact.

We humans are animals. Just unusual ones, since members of no other animal species can write articles (or blog posts) about the fact that they're animals.

Thus our bodies do what other animal bodies do. 

Pee. Poop. Breathe. Have sex. Play. Feel. Sleep. Eat. Drink. And so on. 

Sure, we also think about all kinds of stuff. The structures we build are more impressive than a termite hill. Our social relationships are more complex than a wolf pack. 

Yet the fact remains, we are animals.

One reason I've come to reject religions is that almost all of them deny our animalistic nature. Religious moral codes are filled with ridiculous attempts to ignore the needs and urges of the human body.

Sex is supposed to only occur between a married man and woman. Not out of wedlock. Not between two people of the same gender. (And certainly not between more than two people, regardless of gender.) 

Alcohol is OK in certain religions, though not in others. Recreational drugs like marijuana or psychedelics rarely are. Why? Who knows. Probably because of bullshit like "the body is a temple that must be kept clean and holy."

Other animals enjoy being intoxicated. But only the human animal feels guilty about it, mostly thanks to ignorant religious dogmas. 

For 35 years I bought into some of that body-denying dogma, Eastern mysticism variety. 

I didn't drink alcohol. I didn't use marijuana or any other drugs. I kept my sexual urges within the confines of marriage. But after I got divorced in 1990 from my first wife, and then "divorced" from my religion in 2004, I loosened up.

I realized that life needs to be lived happily, not fearfully.

I stopped worrying about following commandments and rules that no longer made sense to me. I enjoyed sex with my eventual wife-to-be. I enjoyed a glass of wine. I enjoyed smoking (or vaping) marijuans.

Nothing bad happened to me. No thunderbolts rained down from the sky. The heavens didn't part to reveal a god proclaiming you are a sinner! I simply felt more relaxed, more human, more natural, and yes, more animalistic.

So if you're a religious believer who feels like you're being confined in a life-denying box, I highly recommend breaking out. Life is too short to live it anyway other than fully.

The oft-heard adage, among adherents of my previous religion, at least, is flat-out wrong. We aren't spiritual beings having a human experience. We are humans being deluded into pursuing dogmatic spiritual experiences.

Genuine spirituality gets contaminated by religiosity. There are no rules that can't be broken. Everyone who seeks the deeper meaning of life is an army of one. Once you allow yourself to follow in someone else's footsteps, you are unable to find your own way.

Spirituality isn't opposed to the body. It is part and parcel of it. Pleasure is holy. Denying our animalism is a sin against our true nature. 

Sam Harris on not finding a center of consciousness

Some time ago, can't remember exactly when, I added guided meditations via Sam Harris' Waking Up iPhone app to my morning meditation routine. (I also enjoy listening to the daily guided meditations by Tamara Levitt on the Calm app.)

Sam Harris

Here's a transcript I made of part of one of Harris' guided meditations. It followed an exercise where Harris asked the listener to breathe in a vision of the world on an inbreath, and to breathe out themselves into the world on the outbreath. 

Well, the point of that exercise is to notice, once again, how much the sense of self, the sense of being, is located, is anchored in vision. You might find it useful to play with this as you meditate with open eyes and you look for the seat of attention. 

You might notice there’s a transition between breathing the world in, and breathing yourself out into it. And it’s that implied center of consciousness, that place where you seem to be, that point toward which you could inhale everything, and from which you could exhale yourself out into the world — it’s that point you are looking for.

And the moment you look, it’s not seen. And it’s in that awareness of there being no thing to see, that you should rest your mind. And if that’s confusing, rest assured it won’t always be. 

This is a common theme of Harris, how it isn't possible to find the see'er of what is being seen, the hear'er of what is being heard, the think'er of what is being thought, and so on. 

Which is a thoroughly Buddhist notion, of course: the reality of no-self.

This is very different from other meditation practices that try to withdraw attention from the world into some sort of "eye center" or "third eye," with the aim of realizing oneself as immaterial consciousness or soul.

Here's some other notes I've taken after listening to Harris' guided meditations. These aren't exact quotes, like the passage above is. But they're very close to Harris' own words.

-- Follow the breath back to the one who is breathing. Toward what? Who is the one that is seeing?

-- Breathe with yourself into the world. Look for the place between breathing in the world and breathing yourself out. Look and find there is nothing to be seen.

-- Is there a center to consciousness, a place from which you're being conscious. Look for it briefly, then rest your mind.

-- Everything that appears is a wave on the surface of consciousness.

-- Is there a hearer in addition to the fact of hearing?

-- Where is the self, if every sign of it is appearing in consciousness?

-- Don't lean forward to breathe. Lean back. Receive like a mirror would.

-- Drop back into the space into which thoughts and sensations are appearing.

-- Don't feel like attention is coming from some point. Rather, that feeling also is coming from the open space of consciousness.

-- Cover the breath. Just receive each new sensation. The point is not the breath. It's the quality of awareness you are paying attention to it.

-- A feeling of "I" is also an appearance in consciousness. It feels a certain way to feel you are directing attention. Drop back and be the space in which that feeling too is arising. Is there a center of consciousness?

Attention isn't what meditation is all about

I'm in book bliss.

Someone emailed me with a book recommendation, "The Mind Illuminated: A Complete Meditation Guide Integrating Buddhist Wisdom and Brain Science for Greater Mindfulness," and I'm loving what I've read so far -- the first couple of chapters.

Here's a few early thoughts about the book.

First, it confirms my belief, which isn't shared by some religious fundamentalists (Eastern mysticism variety) who've been frequent commenters on this blog, that there are many forms of useful meditation. 

In fact, the inward looking, world-denying, mantra-focused type of meditation favored by Sant Mat/Radha Soami Satsang Beas, which I embraced for 35 years, is much different from what is likely the most common form of meditation in the world: mindfulness based on Buddhist principles.

This is clear from the opening pages of The Mind Illuminated. The primary author, John Yates, lays out in summary form the ten stages of meditation practice discussed in the book. The final stage, Stage Ten, is described in this fashion:

When you have mastered Stage Ten, the many positive mental qualities you experience during meditation are strongly present even between meditation sessions, so your daily life is imbued with effortlessly stable attention, mindfulness, joy, tranquility, and equanimity.

Since Yates bases the ten stages on his study of ancient Buddhist writings, which often are largely incomprehensible to the modern reader, Stage Ten is firmly in line with Buddhist teachings. Yates writes:

The modern road map offered in this book combines experience, tradition, and science. It is a synthesis based on firsthand experience, and expanded on through the shared experiences of many other dedicated practitioners. To make sense of my own meditations and find guidance about where my practice should go next, I turned to my teachers, the Pali suttas, and the commentaries of several Buddhist traditions. 

Over and over, these traditional sources gave me the information I needed and provided an appropriate context to fit the pieces together. By integrating this information and my own experiences with the insights of psychology and cognitive neuroscience, I've "reverse engineered" traditional meditation instructions to create a contemporary map of meditation.

So there is no mention of God; no mention of supernatural entities; no mention of heavenly realms separate from this world.

Instead, Yates writes clearly about how the human mind works, and how meditation can help it function better. It's great how the book is based, as noted in the quote above, both on Buddhist tradition and current neuroscience. 

Second, in my reading this morning I was struck by the wisdom of clearly distinguishing attention from awareness. A Glossary in the back of the book defines these terms.

Attention: The cognitive ability to select and analyze specific information and ignore other information arising from a vast field of internal and external stimuli. Attention is one of two forms of conscious awareness. Peripheral awareness is the second: we pay attention to some things, while simultaneously being aware of, but not attending to, others. 

Awareness: As used in this book, awareness always has the same meaning as peripheral awareness. It never means attention, nor does it refer to covert or non-conscious awareness. 

Any meditation approach that doesn't combine the benefits of attention and awareness is like a bird trying to fly with one wing. Both are needed. When we drive a car, we can't focus all of our attention on staying in our lane and keeping a safe distance from the car ahead of us. 

We've got to have peripheral awareness also. What if a car unexpectedly runs a stop light at an intersection? What if a child chasing a ball runs into the road? There are so many things we need to be aware of, other than what our primary focus is.

This is why mantra meditation, where a word or words is repeated (usually soundlessly) as a focus of attention, is very limited. Repeating a mantra was emphasized by the RSSB teachings that I followed for so many years. And not only during the time of meditation, but as much as possible throughout the rest of the day.

I eventually realized that this had some major drawbacks.

I found that when I put too much attention on the mantra, I distanced myself from the reality of what was around me. Like, the person I was talking with, or nature, if I was out on a walk. I also observed that many RSSB devotees acted a lot like robots, lacking spontaneity, naturalness, social awareness. 

They were so focused on keeping their attention from scattering out into the world, they were clueless about what was happening in the world -- the exact opposite of mindfulness, which requires a wise balancing of attention and awareness. There's a time to be focused on one thing, and there's a time to be aware of the entirety of what surrounds us.

I'm sure I'll have more to say about The Mind Illuminated as I read more of it. For now, I simply can say that I highly recommend it to anyone who is meditating, or wants to meditate. 

Here's my foolproof guide to wise spiritual "investing"

The past couple of days have been ugly for investors in stock markets around the world, including here in the United States. But I've been pretty much unmoved and unworried by the downturn. 

Why? Because quite a few years ago I decided to embrace index investing, where you don't try to be smarter than all the other guys/gals who invest, you just have a goal of doing as well as the general investment climate.

A few years ago I wrote about this on one of my other blogs in "Index investing lets me relax in a stock market crash." And I've come to take the same approach to spirituality.

Here's links to posts I've written on this subject, along with an excerpt from each. They're listed in the order I wrote them.

Spiritual diversification, a sound salvation strategy (May 2005).
Wise financial professionals advise that if you want to save money for retirement, it’s best to invest in index funds. Increasingly, people do. But when it comes to saving their souls for eternity, most of those same people will put all of their spiritual nest egg into one basket—a single religion that they expect will support them both here and hereafter.

We here at the Church of the Churchless say, “that’s foolish.” Spiritual diversification makes as much sense as financial diversification. No, even more sense. For sometimes savvy (or lucky) investors do beat the market by buying stock in a single company. And they can prove it by having their CPAs work up a statement of net worth.

But no such proof exists in the sphere of spirituality. No religious figure can show you how his or her investment in a particular spiritual practice has paid off in terms of salvation. The claims made in supposedly holy scriptures such as the Bible, Koran, Talmud, Dhammapada, Adi Granth, Vedas, and so on are just that, claims. Unsubstantiated, unproven, unbelievable.

...In short, I’ve become spiritually diversified. I try not to set rigid boundaries around what I believe and what I do. I try to look for inspiration in lots of different places, people, and writings. I try to become aware of all that is real about both physical existence and whatever metaphysical realities exist beyond the world I know now. I try to be content with what the cosmos brings me rather than considering that I’m entitled to unique dispensations.

Here’s the interesting thing: my faith is stronger now. As I’ve lost faith in particular religious approaches, my faith in a universal spirituality has become stronger. Again, this is akin to how my financial philosophy has changed: I’ve lost faith in the value of choosing individual stocks and bonds, but I’ve gained faith in the wisdom of investing in the entire universe of equity and debt investment possibilities.

Spiritual investing takes nothing (May 2005)
There’s a difference between worldly and other-worldly markets that I neglected to address sufficiently before. When you buy a monetary index fund such as the Total U.S. Stock Market, you end up owning a piece of every single company stock in the United States. Thus diversification is accomplished in a manner that is easy to understand: own a little bit of everything.

But to invest one’s soul in the Total Cosmic Spirit Market means taking an exactly opposite approach: owning nothing. You diversify widely into the One by not clinging to any part of the Many—anything that can be demarcated by name or form.

“God,” after all, isn’t part of this world. Whatever or whoever God is, the unknown ultimate reality that is given this utterly meaningless name (which is why I like to put it in quotation marks) obviously isn’t something that we can point to and say, “There it is! And this is what it is like!” If knowing God were that easy, there wouldn’t be any divine mystery to unravel.

...Most religious believers like to think that the mystery of God is elusive except for the special revelation to which they, and they alone, are privy. Not true. There are no exceptions to maya. If you can give it a name or a form, nama or rupa, it’s part of maya. A revelation, by definition, is something revealed. That means you can point to it, describe it, define it, delineate it.

Thus the Bible is maya, illusion. All of it, New and Old Testament alike. Ditto the Talmud, Koran, Dhammapada, Tao Te Ching, Upanishads, Adi Granth, Course of Miracles, Conversations with God, and, naturally, the Church of the Churchless. Everything I’ve written on this weblog is part and parcel of maya, including that last sentence.

There’s only one way out of maya: nothing. You get out of an enclosure by finding the empty space—a door. The door is useful because it is empty. It isn’t composed of the same substance as the walls, floor, and ceiling. If it were, then it too would be part of the enclosure.

Something empty and hidden connects everything that can be sensed or conceived of. That something we don’t know is what we really want, not all the things and ideas we do know. It alone will satisfy, because only it is permanent, real, substantial. It goes by lots of names: Spirit, Tao, Buddha Nature, countless others.

Profitable spiritual investing (October 2008)

Last night I was with a group of people who discussed the ins and outs (not to mention the ups and downs) of investing in tough times like these.

I didn't have a whole lot to say.

Briefly I held forth on the Buddha-like nature of index fund investing, where you don't try to beat the market through some clever scheme but rather rest content with rising and falling in concert with the overall financial tide.

I told my friends, "If the world and national economy go to hell, so will our investments. If things improve, so will our portfolio. It's a humble way to invest, since you're happy to be average."

This is pretty much the same way I feel about my spiritual investing strategy now.

For many years I thought I could beat the system. That is, find a way to salvation, God-realization, enlightenment, or whatever, that would lead to a better result than others would enjoy who weren't privy to the inside knowledge I possessed.

...Mystics and theologians often speak of God as unspeakable. They urge us to think of God as being beyond thought. Rather than seek a divine light, embracing darkness is recommended – the via negativa.

I'm no longer so big on embracing Nothing. I still love the notion of emptiness, of becoming a receptive vessel that can be filled with truth, happiness, knowledge, and other good stuff (including money).

However, the notion that there's a Nothing on the other side of Everything – Christians would call this "God," Taoists "Wu Chi" – maybe this is just a meaningless concept lacking any foundation in reality. People who want to make money don't ask, "What is the ineffable source of wealth?"

They just invest. Not in nothing, but in something. Hoping to get more of it: something.

...The ultimate questions of life basically are answered (or ignored) by "Things are what they are; the universe is what it is." That's real spiritual index investing.

Why atheists are more "spiritual" than religious believers (November 2014)
Maybe this statement seems paradoxical to you: I feel more genuinely spiritual now that I've stopped believing in God. But it makes good sense to me. Here's the main reason why.

I no longer feel special.

Virtually every religion and spiritual path considers that its adherents have a special relationship with God or whatever other supernatural entity they believe in. 

There are so many chosen people on Earth, they vastly outnumber the unchosen, the non-special group I'm pleased to be a part of.

I understand that feeling special has its own delights.

In my case, I was a member of an India-based spiritual organization which taught that those approved for initiation by the guru had been "marked" to return to God/heaven after a karma-cleansing meditation process.

Cool!

For about 35 years I embraced the enjoyable belief that, out of all the billions of people on this planet, I was one of a relative few who were the special beloveds of the supreme being. 

Of course, devout Christians, Jews, and Muslims feel the same way, along with countless believers in other theological belief systems. 

Eventually I started to realize that all the talk I was hearing about being "humble servants of the Lord and the guru" was, to put it bluntly, a crock of shit. Genuine humility wasn't much to be seen among devotees of my spiritual organization.

Not surprising.

Since members of this group were told over and over that they've been singled out by a higher power to learn cosmic truths and experience realms of reality not available to other human beings, naturally a pervading sense of "tribal" pride was evident throughout the organization.

We were the cool kids in the spiritual lunch room. Other faiths were inferior, since they didn't have the direct connection to God we did. 

I'm happy that this form of egotism has been discarded.

Sure, I've still got lots of other self-centered tendencies rattling around in my psyche, as we all do. But to get rid of The Big One, a belief that God had chosen me to be his best buddy for eternity, whereas my infidel wife wasn't going to get the same afterlife prize -- this increased my humility quotient by a lot.

Now I don't expect that I'm going to have any different sort of afterlife anyone else does. Namely, I strongly suspect, none at all. 

I also don't expect that there is any power guiding my life which isn't also directing the lives of every other entity on Earth. 

Thus I've embraced a sort of "index fund" approach to spirituality.

Meaning, I don't try to beat the market. I don't assume that I have any special knowledge, any special talent, any special relationship with reality. Whatever laws of nature apply to everybody else, I'm content with.

My "spiritual" Theory of Everything is coming along nicely

Once in a while I get a glimpse of how things really are, or ideally are, spiritually speaking.

Now, I put "spiritual" in quotation marks in the title of this post, because the way I use the word, it has nothing to do with God or the supernatural -- which in my view don't exist.

Rather, when I speak of spirituality, I mean a quest to understand how best to live life. The ancient Greeks called this philosophy, literally "love of wisdom." However, these days philosophy usually is considered to be not a way of life, but an academic discipline.

So for me spiritual points to an attempt to live life fully, happily, wisely, compassionately. And since I'm a lover of science, I enjoy thinking of my personal form of spirituality as a Theory of Everything that applies to me -- yet might have some appeal to others as well.

This post is just a first attempt at laying out an outline of how I'm seeing things. The pieces I'm trying to fit together include:

-- Reactivity
-- No-self
-- Responding to a totality of circumstances
-- Objectivism within subjectivity
-- Detachment
-- Nirvana

It probably is obvious (to some, at least) that my inspiration is a blend of Buddhism and Taoism, two philosophies that I have a lot of fondness for when they're stripped of supernatural mumbo-jumbo.

Rather than describe how those six notions listed above relate, which I'll try to do in another post, for now I'll simply describe an everyday event that's a broad-brush illustration of my personal Theory of Everything.

I'm driving along on the two-lane, curvy, hilly road that leads from our home in rural south Salem to the city limits about five miles away. The speed limit is 55 mph. I come up behind a car that's traveling much more slowly than I am, 35 mph.

There's no doubt about the objective reality here. My VW GTI is following another car. We're both going 35 mph, which is about 20 mph slower than what my car was traveling at before I caught up to the other car. However, my subjective reality could take several turns at this point.

One way it could go would be to get irritated at the person driving the car ahead of me. I'm late for my Tai Chi class, per usual, and I don't need a slow driver making me later. Irritation would be a form of reactivity that wouldn't change the objective situation, just my subjective feeling.

I could, though, simply observe, "That car is going quite slow."

I also could realize that the amount of time I'd save by driving a few miles at 55 mph rather than 35 mph is minimal. Coming to a bunch of red lights when I got to town, or not being able to find a parking space close to my Tai Chi class, would affect my arrival time much more.

Thus I could detach from a view that following a slow car is a bad thing.

Instead, it is just a thing, a happening, an event tossed up by a wide variety of circumstances that together, resulted in me ending up behind the car in front of me at this particular time, in this particular place. I wouldn't see this event as having any special significance.

This person driving the car ahead of me isn't trying to slow me down. They may not even be aware of me, if they fail to check their rear-view mirror. They're likely just driving as they typically do, slower than I like to drive. 

I could even try to imagine that I'm experiencing the vehicular version of a Taoist tale about a man rowing across a lake who becomes angry when he sees another boat coming right at him, as if he wasn't even there, forcing him to take evasive action to avoid a collision.

Then he sees that no one is in the other boat. It's drifting on its own. His anger subsides.

So I could envision that I and the driver of the other car are powerless to do anything than what we are actually doing. The universe has conjured up chains of causes and effects that have led each of us to be driving in a certain fashion on the stretch of road that leads to town.

Thus those six notions I listed above can lead me to a calm acceptance of the situation, rather than an irritated response. This may not seem like nirvana, but actually it is quite close to how Buddhists view this state of non-reactivity. 

Anyway, naturally there's more to say about my personal Theory of Everything. Being a wordy person, I'll probably be doing that saying before too long.

(By the way, even given what I said above, I could still calmly pass the slow-moving car when it was safe to do so. Which I do frequently, since my VW GTI is a joy to drive on hilly, twisty roads. And everywhere else, really.)

Wise observations about spiritual experiences and religious craziness

One of the pleasures of having this blog is being able to read comments from blog visitors that make me think, "Wow! That was beautifully and wisely said."

Sometimes when this happens I share a comment in a blog post so it will be more visible. Such is the case with two comments from "JB" that you can read below. Each was left on a recent post, "Meaning comes from us, not God."

This comment by JB relates to the supposed truthfulness of spiritual/mystical experiences. I agree with what JB says, though these experiences often have more to them than simply emotionality. JB does address this in an interesting way, saying that an impression of cosmic unity, for example, derives from the emotional state, rather than the other way around.

Spence wrote: "Whatever it is it is built into the human frame, the healthy and functioning human frame, at least for some of us. The fact that the details are found in spiritual writings of the Word and the Light down through the ages give confirmation to those of us who have experienced these things repeatedly since early childhood that they are truthful..."

I think you are right that these experiences are "built in". The capacity for "mystical" experiences are "built into the human frame" as much as the capacity for any psychological experience is built into the human frame.

I don't think anyone is disputing that these experiences occur. It is true that they occur, yet one must question whether they are truthful in terms of the interpretations typically ascribed to them.

All manner of human emotional experiences have repeatedly occurred throughout the ages and all have been documented since the birth of written language. That they have repeatedly occurred and have been written about cannot be construed as constituting evidence attesting to their truthfulness.

I think these experiences certainly can be healthy, yet they can also be unhealthy as evidenced by all of the mystic-gurus that become abusive and exploitative. The experience of seemingly becoming "one" with the universe apparently has different effects on different people. For some, the ego apparently expands to the size of the universe.

Speaking more about mystical experience: these consist of intensely positive emotions coupled with a sense of ultimate existential unity, the "rightness" of everything, and an underlying impression of love and benevolence embracing everything. I think that the impressions are secondary to and derive from the immediate emotional state.

Simply put, the world appears perfect because you feel so damn good.

This is analogous to the experience of falling in love with a person, where the world itself seems to become brighter and more beautiful. This is a well-known and documented experience of people falling in love. The positive emotion seems to generate an attendant change in perception. Of course the world hasn't changed from what it was before, it just feels different.

If you have ever read any case histories of people experiencing extreme negative emotions, there is often an attendant alteration of their perception. The world becomes disjointed, everything seems "wrong", and everything seems imbued with doom or malevolence. For some, these experiences repeatedly occur.

The point is, the emotional state seems to inform the perception. I think it would be as wrong to assert that mystical experience provides a true window into the essence of existence any more than the diametrically opposed emotional state. The positive experience is certainly healthier, as it is conducive to survival, but I think it would be wrong to call it truthful.

And this JB comment briefly discusses something I've also wondered about: how religious tales (I'd call them fables) would be viewed if they emanated from a single human mind, rather than being embraced by a collection of people that often numbers in the many millions, or even billions.

Brian wrote: "Wouldn't it be bizarre if, say, someone dressed in a Wonder Woman costume kept proclaiming, 'You've got to believe in Wonder Woman! She's real, not a fantasy!' Likely this person would be viewed as having some sort of mental illness."

I've often asked believers to take a particular religion and imagine what it would be like if these beliefs had not been institutionalized and spread like a contagion throughout civilization, but rather were proclaimed by one single person.

Take Christianity as an example. Imagine none of the teachings of Christianity existed and one person started uttering statements like:

"There is a male creator God who has a son, whom he sent down to be killed by being nailed to a piece of wood so that humanity could be forgiven for a disease passed down from a woman who listened to a talking snake with wings and ate a piece of fruit from the wrong magical tree."

This person would be considered to have a mental illness with psychotic features. Yet there are literally millions of people that believe this. Thus, beliefs that would clearly be categorized as mental illness when exhibited by one person, are categorized as religion when they are embraced by millions.

It's just a numbers game. Religion is culturally sanctioned mental illness. Fill in the blank with Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, Sikhism, or any of the sub-cults (Kabbalah, Sufism, Gnosticism, Vedanta, etc). The result is the same.

Absolutely. One of my favorite crazy stories from the Sikh/Sant Mat tradition is that of Kal, the ruler of the lower realms of creation, earning his exalted position from God after standing on one leg, and one foot, for many yugas -- which is a really long time. Who knew that lower gods have legs and feet just like us?

A pleasing message about me, and honesty about RSSB

Some people like this blog. Some people don't like it. After 14 years of regularly writing here on the Church of the Churchless, I've come to expect both praise and criticism. 

Not surprisingly, I prefer hearing good things about me and this blog. So when I got the following email message today from someone in India I've been corresponding with, it made me feel good. 

I'll explain why after the message.

I've corrected some typos and made the formatting easier to read. Otherwise the message is as written. "Sewa" means service, or volunteer work. The Dera is the Indian headquarters of Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB), a spiritual organization I was a member of for 35 years. 

Here's the message, minus an introductory part related to a subject this person and I have been discussing.

And I would like to mention and please mention the following in your blog too (of course only if you wish to ) :  

 

I have been reading your blog since last year Feb, after I was of course suggested by an important member of RSSB committee and I was still doing sewa in Dera. And I must admit after reading each of your blog I thought you must be a very arrogant man. Or you didn't make much efforts in meditation and are a coward to quit early.

 

But knowing that people living in Dera in fact people running that place as incharges are equally unsure of the path as the people who criticise it, my thinking changed and then of course seeing the condition there by my own eyes, a place lacking love, the very foundation it was supposed to be built on.

 

I don't know if the path is true or not. I haven't really made complete effort in meditation to comment. But talking to you personally on emails and listening to your reply it is my understanding that you are a very humble and an understanding man.

 

You have a blog, there are many things i told you personally and you know my real name, you could have written those things on your blog if you had to be aggressive towards your critics. You kept your word, a quality that is rarely found today. Your view point comes from experience and logic and deep thinking.

 

At the end of the day you might  be wrong or the people who criticise you might be, in reference to this path. But the truth is none of us are aware for sure. But at least you support logic and see what's written on the wall.

 

And for the people coming to your blog and trying to defend RSSB, if they were enlightened they wouldn't care for your blog or try to protect the image. They wouldn't waste energy on that. What I have learned from the limited conversation we have had is whether you are right or not but you are a man with right intentions. 

Like the person who wrote this message, I also can't be sure about what the ultimate truth regarding reality is. None of us can be. We all make educated guesses, or assumptions, that are founded in our experience, upbringing, culture, education, and so on. 

All we can do is keep facing toward the truth as we have come to understand it, while being open to fresh ideas, new facts, different ways of looking upon the world. 

It is difficult to admit, "I don't know." So I liked this person's willingness to say about the RSSB teachings, "I don't know if the path is true or not." 

But what this person does know is how they were treated while doing "sewa" (again, volunteering) at the Dera. Just as I've heard from other people, this person says that the Dera lacks love -- which is a sad commentary on a spiritual community. 

I liked how this person said that my viewpoint comes from "experience and logic and deep thinking." That's what I aspire to, though sometimes I fall short. Now, I realize that some spiritually-minded people believe that love and devotion is all that counts.

I disagree -- strongly. 

History is full of examples of individuals, or masses of people, who were fervently devoted to destructive causes and leaders. It makes no sense to be devoted to some unworthy person or entity. Going down that route leads to authoritarianism, being taken advantage of, dangerous blind obedience.

My wife was a psychotherapist in private practice for quite a few years. One of her specialities was domestic violence. Most of her clients were women being abused by men. Without giving their names, she'd explain to me how many women stay in an abusive relationship, even when they're being hit, yelled at, threatened. 

Why? Many reasons.

Some are that the women didn't know what to do if they left the relationship, or they were afraid of what the man would do if they stood up for themselves. So my wife would give them options, and help the women recognize that they had more strength than they thought they possessed.

Likewise, one of the reasons I started this blog in 2004 was to encourage people to realize that when it comes to religion, spirituality, mysticism, and philosophy, independence is a virtue, not a vice. I haven't changed this blog's slogan over all those years: Preaching the gospel of spiritual independence. 

Sometimes it makes sense to stay in a relationship with another person "til death do us part," as wedding vows in the United States often say. Yet sometimes it doesn't. 

And sometimes it makes sense to remain a member of a religion or spiritual path for the rest of your life. Yet sometimes it doesn't. Think for yourself. Nobody else can do that for you. Nor should they.

Advice for RSSB believers about how to deal with news about their guru

Yesterday this comment was left on a Church of the Churchless post, "Great BusinessToday video about RSSB guru and Singh brothers." The commenter wondered how to break the news about Gurinder Singh Dhillon's financial misdeeds to Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB) devotees who had put a lot of faith in their guru.

Dear Brian Thanks for your blog and exposing the truths!! It is really sad to learn all the truths of recent events. I had a feeling somethiing is corrupt but it still came as a shock when my intuition was confirmed with facts.

I am not part of Sant mat myself but do know people that I love that is. They don’t know yet and I just don’t have the heart to break this news. I can just imagine that if your whole belief system was based on the idea of a perfect living master and to found out he is not so perfect after all, will pull the rug underneath you.

Especially this path’s standards are so high in terms of diet and moral life. How do you break such news to somebody you love while you know their world will be shattered? How have other Satsangis took the news? Is it best to just keep quiet and wait till truth be revealed? Ruth

Ruth asked some good questions.

Since I was a member of RSSB for 35 years, and embraced the Sant Mat teachings for almost all of that time before I stopped believing in them, I've had to deal with the same difficult process of breaking away from a spiritual philosophy that used to mean so much to me.

All I can do is suggest the following advice, which I've shared in a "laundry list" form -- because everybody is different, and I want to give people a variety of ways to deal with disillusionment in a spiritual path or religious dogma. So I'm going to list these ideas as they come to me, without trying to arrange them in a particular fashion.

(1) Truth, Sat in an Indian language, has to be our primary concern. Without truth, we're lost in a maze of falsehoods. So whenever truths are revealed about a guru, master, religious leader, or whoever, those truths should be embraced, not pushed away.

(2) Truths can be painful. But the pain of living a lie, or living in illusion, is greater. Yes, fantasies can be fun. But eventually fantasies are revealed to be much less substantial than truth, since truth always wins out in the end. Why? Because reality is hugely more powerful than illusion.

(3) This is one of my all-time favorite sayings. When I used to give talks at RSSB meetings (satsangs), I'd often cite this quote from Philip K. Dick: "Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away." So if a spiritual or religious belief is given up, nothing is lost, because reality is beyond beliefs.

(4) When we expect someone to be perfect, we're bound to be disappointed. So don't expect perfection. Not of your spouse, friend, relative, co-worker, boss, political figure, or... a guru. Everybody makes mistakes. Some are innocent mistakes. Some are willful mistakes. Regardless, expect imperfection, not perfection.

(5) Taoism, which I'm drawn to as a philosophy, says that the world is made up of yin and yang, light and darkness, positive and negative, substantial and insubstantial, embracing and rejecting, and so on. Opposites are what make the world go 'round. If we welcome only one side of a pair of opposites, we're ignoring a big part of reality.

(6) Often people think, "If such-and-such happened, my life wouldn't be worth living." But usually, when that thing does happen, life is still very much worth living. We humans are resilient creatures. Don't underestimate your capacity to adapt to a difficult situation, and then move on from there.

(7) It's natural to want to feel special, which includes being part of a special group, one especially favored or beloved by God. However, what if God, or the cosmos, actually doesn't play favorites? What if it doesn't matter whether someone believes in this or that, but simply does their best to be a good human being? (As you can guess, this is how I consider reality operates.)

(8) Consider: out of all the religions, spiritual paths, and mystical teachings in the world, what is the chance that you have come across the Only One that is objectively true? Very small, right? Yet almost every believer feels that they have found that Only One. Isn't this more than a little egotistical or self-centered? 

(9) What people often find most satisfying about a religion or form of spirituality isn't so much the concepts that make up that teaching, but the good feeling they have from being part of a group that accepts them, welcomes them, supports them. Yet it is possible to have that same good feeling after someone leaves a certain group, because there are countless groups that accept, welcome, and support.

(10) Think about how many changes have occurred in your life. Most likely you've changed homes, friends, jobs, cars, lovers, pets, hairstyles, clothes, sports, and so much else. So it isn't strange that people also change their religion, spiritual path, or mystic teaching. This is normal.

(11) Doubts also are normal. Often people who belong to a certain religion or spiritual group wrongly believe that everybody else in the group but them has perfect faith, because usually expressing doubts isn't welcomed. Believe me, almost everyone has doubts, whether they admit this or not.

(12) Trust yourself. If you trusted yourself when you decided to join a religion or form of spirituality, also trust yourself if you decide to leave it. Don't be led astray by a group's teaching that leaving it will bring horrible consequences, such as a nasty afterlife. Almost every group has ways to keep members from leaving. Know that you are stronger than those ways.

(In case you're wondering, yes, this 1976 cartoon really was drawn by Charles Schulz. Read the comments on that post.)

Embrace beautiful imperfection. Push away judgement.

Today's Daily Calm guided meditation on my iPhone app was called "Beautiful Imperfection." Below is a transcript I made of how it ended. I really liked the call for less judgement and more connection.

This is tough enough to do in real life. It's considerably more difficult on the Internet, where we form judgements about people without having even seen them, much less understood them.

That's why I thought what follows is a good reminder that while informed judgement often makes some sense, uninformed judgement should be engaged in cautiously, if at all.

It's so often that our mind falls into judgements, of ourselves and of others. And if we pay attention, we'll quickly notice this tendency. 

We meet a new co-worker, or there's a new barista at our cafe. Or someone sits beside us on the subway. And instantly, subconsciously, the judging mind appears.

We take notice of a person's appearance, speech, and demeanor. And in a millisecond we draw conclusions about what type of person they must be. Some of these judgements might be sympathetic, some critical, based on a subconscious sliver of information.

How accurate can they be?

The truth is, we know next to nothing about the stranger passing through our day. Let's say we're sitting beside someone on a flight. And we overhear they have an addiction to reality television. They voraciously watch this show and that show, and can't go a week without their fix. 

And with this flux of information, we start to form a picture of who they are. But for all we know that same person has a Ph.D. in Astrophysics, beautiful children, or a cancer diagnosis. Or all of those things. 

Judgements separate us from other people. giving us a sense of division or of superiority. But on the flip side of judgement is an opportunity to feel connection. Because whatever it is we're judging, we probably suffer from some version of the same feature or flaw.

We all have our faults and guilty pleasures. That's a part of what makes each of us so compelling and interesting. Emilio Estevez put it, "We are all wonderful, beautiful wrecks. That's what connects us, that we're all broken, all beautifully imperfect."

So call on the mindfulness skill of awareness. Try to pay closer attention to your judgements. And as you get to know these tendencies, challenge them, soften them. Instead of giving in to the judging mind, deepen your connection to the beautifully imperfect people around you. 

Thoughts about enlightenment from a Church of the Churchless visitor

I like to hear from people who read my blog posts -- especially when what they say is supportive of my churchless un-preaching.

Here's an email message that I got today from John. After I asked if I could share his message, he said "sure." I like John's perspective on things. He and I carry on a fairly regular correspondence. 

Hey Brian.  Wow.  I really enjoyed reading your latest post on enlightenment!  To me, that is so freeing!  I’ve pretty much come to the same conclusion.

There is a lot of pressure involved in trying to become “enlightened”.  You know what I mean?  In my Christian days, it was either trying to walk in the spirit and not in the flesh, or trying to be more like Jesus, or not sinning, or whatever.  Then you get into, what is sin?  There are the biggies; don’t kill, steal, cheat, lie, etc. 

But some believe that wearing shorts is a sin.  Or having musical instruments in the church is a sin.  And so forth.  Depending on how strict the group was, we never would consistently live up to that and we just felt bad a lot of the time.  So you mix the stress of just living everyday life on this planet with chasing enlightenment or salvation or whatever… And it really can become unbearable.

I haven’t really consciously chased enlightenment that I can remember.  From what I’ve read, it’s hard to get two people to agree on what exactly enlightenment is or what it means. 

Some say it’s the cessation of suffering.  Others say it’s some kind of realization and living out of your “God self”.  Both of these are pretty vague.  LOL  Others say it’s just being present or mindful.  I guess in that case, you can have moments of enlightenment? 

Kind of like you said in your post;

…some Buddhists view enlightenment as being totally immersed and accepting of the present moment. I, and everyone else, am capable of doing this. Not always, but often. So this makes me "enlightened" at times, along with everybody else in the world."

Also from your current post, I read this and went, Yes!

Because there is no way to tell whether someone is enlightened. This is an intellectual concept made up by certain religions and spiritual paths to justify their specialness. They've made up a word, "enlightenment," then claimed that if devotees do such and such, they can become enlightened.

Whatever that is.

That’s so true!  It’s almost like marketing.  LOL  If you join us, and do our thing, you can become more enlightened than the other guys...  And I love the addition of, “Whatever that is”.  

I’ve gone through periods of reading a lot, so I can’t remember who said this or the exact wording. 

But it went something like, you can have various experiences for various reasons.  One experience may even seem like what you think is enlightenment.  But don’t try to hang on to any of them, including what you thought was enlightenment.  Experiences come and go.  Let them come and go.

Another one said that when you think a person is enlightened, ask their spouse if that is true.  LOL

I guess all these different opinions and points of view keep the world a more interesting place.  If we all believed the same thing, I guess it would be boring.  Right? 

But I am grateful for the, what I would consider, solid and more down to earth influences that I have had.  Whether meditation, or yoga, or tai chi, it seems that most of the books that I’ve read and people I’ve practiced with have all stressed being here and now.  Not chasing some undefinable enlightenment. 

I look at these things as simply tools that help me get through life a little more smoothly.  When I’m meditating on a regular basis and practicing tai chi as well, I do seem to handle stress better, respond to difficult situations better, etc.  But I don’t really see it as a spiritual thing, like many of my friends do. 

The general idea of many folks that I know is that when you do some kind of “spiritual” practice, then you live more out of your spirit man than you do this earthly man. 

Well, I no longer think that I’m divided like that.  I think what you see is what you get.  When I do my practice, I just think that my mind is less cluttered and distracted, and my body is more relaxed, so it’s just naturally easier to process life in a way that seems a little smoother.  If that makes sense?  

Thanks again for the great posts. 

I hope you and yours are doing well.

John

"Enlightenment" is a meaningless concept

Over on this post of mine there's been a comment conversation about enlightenment. "JB" left this cogent comment, which I agree with.

Tim Rimmer said: "Wasn't that the nature of the Buddha’s realisation? - All is Dukkha, yet ‘one’ is able to remove/get past it?"

That one is able to remove/get past suffering is unadulterated mythology. The hero, the savior, the enlightened person- these are all variations on a theme. This is the mythical theme that has encapsulated humankind's greatest hope. It is a dead giveaway that the "enlightened masters" are all from the ancient past. Those that claim to be enlightened today are invariably discovered to have the same neuroses and foibles as the average person, sometimes far worse. Instead of realizing that enlightenment is the stuff of legend, we radically redefine enlightenment to accomodate them.

There are no enlightened beings and never were.

"Manjit" left a reply, which I found unconvincing.

Basically it was that because lots of people claim to have "enlightenment" experiences, that means there is such a thing as enlightenment. Well, lots of people claim to have been abducted by aliens, which doesn't mean this actually happens. 

Here's an excerpt from Manjit's comment.

So, are you here REALLY stating that YOU have never had any experiences of "enlightenment" or, say a "kundalini awakening" or "absorption in the sound-current" or inner "communion" with "love" or "light", or "astral projection" etc etc?

So again, Manjit is arguing that because people say there is such a thing as enlightenment, this means there is such a thing as enlightenment. Which, of course, is untrue, since people often say things that are false. (Just watch President Trump talk.)

Here's the comment I left on this subject.

The best argument against there being such a thing as "enlightenment" is that it is entirely possible and valid to have arguments about whether there's such a thing as enlightenment.

There aren't arguments about whether there are rich people, artistic people, musical people, mathematically-gifted people, lazy people, productive people, or a myriad of other kinds of people.

But there are indeed arguments about whether there are enlightened people. Why?

Because there is no way to tell whether someone is enlightened. This is an intellectual concept made up by certain religions and spiritual paths to justify their specialness. They've made up a word, "enlightenment," then claimed that if devotees do such and such, they can become enlightened.

Whatever that is.

Here's a challenge to anyone who believes that enlightenment is real. Describe how it is possible to distinguish an enlightened person from an unenlightened person.

Imagine the spiritual equivalent of a police lineup. You're presented with a dozen, or a hundred, or a thousand, or seven billion, people. Your job is to point out the "enlightened" people.

How would you do this? What questions would you ask them? What answers would you find persuasive, and why? What behaviors or actions they perform would you want to observe? Which of these behaviors or actions would show they're enlightened, and why?

My strong suspicion is that believers in the reality of enlightenment would say that this is an ineffable personal experience, or state of being, that can't be described or observed.

OK. Fair enough.

This sounds like the dreams that I have every night. Or the feelings I have throughout the day. This would make "enlightenment" one of a myriad of personal experiences that only have reality within the mind of the experiencer.

But this means that enlightenment isn't anything special. In fact, it may not even exist as a genuine subjective reality, since it could refer only to a normal state of being that certain religions or spiritual path have elevated to a special experience.

For example, some Buddhists view enlightenment as being totally immersed and accepting of the present moment. I, and everyone else, am capable of doing this. Not always, but often. So this makes me "enlightened" at times, along with everybody else in the world.

The fact that there's no agreement about what enlightenment means is strong evidence that it doesn't really exist except as a religious/spiritual concept.

"Teaching is impossible." An excerpt from The Wooden Bowl book.

People often make spirituality into something complex, argumentative, esoteric. They consider there's a right and wrong way to meditate, to worship, to live life. 

I used to be one of those people. I'm a lot less dogmatic now. 

Recently, like today, which is pretty damn recent, I've been both entertained and bemused by a rash of comments on this blog where people have been arguing about this and that. 

I enjoy those sorts of interchanges. Except when I don't. 

In those latter times, I try to remind myself of how simple spirituality can be. And how it really isn't necessary to bring in that often-contentious word, spirituality. 

Why not just say, how simple life can be.

I've started reading The Wooden Bowl, a book recommended to me by a visitor to this blog who emails me interesting messages about what's going on in his life from time to time. 

It's out of print, but I found a used copy on Amazon that cost me just a few bucks. It took a while to arrive by media mail, but it was worth the wait. 

I really like the down-to-earth approach to meditation, and life, that the author, Clark Strand, describes. Here's the first chapter, "Teaching is Impossible."

"Meditation cannot be taught." So said my first teacher, Deh Chun, an elderly Chinese hermit who lived the last years of his life in Monteagle, Tennessee. "Only learning is possible," he said, "sometimes."

What he meant was that meditation can only be practiced. If it is taught, then, by definition, what is taught is not really meditation at all, but something else. Some method or philosophy, but not meditation itself.

When I consider the years of our association, the most remarkable thing is that I cannot recall any particular thing I learned from him. I can't point to a particular conversation we had and say, "Well, you know, then Deh Chun said such and such and everything was clear."

At the time, nothing was clear. When I think back on it now, I realize that his entire teaching consisted of being in the present moment, with nothing else whatsoever added on.

Being with Deh Chun was like dropping through a hole in everything that the world said was important -- education, progress, money, sex, prestige. It was like discovering that nothing else mattered and all I needed was now -- the moment -- to survive. 

Sitting there in the little house, listening to the water boil, to the twigs crackling in the wood stove, I was temporarily removed from the game. That was the genius of his teaching, that he could bring forth that transformation without even saying a word.

His was a state of complete simplicity. Like water, the direction of his life was downward, always seeking lower ground. When I met him he lived in a ramshackle two-room house heated by a wood stove the size of a typewriter. There was no furniture, only a few turned-over crates and several cardboard boxes in which he kept his clothes.

His bed consisted of two sawhorses on top of which he had placed a 3 x 5 sheet of plywood. and a piece of packing foam. I remember thinking once that this bed suited him perfectly, his body was so light and small.

A similar structure in the other room served as a desk for writing letters and for painting his ink-wash Chinese landscapes. Propped against the back door were spades, a shovel, and a rake, tools he used to tend a plot of land the size of two king-size beds laid end to end.

With the exception of tea, soybeans, peanut butter, molasses, and occasional wheat-flour, whatever he ate came from there.

We would sit in his little house without saying much of anything. Early on I learned that he was not disposed to give instruction in any formal way. He would serve me lunch, or sometimes breakfast if I'd managed to get there early enough, and then I'd wash up. 

Afterward we would talk about his garden, or more likely we would remain silent for a long while and then it would be time to leave.

Nowadays, in books on meditation, it has become standard practice to say that your teacher was a mirror that allowed you to see your true self. But that was not my experience with Deh Chun. It was more like floating weightless on the Dead Sea and looking up at an empty sky.

There was a feeling of tremendous peace and freedom, but that was all. I didn't know anything after I was done. Trying to pin him down on some aspect of meditation was as pointless as trying to drive a stake through the air. He taught one thing and one thing only, and that he taught to perfection: meditation happens now.

After the first few visits to his house, I realized nothing pivotal was going to happen, but I kept returning anyway without knowing what it was about him that held my attention.

I was a college student, and fairly typical of other nineteen-year-olds in that I was not particularly interested in spending time with someone four times my age. Especially someone who by ordinary standards was little better than a bum.

Deh Chun was completely simple. He lived on fifty dollars a month. He was a Buddhist monk who never spoke of Buddhism, an accomplished landscape painter who never sold his work. He wore only secondhand clothes and was without pretension of any kind. 

Long after his death, it is finally clear to me that he taught only by example. 

Recently, a friend of mind said of a certain Catholic priest, "He practices what he preaches, so he doesn't have to preach so loud." Deh Chun practiced so well he didn't have to preach at all. 

Nice quotes from "Confession of a Buddhist Atheist"

I'm a big fan of Stephen Bachelor, who writes about Buddhism from a pleasingly non-religious, non-supernatural perspective.

I didn't like "Confession of a Buddhist Atheist" as much as his other books, but some quotations from this book that someone emailed to me resonated with my psyche. 

Here they are. The boldfacing was added by the person who sent me the quotes.

To be conscious of what is happening in the present requires training in mindfulness, which Gotama described as “the one way” to achieve the kind of focused presence and responsiveness needed to function optimally on a groundless ground.

Indeed, he spoke of mindfulness (sati) as being grounded (pat hāna) in whatever occurs in one’s body, feelings, and mind as well as in the world about one. Mindfulness is to be aware of what is happening, as opposed to either letting things drift by in a semiconscious haze or being assailed by events with such intensity that one reacts before one has even had time to think.

Mindfulness focuses entirely on the specific conditions of one’s day-to-day experience. It is not concerned with anything transcendent or divine. It serves as an antidote to theism, a cure for sentimental piety, a scalpel for excising the tumor of metaphysical belief.

“When a monk breathes out long,” said Gotama, “he knows: ‘I am breathing out long.’ Breathing in short, he knows: ‘I am breathing in short.’”

Such a person acts in full awareness when looking ahead and looking away, when flexing and extending his limbs, when wearing his robes and carrying his bowl, when eating, drinking and tasting, when defecating and urinating, when walking, standing, sitting, falling asleep, waking up, talking and keeping silent.

...There is nothing so lowly or mundane that it is unworthy of being embraced by mindful attention. Mindfulness accepts as its focus of inquiry whatever arises in one’s field of awareness, no matter how disturbing or painful it might be. 

One neither seeks nor expects to find some greater truth lurking behind the veil of appearances. What appears and how you respond to it: that alone is what matters.

The person who sent me these quotes added some thoughts of his own.

A Buddhist friend of mine whom I used to meditate with talked this way about meditation. It makes a lot of sense to me and also takes the frustration out of it. 

Instead of going away from a time of meditation thinking that I didn’t get anything out of it because I didn’t have some “experience," now I see it as there is no wrong way to meditate or a “bad” session. 

Because I’m just paying attention to what is actually happening. If that makes sense?

Yes, it does make sense. This is the way I meditate now also. Or at least, how I try to meditate.

It's difficult to break past habits of believing that certain kinds of experiences are to be sought for in meditation, like a calm mind. 

But I'm getting better at this, in part through the guided meditations I listen to every morning via the Calm app on my iPhone. They're very much in line with the Buddhism Stephen Bachelor is talking about.

After listening to a guided meditation, I then engage in my own "free-form" meditation. 

Mindfulness has become my meditation

Back in my true-believing religious days, when I embraced an Eastern form of mysticism that espoused several hours of daily eyes-closed meditation, I thought that the ultimate aim of life was to experience higher realms of reality beyond the physical.

Of course, I had a job to go to, a wife and daughter, worldly activities I enjoyed. But I viewed these as mostly distinct from my spiritual goal of god-realization -- those things were part of my karma; important, yet not what my life's highest purpose was all about.

I'm grateful that my eyes have been opened to the flaws in this point of view. 

Since there is no demonstrable proof that God or other supernatural entities exist, and clearly this world does exist, it makes sense to focus first and foremost on what is right before us rather than on some imagined immaterial domain. 

This is why, even though I'm by no means a practicing Buddhist, I find a lot to like in Buddhist philosophy that's been stripped of supernaturalism. Mindfulness has become my current preferred form of meditation.

Of course, mindfulness doesn't have any inherent connection with Buddhism, a point Jon Kabat-Zinn makes in his engaging book, "Mindfulness for Beginners: Reclaiming the Present Moment -- And Your Life."

In essence, mindfulness is universal because it is all about attention and awareness, and attention and awareness are human capacities that are innate in all of us. Still, it is fair to say that, historically speaking, the most refined and developed articulations of mindfulness and how to cultivate it stem from the Buddhist tradition, and Buddhist texts and teachings constitute an invaluable resource for deepening our understanding and appreciation of mindfulness and the subtleties of its cultivation.

On page 1, Kabat-Zinn describes what mindfulness is.

Mindfulness is awareness, cultivated by paying attention in a sustained and particular way: on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgmentally. 

It is one of many forms of meditation, if you think of meditation as any way in which we engage in (1) systematically regulating our attention and energy (2) thereby influencing and possibly transforming the quality of our experience (3) in the service of realizing the full range of our humanity and of (4) our relationships to others and the world.

Today, in the late afternoon on a sunny June day here in rural south Salem, Oregon, I had just set out on a walk through some paths on our ten acre property that lead to a community lake not far away.

I was idly thinking about what I was going to write about in a blog post when I got home. Which, as you might suspect, meant my mind was filled with thoughts about mindfulness. 

I wasn't being mindful. I was planning what to say about mindfulness, a whole other thing. But a flash of white caught my attention off to my left. Suddenly I had jumped into being aware of the present moment, not a future blogging moment. 


Either I had missed the daisies on previous walks, or now simply was the time for the daisies to blossom forth. Regardless, I was pleased to be jolted out of my mental machinations into an appreciation of beauty in the world outside my cranium.

A bit further along, the setting sun illuminated the fronds of ferns that grow copiously here in Oregon.

I always enjoy this part of the path that leads to the lake, because it disappears around a bend. Like life itself, the path only shows what is close at hand, not what is around the corner. 

Ah, the shape of trees, backlit by the setting sun. I've seen this sight so many times in the 28 years we've lived where we are now. But that word, now, means that never before had I seen this sight, in this way, on this day.

Which made it magical. In a supremely ordinary fashion. Such is the power of mindfulness, which really is nothing more than what Kabat-Zinn speaks about in his first mini-essay, Beginner's Mind.

Suzuki Roshi, the Japanese Zen Master who founded the San Francisco Zen Center and touched the hearts of so many, is famous for having said, "In the beginner's mind, there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few."

Beginners come to new experiences not knowing so much and therefore open. This openness is very creative. It is an innate characteristic of the mind. The trick is never to lose it.

That would require that you stay in the ever-emerging wonder of the present moment, which is always fresh. Of course, you will lose beginner's mind in one way, when you cease to be a beginner.

But if you can remember from time to time that each moment is fresh and new, maybe, just maybe, what you know will not get in the way of being open to what you don't know, which is always a larger field. Then a beginner's mind will be available at any moment you are open to it.

How I'm content with an atheistic world view

Today I got an email message from someone who asked a great question about finding contentment with an atheistic world view. I dashed off a response right away, because I loved how this person described their quandary, and how clearly their youthful angst was expressed.

Speaking of love, which the person said was their "entire meaning in life," you'll see that I didn't mention love in my reply. I thought about this only after I'd sent my response.

It isn't that love isn't important to me, or that it isn't a big part of my life.

I guess it is more of a backdrop to my life, rather than something I consciously am aware of in the foreground. And as you can read below,  I mentioned Selflessness and Service as two themes that are central to my atheist world view -- both of which seem closely akin to love, since they involve a diminution of self-centeredness.

Anyway, here's the message I got, and my reply. 

The message I got

Hi Brian, I'm new to your blog, but I'm glad I found it. I grew up nonreligious but still found myself to be the only person I know to question the nature of the universe as I do. I don't know if our beliefs are exactly the same, but I expect they're similar enough that you could give me advice as to reconciling them.

I've tried to believe. No minister or priest I've given the third degree to would believe that, but I needed them to convince me. Even the ones that said they could prove their claims eventually told me my heart was hardened and prayed that Jesus would soften it. I'm not a Christian, that I've concluded, but I haven't given up on believing in God. Maybe just because I still need to believe in something.

The secular teachings in Buddhism intrigue me, and I'm still exploring. But I didn't email you to give you a boring biography of my philosophical quest. Maybe my irreparable nihilism is a result of my age (21), but I still need to address it.

Love, or the illusion of it, is my entire meaning in life. The realization that true altruism doesn't exist, that emotions are biologically wired into us for survival, and no relationship we form will survive death, is breaking me down. I don't need to believe humans are special or the last evolution (we're clearly not), but I'm afraid to believe in absolutely nothing.

My need to believe in these things is impeding my ability to come to true conclusions on the known and unknown. I'm wondering how you were able to come to grips with an atheistic world view and still find contentment. 

My reply

 
You ask a great question at the end of your message. When I was about your age, actually a bit younger, I was heavy into existentialism, Sartre, Camus, and such. But after a year or two I grew tired of the message that it is up to us humans to find meaning in existence. That just seemed so damn exhausting. Why couldn’t meaning be given to me, free of charge?

 

So I dived into yoga and meditation at the end of the 60’s, the decade, not my age (I happen to be 69 now, so in a way I’ve returned to the 60’s.) I studied with a crazed Greek Christian yogi, then got initiated by an Indian guru and stuck with that path for about 35 years. In the end it seemed too rigid, too dogmatic, too unscientific, too faith-based.

 

Thus I’d rejected two extremes: the freedom existentialism espoused (we must choose) and the confinement of an Eastern religion/spirituality (we must do this and that to know God and experience “heaven” after death).

 

Like you, I’m attracted to secular Buddhism, but even that is a bit rigid for my current tastes. I’ve been practicing Tai Chi for about 14 years and enjoy it a lot. It’s basically Taoism embedded in physicality, in the body, in movement. When I read the Taoist literature I find it lighter, more humorous, not so serious as Buddhism (even the Zen version, which can be pretty darn serious).

 

However, I still struggle with finding meaning in life. And since I’m the age I am, the realization that I don’t have all that much more life to live can disturb or depress me at times.

 

Philosophically, I guess my approach to dealing with life boils down to a couple of core ideas. I’ve talked about a lot of stuff on my Church of the Churchless blog since 2004, so you could use the Google search box in the right sidebar to find what I’ve written about these topics. Here’s a capsule version.

 

Selflessness. Both Buddhism and neuroscience say that our feeling that we have, or are, a Self is mistaken, an illusion. I really like this idea, because almost all of my problems seem to arise from the feeling that I am Me, separate and distinct from the world. I can recommend Alan Watts’ marvelous book, “The Wisdom of Insecurity,” which is one of my favorite books. His central message is that we’re trying to find solidity is an inherently fluid world. So flow with it, dude! (or dudette)

 

Free will. Akin to selflessness, neuroscience also tells us that, almost certainly, free will is an illusion also. This gives me a feeling of calm, of satisfaction, because my worries largely stem from a feeling, “I could have done otherwise,” or “What should I do in the future?” If there is no “I” (selflessness) and no real choice (lack of free will), then most of my troubles are over — aside from inescapable sensations of pain or whatever. They are much more tolerable without the mental idea, “This shouldn’t be happening to me.”

 

Existence. Lastly, I get a chill up up my spine when I ponder the reality that existence exists. It is a replacement for God, really. Something must always have existed. Religions say this is God, who created existence. Well, a simpler approach is to see existence as having always existed. This gives me a feeling of transcendence, of being part of mystery, of something so much bigger and awe-inspiring than myself, it boggles my mind.

 

I recall a quote from Stephen Hawking that was shared after he died. It went something like this: “Given how vast the cosmos is, my disability is meaningless.” Beautiful. Of course, our life is all that we have, so naturally we take ourselves seriously. Which reminds me of another theme…

 

Service. In India this is termed “seva.” I was big into that during the 35 years I was devoted to a guru, doing volunteer work by speaking to groups, writing books, and such. Now, I enjoy taking care of our ten rural acres in south Salem, Oregon, which benefits not only me but my wife and our dog.

I’m a political activist in Salem politics. Last night a City Council candidate I support seemingly won her race. Her campaign chair emailed me this morning that what I did was key to her being elected. I almost cried, because it felt so good to do something that wasn’t about me, but about someone else who could make a difference in our part of the world.  

 

Anyway, these are some ideas. Hope they give you a few notions to explore in your own mind. We’re all different, and have to find our own unique way (even without free will, or a self).

 

    — Brian

Heart and head need to find agreement

I'm a big fan of Jack Haas' book, "The Way of Wonder." Click on that link to a Facebook post by Haas and you'll be able to read it. For free.

Recently I came across an interesting comment by Chad Royer on a post on Haas' Facebook page. I don't claim to understand everything Royer says below, but maybe that's why I like what he said. Give it a read.

I wrote the following to a friend who posted on FB “Never let your head overthrow your heart.”  (This was shortly before reading your book.)  

I'd say the reverse is almost as true. We really cannot be whole with ourselves or anything else if we are not willing to do the work to sift through issues until our heart and head find agreement. The heart might need to slightly lead the way, but unless each treats the other as an indispensable and revered partner we are bound to be hiding or suppressing a big part of reality.

I personally go back and forth between believing my heart must take a slight lead or dominant role and thinking they ought to be equal revered partners of each other and then oddly I normally decide there is no actual difference between the two approaches. If both are treating the other as completely revered/trusted partners they will listen to the other until a consensus if found and that will be the nearest thing to truth for that situation and moment in time.

At this point another friend asked, "Perhaps the more significant question: Who is this “I” you speak of who goes back and forth between your head and your heart?"  To which I replied:

This probably will not make any sense to anyone else, but I view this “I” as my Experiencing and Integrating Mind (EIM) from which my thinking (head) and emotions/feelings (heart) originate. My thinking and emotions are the result of this deepest and oldest self (EIM) experiencing and trying to integrate itself into the world it experiences.

Oddly, in order to fit into its surroundings and world that it intuitively knows it is hopelessly an inseparable part of our EIM has to adopt the collective paradigms of our clan and culture, which are mostly unconsciously agreed upon illusions. It starts to do this from a very young age with emotions, well before we develop any reliable thinking or reasoning, as we figure out what leads to feeling secure or scared and otherwise good or bad in our family/preschool/etc environment.

Later we are taught how to reason and view things from our culture and clan’s perspective. Sometimes our emotions and/or reasoning do rebel against part or all of our culture’s perspective/paradigms but we are still stuck in them if we are fighting for or against them.

Ironically, as our original, oldest and deepest self (EIM) is experiencing and integrating ourselves into our world it is tragically writing itself mostly out of the script/picture because the emotions and reasoning required to fit into our cultures paradigms are actually blocks/barriers from experiencing true reality.

I’m not a big fan of true self and false self lingo because if we are operating out of what is meant by our false self then that is what we are and a real part of our reality at that moment. At the same time the traditional meaning of the concepts of true self and false self might be helpful, compared to my own mumbo jumbo, if anyone is actually trying to understand what I am saying.  Basically what I am saying is our true self (EIM) creates our false self/ego in order to fit into the world we find ourselves.

It does this because this EIM/true self/image of God within each of us is the part of us that knows we are unavoidably a part of our surroundings and everything else. Being a part of something inescapably means we are vulnerable to the fate of that which we are a part.

We intuitively, through our emotions bolstered by our reasoning, realize the last thing we want to be is vulnerable. As such, we hide and deny our true self in order to try to fit into our world safely. In the process, generally without realizing it, we try to make ourselves less vulnerable at the expense of others by shifting our inherent burden, which is the creation and living out of our false self. And since most of the world operates out of this paradigm any vulnerability/weakness exposed is generally a target to receive another’s burden, reinforcing the need to hide and deny our true self with its known vulnerability.

We generally do not try it unless we are out of options to hide and deny it, but everyone’s greatest yearning is to get to be with their own true self and experience the world through it. Since our true self has created our false self by developing emotions and thinking to try to fit into our world, the path back to our original/true self is to evaluate/contemplate these emotions and thoughts/concepts from their source within, our deepest/original/true self.

And this process of contemplation/evaluation always consists of a gentle interplay between the heart (emotions) and head (reasoning) until they align into an epiphany of sorts from their common source within for at least that moment when that source or true/deepest/oldest/original self is experiencing and present/whole with its surroundings. This is of course commonly described as letting go, because it is the head helping the heart or the heart helping the head to let go of block/barriers to our true self.

If we go yet deeper we actually find this “I” or true/deepest/original self vanishes into union with everything else (including the past and future) to the extent we are successful in letting go of our false self/ways of the flesh/ego/shell/emotional and mental blocks.

To whatever extent we are successful in this letting go process at any given moment we will discover we have removed what keeps us separate or lost or broken (off) from complete union/communion. This is what Jesus was alluding to when he would talk about he and the Father being one and only doing his Father’s will, and is how Jesus was in this sense fully human and fully divine, after relinquishing all of his false self/ways of the flesh/ego/shell/emotional and mental blocks. It is also what the Buddha was alluding to when he said “Actions do exist, and also their consequences, but the person that acts does not.”

To the extent we are not using our emotional and mental faculties to protect ourselves and seek advantages for ourselves and our group we will be united with God (The Entirety). And we will feel united, which is bliss. We will still have this creating part of us within, but we will know it is a small indistinguishable part of The Creator, and we will accurately recognize this as our Source.

Unfortunately, I am not implying I spend much of my time being very successful in this letting go process. Unconsciously adopting the opposite as the wise approach I started out as someone almost entirely and exclusively committed to emotional and mental blocks with their commonly resulting behaviors, including the frivolous pleasure seeking and worldly success since meaningful enjoyment only comes from some variety of union.

Through this approach becoming repeatedly untenable and an enormous amount of luck/good fortune/grace, including great people wanting to be helpful and viable paths to a better way, I have stumbled into some mystical adventures that at times bring great clarity, when I successfully surrender to the letting go process. When considering the tremendous amount of grace I have received and how guarded I still am most of the time though my life is still mostly only a shell of what it could and can be

Meditation practices only "work" in specific cultural settings

Some people claim that specific sorts of meditation practices are akin to a science that produces the same results, no matter who is doing the meditating or where the meditation is being done.

A thoughtful piece by David L. McMahan, "How Meditation Works: Theorizing the Role of Cultural Context in Buddhist Contemplative Practices," casts doubt on this claim.

I came across McMahan's essay in a re-tweet by David Chapman of someone else's tweet:

I had to jump through some online hoops to download the PDF file. Here it is:
Download How_Meditation_Works_Theorizing_the_Role

The general thesis seems totally believable to me.

People who meditate are influenced by the culture in which they live, which includes the context of the religion or spiritual approach that their meditation practice is embedded in. So there's no such thing as a "pure" form of meditation that stands apart from the mind of the meditating person.

Here's some quotes from the essay that will give you a feel for McMahan's approach. His "Two Meditators" introduction sets the stage for later arguments.

I would like to begin with a simple proposition: meditation works. Now to a qualification that makes things more complicated: what it means for meditation to work—the work meditation does—is different, sometimes radically different, in diverse contexts.

Let me illustrate this by imagining two practitioners of the basic Buddhist meditation practice of mindfulness of the breath. One is a contemporary American female professional who practices modern insight meditation (vipassanā) and modern secular mindfulness practices.

The other is an ancient monk—let’s say around the beginning of the common era—in the movement established by Gautama the Buddha. Both are serious practitioners, and both are drawing from the same text, the locus classicus of Buddhist meditation, the Sutta on the Four Foundations of Mindfulness.

They both sit down in the same posture—legs crossed, back straight, hands in the lap—and bring their attention to the movement of their breath. If we could secretly scan their brains, the same parts might be lit up with activity, while blood flow to other parts is slowed to a trickle.

The goals of these two meditators are very different. The modern woman is trying to relieve stress, get along better with other people, achieve more mindfulness in her daily life, and so on, all within her family life. The ancient monk is seeking to enter a transcendent state beyond rebirth and suffering while living in a monastery and being celibate.

But more to the point, similar meditation practices are apparently accomplishing aims—for example, “engag[ing] the world rather than withdraw[ing] from it”—nearly the opposite of the ideals of ancient meditation practices, which explicitly recommended withdrawal from the world. The work meditation does, therefore, is determined by the surrounding ideas, aims, attitudes, and cultural context of the practitioner.

Again, such practices do not simply produce particular, precisely reproducible mental “states” that are the same across time and space. They are part of larger complexes of ways of being in the world in particular social imaginaries.

We all make maps of the world. Not geographic maps, but a mapping of how reality is and how we fit into it. Meditation isn't separate from these maps; it is part and parcel of how we view the world. So the idea that meditation shows us reality "as it is" is false. 

As McMahan says, there's a strong inclination to have experiences that conform to our map of reality. How often do Buddhist meditators have a vision of Jesus and convert to Christianity? How often do Christians have a meditative insight that leads them to convert to Islam?

Very rarely, if ever.

Most meditators have likely considered their maps to correspond to a pre-existing architecture of the mind and reality; therefore, they have considerable incentive to interpret and produce experiences that conform to the map.

Buddhist meditators, therefore, have striven to identify the markers of transition between the first jhāna and the second, to look for signs that they have attained stream entry, or to discern whether they have truly had insight into the Buddha’s teachings on impermanence.

They have questioned basic intuitions, like that of a continuing, enduring self, and instead have tried to isolate and identify the five aggregates in their own experience. In later traditions that insist that all phenomena are illusory, practitioners must train their minds to see the world itself as a dream. In some traditions, they must try to imagine the world and themselves as having Buddha nature, perfect and already awakened, despite the ample evidence to the contrary.

They must, in other words, reimagine themselves and the world in ways suggested by these maps, not only interpreting but also cultivating their experiences accordingly.

Near the end of his essay, McMahan revisits the two meditators.

Are the modern professional and the ancient monk doing something utterly different? Certainly there is overlap: both follow their breath, calm their minds and bodies, try to cultivate compassion and avoid hatred, greed, and delusion. But the familial, institutional, social, cultural, civilizational, and cosmic contexts in which they enact these values could hardly be more divergent.

The modern professional has a family to which she is deeply committed, a job that sustains her, arts and entertainment, and broader commitments to gender equality, human rights, individual choice, and many other non-negotiable goods. She lives, in other words, in an entirely different social imaginary with different default intuitions and a different repertoire of possible ways of being.

Some of the things that mindfulness helps her with are expressly forbidden the monk: parenting, money-making, love-making, play-watching. So mindfulness and meditation help to cultivate a very different kind of person in this case than in the earliest contexts (as well as monastic contexts today).

Moderns have discovered new uses for ancient tools. Clearly these are flexible practices that have been adapted today to quite different ends within very different lifeworlds.

Of course, if you really want to understand the subtleties of McMahan's excellent essay, read the entire piece.
Download How_Meditation_Works_Theorizing_the_Role
I've just shared an overview of some key concepts. Here's a quote from the end of the essay that points to McMahan's emphasis on looking at both the "inside" of the meditator and the "outside" of cultural influences to grasp what works and doesn't work in meditation.

By all means we should measure what is measurable, but we should not think that such measurements—be they oscillating brain-waves, blood flow to various parts of the brain, respiration, and so on—get down to the real “facts” about meditation to which all other “data” (beliefs, social situation, cultural factors, relations of power) are extraneous.

We must understand all of these factors together systemically. The study of meditation should not succumb to the modern cult of calculability in which something is only real when it is measurable and measured. 

Pros and cons of faith, nicely expressed

To have faith, or not to have faith. This is a big question.

I was pleased to see a thoughtful comment interchange between Spence Tepper and Appreciative Reader on a recent post of mine, "The most amazing thing about religions is that everybody believes they're right."

Here's how Spence Tepper views faith: quite positively.

Hi Appreciative Reader!
Great comments. Thank you for posting a moment of rational thought here.
I suggest that everyone, Atheist, blind adherent, "Faithful", or Mystic, has a built in psychological tendency to believe they are generally right.

Who doesn't think they are right?
And if we are wrong, we want to get to the right, right away. Because error costs us personally, and others around us.

I work in organizational change, and the most difficult enemy to helping people see that there is indeed error or waste, is the status quo. The daily habits of people reinforce their entire system of belief, and disbelief, whatever that is.

A few very intelligent people can look at data showing a problem and respond constructively.

For most, the data has to be built and rebuilt. And if they can convince their collegues not to look at it, or if they do, to say "well, the timing isn't right."...any number of excuses, they won't make progress.

If this is how the world responds to hard data, obviously, the chances for "belief" are nearly non-existent.

People are often driven to a system of belief by great hardship, or by pure desire to do or be something other than what they are. They are pushed internally into it.

And that makes for an audience ripe for exploitation.

But if we are built for some system of belief, and if, in some cases, like Meditation, it is clinically good for so many, then perhaps system of belief, system of faith isn't wrong at all. It just depends on what you choose to believe, what you choose to hold faith in.

A town of Pentacostal Christians I knew for many years held that faith was more important than evidence. Faith was a sign of character. Faith in the midst of doubt.

When a child died in a tragic auto accident, the desire to question "why" or to claim the world was not worth living in, arbitrary and cruel, to stop functioning, stop living is strong. The capacity to have faith that somehow life was worth continuing, that we should all be kind to one another and move forward, that there was a greater power watching over even the child who died, their soul, were powerful psychological tools that kept these people moving forward in difficult, horrific circumstances.

That was when I stopped criticizing them for being ignorant.

Posted by: Spence Tepper

And here's how Appreciative Reader views faith: mostly negatively.

Hello, Spence. I too have come across that particular argument IRL [In Real Life].

That faith is an end in itself, and that faith in the face of situations where faith appears insupportable and fantastic, is an even greater virtue than when faith is ‘easy’. Which, when you stop a minute to think about it, is a fascinating piece of sophistry (or rationalization, depending on who is making the argument, the exploiter or the exploited, the priest or the “flock”).

I realize that you made that point in a specific context, one particular example of how one does one’s best to bear with situations and circumstances that appear to be unbearable. Specifically, the death of one’s child. And perhaps no one who has not actually experienced that is really qualified to speak of it! I myself haven’t, so perhaps I amn’t qualified either, but still, to complete what I was saying:

You know, it occurs to me that to use faith to tide over such difficult times is exactly akin to using drink or even stronger narcotics to get over some difficult situation. Using narcotics works in the short run, no doubt about it. And when nothing else seems to work, using narcotics may seem like a good idea. Especially when the use of narcotics is already accepted by society.

(Here’s what I meant to convey by that last sentence: When someone is faced with some tragedy, we would probably still not support their use of hard drugs in order to cope, because the use of such drugs is not sanctioned by our society ; however, since the use of one particular narcotic, alcohol, happens to be freely accepted by our society, therefore we would probably ‘understand’ if someone who’s received difficult news turned to hard drink in order to cope.)

Thus, perhaps, with faith?

(That is, perhaps we’re pre-programmed to look at conventional faith with a benign eye, much as we do with alcohol, simply because faith in established religions is so ubiquitous, so “accepted”? We may not have been as supportive if they had turned to, say, a faith healer who took their money to perform rituals under a full moon, while assuring them that their child would be benefited and even happy in some other world as a result, or pretended to speak with their dead child’s soul in exchange for money paid, yet the solace offered and received might have been just as real, given faith.)

Using faith (faith in things that don’t exist) in order to cope, which is what you’re referring to, appears to me exactly similar to using narcotics.

Sure, it works in the short run. But, just like narcotics, it soon becomes the proverbial monkey on one’s back. For one thing, it is addictive. For another, it eventually shows negative effects that cumulatively end up far exceeding the effects of the original ill that one believed it would help assuage. Of course, when something truly horrific, like losing one’s child, befalls someone, then if they decide to turn to hard drink or to hard drugs in order to cope, perhaps we have no right to judge them.

(Not that one is ever really justified in presuming to “judge” someone else, ever, but you know what I mean.)

And who knows, perhaps some strong-willed individual may indeed end up using narcotics wisely, using it to dull the edge of their anguish in the face of unspeakable tragedy, and then after a while weaning themselves off it. If used thus, one can hardly fault them. But how many are actually that ‘wise’, and how many are able to use their particular poison (drink, or narcotics, or faith) as judiciously?

(And also: if someone were indeed that strong-willed and wise and self-controlled, might they not perhaps be able to try to cope with their misfortune without the use of narcotics in the first place?)

I realize even as I type this, now, that I’m not saying anything at all new. Still, the fact that this equating of religious faith with opiates is a cliché fully a century old, does not take away from the aptness of the comparison. Faith and religion are exactly like opiates and narcotics. Like narcotics, they do soothe and offer comfort, and that comfort may seem welcome when times are trying. But they carry their own cost. Cost to the individual, as well as cost to society as a whole.

From your many comments on this site, I do know your own personal ideas about faith (as it applies to yourself). You use faith as an instrument to aid you to “go inside” and explore, yourself, what there is to explore. I am in full agreement with that approach. That isn’t blind faith, that is only conditional trust, in fact not even that, it is merely, well, using a crutch in order to see if the crutch does help one walk better, carefully and gingerly at first, and with greater confidence as you find, first-hand, that the crutch does help to hold you up.

(And I suppose that, if you found from your personal first-hand subjective experiments that the crutch did not in fact hold you up, you’d then be open to giving it up.)

I wouldn’t argue with that kind of a watered-down version of faith (as long as that faith did not lead you to do things that are, in themselves, objectionable). As you’ve often pointed out on this site, that kind of t hing is very similar to the methods of science. But I’d say that your kind of faith is very very rare : perhaps one in a thousand … no, one in ten thousand … not even that, probably an even smaller fraction of those who have faith, actually see faith in that light, the way you see it.

For most others (including, probably, the Pentecostal Christians in your particular example, so bravely battling their horrific situation), faith equals blind faith, and is no better than some deadly narcotic that momentarily dulls the pain but can -- and often does -- end up consuming their whole life.  

(Sorry, that turned out to be a very long-winded comment. Thing is, you’d made an excellent point, and my first reaction was to agree with what you’d said, about faith being ‘acceptable’ in the particular situation you spoke of. But then I thought I could see what appeared to me to be the flaw in your reasoning. Not that I’d ever presume to judge someone who tried to cope with the loss of their child in whatever way they saw fit, with drink or drugs or faith, but I’m afraid this does not really work as an argument in favor of faith per se. And I wanted to present my thoughts here, for what they’re worth, without sacrificing nuance for brevity.)

Posted by: Appreciative Reader

Non-religious people believe in weird stuff also

This isn't a big shocker, really. But it was still surprising to read that people who don't believe in God actually are more likely to hold other unfounded beliefs, like aliens visiting Earth.

So says psychologist Clay Routledge in a New York Times piece, "Don't Believe in God? Maybe You'll Try U.F.O.s."

People who do not frequently attend church are twice as likely to believe in ghosts as those who are regular churchgoers. The less religious people are, the more likely they are to endorse empirically unsupported ideas about U.F.O.s, intelligent aliens monitoring the lives of humans and related conspiracies about a government cover-up of these phenomena.

An emerging body of research supports the thesis that these interests in nontraditional supernatural and paranormal phenomena are driven by the same cognitive processes and motives that inspire religion. For instance, my colleagues and I recently published a series of studies in the journal Motivation and Emotion demonstrating that the link between low religiosity and belief in advanced alien visitors is at least partly explained by the pursuit of meaning. The less religious participants were, we found, the less they perceived their lives as meaningful. This lack of meaning was associated with a desire to find meaning, which in turn was associated with belief in U.F.O.s and alien visitors.

When people are searching for meaning, their minds seem to gravitate toward thoughts of things like aliens that do not fall within our current scientific inventory of the world. Why? I suspect part of the answer is that such ideas imply that humans are not alone in the universe, that we might be part of a larger cosmic drama. As with traditional religious beliefs, many of these paranormal beliefs involve powerful beings watching over humans and the hope that they will rescue us from death and extinction.

Well, I know quite a few atheists who don't believe in U.F.O.s or ghosts. This includes me and my wife. We get along just fine without either religion, or irrational fact-free substitutes for religion. 

I'm not saying that everything we believe is true. Far from it. We simply do our best to put our faith in what is known to exist within the natural world, rather than embrace supernatural entities or far-fetched physical phenomena such as alien visitations.

I agree that we humans have a strong drive to find meaning in our lives. However, there are plenty of ways to do this other than those mentioned in in Routledge's essay. 

Family. Friends. Volunteer work. Art. Civic activism. Politics. Nature. Gardening. One's profession. Writing. Meditation. To name just a few.

Routledge says we have a quest for significance. Agreed. I just disagree that believing in a religion or U.F.O's is a good way to feel that our lives have meaning. How about working to make this world a better place? Isn't that a significant thing to do?

We need to honor the brokenness in ourselves. And, in others.

This morning I listened to a wonderful guided meditation on my Calm app about the chips and cracks of our experience. Tamara Levitt ended the meditation with the words I've transcribed below. I couldn't help thinking about how this applies to supposedly "broken people" like the homeless in Salem.

Actually, as Levitt says, the Japanese art of Kintsugi shows that healing brokenness results in more beauty, not less. Human flaws produce a tapestry that can't be reproduced, being the product of our unique experience.

So rather than extolling those who seem to "have their act together," perhaps we should revere the broken, the cracked, the fallen, the bruised. And when we can, do our best to mend both ourselves and others without worrying if the repair job isn't perfect.

For beauty, in Kintsugi, lies in flaws, not perfection. Here's my transcript -- perhaps imperfect -- of what Tamara Levitt said today.

Today, I’d like to talk about the beauty in our flaws. When we experience something difficult, like heartbreak or a failed business endeavor, our reaction is often to see ourselves as cracked or flawed. 

And we’re conditioned to think that when something is broken, it has less value. So our instinct is to ignore or cover up our hurt. 

But what if we shifted our perception? What if we viewed our flaws with appreciation, even seeing them as beautiful?

There’s a wonderful Japanese art form where artists mend broken pottery with gold or silver lacquer. It’s called Kintsugi, which translates of golden joinery. 

When a teacup breaks, or a vase cracks, Kintsugi embraces the brokenness. The pieces are meticulously mended back together, highlighting the cracks instead of hiding them. 

Brilliant golden tendrils now hold the pottery together, resulting in a beautiful unique piece that can never be reproduced. 

So rather than trying to erase the hurts of past relationships, or cover up mistakes in a past venture, why not approach our brokenness with a sense of reverence. 

Mending pieces of ourselves with delicate filaments of gold. The next time you feel broken, remember the art of Kintsugi. 

Hold your grief with tenderness, your mistakes with forgiveness, and your frustrations with patience, 

Honor the scrapes and scruffs, the chips and cracks of your experience. As Leonard Cohen said, “There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

How an atheist can find "spiritual" inspiration

A few days ago I was talking with somebody about finding "spiritual" uplift without believing in God or any other supernatural entity.

I put that word, spiritual, in quotation marks because I no longer consider that there's some sort of other-worldly spirit or soul. Not in me. Not in anybody else. Not in the cosmos.

Yet I'm still attracted to the notion of spirituality. In a thoroughly secular sense.

Meaning, well... it's all about meaning.

Whatever inspires us to carry on through tough times; whatever propels us forward on our life journey when we're not sure if we can take another step; whatever makes us willing to sacrifice for a cause greater than our self; that is what I talking about when I speak of spirituality these days. 

It's the eff in ineffable. We recognize it in ourselves because it's at the core of our being. But it's damn tough to describe to someone else, being so intimately related to our wordless sense of purpose. 

When this thing I'm calling spirituality is missing, life seems pointless.

So it's important for everyone, atheists as well as religious believers, to cultivate the seeds of spirituality so we aren't left with barren psychological soil that leaves us feeling dry, despairing, desolate, deserted.

Having experienced both religiosity and atheism at different times in my 68 years, I think believers in God have a somewhat easier time of it when it comes to spiritual uplift. After all, they can simply imagine their chosen divinity smiling down upon them, urging them on to embrace their religious practices with more fervor.

This is what a revival is all about -- being spurred to pursue a divine goal with increased energy and effort. 

So how can an atheist feel the same sort of spiritual uplift? What inspires a secular mind to pursue a godless life with the passion akin to a religious zealot? 

Tough questions, for sure.

I can only speak for myself, since there are more varieties of atheism than religiosity, given that each and every atheist finds meaning in a unique way. All Christians find satisfaction in a belief in Jesus, whereas each atheist seemingly roots their life in something different.

Ah, but there's a common denominator underlying the wild diversity of atheist spirituality: reality. 

By which I mean, really real reality. The reality of this universe, this galaxy, this planet. The physical reality that not only surrounds us, but is us. The reality we live and breathe every moment from our first breath to our last expiration. 

It is here that I find spiritual inspiration. 

When I deeply commit to embracing reality as it is, or at least as best I can understand it, that is when I feel the same kind of spiritual uplift that used to enervate me when I was a religious believer.  In both cases -- secular and religious -- I felt a strong drive to expand my capacity to grasp reality.

However, I now realize that in my true believing days I was driven toward an imaginary supernatural reality, not anything demonstrably genuine. My feeling of inspiration was real; the godly goal I was pursuing was false. 

So, yes, it is indeed possible for atheists to find spiritual inspiration. The source of that inspiration isn't difficult to find. It isn't far away. In fact, there is no distance between the inspired person and what inspires. 

Reality.

It is both what we seek and what is seeking. Pretty damn simple. And wonderfully inspiring.  

 

Check out "The Way of Wonder" by Jack Haas. It's, well, wonderful!

So, what do you read if you're not religious, but you're still filled with a sense of wonder about the marvelous mystery of the cosmos?

How do you inspire yourself "spiritually" if you don't believe in God or any other theological fantasy, yet still want to feel an energetic boost that impels you more strongly to know the unknowable insofar as it can be known?

My top answer is Jack Haas' book, The Way of Wonder. 

I bought it nine years ago, in 2008. Somehow it took me until 2013 to leave an Amazon review. Which is still the only reader review. Which goes to show that some books are undiscovered gems well worth digging into. Here's my review:

It's been a steady substitution. The less I've filled myself with organized religion, the more I've felt a ever-increasing sense of wonder.

My favorite Wonder Book is "The Way of Wonder" by Jack Haas. When I feel the need for an increased dose of wonder, I'll pick up this (sorry...) wonderful book. I've read and re-read it numerous times since I bought the book six years ago.

What Haas has helped me realize is that I needed to empty myself of theological beliefs, faith-based concepts, and imaginary anticipations of a promised divinity around the corner in order to become much more aware of the Wow! that is right here, right now.

Existence. Life. Consciousness. The amazing fact that we are, that the cosmos is.

There's nothing more divine (in the sense of "tasty," as in "that chocolate cake was divine") than this sense of all-encompassing wonder. It isn't a wonder caused by this or that -- the Grand Canyon, a gorgeous woman, moonlight on a still lake -- but the simple stark realization that this, that, and everything exists.

I just realized that I'd never shared an Amazon reader review of "The Way of Wonder." Sorry, Jack, for not doing this before. I feel like I know you, though I've only met you through your books. I also heartily enjoyed your "The Dream of Being" -- a shorter, more aphoristic Hassian praise of wonder.

Here's a passage from "The Dream of Being" which reflects a core theme of "The Way of Wonder."
----------------------
"There is a Way, but it only leads to the Way.

There are no rewards, only delays; no oases, only mirage. There are only precarious stepping stones, there is no distant shore.

...Yea, there is a path but no destination; what we regard as a destination is simply ...fatigue along the path."

Being a Facebook follower of Jack Haas Creations, I noticed that recently he started putting links to complete chapters from The Way of Wonder in Facebook posts. 

Here's links to the first three chapters. I'll try to remember to update this post with additional links (Haas is sharing one chapter a week.)

(1) Rapture
(2) The Myth of Knowing
(3) The Art of Forgetting, or Epistemological Surrender

Now, I don't resonate with everything in The Way of Wonder. My own approach to the mystery of existence is somewhat more rational and less ecstatic (if that's the right word) that Haas'. 

Yet I suspect that if he and I were ever to have a conversation about The Meaning (or Lack Thereof) Of It All, we'd find that we had a lot in common. Haas talks a lot about forgetting everything that one knows, but pretty clearly this isn't meant to be taken literally.

After all, Haas is perfectly capable of operating a web site and composing Facebook posts. Thus he hasn't forgotten how one lives in everyday life.

The sort of forgetting I feel he is urging us to embrace is the illusory knowledge of what reality is all about; where we've cosmically come from and where we're going; the nature of existence itself, as distinct from understanding of existent bits and pieces.

What I like the most about Haas' writings is that there's nothing at all conventionally religious about them. Yes, he quotes provocative mystics like Rumi and sages such as Chuang Tzu. Yet this is done to point us toward the unknowability of what religious believers falsely consider to be knowable. 

Here's my previous posts about Jack Haas and The Way of Wonder. 

2008: Churchless have more faith than believers
2010: Wonder -- the sole essential of spirituality
2012: "We each belong to the energy of the moment" -- Jack Haas01
2012: You wanted old answers, not new questions
2013: Jack Haas' poetic wonder-filled aphorisms

You won't get answers to the Big Questions from Jack Haas. But you'll gain a better appreciation of how unending questioning is the best answer we'll ever get. As Haas says: 

And so the essential re-cognition is that there is nothing to solve, because ...there is no problem; the problem is the search for a solution. For if we use the mind as a way out, we shall be 'way out' but we shall have escaped nothing but ourselves. We must simply acknowledge that there is nowhere to go, there is nothing to do, and there is no knowledge to know. We need only just 'be', and revel intimately in the eternal now mystery of being.

And so the essential re-cognition is that there is nothing to solve, because ...there is no problem; the problem is the search for a solution. For if we use the mind as a way out, we shall be 'way out' but we shall have escaped nothing but ourselves. We must simply acknowledge that there is nowhere to go, there is nothing to do, and there is no knowledge to know. We need only just 'be', and revel intimately in the eternal now mystery of being.

How this atheist feels about prayers after another mass shooting

Another day in America, another mass shooting. A lone gunman shot Rep. Steve Scalise and four other people at a park where Scalise was practicing for a benefit Congressional baseball game. 

This is a tragedy. So are the tens of thousands of other gun deaths that happen every year in this country. 

But after dramatic shootings like this one, there's a familiar ritual: "thoughts and prayers" are directed to the victims and their families. 

I wrote about this in 2015 after the San Bernardino shootings. Here's an excerpt from "Another mass shooting. No more 'thoughts and prayers.' Gun control ACTION!"

Another week, another mass shooting in America. At least 14 dead, another 14 wounded. And what are we going to do it about it?

Mostly offer our "thoughts and prayers" to the victims. And their families And the first responders. 

Which, obviously, does precisely zero, nada, zilch to stop the next mass shooting. And it will come soon. Because the next one always does.

Only in America do we have this much gun violence. Why? Because we have way more guns per capita than any other nation. So we have way more gun deaths. 

Responsible gun control is the answer. 

Thoughts and prayers are useless. They accomplish nothing (if a person directly affected by a shooting is told you are personally thinking of them, then they might feel a little bit better, but this rarely happens).

So, please Americans, stop with the thoughts and prayers.

All these rote expressions of sympathy accomplish is relieve your guilt that you're not doing anything to stop the needless gun violence.

Instead, ACT!

Look, I understand the urge to pray after something horrible happens. I used to be a religious believer. I've done a lot of praying myself. 

Now, though, I realize that (1) almost certainly God doesn't exist, so there is nobody to pray to, and (2) even if God somehow does exist, this is the same God who oversees the cosmos where the bad thing that stimulated the praying happened, so the God being prayed to is the God who allowed the horrific act to occur.

So when I see photos like this one of Democratic House members (also part of a baseball team) praying for their Republican colleagues, I think: I don't blame them for praying to their imaginary God, because they don't know any better; but if they think their praying is accomplishing anything, they're dangerously deluded.  

Why do I say "dangerously deluded" rather than just "deluded"? 

Because these people, being part of Congress, have a special ability to actually do something to prevent future mass shootings. In my 2015 post I laid out part of what I think needs to happens -- stronger gun control laws.

However, I realize that opinions differ about how to deal with the fact that the United States has way more gun deaths than any other advanced country (we also have way more guns). So I'm fine with lawmakers doing something other than what I want them to do.

I just want them to do something. 

Unfortunately, it's a good bet that after a few days, or maybe a week, of "thoughts and prayers," this mass shooting will fade out of peoples' memory. Then another one will happen, and the thoughts and prayers will start up again, with no actual action having been taken in the interim. 

This is the danger of believing in thoughts and prayers. Religiously-minded people feel that they've done something by thinking and praying, while in reality they have done nothing. 

Sure, most Americans believe in prayer. This doesn't mean prayer accomplishes anything. No study has ever demonstrated the efficacy of prayer. Which isn't surprising, given that there is no demonstrable evidence for a God who responds to prayers.

So as an atheist, I look upon displays of prayer in this country much as someone would look upon a "primitive" hunter-gatherer tribe dancing around a fire, singing and chanting appeals to their nature spirits to bring rain. These are supernatural myths that are an integral part of most cultures. 

Problem is, insofar as "thought and prayers" draw energy and attention away from viable actions to deal with a problem, these delusions are harmful to a society -- even though they may bring some peace of mind to individuals. 

I wrote "Why I don't like 'Our thoughts and prayers are with you'" after the Boston Marathon bombing.

Obviously my blogging power doesn't extend very far, because thoughts and prayers are still as prevalent now as they were in 2013. But at least I don't believe that simply thinking or praying accomplishes anything. 

Writing a blog post is taking some concrete action. Here's part of what I said in that post:

After the bombing I came across a Twitter Tweet by someone I follow, "scriptdave" here in Salem. He's a screenwriter with a great sense of humor. Also, some wise observations. He tweeted:

I respect the need people have to pray. But that prayer is meaningless unless you get off your knees and do something.

To which I Twitter-replied, "Amen." Later someone else commented on scriptdave's tweet. He told them:

I hear you. People need to reflect, meditate, process tragedy. But prayer being the end all is ludicrous. Do something real.

A double Amen to that. 

The spiritual implications of drink when thirsty, eat when hungry

I'm a firm believer in living naturally. Not unnaturally naturally. Just naturally naturally. 

Meaning, do what is natural. But don't make a fetish out of this, don't strive to do it, because trying too hard to be natural leads to artificiality. 

When it comes to drinking and eating, here's some good advice:

Drink when thirsty. Eat when hungry. 

This sounds very Zen. And it is. But it also makes a lot of scientific sense. For example, check out "Just drink water when you're thirsty like a normal person, study finds."

After much deliberation, a 17-member expert panel representing four countries and nine specialties, including sports medicine, body fluid homeostasis and exercise physiology, have come to the research-based consensus that people should really just, well, drink water when they’re thirsty, you know?

...Yep, after countless blog posts and huge amount of research, the truth is you should really just use your “innate thirst mechanism to guide fluid consumption.” As in, you should just take a sip of water when you want to take a sip of water, rather than loading up on ridiculous amounts of H20 before you go through a limits-testing workout.

Likewise, "Eating when you're hungry versus eating on schedule" says:

Retrain yourself to recognize feelings of hunger and respect them. Eat when you feel them and stop when they stop. Don’t eat when you’re not hungry. This approach starts with eating breakfast, planning snacks, or eating only part of your lunch and saving the rest for a snack later on in the afternoon. Eat regular meals but don’t eat by the clock.

We should trust our natural inclinations. Us humans have been around in our Homo sapiens form for about 250,000 years. For almost all of that time people weren't telling other people how to drink fluids and how to eat food. They just did what came naturally.

Of course, in prehistoric times there were moments when the right thing to do was gorge oneself when scarce food became available, and drink excessively when rarely-found water was discovered.

In these modern times, most of us have a steady supply of food and water. So we can actually live more naturally than our ancestors, since it is easier for us to follow the adage: Drink when thirsty. Eat when hungry. 

This works for me.

Rather than carry a gigantic water bottle around when I work out at an athletic club (as I see many other people doing for no good reason), I take a couple of sips of water from a drinking fountain when I feel thirsty. And I've found that I'm able to keep my weight where I want it to be if I pay attention to whether I'm really hungry, or if I just have the idea of wanting to eat something (out of boredom, habit, or some other non-hunger reason).

Now, thirst and hunger arise from physiological needs. We need water and food to survive. Too little isn't good for us; too much isn't good for us. Following our natural desire to drink and eat usually works out well for us. 

What about the drive to "gorge" on God, though? Where does this come from? 

Obviously a desire to pursue divinity isn't natural in the way seeking food and water is. Lots of people live a deeply fulfilling life without paying any attention to God or some other supernatural entity. There are no discernible ill effects from failing to fill one's mind with thoughts and emotions concerning God.

Further, there are no evident outward signs of God or any other transcendent divinity, in contrast to the obviousness of water and food. How does someone assuage their thirst or hunger for God when there is no demonstrable observable evidence of the entity being sought for?

Short answer: this is impossible. God doesn't exist in any objective fashion. God is only as real as the mental beliefs people have about this hypothesized divinity. 

So I don't see how it is possible to have a natural desire for God.

I can drink when thirsty. I can eat when hungry. However, there is no corresponding natural impulse to embrace God, because God only exists as a concept in human minds. There is no way to assuage a desire for a concept as there is for fulfilling a desire to drink or eat. 

Water and food are real. God isn't.

Again, only the idea of God possesses a limited subjective reality. Thus religious believers are in much the same position as someone who drinks and eats not because they have a natural need to do this, but because they have an artificial idea that it's the right thing to do. 

Understand: there's nothing wrong with ideas. Ideas are wonderful things. So are beliefs, one form ideas come in. We just shouldn't mistake mental creations that exist nowhere outside of  the  human mind for an objectively real entity. 

Like water and food. 

This is why some people spend a lifetime seeking God, and never succeed in their quest. They are pursuing an impossible dream: to quench a thirst for divinity when the object of their desire doesn't exist. 

Having attempted this quest myself for about thirty-five years, I understand how enticing the goal of God-realization can seem. However, I'm grateful that I came to realize how false and unnatural that goal was. 

Drinking when thirsty and eating when hungry make a lot more sense to me now. I can actually do these things. Not just in my own mind, as is the case with every person's attempt to find God. But in really real reality.

Experience of conscious will is an illusion

I don't believe in free will. But like most people, I have a feeling that my intention to do something is what causes that thing to happen. 

So we have two things going on:

(1) A scientific world view doesn't support a belief in free will. As I've written about a lot on this blog (type "free will" into the Google search box in the right sidebar to find the many posts), there is no evidence of an immaterial self/soul that somehow floats free of the material/physical goings-on in the human mind. So there's no entity within us which can function freely of causes and effects or the laws of nature.

(2) Yet we humans have a strong sense that our intentions lead to thoughts, actions, and everything else we're capable of doing. After all, I think type an example of a thought and the next thing I do is type "I need to finish writing this paragraph." Who the heck is controlling what I'm doing right now if it isn't my conscious intention?

Well, study carefully this photo I took of a fascinating figure in Daniel Wegner's book, "The Illusion of Conscious Will," and you'll get a very interesting explanation of why the experience of conscious will is indeed an illusion.

Note that there is an "actual" and "apparent" causal path leading to an action. 

The actual causal path flows from an unconscious cause of the action. Meaning, the human brain is doing things below the surface of awareness that cause us to do something.

At the same time, there also is an unconscious cause of thought. This takes an actual causal path in the brain that leads to a thought. 

So the brain is unconsciously causing both an action and a thought.

These two things are actually happening. However, our experience of conscious will -- the feeling that our thought or intention is what causes an action to occur -- is an illusion. This is shown in the "Apparent Causal Path" arrow leading from thought to action. 

Here's a few passages from Wegner's book that explain what is going on here. (Wegner is a Professor of Psychology at Harvard University.)

The experience of will, then, is the way our minds portray their operations to us, not their actual operation. Because we have thoughts of what we will do, we can develop causal theories relating those thoughts to our actions on the basis of priority, consistency, and exclusivity.

We come to think of these prior thoughts as intentions, and we develop the sense that the intentions have causal force even though they are actually just previews of what we may do. 

Yet in an important sense, it must be the case that something in our minds plays a causal role in making our actions occur. That something is, in the theory of apparent mental causation, a set of unconscious mental processes that cause the action. At the same time, that something is very much like the thoughts we have prior to the action.

...We must remember that this analysis suggests that the real causal mechanisms underlying behavior are never present in consciousness. Rather, the engines of causation operate without revealing themselves to us and so may be unconscious mechanisms of mind.

...The unique human convenience of conscious thoughts that preview your actions gives us the privilege of feeling we willfully cause what we do. 

In fact, however, unconscious and inscrutable mechanisms create both conscious thought about action and the action, and also produce the sense of will we experience by perceiving the thought as cause of the action.

So while our thoughts may have deep, important, and unconscious causal connections to our actions, the experience of conscious will arises from a process that interprets these connections, not from the connections themselves.

This is brilliant. I'm only read about 1/4 of "The Illusion of Conscious Will," but I'm far enough into the book to have gotten a good feel for Wegner's thesis. He provides a lot of evidence to support it, both scientific and philosophical. 

Naturally spiritual (using that word broadly) implications of this illusion are easy to come by. For example, it can be argued that the so-called enlightenment of Zen, Taoism, and such simply is an intuitive seeing-through of the illusion of conscious will. 

Meaning, the illusion that "I" am determining what I do (and also by implication, what happens to me) is somehow experienced as the scientific falsity that it is. Of course, this is just a fact -- assuming Wegner's hypothesis is correct, as it seems to be -- not any sort of supernatural or mystical state of mind. 

It is just our actual state of mind, seen for what it is. It'll take another blog post to explain this more fully.

How meditation helped Yuval Harari write "Sapiens," a terrific book

I absolutely loved Sapiens, a book by a historian that was like no history book I'd ever read before. It was filled with wonderfully fresh insights -- Big Astounding Ideas rather than little boring facts.

My blog posts about the book will give you a feel for what the author, Yuhal Harari, wrought. 

"Religion is just one of many stories humans have imagined"
"Imagined orders -- like religions -- depend on shaky myths"

Given how much I admired Sapiens, when I saw the title of a post by Ezra Klein on the Vox site, I knew that I had to read "Yuval Harari, author of Sapiens, on how meditation made him a better historian."

Since I also have embraced a meditation practice that's centered on following my breath, I was pleased to see Harari does pretty much the same thing. Except, he engages in a 60-day silent meditation retreat once a year, and I just meditate for 20 minutes once a day.

Here's some excerpts from the Vox piece.

Ezra Klein

You told the Guardian that without meditation, you'd still be researching medieval military history — but not the Neanderthals or cyborgs. What changes has meditation brought to your work as a historian?

Yuval Hariri

Two things, mainly. First of all, it's the ability to focus. When you train the mind to focus on something like the breath, it also gives you the discipline to focus on much bigger things and to really tell the difference between what's important and everything else. This is a discipline that I have brought to my scientific career as well. It's so difficult, especially when you deal with long-term history, to get bogged down in the small details or to be distracted by a million different tiny stories and concerns. It's so difficult to keep reminding yourself what is really the most important thing that has happened in history or what is the most important thing that is happening now in the world. The discipline to have this focus I really got from the meditation.

The other major contribution, I think, is that the entire exercise of Vipassana meditation is to learn the difference between fiction and reality, what is real and what is just stories that we invent and construct in our own minds. Almost 99 percent you realize is just stories in our minds. This is also true of history. Most people, they just get overwhelmed by the religious stories, by the nationalist stories, by the economic stories of the day, and they take these stories to be the reality.

My main ambition as a historian is to be able to tell the difference between what's really happening in the world and what are the fictions that humans have been creating for thousands of years in order to explain or in order to control what's happening in the world.

----------------------

Ezra Klein

Before we leave the topic of meditation, I read that you do routinely 60-day retreats. That is an experience that I cannot imagine, so I would love to hear what those are like for you and what role they serve in your life.

Yuval Hariri

First of all, it's very difficult. You don't have any distractions, you don't have television, you don't have emails, no phones, no books. You don't write. You just have every moment to focus on what is really happening right now, on what is reality. You come across the things you don't like about yourself, things that you don't like about the world, that you spend so much time ignoring or suppressing.

You start with the most basic bodily sensations of the breath coming in and out, of sensations in your stomach, in your legs, and as you connect to that, you gain the ability to really observe what's happening. You get clarity with regard to what's happening in your mind. You cannot really observe anger or fear or boredom if you cannot observe your breath. Your breath is so much easier than observing your anger or your fear.

People want to understand their anger, to understand their fear. But they think that observing the breath, oh, this is not important at all. But if you can't observe something as obvious and as simple as the breath coming in and out, you have absolutely no chance of really observing your anger, which is far more stormy and far more difficult.

What happens along the 60 days is that as your mind becomes more focused and more clear, you go deeper and deeper, and you start seeing the sources of where all this anger is coming from, where all this fear is coming from, and you just observe. You don't try to do anything. You don't tell any stories about your anger. You don't try to fight it. Just observe. What is anger? What is boredom? You live sometimes for years and years and years experiencing anger and fear and boredom every day, and you never really observe, how does it actually feel to be angry? Because you're too caught up in the angry.

The 60 days of meditation, they give you the opportunity. You can have a wave of anger, and sometimes it can last for days and you just, for days, you do nothing. You just observe. What is anger? How does it actually feel in the body? What is actually happening in my mind when I am angry? This is the most amazing thing that I've ever observed, is really to observe these internal phenomena.

 

The joy of living in a meaningless world

The deeper I dive into atheism, the more blissful those warm waters of faithlessness seem. Which is a big change from my early non-believing years, when I often felt that something important was missing from my life.

That something was a built-in, ready-made, out-there-to-be-discovered meaning of existence.

A spiritual shoulder to lean on, a cosmic compass to guide my way, an uplifting understanding of dependable solid ground lying beneath the shifting sands of everyday experience.

Even after I'd given up a belief in God or any other obviously supernatural entity, I had a lingering feeling that is difficult to put into words, but was close to the universe has a message for me, and I'm not hearing it. 

So I'd fret about whether what I was doing, feeling, and planning was as Absolutely Meaningful as it should be. 

In other words, even though I'd grown out of belief in a traditional religiosity, an assumption that meaning lay out there somewhere remained largely unquestioned. 

Thumbing through a book by Matthew Hutson I've just started reading, "The 7 Laws of Magical Thinking," it looks like Huston has several chapters devoted to the sort of non-religious irrationality I was engaging in, and which everybody, really, is prone to. The book's subtitle is How Irrational Beliefs Keep Us Happy, Healthy, and Sane.

Thankfully, more and more I'm tuning into the joy of living in a meaningless world. 

For one thing, the pressure is off. Now I rarely worry about whether the satisfaction I'm getting from this or that is less than it should be, tainted by some lack of understanding, or otherwise undersized in comparison to some theoretical Grand Meaning.

What I enjoy, I enjoy. What I don't like, I don't like. I've pretty much completely stopped looking for a source of meaning outside of myself.

I'm the generator of my own meaningfulness energy. This then powers and directs what I pursue in life, which adds to the reservoir of meaning in my psyche. Not exactly a perpetual motion machine, because all this will come to an end when I do, but there's a pleasing self-enclosed circularity to it. 

Like I said, this is difficult stuff to put into words. So I'll end with how some other people have described what I'm getting at. This is a passage from the introduction to "The 7 Laws of Magical Thinking."

There is a common thread that holds together many of the things we call magic and excludes many of the things we don't. One recurring theme in the literature -- a theme I'm taking as the basis for my definition of magical thinking -- is what the anthropologist Richard Shweder called "a confusion of subjectivity and objectivity" and the anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss called "the anthropomorphism of nature... and the physiomorphism of man." 

There's the world of the mind, defined by intention and conscious experience, and the world of outside reality, defined by matter and deterministic forces. But we instinctively treat the mind as though it had physical properties, and we treat the physical world as though it had mental properties. That's magical thinking. We perceive mind and matter mingling together, working on the same wavelength.

Nicely put.

This fits with my longstanding (and erroneous) assumption that meaning, an interior mental quality, somehow could be found in the world out there. Of course, it can't, because the only mind or consciousness I can be directly aware of is my own.

Lastly, I enjoyed a BuzzFeed piece, "I Asked Atheists How They Find Meaning in a Purposeless Universe." All the responses are interesting. Here's the last one by Jan Doig, which resonated with me. 

“Three years and nine months ago I would have declared myself agnostic. Then my husband died without warning at the age of 47. My life fell to pieces. This is no exaggeration. As the terrible days passed in a fog the same question kept forming. Why? Why him? Why us? I was told by well-meaning friends that it was part of God’s plan and we would simply never know what that was. Or from friends with a looser definition of religion, that the Universe had something to teach me. I had lessons to learn.

“These thoughts caused me great fear, anger, and confusion. What sort of God, even if he had a plan for me, would separate a fine, kind, gentle man from his children? Why would God or the Universe look down and pick on our little family for special treatment? Why a good man with not a bad bone in his body who had never raised a hand to anyone? My best friend for 29 years. Any lesson the Universe had to teach me I would have learned willingly. He didn’t have to die!

“I thought about it a lot. I was raised Catholic so guilt ran through me like writing through a stick of rock. Had I been a bad wife? Was he waiting for me? There were days when, if I had been certain of a belief in an afterlife, I might have gone to join him. It was a desperate time. I needed evidence and there simply wasn’t any. I just had to have faith and believe.

“One day as I was sitting on his memorial bench in the local park I suddenly thought, What if no one is to blame? Not God. Not me. Not the Universe. What if he’s gone and that’s all there is to it? No plan. Just dreadful circumstances. A minor disturbance in his heart led to a more serious and ultimately deadly arrhythmia, and that killed him in a matter of moments. It is a purely scientific view of it. I may seem cold or callous but I found comfort in that. I cried and cried and cried, but that made logical sense to me and brought me great peace.

“My heart and head still miss my husband every day. I treasure everything he gave me and I love him as much today as the day he died. But I can remember him happily without wondering what we had done to deserve this dreadful separation.

“So I declare myself atheist (and humanist by extension) and my friends shake their heads. I stay on the straight and narrow without the guiding hand of a creator or any book of instructions.

“I’m not a religious or a spiritual person. (For some reason many of my female friends are shocked by this admission!) I don’t believe in God or the Universe. I don’t believe in angels, the power of prayer, spirits, ghosts, or an afterlife. The list goes on and on. I think there is a scientific meaning for everything, even if we don’t understand it yet. I find meaning in everyday things and I choose to carry on.

“The sun comes up and I have a chance to be kind to anyone who crosses my path because I can. I make that choice for myself and nobody has to tell me to do it. I am right with myself. I try my best to do my best, and if I fail, I try again tomorrow. I support myself in my own journey through life. I draw my own conclusions.

“I find joy in the people I love. I love and I am loved. I find peace in the places I visit. Cry when I listen to music I love and find almost childlike joy in many things. This world is brilliant and full of fascinating things. I have to think carefully for myself. I don’t have to believe what I’m told. I must ask questions and I try and use logic and reason to answer them. I believe that every human life carries equal worth. I struggle with how difficult the world can be, but when we have free will some people will make terrible decisions. No deity forces their hand and they must live with that.

“Life is a personal struggle. Grieving is never an easy road to travel. It’s painful and lonely at times but I use what I know to try to help when I can. I try to be loving and caring with my family and friends, and have fun. I will cry with friends in distress and hear other people’s stories and be kind because it does me good as well. I listen and I learn. It helps me to be better. Life without God is not a life without meaning. Everything, each and every interaction, is full of meaning. Everything matters.” 

I'm getting more skeptical about mindfulness

I've meditated every day, with a few exceptions, for over 45 years. For a long time I was a super-meditator, spending 1 1/2 to 2 hours at a time on a quest for the Meaning Of It All (MOIA). 

Failing to find the elusive MOIA, I've shifted to 20 minutes of morning meditation, half of it guided via my Calm iPhone app, and half freestyling on my own. 

Having discarded a religious motivation for meditating -- I no longer believe in enlightenment, soul travel, or union with a universal consciousness -- I've embraced mindfulness as a secular alternative. 

Be here now. Live in the moment. Follow the breath. Still the monkey mind.

Sounds good, but questions have lingered in the back of my skeptical psyche. Like, if now is all there is, then isn't remembering the past or envisioning the future filled with as much nowness as eating a single raisin with rapt attention?

To be fair, Tamara, who guides my Calm iPhone meditations, says:

Beginner meditators are often under the impression that their mind shouldn’t wander. I’ve been meditating for 25 years and my mind still wanders. This is simply the nature of the mind. ;)

While we don’t want to spend our entire practice just sitting still thinking, we have to expect that as we meditate, thoughts will arise and our mind will follow. 

What this practice is about, is noticing what’s happening in our experience from moment to moment.

So when the mind begins to wander, simply notice it wandering!

OK. However, if this was all there is to mindfulness meditation, seemingly there wouldn't be much difference between it and everyday life, aside from noticing the mind wandering versus simply having a wandering mind. 

In this regard, my observation of televised basketball games is that players who are obviously noticing "I'm about to try to make a free throw" seem less likely to make one than players who simply step to the line and shoot the free throw. Likewise, my experience with ballroom dancing lessons has convinced me that self-awareness often doesn't produce as good a result as simple awareness.

Tamara goes on to say:

Simply come back to the breath or the body or whatever your anchor is each time you notice the mind wandering. If you have to bring it back a hundred times, bring it back a hundred times.

Well, this brings me back to my previous question.

What's so special about focusing on the breath, or the body, compared with focusing on thoughts -- whether of the past, present, or future -- since seemingly everything is always happening in the present moment, regardless of what it is?

I've started to read Ruth Whippman's book, "America the Anxious: How Our Pursuit of Happiness Is Creating a Nation of Nervous Wrecks." She's British, with an appealingly cynical (or at least, skeptical) sense of humor. Her observations of how we Americans engage in the pursuit of happiness often strike me as right-on.

Here's some passages on the mindfulness front.

Mindfulness is everywhere, the hugely popular zeitgeist theory that in order to be happy we must live fully in the present moment, with total mental focus on whatever we are doing or experiencing Right This Second.

...I find mindfulness a hard theory to embrace. Surely one of the most magnificent things about the human brain is its ability to hold past, present, future, and their imagined alternatives in constant parallel, to offset the tedium of washing dishes in Pinole with the chance to be simultaneously in Bangkok or Don Draper's boxer shorts or finally telling your mother-in-law that despite her belief that "no one born in the seventies died," using a car seat isn't spoiling your child.

I struggle to see how greater happiness could be achieved by reining in that magical sense of scope and possibility to stare down some oatmeal. 

In the 1980s I spent a lot of time with a Portland psychiatrist, Ralph Crawshaw. I was the executive director of Oregon Health Decisions, a grassroots bioethics organization. Crawshaw came up with the idea of forming the group.

When we were eating at a restaurant one day, the subject of meditation came up. I told Crawshaw that I tried to repeat a mantra as much as possible during my waking hours in order to keep my wandering mind under as much control as possible. He replied, "Not for me. I'm always thinking about something, no matter what I'm doing."

Crawshaw was an immensely creative and productive guy. He produced a lot of good in the world. And he seemed content with his life -- including thinking all the time.

I've remembered that conversation because his comment struck at an assumption that I hadn't questioned since I began meditating: thinking about the past or future, or, heck, even about the present, isn't as "spiritual" (whatever that means) as contemplating reality with a quiet mind.

Maybe. Maybe not. 

I suspect "not" is the better answer. It's hard to see why thinking is less desirable than tasting a strawberry. Or why imagining what could be is less desirable than observing what is. 

Like Ruth Whippman says, the human brain has the ability to mix and match images of past, present, and future, whether these be thoughts, emotions, perceptions, or whatever.

So maybe genuine mindfulness is embracing whatever your mind wants to do, so long as it works well for you.

 

"Anxious time" is mental. "Calm time" is physical.

Here's another chapter in my never-ending story of Observations About the Cosmos That Are Either Astoundingly Brilliant or Fucking Obvious.

I've figured out where anxiety comes from! And how to cure it! 

OK, let's make that my anxiety. Your results may vary. Consult a qualified professional rather than this blog post if you're really being driven crazy by uncontrollable worrying.

The sort of anxiety I'm talking about manifests in me as a sort of negative mental background buzz. I'll be lying in bed before going to sleep at night, or my senior citizen afternoon nap, idly thinking about stuff in my life, and I'll notice that instead of my state of mind being neutral or positive, there's a mildly bothersome feeling of something is wrong. 

That feeling is so common, usually I don't even notice it. Like I said, it's more like a gray mental background that makes thoughts and feelings which pass in front of it more darkly worrisome than they would be otherwise.

A mild tendency toward negativity is another way of putting it, as if my mind is habitually anticipating a less cheery future than the situation I'm pondering really deserves. 

A few days ago, I had a sudden intuitive realization: what's going on here is a Time Problem.

Before I describe that realization, I'll note that this particular Observation About the Cosmos also explains a feeling I sometimes get after ingesting some vaporized marijuana. (In Oregon, where I live, marijuana is legal.) Here too, a feeling of anxiety seems to be a Time Problem.

In both cases -- stoned and not-stoned -- my mind appears to be operating on a different time scale than the rest of physical reality. The stoned case is easier to analyze, because for me and many other marijuana users, time seems to slow down when I'm high. 

So, for example, after smoking some pot I'll be brushing my teeth with an electric toothbrush that has a timer and think, "This is taking longer than it should." It isn't, of course. When I stop thinking that thought and just focus on the physical act of brushing my teeth, any feeling of should goes away. 

What I mean is, paying attention to physical reality as fully as possible makes my sense of internal time pleasantly mesh with the passage of events in the world. If I'm high after ingesting some marijuana, the events seem to go slower. Which isn't a problem, because I'm an integral part of those events. Time and Me are one, not two.

(If this doesn't make sense, smoke some pot, then read the preceding paragraph again.)

By contrast, I've noticed that in both my stoned and not-stoned states, a mild sense of anxiety arises when my Mental Time conflicts with Physical Time. Now, I realize that nobody, including scientists, has a genuine grasp of what "time" is. I'm speaking about it in the commonsense understanding of things happening one after the other.

So when I'd idly thinking about what I have to do in the future, or what I've done in the past, the sense of worry that often comes across me seems to have its root in a time mismatch. I feel out of sync, or out of sorts, because the objective passage of time in the physical world that surrounds me is different from the subjective sense of time in the mental world within my brain.

Another way of putting it: The world moves at a slower pace than my thoughts and feelings do.

Thus when I think along the lines of "tonight I've got to write a blog post about X," there will be a certain anxiousness associated with that thought -- because my mind is projecting an image of tonight and the physical world is still at 3 pm on a sunny Oregon day.

Sure, this is Meditation/Mindfulness 101, not an astounding fresh insight. But I still find this Observation About the Cosmos a revelation. For me. Again, your results may vary.

All I have to do to regain a sense of calm, a feeling of everything is just fine with the world, is to re-focus my attention on... the world. The physical world, not my mental world. Lying in bed, being aware of my breathing, the weight of my head on a pillow, any sounds coming from outside the room -- now I feel totally relaxed. 

The world is going at the same speed as I am. I am going at the same speed as the world. World and me are in sync, together, in harmony, not at odds. Which feels good.

(Final attempt at a succinct description of what is essentially indescribable: Physical time moves at a constant speed for me; Mental time typically moves at a faster speed for me.)

Preparing for certain future events vs. being prepared for anything

This afternoon, during some part of my all-important senior citizen nap time, I had another of my Aha! moments where everything in the cosmos becomes crystal clear for a brief moment of intuitive comprehensibility.

And this time, astoundingly, I wasn't even under the influence of a psycho-active substance. Aside from my brain, which now and then approaches a genuine psychologically "active" state of being. As I felt it did today.

I was mulling over some of the things I needed to do in the realm of my retired-person civic activism.

For example, I'm engaged in a fight against a wastefully expensive bond measure in my town. I started to think about arguments I needed to write before the November election, debating points that would sway voters, how I'd respond if this or that happened. 

Then a Flash Realization burst into my mulling-mind. 

Instead of preparing for various sorts of imaginary futures that almost certainly would never come to be -- especially in a manner anywhere close to what I was thinking could happen -- I should be focused on being prepared to flexibly and capably respond to whatever is going to happen. 

Now, I realize that this last sentence where I tried to describe my Aha! moment may seem to be akin to the psychedelic experience I described in "Mini-secret of universe revealed."

Back in the late 1960’s, illicit pharmacology brought me regularly to marvelous “Aha!” insights into the ultimate nature of the universe. The reason I currently neither have a Nobel prize in physics, nor am I recognized as a great spiritual sage, is that the insights were only insightful while in my artificially altered state of consciousness.

They could be shared, though, which lent them more validity than they probably deserved. One moonless night in 1968 a friend and I were rolling rocks off the edge of a ravine in the Santa Cruz mountains, marveling at how long they took to noisily reach the bottom. Moving on to deeper questions, we then stood in the darkness, trying to grok with our mescaline-fueled minds what everything was all about.

We could feel it so clearly. But what was it that we were feeling? We struggled for words to express the plenitude of this psychedelic experience. “The universe is…” I’d say. “Yes, the universe is…” my companion would respond. We almost had it! One more try! “The universe is…” I said again. And then—I swear to god this is true—we simultaneously proclaimed: “a paper bag turned inside out!”

It was so right, so true, so perfect. What a relief! Finally, all the searching was over. No more pouring over the Tibetan Book of the Dead for clues to what lies beyond this veil of maya. It is the other side of this paper bag of a universe! In the morning, none of this made a whit of sense to either of us. Oh well, that’s cool.

Still, I feel that today's mini-revelation has more staying power. For one thing, it fits with what I've been learning and experiencing since I started taking Tai Chi classes about 12 years ago. 

You can never know exactly (or often, even close to) what someone else is going to do. The best thing is to be sensitively aware to what is happening around you, then respond appropriately in a centered, composed, calm fashion. This is one of the favorite sayings of my Tai Chi instructor, who, when asked what the martial arts application of a particular move or posture is, tells us "It depends." 

Meaning, it is impossible to anticipate what needs to be done until the moment of doing arises. Life is unpredictable. So are fighting, attacks, self-defense. 

My intuition today echoed this sentiment. I'd often, or usually, be better off not trying to predict exactly what I need to do in the days, hours, minutes, or even seconds to come. I've already realized this in the religious sphere, since, for example, I no longer worry about an imaginary afterlife.

If it happens, I'll deal with it then. For now, I'm solely occupied with this life. 

There was a moment of peace that came with my "be prepared for anything, rather than some particular thing" naptime realization.

Relaxing, awareness of the present moment, being ready to handle whatever comes along as gracefully as possible -- this frame of mind struck me as way more beneficial than trying to prepare for all sorts of future events that either won't happen at all, or not anywhere close to how I was visualizing them.

Works for me. Until it doesn't. The nice thing about cosmic realizations is that there's no end of them. 

Break the habit of separating body and mind

Almost always, it is best for our body and mind to be in sync. Meaning, whatever our body is doing, the mind should be focused on that activity. 

This is a key conclusion I've reached after becoming churchless following several decades of believing the opposite: that mind was a separate entity from body, and it was desirable to view the contents of consciousness as distinct from bodily goings-on. 

Back in those dualistic days, when I embraced an Eastern "leave this world and find a better one" meditation approach, my guru taught that a mantra should be repeated as much as possible during waking hours. So if, for example, I was washing the dishes, the mantra should be silently spoken over and over within my mind. 

Body washing dishes. Mind repeating mantra. Again, dualistic, divided, disassociated. 

This practice was supposed to assist in withdrawal of one's attention from the physical world during closed-eyed, seated meditation. Eventually supernatural soul-consciousness would be realized as distinct from ordinary everyday awareness of the physical world.

Now, this strikes me as both untrue and undesirable.

Scientific evidence strongly points to the mind being the brain-in-action. Thus both mind and brain are material, part of the physical body. This is a pleasingly unitary perspective. My thoughts, emotions, perceptions, and everything else that is part of my awareness is made of the same stuff the rest of the world is: atoms, quantum fields. 

So when I meditate these days, I focus on my breathing and other bodily sensations. Because my intention isn't to do anything other than sit quietly in my meditation chair for twenty minutes or so, I just need to be aware of what my body is quietly doing and feeling. 

Sure, I get to thinking about what I've done in the past, and what I need to do in the future. But I try to keep in mind that those past and future actions are connected with a body in a different time and space. 

For instance, while I'm meditating I might start thinking about an email I need to send later in the day. I'm not sitting in front of my laptop, though. There's no way I can write the email while sitting with my eyes closed in my meditation room. My body and mind are disconnected, out of sync, not in harmony. 

Likewise, when I'm riding my much-beloved StreetStrider, an outdoor elliptical bike, I'll find myself similarly divided when my legs and arms are striding along while thoughts of something else meander in my mind. 

These aren't productive thoughts, because -- as noted before -- there's no way I can put them into action while I'm on my bike in the middle of Salem's thousand acre Minto Brown Island Park. So I remind myself, "Keep your mind aware of what your body is doing, Brian," and go back to fully enjoying my bike ride.

I used to be skeptical of the notion that mind and body should usually be doing the same thing.

That was in my dualistic philosophical phase. Again, I believed that mind and soul were separable from the body. This always happened after death, and it could also happen while alive if someone meditated in a certain fashion. Now, though, I realize that I'm most fulfilled and happiest when I embrace a unified view of life.

Body isn't separate from mind. Thoughts mostly should be in accord with where my body is, and what it is engaged in.

If my fingers are resting on a computer keyboard, as they are right now, it makes sense to be thinking about what I want to say in a blog post. But when I'm lying in bed with my eyes closed, ready to go to sleep, thoughts of a time and place different from the present moment really aren't productive.

Or in tune with reality. 

"Be Here Now" -- actually, it isn't possible to do anything else

I started studying yoga and meditation in 1969, when I was a student at San Jose State College. I've got a well-thumbed 1972 sixth printing copy of Ram Dass' "Be Here Now" book, which was published in 1971. 

I haven't re-read the book for a long time. I guess the title alone was enough for me to keep in mind. 

But today, when I was meditating in the morning, as I have virtually every day for the past 47 years or thereabouts, I was struck by how meaningless those words, Be Here Now, seemed to be in my present churchless approach to life. 

What else is possible, but being here now? 

My brain is the source of my consciousness. No brain, no consciousness. (Many would disagree, but there is no demonstrable evidence that consciousness can exist without a functional brain.)

My brain doesn't exist in the future. Or, in the past. It exists now. As does everything else in existence. So no matter what my brain is doing, no matter what form my consciousness takes, it is happening here and now. 

Awareness of sensations, thoughts, emotions, intuitions, abstract reasonings, concrete perceptions -- all of this, every bit of it without exception, is happening here and now. So what's the big deal with that oft-heard adage, be here now? 

Turning to the "Time and Space" chapter on page 90, there's a contradiction in Ram Dass' book that reflects how I was feeling about its central admonition. On the one hand, I read:

Begin to notice that wherever you go or whatever time it is by the clock...it is ALWAYS HERE AND NOW. In fact you will begin to see that you can't get away from the HERE and NOW. Let the clock and the earth do their "thing"...let the comings and goings of life continue...But YOU stay HERE and NOW. This is an exercise to bring you to the ETERNAL PRESENT...where it all is.

Verbiage like this used to appeal to me. But now it strikes me as New Age nonsense.

OK, the book correctly says that it isn't possible to get away from the HERE and NOW, which is ALWAYS present. But then it proposes an exercise to bring me to the ETERNAL PRESENT, even though this apparently can't be gotten away from.

For specific periods of time focus your thoughts in the present.
DON'T THINK ABOUT THE FUTURE
JUST BE HERE NOW.
DON'T THINK ABOUT THE PAST.
JUST BE HERE NOW.

(The book has a lot of capitalizations and bold-facing.)

Now I'm confused. When I think, I'm thinking here and now. If I think about what might happen in the future, or about what has happened in the past, those thoughts are happening here and now. 

So why is not thinking about the future or past especially here-and-now'y?  Ram Dass has just said that "you can't get away from the HERE and NOW."

There I am sitting in my chair, meditating.

I'm aware of physical sensations: my breathing, sounds in the house, the weight of my body. I'm also aware of thoughts: what I'm going to do after my morning quiet time, memories of the trip my wife and I just took to see relatives in Indiana and Kentucky. 

Today it struck me more strongly than usual that any sort of Be Here Now advice is ridiculous. Again, there's no way we can do anything else. Brain activity always is happening within my cranium in a succession of present moments. 

Thinking about the future is happening here and now. So is thinking about the past. 

I realize the appeal of believing that stopping thoughts about the future or past somehow is more "spiritual" than envisioning what might happen, or has already happened. But this doesn't make any sense. It just creates an artificial division within us, an erroneous assumption that thinking about the future or past takes us away from the present moment.

No, it doesn't. Whatever I think about, that is happening in the here and now. Likewise, if I'm not thinking and am focusing on the sensation of my breath, that also is happening in the here and now. 

Admittedly, what I'm talking about isn't anything new. This is Mindfulness 101, really: accept whatever is happening in consciousness, whether it be sensations, perceptions, thoughts, emotions, whatever. Don't reject anything, because there is no need to.

Like Ram Dass correctly said, it isn't possible to get away from the here and now. Unfortunately, he went on to say that thoughts about the future or past DO take us away from the here and now. 

And therein lies a lot of wasted effort by the many meditators -- one of whom used to be me -- who mistakenly believe that stopping thoughts is a "spiritual" exercise. Thinking is just one thing the brain is capable of doing. Here and now, like everything else the brain does.

Think. Or don't think. It doesn't matter. Whatever we do, it always is happening HERE and NOW. 

Profitable spiritual investing: do nothing extra in tough times

My churchless "sermon" this Sunday is based on an article in TIME magazine's March 28 issue, "In a turbulent stock market, the best investment move is the least obvious."

This non-sacred secular scripture ends with a paragraph that has deep meaning for those of us -- which means all of us at some point -- who face difficult choices about how to deal with tough times in life.

You can't avoid all the dangers that lurk in the global economy, but you can minimize their impact. Timing any market remains a fool's game. Another mistake, says Moskowitz, is that when stocks fall, many investors try to regain some sense of control by selling. 

That's a bad idea because it keeps them from benefiting from the rebound that will eventually follow, as happened after the Great Recession.

"There are things you really can't do anything about," he says. "It sounds defeatist and pessimistic, but doing something might be the worst thing."

T. Rowe Price notes that less than 2% of its 401(k)-plan participants made any moves during the January rout. The safest move, in other words, may be no move at all.

Excellent investment advice. It fits with my previous blog posts about spiritual investing.

"Spiritual investing takes nothing."
"Profitable spiritual investing"
"My 100% guaranteed spiritual investment scheme"
"Spiritual diversification, a sound salvation strategy"

Let's be clear that in my current godless frame of mind, the word spiritual doesn't mean anything otherworldly or supernatural. It just refers to a deeper outlook on life, a more philosophical perspective, an attempt to find meaning and purpose.

As the TIME article says, often people try to over-control circumstances. When shit happens, when tough times pop into their life, they make several sorts of mistakes. 

(1) They don't see what is happening clearly. Almost always, what goes down, comes back up. Better times follow worse times. Feeling bad will be replaced by feeling good.

(2) In an attempt to fix by themselves now what likely will naturally fix itself later, they engage in unwise actions rather than accepting the wisdom of flowing along with what is happening -- which eventually will change course on its own.

(3) And if something can indeed be done to effectively ameliorate the tough times, instead of just doing that, they turn to useless religious practices like prayer.

The last mistake, of course, is a big part of what allows religions to prosper. Well, the first two mistakes also. But I think #3 is central to why people embrace religious supernaturalism when they're faced with a misfortune: disease, disability, danger, distress, or such.

Being thoroughly godless now, yet having previously embraced an Eastern form of religion based on a belief that the guru was God in Human Form, I can understand the appeal of making a prayer or petition to some higher divine power.

But since there is no evidence that such a power exists, I'm now convinced that it is not only useless to pray during tough times, it is harmful -- if the goal is to make those times less tough.

We have two choices when life doesn't give us what we want, one good and one bad. 

Good. Accept the reality of what is happening. Do whatever you can to improve the situation. 
Bad. Feel "this shouldn't be happening." Pray to God or some other divinity to change things.

Now, I realize that some people do what they can to change things in a worldly sense, while also appealing to a godly being to jump in and change things supernaturally. 

This may appear harmless, but I disagree. Praying to God, or hoping God will intervene in a troubling situation, takes energy, attention, and focus away from actually doing something effective.

If a tree is about to fall on top of you, the best thing to do is get out of the way fast, not stop and pray that you'll be saved.

There isn't any situation, not one, where engaging in some religious or prayerful appeal will help make things better beyond engaging in some concrete worldly action. Religious believers may believe it will, but all of the evidence points to them being wrong. 

So doing nothing, meaning nothing extra from what the situation demands in a practical sense, is the best way to deal with tough times. 

"Higher" states of consciousness actually are lower

I was turned on to an intriguing TEDx talk by neuroscientist Arne Dietrich about Surfing the Stream of Consciousness by a reader of this blog.

His description of the core theme of the 17 minute video starts at about the 13 minute mark, if you want to get the gist in only four minutes.

 

A blog post on The Peaceful Self site, "Flying With the Pixies," includes a transcript of part of Dietrich's talk. 

"Your mind, your soul, your hopes, your dreams, your emotions is about a cantaloupe size of meat crackling with electricity inside your skull. There's nothing sacrosanct about altered states of consciousness.

You've always been told that altered states of consciousness are higher states of consciousness. The hallmark is that altered states of consciousness is the subtraction of all the mental faculties that make us so special in the animal kingdom. Hypofrontality means that the very pinnacle of human evolution, the prefrontal cortex, must be down regulated, which means that you lose these higher cognitive functions that make us so special. 

All altered states of consciousness are lower states of consciousness. You connect to nothing but your own reduced mind.

Some people find the idea repugnant, beneath the significance of the mystical experience and that's alright if you want to hold onto some sort of stone age, medieval sense of spirituality, but I think you will only find this counterintuitive if you hold onto the idea that in those special moments, when you catch a glimpse of some parallel, mental universe, in those very moments, the mind, somehow, can transcend the machinery of the brain, become a ghost in the machine, ride above the fray, and enter some sort of platonian world of eternal truth and beauty in flying off with the pixies."

Dietrich speaks about transient hypofrontality. This is when neural activation in the prefrontal cortex needed to do higher brain functions is much reduced. So you have "no ability to extract yourself from the here and now."

Hence, the feeling of being in a state of consciousness where time slows down and a sense of being at one with the world is experienced.

This is an entirely natural condition, but athletes, meditators, drug users, and other flow-junkies find the feeling so wonderful, often it is viewed as a higher state of consciousness. Actually, from the standpoint of evolution and neuroscience that sense of flow and loss of self is a lower state -- as Dietrich says in the transcript above.

Which doesn't mean transient hypofrontality, a.k.a, flow, isn't a good thing.

Our brains wouldn't have this ability if it wasn't adaptive in many situations -- such as being attacked unexpectedly and needing to fight back with our complete attention in the present moment (thinking about what we're going to have for dinner tomorrow isn't called for when there may be no tomorrow for us).

Nor is recognition of it a new thing.

Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi famously wrote about flow many years ago. "The Rise of Superman" is a recent book about optimal physical performance -- in line with the oft-heard advice my marital arts/Tai Chi instructor gives us students, the Yoda-like, No think, just do. 

It is indeed cool that sitting in eyes-closed meditation, smoking marijuana, ingesting a magic mushroom, or walking in nature can bring us to much the same thoughtless, timeless state of consciousness as enjoyed by a big wave surfer or expert skateboarder. 

Dietrich's point still stands, though: this is a subtraction from what makes us peculiarly human, a loss of higher cognitive functions. 

Again, this can be highly pleasant and functional. In certain circumstances.

Transient hypofrontality obviously isn't a condition we'd want to be in permanently, as we pretty much lose the ability to plan for the future or learn from the past. And it isn't a path to enlightenment or some other ethereal altered consciousness.

It's just another way the physical brain works.

Advice about marijuana "paranoia" from an ex-hippie pothead

In case you're wondering... sure, this post does indeed belong on this here Church of the Churchless. After all, I've written at some length about why "Marijuana is my secular sacrament." Excerpt:

I’m grateful to Mother Nature for bringing forth a substance that elevates the spirit.

There’s a reason we speak of getting high.

Cannabis has a way of making my usual worries and anxieties appear much smaller, as if I were standing on top of a mountain, looking at them from a distance rather than close-up.

At the same time, I don’t feel like I’ve lost touch with reality. Rather, marijuana stimulates a sensation of This is how life really is.

Meaning, my supposedly “normal” perception of having to make my way through a world filled with obstacles, problems, barriers, irritations, and what-not is supplanted by a flowing feeling where stuff happens, but not really to me.

Both modern neuroscience and ancient forms of spirituality such as Buddhism agree that this cannabis-caused diminishing of self is closer to how things truly are than everyday waking consciousness.

Read the entire post for a fuller understanding of why I consider cannabis to be such a positive contribution for most adult lives. 

(Note: I've changed my mind about grinding buds, having embraced the Santa Cruz Shredder.)

Here I want to speak a bit about a subject that came up in comments on a recent post on my other blog, "How to make Crock Pot Pot with coconut oil." Namely, paranoia.

Personally, it's kind of difficult for me to understand how paranoia is associated with marijuana use in a state like Oregon, where I live. Marijuana is legal for adults to use, grow, purchase, and give away. So any anxiety about it, a.k.a. paranoia, must have a reason other than fear of being busted.

Which was a real fear back in my hippie college days at San Jose State College in the late 1960's.

Then us potheads had good reason to worry about smoking weed -- even when we weren't driving around, or otherwise out and about in the "straight world." At that time, being stopped by a police officer for possession of marijuana had more dire consequences than it usually does today.

But I do understand another cause of paranoia: a fear of losing touch with who we are. Or more accurately, with who we feel we are.  During my first LSD experience, I was convinced that I'd gone insane.

Not temporarily. Permanently. 

The friend who had also dropped acid (LSD)  had the job of looking after newbie me. However, it didn't take long for my take on reality to be embraced by him also: Sure, we've gone crazy. But this isn't a bad thing. We'll just have to get used to this new way of being.

Which gets me to my advice for people who are worried about losing their sense of self after imbibing marijuana. Again, read my secular sacrament post to get a fuller philosophical/neuroscientific take on this. 

Here's another excerpt (which came from a column I wrote for my town's alternative paper):

Apparently an underlying assumption of legal pot opponents is that human consciousness is some sort of pristine, pure pool of unsullied awareness which shouldn’t be contaminated by chemical substances like THC, the major psychoactive ingredient in marijuana.

Here’s another science news flash: the brain produces conscious awareness, and it is filled with over 100 chemical neurotransmitters.

They make us happy, horny, hungry, and so much more. Including, high.

I’m writing these words buzzed on a chemical my brain adores: caffeine. Is this wrong? Should caffeine be illegal because it alters my consciousness, increasing alertness and improving my mood?

Of course not. It’s beautiful, really, how humans can bring parts of the world into their brains, then those substances enable them to view the world differently.

We are the world. The world is us. There is no immaterial self standing apart from materiality.

So it isn’t a big deal to add marijuana to the long list of ways human brains are legally altered chemically in Oregon. Marijuana is safer than alcohol, tobacco, and prescription drugs. Informed adults should be able to choose their preferred consciousness-changing substance.

After all, there’s no such thing as a normal state of consciousness.

Each of us already creates our own reality. That's what the human brain does. It's a scientific fact. There's no "real world" outside our heads which can be compared with a certain state of human awareness. What we're conscious of, what we're aware of -- that is reality.

So when someone worries about losing their sense of self if they use marijuana, which can be given the term "paranoia," I'd like to offer these suggestions.

Don't dive headlong into cannabis consumption, especially if you've never tried it, or it has been a long time since you have. Start small. If you live where marijuana is legal and clearly packaged, get a variety with low THC.

An indica strain might be better for new users than a sativa strain. (Descriptions here.) Indica provides more of a body high, while sativa is more of a head high. Or go with a hybrid, for a bit of each.

Importantly, relax.

You're not going to lose control of yourself. Probably you won't experience any loss of bodily coordination, like people do with alcohol. (In my college days I did a heck of a lot of pool-playing and frisbee-tossing just fine while stoned out of my mind.)

Flow with whatever you're feeling.

Say to yourself, "It's all good." Because most likely, it will be. Embrace this temporary change of consciousness. Like I said in my essay, there's no Real You anyway. There's just the habitual you, the you you're most familiar with being.

I won't argue with those who worry about marijuana causing impaired driving. Sure, it's advisable not to drive under the influence -- of alcohol, cannabis, or other mind-altering substances (such as prescription drugs).

However, there's also what I like to call impaired living.

This is way more common than impaired driving. Symptoms include: excessive worrying, being uptight, inability to relax and let loose, thinking too much about the past and future, failure to laugh at funny things -- which, in the right frame of mind, includes just about everything.

So I look upon marijuana not so much as a mind-altering drug, but as a mind-enhancing herb. To quote myself (a favorite activity):

I don’t see this as a drive to escape reality.

Rather, marijuana and other psychedelic drugs propel human consciousness into a less ego-centered state that more accurately reflects neuroscientific understanding of the brain’s inherent selflessness.

Live happy and healthy -- die soon anyway

A Mark Morford piece, "Study: Live happy and healthy and die soon anyway," appeals to my basic cranky old man sense of WTF.

Sure, I'm happy most of the time. Especially when I'm complaining about something. Which includes religion. 

But I don't enjoy feeling that happiness is a must, that if I'm not happy bad things are going to happen to me. (Aside from being unhappy, of course.)

This is, though, how in the past I've looked upon supposed scientific findings that a positive outlook is good for your health. And, if one believes in religiosity, for your soul.

Thankfully, according to the New York Times, "Happiness doesn't bring good health, study finds."

Go ahead and sulk. Unhappiness won’t kill you.

A study published on Wednesday in The Lancet, following one million middle-aged women in Britain for 10 years, finds that the widely held view that happiness enhances health and longevity is unfounded.

“Happiness and related measures of well-being do not appear to have any direct effect on mortality,” the researchers concluded.

“Good news for the grumpy” is one way to interpret the findings, said Sir Richard Peto, an author of the study and a professor of medical statistics and epidemiology at the University of Oxford.

He and his fellow researchers decided to look into the subject because, he said, there is a widespread belief that stress and unhappiness cause disease.

Such beliefs can fuel a tendency to blame the sick for bringing ailments on themselves by being negative, and to warn the well to cheer up or else.

“Believing things that aren’t true isn’t a good idea,” Professor Peto said in an interview. “There are enough scare stories about health.”

Morford took these findings and ran with them in his column. Here's how he ended his piece.

For the apocalyptically religious, for the devoutly nihilistic, for those convinced life is a hellhole sinbucket merely to be “survived”? This is surely terrible news indeed.

After all,  millions of us are taught and trained to be addicted to stress and unhappiness. It’s the norm. It’s just what modern humans do.

How many people do you know who, every single day, actively (and masochistically) seek out things to make them more bitter, scared and resentful? How many among us love seeing the world as an relentlessly offensive riot of debauchery, suffering, and corruption? How many are convinced if they’re not working to exhaustion and sleeping horribly and never getting enough “done,” they’re just not trying hard enough? How many feel, deep down, morbidly reassured that at least they’ll die soon anyway, so who cares?

Alas, their sour antipathy will linger, on and on, like a rash. Fun!

But what about the alternative? What of the elusive “happiness” thing? Is there really no proven health benefit if you flip it all around and try to do as the wise ones suggest, and practice, say, releasing your death-grip on your made-up convictions, chill out on the relentless striving and maybe dissolve, just a little, your ego’s furious insistence that you have some sort of clue as to what’s really going on?

Put another way: What happens when you forgo your poisonous insistence that something, somewhere is always wrong, broken, flawed and goddammit why can’t life be the way it’s supposed to be, and why won’t someone fix it for me?

As the marvelous spiritual teacher Adyashanti put it, “There is a very simple secret to being happy. Just let go of your demand on the present moment.” What might happen if you do? Have you ever tried it?

Science shrugs. You probably won’t live longer. You might not prevent illness, though a billion years of empirical evidence – not to mention common sense – seems to suggest otherwise.

But you might, just might, uncover a life of surreptitious, messy, imperfect bliss, shocking and weird, still full of pain and loss, but no longer tormented by it all, no longer endlessly, numbly disappointed for reasons that have no true basis in reality.

The panic might subside. The veil might lift. You might just become, as they say, more fully awake to the moments of your life, free of the toxic overlay, the karmically lethal undercurrent of bogus dissatisfaction telling you, every moment of every day, that something is always wrong and that things should, somehow, be different. In short: You won’t live longer, you’ll simply live much, much better. Can you imagine?

Mantra meditation basically is useless

First off, tonight I had another circular moment when I decided to search Google for "mantra meditation useless," the topic that I wanted to blog about.

This has happened to me before when I've asked the Great God Google to enlighten me on some subject. I do a search, then find that some of my own Church of the Churchless posts are the top results. 

So I turn out to be the answer to the question that I asked myself. 

In this case, Google led me to my "Meditation is useless" and "Skeptical look at mantras and Transcendental Meditation" posts. 

From the second post, I was sort of surprised to find that over three years ago I'd come to the same conclusion that has more firmly settled into my meditating mind now.

This is some of what I said back in 2012.

I've never practiced Transcendental Meditation (TM). But for over forty years I've meditated daily, mostly using a mantra (a word or words repeated over and over) just as TM does.

...For most of those forty years I used a mantra taught by a Sant Mat organization, Radha Soami Satsang Beas, that was known as the Five Holy Names. The mantra bore some resemblance to the ones used by the Transcendental Meditation folks. 

...I've come to much the same concluson as Sudarsha has: following the breath mindfully is a better meditation approach than is repeating a mantra mindlessly. 

...Why would you repeat a mantra in your mind when your goal is to be aware of what exists in what I like to call really real reality?

It'd be ridiculous to remain focused on mentally repeating sex, sex, sex, sex, sex when a beautiful willing partner is lying next to you on a bed, arms outstretched for your embrace. 

Likewise, it'd be ridiculous to keep saying sunset, sunset, sunset, sunset, sunset as the REAL sun is dipping below the horizon, displaying gorgeous colors across the sky.

And even if your aim is religious, does it make any sense to utter God, God, God, God, God (or other supposed names of divinity) instead of being receptively open to whatever divine presence might be capable of being experienced at the moment?

Occasionally I still use a mantra, but more and more it seems pointless to speak repeated words inside my head. Life is going on all the time I'm awake and aware; experience is happening all the time I'm awake and aware.

A mantra now seems like an unnecessary distraction from life and experience. When I'm ballroom dancing, I don't think to myself dance, dance, dance, dance, dance. I just dance. 

I was planning to say something new about why mantra meditation strikes me as useless. But re-reading what I said before, there isn't much that I want to add to it.

Currently, I still enjoy simply being aware of what is right around me -- both inside and outside of me. 

Breathing. Sounds. Sensations. Thoughts. Feelings. 

Once in a while I revert to repeating some sort of mantra, but I don't keep that up for very long. It just seems boring to repeat a sound or word inside my head. Why do this when the world is continually "repeating" something much more interesting? 

Reality.

I'll take that... over this...

A walk in nature could be better than meditation

I've meditated every day since 1970. So obviously I'm a big believer in meditation. 

But the more meditating I've done, the less I believe it is the best way to feel better and deal effectively with life's problems. 

Sure, it is one way. There just are so many others -- as Brené Brown implied in an answer to a question posed to her in the "8 Questions" feature on the last page of a recent issue of TIME magazine.

You say one of the keys to all this is spirituality. Why is that?

I really wrestled with that. The way I define spirituality is a deeply held belief that we are inextricably connected to one another by something bigger than us, and something that is grounded in love. Some people call that God, and some people call that fishing.

Well, my wife would call that "nature."

She, like me, finds much peace and contentment in walks, usually with our dog. I feel as calm, centered, and at ease with myself and the world after a few minutes of walking on the unpaved natural paths in our rural neighborhood as I do after a considerably longer meditation session.

Which doesn't mean meditation is useless. I enjoy closing my eyes, following my breath, and letting myself be immersed in the present moment. 

However, there are lots of ways to be mindful of the here and now. Some don't require any special attention or effort -- such as engaging in a physical activity that grabs one's attention fully.

Dancing. Surfing. Skiing. Sex. To name a few.

So I enjoyed a piece by Adam Grant in the New York Times, "Can We End the Meditation Madness?" Meditation, like yoga, has become a trendy fad. The hype, though, is greater than the reality. Grant writes:

I am being stalked by meditation evangelists.

They approach with the fervor of a football fan attacking a keg at a tailgate party. “Which method of meditation do you use?”

I admit that I don’t meditate, and they are incredulous. It’s as if I’ve just announced that the Earth is flat. “How could you not meditate?!”

I have nothing against it. I just happen to find it dreadfully boring.

“But Steve Jobs meditated!”

Yeah, and he also did L.S.D. — do you want me to try that, too?

“L.S.D. is dangerous. Science shows that meditation is good for you. It will change your life.”

Will it?

...Before we’re all swept into this fad, we ought to ask why meditation is useful. So I polled a group of meditation researchers, teachers and practitioners on why they recommend it. I liked their answers, but none of them were unique to meditation. Every benefit of the practice can be gained through other activities.

This is the conclusion from an analysis of 47 trials of meditation programs, published last year in JAMA Internal Medicine: “We found no evidence that meditation programs were better than any active treatment (i.e., drugs, exercise and other behavioral therapies).”

The primary reason people meditate, the experts tell me, is that it may reduce stress. Fine. But so does quality sleep and exercise. And you can reduce stress simply by changing the way you think about it. When you’re feeling anxious, it’s a signal that you care about the outcome of an upcoming event — and it can motivate you to prepare.

In an experiment led by the Stanford psychologist Alia Crum, when people had only 10 minutes to prepare a charismatic speech, simply reframing the stress response as healthy was enough to relax them and reduce their physiological responses, if they tended to be highly reactive.

Sure, meditate if you enjoy it. And do something else if that makes you feel better than meditation does. 

In the long history of humanity, most people have lived their lives pleasantly and meaningfully without doing a special thing called "meditation."

During my many years of meditating, I haven't found that, in general, people who meditate are any kinder, happier, or wiser than people who don't meditate. 

Like fishing, meditation appeals to some, while not to others. Each to their own. Vive la difference.

It is impossible for the brain to always "be here now"

I'm a big fan of mindfulness and meditation. I resonate with a non-religious, secular, scientific approach to Buddhism. 

But I'm also an avid reader of neuroscience books. My current fave is Antonio Damasio's "Self Comes to Mind: Constructing the Conscious Brain." 

Much of the book is filled with more details about brain anatomy and functioning than I really care about. The overall theme, though, is fascinating -- how our sense of self is built up from more primitive primordial feelings, along with a less primitive core self and a possibly uniquely human autobiographical self.

Today I came across a section in the book that reinforced my skepticism about the oft-heard meditation admonition to shut off discursive thinking and be here now.

Which basically means, immersed in direct perceptions and associated feelings of what is right around us. 

In Damasio's terms, this would leave us, pretty much, with just those primordial feelings of bodily existence and a core self existing in the present moment. In other words, not fully human. 

Sure, some people overdo thinking.

There is a time and place for embracing sensory impressions and bodily actions with little additional cogitation. But our brains also need space for contemplating the past and future, envisioning possibilities, imagining what could be rather than what is.

In this passage Damasio explains why it isn't possible to be both fully present in the here and now, and fully engaged in higher order activities of the cerebral cortex. We only have so much brain processing power.

Conscious deliberation is about reflection over knowledge. We apply reflection and knowledge when we decide on important matters in our lives. We use conscious deliberation to govern our loves and friendships, our education, our professional activities, our relations to others. Decisions pertaining to moral behavior, narrowly or broadly defined, involve conscious deliberation and take place over extended time periods.

Not only that, such decisions are processed in an offline mental space that overwhelms external perception. The subject at the center of conscious deliberation, the self in charge of the prospection of the future, is often distracted from external perception, inattentive to its vagaries. 

And there is a very good reason for this distraction in terms of brain physiology: the image-processing brain space, as we have seen, is the sum total of early sensory cortices; this same space needs to be shared by conscious reflection processes and direct perception; it is hardly up to the task of handling both without favoring one or the other.

Makes sense.

We speak of being "lost in thought." This isn't a bad thing. In fact, it is essential when conscious deliberation is taking place. If we were fully aware of the here and now, the brain wouldn't have the ability to do its thinking thing.

So there's a time to Be Here Now, and there's a time to Be There Then. It makes no sense to elevate one over the other, since both are a central part of being human.

Wow. My wife convinces me she's enlightened.

If you think I'm churchless and irreligious, you haven't met my wife, Laurel -- who is now surpassing me in skepticism about all things godly. 

She's even enlightening me about enlightenment. 

Driving home from central Oregon this afternoon, with plenty of time to converse during the two hour trip, Laurel said:

Why are so many people concerned about being enlightened? It's just about embracing reality. Which is right here, right now. So understanding there's no such thing as enlightenment, just reality, is true enlightenment. 

I couldn't add much to this bit of wisdom.

Mostly I just marveled at Laurel's evident enlightenment. Perhaps even more than me, she's come to understand that searching for an illusory SuperSized Consciousness is a recipe for wasting one's time.

Now, I realize that many people disagree with this. I would have disagreed with Laurel myself a decade or so ago, when I still believed it was possible to dissolve the illusion of everyday reality. 

Today, like my wife, I consider that the illusion is believing there is any illusion to dissolve. Sure, there's a lot to learn about the world -- both on a personal and communal level. 

But there's no convincing evidence that anything other than one's ordinary mind is needed to gain increased knowledge and understanding of what life is all about, a notion shared by John Gray in his new book, as I wrote about in my previous post.

I quoted Gray:

We do not know how matter came to dream our world into being: we do not know what, if anything, happens when the dream ends for us and we die. We yearn for a type of knowledge that would make us other than we are -- though what we would like to be, we cannot say. Why try to escape from yourself?

Accepting the fact of unknowing makes possible an inner freedom very different from that pursued by Gnostics. If you have this negative capability, you will not want a higher form of consciousness; your ordinary mind will give you all you need.

Today I came across a piece, "Alan Watts on What Reality Is and How to Become What You Are." Watts, of course, also was big on living an ordinary life without making it into anything other than what it naturally is.

The piece has a quote from Watts' book, Become What You Are.

Some time ago a group of people were sitting in a restaurant, and one of them asked the others to say what they meant by Reality. There was much vague discussion, much talk of metaphysics and psychology, but one of those present, when asked his opinion, simply shrugged his shoulders and pointed at the saltshaker.

He was amazed to find that no one understood him, yet he had intended to be neither clever nor obscure. His idea was just to give a commonsense answer to the question, on the ordinary assumption that Reality is whatever exists.

He was not understood because his friends, in common with many others, regarded Reality as a special kind of existence and Life (with a capital L) as a particular way of living. Thus we often meet those who talk about the difference between being a mere clod, a mere “animated stomach,” and a real person; between those who simply exist and those who really live.

Which is followed by another quote:

We have all met those who are trying very hard to be real persons, to give their lives Reality (or meaning) and to live as distinct from existing. These seekers are of many kinds, highbrow and lowbrow, ranging from students of arcane wisdom to the audiences of popular speakers on pep and personality, selling yourself and making your life a success.

I have never yet met anyone who tried to become a real person with success. The result of such attempts is invariably loss of personality, for there is an ancient paradox of the spiritual life whereby those who try to make themselves great become small.

The paradox is even a bit more complicated than this; it also means that if you try, indirectly, to make yourself great by making yourself small, you succeed only in remaining small. It is all a question of motive, of what you want. Motives may be subtly concealed, and we may not call the desire to be a real person the desire to be great; but that is just a matter of words.

David Lane explains why he meditates

Here's a link to a fascinating essay by David Lane, "Why I Meditate." It starts off with:

Recently there was an intense discussion on spiritual matters on Brian Hines’ widely read blog, The Church of the Churchless, and an Indian gentleman wrote to me via email providing a link to it, primarily because there was a question about why I still meditate given my skeptical outlook on most things religious. He too was curious and wanted to know more about my daily practice and my reasoning behind it. The following is my response.

At this point I don't really want to comment on what Lane says. After all, this piece is very personal. It's about why he meditates, even though he isn't religious in any traditional sense.

David Lane in India

So, read it. Feel free to leave your own comments if you like. 

I'll just say (OK, I couldn't resist commenting, at least a little bit) that my main question after my own quick read involves whether Lane considers that his meditation experiences reflect, at least in part, an objective transcendent reality beyond his own mind, or whether those experiences are brain-states reflecting goings-on within his own cranium.

Letting the mind be free is a good way to control it

Ooh, ooh! I wrote a Zen koan blog post title. And I don't even practice Zen. 

How does one control the mind? By letting the mind do whatever it wants.

This could be the key to... everything! Or maybe... nothing. Which could be the same thing.

Whatever, it's one of the main things I've learned since I signed up for Headspace, the trendy meditation app/approach that I started trying out a few months ago and wrote about here and here.

Since, I've done Andy Puddicombe's guided meditation thing every morning. I've worked my way into Day 28 of the Self-Esteem series, which involves 20-minute meditations that get increasingly silent and on-your-own'ish as Andy does less verbal guiding.

At several points in each session he says something like he wrote here: 

Just allow the mind to be free. Without any sense of control or effort, just let it do whatever it wants to do.

This reminds me of a tweet by _2020mojo_ I came across today in my Twitter feed.

Clinging to "letting go".

During most of the guided meditation sessions, I'm doing something or other.

Feeling my bodily presence. Following my breath. Scanning through my body from head to toe, becoming aware of sensations. Counting breaths. Returning to present moment awareness when my attention wanders.

All this is pleasingly relaxing. But there's some effort involved, even in letting go. 

However, I've found that when Puddicombe says, "Now, just let your mind do whatever it wants," my mind doesn't want to do anything.

Well, at least not much of anything; less than what it wanted to do before, when I was trying to be mindful and not be captured by thoughts.

A bit of Googling led me to someone else who had the same Headspace experience. 

With the aim of ‘demystifying meditation’, Headspace cuts through all the usual myths – that there’s not enough time, it’s impossible to stop thoughts etc. The focus is on the concept of short periods of mindfulness – simply becoming aware of your own thoughts and feelings – rather than having to shut your mind off in any way.

At one point in the meditation, Andy instructs you to let go of any focus and ‘let your mind do whatever it wants to do’, and bizarrely it’s at this point that my hyperactive mind stops trying to leap and vault into a thousand different thoughts at once, and can’t seem to think about anything at all. I’m positively blank, and perhaps that’s the point.

Alan Watts speaks similarly in his books. Our attempts to control ourselves lead us into a bizarre mental maze where "I" try to make "me" do something, even though we're the same entity.

Even more strange is when I try to make me do nothing -- to be calm, relaxed, mentally motionless. Trying to let go of tension and effort introduces, duh..., a bit of tension and effort.

So when Puddicombe says "Let your mind do whatever it wants to do," I'm thrown into an intriguing state of mind. I can think, or not think. I can imagine, or not imagine. I can worry, or not worry. 

Somehow that or, that freedom, brings me to a difficult-to-describe sense of peace. I'm more peaceful when I'm not trying to be peaceful. 

The same principle probably applies to other areas of life.

Likely I'm more moral when I don't try to be moralistic. Likely I'm a better dancer when I don't try to be a good dancer. Likely I'm more humble when I don't try to lose my ego.

But I don't want to think too much about this. Likely this will be a better blog post if I don't try to improve it any more.

I don't really know what "spiritual" means anymore

Recently I had an essay rejected by the Spiritual Naturalist Society because the powers-that-be there, where I've become a regular contributor (for now...), didn't think that being politically active, in the sense of being involved in public policy debates, was a "spiritual" practice.

(See my post, Naturalism needs to rule public policy debates.)

This got me to thinking, again, about what that problematic word, spiritual, means. Most people, along with the dictionary, consider that it mostly refers to something supernatural, other-worldly, divine. 

But how does a naturalist, someone who only considers the material world to be real, differentiate between what is spiritual and what isn't?

Back in 2008, in What does it mean to be "spiritual"?, I quoted Andre Comte-Sponville, the author of "The Little Book of Atheist Spirituality." His answer made generally good sense to me then, and still does.

Taken in its broadest sense, spirituality can be said to include virtually all aspects of human life and spiritual is more or less synonymous with "mental" or "psychic." Today, this use of the word has pretty much gone out of use, and when people talk about spirituality, they are usually referring to a rather limited part of our inner life (though it may contemplate limitlessness) – the part that involves the absolute, the infinite and the eternal. It is, in a sense, the spirit's farthermost point and its greatest amplitude.

So if "spirit" refers to mental, which tends to be my leaning, there isn't anything in human awareness or experience that isn't spiritual. And that obviously includes political activism.

Restricting "spiritual" to mean only the farthest limits of material existence, a contemplation of the vast extent (maybe eternal) of time and space, that strikes me as unduly restrictive. 

Can't I be spiritual while I'm raking leaves, writing a blog post, drinking wine, walking the dog around a nearby lake, testifying at a city council meeting, enjoying nature, or doing any number of other everyday things? 

If so, what makes some of these everyday things "spiritual" and other things "unspiritual"? This was the question I posed to folks in the Spiritual Naturalist Society in some emails after my essay was rejected for publication on their web site.

Since I don’t see anything other than naturalistic reality as being, well, real, then “spiritual” — a problematic word — must not involve anything supernatural. The question then becomes: what is the difference between being a naturalist, and a spiritual naturalist?

 

Zen, for example, seemingly ends up with no distinction. We chop wood and carry water… after recognizing that a belief in something over and above this leads us astray. The whole “first there is a mountain, then there isn’t, then there is” thing.

 

...Having been part of a deeply mystical India-based guru-led meditation organization for 35 years, I’m very familiar with the notion that life has  “spiritual” and “non-spiritual” aspects. But this is a dualistic conception, one usually founded in an assumption that the physical world, and our physical self, is just a pale reflection of a more vibrant immaterial reality.

 

Now that I’m atheistically and naturalistically-inclined (have been for about 11 years; maybe more), this doesn’t ring true for me any more. In my daily life I don’t feel like there is a light that goes on in my (non-existent) soul when I’m doing something spiritual, and that goes off when I’m immersed in a non-spiritual worldly activity. 

 

So I’m questioning the SNS’s assumption that only certain aspects of a person’s life are part of a naturalistic spiritual practice... You may be a bit rigid as to what is fair game to be considered part of a “spiritual practice.”

 

If there is no supernatural realm, then everything in the natural world could be part of such, if looked upon rightly. Otherwise, where is the ground for carving out some pieces of human experience and calling them “spiritual,” while calling other parts something else? 

Well, I'm open to other arguments.

I just haven't come across any convincing ones yet that would make me think that a naturalistic/atheist spirituality has to be restricted to only certain aspects of human experience.

Here's other blog posts I've written on this always-intriguing subject, some of which may contradict what I've said here, since I really am unsure what "spiritual" means for a materialist. 

Spirituality is experienced, not proven
"Spiritual" and "Science" -- two words that belong together
A secular Easter thought: "spiritual" isn't supernatural or religious
I'm churchless. And as "spiritual" as ever.
Real spirituality is realizing you aren't a soul, or self
Step out of the separate self, and you're spiritual

30-plus days into Headspace meditation, I'm liking it a lot

A bit over a month ago I discovered Headspace, which was founded by Andy Puddicombe, a British guy who trained as a Buddhist monk before starting this online meditation site.

My first free trial experience on July 7 led me to write "Yikes! I actually like a guided Headspace meditation."

I'm not a big fan of guided meditations. Usually they irk more than relax me. I get annoyed with the (usually) New Age'y tone of the person doing the guiding.

Hey, if anybody is going to annoy me while I meditate, I'm perfectly capable of filling that role myself. After about 45 years of daily meditation, that's one thing I've learned from contemplating the workings of my mind.

(Maybe the only thing... but at least that's one thing.)

A few minutes ago, though, I actually enjoyed a ten minute guided meditation. Listening on my laptop while sitting outside on our deck, I made it through the first Headspace lesson with essentially zero annoyance.

With the aid of a discount "coupon" code I found through the grace of the great god Google, after trying out ten free 10-minute guided meditations I decided to sign up for a full year's worth of Headspace. I think the cost was around $70-80. 

Seemed like a fair price for enlightenment. Which isn't really what I'm after, though. Not now, in my current churchless frame of mind.

For about thirty-five years I used to meditate from an hour to two and a half hours a day, using a mixture of mantra meditation and open awareness techniques. I gained a lot from all that meditating. However, I'm finding the Headspace approach to be more appealing.

Again, for the person I am now.

Before, I was very mystically inclined. I believed it was possible to detach my consciousness from my bodily being and enter higher supernatural realms of reality. The Sant Mat meditation I practiced was founded on a theology that viewed this world as an illusion, a pale reflection of much more vibrant spiritual dimensions.

Over time I grew disenchanted with this dualistic philosophy. Not only wasn't there any demonstrable evidence that it was true, it didn't even make sense. 

Sant Mat taught that supposedly the lower mental and physical realms of creation were under the control of a Negative Power, Kal, who -- yeah, I know this sounds really weird -- stood on one foot for eons, impressing "God" (Sat Purush) so much he got the right to oversee our universe.

Which means our goal should be to get out of this wretched dump of materiality and become pure soul again. Psychologically, this isn't a healthy way to live. I knew quite a few Sant Mat devotees who were disgusted with their own body and mind, seeing them as obstacles to becoming a pristine spiritual being.

By contrast, Puddicombe's Headspace meditations are pleasingly here-and-now centered. I've completed the first 30 days of guided meditations. This unlocked the full panoply of Headspace content. I'm now into a Self-Esteem series. 

A recent New Yorker article, "The Higher Life," describes how trendy mindfulness is in today's high tech world, and how the Headspace approach to meditation has become so popular. The piece is well worth reading in its entirety.

Here's a description by author Lizzie Widdicombe (interesting that she wrote about Andy Puddicombe) of how her Headspace experience went.

The basics of mindfulness meditation are easy to find—you can download instructions from the Web. But, Puddicombe told Brzezinski at THRIVE, “I liken it to driving a car. It’s helpful to have someone sit there with you at first.” With noise-cancelling headphones, the app creates a surprisingly intimate experience—Puddicombe could be whispering in your ear.

He starts each session with a “checking in” routine, the contemplative equivalent of buckling your seat belt and adjusting the rearview mirror. He tells you to take a few deep breaths, to notice any background noise (instead of blocking it out, or screaming at its creator to shut up), and to become aware of “the different physical sensations . . . the weight of the body, the contact between the body and the chair.”

Slowly, he draws attention to your breath, which you count in sets of ten. Puddicombe savors the breath the way some people do wine. He talks about it appreciatively, pointing out its protozoan wisdom (“Remember, the body knows how to breathe”), its soothing rhythm, its oceanic rise and fall.

The seconds pass slowly. You seem to drop, briefly, into another dimension—the realm of quiet walks and kindergarten nap time. Like travel, the chief boon of meditation might be the way that it throws the place you came from into relief.

I’d never noticed what an incredible racket was going on in my mind: to-do lists, scraps of conversation, ancient memories. Sometimes Puddicombe’s voice would register as a distant peep. As calm set in, I’d occasionally achieve a few seconds of relaxed concentration—the meditative grail—which felt as if I were walking on a balance beam.

Just as often, I’d lose the thread and nod off completely, or begin composing angry e-mails. Puddicombe’s voice would interject. “It’s perfectly normal to be distracted,” he’d say. “Just bring the attention gently back to the breath.”

Puddicombe's Headspace guided meditations are, bluntly put, Buddhism without the bullshit.

Meaning, without the religious'y stuff that turns me off about traditional Buddhism. Karma. Rebirth. Eightfold path. Dharma. I think the Buddha correctly recognized some important facts about how the human mind works.

But he didn't have the benefit of our modern scientific understandings.

Sure, Buddhism's contention that we don't have a self or soul in the sense most people believe they do -- a steadfast ongoing ethereal consciousness largely or entirely distinct from the workings of the physical brain -- is remarkably consistent with 21st century neuroscience.

This doesn't mean that the rest of Buddhism deserves to be incorporated into someone's meditation practice. I was pleased to see in the article that Headspace irks some traditional Buddhists. 

Mindfulness and Meditation are only two of eight life-style choices that the Buddha instructed his followers to practice, in order to break free from the cycle of suffering and rebirth. The others involve a code of ethics. They include Right Understanding, Right Motivation, Right Livelihood (not making a living in a way that harms other beings), Right Action (not killing or hurting people), Right Speech, and Right Effort (diligence).

To pluck some things from the list, while ignoring others, strikes many Buddhists as absurd. McMahan said, “It would be as if somebody went to the Catholic Church and said, ‘I don’t buy all this stuff about Jesus and God, but I really dig this Communion ritual. Would you just teach me how to do that bit? Oh, and I want to start a company marketing wafers.’ ”

Well, if someone doesn't want to embrace the whole Buddhist thing, or the whole Catholic thing, or the whole thing of any other religion, there's nothing wrong with picking and choosing the parts they do like. 

Mindfulness and meditation really don't have anything to do with theology or supernatualism. All that counts is if these mental exercises have positive effects, in the same way as physical exercises do.

A final observation: during my more than three decades as a member of a mystical spiritual organization, I was struck by how many people in the group really didn't progress much as caring, compassionate, calm, centered human beings.

They were so focused on getting out of this world and entering a hypothetical "heaven," they pretty much ignored what it takes to be a normal happy, healthy person.  The term Spiritual Bypassing nicely captures their condition -- which I shared to some extent.

Spiritual bypass is a defense mechanism. Although the defense looks a lot prettier than other defenses, it serves the same purpose. Spiritual bypass shields us from the truth, it disconnects us from our feelings, and helps us avoid the big picture. It is more about checking out than checking in—and the difference is so subtle that we usually don't even know we are doing it.

The shorthand for spiritual bypass is grasping rather than gratitude, arriving rather than being, avoiding rather than accepting. It is spiritual practice in the service of repression, usually because we can not tolerate what we are feeling, or think that we shouldn't be experiencing what we are feeling.

The Headspace guided meditations are completely different from this.

They're about being here, not somewhere else. About being who we are, not someone else. About being in the present moment, not sometime else. 

Alan Watts talks about the source of spiritual authority

Over on my "Let's add a new L-word to 'Who is the guru?' possibilities" post, William left a comment today:

Hi Brian
I was listening to a talk on the topic of What is a Guru? by Alan Watts. You may well find it interesting. Here's the link that will bring you to the pertinent part of that talk. https://youtu.be/sAq2NY0Tjf8?t=1m54s

Since I enjoy reading Watts' books, saw him speak in person back in the 1960's, and like his audio recordings, I watched about half of the You Tube video today.

Here's the link William sent, which starts at about the two minute mark.

 

I resonate with almost everything I heard Watts say, agreeing that the only authority a guru, master, or other religious personage has flows from the devotees who choose to elevate that person to a position of spiritual leadership.

Otherwise, where could any authority come from?

There aren't qualifications for becoming a guru, as there are for professions such as medicine, law, engineering, and so on. Anyone can claim to be a spiritual adept. Usually it is very difficult, if not impossible, to find objective evidence that what the "guru" claims to know about the cosmos is actually true, and/or that the guru can do what he or she claims, supernaturally speaking.

So Buyer Beware is excellent advice for anyone looking to purchase some spiritual authority.

Check out On Being -- a website, radio program, and more

Driving around today, satellite channel surfing, I clicked on NPR (National Public Radio) and came across On Being.

On Being is a Peabody Award-winning public radio conversation and podcast, a Webby Award-winning website and online exploration, a publisher and public event convener. 

On Being opens up the animating questions at the center of human life: What does it mean to be human, and how do we want to live?

We explore these questions in their richness and complexity in 21st-century lives and endeavors. We pursue wisdom and moral imagination as much as knowledge; we esteem nuance and poetry as much as fact. 

Sounds good. Looks good.

The On Being website is attractive, easy to navigate, and filled with lots of interesting material: podcasts, essays, and more.

The Tree of Contemplative Practices caught my eye.

Being into Qigong, Tai Chi, and Yoga (a little bit), along with having been an avid dancer before my wife got some feet and shoulder problems, I'm firmly on the "Movement" branch. But I also meditate every morning, as I have since 1970, so I'm also on the "Stillness" branch. 

I'm a big fan of Mary Oliver, a poet. It was great to find an interview with Oliver on the On Being site.

I've read and enjoyed several collections of her poetry. So far I've only listened to five minutes of the interview, yet enjoyed hearing Oliver talk about herself and how she became a poet.

My new Spiritual Naturalist Society essay: "Marijuana is my secular sacrament"

The third essay that I've written for the Spiritual Naturalist Society is about a subject of considerable interest not only to me, but also to just about everybody in Oregon, where I live, since on July 1 of this year it became legal to grow, use, and possess marijuana.

In "Marijuana is my secular sacrament" I argue that cannabis produces an experience of less-self, or even non-self, that is a genuine spiritual experience -- using that word, spiritual, in a decidedly non-supernatural sense.

You can either read the essay over on the Spiritual Naturalist Society site, or right here. In the version below I've included the entire column I wrote prior to Oregon's 2014 marijuana legalization vote. It had to be truncated on the SNS site.

Marijuana is my secular sacrament

I don’t embrace God. I do embrace marijuana. Big time.

In my experience, cannabis is way more spiritual than a supernatural being who almost certainly exists only in people’s imagination.

Pleasingly, on July 1 marijuana became legal to possess and use here in Oregon, though recreational sales are on hold for a few more months.

When I use my fingers to carefully pluck small bits of buds (flowers) to place in a vaporizer receptacle — no metal grinder for me; I enjoy touching the herbal essence of a marijuana plant — this has a sacramental feel.

I’m grateful to Mother Nature for bringing forth a substance that elevates the spirit.

There’s a reason we speak of getting high.

Cannabis has a way of making my usual worries and anxieties appear much smaller, as if I were standing on top of a mountain, looking at them from a distance rather than close-up.

At the same time, I don’t feel like I’ve lost touch with reality. Rather, marijuana stimulates a sensation of This is how life really is.

Meaning, my supposedly “normal” perception of having to make my way through a world filled with obstacles, problems, barriers, irritations, and what-not is supplanted by a flowing feeling where stuff happens, but not really to me.

Both modern neuroscience and ancient forms of spirituality such as Buddhism agree that this cannabis-caused diminishing of self is closer to how things truly are than everyday waking consciousness.

Inside the mind/brain, there is no sign of any independent, unchanging, non-physical entity corresponding to our sense of “I” or “Me.”

Yet we feel like there is.

To escape from this fantasy I don’t need to laboriously meditate under the critical gaze of a Zen master. I just fire up my vaporizer, take a few puffs of THC-infused warm air, and, voila!, enlightenment. Thank you, caring compassionate cannabis.

Now, spiritual traditionalists look upon marijuana as an illicit short-cut. They argue that changing one’s consciousness to be more in tune with the reality of no-self must be done naturally, not artificially.

I agree. We just differ as to what is natural, and what is artificial.

Cannabis is a flowering plant indigenous to Central Asia and the Indian subcontinent. Humans have used it for thousands of years, as have other animal species, impelled by what psychopharmacologist Ronald Siegel calls the fourth drive in his book “Intoxication: the Universal Drive for Mind-Altering Substances.”

We need intoxicants — not in the sense that an addict needs a fix, but because the need is as much a part of the human condition as sex, hunger, and thirst. The need — the fourth drive — is natural, yes, even healthy. 

…Over the centuries, people have sought — and drugs have offered — a wide variety of effects, including pleasure, relief from pain, mystical revelations, stimulation, relaxation, joy, ecstasy, self-understanding, escape, altered states of consciousness, or just a different feeling.

As noted above, I don’t see this as a drive to escape reality.

Rather, marijuana and other psychedelic drugs propel human consciousness into a less ego-centered state that more accurately reflects neuroscientific understanding of the brain’s inherent selflessness.

For a marvelous hip-hop dance mirroring of this truth, I heartily recommend watching Alex Wong’s and Twitch’s “Get Out of Your Mind” routine.

Jump off your self-absorbed psychoanalytic couch and go freaking crazy! This might well be the sanest thing you’ll ever do.

Oh, but what about the dangers of marijuana? It’s well known that there is no lethal dose of cannabis. Don’t people get psychologically addicted, though?

Sure, in much the same way Gallup tells us that almost half of American smartphone users agree with the statement “I can’t imagine my life without my smartphone.”

Are they addicted? Yes. Do they care? No. Because 70% of smartphone users say their device has made their life better.

Which is how I feel about cannabis.

After using marijuana heavily in college back in the 1960’s, I took a long break during thirty-five years of searching for my True Self through being a vegetarian, hours of daily meditation, and abstention from alcohol/drugs.

Back then I thought my essence was immaterial: a soul-consciousness detachable from the crude physical body.

Now I look upon myself as an integral part of nature. Like everything else, I’m made of energy and matter which eventually will return to its basic constituents when I die, leaving me nowhere to be found.

So I live for today here on Earth, not for an imagined tomorrow in some heavenly realm. Ingesting an herb which alters my brain chemistry is not only morally acceptable, it is “spiritual” in the way I now view that word, as realizing that I don’t have a soul, or self. (The Onion humorously reports on another guy’s similar discovery in “Search for Self Called Off After 38 Years.”)

Sam Harris speaks of this realization in his book, “Waking Up: A Guide to Spirituality Without Religion.”

My goal in this chapter and the next is to convince you that the conventional sense of self is an illusion — and that spirituality largely consists in realizing this, moment to moment.

…Most of us feel that our experience of the world refers back to a self — not to our bodies precisely but to a center of consciousness that exists somehow interior to the body behind the eyes, inside the head.

The feeling that we call “I” seems to define our point of view in every moment, and it also provides an anchor for popular beliefs about souls and freedom of will.

And yet this feeling, however imperturbable it may appear at present, can be altered, interrupted, or entirely abolished.

…Subjectively speaking, the only thing that actually exists is consciousness and its contents.

Far out, man.

Inspired by Harris’ arguments, I used his ideas in a pre-election Strange Up Salem column I wrote for my city’s alternative paper, Salem Weekly: “A strange reason to legalize marijuana.”

Here’s a news flash from the front page of modern neuroscience: “You don’t exist.” At least, not in the way most people believe they do.

We feel as if we look out upon the world as a detached ethereal consciousness floating behind our eyes, inside our head. We feel as if we’re a weightless self or soul inhabiting a body.

These feelings are wrong. The sense of self is an illusion. You, me, and everyone else are billions of neurons woven together via trillions of electrochemical connections.

Marvelously, the brain tells itself stories about how it is other than it is.

As biologist Edward O. Wilson puts it in his new book, “The self, despite the illusion of its independence created in the scenarios, is part of the anatomy and physiology of the body.”

Mind-blowing, right?

Scientifically obvious, yet shocking to our intuitive sense of ourselves as immaterial self or soul. I am brain-meat that has evolved the capacity to consider itself, if not divine, largely aloof from physicality.

Which is my philosophical neuroscientific reason for voting “Yes” on Measure 91, Oregon’s marijuana legalization initiative.

Apparently an underlying assumption of legal pot opponents is that human consciousness is some sort of pristine, pure pool of unsullied awareness which shouldn’t be contaminated by chemical substances like THC, the major psychoactive ingredient in marijuana.

Here’s another science news flash: the brain produces conscious awareness, and it is filled with over 100 chemical neurotransmitters.

They make us happy, horny, hungry, and so much more. Including, high.

I’m writing these words buzzed on a chemical my brain adores: caffeine. Is this wrong? Should caffeine be illegal because it alters my consciousness, increasing alertness and improving my mood?

Of course not. It’s beautiful, really, how humans can bring parts of the world into their brains, then those substances enable them to view the world differently.

We are the world. The world is us. There is no immaterial self standing apart from materiality.

So it isn’t a big deal to add marijuana to the long list of ways human brains are legally altered chemically in Oregon. Marijuana is safer than alcohol, tobacco, and prescription drugs. Informed adults should be able to choose their preferred consciousness-changing substance.

After all, there’s no such thing as a normal state of consciousness.

No one knows how anyone else experiences reality. If somehow this were possible, likely we would be surprised by how differently another person subjectively perceives the same objective world.

Further, whatever you or I experience in the privacy of our own awareness, it is extremely doubtful that the socially accepted definition of psychological normality is the best we humans are capable of.

Artists, visionaries, mystics, poets, meditators, and, yes, users of psychoactive drugs, along with other explorers of altered states of consciousness, tell tales of how they opened doors of perception that made them feel more in touch with reality, not less.

Vote for Measure 91. This is a wonderful way to strange up Salem, and Oregon.

Strange Up Salem seeks to lift our city’s Blah Curse. Give us a Facebook like. Brian Hines blogs at hinesblog.com

Yikes! I actually like a guided Headspace meditation

I'm not a big fan of guided meditations. Usually they irk more than relax me. I get annoyed with the (usually) New Age'y tone of the person doing the guiding.

Hey, if anybody is going to annoy me while I meditate, I'm perfectly capable of filling that role myself. After about 45 years of daily meditation, that's one thing I've learned from contemplating the workings of my mind.

(Maybe the only thing... but at least that's one thing.)

A few minutes ago, though, I actually enjoyed a ten minute guided meditation. Listening on my laptop while sitting outside on our deck, I made it through the first Headspace lesson with essentially zero annoyance.

Enlightenment Diploma, please! 

However, I don't think I'm going to get one so fast, since I've got nine more free guided ten-minute meditations on my enlightenment plate, after which, from what I've learned so far on the Headspace website, I'll have to subscribe to get super-duper-even-more enlightened.

Which I may actually do.

I'm always open to new insights into meditation and my mind's mysterious workings. I've fallen into some ruts after all those years of meditating each morning on my own. It'll be interesting to see how mindfulness expert Andy Puddicombe (great name) approaches things.

I came across Puddicombe via someone's Twitter tweet today. Clicking on the Ted talk link, I watched his "All it takes is 10 mindful minutes" presentation. Pleasingly, it lasts 9:24. Here's the You Tube version.

 

I wasn't overwhelmed by this talk.

In fact, I planned for tonight's blog post to be mostly a critique of what Puddicombe said. But when I browsed through the comments on the You Tube video, several people mentioned how much they liked his Headspace site -- which isn't mentioned in the talk.

That led me to Headspace, which led me to scan through an easy-to-read "The Science Behind Meditation" piece, which led me to click on the "Sign up for free" link, which led me to my first enjoyable ten minute guided meditation.

Puddicombe is an intriguing guy. So I'm looking forward to trying out some more of what he has to offer. Here's his bio:

Andy Puddicombe is a meditation and mindfulness expert. An accomplished presenter and writer, Andy is the voice of all things Headspace.

In his early twenties, midway through a university degree in Sports Science, Andy made the unexpected decision to travel to the Himalayas to study meditation instead. It was the beginning of a ten year journey which took him around the world, culminating with ordination as a Tibetan Buddhist monk in Northern India.

His transition back to lay life in 2004 was no less extraordinary. Training briefly at Moscow State Circus, he returned to London where he completed a degree in Circus Arts with the Conservatoire of Dance and Drama, whilst drawing up the early plans for what was later to become Headspace.