Feb 24

Opening

Meditative Moments and Odd Occurrences (Part 3 of ???) – “Opening”

One cannot visit India and fail to notice the infrastructure. During the silent meditation retreats in Bodh Gaya, power failures were regular events. As Martin commented, “I am not surprised when the power goes out, but continually amazed when it comes back on.” The water in the Thai monastery was equally inefficient. It only came on three times a day and those times were not known. Therefore, the taps were always left on so their respective basins (some huge pools other mere pots) would fill (and frequently overflow) the resevoirs of water we used for bathing, flushing and laundry. I won’t even talk about the garbage (burned if not just abandoned). In many ways, meditation like these utilities requires patience as it works in unknowable ways.

During the second 10-day silent retreat, our evening programs were often “Inquiries”. In an inquiry, one brave/curious/confused yogi (meditator) would sit next to one of the teachers on the elevated platform at the front of the group and discuss/investigate/pontificate any topic that came up. These sessions were often intense, frequently emotional and almost always interesting. In retreats of years past, I had gone up front and had amazing experiences. This year, having recognized my aforementioned desire for attention, I did not “go public” but I sure went somewhere.

One evening’s inquiries had included a sangha member comparing rhetoric of 12-step programs (like the one that “saved his life”) to that of the dharma (teachings of the Buddha). “How can I be an addict if there is no I?” At some point in this discussion, Radha (the teacher) suggested that any time one acts in an addictive or obsesive way, it is wise to explore what emotions are behind that desire. This got me thinking…

I have been known to push the reasonable limits of consumption when it comes to certain adult beverages. If this comes as a mild shock to your pre-conceived notions of appropriate behavior for a yoga teacher it is probably healthy for you to recognize your judgements and broaden your perspective. If this strikes you as a gross underexaggeration of historical experiences, this is not the time to dwell on specific details. Suffice it to say, I was paying attention when Radha suggested any overindulgence is usually “an attempt to stop or prevent some emotion”.

For me, overindulgence has often been a conscious choice (even rationalized as “responsible” when I am not driving and there are no early morning yoga classes). I began to question, “what emotions have I been trying to prevent or avoid when I decided to turn the party switch on?” I came up with a few plausable theories: Maybe I was working so hard to look good or impress others (as I wrote about last blog) that I just wanted to let go? Maybe the wanting, doing, having and becoming of the western culture had worn me down? Maybe there was some fear of intimacy that I didn’t want to let anyone get too close? Maybe these are actually all the same thing but still only a contributing factor in the big picture? What finally dawned on me was that there was no one emotion or sensation I was avoiding. I was avoiding ALL of them. There were times when I just didn’t want to feel anything.

Sure, this conclusion fits nicely into simple male stereotypes, but sometimes, the truth is simple. I felt it deep within my being. Somewhere along the way, I had started to shut down, to constrict. My heart was still full of love for my fiancée Anna, for my family and for my friends, but it’s easy to fill a small heart. So as I began the evening meditation, I decided to just focus on opening and expanding. Not much in the way of a strategic gameplan, but it’s simplicity seemed well suited to the diagnosis.

I was in a nice peaceful meditative state when the top of my head blew off. An endless funnel of light ejected all the crap from my head. It looked much more beautiful on the way out than it had when it was cramped inside. In some bizare moment of awareness, this reminded me of the scene at the end of the first Indiana Jones movie when they opened the Ark of the Covenant. Cool, Steven Spielberg was producing my epiphany! But I was directing it (as much as it could be directed). I am not sure whether I brought my attention to my heart, or whether it was drawn there on its own. My heart was beating. It was glowing. It was growing. My ribs stretched as it expanded, but there did not seem to be any restriction nor any restraint. It just kept growing. I don’t know how long this took. There was no hurry. There were no distractions. How could there be? Like someone watching a mushroom cloud or the Hindenberg exploding. Who could look elsewhere? My eyes were closed, but there were colors, many of them, eminating from within to illuminate the screen at the back of the optic theatre.

At some point the awareness wandered downward. The colors turned orange and I recalled that there were associations between orange and the lower chakras. As a yoga teacher, one might expect me to have intimate knowledge about the chakras. Remember how we talked about dropping those expectations earlier? I had read about them and talked about them, but never actually felt them, until now. Starting from the root chakra up, one by one they opened, they turned, they pulsed and throbbed. I could feel myself rocking back and forth, undulating. I don’t know if anyone noticed or saw. Most had left a while ago when the bell rang to end the meditation and invite everyone for a warm evening beverage. I just kept with the experience as it continued to work up through my body. It went back through my heart on the way up and eventually, the top of my head blew off again in what were the least disappointing re-runs ever.

I sat there a few minutes until I heard the bell calling everyone back for the final (optional) sitting of the evening. I was done. Exhausted and exhilerated I crawled back to my room and crashed onto the cot. I lay there awake for some time and then I slept soundly. When the morning bell woke me, everything looked the same and felt the same as each of the previous 18 mornings. At the same time, everything was different.

…Keith