This has been a very hard post to write. But beginnings are important things. I am not sure how much to share with the world my own Journey with the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha. Each of us must find his own answers, and to dictate my experiences might color your own. Each of us is an amalgam of a thousand thousand causes and effects, and these result in the illusion of an individual that must be tackled and brought to Nirvana in its own way. My path is not yours, should not be yours and can never be yours. Our guide may be the same. But the Guide himself taught us that if, while on the road to Nirvana, we meet him, kill him. We do not share a path with even the Gautama Buddha himself.
Also in a less spiritual vein, I do not want to bore the shit out of you with another interminable blogessay about how great I art and how wonderful Buddha is and isn’t it wonderful that Stacy and I share so much. Though we do, and we love to be insufferably in love with each other, almost to the point of sinning. Almost.
I will work this out, but as a first post I would like to talk about the strength of weakness. The power of distraction, the mountain of the individual that exists within us by that cause and effect thing I talked about earlier, as it led to an interesting conjunction between Stacy’ s prayer life and mine.
In her Ignatian practice, she is led through a narrative which gives her insight into her spiritual life. For me, I am trying to rid my mind of narrative, and to discover the essence of what I am, the irreducible element that cannot be changed or altered. As I meditate, numerous distractions fly at me from numerous directions. As I attempt to clear my mind of nothing but my breath, daily chores distract me, things I have to do distract me, hopes for the future distract me, small sounds around me distract me. But most interesting have been the MindPlays.
I have achieved some success in calming my mind. And when I do, with my eyes closed, these MindPlays start to assert themselves. I am not dreaming, I am not asleep, and yet these scenes take place that are not any of the mundane distractions. They are visceral and carry a strong feeling of reality. An old woman will come to me from her oven and hand me a plate of fresh cookies. A little girl will approach me needing me to pick her up. A old man will need help folding a sheet and hold out one end to me for my assistance. There are other scenarios, but the end desire of these MindPlays is that I physically get up, that I reach out, that I open my eyes: that I break the position of my meditative stance.
I have had a . . . difficult past. I have led a wrong life, and this path is deep and rutted. It fights me as I try to break out of the gouges in the dirt road my actions have made for me. So much so that it will make these word plays whose only purpose are to break me out of my meditative state.
But this manifestation has sown the seeds of its own destruction, for it has made itself known to me, and that means I can kill it. I can see it fighting, I can feel its presence in a way I could not before. It has also shown its fear of meditation, and this revelation has been a joy to witness.
I have a long way to go, but I now have a way.