Sitting on the Beach Out of Time

 

I find myself sitting alone on the beach of a tropical isle. The sun shines, the surf rolls gently, the air is warm. I am clothed in my usual tartan flannel shirt, grey shorts, and sneakers with white crew socks. I am comfortable upon a large piece of driftwood. I watch waves crashing upon the reef a short distance away. I do not know how I got here or where I am. I have no other belongings or gear or food. I seem to be sitting here out of time and space, surely out of the world as it is normally known by me. I seem to be quite physically alive yet wonder if I have not perhaps died and somehow been delivered of this place, which is of heaven at the moment. I am not worried right now about my survival, though I turn and look inland from the beach where I see a forest of palm trees and some thickly-leaved trees with underbrush. The land rises, becoming darker and rockier as it rises into a jungle before becoming steep, fissured hills and eventually much higher mountains. In fact I don’t know if this is an island; it could be a peninsula or even a coast, though from where I am, it is bounded by the ocean on three sides and I am unable to see a beach that doesn’t appear to curve around rather than extend itself straight in any direction. I would rather just sit here. I don’t really even want to know if I am dead or alive; I am just here.

 

I recall a few nights ago when I sat in my big recliner in front of the fire. I seemed to lapse into a kind of sleep. My eyes were closed. I sat there even as I sit here. What I first noticed was that my mind was a blank; I was not thinking whatsoever. I felt as if I had just vanished, as if I simply did not exist. I had no feeling, no preference or non-preference. As I said, it was as though I did not exist, as if I were not there, or even a ghost of the presence I once was. I don’t have that sense of no-being as I sit here now. My mind is not blank now. But the similarity is that I am out of time and place; that I am in a place that does not exist. But I am aware that I still somehow exist, for I am noting my thoughts and reflections, though, if I am out of time and space, that doesn’t make sense.

 

One thing I like about being out of time and space is that it puts me out of the world at large; out of its ebb and flow, out of its history, its interactivity. When I am in the world I feel defiant towards it and its inhabitants, its expectations, even its necessities. I have the thought that “I must survive” which means that I must consider what I must do to find water, food, fire, warmth, comfort, safety. But I also have the thought that it may be that I do not have to have the thought, that I may not even exist. What has come to my mind and my experience for some time is the Cartesian notion that “I think, therefore I am” in reverse: “I do not think, therefore I am not.” The truth of this thought has been borne out for me time and time again when, particularly in meditation, I had no thought of “I, myself.” When that happened, “I” did actually cease to exist. So, as I sit here, I do wonder if I have been overtaken by this “not selfness.” Still, I appear to see the waves rolling in and feel the warmth of the sun upon my skin. I realize that there are people in psychiatric institutions who are still alive in their bodies but have left themselves, have gone blank. Perhaps I am one of them who has simply “gone blank” and found myself here on this log in this place. What happens when one no longer lives in one’s memories or in the normal tensions of being in the world? We are led around in our bodies until life finally leaves them.

 

I used to walk back to my “perch” atop a redwood trunk far back in the Forest of Nisene Marks and sit there contented as if I could literally sit there forever; that this was “my spot.” I would only get up after a long time because the world called me with its social and existential responsibilities and practicalities; “everyone knows one cannot sit upon a tree trunk in the forest lost in nowhereness and everywhereness forever.” But sitting here on this beach is different; I didn’t walk here but, rather, just appeared here. Does that make any difference at all? And this “defiance” of the world, of being in the world, that I have; where did that come from? From my simple experience of being in the world and not liking it? From having to be born too early? For having to be born in the first place? Born into a physical body? After being free of such or being in another more preferable form? From having to live in fear of the pain of beatings? Or simply from the rejection felt from them? Does sitting here on this log then present me with some kind of a test in which I choose or reject life in the world for all the future? If it is such a test, I do not yet choose to make a choice. Perhaps I can just sit here for an eternity. My life has already felt as if I were sitting here for an eternity, waiting for a directive from On High; an On High that remained silent because perhaps it too did not exist. Is my test, then, to decide whether or not it does exist? Or to even realize for myself that it does or it doesn’t? If that’s the case, I still wait for such a realization—which may never come. And if it did, I just might not realize it; I might not even notice it.

 

Where I am right now may be like the holodeck on the Enterprise, a make-believe, manufactured reality of my own making. The sun may not set; it may stay just as it is. If it did get dark, I would probably be convinced that it had enough reality that I should begin at least to insure my own survival. That’s the natural response anyway.

 

Usually I just give up when nothing is there to say or realize. I am not interested in “wasting my time.” Buddha sat under the Bodhi tree, refusing to leave until he had clarity. Now clarity is not necessarily understanding; in fact it could be the very opposite of understanding. Buddha became one who lives for others without self-concern: a bodhisattva. Or so tis said. And I know that when I cease to think about myself, I no longer identify myself to myself, and the whole thing of me being “I” just vanishes: “I” no longer exist. In American culture, this is the opposite of what we see as “normal”; we no longer “assert ourselves” because we realize there is nothing to assert.

 

In the same vein, I see that nothing in itself has any meaning; it is as it is and that’s it. I may fit into the scheme of things, into the “great chain of being,” and be defined by its location primarily, but it “means” nothing at all. And even locating something as here rather than there, which defines to a certain extent, does not give it meaning. Now, just because it’s a fire does indicates that it will function according to its “nature,” which is to be hot and therefore possibly dangerous if one puts a hand too close to the flames. (This "essay" does not stop here but I had to stop here.)

Kindred Spirit

 

Earlier today I hiked up at Mt Toyon. I walked past the vista point with the bench and out “my” little remote trail, where I generally just stand and take it all in—the silence, the greenery, the trees, the grass, the bushes, the breeze, the view through the trees to the ocean. I feel how my body is in the moment, I settle down into it exactly where I am standing. I don’t consciously “merge myself with nature”; it just happens, like exhaling and inhaling: I take in the forest as it takes me in. I take in the silence as it takes me in. Yet, most strangely, I felt a presence, a person, close, but, looking around me and gazing up the path I had taken, saw no one. So I let that go and started walking back on the path I had taken there.

 

As I exited the path, I noticed a young woman standing there looking at me. Her presence was a surprise to me, though I realized I had already previously felt it. We spoke as if we knew each other well and deeply. She spoke of her current state of mind and I spoke of mine. She shared with me her view of how she was, in so many words, and of her interests. I was amazed at her honesty and place of self-knowing. There was what I perceived as an immediate trust between us and also our ability to understand each other. She carried with her a Buddhist meditation bench on which one sits and kneels. I was most impressed by this, for I had built one for myself probably forty years ago and had used it for the last thirty years before storing it in the garage, where it is now. We talked about many topics and our personal sense of things.

 

I have walked on Mt Toyon for ten years and have always wished to meet someone on the trail and to be able to engage in a deep and enjoyable discussion with them. And today it actually happened. The very fact that she goes to the same out of the way place in the forest where I go touched me. “Here is a person with whom I share something in common,” I thought. To be able to share a deep meditative state of mind and to be understood by another is quite rare. We seemed to be able to understand each other on a philosophical level. Compared to me, she was quite young, yet she expressed such depth and honesty as if she were without guile. It was a most pleasant experience that I appreciated. I gave her my card listing my various blogs, email address, and my quote: Too much irony makes one overwrought (which not every gets). It was a rare and special moment. I have my wife and a few other friends with whom I am able to share of myself on a deep level, but to come upon such a rare person in the forest “just like that” is a rare pleasure. I am grateful to her for her openness and trust.

WHAT IS THIS HANDBASKET IN WHICH I FIND MYSELF?

 

It is apparent to me that one must pick up the fragments and make them into something that can give one meaning, which is to say, context, a context in which one may exist as oneself, which is to say, in one’s life. It cannot be gotten from anywhere or anyone else, though it does not come from nothing; that which others have said and done does have its place, for it provides examples of what others have done to give meaning to themselves and their lives. What others have done can resonate with one and one can build one’s own foundation upon tried and true methods—if one has truly tried them with success. One must measure one’s own success.

When shattered, we all are faced with many fragments. And we pick up those pieces we deem to be useful as well as important, and then build something new with them. But we do not pick up the same pieces; we each pick up different pieces for ourselves. We pick up the pieces and make them into something that gives meaning to us, to our lives. We may do this many times in our lives. Are we “creating” something or are we “building” something? Is it magic or is it craft? Seeing our own way and then crafting what we see. Making it. Putting together our own vision. A hands-on thing not just in the mind. Craft perhaps as artistry. Vertically-integrated.

I see the importance of this new focus because I recognize the futility of simply viewing everything as fragmentary; nothing comes of it. One has no direction and one eventually must seek a “direction home” even if one knows it is of one’s own contrivance. One must recognize oneself as responsible to oneself and for oneself. God does not come and save us; we must save ourselves. We must be our own God. We cannot just sit around and wait to be taken care of, wait for God to get up off the couch after sleeping for eons. God knows that he set us up to learn to think for ourselves and to do the right thing. His job is not think for us or do the right thing on our behalf. It’s up to us human beings to try be human rather than just dumb little twits. If we are compelled to flow along in the current of existence, it would be good to at least know this; then we have the option of “choosing what is” rather than just being at its affect. It’s choosing “God’s will” rather than being subjugated to it, even though it changes its outcome not one iota. “Going to hell in a handbasket,” if not a surprise, can be an interesting ride.

MYTHS OF PERSPECTIVE, SELF AND IDENTITY

The problem is always, for myself, perhaps for everyone, lack of perspective, which may be seen as lack of context. For we are not consistent beings, but move, even in our sense and view of ourselves, from moment to moment, thought to thought, feeling to feeling. We are peripheral beings, always just at the edge of our own sight, even elusive, though it is never so obvious as that. I assume that others are as unlocatable to themselves as I am to myself, though most never give themselves a thought in this regard, being satisfied to identify themselves with the contemporary surface social and generational current. I do this only to the extent that I expect myself to survive; I do not identify with it or hardly even with its world. 

Just in saying that I have in many respects rather identified myself as one not to be so identified. I am that I am not that I am that I am not. A tautology, a loop looping on itself repeatedly over and over. Such is my sense of humor. And so I once again identify myself. Any reference to "oneself" is a self-identity. Zen practice may eventually lead to a profound sense of non-identity, which is to say, no-self. Which is problematic, for if one no longer thinks of oneself, one ceases to exist. This was precisely the reason I stopped my Zen practice a while ago, however, even after stopping, my self-identity never returned, so recently I started practicing once again. The only real difference is that now I consider my "Zen naps" to be integral to the meditation, which is much more amenable to the situation in which I am present to myself. Words, words, yes, but not balderdash. Everything eventually becomes strangely real even as it is strangely unreal. It may be that one realizes no judgement is to be made; no decision either way, but simply a recognition. And that doesn't even have to imply acceptance, though I think one must be willing to recognize, and such willingness seems to require an acceptance of what is there even as one is not yet aware of what it is or that one has even seen it. An almost pre-conscious acceptance or accepting state of mind. I choose the best words that reveal themselves, and words are deficient.

So in truth, there is always a lack of perspective, which is a matter of degree, yes, but to be human is to lack perspective. And also the fact that we are as moving targets engaged in the process to trying to hit moving targets, though even that metaphor is lacking since proper adjustments can be made so that moving targets can hit moving targets. But what if such moving targets are moving randomly in both space and time? Will a thousand monkeys on typewriters typing actually type the Encyclopedia Britannica in eternity? Monkeys and typewriters are not eternal. What is possible? What are the chances? And so we have "God" and "miracles." I have too often seen miracles as "anomalies." But I have accepted anomalies as miracles and vice-versa. I do believe in what is called Magic and especially Magick. All things may happen. All may be possible. God? Devil? Sympathetic or Unsympathetic, it doesn't quite matter to me. Greater gods, lesser gods, demons, no such powers at all? There is a mockingbird singing amazingly in the tree outside. I'm in this body sitting here doing this typing on this planet in this solar system in this moment, aware as an atom of dust in the universe. Good or bad?

BELIEF AND SELF-IDENTITY AND GROUP

We put ourselves together in different ways, accordingly to our particular needs, perhaps even style. Those who formally believe in God find themselves as members of a group who believes in some way similarly. Those who do not believe in such a way find themselves more singular and independently-minded, as it were. The non-believers have more of an independent self-identity, even if they are only defined by their refusal to join the believers. However these days, both believers and non-believers feel they are in the minority and shunned by the other.

Psychologically, the believers may possess a strong self-identity as a part of the group of believers. But the non-believers may even possess a stronger self-identity as individuals who do not possess the safety of the group-belief. I myself have believed but found that I inherently did not trust the group and could not entrust my own beliefs to those of the group or of its spokesperson or leader. I was forced to follow my own path; sometimes I believed on my own, sometimes I did not. Finally I chose a path of belief that did not believe and in which each person was responsible for discovering and following his or her own way. There were no priests to tell people what to think.

But I now find that belief is not the issue; one, follows one's path that one chooses to follow or not. The issue--and the problem--is the group, the congregation, the sangha, the belonging. One's own thinking is molded by the group. Of course, if we are a part of society, and society within a culture, our thinking has already been quite molded. And those of us who are within families have already been familiarized by and with the rules and roles we believe ourselves to be. So my little diatribe about "the group" is essentially insignificant--except that there are some people who eventually come to question rules and roles and much of which they believe and "know." Such people may be believers or not, but probably mostly not, unless of course they recreate that which they believe out of themselves, that is, their own minds and hearts, in an understanding that much of their own minds and hearts have already been quite established socially and culturally, and that they are barely scratching the surface for the most part, though they may find themselves plummeting down the rabbit-hole or stepping through the looking-glass. Now does that happen because of them or because it just does? Uh-Oh, we wonder back to belief vs. non-belief. I don't think it's one or the other; I think it is both. I think we both believe and do not believe, that existence is both heaven and hell, if you will. I do not believe in "the straight and narrow way" or really even the "middle way." I do not believe human beings are "middling" creatures but that we want to experience all and know all and be all, especially when we are young and not quite fully "adulterated" as yet. Such is the story of my life anyway. Perhaps there are many who are suppressed and molded by belief when they are young, which molds them tightly and repressively. But, from certain religious perspectives, life is only a preparation for death and the spiritual life, the real existence. I have believed such in my life and have even pretended that this physical existence is not even real but illusory, which I even still espouse at times. But it should only be espoused by old people like myself, whose youth came and lasted but eventually left. We psychologically prepare ourselves for death by taking on beliefs the encompass such notions as "the great afterlife." I do believe in reincarnation, as it's called. It is perfectly logical to me in the same sense that life regenerates in new forms after it dies. Plus I was partly raised by a ghost, and remember many past lives more vividly than my high school graduation, which I don't remember whatsoever.

Now for a closing aphorism: 
Human beings are the only animals that pee in their pants.

The Scheme of Things?

For much of my life I have more or less believed in The Scheme of Things. Having been indoctrinated into Catholicism, the scheme was God and also The Mystery of God. Over time, especially as I "sat zazen" for many, many years, the scheme became Greater Context. The word "scheme" implies something planned, something intended, rather than simply just what happens. So the word itself has implications of which I am quite unsure and which I find myself questioning. I have a thought: The road we make is the road we take. The Scheme of Things implies that it is all God's Scheme of Things, which does not resonate with me at all. For all I know it could be true, but even if it is, it is far, far too simplistic and rather too stupid. I do believe in Fate but also in myself as integral to my own fate. Krishnamurti said that we make our own path with each step we take. But then, with all due respect Mr. K, we also greatly tend to follow the path of least resistance, which is to say, of least thought. We tend to be herd animals with herd instinct and we head to the great sociocultural barn. If we are sheep, we are shorn, castrated and eventually eaten. If we are cows, our horns may be capped as well. Now for an aside: I recently went to the meat counter at the Piggly Market and was waited upon by a butcher who had just been cutting meat off a carcass. She, the butcher, had a big tattoo on her forearm of a diagram of a cow with all of its particular "cuts" lined out in the picture. I told her, pointing to the tattoo, "That's perfect." She said, "Yes, and I use it too." I knew this blog had a direction.

So I do still tend to believe in a Greater Context, though no longer The Greater Context. I question just about everything I think too frequently, including my thinking it and my questioning. It's as though I see right through my whole rational for thinking it before I think it. I see right through myself and the rationale for my own being. Yet I am right here in this body on this planet in this solar system typing away as if I had something to say that should be said. The only real solace is that I am writing this to a "world out there" that is not really there at all, even though we all believe it is there because we can see it, hear it, touch it, smell it, and so on. As I observe myself in this world in this moment of history, I shake my head in judgment of the absurdity which appears to prevail, wondering why, at the same time, why it is that I seem to focus on the insanity rather than the sanity, which also prevails in its own underlying way. I also largely wonder about my own impending death which follows like clockwork my own strange but true, fascinating, ridiculous but true, life.

I used to believe very much that it's obvious that we are born again into new bodies with new lives. We are big walking, talking worms, or radishes. I find it strange but true that I have to eat food and eliminate it daily every day of my life. That I find this so odd seems to imply that I remember NOT being in a flesh-form, as it were. In fact I do and I also specifically remember many previous lives but not when I actually "got on the wheel," as they say. Living in this world is most interesting and not so hard if you know what the state of things is, but knowing the state of reality is the life-long challenge. Not only knowing but accepting, which is actually even more essential than knowing. 

But I don't like the notion of "the scheme of things," since I don't believe that such a thing is conscious or known by any "entity" whatsoever. But I suppose I'll keep it as title to the blog even though it is very misleading. A very few people actually DO read this blog; I believe in quality, not quantity. If something I say resonates and helps someone to feel a momentary sanity or even just an associated disassociation, that's a good thing. It seems that we are driven to find at least a thread to lead us out of the labyrinth. Speaking of that, I published a few books from my own Ariadne Press, though I am most certainly no writer. This blog just kind of seeps out, but I do trust the spring from which it flows. I must. I thank you for reading this, my friend.

Moments In Time Out of Time

Writing for more than oneself, as one must do in a blog, at least one that can be understood, requires that one explain what is being written. Thus it is different than how one writes for oneself. I find that writing a blog accesses or taps parts of myself not necessarily accessed when I write just for myself. Having to explain myself is challenging since it requires that I more or less know why I am writing what I'm writing, which is often rather unknown to me. 

When I had stronger beliefs as well as more of a self-identity, there was a greater ability to explain what I was thinking. But now my beliefs are quite different and much less defined, and I myself am much less defined to myself as well. I practiced zazen for many years, which had the effect of unraveling my own sense of self and self-identity, which is actually part of its purpose, which is pretty much the exact opposite of the overpowering quest for creating a strong self-identity in this culture. There have been times in my life in which I did create a relatively strong self-identity, though I always did maintain that it was more of a role I played in society, the world, out of necessity. My nature is more one of invisibility. And this is probably because in the unraveling of the reality of my version of myself, the veneer, the truth of the persona, gradually faded away to the point of even vanishing. This rather frightened me; I began to think that the zazen had become a kind of self-hypnosis in which everything, including myself, ceased to exist--being illusory in itself. So I stopped practicing zazen at least a year ago.

But over time I found myself drifting away from the state of mind I had when I practiced zazen. I still "observed" my thoughts and objective life, but there was a kind of dullness of mind that became obvious to me. With zazen, one's notion of oneself definitely shifts and one can "vanish," which kind of feels like being a ghost of yourself going through the motions of life and survival. But that may be partly because I did not participate in a sangha, that is, the Buddhist community, preferring to practice on my own. I should add that I am engaged in the living of my life and fulfilling my various family responsibilities, so I am not disengaged or particularly isolated or alone.

So I have begun "sitting" once again. It is different now. I fall into sleep and I dream very short dreams before awakening again. I fought this when it used to happen, but I am now paying more attention to the dreams, not exactly interpreting them but looking at them, even feeling them. Today I found myself standing in a forest and surrounded by tall trees, one right next to me. Suddenly a large squirrel with long fur the color of gold jumps up onto the trunk of the tree right next to me, stopping at my eye level and touching my shoulder, looking into my eyes for a split second before running up the tree. It was delightful. Yesterday I was walking in the forest nearby and, perhaps thirty feet in front of me, a stag came onto the path, stopped, and looked directly at me. I stopped and looked at him. Our eyes locked into each other's gaze for maybe twenty seconds before he went into the brush. We took each other in. We communicated. 

This all relates to finding "a place to breathe within the scheme of things," the theme of this blog.