Consciousness Reviews

Mindfulness, Bliss, and Beyond (Ajahn Brahm)

2008-10-28T21:38:00.020-06:00

Every serious Buddhist practitioner needs to read this book. It is the clearest and most complete exposition of the core and essence of Buddhist meditation that I have encountered. It's not like other books in the Buddhist genre that describe the philosophy of Buddhism, or even some of the Buddhist psychology that can be employed in transformative work. This book is an extremely well-written, and highly entertaining operator's manual of the mind. It's a clear and lucid step-by-step guide to what meditation actually is, how to do it, and what to expect along the way. The second part of the book, focuses on what can happen in the deeper stages of meditation. It is clear that Ajahn Brahm is something of an authority on the subject, as he speaks with first hand experience of the phenomena he is describing. This isn't mystical mumbo-jumbo either: he gives it to us straight. This is exceedingly refreshing amidst so much new-age "spiritual" literature available today.

Ajahn Brahm (short for Brahmavamso) spent nine years as a student of Ajahn Chah in the forest monastic tradition of Thailand. This after graduating from Cambridge University with a Ph.D. in theoretical physics. After reading this book I felt as if so many pieces of the path that were previously known, but not understood in terms of how they related to each other, suddenly became clear and connected. Images in Tibetan Tangkas suddenly came to life. The essence of Zen, and the teachings of Eckhart Tolle became clear in terms of how they fit into this framework and what purpose they serve. Ajahn Brahm presents a framework that contains all these teachings, as parts of a larger whole. And the whole that he presents, he contests, is the pure, orthodox teaching of the Buddha, in it's original form, adjusted only in presentation for a Western mind and palette. He gives ample citations to the orthodox Pāli canon, which contains the original teachings of the Buddha, as direct support for his statements. He points out that what he is saying was said by the Buddha. This is a wonderful distillation of the entire Pāli Buddhist Canon, in terms of its most important aspects: practice which leads to liberation of the mind.

The distinct image that comes to mind is that of the famous elephant and the blind men. Many today describe only one aspect of the elephant. But what Ajahn Brahm has done here is succeeded in presenting as complete a picture of the whole elephant as one could ever hope to achieve from a distinctly Buddhist perspective.

From the backcover:

"Ajahn Brahm here shares his knowledge and experience of the jhānas—a core part of the Buddha's original meditation teaching. The beginning instructions are some of the best anywhere, and the descriptions of the advanced states are unparalleled in their vividness. Never before has this material been approached in such an empowering way, by a teacher of such authority and popularity. Full of surprises, delightfully goofy humor, and stories that inspire, instruct, and illuminate. Mindfulness, Bliss, and Beyond will encourage those new to meditation and give a shot in the arm to more experienced practitioners."

and

"Like a broom through cobwebs, Ajahn Brahm sweeps away the mysteries surrounding the jhānas. Salted with his often witty stories, this book is like an operator's manual that one finds after struggling for years with a foreign-language manual. Brahm uses accessible language to explain subjects that other teachers shy away from. This is a bold and important book." — John Roberts, Buddhist Council of the Northwest

Ajahn Brahm describes several stages of meditation. Stage one is called Present-Moment Awareness, and involves giving up the baggage of past and future. In essence we remain only with the raw material of experience in the moment. There is no thinking about it, only observing and noting what happens in the moment. The analogy used is developing a mind like a padded cell. When any perception, experience or thought hits the wall of the cell it does not bounce back, and instead sinks into the padding and stops. In this stage of meditation we keep our attention in the present moment. All we know is what moment it is right now.

Stage two is called Silent Present-Moment Awareness, and involves dropping all commentary surrounding perception and experience. Whereas previously we noted what was happening, perhaps even commenting mentally on what was happening, now we drop all commentary. Ajahn Brahm draws a wonderful simile by comparing this state to what happens in a tennis match. There are two things going on: the tennis match, and the commentator's description of the tennis match. In this stage there is no commentator.

Stage three is called Silent Present-Moment Awareness of the Breath. Instead of being silently aware of whatever comes into the mind, at this stage we choose a single object. This object can be a number of things, including the idea/experience of metta, the visualization of a colored disc, or simply the breath. Focusing on a single object, such as the breath, implies letting go of diversity and moving into unity. Ajahn Brahm employs a useful comparison: the awareness at this stage is like replacing six telephones ringing simultaneously with one private telephone. Essentially, we focus on a single object to the exclusion of all other sensory phenomena. This exercise quickly lends the insight of how burdensome the six telephone lines really are. Awareness of the breath is not about locating the breath anywhere, but rather about the overall experience of the breath. And most importantly, the breath is natural—it is not forced or controlled in any way. When we can maintain this silent present-moment awareness of the breath for about a hundred consecutive breaths, we can proceed to the next stage.

Stage four is called Full Sustained Attention on the Breath. This stage occurs when our attention expands to take in every moment of the breath. Here we follow in detail the entire process of the breath, from the first sensation of in-breathing, through its gradual expansion, and culmination, pause, and the beginning of the out-breath, it's evolution, and ultimate fading away. When we can experience every part of the breath for many hundreds of consecutive breaths, then we have arrived at full sustained attention on the breath.

Stage five is called Full Sustained Attention on the Beautiful Breath. This stage flows naturally and seamlessly from the previous stage. As we enter this stage, the mind recognizes the breath to be extraordinarily smooth, calm and peaceful, and delights in it. This is what is meant by "beautiful breath." At this stage "you" do not do anything, the "doer" has to disappear. Instead you are just a knower, passively observing. Ajahn Brahm mentions that one helpful trick at this stage is to briefly break the inner silence and say to yourself: "calm." The mind at this stage is very sensitive, a kind of fully awake and highly focused self-hypnosis, and making such a gentle suggestion at this stage, nudges the mind to follow.

Stage six is called the Beautiful Nimitta. As Ajahn Brahm puts it, at this stage we let go of the body, thought, and five senses (including the awareness of the breath) so completely that only a beautiful mental sign, a nimitta, remains. This pure mental object is a real object in the landscape of the mind, and when it appears for the first time, it is extremely strange. One simply has not experienced anything like it before. Still, perception tries to categorize this disembodied beauty, this mental joy, according to our individual perceptual inclinations: lights, sensations, feelings etc. Ajahn Brahm indicates that we can recognize a nimitta by the following six features: (1) it appears only after the fifth stage of meditation; (2) it appears when the breath disappears; (3) it comes only when the external five senses are absent; (4) it manifests only in the silent mind; (5) it is strange but powerfully attractive; and (6) it is a beautifully simple object. If the nimitta arises but it is dull, Ajahn Brahm advises to return to the previous stage of meditation. He says that one must be able to sustain one's attention on the beautiful breath with ease for a very long time before the mind is capable of maintaining clear attention on the far more subtle nimitta. When it is time for the nimitta, it will be bright, stable and easy to sustain.

Stage seven is called Jhāna. This stage arises when we let the mind incline naturally towards the center of the nimitta, where the light is brilliant and pure. Here Ajahn Brahm advises to just let go and enjoy the ride as the attention gets drawn into the center, or as the light expands and envelops us completely. He says there are two common obstacles at the door into jhāna: exhilaration and fear. In the first case the mind has a "wow!" response which disturbs tranquility. In the second case there is the recognition of the sheer power and bliss of the jhāna, or else the recognition that to go fully inside we must leave "ourselves" behind. As Ajahn Brahm puts it:

"The doer is silent before entering the jhāna, but it is still there. Inside the jhāna, however, the doer is completely gone. Only the knower is still functioning. One is fully aware, but all the controls are now beyond reach. One cannot even form a single thought, let alone make a decision. The will is frozen, and this can be scary for beginners, who have never had the experience of being so stripped of control and yet so fully awake. The fear is of surrendering an essential part of one's identity."

All of the above stages of meditation describe the first half of meditation known as samatha or tranquility meditation. The second half of meditation is called vipassana or insight meditation. In order to do this second half of meditation effectively, we need to bring a calm, clear, and tranquil mind to the practice. In vipassana we apply this tranquil mind to one of three important areas: insight into the problems affecting daily happiness, insight into the way of meditation, and insight into the nature of "you." This is where things really start to happen. We will explore this further after touching on the Five Hindrances.

Ajahn Brahm goes on to describe five hindrances to meditation known as nīvarana in the original Pāli. This literally means "closing a door" or "obstructing entering into something." They obstruct us from entering into deep absorption states, or the jhānas. According to Ajahn Brahm, if you have not experienced the jhānas yet, then you have not fully understood these five hindrances. The Buddha named these five hindrances as sensory desire, ill will, sloth and torpor, restlessness and remorse, and doubt. However, these labels as Westerners understand them do not quite do justice to the original definitions.

In the original Pāli, sensory desire is given as kāma-cchanda. Deconstructing the Pāli definition, kāma relates to anything to do with the five senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch. Chanda means to delight in or agree with. Together they mean "delight, interest, involvement with the world of the five senses." For example, when we hear a sound, we almost never simply register it and then drop it. Instead we get all caught up and "interested" in the sound and what it represents, which in turn gives rise to a stream of associations—memories and imaginings of the past and future. We are no longer in the present moment, our minds are "lost in time." From delight in a specific sensory experience rooted in the present moment, our minds have become absorbed in thinking about sensory experiences in the past and future. This "thinking" about sensory desire was distinguished by the Buddha as an important aspect of sensory desire called kāma-vitakka in the original Pāli.

The second hindrance, ill will is another major obstacle to deep meditation. There are different forms of ill will, including ill will towards others, towards oneself, and towards the meditation object. Ill will towards others is a common experience which can be remedied by seeing the Buddha Nature in all sentient beings, and seeing how poor behavior is just people temporarily getting caught up in their "stuff." This view of other peoples' suffering leads towards compassionate understanding and non-identification. Ill will towards oneself can manifest as guilt and feelings of unworthiness, particularly for Westerners due to the way many of us have been brought up. Ajahn Brahm points out that an aversion to inner happiness is a sure sign of guilt, and in meditation this often leads to a form of punishment that involves denying ourselves the joy of deeper states of meditation. As expected, the remedy is to do some loving-kindness meditation, the key being to give oneself unconditional forgiveness. Lastly, ill will towards the meditation object often occurs for those who have been meditating on the breath without much success yet. In this situation, we tend to look at meditation as a chore, or with a certain amount of aversion. The solution is to generate goodwill towards the meditation object. One method Ajahn Brahm uses to deal with this scenario is to view the breath like a newborn son or daughter. Would you lose sight of it for long? If you appreciated the breath as much as you appreciated your child or someone who is very dear to you, you wouldn't drop, forget or abandon it. As Ajahn Brahm summarizes,

"[...] ill will is a hindrance you overcome by being compassionate to all others, forgiveness toward yourself, loving-kindness toward the meditation object, goodwill toward the meditation, and friendship with the breath."

The third hindrance is given as sloth and torpor. This occurs in meditation when we don't really know what we're watching. This is because the mind is gray, blurry and dull. Dullness in meditation is the result of a tired mind, usually one that has been overworking. Fighting that dullness only makes us more exhausted. Ajahn Brahm introduces two useful concepts representing the two halves of the mind: the knower and the doer. The knower is the passive half that simply receives information, and the doer is the active half that responds with evaluating, thinking, and controlling. Both share the same source of mental energy, and so when the doer consumes too much, little is left for the knower, and we experience dullness. Ajahn Brahm tells the story of a high-stress executive that came to a retreat, and in the first sittings her mind was almost as dead as a corpse. So for the first three days he advocated not doing anything, only rest and sleep. After three days, her mind was much brighter, after three more days, she caught up to the rest of the group, and by the end of the retreat she ended up being one of the star meditators. The most effective way to overcome sloth and torpor is to stop fighting our mind. We need to stop trying to change things and instead let things be. Then sloth and torpor will naturally disappear. Ajahn Brahm indicates how giving value to awareness can also help when we encounter an important fork in the road of meditation: one path leads to sloth and torpor, while the other leads to bright awareness. The first path gives up both the doer and the knower, while the second path gives up the doer but keeps the knower. When we value awareness we will automatically choose the second path.

The fourth hindrance is given as restlessness and remorse and is considered one of the most subtle of hindrances. The main component of this hindrance is restlessness of mind but can also include a sense of remorse. Remorse comes from hurtful speech or actions we may have performed. Forgiving oneself, letting go of the past, is what overcomes remorse. Restlessness, on the other hand, arises because we do not appreciate the beauty of contentment or the pleasure of doing nothing. We have a faultfinding mind rather than a mind that appreciates what's already there. Restlessness is going around looking for something else to do, something else to think about, or somewhere else to go. Ajahn Brahm indicates how developing a perception of contentment in all things is the most important thing we can do to alleviate restlessness. He advocates that we must be aware of finding fault in our meditation, as this is just the activity of a discontented mind. Be content with whatever is and our meditation will go deeper.

The fifth and last hindrance is called doubt. Doubt can be towards the teaching, about the teacher, towards oneself, or even towards one's experience. When doubt is directed towards the teaching, one is advised to trust in one's experience thus far. These experiences, while not the purpose of meditation, strengthen our confidence that our meditation is gradually moving along. With regard to teachers, we need to understand what their role is in our meditation. They serve as guides, often providing suggestions or recommendations based on their own experiences in meditation, while also serving to inspire and motivate. But Ajahn Brahm makes it very clear that before one places one's confidence in a teacher, to really check them out. Self-doubt, is perhaps the most insidious form of doubt as it can halt practice altogether. It often causes us to think that we are hopeless, useless, or incapable. It can be overcome with the help of a teacher or friend who inspires and encourages, or through reading about inspiring or encouraging accounts. It is important to have confidence that you can achieve what you want. As Ajahn Brahm says, failure only comes when we give up. Finally, doubt towards one's meditative experience in the moment is problematic. This form of doubt questions, for example, whether what we are experiencing is jhāna, or something else. If we are questioning then it is defintely not it, as jhāna is beyond reach of the conceptual/analytical mind. Ajahn Brahm says, afterwards we can review the meditation and examine our experience within it. But during meditation, keep the mind as peaceful and quiet as possible.

Ajahn Brahm ends the discussion of the Five Hindrances with a couple of important notes on the 'workshop of the hindrances,' and what happens when the hindrances are 'knocked out.' He points out that they all emanate from a single source: they are generated by the control freak inside of us that refuses to let things go.

"Meditators fail to overcome the hindrances because they look for them in the wrong place. It is crucial to success in meditation to understand that the hindrances are to be seen at work in the space between the knower and the known. The hindrances' [...] workshop is the space between the mind and its meditation object. Essentially, the five hindrances are a relationship problem.

Skillful meditators observing their breath also pay attention to how they watch their breath. If you see expectation between you and your breath, then you are watching the breath with desire, part of the first hindrance. If you notice aggression in the space in between, then you are watching the breath with the second hindrance, ill will. Or if you recognize fear in the space, maybe anxiety about losing awareness of the breath, then you are meditating with a combination of hindrances. For a time you may appear to be successful, able to keep the breath in mind for several minutes, but you will find that you are blocked from going deeper. You have been watching the wrong thing. Your main task in meditation is to notice these hindrances and knock them out. Thereby you earn each successive stage in meditation, rather than trying to steal the prize of each stage by an act of will.

In every stage of meditation you cannot go wrong when you put peace or kindness in the space between you and whatever you are aware of. When a sexual fantasy is occurring, put peace in the space and the daydream will soon run out of fuel. Make peace not war with the dullness. Place kindness between the observer and your aching body. And agree to a ceasefire in the battle between you and your wandering mind. Stop controlling and start to let go.

Just as a house is built of thousands of bricks laid one by one, so the house of peace (i.e., jhāna) is built of thousands of moments of peace made one by one. When moment after moment you place peace or gentleness or kindness in the space between, then the sexual fantasies are no longer needed, pain fades away, dullness turns to brightness, restlessness runs out of gas, and jhāna simply happens."

So what happens when the hindrances are knocked out? Are they overcome forever or just during one's meditation? Ajahn Brahm provides this explanation:

"At first, you overcome them temporarily. When you emerge from a deep meditation, you'll notice that those hindrances have been gone for a long time. The mind is very sharp, very still. You can keep your attention on one thing for a long time, and you have no ill will at all. You can't get angry with someone even if they hit you over the head. You aren't interested in sensory pleasures like sex. This is the result of good meditation. But after a while, depending on the depth and the length of that meditation, the hindrances come back again. It's like they're in the boxing ring and they've just been knocked out. They are "unconscious" for a while. Eventually they come round again and start playing their tricks. But at least you know what it is like to have overcome those hindrances. The more you return to those deep stages—the more often the hindrances get knocked out—the more sickly and weak they become. Then it's the job of the enlightenment insights [vipassana] to overcome those weakened hindrances once and for all. This is the age-old path of Buddhism. You knock out the five hindrances through meditation practices in order to provide an opportunity for wisdom [vipassana]. Wisdom will then see through these weakened hindrances and destroy them. When the hindrances have been completely abandoned, you're enlightened. And if you are enlightened, there is no difficulty in getting into jhānas because the obstacles are gone. What was between you and jhānas has been completely eradicated."

Ajahn Brahm goes on to describe in detail the quality of mindfulness. He says that if it's not fully understood and practiced, one can waste a lot of time in meditation. An amusing anecdote is given to bring the point home. Imagine that you are a wealthy person with a gatekeeper guarding your mansion. One evening before going out you tell the gatekeeper to be mindful of burglars. When you return you find that your home has been burgled. When you question the gatekeeper, he says that he was mindful: he gave attention to the burglars as they broke in, he was clearly attentive as they walked out with your plasma-screen TV and sound system, and he watched mindfully as they repeatedly walked in and took all your antique furniture.

As Ajahn Brahm says, a wise gatekeeper knows that mindfulness is more than bare attention. He must also remember the instructions and act on them with diligence. For example, when a meditator sees an unwholesome state trying to break in, they must try to stop the defilement. And if it manages to slip in, they must try to evict it. So there are these two aspects of mindfulness: awareness and remembering the instructions.

In fact, in the Buddhist suttas, the same Pāli word sati is used for both awareness and memory. A person who has good awareness also has good memory. If we pay full attention to what we are doing, this awareness creates an imprint in our mind, and the strength of that imprint corresponds to the strength of our awareness in that moment. We need to give full awareness to clear instructions so that we will be able to remember and act on them.

Ajahn Brahm makes a point of reminding us that at the beginning of the meditation, one needs to remember that there is a gatekeeper inside—something that can be aware of what's happening and remember instructions. He gives several instructions to be given to the gatekeeper depending on one's stage of meditation. However, like a servant or worker, one doesn't have to keep giving the same instructions over and over again. Repeating them just two or three times, clearly and with full awareness at the beginning, is all that is necessary, and then the gatekeeper can get on with it's task.

Satipaṭṭhāna

Now we come to the second half of meditation or what is called vipassana or insight meditation. In order to do this second half of meditation effectively, we need to bring an extremely calm, clear, and tranquil mind to the practice, such as the type of mind that exists after emerging from jhāna. There are different variations of vipassana which deal with various types of contemplations and insights, but the most powerful—those that can have the deepest and most far-reaching effects—are formally called Satipaṭṭhāna, or the Four Focuses of Mindfulness. These contemplations are simply a detailed examination of the "nature of you."

Before continuing, Ajahn Brahm points out how satipaṭṭhāna practice is not original to Buddhism, that intelligent and inquisitive people in all races and religions have directed their mindfulness towards aspects of nature in order to understand their meaning. However, the key element that is unique to Buddhism is the practice of jhāna. The originality of the Buddha was in using the experience of jhāna to profoundly empower investigation and give mindfulness a huge boost.

Incidentally, the practice of vipassana/insight meditation by way of satipaṭṭhāna, and the practice of samatha/tranquility meditation, are precisely the seventh and eighth factors of the noble eightfold path. All factors require cultivation in order to realize enlightenment: right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness (vipassana/satipaṭṭhāna), and right concentration (samatha).

Before entering into a description of satipaṭṭhāna, Ajahn Brahm prepares the ground by showing how important it is to enter into jhāna first. The Buddha said that if anyone should develop the satipaṭṭhāna "in such a way," for seven days, then they would realize full enlightenment or the state of non-returner (a state just prior to full enlightenment). Many Buddhists, monastic and lay, have completed many meditation retreats longer than seven days and remain unenlightened. Ajahn Brahm says the reason for this is that they have not followed the instructions correctly. With a new and more accurate rendering of a one hundred year-old poorly translated key phrase, the suttas actually indicate that one practices satipaṭṭhāna "having temporarily abandoned the five hindrances." And it is precisely the function of jhāna to temporarily abandon the five hindrances. From the Naḷakapāna Sutta, MN 68,6:

"[...] not attaining a jhāna, the five hindrances invade one's mind and remain. Attaining a jhāna the five hindrances do not invade the mind and remain."

Ajahn Brahm gives a wonderful anecdote that beautifully describes the relationship between mindfulness, jhāna, and the five hindrances in this extended quote:

"If mindfulness is like a light, meditation brightens that light. When I was a young monk at Wat Pa Nanachat in Northeast Thailand, I became quite peaceful by doing walking meditation in the hall. I would walk with my gaze on a spot on the concrete floor some two meters ahead. Then I had to stop. I couldn't believe it, but the dull concrete surface began to open up into a picture of magnificent beauty. The various shades of gray and the texture suddenly appeared as the most beautiful picture I had ever seen. I thought of cutting out that section and sending it to the Tate Gallery in London. It was a work of art. An hour or two later, it was just a boring, ordinary piece of concrete again.

What had happened, and this may have happened to you, is that I had a short experience of "power mindfulness." In power mindfulness, the mind is like a megawatt searchlight, enabling you to see so much deeper into what you are gazing at. Ordinary concrete becomes a masterpiece. A blade of grass literally shimmers with the most delightful and brilliant shades of fluorescent green. A twig metamorphoses into a boundless universe of shape, color, and structure. The petty becomes profound and the humdrum becomes heavenly under the sparkling energy of power mindfulness.

What is happening is that the five hindrances are being abandoned. The five hindrances are said, in the suttas, to "weaken wisdom." When they are gone, the experience is like seeing through a windshield that has been cleaned of grime and dust, or hearing through ears at last unclogged of wax, or reflecting with a mind released from its fog. When you know the difference between power mindfulness and weak mindfulness as a personal experience, not a mere idea, then you will understand the necessity for jhāna prior to satipaṭṭhāna.

Jhāna generates "superpower" mindfulness. If power mindfulness is like a megawatt searchlight, then jhāna-generated superpower mindfulness is like a terawatt sun. If enlightenment is your goal, then the superpower mindfulness is the level that's needed."

[...]

In satipaṭṭhāna, the thousand-petaled lotus is a simile for this body-mind, that is, "you" [...]. The sun is a simile for mindfulness. You have to sustain power mindfulness for a very long time on this body and mind to allow the innermost petals to open up. If the five hindrances are there, no insight happens, just as when there are clouds or mist, the sun cannot warm the lotus.

If you haven't sustained power mindfulness on this body and mind for long, then your understanding sees only outer petals. But if you generate power mindfulness and sustain it on the body-mind continuously, then you begin to see all this in a completely different light. You thought that you knew what "you" were, but now you realize how deluded you were and how little you knew. Through sustaining power mindfulness on the body and mind, truths start to unfold."

So what is the purpose of satipaṭṭhāna? As Ajahn Brahm puts it, the purpose is to see anattā, that there is no self, no me, nor anything that belongs to a self. According to the original texts, "Such mindfulness is established enough to discern that there are just body, feelings, mind, and objects of the mind, and these are not me, nor mine, nor a self." Keeping this purpose in mind, we can appreciate why the Buddha taught only four focuses for mindfulness: body, feelings, mind, and mind objects: because these are the main areas where life assumes a "me" or a "mine." Therefore, the satipaṭṭhāna practice sustains superpower mindfulness on each of the four objects in order to unravel the illusion of self.

These, then, are the prerequisites for successful satipaṭṭhāna practice:

1. vineyya loke abhijjhā domanassam—first abandon the five hindrances through an experience of jhāna.

2. satimā—be possessed of superpower mindfulness resulting from jhāna.

3. atāpi—diligently sustain that superpower mindfulness on the focus.

4. sampajāno—keep in mind the purpose of satipaṭṭhāna on each of the four focuses in turn.

The first focus of mindfulness is the body. The body is composed of several groups: (1) breath, (2) bodily posture, (3) bodily activity, (4) composition of the body, (5) the body seen as four elements, and (6) the nine corpse contemplations. Ajahn Brahm declines to discuss the fifth grouping, perhaps due to his extensive background in theoretical physics. As such, one might be inclined to update the second last grouping with a more modern version such as, (5) the body seen as atomic elements and processes.

The second focus of mindfulness is feeling (vedanā). However, this term requires further explanation as it is not quite an accurate translation. In English, the word feeling has a wide range of meanings. It can mean both emotional states and physical sensations in the body. Ajahn Brahm states that the Pali word vedanā means that quality of every conscious experience—whether through sight, sounds, smell, taste, touch, or mind—that is pleasant, unpleasant, or somewhere in between.

The third focus of mindfulness is mind consciousness (citta). This focus of mindfulness is one of the most difficult to practice. As Ajahn Brahm states, most people's meditation is not developed sufficiently to even see mind consciousness. Mind consciousness is like an emperor covered head to toe in thick garments. It is so completely clothed by the five senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch that one cannot see it underneath. To see the emperor, one has to remove his clothes, that is, the five external senses. And it is precisely the task of jhāna to remove the five senses and reveal the citta. Thus one cannot even begin to practice this third focus of mindfulness until one has experienced a jhāna. "For how can you contemplate citta when you haven't really experienced it? It would be like contemplating the emperor when all you can see are his (or her?) clothes." Ajahn Brahm provides two analogies that make this clearer:

"When you sustain superpower mindfulness on the pure citta, the nature of all types of consciousness reveals itself. You see consciousness not as a smoothly flowing process but as a series of discrete, isolated events. Consciousness may be compared to a stretch of sand on a beach. Superficially the sand looks continuous over several hundred meters. But after you investigate it closely, you discover that is is made up of discrete, isolated particles of silicate. There are empty spaces between each particle of sand, with no essential sandiness flowing in the gap between any two particles. In the same way, that which we take to be the flow of consciousness is clearly seen to be a series of discrete events, with nothing flowing in between.

Another analogy is the fruit salad analogy. Suppose on a plate there is an apple. You clearly see this apple completely disappear and in its place appears a coconut. Then the coconut vanishes and in its place appears another apple. Then the second apple vanishes and another coconut is there. That vanishes and a banana appears, only to vanish when another coconut manifests on the plate, then another banana, coconut, apple, coconut, mango, coconut, lemon, coconut, and so on. As soon as one fruit vanishes, then a moment later a completely new fruit appears. They are all fruits but completely different varieties, with no two fruits the same. Moreover, no connecting fruit-essence flows from one fruit to the next. In this analogy, the apple stands for an event of eye consciousness, the banana for an incident of nose consciousness, the mango for taste consciousness, the lemon for body consciousness, and the coconut for mind consciousness. Each moment of consciousness is discrete, with nothing flowing from one moment to the next.

Mind consciousness, the "coconut," appears after every other species of consciousness and thereby gives the illusion of sameness to every conscious experience. To the average person, there is a quality of seeing that is also found in hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching. We can call that quality "knowing." However, with superpower mindfulness, you will discern that this knowing is not a part of seeing, hearing, and so on, but arises a moment after each type of consciousness. Moreover, this knowing has vanished when, for example, eye consciousness is occurring. And eye consciousness has vanished when knowing (mind consciousness) is occurring. In the simile of the fruit salad, there can't be an apple and a coconut on the plate at the same time."

The fourth focus of mindfulness are objects of the mind. The mind objects listed in the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta are the Four Noble Truths, the Five Hindrances, the Five Aggregates, the Six Sense Spheres, and the Seven Factors of Enlightenment. Ajahn Brahm specifically includes other mind objects such as thought, emotions and will (which are technically part of the aggregate of mental formations within the five aggregates).

The Four Noble Truths are often given as:

(1) The nature of suffering (dukkha): "Now this ... is the noble truth of suffering: birth is suffering, aging is suffering, illness is suffering, death is suffering, sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief and despair are suffering; union with what is displeasing is suffering; separation from what is pleasing is suffering; not to get what one wants is suffering; in brief, the five aggregates subject to clinging are suffering."

(2) Suffering's origin (samudaya): "Now this ... is the noble truth of the origin of suffering: it is this craving which leads to renewed existence, accompanied by delight and lust, seeking delight here and there, that is, craving for sensual pleasures, craving for existence, craving for extermination."

(3) Suffering's cessation (nirodha): "Now this ... is the noble truth of the cessation of suffering: it is the remainderless fading away and cessation of that same craving, the giving up and relinquishing of it, freedom from it, nonreliance on it."

(4) The way leading to the cessation of suffering (magga): "Now this ... is the noble truth of the way leading to the cessation of suffering: it is the noble eightfold path; that is, right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration."

The Five Hindrances, which we've already discussed in detail, obstruct the subject from entering into deep absorption states or the jhānas. They include sensory desire, ill will, sloth and torpor, restlessness and remorse, and doubt.

The Five Aggregates categorize all individual experience, among which there is no "self" to be found. It is often stated that a "person" is made up of these five aggregates. The aggregates consist of form (rūpa), consciousness (viññāṇa), feeling (vedanā), perception (saññā) and mental formations (saṅkharā). Form involves external and internal matter. Externally, form is the the physical world, internally form includes the material body and the physical sense organs. Consciousness is a series of rapidly changing interconnected discrete acts of cognizance. Feeling senses an object as either pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. Perception registers whether an object is recognized or not. Mental formations involve all types of mental habits, thoughts, ideas, opinions, compulsions, and decisions triggered by an object.

The Six Sense Spheres include the six sense organs (or internal sense bases) and six sense objects (or external sense bases). Based on these six pairs of sense bases, a number of mental factors arise. Thus, for instance, when an ear and sound are present, the associated consciousness (viññāṇa) arises. The arising of these three elements—ear, sound, and ear-related consciousness—lead to what is known as "contact" (phassa) which in turn causes a pleasant, unpleasant or neutral "feeling" or "sensation" (vedanā) to arise. It is from such a feeling that "craving" (tanhā) arises. These mental factors are also the essential elements of the cycle of Dependent Origination.

The Seven Factors of Enlightenment are mental factors that begin to arise as the subject approaches states of enlightenment. These include mindfulness (sati), investigation (dhamma vicaya), energy (viriya), joy (piti), tranquility (passaddhi), concentration (samadhi), and equanimity (upekkha).

This summarizes the practice of satipaṭṭhāna and concludes part one of Mindfulness, Bliss, and Beyond. Ajahn Brahm then continues in part two of his book to describe in much greater detail the jhānas and an experiential account of the various stages of enlightenment. Fascinating to the nth degree. It is worth repeating that the Buddha promised that anyone who practices the four satipaṭṭhānas diligently would reach either the state of the non-returner or full enlightenment in seven days. But it is crucial to understand that this means first developing superpower mindfulness by entering jhāna. As Ajahn Brahm concludes,

"Develop superpower mindfulness generated by jhāna so you know for yourself how impotent ordinary mindfulness is. Put the citta (the knower) or cetanā (the will) under the spotlight of superpower mindfulness, courageously going beyond the comfort of your views. Await the unexpected. Don't second-guess truth. Wait with patience until the thousandth petal of the lotus fully opens to reveal the heart. That will be the end of delusion, the end of saṃsāra, and the end of satipaṭṭhāna."

Now, where did I put my cushion?

What Makes You Not a Buddhist (Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche)

2007-10-17T12:06:00.000-06:00

This book is a very important distillation of the core of Buddhist philosophy. The book revolves around expounding the four seals, the quintessential teaching of the Buddha which state that:

1. All compounded things are impermanent.
2. All emotions are pain.
3. All things have no inherent existence.
4. Nirvana is beyond concepts.

Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche makes a note of his choice of words in translating the four seals into contemporary English. He indicates that trade-offs are often made in order to appeal to a broader audience that would better understand what is being said. Even though the words used do not capture the fullness of meaning behind the four seals, they are somewhat clearer to a Western audience. For example, the second seal speaks of emotions being pain. This is often given as dukkha (suffering) in the original Pali, and many Buddhist scholars have rendered this as "all compounded things are suffering." The underlying intention here is to signify that all things, when grasped at or clung to, ultimately bring emotional suffering.

The book has a light, almost flippant, quality about it. Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche weaves threads of contemporary pop culture into his exposition of Buddhist philosophy, to make it more palatable and entertaining to the average person. The book reads as deep Buddhist thought interspersed with a smattering of amusing Western cultural observations, that really puts things into perspective: we see the spin surrounding consumerism and materialism for what it is. But the essence of the book is an exposition of core Buddhist philosophy. Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche intertwines the story of the Buddha into the exposition of the four seals. He describes briefly the life of the Buddha, and his path towards realization.

So what makes you not a Buddhist? This brief excerpt summarizes the essence of the teaching and the book:

If you cannot accept that all compounded or fabricated things are impermanent, if you believe that there is some essential substance or concept that is permanent, then you are not a Buddhist.

If you cannot accept that all emotions are pain, if you believe that actually some emotions are purely pleasurable, then you are not a Buddhist.

If you cannot accept that all phenomena are illusory and empty, if you believe that certain things do exist inherently, then you are not a Buddhist.

And if you think that enlightenment exists within the spheres of time, space, and power, then you are not a Buddhist.

The book is organized into fours parts, with each seal taking one chapter. Chapter one is entitled "Fabrication and Impermanence." We discover what the Buddha found after a long time of contemplation: that every phenomenon we perceive is the product of many things temporarily coming together to create the illusion of an independently existing phenomenon. This illusion is dissipated when we penetrate to the truth: all that arises ultimately passes away, and that everything is in a state of continuous change.

After a long time of contemplation, [the Buddha] came to the realization that all form, including our flesh and bones, and all our emotions and all our perceptions, are assembled—they are the product of two or more things coming together. When any two components or more come together, a new phenomenon emerges—nails and wood become a table; water and leaves become tea; fear, devotion, and a saviour become God. This end product doesn't have an existence independent of its parts. Believing it truly exists independently is the greatest deception. Meanwhile the parts have undergone a change. Just by meeting, their character has changed and, together, they have become something else—they are "compounded."

The second chapter is entitled, "Emotion and Pain." Here we see what the Buddha uncovered concerning emotions and their relationship to suffering: that all emotions are suffering because they involve clinging to an idea of self. The Buddha taught that all emotions are ways in which we identify with a sense of self—whether those emotions are positive or negative. We tend to grasp after those emotions we call "positive," and push away those we call "negative." Whether we're grasping or pushing away, we're either trying to "increase," or "protect" ourselves. In either case, we're attached to a sense of self.

Siddhartha was also trying to cut suffering at its root. [...] He explored suffering with an open mind, and through his tireless contemplation Siddhartha discovered that at the root, it is our emotions that lead to suffering. In fact they are suffering. One way or another, directly or indirectly, all emotions are born from selfishness in the sense that they involve clinging to the self. Moreover, he discovered that, as real as they may seem, emotions are not an inherent part of one's being. [...] Emotions arise when particular causes and conditions come together, such as when you rush to think that someone is criticizing you, ignoring you, or depriving you of some gain. Then the corresponding emotions arise. The moment we accept those emotions, the moment we buy into them, we have lost awareness and sanity. We are "worked up." Thus Siddhartha found his solution—awareness. If you seriously wish to eliminate suffering, you must generate awareness, tend to your emotions, and learn how to avoid getting worked up.

A deeper analysis of the second seal reveals the root of emotions as suffering to be the nonexistent self. This sense of self is manufactured at an early age, and we are taught to think that our body, feelings, perceptions, consciousness, thoughts, and actions are who we are. This misunderstanding then permeates everything we do and experience. Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche elaborates:

All of these various emotions and their consequences come from misunderstanding, and this misunderstanding comes from one source, which is the root of all ignorance—clinging to the self. We assume that each of us is a self, that there is an entity called "me." The self is just another misunderstanding, however. We generally manufacture a notion of self, which feels like a solid entity. We are conditioned to view this notion as consistent and real. We think, I am this form, raising the hand. We think, I have form, this is my body. We think, Form is me, I am tall. We think, I dwell in this form, pointing at the chest. We do the same with feelings, perceptions, and actions. I have feelings, I am my perceptions... But Siddhartha realized that there is no independent entity that qualifies as the self to be found anywhere, whether inside or outside the body. Like the optical illusion of a fire ring, the self is illusory. It is a fallacy, fundamentally flawed and ultimately nonexistent. But just as we can get carried away by the fire ring, we all get carried away by thinking that we are the self. When we look at our own bodies, feelings, perceptions, actions, and consciousness, we see that these are different elements of what we think of as "me," but if we were to examine them, we would find that "me" doesn't dwell in any of them. Clinging to the fallacy of the self is a ridiculous act of ignorance; it perpetuates ignorance, and it leads us to all kinds of pain and disappointment. Everything we do in our lives depends on how we perceive our "selves," so if this perception is based on misunderstandings, which it inevitably is, then this misunderstanding permeates everything we do, see, and experience. It is not a simple matter of a child misinterpreting light and movement; our whole existence is based on very flimsy premises.

The third chapter is entitled, "Everything is Emptiness." This is often given as anatta (no-self) in the original Pali, and many Buddhist scholars have rendered this as "all compounded things are non-self," or "empty of self." That is, no compounded phenomena has any inherent existence or is-ness. This follows quite naturally from the first seal and also from our modern physics, which states that everything is in a state of continuous flux. Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche describes how Siddhartha was willing and able to see that all of our existence is merely labels placed on phenomena that do not truly exist, and through that he experienced awakening:

Although Siddhartha realized emptiness, emptiness was not manufactured by Siddhartha or anyone else. Emptiness is not the result of his revelation, nor was it developed as a theory to help people be happy. [...] Emptiness doesn't cancel out our daily experience. Siddhartha never said that something spectacular, better, purer, or more divine exists in place of what we perceive. He wasn't an anarchist refuting the appearance or function of worldly existence, either. He didn't say that there is no appearance of a rainbow or that there is no cup of tea. We can enjoy our experience, but just because we can experience something doesn't mean that it truly exists. Siddhartha simply suggested that we examine our experience and consider that it could be just a temporary illusion, like a daydream.

Siddhartha completely understood that in the relative world you can make a cup of oolong tea and drink it; he would not say "There is no tea" or "Tea is emptiness." If he were to say anything at all, it would be to suggest that the tea is not as it seems; for example, tea is shrivelled leaves in hot water. But some tea fanatics get carried away with the leaves and composing special mixes, creating names like Iron Dragon and selling small amounts for hundreds of dollars. To them it is not just a leaf in water. It was for this reason that some fifteen hundred years after Siddhartha taught, one of his dharma heirs, named Tilopa, said to his student Naropa, "It is not the appearance that binds you, it's the attachment to the appearance that binds you."

The classic Buddhist example used to illustrate emptiness is the snake and the rope. Let's say there is a cowardly man named Jack who has a phobia about snakes. Jack walks into a dimly lit room, sees a snake coiled up in the corner, and panics. In fact he is looking at a striped Giorgio Armani tie, but in his terror he has misinterpreted what he sees to the point that he could even die of fright—death caused by a snake that does not truly exist. While he is under the impression that it is a snake, the pain and anxiety that he experiences is what Buddhists call "samsara," which is a kind of mental trap. Fortunately for Jack, his friend Jill walks into the room. Jill is calm and sane and knows that Jack thinks he sees a snake. She can switch on the light and explain that there is no snake, that it is actually a tie. When Jack is convinced that he is safe, this relief is none other than what Buddhists call "nirvana"—liberation and freedom. But Jack's relief is based on a fallacy of harm being averted, even though there was no snake and there was nothing to cause his suffering in the first place.

It's important to understand that by switching on the light and demonstrating that there is no snake, Jill is also saying that there is no absence of the snake. In other words, she cannot say, "The snake is gone now," because the snake was never there. She didn't make the snake disappear, just as Siddhartha didn't make emptiness. This is why Siddhartha insisted that he could not sweep away the suffering of others by waving his hand. Nor could his own liberation be granted or shared piecemeal, like some sort of award. All he could do was explain from his experience that there was no suffering in the first place, which is like switching on the light for us.

The fourth chapter is entitled, "Nirvana is Beyond Concepts." This final seal is of particular interest, as it is not explicitly stated as one of the three characteristics of existence in the original Pali Suttas. Namely, anicca, dukkha, and anatta, which correspond to the first three seals. However, this last seal can be seen to follow naturally from the first and third seals. If all conditioned phenomena are impermanent, empty, and without inherent existence, then we cannot label things as if they truly exist: a rock, a tree, a cloud. All these things are actually processes, verbs, not things. In fact, there are no things to speak of, and that includes more complex processes such as you and I. Everything is process. This is also the realization of modern quantum physics: even the tiniest detectable particles of matter are not permanently enduring and indivisible parts, but continuously moving and interacting fields of energy (which aren't things). In other words, there are no nouns, no real things, just labels signifying those apparent things as conveniences of language. And so it is with this thing we call Nirvana—it is beyond words, labels, and concepts, and like everything else, lies directly in the field of experience—a state of mind. But because we understand this, we can talk about Nirvana as if it were a thing, in order to facilitate communication as a matter of linguistic convention.

When Siddhartha became enlightened, he became known as the Buddha. Buddha isn't a person's name, it is the label for a state of mind. The word buddha is defined as one quality with two aspects: "accomplished one" and "awakened one." In other words, one who has purified defilements and one who has attained knowledge. Through his realization under the bodhi tree, Buddha awoke from the dualistic state that is mired in concepts such as subject and object. He realized that nothing compounded can permanently exist. He realized that no emotion leads one to bliss if it stems from clinging to ego. He realized that there is no truly existing self and no truly existing phenomena to be perceived. And he realized that even enlightenment is beyond concepts. These realizations are what we call "Buddha's wisdom," an awareness of the whole truth.

[...]

In Buddhist texts, when these questions are posed, the answer is usually that it's beyond our conception, inexpressible. Many seem to have misunderstood this as a sly way of not answering the question. But actually that is the answer. Our logic, language, and symbols are so limited, we cannot even fully express something so mundane as the sense of relief; words are inadequate to fully transmit the total experience of relief to another person. [...] While we are caught in our current state, where only a limited amount of logic and language is used and where emotions still grip us, we can only imagine what it is like to be enlightened. But sometimes, with diligence and inferential logic, we can get a good approximation [...]. Using what we have, we can begin to see and accept that obscurations are due to causes and conditions that can be manipulated and ultimately cleansed. Imagining the absence of our defiled emotions and negativity is the first step to understanding the nature of enlightenment.

As the Buddha said in the Prajnaparamita Sutra, all phenomena are like a dream and an illusion, even enlightenment is like a dream and an illusion. And if there is anything greater or grander than enlightenment, that, too, is like a dream and an illusion. His disciple, the great Nagarjuna, wrote that the Lord Buddha has not stated that after abandoning samsara there exists nirvana. The nonexistence of samsara is nirvana. A knife becomes sharp as the result of two exhaustions—the exhaustion of the whetstone and the exhaustion of the metal. In the same way, enlightenment is the result of the exhaustion of defilements and the exhaustion of the antidote of the defilements. Ultimately one must abandon the path to enlightenment. If you still define yourself as a Buddhist, you are not a buddha yet.

This idea is beautifully captured in one of the more well-known teachings of the Buddha: that the path, the vehicle, is a temporary device that allows us to cross over to the other side—like a raft that carries us across a turbulent river. It may even be uniquely tailored to our specific circumstances. However, once we've crossed over, we don't carry the raft on our backs—having served its purpose, we toss it away.

In this book, Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche has provided us with a drop of much needed clarity in an age of confusion and information overload. In his exposition of the four seals he has swept away much of the confusion surrounding the many schools of Buddhism. He has helped us to understand what is essential by relying on the original teachings, life, and experience of the Buddha.

Now, where did I put my raft? See you on the other side.

Island (Aldous Huxley)

2006-10-08T15:48:00.000-06:00

In his quasi utopian work Island, Aldous Huxley describes the functions and structures of a semi-enlightened society in the midst of an increasingly mad world riddled with greed and conflict. What makes the island's idealistic existence possible is the relative geographical isolation from outside influences. The island nation has evolved structures over a period of 150 years catalysed by a few semi-enlightened individuals, to support individual and social development into realms of higher consciousness. In fact, Pala is a forbidden island, a place no journalist has ever visited. However, as the madness of the outside world encroaches, these structures begin to be attacked, and the core values of this island nation fall into jeopardy. Nonetheless, by the end of the story, a broad panoramic portrait of an extraordinarily functional and enviable society is provided.

Interestingly, the ideological roots of this island society originate from a mix of Western and Eastern influences, in the persons of a Scottish doctor, Dr. Andrew, and a Palanese king, the Raja. An odd friendship between a Calvinist-Turned-Atheist and a pious Mahayana Buddhist. Dr. Andrew saved the life of the terminally ill Raja by using unorthodox techniques of Western medicine and hypnosis. They fast became friends, a pair of complimentary temperaments, talents, and philosophies, as well as complementary stocks of knowledge,

[...] each man supplying the other's deficiencies, each stimulating and fortifying the other's native capacities. The Raja's was an acute and subtle mind; but he knew nothing of the world beyond the confines of his island, nothing of physical science, nothing of European technology, European art, European ways of thinking. No less intelligent, Dr. Andrew knew nothing, of course, about Indian painting and poetry and philosophy. He also knew nothing, as he gradually discovered, about the science of the human mind and the art of living. In the month's that followed [...] each became the other's pupil and the other's teacher.

The story begins with Will Farnaby, a Westerner who is beached on the island of Pala after having failed to negotiate some difficult waters. Injured and traumatized, he is found by a young girl and her little brother. The young girl, cautious at first, applies some simple but powerful psychological first aid to get Will to confront the deep emotional pain surrounding the experience. The first aid consists simply in repeatedly reliving the traumatic experience until all blockages in the form of suppressed emotions have been palliated by finding a conscious avenue of expression and therefore release. After a cathartic episode, Will is able to enter into more normal interaction, having been freed from some of the psychological blockages caused by the traumatic experience. What is fascinating is the ease with which the technique is applied, even by a child. And even more, that all inhabitants of Pala have knowledge of such techniques at a very early age.

A recurring theme in Island is the use of hypnosis for dealing with pain in all its forms. The members of Palanese society are taught how to use self-hypnosis for relieving physical pain—and the women in particular employ this precise technique for painless childbirth. This same hypnotic procedure is also used to provide anaesthesia-less surgeries. The essence of the process is described when Susila hypnotizes Will after his traumatic ordeal, in order to speed physical recovery of his injuries. Susila later reveals in beautiful metaphor, that we must send our little "selves" into the garden to play, so the "grownups" can get to work on things. And it is at this moment that indirect suggestions can be made to great benefit. In the case of Will's injured knee, she makes some suggestions about his body image, making him imagine it much bigger than in everyday reality, and the knee much smaller. "There can't be any doubt as to who's going to win." Interestingly, this description of using hypnosis to treat injury and illness in general, was certainly influenced by Aldous Huxley's collaborations with renown psychiatrist and hypno-therapist Milton H. Erickson.

On a related note is the scathing commentary on the state of Western medicine. What transpires is a brilliant coup de grace in favour of holistic medicine, and treatment of the entire human being—with significant emphasis on prevention rather than cure. Will is speaking with the peppery little nurse Radha, who has brought him his afternoon meal.

     "So you think our medicine's pretty primitive?"
     "That's the wrong word. It isn't primitive. It's fifty percent terrific and fifty percent non-existent. Marvellous antibiotics—but absolutely no methods for increasing resistance, so that antibiotics won't be necessary. Fantastic operations—but when it comes to teaching people the way of going through life without having to be chopped up, absolutely nothing. And it's the same all along the line. Alpha Plus for patching you up when you've started to fall apart; but Delta Minus for keeping you healthy. Apart from sewerage systems and synthetic vitamins, you don't seem to do anything at all about prevention. And yet you've got a proverb: prevention is better than cure."
     "But cure," said Will, "is so much more dramatic than prevention. And for the doctors it's also a lot more profitable."
     "Maybe for your doctors," said the little nurse. "Not for ours. Ours get paid for keeping people well."
     "How is it to be done?"
     "We've been asking that question for a hundred years, and we've found a lot of answers. Chemical answers, psychological answers, answers in terms of what you eat, how you make love, what you see and hear, how you feel about being who you are in this kind of world."

[...]

     "So whether it's prevention or whether it's cure, we attack on all the fronts at once. All the fronts," she insisted, "from diet to autosuggestion, from negative ions to meditation."

Nurse Radha offers this telling little rhyme that every student nurse must commit to memory on the first day of training:

'I' am a crowd, obeying as many laws
As it has members. Chemically impure
Are all 'my' beings. There's no single cure
For what can never have a single cause.

On the issue of family and parenting, Island offers a refreshing alternative to conventional family structures. The centrepiece of Palanese family life revolves around the mutual adoption club or MAC. These are groups of about twenty families where children are raised in communities of mothers and fathers. Every member of society is a member of an MAC. Most children reside with their biological parents as with conventional family structures. However, in the event of family difficulties, children know they are free to leave their parents' home, and stay at one of their adoptive parents' homes until the difficulty passes or is resolved. The beauty of this approach is the exceedingly desirable side-effect of having children protected, to a large degree, from the repeated and extended exposure to the neurosis of a single set of parents. These children become the recipients of a number of diverse parenting styles, and derive tremendous benefit from a pool of role models. This dramatically curbs the passing of neurotic patterns from one generation to the next, as so often occurs in conventional parent-child relationships. Children are virtually guaranteed the love and attention they require at all stages of their development. Further, this care and attention is extended to every member of an MAC, from infants to centenarians. These communities are organic, fluid, and easily adapt to changing situations and circumstances of individuals.

So what does the educational process look like for a semi-enlightened society? In short, there is a great deal of attention given to the question of how to educate children on the conceptual level without killing their capacity for intense non-verbal experience. To begin with, education in Pala centres around a kind of practical semi-mystical deep psychology of mind and essence. First principles are discussed early on, the nature of being, mind, language, symbols, how language influences perception, and how the map is not the territory. Oddly, in our Western world we think these are high and flighty concepts, but only because most never encounter them until later in life. But if they are presented skilfully, these ideas can easily be grasped by children, and most importantly, could then inform all future learning, placing it in the correct context. But why is this so important? Well, briefly, when a human being sees the difference between language and the reality language attempts to approximate (albeit poorly), there is a marked reduction in one's identification with verbally expressed ideas, opinions, and views. And it's precisely this identification (and subsequent attachment) with the verbal expression of an idea, opinion, or view which is the cause of so much human conflict and suffering. Mr. Chandra Menon, the Under-Secretary of Education provides this explanation:

[Children] are taught to pay attention to what they see and hear, and at the same time they're asked to notice how their feelings and desires affect what they experience of the outer world, and how their language habits affect not only their feelings and desires but even their sensations. What my ears and my eyes record is one thing; what the words I use and the mood I'm in and the purposes I'm pursuing allow me to perceive, make sense of and act upon is something quite different. So you see it's all brought together into a single educational process. What we give the children is simultaneously a training in perceiving and imagining, a training in applied physiology and psychology, a training in practical ethics and practical religion, a training in the proper use of language, and a training in self-knowledge. In a word, a training of the whole mind-body in all its aspects.

Further, the point is made that a trained mind-body learns more quickly and more thoroughly than an untrained one. That it is more capable of relating facts to ideas, and both of them to life. And this includes wonderful visualization exercises, that bring to mind elements touched upon in the Harry Potter series, and techniques for dealing with powerful negative emotions. Some specific examples of teaching methodology include, how logic and structure are taught in the form of games and puzzles; children play and incredibly quickly catch the point, which can then be followed with practical applications. Children begin learning about ecology very early on; they are never given the chance of imagining that anything exists in isolation. And what's especially important about this early teaching is the way in which it roots children in the development of an ecologically-based morality. The child isn't taught by way of constrictions and prohibitions, but rather indirectly through ecological investigations on the effects and repercussions of various actions in the environment. This gradually and naturally transforms itself into a higher Morality in relation to all things, a Morality that develops from clear understanding, rather than being imposed from without.

The morality to which a child goes on from the facts of ecology and the parables of erosion is a universal ethic. There are no Chosen People in nature, no Holy Lands, no Unique Historical Revelations. Conservation morality gives nobody an excuse for feeling superior, or claiming special privileges. 'Do as you would be done by' applies to our dealings with all kinds of life in every part of the world. We shall be permitted to live on this planet only for as long as we treat all nature with compassion and intelligence. Elementary ecology leads straight to elementary Buddhism.

Also, training in receptivity becomes the complement and antidote to training in analysis and symbol manipulation:

If one chooses to [...] one can always substitute a bad ready-made notion for the best insights of receptivity. The question is, why should one want to make that kind of choice? Why shouldn't one choose to listen to both parties and harmonize their views? The analysing tradition-bound concept maker and the alertly passive insight receiver—neither is infallible; but both together can do a reasonably good job.

As we move forward in our discovery of the infrastructure of a semi-enlightened society, we approach the hallowed realms of economics, politics, and media influence. These three areas are examined more-or-less simultaneously, as they are all directly to do with one grand over-arching idea: power. As Will Farnaby is given a tour of the productive resources of Pala, and the efficiency with which the society produces goods and services, he asks his guide on where ownership lies. His guide describes a co-operative system that lends itself to streamlined co-operative techniques for buying and selling and profit sharing and financing, without the need for commercial banks.

[...] Most of the time we're co-operators. Palanese agriculture has always been an affair of terracing and irrigation. But terracing and irrigation call for pooled efforts and friendly agreements. Cut-throat competition isn't compatible with rice-growing in a mountainous country. Our people found it quite easy to pass from mutual aid in a village community to streamlined co-operative techniques for buying and selling and profit sharing and financing. [...] No commercial banks [as] in your Western style. Our borrowing and lending system was modelled on those credit unions that Wilhelm Raiffeisen set up more than a century ago in Germany. Dr. Andrew persuaded the Raja to invite one of Raiffeisen's young men to come here and organize a co-operative banking system.

And to the question of what is used for money or the means of exchange, Will's guide indicates a paper currency that is 100% backed by physical gold, silver, and copper. The benefits of this approach is at first somewhat unclear, but with persistence of examination its power becomes painfully obvious; such an approach prevents excesses in government spending (the welfare state); it also prevents inflation and hyper-inflation, by way of terminating the virtually endless supply of unbacked paper (or electronic) currency, which dilutes the money supply and dramatically reduces purchasing power, the diseases of most modern Western economies.

There is a very interesting relationship presented in the effects of overpopulation, and the attendant inability to provide adequate food, clothing, shelter, and education, and the subsequent rise of megalomaniacal demagogues due to civil unrest and discontent. The point is made that solving ones economic problems is not possible until the issue of overpopulation and its immediate side effects are adequately dealt with.

Solving [our economic problems] wasn't difficult. To begin with, we never allowed ourselves to produce more children than we could feed, clothe, house, and educate into something like full humanity. Not being overpopulated, we have plenty. But, although we have plenty, we've managed to resist the temptation that the West has now succumbed to—the temptation to overconsume. [...] Armaments, universal debt, and planned obsolescence—those are the three pillars of Western prosperity. If war, waste, and moneylenders were abolished, you'd collapse. And while you people are overconsuming the rest of the world sinks more and more deeply into chronic disaster. Ignorance, militarism and breeding, these three—and the greatest of these is breeding. No hope, not the slightest possibility, of solving the economic problems until that's under control. As population rushes up, prosperity goes down. [...] And as prosperity goes down, discontent and rebellion, [...] political ruthlessness and one-party rule, nationalism and bellicosity begin to rise. Another ten or fifteen years of uninhibited breeding, and the whole world, from China to Peru via Africa and the Middle East, will be fairly crawling with Great Leaders, all dedicated to the suppression of freedom, all armed to the teeth by Russia or America or, better still, by both at once, all waving flags, all screaming for Lebensraum.

Further examination reveals the deep connection between economics and politics. Will questions how the people of Pala prevent the arising of so-called "Great Leaders." His guide responds that they don't engage in warfare and therefore have no need for military hierarchies, or a centralized government. And this lack of centralized power structure is further supported by virtue of Pala's policy preventing anyone from becoming more than four or five times as wealthy as the average. The result, of course, is to prevent the arising of centralized power structures that are economically-based. A related premise is presented in Buckminster Fuller's The Grunch of Giants where he maintains that large multinational corporations have become the worlds true (but hidden) governing elite, due to the economic power they possess to influence everything from public opinion (through mass media), education, religion, commerce, and the body politic.

Well, to begin with we don't fight wars or prepare for them. Consequently, we have no need for conscription, or military hierarchies, or a unified command. Then there's our economic system: it doesn't permit anybody to become more than four or five times as rich as the average. That means that we don't have any captains of industry or omnipotent financiers. Better still, we have no omnipotent politicians or bureaucrats. Pala's a federation of self-governing units, geographical units, professional units, economic units—so there's plenty of scope for small-scale initiative and democratic leaders, but no place for any kind of dictator at the head of a centralized government. Another point: we have no established church, and our religion stresses immediate experience and deplores belief in unverifiable dogmas and the emotions which that belief inspires. So we're preserved from the plagues of popery, on the one hand, and fundamentalist revivalism, on the other. And along with transcendental experience we systematically cultivate skepticism. Discouraging children from taking words too seriously, teaching them to analyse whatever they hear or read—this is an integral part of the school curriculum. Result: the eloquent rabble-rouser, like Hitler or our neighbour across the Strait, Colonel Dipa, just doesn't have a chance here in Pala.

The key to achieving this hegemony of power lies in the control of mass media. When a centralized power structure controls mass media, it controls public opinion, and has complete autonomy over that society's decision-making process in the guise of a functioning democracy. Through television, radio, newspaper, etc., the populace is gradually conditioned to take on the views inculcated by these centralized power structures. Noam Chomsky's paraphrased remark is quite apropos, that violence is to dictatorship what propaganda is to democracy. When Will Farnaby discovers that their is only one newspaper in Pala, he enquires on who enjoys the monopoly:

"Nobody enjoys a monopoly," Dr. Robert assured him. "There's a panel of editors representing half a dozen different parties and interests. Each of them gets his allotted space for comment and criticism. The reader's in a position to compare their arguments and make up his own mind. I remember how shocked I was the first time I read one of your big-circulation newspapers. The bias of the headlines, the systematic one-sidedness of the reporting and the commentaries, the catchwords and slogans instead of argument. No serious appeal to reason. Instead, a systematic effort to install conditioned reflexes in the minds of the voters—and, for the rest, crime, divorce, anecdotes, twaddle, anything to keep them distracted, anything to prevent them from thinking."

Turning our attention towards less secular matters, perhaps most controversial is the approach towards spirituality and the religious impulse in Palanese society. Here, society consists of an admixture of religious philosophies, and adherents can best be described as "Buddhist Shivaites and Tantrik agnostics with Mahayana trimmings." However, deeply connected with the more theoretical aspects of religious philosophy, is an intensely practical, experiential aspect that is strongly emphasized. Virtually all Palanese participate in a deeply transformative initiation ceremony when they enter adulthood. It involves ingesting what is called the moksha-medicine in a very special context. This so-called "medicine" is a mescaline-like substance in the form of a mushroom, which plunges one into an altered state. However, this isn't just a wild ride down hallucination lane. Quite contrary, a great deal of attention is given to mind-set and environmental setting, and the entire process is ritualized so that the experience revolves around a spiritual core, where participants are encouraged to point their heightened and altered perceptions back onto themselves developing a realization of who and what they really are. The word moksha is borrowed from the Sanskrit and can be translated as "liberation." And this is precisely what the medicine is intended to convey: a brief taste of the experience of liberation or enlightenment, and also what's possible in terms of other modes of human consciousness. Once the experience is complete, the idea is then to continue the spiritual, psychological, emotional, and mental work necessary that prepares the ground for arriving at this heightened state in a completely natural way. The moksha-medicine is subsequently used only as a periodic aid, perhaps once or twice a year, to provide deeper insight in the course of one's personal development.

     "Another thing we're just beginning to understand," said Vijaya, "is the neurological correlate of these experiences. What's happening in the brain when you're having a vision? And what's happening when you pass from a premystical to a genuinely mystical state of mind?"
     "Do you know?" Will asked.
     "'Know' is a big word. Let's say we're in a position to make some plausible guesses. Angels and New Jerusalems and Madonnas and Future Buddhas—they're all related to some kind of unusual stimulation of the brain areas of primary projection—the visual cortex, for example. Just how the moksha-medicine produces those unusual stimuli we haven't yet found out. The important fact is that, somehow or other, it does produce them. And somehow or other, it also does something unusual to the silent areas of the brain, the areas not specifically concerned with perceiving, or moving, or feeling."
     "And how do the silent areas respond?" Will enquired.
     "Let's start with what they don't respond with. They don't respond with visions or auditions, they don't respond with telepathy or clairvoyance or any other kind of parapsychological performance. None of that amusing premystical stuff. Their response is the full-blown mystical experience. You know—One in all and All in one. The basic experience with its corollaries—boundless compassion, fathomless mystery and meaning."
     "Not to mention joy," said Dr. Robert, "inexpressible joy."
     "And the whole caboodle is inside your skull," said Will. "Strictly private. No reference to any external fact except a toadstool."

[...]

     "You're assuming," said Dr. Robert, "That the brain produces consciousness. I'm assuming that it transmits consciousness. And my explanation is no more farfetched than yours. How on earth can a set of events belonging to one order be experienced as a set of events belonging to an entirely different and incommensurable order? Nobody has the faintest idea. All one can do is to accept the facts and concoct hypotheses. And one hypothesis is just about as good, philosophically speaking, as another. You say that the moksha-medicine does something to the silent areas of the brain which cause them to produce a set of subjective events to which people have given the name 'mystical experience.' I say that the moksha-medicine does something to the silent areas of the brain which opens some kind of neurological sluice and so allows a larger volume of Mind with a large 'M' to flow into your mind with a small 'm.' You can't demonstrate the truth of your hypothesis, and I can't demonstrate the truth of mine. And even if you could prove that I'm wrong, would it make any practical difference?"
     "I'd have thought it would make all the difference," said Will.
     "Do you like music?" Dr. Robert asked.
     "More than most things."
     "And what, may I ask, does Mozart's G-Minor Quintet refer to? Does it refer to Allah? Or Tao? Or the second person of the Trinity? Or the Atman-Brahman?"
     Will laughed. "Let's hope not."
     "But that doesn't make the experience of the G-Minor Quintet any less rewarding. Well, it's the same with the kind of experience that you get with the moksha-medicine, or through prayer and fasting and spiritual exercises. Even if it doesn't refer to anything outside itself, it's still the most important thing that ever happened to you. Like music, only incomparably more so. And if you give the experience a chance, if you're prepared to go along with it, the results are incomparably more therapeutic and transforming. So maybe the whole thing does happen inside one's skull. Maybe it is private and there's no unitive knowledge of anything but one's own physiology. Who cares? The fact remains that the experience can open one's eyes and make one blessed and transform one's whole life."

Another important aspect of Palanese spirituality involves the use of tantrik mysticism through the practice of maithuna, or the yoga of love. Although the view is expressed, that most tantra is silliness and superstition, there is a hard core of sense. The technique employs the use of male sexual restraint. The practice revolves around bringing great attention to the act of sexual union, in all its many details, its sights, sounds, smells, tactile sensations, etc., and to delay the male orgasm indefinitely. The essence of maithuna is movement from the purely physical, to all at once the physical, emotional, and spiritual realms. The simple act of exercising male restraint, coupled to a particular kind of intention and focus, is enough to bring both partners to an heightened state of awareness due to the deep attention given to intensely pleasurable sensations over an extended period of time.

In short, the essence of Palanese society revolves around a single text that was written by its greatest king the Old Raja, some 150 years ago. Pursuant to this text, the king had hundreds of mynah birds trained to regularly call out "attention" and "karuna" in an effort to remind Palanese citizens to bring their awareness to the two most important qualities of being present, and exercising compassion. The text is entitled, Notes on What's What. The content of the text is mainly concerned with what we really are on the level that's beyond individuality. It contains the essence of what Aldous Huxley wished to communicate in Island. And so we conclude with this extended quote, taken from the mouth of the great visionary himself:

     Nobody needs to go anywhere else. We are all, if we only knew it, already there.
     If I only knew who in fact I am, I should cease to behave as what I think I am; and if I stopped behaving as what I think I am, I should know who I am.
     What in fact I am, if only the Manichee I think I am would allow me to know it, is the reconciliation of yes and no lived out in total acceptance and the blessed experience of Not-Two.
     In religion all words are dirty words. Anybody who gets eloquent about Buddha, or God, or Christ, ought to have his mouth washed out with carbolic soap.
     Because his aspiration to perpetuate only the "yes" in every pair of opposites can never, in the nature of things, be realized, the insulated Manichee I think I am condemns himself to endlessly repeated frustration, endlessly repeated conflicts with other aspiring and frustrated Manichees.
     Conflicts and frustrations—the theme of all history and almost all biography. "I show you sorrow," said the Buddha realistically. But he also showed the ending of sorrow—self-knowledge, total acceptance, the blessed experience of Not-Two.

[...]

     Knowing who in fact we are results in Good Being, and Good Being results in the most appropriate kind of good doing. But good doing does not of itself result in Good Being. We can be virtuous without knowing who in fact we are. The beings who are merely good are not Good Beings; they are just pillars of society.
     Most pillars are their own Samsons. They hold up, but sooner or later they pull down. There has never been a society in which most good doing was the product of Good Being and therefore constantly appropriate. This does not mean that there will never be such a society or that we in Pala are fools for trying to call it into existence.

[...]

     The Yogin and the Stoic—two righteous egos who achieve their very considerable results by pretending, systematically, to be somebody else. But it is not by pretending to be somebody else, even somebody supremely good and wise, that we can pass from insulated Manichee-hood to Good Being.
     Good Being is knowing who in fact we are; and in order to know who in fact we are, we must first know, moment by moment, who we think we are and what this bad habit of thought compels us to feel and do. A moment of clear and complete knowledge of what we think we are, but in fact are not, puts a stop, for the moment, to the Manichean charade. If we renew, until they become a continuity, these moments of the knowledge of what we are not, we may find ourselves, all of a sudden, knowing who in fact we are.
     Concentration, abstract thinking, spiritual exercises—systematic exclusions in the realm of thought. Asceticism and hedonism—systematic exclusions in the realms of sensation, feeling and action. But Good Being is in the knowledge of who in fact one is in relation to all experiences. So be aware—aware in every context, at all times and whatever, creditable or discreditable, pleasant or unpleasant, you may be doing or suffering. This is the only genuine yoga, the only spiritual exercise worth practicing.
     The more a man knows about individual objects, the more he knows about God. Translating Spinoza's language into ours, we can say: The more a man knows about himself in relation to every kind of experience, the greater his chance of suddenly, one fine morning, realizing who in fact he is—or rather Who (capital W) in Fact (capital F) "he" (between quotation marks) Is (capital I).
     St. John was right. In a blessedly speechless universe, the Word was not only with God; it was God. As a something to be believed in. God is a projected symbol, a reified name. God = "God."
     Faith is something very different from belief. Belief is the systematic taking of unanalyzed words much too seriously. Paul's words, Mohammed's words, Marx's words, Hitler's words—people take them too seriously, and what happens? What happens is the senseless ambivalence of history—sadism versus duty, or (incomparably worse) sadism as duty; devotion counterbalanced by organized paranoia; sisters of charity selflessly tending the victims of their own church's inquisitors and crusaders. Faith, on the contrary, can never be taken too seriously. For Faith is the empirically justified confidence in our capacity to know who in fact we are, to forget the belief-intoxicated Manichee in Good Being. Give us this day our daily Faith, but deliver us, dear God, from Belief.

[...]

     Me as I think I am and me as I am in fact—sorrow, in other words, and the ending of sorrow. One third, more or less, of all the sorrow that the person I think I am must endure is unavoidable. It is the sorrow inherent in the human condition, the price we must pay for being sentient and self-conscious organisms, aspirants to liberation, but subject to the laws of nature and under orders to keep on marching, through irreversible time, through a world wholly indifferent to our well-being, toward decrepitude and the certainty of death. The remaining two thirds of all sorrow is homemade and, so far as the universe is concerned, unnecessary.

[...]

     'Patriotism is not enough.' But neither is anything else. Science is not enough, religion is not enough, art is not enough, politics and economics are not enough, nor is love, nor is duty, nor is action however disinterested, nor, however sublime, is contemplation. Nothing short of everything will really do.

[...]

     We cannot reason ourselves out of our basic irrationality. All we can do is to learn the art of being irrational in a reasonable way.
     In Pala, after three generations of Reform, there are no sheeplike flocks and no ecclesiastical Good Shepherds to shear and castrate; there are no bovine or swinish herds and no licensed drovers, royal or military, capitalistic or revolutionary, to brand, confine and butcher. There are only voluntary associations of men and women on the road to full humanity.
     Tunes or pebbles, processes or substantial things? "Tunes," answer Buddhism and modern science. "Pebbles," say the classical philosophers of the West. Buddhism and modern science think of the world in terms of music. The image that comes to mind when one reads the philosophers of the West is a figure in a Byzantine mosaic, rigid, symmetrical, made up of millions of little squares of some stony material and firmly cemented to the walls of a windowless basilica.
     The dancer's grace and, forty years on, her arthritis—both are functions of the skeleton. It is thanks to an inflexible framework of bones that the girl is able to do her pirouettes, thanks to the same bones, grown a little rusty, that the grandmother is condemned to a wheelchair. Analogously, the firm support of a culture is the prime-condition of all individual originality and creativeness; it is also their principal enemy. The thing in whose absence we cannot possibly grow into a complete human being is, all too often, the thing that prevents us from growing.
     A century of research on the moksha-medicine has clearly shown that quite ordinary people are perfectly capable of having visionary or even fully liberating experiences. In this respect the men and women who make and enjoy high culture are no better off than the lowbrows. High experience is perfectly compatible with low symbolic expression.
     The expressive symbols created by Palanese artists are no better than the expressive symbols created by artists elsewhere. Being the products of happiness and a sense of fulfillment, they are probably less moving, perhaps less satisfying aesthetically, than the tragic or compensatory symbols created by victims of frustration and ignorance, of tyranny, war and guilt-fostering, crime-inciting superstitions. Palanese superiority does not lie in symbolic expression but in an art which, though higher and far more valuable than all the rest, can yet be practised by everyone—the art of adequately experiencing, the art of becoming more intimately acquainted with all the worlds that, as human beings, we find ourselves inhabiting. Palanese culture is not to be judged as (for lack of any better criterion) we judge other cultures. It is not to be judged by the accomplishments of a few gifted manipulators of artistic or philosophical symbols. No, it is to be judged by what all the members of the community, the ordinary as well as the extraordinary, can and do experience in every contingency and at each successive intersection of time and eternity.

The Only Dance There Is (Ram Dass)

2006-09-13T19:01:00.000-06:00

The story of Ram Dass (formerly Dr. Richard Alpert) is a tragic one to some, and a testimony of the exquisite beauty, unpredictability and serendipity of life. After having received his doctoral degree, Richard Alpert was offered a prestigious post at Harvard University, where he eventually held appointments in four departments—the Social Relations Department, the Psychology Department, the Graduate School of Education, and the Health Service where he was a therapist. After some years of research and teaching, he met with Dr. Timothy Leary, who introduced him to LSD and it's effects on consciousness. Intrigued, they began conducting experiments on the psychotropic, administering the drug to individuals in double blind studies, and gradually began to draw a great deal of media attention to their work. The work placed the psychology department at Harvard and the University as a whole in an unfavorable light, and they were pressured by the conservative right to terminate the research. Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert were subsequently dismissed from Harvard in 1963, and here began a new chapter in psychedelic research and consciousness exploration.

The depth of insights offered by this man are truly phenomenal. He moves along his descriptions of consciousness, experience, and phenomena so fluidly and effortlessly, that one wonders where it is all coming from. In fact, he often says, that "he" isn't speaking, but that there "is" simply speaking. That there is a certain stepping aside of the egoic self so that truth can flow according to the circumstances and needs of the moment.

Ram Dass makes some important allusions to spirituality and its relation to entheogens, particularly LSD, in its ability to give individuals a brief taste of what's possible. He draws a great deal from his own experiences, but makes it very clear that these are only temporary states, and once one comes down from the experience, one is left with the dilemma of how to proceed. One has been metaphorically admitted to the "wedding banquet," but cannot stay. And this is the essence of esoteric Eastern spirituality, to enter into these expanded states of awareness, and there remain, through a gradual process of mind development, and consciousness unfolding. However, the use of entheogens can be useful for many as a kind of initiation or periodic pointer, alerting one to the possibility of what's available to human consciousness. This is particularly apropos for the West, where philosophical materialism makes it extremely difficult to accept something unless there is strong material or experimental evidence.

Ram Dass describes many of his experiences in detail, often times leaving the reader in a state of amazement and perhaps disbelief if s/he has never encountered such possibilities of experience before. But for the initiated, the territory covered is at least partially familiar. He does a wonderful job of connecting the various maps from different traditions, and presenting how they are all similar, and what it is they are accomplishing. He takes examples of some common practices, and examines the purpose and effects of these practices on consciousness. As things become clearer, one begins to develop an appreciation of the esoteric traditions in many cultures. At the very least, one begins to see the value of reproducible verifiable experiments on oneself. One begins to see oneself in the role of the consummate scientist, where one's entire being becomes a laboratory for experimentation.

The book originates from the recording of a series of talks given at the Menninger Foundation in 1970, and Spring Grove Hospital in 1972. The content can best be summarized by providing a topical list of the various ideas covered. There is simply too much breadth, and depth of insight to do justice in the form of a conventional summary of main ideas. However, the golden thread that unites all topics is clearly to do with consciousness expansion. Ram Dass really gets to the crux of issues, and most importantly, communicates them in a very accessible, low key, informal style, that makes for extremely entertaining reading. A series of section subtitles follows.

Part 1: The Path of Consciousness, The Four Component Design of Ashram, Consciousness as Freedom from Attachment, Higher Consciousness as State of Unity, Mantra, The Mandala Process, The Eternal Present, LSD, The "Book", Psychotherapy as a Path, Game Theory, Guide of Consciousness Journeys, Simple Rule of the Game, Chakra Centers, Levels of Consciousness, Krishna, Ram Story, The Issue of Social Responsibility, Increasing the Amount of Consciousness, Interchange of Methods, Modification of Group Consciousness, The Problem of the Experimenter, Limitations of Knowing, Evolving Consciousness

Part 2: Meher Baba and Bhakti Yoga, Edgar Cayce and Two States of Consciousness, Fear and Higher States of Consciousness, Love as a State of Being, The I Ching, Diet and Food, Perceptual Vantage Points and Psychosis, Another Karmic Relationship, Compassion without Pity, Attractions and Dangers of Powers, Need for a Guru, Gnostic Intermediary, The Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Chakras, Optimum Being, Transmutation of Energy, Centering, Distinctions Between English and Sanskrit, One-Pointedness of Mind, Teachers as Conveyors of the Universe

Part 3: "Miracle Stories", Nirvana, "Eastern" and "Western" Models of Man, Raising the Kundalini, Maharaj-ji. The Planes of Consciousness, Lawfulness of the Universe

Part 4: Karma and Reincarnation, Attachment, How Do We Know?, Deepest Desires Connected with Survival and Reproduction, Other Forms of Life, Comprehension, Desires, Beyond Dualism

Ram Dass, psychonaut extraordinaire, has given an incredible account of human potential and possibility. With his explorations of mind and consciousness, he has journeyed where few others have gone. And from these panoramic vistas and dizzying heights, he relates back to us that this exploration is truly the only dance there is.

Sorcerers (Jacob NeedleMan)

2006-06-23T12:37:00.000-06:00

This is an extremely absorbing tale involving visual magic, sleight of hand, and the psychology accompanying these visual phenomena. The central themes of this book revolve around the deep conflict between the compulsion to exercise power over others, and using one's personal power to master one's own nature. Of additional interest is the ingenious description of psycho-physical techniques for tapping into powerful states of mind that are usually outside the purview of the average person.

One of the more powerful ideas of the book is the idea of mental enslavement. Eliot has spuriously displayed the ability to know certain things about people that is conventionally believed to be beyond the limits of human ability. Wally asks Eliot if his abilities allow him to read his mind at will. Eliot pauses, and in that pause there is a world of possibility. Simply by saying yes, Eliot could have enslaved Wally to his whims and machinations. This notion of one believing another possesses the special ability to read their mind has the effect of that one giving away all their personal power, living in a state of perpetual fear or insecurity of the other, that the other knows everything about him or her—what he or she is feeling or thinking at every moment. It is like being bare, naked and vulnerable in front of someone fully clothed, protected and armoured.

"Can I ask you something?" said Wally. "Do you know what I've been thinking? I mean, have you been sort of reading my mind while I've been sitting here? Does it work like that?"
The answer, of course, was no, not in the slightest. But Wally's question produced an extraordinary picture in Eliot's mind. Without lifting a finger, he could make Wally Pound into his "slave," simply by letting him believe the answer was yes. Strangely enough, however, that prospect held absolutely no attraction for Eliot. And that fact interested him almost as much as everything else that was happening. He had never imagined himself as being an especially moral or truthful person. But, somehow, clearly seeing that impulse to "enslave" Wally made it powerless, as though such impulses could do harm only when they weren't fully seen.

This idea also seems to hint at more conventional areas of human endeavour, such as the application of charisma and persuasion, convincing others of one's point of view or beliefs, or simply using others to fulfill one's desires. If one can appear sufficiently confident, one can exercise control over one's fellow man. There is something of the actor or pretender in these endeavours, pretending to be what one is not. All towards an end of usurpation of power over our fellow man by means of deception and stratagem. "It's not what you do on stage that counts, it's what you are on the stage."

Another interesting idea is that surrounding the event of Eliot's first genuine telepathic experience. The way in which it manifested hints a great deal on the nature of mind, and the way of handling difficult situations through one's inner relationship with the situation. Just as things begin to go wrong with his magic trick, Eliot followed the advice of the seasoned and experienced Max Falkoner in such situations: "When something goes wrong, never apologize, never explain. When it goes wrong, make it really wrong." Eliot begins improvising in ways he has no idea how to resolve, digging himself deeper and deeper. The emotional turmoil that ensues is terrific, profound fear and anxiety of embarrassment, of being laughed at, of making a fool of oneself, but he prods on anyway. And this going forward in the face of such emotional turmoil, consciously and with full awareness, seems to act as a kind of key in opening a portal to another world—the world of mind communicating directly with mind. And lo! The answer appears suddenly before him, he reads the mind of his participant.

Yet another revealing idea in the book is the power of mind in what can be called psychic projection. There is the incident of Eliot in a store pining over a certain very attractive book. Behaving as if he had already bought the book, Eliot simply walks passed the cashier with the book under his arm. The implication is that his attitude creates the psychic field suggesting he is doing nothing wrong, and so the cashier does not suspect anything is wrong. Granted, this is aided with a bit of innocuous conversation that serves to win over the cashier and establish a certain rapport with her. These pieces come together in further hinting at the ways we can exercise control over our fellow man—not for encouraging such behaviour, but rather to alert us to the possibility of being the object of control and manipulation of the unscrupulous.

There is one particularly illuminating scene where Max Falkoner encourages Eliot to take one ring in each hand and point his arms and hands diagonally upwards, simply holding them there. Minutes pass, and Eliot begins to swell with agony, thoughts, images, rush before his eyes, and with his waning attention his arms begin to sink. Max encourages Eliot to try and not give up—to find those "special muscles." Those muscles that need to be exercised if he wishes to grow out of being a boy. What is Max referring to? Perhaps a combination of will and surrender that together act as gateways towards the activation of an alternate dimension within oneself. The will to do outwardly, coupled to an inner sense of surrender—surrender to the pain, and doing anyway. Eventually, Eliot's arms come down, and after the deep sense of failure of not having found the "muscles" he is directed to remain very still with eyes closed. A sense of subtle vitality flows down his spine. He is instructed to use his power and point it at himself—and he sees himself. He enters a temporary state of pseudo-enlightened clarity, and senses two currents within his body—one of pleasure in the front half of his body, and the subtle vitality in the back. He feels divided in two. Finally, after some moments pass, he is instructed to return to the mundane tasks of working with the rings:

"As though from somewhere behind himself, he watched in shock at how poorly he performed. At every crucial point, he helplessly witnessed his attention repeatedly being drawn away from his hands and the rings. But what startled him most was observing the part of himself that was completely satisfied with how he performed, like a separate personality that offered very favourable judgement on everything he did."

Max hurls a barrage of insults at Eliot as he continues the routine. Here Eliot experiences his usual impulse to cry or run away. This impulse appears to come from the same side of himself as the personality he observes that judges the poor work favourably. But for some reason this impulse does not engulf him, and he persists with the routine, absorbing the stream of insults. And then suddenly, Eliot begins to feel filled with light. The light he senses seems to pour into his shoulders and arms, and down into his fingers.

     [...] It was true: there were different muscles—or something like that! It was amazing! He was making no mistakes! And yet he wasn't doing anything. Those muscles, or whatever they were, were doing the routine.
     But no sooner did he have that thought, than he lost contact with the sense of light, and the routine started going sour again. At that point, Max spoke again, but now his voice had become calm once more—calm and even.
     "Attention," said Max, "pay attention to the light."
Startled that Max knew about the sensation of light, Eliot obeyed, again and again withdrawing his attention from his thoughts and, under Max's guidance, placing it on the sensation of light. Each time he did so, his hands performed the move with precision and exact timing. And each time his attention was pulled away from the light, he made mistakes.
     "Stop trying to do the trick," said Max. "Let your muscles do it. Just keep your attention on the light. The light needs your attention, it needs you. Nothing else will work!"
     As Eliot continued the routine, Max went on side-coaching. Each time Eliot made a mistake, Max brought him back: "Choose, Eliot, choose! Pay with your attention!"
     But Eliot—something in him—soon began to grow weary and heavy. Each time he willed his attention back toward the sensation of light, his hands performed the moves perfectly, but he was growing tired of willing.
     "You want to dream," said Max. "Don't give way to it. Fight, Eliot! [...]"
     Again and again, Eliot brought his attention back—back from the thoughts and images that were so alluring. [...]

Finally, there is an insightful lesson regarding the role of teachers—in the case of Eliot—Max and Blake. Max seems rather ordinary, while Blake has the visual appearance of grace, sophistication, and culture. As Eliot visits each teacher more and more he realizes that he cannot hide anything from Max, but he can keep secrets from Blake. More importantly, however, "by exercising his power under Max's sometimes fierce but also gentle guidance he saw aspects of himself that shocked and dismayed him." With Max he saw that the only real thing he had was the attention he could give his work. Everything else wreaked of childishness and automatism. Conversely, with Blake he was practically treated as a god, as a great magician, as an initiate in some mysterious inner circle, and at the same time as the honoured disciple of an even greater magician: Blake himself.

The last dialogues between the much respected and revered Irene Angel, the founder of the Sorcerer's Apprentices, and Eliot are quoted at length, as they are especially revealing.

     Eliot strongly felt the presence of Blake and Max on either side of him. Irene spoke directly to him, but seemed also to be speaking to all the Sorcerers standing behind him. He felt he was at another initiation, only this time far more real and serious.
     "What do you want?" she asked him. [...] "In fairy tales, you have three wishes," she said. "But in life you get only one wish. So, tell us, what do you want? Think carefully about it. Be sure of what you ask for."
     More thoughts and questions came to him—about his own life, what he should do, what career to follow. But these things did not seem so important now, certainly not enough to waste his one wish on them. But then what was the most important thing in his life, really? He had seen that by using the power, under Blake, he had been able to get whatever he wanted—money, sex, honors—and that it still wasn't enough. Guided by Max, he had touched something entirely different, something he never could have imagined wanting, and it was enough, more than enough. Yet it always cost him so much. It was always bought with a price. And he knew that he had barely scratched the surface of what Max had to offer him.
     Irene then spoke again. "Turn on your power, Eliot."
     He did—or tried to—and experienced nothing. He waited, and still nothing came. He tried with renewed effort, but it simply wasn't there.
     After another pause, Irene said, "Your power is gone, Eliot. It will come back only when you know what it is you want most out of life. For that to happen, you must now live without the power."

After Eliot stammers through what he thinks he wants—truth, helping others, knowing about the universe, about God, wanting not to die, etc., Irene interrupts him gently. She says something that Eliot does not understand or remember until many years later. She speaks of another power within him, a power far stronger than anything he had yet experienced. She tells him that he would have to struggle for many years in the midst of his ordinary life to develop this power and that both Max and Blake could help him, if he wished.

     "In choosing Max," she went on, "you chose well. But remember, it was Stephen Blake who first sent you to Max. Both are necessary. When you feel the truth of that, you will be ready to enter the brotherhood of adult magicians. Until then, take this back."
     Irene handed him the skull ring, after cupping it in her hands for a few seconds.
     "The skull is death," she said. "But what must die? Think carefully about that. There are two kinds of death: the death of the ego and death by the ego. You must either destroy the ego by confronting it, or it will destroy you." [...]
     Finally, without taking her eyes from him she continued. "Of all that you have experienced with us," she asked, "what has meant the most to you?"
     There was no question about that in Eliot's mind. But ought he even to speak about it? It was when Max had watched him from behind the mirrored wall at the shop, when Eliot had stolen the secrets of the tricks; when he had then confessed his intention to rifle the files and had experienced such overwhelming shame that he felt himself unworthy to continue with the work that Max was giving him; and when Max then stunned him by accepting it all so quickly—as though Eliot had passed, rather than failed, some pre-established test; as though what he had experienced was the main purpose of all the work, all the struggle, all the practice with attention and the rings, and with Blake, and with everything else; as though, or almost as though, the experience of remorse in seeing himself was even the central aim of life itself. [...]
     Eliot tried but was unable to speak about it even to her. [...]
     "You understand," said Irene finally, "that what you feel is the sacredness of something. Sacred and secret are the same word. You must keep it secret from the part of you that profanes everything it touches—until you discover what true speech is." [...]
     "Can you understand," she continued, "that this remorse is what we have given to Stephen? He has seen the black magician in himself, the ego that is symbolized by the death's head on the ring you have been given. This death must die." [...]
     "A teacher of magic such as Max creates conditions so that the pupil can experience both the force of the spirit and the force of the ego within himself and bring them together in his own being. Only when you can bear to see good and evil struggling within you can the transforming fire of remorse appear. This brings the peace that passes understanding, the marriage of two mutually opposing forces. Only then can a human being strive to serve that which calls to us from Above. No power of mind or heart can exist for long except under the rule of conscience..."

Deeply insightful reading on the interior struggle of mankind. A struggle with one's lower nature which inclines one towards exerting power, control, and influence over our fellow man, rather than over our lower selves.

Retreat: Time Apart for Silence & Solitude (Roger Housden)

2006-05-15T13:38:00.000-06:00

Roger Housden has produced a beautiful book that is as much a work of art as it is informative. A great deal of attention has been given to layout and aesthetics—the photography alone speaks poignantly of silence and solitude. The book has as its main objective a survey of contemporary approaches to mind development, expanded consciousness, or spirituality, with emphasis on forms of retreat. Although not comprehensive, a sampling of major groups and organizations are given for each path outlined. The book is clearly organized into seven main approaches to expanding consciousness according to one's predisposition. These are:

1. The Way of Knowledge
2. The Way of the Heart
3. The Way of the Body
4. The Way of Art
5. The Way of Sound
6. The Way of the Wilderness
7. The Solitary Way

In the Way of Knowldege we have Theravada, Zen and Tibetan Buddhism as well as Raja Yoga and Shamanism. All these paths seek to transcend the egoic mind by way of knowledge and deep understanding.

All the difference schools of Buddhism have at their core the fundamental teachings of the Buddha—the 4 Noble Truths, and the 8-fold path that leads to the end of suffering and dissatisfaction. The ways in which they differ is the approach or technique used to realize their "Goal." Theravada Buddhism employs samatha (tranquility), sattipathana (mindful awareness) and vipassana (insight). Samatha involves bringing one's attention to a single object—usually the breath through the nostrils and the rise and fall of the abdomen, or sensations on the body. From this practice, the mind becomes quiet enough to move into the practice of Sattipathana, or the Four Foundations of Mindfulness. These are:

1. Bodily activity
2. Feelings
3. States of mind
4. Mental contents

The idea here is to develop a continuous "witness" consciousness in each of the four foundations of experience. Finally, the third stage (vipassana) is to see through phenomenal existence altogether—seeing everything that arises as dukkha (suffering or dissatisfaction), anicca (impermanence), and anatta (not-self). Although Housden does not say so, it is considered central to the practice of vipassana to see these three key characteristics of phenomenal existence in the 5 skhandas or "heaps"—those collections of processes that make up what we think of as the human being—and to which ego identifies with resulting in a false sense of self. One common conception of these skhandas as taken from Buddhist Abhidamma are Body, Feelings/Sensations, Perception/Memory, Consciousness/Mind/Thought, and Will/Volition/Impulse.

In Zen, the experience of the true nature of existence can be had anywhere, anytime. There are two main schools: Rinzai and Soto. Rinzai centres around asking a question or koan which defies reason—and a solution can only be arrived at by being or experiencing the answer. In Soto there is no goal, nowhere to go other than where you are right now. There is no method, other than the non-effort of being here—the bare attention to what is. This has some parallels to Krishnamurti's "Choiceless Awareness."

Three schools of Tibetan Buddhism are described—Kagyu, Nyingma, and Gelug—although a fourth school known as Sakya also exists. The Kagyu and Nyingma schools are geared towards meditative practice, culminating in the teachings of Mahamudra or Dogzchen, respectively. Incidentally, these practice-oriented schools also have strong parallels with Hindu Advaita Vedanta or non-dual philosophy. The Gelug school, on the other hand, is of a scholarly orientation. The overall tantric approach to Buddhist practice that often characterizes Tibetan tradition is know as Vajrayana. Here is what Don Morreale had to say on the primary differences between the various forms of Buddhism:

"The principle distinction between Vajrayana and other forms of Mahayana is it's emphasis on transmutation—as opposed to destruction—of neurosis. Where other approaches to Buddhist meditation seek to destroy passion, aggression and ignorance so that the practitioner can be free from ego-clinging, Vajrayana seeks to transform the three poisons directly into wisdom, actually transmuting the constituents of the ego directly into principles of Buddhahood." (Don Morreale, Buddhist America)

Housden goes into some detail of the various Tibetan schools, but his attempt to describe the Kagyu school falls short, as he fails to mention all of the Six Yogas of Naropa forming the historical basis of the Kagyu school which traces its lineage back to the great Indian master Naropa. For completeness, these are:

1. Yoga of the Illusory Nature of Phenomenal Existence
2. Dream Yoga
3. Clear Light Yoga
4. Dumo (Kundalini Yoga)
5. Yoga of Psychic Projection
6. Bardo Yoga

Raja Yoga is an intricate system of practices whose philosophical source is the classical Sanskrit text, The Yoga Sutras, written by the great Indian sage Patanjali sometime in the first or second century CE. "Raja Yoga consists of a way of life designed to enable the practitioner to see through the illusion of created existence and to become established in his existential identity." A summary of the Yoga system as outlined by Patanjali begins with the first steps, (1) yama and (2) niyama, which require observance of various moralities, including non-violence and truthfulness. The next steps are (3) asana (right posture); the spinal column must be held straight, and the body firm in a comfortable position for meditation; (4) pranayama (control of prana, subtle life currents); and (5) pratyahara (withdrawal of the senses from external objects). The last steps are forms of yoga proper: (6) dharana (concentration); holding the mind to one thought; (7) dhyana (meditation), and (8) samadhi (superconscious perception). This is the Eightfold Path of Yoga which leads one to the final goal of Kaivalya (Absoluteness), a term which might be more comprehensibly put as "realization of the Truth beyond all intellectual apprehension." Examples cited under Raja Yoga include The Self-Realization Fellowship, and the Brahma Kumaris World Spiritual University.

The Shamanistic path replaces the solitude and silence of the yogi with "rituals which use repetitive sound and movement in order to generate trance states to propel him into the world of spirits, and power animals, gods and guardians." These rituals often involve drums, rattles, dance and sometimes psychoactive drugs. The Shaman's path has some parallels to the contemporary work of psychiatrist Stanislav Grof, and the writings and experiments of Aldous Huxley et al. with psychedelics.

The Way of the Heart involves seeking to transcend the egoic mind through devotional practices, contemplation and experiential union with the Divine Principle. Examples of the Way of the Heart include Christianity, Sufism, and Bhakti Yoga.

Housden rightly indicates that Christianity in recent decades has had to compete with the influx of traditions from the East which are rich in practices of meditation and self-inquiry. Particularly noteworthy are the books and lectures of three men in particular who brought the practices of Zen to the attention of the Christian public. Father William Johnston, Dom Aelred Graham and Thomas Merton. All three men pointed out the excess of dogma and reliance on belief present in the Church, and suggested there were lessons to be learned from Buddhism. Quoting from Thomas Merton's Zen and the Birds of Appetite,

"[Buddhism] seeks not to explain but to pay attention, to become aware... in other words to develop a certain kind of consciousness that is above and beyond deception by verbal formulas—or by emotional excitement."

Dom Aelred indicates that as long Christ is conceived only as an historical person outside our own experiences, there is no framework to allow the existence of Christ living within our own hearts. He writes:

"In Mahayana Buddhism... the faithful are encouraged to believe that the Buddha's luminous state of consciousness, what is held to be his supreme degree of wisdom and compassion, is open to everyone. This is the prospect that is attracting so many in the West to Buddhism today—to which must be added its apparent harmony with much that is disclosed in the sciences of physics and psychology.

To achieve the 'mind of Christ' may well demand a profound re-thinking of Christianity's prayer life. Telling God, reverentially, what he should do and people, indirectly, how they ought to behave, together make up a good deal of the Church's vocal prayers. They are hardly enough for those who believe themselves to be sharers in the divine nature, who wish to realize experientially such a state and make it known to others."

Housden indicates that the early Desert Fathers continue to be the inspiration for the Orthodox Church which, unlike its Western counterpart, has never lost touch with its mystical roots. In recent decades, the heart of Orthodox teachings on interior prayer, known as The Philokalia, a collection of writings from the desert fathers of the early church, began to reach a much wider audience than the Orthodox community itself.

Several examples are given of individuals who have sought to revitalize the practice of individual contemplation from within the ancient traditions of the early Church itself, rather than by referring to the practices of other religions. These include Carlos Carretto, Thomas Keating, John Main, and Mathew Fox among others.

Keating developed the centering prayer, an adaptation of the Jesus Prayer, which helps to create the conditions that encourage the experience of gnosis—an intimate kind of knowledge involving the whole man, not just the mind. You take a prayer word or image and keep your mind on it with a soft attention, thereby calming your mind and making it available to the deeper impulse of the true self.

Fox's Creation Spirtuality is a radical movement, aimed at replacing the fall/redemption model of Christianity with a theology of creation and creativity that celebrates the qualities of Eros, pleasure, play and delight. Needless to say, he was excommunicated for his views. Fox replaces the idea of original sin with original blessing, and instead of seeing sufferring as the cost of sin, Creation Spirituality sees it as the birth pangs of the individual and the universe. Housden summarizes,

"Humanity and the whole of creation is blessed perpetually by the presence of God and the natural response is joy and celebration. What deserves celebration is life itself in all its forms. This means an awareness of and response to nature; ecological necessities; and our inter-being with all other people. Creation-centered spirituality feels the deep pain of existence, yet remains passionate about the blessing that life is, communicating that passion through all forms of art and shared ritual."

And then there are the systems of universal spirituality within the Christian tradition. The great exemplar is Shantivanam, an ashram that is a unique expression of Christianity in Tamil Nadu, southern India. It was started in the 1950's by Father Bede Griffiths, who came to realize that there was as much to learn as there was to give. Hindu spirituality showed him above all that there was the need for interiority. Bede embarked on a careful study of the classical Indian texts and of Advaita Vedanta, the non-dual tradition which characterizes the Upanishads. In the words of Housden, "He saw that in India, everyday life was imbued with a sense of the sacred; that devotion and a sense of awe before the mystery of life were part of the Hindu's ordinary experience."

Sufism is the mystical branch of Islam, and traditional Sufism remains among the most secretive and elusive of all contemporary spiritual paths. Housden states that

"The essence of the Sufi path is known as the alchemy of the heart, a process which both requires and enables action, love and knowledge. Human perfection (enlightenment) is considered attainable through a gradual purification of the personality which enables the lower soul nature to be infused and led by the higher."

The specific practices are somewhat dependent on the school and personal inclinations of the Shaikh. Recitations of prayers and dikhirs (repetitive reciting of God's name) are sometimes made with movement or dance, like the renown whirling Mevlevi Dervishes. Chants are often synchronized to breathing patterns, and involve the body as well as the mind and heart. Individual retreats are also part of a disciple's practice and their nature and duration are determined by the Shaikh. The founder of the Mevlevi school was Jalal'ud-Din Rumi, the great Sufi saint of the thirteenth century.

Individuals that have adapted Sufi teachings to the West include renown George Ivanovitch Gurdjieff, and more recently, Oscar Ichazo, who founded the Arica School, and Hazrat Inayat Khan, founder of The Sufi Order of the West. Housden provides more detail on the Sufi Order of the West which we summarize with the following quote:

"The Sufi Order of the West describes the transformation encouraged by their retreats in alchemical terms. The first half, consisting of three stages, is the 'solve,' or the dissolving period, the 'dark night of the soul' described by Saint John of the Cross. Psychologically, it is a recognition and consequent breaking down of the self-image, the ego sructure that builds up over time. The second half of the process, also consisting of three stages, is the 'coagule.' Central to this is the reconstitution of the person around a spiritual core."

Bhakti Yoga is usually understood as the way of devotion and surrender. The interpretation in Christianity is the surrender of the personal will to the will of God. In Hindu spirituality Christ is replaced by the guru. However, it is an impersonal kind of surrender, not to the person, but rather to the emanation of the Divine through the personal form:

"By holding their image in mind or by chanting their name, one is bringing the attention of the heart round to receive that impersonal love of which they are a living expression. As one's opennness expands, so does the faith in the guru and in one's own capacity to love. They will not ask you to believe anything, nor to make dramatic oaths of allegiance or discipleship. They will not try and hold on to you. Their grace is there; whether you avail yourself of it or not is up to you. This is the method of guru, or Bhakti Yoga."

Accounts of Bhakti Yoga retreats include those led by renown Western teacher Ram Dass—although he doesn't present himself as a guru, instead using expanded feeling and devotion towards God in all his various forms, and those of Mata Amritanandamayi, following in the lineage of the ecstatic devotional saints of southern India.

The Way of the Body touches on the methods of Tai Chi, Yoga, and body movement or dance. In the practice of Hatha yoga, for example, it has been shown that the practice can provide a great deal of tension and anxiety relief. It appears the repeated and complimentary actions of tensing, relaxing, stretching and holding in various postures, coupled to a calm and attentive mind, have the effect of re-programming the body-mind to reside in a calm and flexible state. Another aspect of the Way of the Body involves using physical movement and postures as keys unlocking certain states of mind. Quoting from Housden, this revealing passage summarizes what Jacob Needleman had to say in his book, Lost Christianity:

"I asked Metropolitan Anthony again about the work with the body, about the methods, the exercises I knew were in the Christian tradition—somewhere, in some time. Where did they come from? Where have they gone? I waited for him to continue. He said something about the Athonite Christians having this work with the body and then paused once again. Finally, he raised his eyebrows towards me. "You have been to our service. If you stand in the service with your hands down to the side, with your head slightly down—not too much—your weight evenly balanced... if one does this, one begins to see changes taking place in the body. The breathing changes, certain muscles relax, others become firm, not tense. All this comes from the religious impulse..." Again a pause. He continued, speaking softly and deliberately. "The excercises you ask about originated in this way: from the Fathers observing what happened to them when they were in a state of prayer."

The Way of the Body is explored through the School of Tai Chi Chuan, the Kripalau Center for Yoga and Health, the Yasodhara Ashram Yoga Retreat and Study Center, and the free-form movement retreats of Suprato in Java.

In the Way of Art, the purpose of the art retreat is to provide a context and an art form through which individuals may know the deeper levels of life that exist in themselves and in all things. Housden aptly portrays the Way of Art from an Eastern perspective as follows:

"In the far East many arts and crafts are undertaken as specific ways to the Buddhist ideal of no-mind, the condition of unity in which there is no separation between subject and object. Almost any activity can be practiced in a way which encourages this condition of being; Zen Buddhists in China and Japan have over centuries developed the martial arts, calligraphy, haiku and music specifically for this purpose. The form of the art was less important than the state of mind it could engender. The form, then, was dispensable; a painting or a haiku would often be thrown away as soon as it was completed."

Contrast this to the view of art in the West from the Renaissance until now. John Lane suggests in his book, Art and the Sacred, that the real shift in the West is in the underlying concept we have of the arts themselves:

"... If poetry and painting, music and theatre, will have little more to give us as 'arts,' perhaps they will have much to give as modes of self-discovery, awareness and personal exploration; as aids to the rediscovery of being and existence. Expansion of awareness could become the final end of all creative work."

Housden explores the Way of Art through drawing retreats with Frederick Franck, and retreats exploring symbolic images with Caroline Mackenzie.

The Way of Sound involves the use of singing, chanting, and instruments in an effort to effect powerful changes in consciousness. Sound has a unique capacity to evoke various mental states, one of the Four Foundations of Mindfulness in Buddhist tradition. However, certain mental states when maintained, act as keys towards the expansion of awareness. Housden describes this as follows:

"Sound has been used in every religious tradition since time immemorial. From the individual incantations of the tribal shaman through the chants and mantras of Hinduism and Buddhism, the early Christian plain song and Gregorian chant, the human family has developed a sophisticated awareness of sound which is being rediscovered and applied in new ways today. The Hindu yogi knows which "seed sound" to intone in order to awaken the power of any particular chakra and how to create different mental states and psychophysical energies by using the appropriate mantra. A Native American shaman knows which sounds to make for healing, while the low chanting of Japanese or Tibetan Buddhist monks generates primordial stillness in both practitioner and listener."

The Way of Sound is explored through Healing Voice retreats with Jill Purce, and Naked Voice retreats with Chloë Goodchild.

The Way of the Wilderness involves entering fully into relationship with Nature. And it is in this relationship that we have continual intimations of a deeper reality, one that is not dependent on man or his creations. In this environment of realness, over time we become more real ourselves. Nature serves as teacher and guide, keeper of hidden truths, giver of life. Housden aptly quotes the great Nature-lover Henry David Thoreau, "In wilderness is the preservation of the world." Several different wilderness retreats are described, including Housden's personally led Sahara Walk, wilderness retreats run by the Upaya Foundation, and the Tracking Project.

Finally, the Solitary Way involves extended retreats in solitude and includes the renown three year Tibetan retreat, and the 40 day Halvet Sufi retreat in which participants eat just enough to sustain themselves—usually only a few dates each day (with the occassional apple and olives). Christ who is said to have spent 40 days in the desert is the original model for this form of retreat. As Housden says,

"It was and remains a work for the strong of heart and mind. There were many in the first few centuries after Christ who lost the good fight and ended up mad. This was so common that special monasteries were establised in the Sinai desert for those individuals whose minds had become unhinged."

In this book, Housden has provided an excellent starting point for those seeking a retreat from the world, for those wishing to spend some time apart for silence and solitude. An informative read, beautifully presented.

The Power of Now (Eckhart Tolle)

2006-04-04T11:15:00.000-06:00

Since ancient times, spiritual masters of all traditions have pointed to the Now as the key to the spiritual dimension. It is evident that Eckhart has a deep realization of this dimension, and the state of being that lies beyond the discursive mind. Virtually everything Eckhart says revolves around a single idea—the importance of being in the present moment. Briefly, this is a call to be present with the totality of one's being. This means refraining from living in past memories, or in future dreams and fantasies. It means bringing the mind to where the body is, and inhabiting this present moment where you are fully. This simple but profound teaching gradually effects an important change in the individual who applies it: the stilling of the discursive mind. One cannot be here totally and simultaneously relive some past experience or project into some fantasized future. And with this stillness, all energy that previously went into discursive thought becomes available to perceive more deeply the world around us without labels and judgements. The effect is a dramatic expansion in consciousness and therefore the ability to see, hear, smell, taste, touch, feel and understand things that would otherwise escape our notice. We begin to penetrate more deeply into persons, situations, ideas, things, and our insight into anything we point our attention to deepens.

According to Eckhart, the single greatest obstacle to a deeper, fuller experience of reality is identification with one's mind. Since we've identified with our discursive minds, we think the cessation of thought implies the cessation or death of our 'selves'. However, this is the great illusion, one that can be dispelled by removing ones identification with thought. One solution Eckhart says, is simply to observe the mind—that is, watch the thinker. Another powerful way is directing the focus of ones attention into the Now, becoming intensely conscious of the present moment. When one does so, thinking stops briefly—it is not possible to be present and at the same time be in the past or future. As one goes more deeply into this realm of no-thought, one realizes the state of pure consciousness.

Another important aspect of the teaching has to do with application of attention/consciousness towards one's pain-body. Eckhart defines the pain-body as the accumulated emotional pain that is lodged in the mind and body of every human being. The idea is to bring attention into the pain-body when it becomes active, by observing it directly, feeling it, experiencing it, allowing it—this breaks identification with it. The key is not to analyse it, but just to experience it fully as a passing phenomenon. As before with the mind, you are the witness or watcher—enter into the present moment and give attention to what is. As we practice this, pain is transmuted into consciousness, and gradually dissolves.

The key then in moving deeply into the Now is ending the delusion of time. Eckhart states that time and mind are inseparable. Time in this context is psychological time which is identification with the past and continuous projection into the future. We must learn to return to present moment awareness and make this our primary state of being. This means we enter into the practical aspects of life such as planning and scheduling, etc. only as required—but we don't live there. "To be free of time is to be free of the psychological need of past for your identity and future for your fulfillment." Eckhart indicates that there may be some oscillation between time and presence, unconsciousness and consciousness for a while, until one is firmly established in presence. "With increasing frequency, you choose to have the focus of your consciousness in the present moment rather than in the past or future, and whenever you realize that you had lost the Now, you are able to stay in it [...] for longer periods as perceived from the external perspective of clock time."

Another important aspect of the teaching is on what Eckhart calls the inner body. Eckhart talks of the inner body as a portal into presence. In other words, bringing our attention into the inner body takes it out of discursive thought. But what is the inner body? In brief it is a sense of vitality and aliveness within the body itself. Eckhart describes the inner body in the form of a kind of meditation:

"Direct your attention into the body. Feel it from within. Is it alive? Is there life in your hands, arms, legs, and feet--in your abdomen, your chest? Can you feel the subtle energy field that pervades the entire body and gives vibrant life to every organ and every cell? Can you feel it simultaneously in all parts of the body as a single field of energy? Keep focusing on the feeling of your inner body for a few moments. Do not start thinking about it. Feel it. The more attention you give it, the clearer and stronger this feeling will become. It will feel as if every cell is becoming more alive [...]"

One of the underlying objectives of the book is to provide ways or 'portals' into what Eckhart calls the Unmanifest. As we have seen, the Now is the main portal--the portal to which all other portals are connected, as they all occur in presence. However each portal is a kind of focusing or tuning of presence into one of several subareas. And so we have seven primary portals: the Now, the pain-body, the inner-body, space, silence, surrender, and dreamless sleep.

Space refers to using the space that appears to separate things as a non-object of attention. The idea is to focus one's attention predominantly on the space instead of the objects within space. Similarly with silence: focus one's attention primarily on the silence out of which sounds manifest. Interestingly, this type of attention creates space and silence in the mind: as above so below.

The portal of surrender refers quite simply to the powerful practice of surrendering to what is. Other ways of putting this is allowing, accepting, or yielding to what is instead of opposing the flow of life--to relinquish inner resistance to what is. The action one takes in a surrendered inner state is much more effective than anything that comes out of a non-surrendered inner state. The action comes out of presence, is spontaneous, intuitive, and powerful.

And finally we have the portal of dreamless sleep, which is a portal we all enter into unconsciously when we fall into deep sleep. We draw from it the vital energy that sustains us for a while when we return to the manifest. In this state 'you' no longer exist.

Eckhart also speaks of the role of spirituality within the context of relationships. The key to practice in relationships is acceptance of your partner as he or she is. That unconditional acceptance serves to remove all resistance and conflict. In the case of difficult relationships, after acceptance one can then consciously choose whether to remain in the relationship, end the relationship (in love), or talk about the ways the relationship is creating pain, as a means for bringing into awareness the underlying dysfunctional patterns of the relationship. "The greatest catalyst for change in a relationship is complete acceptance of your partner as he or she is, without needing to judge or change them in any way."

There is an amusing quote of Carl Jung who tells of a conversation he had with a Native American chief who pointed out to him that most white people have tense faces, staring eyes, and a cruel demeanor. He said, "They are always seeking something. What are they seeking? The whites always want something. They are always uneasy and restless. We don't know what they want. We think they are mad."

A timeless message in an uneasy and restless era gone mad over time. Time to lose my madness. Catch you in the Now.

In the Dark Places of Wisdom (Peter Kingsley)

2006-01-19T12:48:00.001-07:00

This book is about re-interpreting what has become commonly accepted as historical truth in western philosophy, and even more, re-discovering what has been ignored or deemed unimportant. This is a monumental achievement as it promises to unravel and refashion the fabric of the Western world. The book is about bringing to awareness the experience underlying the foundations of an ancient philosophy that has been lost in modern conceptions of what we now call 'Western philosophy'.

Kingsley maintains that what we haven't been told is that a spiritual tradition lies at the roots of Western civilization. A tradition that plunges one into an experience so powerful, but so elusive that people have tried for thousands of years to make sense of it, and have always failed. The essence of this truth tells us that if we want to grow up and become true men and women, we have to face death before we die. What Kingsley is referring to here is what we might call psychological death, where one passes through the death of the egoic mind to emerge on the other side.

There were a group of people, Kingsley points out, whose culture had evolved to encourage the experience of precisely this state of consciousness. They were the Phocaeans, the most daring adventurers among the ancient Greeks, called by some 'the Vikings of antiquity'. They were from Phocaea in the western coastal regions of Anatolia (or modern-day Turkey), and the nearby island of Samos, which was the home of Pythagoras (who later sailed west to south Italy in 530 BC). Ancient Greece maintained strong links with Persia, Babylonia, Egypt, and India. Greek culture was much less self-enclosed than we have been led to believe. There was a great deal of trade and travel, with the attendant exchange of ideas, philosophies, and religion. However, the people of Phocaea eventually were driven from their homes in the coastal regions of Anatolia by the Persians, for religious, economic, and political reasons. Many sailed westward and established colonies in Corsica, and later in southern Italy. The city they eventually founded in south Italy was called Velia, and here they remained for centuries.

Kingsley states that there is one man who influenced the western world in a way no one else did. To some specialists he's known as 'the central problem' in making sense of what happened to philosophy before Plato. He's said to have created the idea of metaphysics. It's said that he invented logic: the basis of our reasoning, the foundation of every single discipline that has come into existence in the West. His influence on Plato was immense, and Kingsley indicates that just as it is sometimes said that the whole of western philosophy is a series of footnotes to Plato, so Plato's philosophy in its developed form could be called a series of footnotes to this man: Parmenides of Velia.

Parmenides was, among other things, a poet, and Kingsley tells us that he wrote one work in particular, in the metre of the epic poems of the ancient past; poetry revealing what humans rarely see or know, describing the world of gods, the world of humans, and the meeting between gods and humans. The poem was written in three parts. The first part describes his journey to the goddess who has no name. The second describes what she taught him about reality. And the third part begins with the goddess saying she will now deceive him as she goes on to describe in detail the world we believe we live in.

Kingsley states that Parmenides in his poem was journeying down to the underworld in the regions of Hades, and Tartarus from where no one usually returns. He was consciously and willingly travelling in the direction of his own death. And the only way to describe this hero's journey is in the language of myth. We quote at length that part of Parmenides' poem that appears in Kingsley's book:

The mares that carry me as far as longing can reach
rode on, once they had come and fetched me onto the legendary
road of the divinity that carries the man who knows
through the vast and dark unknown. And on I was carried
as the mares, aware just where to go, kept carrying me
straining at the chariot; and young women led the way.
And the axle in the hubs let out the sound of a pipe
blazing from the pressure of the two well-rounded wheels
at either side, as they rapidly led on: young women, girls,
daughters of the Sun who had left the mansions of Night
for the light and pushed back the veils from their faces
with their hands.
There are the gates of the pathways of Night and Day,
held fast in place between the lintel above and a threshold of stone;
and they reach up into the heavens, filled with gigantic doors.
And the keys—that now open, now lock—are held fast by
Justice: she who always demands exact returns. And with
soft seductive words the girls cunningly persuaded her to
push back immediately, just for them, the bar that bolts
the gates. And as the doors flew open, making the bronze
axles with their pegs and nails spin—now one, now the other—
in their pipes, they created a gaping chasm. Straight through and
on the girls held fast their course for the chariot and horses,
straight down the road.
And the goddess welcomed me kindly, and took
my right hand in hers and spoke these words as she addressed me:
'Welcome young man, partnered by immortal charioteers,
reaching our home with the mares that carry you. For it was
no hard fate that sent you travelling this road—so far away
from the beaten track of humans—but Rightness, and Justice.
And what's needed is for you to learn all things: both the unshaken
heart of persuasive Truth and the opinions of mortals,
in which there's nothing that can truthfully be trusted at all.
But even so, this too you will learn—how beliefs based on
appearance ought to be believable as they travel all through
all there is.'

Kingsley goes on to explain the symbolism in the poem substantiating his claims with recent archaeological evidence and many textual sources. He arrives, with insightful attention to detail, at the discovery of a process that was long ago understood, but whose knowledge has been virtually lost today. And that is the process of dying before one dies: entering into the underworld (or the collective unconscious in Jungian terms) while still living. This mind-shattering experience promises a deep knowledge and understanding that is based on a direct personal experience of who and what we really are.

A number of important key words were encountered in inscriptions on archaeological finds and through more careful examination of original Greek texts. These are, Phôlarchos, Ouliadês, Iatromantis, and Apollo. The meaning of these words, especially when taken in relationship, is quite revealing. Phôlarchos is translated as 'Lord of the Lair'; Ouliadês literally meant 'son of Oulios' or 'son of Apollo'; and Iatromantis is translated as 'prophet-healer'. Apollo originally meant 'deadly', 'destructive', and 'cruel', as every god or goddess has his or her destructive side, but the Greeks also explained it as, 'he who makes whole.' This more completely describes Apollo, "the destroyer who heals, the healer who destroys." In addition, Kingsley reports four vocations in this tradition that are said to give human beings a special closeness to the divine: prophet, poet, healer, and political leader or lawgiver. Interestingly, all of these activities are sacred to the same god: Apollo.

A golden thread connecting Apollo, healing, prophecy, and dark dwelling places becomes readily apparent. In this way, Kingsley shows that Apollo was in fact connected with the night, dark places, with the underworld and death. Apollo's temple was right above the cave leading down into the underworld, and this was the case at many famous oracle centres in Anatolia. These caves were entered by initiates and priests at the dead of night. Apollo was later associated with the sun, but this was a matter for initiates only. It is in the dark night that there is healing, which subsequently allows one to enter into the true light of day.

Today, Apollo is mistakenly rationalized to be the embodiment of reason. The gods are not 'rational' in the sense we know. Reason is a product of the mind, and to enter into conversation with the gods requires leaving the mind and reason behind. Kingsley tells us that light belongs in the underworld, that this is where its home is—that the source of light is at home in the darkness. This was well understood in southern Italy, as a whole mythology grew up around the figure of the sun god as he's driven in his chariot by the horses that carry him out of the underworld before they take him down again. This was true for Velia, and also certain men and women known as Pythagoreans—people who had gathered around Pythagoras when he came to southern Italy from the East. These were people intimately familiar with Orphic traditions. All these people understood that there is no heaven without going through hell. To them the fire in the underworld was purifying, transforming, and immortalizing. Everything had to be experienced, and to find clarity meant facing utter darkness. For these people it was all about going right through the darkness to what lies on the other side.

Kingsley recounts how the early Christians spoke of the 'depths' of the divine, and how the Jewish mystics spoke of 'descending' to the divine. These notions, however, were eventually silenced. As Kingsley states, "... the trouble is that when the divine is removed from the depths, we loose our depth, and start viewing the depths with fear and end up struggling, running from ourselves ..."

Through more impressive detective work, Kingsley reveals some of the details of the process that serves to take initiates into the experience of reality. He speaks of a process involving lying motionless in a cave in a state of 'incubation' sometimes for days on end. It is through these ritual practices of incubation that certain states of 'suspended animation' were achieved, through which, access to powerful healing abilities and esoteric knowledge was obtained. This suspended animation has parallels to various other religious traditions, specifically forms of meditation, where one enters into states of deep stillness, where the breath ceases, the action of the heart diminishes, and the mind stops.

Kingsley tells how ancient Greek accounts of incubation repeatedly mention certain signs that mark the point of entry into another world—into another state of awareness. One such sign involves becoming aware of a rapid spinning movement, and the other involves hearing a powerful vibration produced by a piping, whistling, hissing sound. In India, precisely the same signs are described as a prelude to entering samadhi. And this is also directly related to the process known as the awakening of kundalini, or the awakening of the serpent power.

This brings us to another aspect of Apollo that was relegated to darkness, namely, his affiliation with snakes. Kingsley states that in ritual art snakes were sacred to Apollo. His fight with the snake he killed at Delphi symbolized absorption of the prophetic powers that the snake represents. When he appeared in the middle of the night to those who visited his incubation shrine, he might assume the form of a snake, or a hissing sound would reveal his presence.

"The purpose of these techniques was to free peoples attention from distractions, to turn it in another direction so that awareness could start operating in a completely different way. The stillness had a point to it, and that was to create an opening into a world unlike anything we're used to: a world that can only be entered in deep meditation, ecstasies and dreams."

And it is precisely this stillness that allows us to make the hero's journey into another world, to the source of light in darkness, and bring back the timeless knowledge we encounter there.

A fascinating account of gods and goddesses, prophets and healers, and Western culture's true spiritual legacy—one that promises to infuse fresh vitality into the heart of a withering Western philosophy and science.

Autobiography of a Yogi (Paramahansa Yogananda)

2005-12-10T12:03:00.000-07:00

This book is a rare account of the life of a certain type of individual--the yogi. It is rare that we get a clear first-hand account into the life of such a person, as the responsibilities attendant to spiritual vocation often do not permit for such indulgences. However, Paramahansa Yogananada had an important message to convey. And he endeavored to convey that message through the telling of the story of his extraordinary life experience.

Yogananda takes us through the formative experiences of his life, with remarkable candour, elegance, and charm. His life is laid out as on a canvas for all to see, the texture of his experience bordering on the fantastic and unbelievable. And yet there is a deep sense of honesty and truthfulness in his words. His friendships with diverse peoples from all strata of society, from common folk to scientists, statesmen, Nobel Laureates, or other spiritual giants of his day, leaves one to reconsider the initial impression of inauthenticity in the face of such grandiose phenomena, and whether there is a great deal more to human existence than we are generally led to believe.

The book is replete with fascinating insights into human nature, and the relationship between the material and immaterial realms. Yogananda displays his awareness of Western thought with a liberal sprinkling of quotes and aphorisms suitable to the occasion, by many illustrious figures of Western culture, including Socrates, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, Dostoevsky, and Emerson to name a few. The book is extremely well-written and extraordinarily scholarly without detracting from its readability. There are generous footnotes expanding on ideas or providing references to other works. The index alone is worth its weight in platinum; it provides a thorough listing of people, places, ideas, and events, complete with contextual entries, the likes of which I have rarely seen. Such attention to detail clearly reveals this work as a labour of love.

Perhaps the single most prominent feature of this work is it's remarkable description of what Eastern spiritual traditions call samadhi. Yogananda's experience was brought on by an act of compassion on the part of his Christ-like guru, Sri Yukteswar. Seeing the young yogi struggling with meditation, desperately attempting to still his mind, Sri Yukteswar gently and compassionately strikes Yogananda on his chest above the heart. What follows is an incredible experience in Cosmic Consciousness. Yogananda's body becomes rooted, breath is drawn out of his lungs, "as if by some huge magnet." Consciousness disidentifies with his body and streams out, "like a fluid piercing light from my every pore." Yogananda describes a sense of aliveness never before experienced; an expanded perception of people on distant streets, discernment of root structures and the inward flow of sap in plants and trees. His ordinary frontal vision transformed to, "a vast spherical sight, simultaneously all-perceptive." All objects within his panoramic gaze,

[...] trembled and vibrated like quick motion pictures. My body, Master's, and the pillared courtyard, the furniture and floor, the trees and sunshine, became violently agitated, until all melted into a luminescent sea; [...]

As an oceanic joy pervaded his being,

A swelling glory within me began to envelop towns, continents, the earth, solar and stellar systems, tenuous nebulae, and floating universes. The entire cosmos, gently luminous, like a city seen afar at night, glimmered within the infinitude of my being.

And then, suddenly, "the breath returned to my lungs. With a disappointment almost unbearable, I realised that my infinite immensity was lost." The words of Yogananda's guru cap the experience with a revealing wisdom, "You must not get overdrunk with ecstasy. Much work yet remains for you in the world. Come, let us sweep the balcony floor; then we shall walk by the Ganges." And much later, Yogananda's deeply insightful and practical realisation that through stilling of the dual storms of thought and breath, release from delusive convictions and direct perception of the Infinite as One Light could be had.

The reader's interest is continuously piqued until the tension becomes almost unbearable--enter the science of Kriya Yoga. This is the centrepiece of the book and Yogananada's life purpose: an explanation of the how and why.

Kriya Yoga is a simple psychophysiological method by which human blood is decarbonized and recharged with oxygen. The atoms of this extra oxygen are transmuted into life current to rejuvenate the brain and spinal centres. By stopping the accumulation of venous blood, the yogi is able to lessen or prevent the decay of tissues. The advanced yogi transmutes his cells into energy.

Yogananda refers frequently to the Bhagavad-Gita, and quotes from it liberally. He states that Kriya Yoga is the same science Krishna gave millennia ago to Arjuna, and that it was also later known by such notable figures as Patanjali, Christ, St. John, and St. Paul among others. The basic tenet (interpreted from the Bhagavad-Gita) is:

The yogi arrests decay in the body by securing an additional supply of prana (life force) through quieting the action of the lungs and heart; he also arrests mutations of growth in the body by control of apana (eliminating current). Thus neutralizing decay and growth, the yogi learns life-force control.

Yogananda quotes from the Gita again,

The meditation expert (muni) becomes eternally free who, seeking the Supreme Goal, is able to withdraw from external phenomena by fixing his gaze within the mid-spot of the eyebrows and by neutralizing the even currents of prana and apana [that flow] within the nostrils and lungs; and to control his sensory mind and intellect; and to banish desire, fear, and anger.

Patanjali, the renown Indian sage, is also quoted in reference to the Kriya technique or life-force control:

Liberation can be attained by that pranayama which is accomplished by disjoining the course of inspiration and expiration.

Most revealing is the further explanation of the Kriya technique that follows, and shall be quoted at length:

St. Paul knew Kriya Yoga, or a similar technnique, by which he could switch life currents to and from the senses. He was therefore able to say: 'I protest by our rejoicing which I have in Christ, I die daily.' By a method of centering inwardly all bodily life force (which ordinarily is directed only outwardly, to the sensory world, thus lending it a seeming validity). St. Paul experienced daily a true yoga union with the 'rejoicing' (bliss) of the Christ Consciousness. In that felicitous state he was conscious of being 'dead' to or freed from sensory delusions, the world of maya.

In the initial states of God-contact (sabikalpa samadhi) the devotee's consciousness merges with the Cosmic Spirit; his life force is withdrawn from the body, which appears 'dead,' or motionless and rigid. The yogi is fully aware of his bodily condition of suspended animation. As he progresses to higher spiritual states (nirbikalpa samadhi), however, he communes with God without bodily fixation; and his ordinary waking consciousness, even in the midst of exacting worldy duties.

'Kriya Yoga is an instrument through which human evolution can be quickened,' Sri Yukteswar explained to his students. 'The ancient yogis discovered that the secret of cosmic consciousness is intimately linked with breath mastery. This is India's unique and deathless contribution to the world's treasury of knowledge. The life force, which is ordinarily absorbed in maintaing the heart action, must be freed for higher activities by a method of calming and stilling the ceaseless demands of the breath.'

The Kriya Yogi mentally directs his life energy to revolve, upward and downward, around the six spinal centres (medullary, cervical, dorsal, lumbar, sacral, and coccygeal plexuses), which correspond to the twelve astral signs of the zodiac, the symbolic Cosmic Man. One-half minute of revolution of energy around the sensitive spinal cord of man effects subtle progress in his evolution; [...]

The body of the average man is like a fifty-watt lamp, which cannot accommodate the billion watts of power roused by an excessive practice of Kriya. Through gradual and regular increase of the simple and 'foolproof' methods of Kriya, man's body becomes astrally transformed day by day, and is finally fitted to express the infinite potentials of cosmic energy--the first materially active expression of Spirit.

The details of the Kriya technique are, unfortunately, not described in detail, due to certain injunctions in communicating such information in a format intended for the general public. However, not all is lost, as Yogananda indicates that the technique can be learned from an authorized Kriyaban (Kriya Yogi) of Yogoda Satsanga Society / Self-Realization Fellowship--for those so inclined.

Yogananda also gives a brief summary of the Yoga system as outlined by Patanjali (different from the Buddhist Noble Eightfold Path). The first steps, (1) yama and (2) niyama, require observance of ten negative and positive moralities--avoidance of injury to others, of untruthfulness, of stealing, of incontinence, of gift-receiving (which brings obligations); and purity of body and mind, contentment, self-discipline, study, and devotion to God.

The next steps are (3) asana (right posture); the spinal column must be held straight, and the body firm in a comfortable position for meditation; (4) pranayama (control of prana, subtle life currents); and (5) pratyahara (withdrawal of the senses from external objects). The last steps are forms of yoga proper: (6) dharana (concentration); holding the mind to one thought; (7) dhyana (meditation), and (8) samadhi (superconscious perception). This is the Eightfold Path of Yoga which leads one to the final goal of Kaivalya (Absoluteness), a term which might be more comprehensibly put as "realization of the Truth beyond all intellectual apprehension."

A fascinating account of an extraordinary man and his life experience. The essence of Autobiography will likely not be understood by those who seek to understand solely through conceptual analysis. At the core of the book is something ultimately ungraspable by the mind. It appears to be pointing to something beyond mind, something that requires a direct personal experience in order to fully appreciate. And whether that experience is sought through the science of Kriya Yoga or some other path is a decision best left for the reader.

When Things Fall Apart (Pema Chodron)

2005-09-30T13:49:00.000-06:00

This book is a collection of independent talks that were given at various times by Pema Chodron, the principal teacher at Gampo Abbey, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, the first Tibetan monastery in North America established for Westerners. Her editor sifted through the years of material to produce a large portion of the contents of this book. According to Pema, it was only later, once the book was more or less complete that a theme seemed to emerge. First, the great need of loving-kindness towards oneself, and developing from that the awakening of a fearlessly compassionate attitude toward our own pain and that of others. The second underlying theme was, "dissolving the dualistic tension between us and them, this and that, good and bad, by inviting in what we usually avoid." Pema's teacher, Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, described this as "leaning into the sharp points."

The depth, pertinence, and usefulness of these talks are really quite astounding and even mind-altering. Something at a deeper level resonates with what is being said. Reading this material is like being told something you already know to be true, but you're not sure why or how. It's a fascinating experience of having been there before, in a kind of pleasantly incessant deja vu. Pema adopts a very down-to-earth writing style that gets to the heart of the matter in a language everyone can understand.

The first chapter is entitled Intimacy with Fear. The underlying idea is that we need to learn to stop running away from fear, and instead have the courage to embrace it when it arises. Further, that fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth. A powerful insight that tells of a kind of emotional/psychological barrier, beyond which lies some deep truth about ourselves or the world. I am reminded of Dante's Inferno, and the sage advice that the only way out of hell is through it's centre. As Pema says, "No one ever tells us to stop running away from fear. We are very rarely told to move closer, to just be there, to become familiar with fear."

It is from the second chapter that the title of the book takes it's name: When Things Fall Apart. We learn that Pema began her journey with the advent of what some would call a genuine spiritual experience: standing in front of her adobe house drinking tea, the car drove up and the door banged shut; her husband walked around the corner and told her without warning that he was having an affair and wanted a divorce. "When things fall apart and we're on the verge of we know not what, the test for each of us is to stay on that brink and not concretize. The spiritual journey is not about heaven and finally getting to a place that's really swell." The idea is brought home in the famous quote by Karlfried Gras von Durkheim, "Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us."

The next chapter is entitled This Very Moment Is the Perfect Teacher. The basic idea here is to understand that everything we need to develop on our path is happening right now, that we don't need to create artificial situations which test our limits. It happens naturally all the time in the present moment. As Pema states, "Most of us do not take these situations as teachings. We automatically hate them. We run like crazy. We use all kinds of ways to escape—all addictions stem from this moment when we meet our edge and we just can't stand it. We feel we have to soften it, pad it with something, and we become addicted to whatever it is that seems to ease the pain." Instead, when we meet our edge, we can realize that we have a profound growth opportunity before us. To just be with the experience, allowing the quality of what we're feeling to pierce us to the heart, without reacting or repressing. "Reaching our limit is like finding a doorway to sanity and the unconditional goodness of humanity, rather than meeting an obstacle or a punishment."

Skipping ahead we come to a very interesting chapter entitled Not Causing Harm. The essential idea here is to be mindful of everything happening inside and around us, so we can see things as they arise and before they acquire enough power to control us. Such mindfulness affords us the space to choose how to respond, rather than responding by force of habit or impulsively. In this way we avoid causing harm to others and to ourselves. This idea is very much related to the notion of refraining. However, this refraining is not repression, but rather holding back from habitual or compulsive behaviour, and creating a little space between stimulus and response. Interestingly, Pema states that when we begin to create space, we begin to approach an underlying groundlessness, a kind of free-flow or free-fall that we experience as restlessness, agitation, or fear. "There's something there in us that we don't want to experience, and we never do experience, because we're so quick to act." However, regularly experiencing this phenomenon, with calmness and acceptance, is key to being free from the grip of the compulsive ego, and gives way to the birth of genuine free will.

Another extremely insightful chapter is entitled Eight Worldy Dharmas. This title alludes to one of the classic Buddhist teachings on hope and fear which concerns four pairs of opposites: pleasure and pain, gain and loss, praise and blame, and fame and disgrace. The idea is that we desire and are attached to the "positive" experiences of life while we dislike and reject the "negative" experiences. The key to understanding lies in seeing the powerful movements of mind to have one and avoid the other. This is what keeps us stuck in the pain of samsara—the continual habitual seeking for pleasure and running away from pain. So how can we be free from these patterns? Pema advises us to begin by noticing how we react when someone praises us, when someone blames us, when we suffer a loss, and so on. Do we just experience things? Or do we unconsciously fashion fantastic stories to accompany experiences thereby getting hooked and caught up in hope and fear—of wonderful and terrible phantoms of the mind that lie outside of what's happening in the present moment? "We might feel that somehow we should try to eradicate these feelings of pleasure and pain, loss and gain, praise and blame, fame and disgrace. A more practical approach would be to get to know them, see how they aren't all that solid. Then the eight worldy dharmas become the means for growing wiser as well as kinder and more content." Interesting. Closely related to this is the idea of how, "... [w]e carry around a subjective reality that continuously triggers our emotional reactions." We unfailingly misinterpret statements, due to our conditioning and patterns, and spin off in these patterned directions. If we could only observe how we do this, bring this process into consciousness, we would achieve a level of freedom from these unconscious habitual processes. We would be able to see them as they arise, and we would no longer allow ourselves to spin. It is precisely these emotional reactions that manifest when we get hooked by one of the eight worldy dharmas, which in turn form the foundation of our subjective reality.

One last chapter worth mentioning which is particularly interesting from a practical perspective is entitled Going Against the Grain. It provides a concrete psychological tool for dealing with all kinds of physical, emotional, and psychological pain and turmoil. In fact, the method introduced as tonglen practice is more than just a tool for dealing with pain: it repatterns the mind by transforming old patterns of reaction and repression into new patterns of calmness and acceptance. But it goes further; tonglen practice actually reconditions the mind to be an agent of positive change, rather than solely a passive recipient and endurer of pain and suffering. The practice involves breathing in the pain of others (or our own), while allowing oneself to fully experience the pain, and breathing out calmness, kindness, or whatever we feel is appropriate in the present situation. One does not just visualize or imagine, but one actually attempts to create the feelings of calmness and kindness, while radiating these feelings outward with each out breath, focusing these feelings on the person(s) of interest. A powerful technique employing feelings and emotions to reprogram negative mental patterns into more constructive forms.

This is just a sampling of some of the material covered in the book. After reading, I found myself in better spirits, and better equipped to deal with the pressures and difficulties of modern life. I also found myself employing some of the techniques described in my daily interactions, resulting in a capacity to see through some of the games we play, and an ability to touch the underlying pain with a sense of acceptance and forgiveness. I'm grateful that Pema chose to share her extraordinary insights on the skillful handling of human pain and suffering. It is clear that she has been through difficult times herself, and is offering the benefit of the fruits of her personal experience, supported by an all-too-uncommon understanding of human nature.

Kosmic Consciousness (Ken Wilber)

2005-09-05T11:07:00.000-06:00

There is an incredible amount of material covered in Ken Wilber's Kosmic Consciousness. The ten CD set follows a question and answer format led by Sounds True publisher Tami Simon. The interview is prefaced with Tami's motivation for conducting the interview, "... My goal was simple and direct: to hear Ken Wilber describe the integral model in his own spoken words. And to bring forward the aspects of his teaching work that could provide the most benefit to human evolution."

The first five CD's deal with the nuts and bolts of the integral model itself, including quadrants, levels, lines, states, and types. The second five CD's deal with topics of consciousness and development as seen through the lens of the integral model, and application of the integral model towards a wide variety of contemporary issues.

What is an integral model? In brief, an integral model or map is something that takes into consideration all other maps that came before, giving value and a place to all other points of view. The basic tenet is: everyone is right, but not everyone is equally right, and the degree of rightness depends on one's level of understanding. Integral means inclusive, balanced, and comprehensive.

In Ken Wilber's paradigm, quadrants represent one of the five foundations of the integral model. Quadrants refer to the different perspectives in which human beings can look at things. There are three fundamental perspectives: "I", "we", and "it" (a fourth perspective, "its", is also included as this adds a little extra granularity on the map, and since collections or systems of "its" behaves a little differently than an individual "it"). There is a strong correspondence between the quadrants, "I", "we", and "it", and the philosophical concepts of the beautiful, the good, and the true. Beauty deals with art, aesthetics, and self-expression. Goodness deals with morals, and ethics. And truth deals with science and objective truth. The main mistake of modern society is the attempt to reduce these perspectives to one of the other forms. For example, subjective idealists tend to reduce everything to the beautiful, the subjective, or "I"; post modernists tend to reduce everything to the good, the moral, or "we"; and material reductionists tend to reduce everything to science, the objective, or "it". This reductionism yields catastrophic consequences in the psychological health of human beings, our relationships, and our environment.

The second foundation of the integral model is the notion of lines of development. The idea was originally put forward by Howard Gardner in his model of multiple intelligences. There are perhaps two dozen different types of conventional intelligences. And these intelligences can be more or less developed depending on various factors, including biology, predisposition, environment, society, family, upbringing, etc. It is not necessary to be fully developed in all the different intelligences, however it is necessary to be aware of potential problem areas, so that they do not hinder one's overall development. That being said, there are a few lines of development which are particularly important. These are the lines of moral development, needs development, self or ego development, and values development. Further, the cognitive line of development is also particularly important, as this underlies our capacity to understand and take different views, which is necessary for advanced moral development (see the work of Carol Gilligan for more information on moral development). One of the biggest problems in modern society is the presence of a high level of cognitive development (with associated advanced technological capacity) coupled to a relatively low level of moral development. The result is widespread crime, oppression, and war.

The third foundation of the model is the concept of stages of development. This idea was originally put forward by Jean Gebser in his work on cultural evolution. There is a strong parallel between the stages of development of a culture, and the stages of development of an individual. The integral model adds some granularity to the original model by considering seven basic stages of development: archaic, ego-centric, conformist, rational, pluralistic, integral, and transpersonal.

Stage 1: Archaic – all lower stages leading up to human development
Stage 2: Ego-Centric – Gilligan's selfish stage (magic)
Stage 3: Conformist – traditionalism, pre-rational (mythic)
Stage 4: Rational – modernism, formal, highly individualistic
Stage 5: Pluralistic – post-modernism, multiculturalism, post-rational
Stage 6: Integral – consciously aware of holistic outlook (second tier)
Stage 7: Transpersonal – all higher stages

These stages of development however are not fixed and rigid, as it is common for individuals to have a developmental center of gravity at one stage, but aspects of themselves at higher or lower stages. Also, one's culture is heavily influential, as it will tend to pull individuals up to the developmental centre of gravity for that culture. However, this is a double-edged sword because this cultural centre of gravity also tends to pull individuals back down to that culture's level if one seeks to go beyond.

There is also an interesting discussion on what Ken Wilber calls the "Pre-Trans Fallacy." This is essentially the tendency to treat pre-rational and post/trans-rational states as the same. Since they are both non-rational, on the surface they may look the same. However, the underlying difference is that individuals in post/trans-rational states have passed through the rational stage of development, and so their actions are based on something other than simple tradition, belief, or superstition. As an example of the kind of errors that can be made, Freud took every trans-rational state he saw and reduced it to an infantile pre-rationale, regression-to-the-womb-type state. Jung, on the other hand, tended to take some pre-rational states and elevate them to a kind of trans-rational spiritual glory. The primary test to determine if someone is operating at a pre-rational vs. post/trans-rational level is to see if they treat their mythology "as if" it were true, rather than "it is" true (see the work of Joseph Campbell for more information on mythology).

Ken Wilber speaks of what Clare Graves called a momentous leap from first tier to second tier development. First tier is the equivalent of all stages up to and including the pluralistic stage five. In first tier development, people have "deficiency needs," and are motivated out of lack. In second tier development, people have "being needs," and are motivated out of a feeling of fullness. When moving from first tier to second tier, two things happen: first, fear drops off across all domains. The second thing that happens is that there is an intuitive appreciation of the first five stages of development. Stage six is the first stage that lets all prior stages be themselves. Fear drops off because individuals are no longer so strongly identified with their individual self. These stages transcend individuality, so some call them transpersonal. Wherever there is identification, there is fear, as you are defending something from annhilation, threat, hurt, pain, shame, etc.

The fourth foundation of the integral model is the notion of states. According to the model, there are three great states of consciousness: waking, dreaming, and deep sleep. Each of these states has an energetic support: gross (physical), subtle (non-physical), and causal (formless). You can experience any of these states at any stage of development, and when you do, you will interpret these states according to the stage you are at. So what is the relationship between states and stages of development? The more you are (skillfully) plunged into non-ordinary states of consciousness, the more you disidentify with your present stage of development, and begin to identify with higher stages. Methods to induce non-ordinary states include meditation, various types of yoga, body practices, breathing exercises, etc. This continuous disidentification with all objects arising in awareness is the essence of what is called "spiritual" practice. Attaining this as a permanent stage takes years of development. At that point, it is sometimes called subject permanence or constant consciousness. It's a subtle tacit awareness that has a threat of continuity through all states. Therefore, the "self" or "ego" developmental line (through nonidentification) is perhaps the single most important line for what is called spiritual development.

The fifth and final foundation of the integral model is types. The classic example is male and female types. All human beings have both types, but one tends to dominate. We can get in touch with either the maculine or feminine types in the gross, subtle, and causal realms, giving a unique masculine or feminine texture to experience (see the work of David Deida for more information on masculine and feminine types). Other well-known types include Myers-Briggs types, which includes feeling, thinking, sensing, and perceiving. Another is The Enneagram which includes the nine basic personality types, all of which exist at each of the seven stages of development (see the work of Helen Palmer for more information on personality types). We can even use astrology as a kind of typology, with each astrological type occurring at all of the seven stages of development.

Ken also speaks of developing "witness" consciousness and its relationship to EEG evidence of brain states associated with Satori, how meditation accelerates vertical development, and gives some highlights of his own personal experience. In relation to integral transformative practice, Ken speaks about the uneven development of spiritual teachers, choosing a spiritual teacher, the worlds of dream and wakefulness, and exercising body, mind and spirit in self, culture and nature. Another fascinating area discussed is what Ken calls the "basic moral intuition" and the principle of the greatest depth for the greatest span. He discusses this idea in relationship to animal rights, abortion, capital punishment, war, diplomacy, and peacemaking. Finally, Ken discusses application of the integral model to art, business, law, politics, science, and spirituality.

After listening, I was left with a feeling of awe and clarity, and a great deal less confusion. A veritable tour de force. Ken Wilber's integral model appears to be the only truly unifying map of human consciousness and evolution, applicable to all fields of study, capable of accommodating all points of view.

A brilliant philosopher/psychologist/scientist, a captivating storyteller.

Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)

2005-05-21T17:33:00.000-06:00

Totalitarian government. Mind control. Social conditioning. Free will. These are some of the themes that come up repeatedly in Aldous Huxley's classic Brave New World. As I read this book, I was struck by the many similarities between the modern era and the futuristic dystopian world described by Huxley in 1932. Indeed, Huxley predicted such a world might come to pass in about 600 years. After WWII he adjusted his prediction to within 100 years. It's almost as if we are now in the toddler stage of the establishment of socio-economic and political structures that would ultimately lead to a complete fruition of this dystopian vision in the not-too-distant future. Today, such a world may well be on our doorsteps, just decades away.

In Huxley's day, Brave New World was met with derision and ridicule, the lot of many great visionaries. However, we have begun to see the nexus edge of his visions making way into our present reality, but only for those who choose to stop, look, and listen. Huxley, doesn't provide any answers, he simply presents the possibility of what may come to pass if individuals do not act in the face of tell-tale signs of the degradation of society and loss of humanity. The work is markedly different from Orwell's 1984 on many counts, but particularly, in Huxley's world we see an utopian society as viewed by those ensnared by it, and dystopian to those looking in from without. In Orwell's world we see a dystopian society irrespective of viewpoint, and those ensnared by it are conditioned to simply accept their unfortunate lot. Huxley addresses the problem of happiness, and the perception of happiness. As he says, "we have been conditioned to love our servitude."

In Huxley's utopian dystopia individuals have been thoroughly conditioned from the moment of conception, to happily accept the view of the world the Controllers have presented. Here we have a markedly stratified society with specific conditioning and development according to the required function of the individual in society. Of interest is the requirement for creating inferior human beings (Delta and Epsilon) to perform the menial repetitive tasks of society, where little intelligence or creativity are required. Conversely, the superior conditioned classes (Alpha and Beta) possess far too much intelligence to allow a sense of satisfaction to ensue from such repetitive labors. Even the most elite class of Alpha Plus-Plus, in spite of their penetrating intelligence, are sufficiently conditioned so that although they may question and consider, they will ultimately arrive at conclusions that are in keeping with preservation of the status quo as the best avenue for social stability. Obviously, their lofty position as the social elite, destined to be "World Controllers," helps keep them more or less happily enslaved to such views, thinking they are serving the greater good. The dialogue between the Savage and one of the World Controllers, in the second last chapter of the book, is especially insightful.

And then, of course, there is the everywhere-prevalent "soma," a synthesized drug that is taken in a variety of quantities depending on the depth and duration of effect desired. Sought after in any situation where the slightest presence of anything even remotely unpleasant is encountered. "Better a gram than a damn..." is the conditioned catch-phrase for all forms of mental and emotional turmoil. A society that is conditioned to be so alienated from it's feelings; seeking and indulging in all manner of pleasure to the point of neurosis. Coupled to a total rejection and refusal to examine and consider anything even remotely unpleasant, to the point of popping a pill that immediately plunges one into a sensational wonderland.

There is an interesting analogy to religion where everything occurs "in the year of our Ford," suggesting a society that has become religiously dependent on machination, technology, and the industrialized world. The implication is to a distant past, where technocrats had usurped the role of messianic-like saviors, promising liberation to the conditioned masses from all the ills of society. Their goals were realized, with conditioning from cradle to the grave, the social order was established, and the "year of our Ford" had begun.

As one reads, one can clearly feel the profound shallowness of individuals in such a society, of lives completely devoid of any meaning. They act out as on a stage their conditioning incessantly, whilst all-the-while thinking they are free. Their minds have been so imprisoned. One cannot help but to be amused at the parrot-like unconscious utterance of conditioned statements interspersed regularly throughout their interactions with one another. It all begs the question: what is free will? And are we really free?

The inversion of social values as part of the framework to establish a stable social order is quite interesting. A world in which no one is born naturally, and everyone is made artificially. Indeed, to the extent that even to mention the words "mother" and "father" is to engender great disgust and embarrassment. A world in which there is no genuine passion or sensitivity, where everyone belongs to everyone else sexually, and the thought of wanting deep and personal relationships is inconceivable—certainly to be stigmatized.

Enter the "Savage." He comes from a remote "uncivilized" part of the world, where people are born naturally, and raised according to traditional tribal and familial values. When one of these savages comes into contact with "civilized" society, the reality of the situation becomes extraordinarily clear. Although the Savage and members of civilized society share the same language, and each believes and thinks they are able to communicate, there is a clear inability to really understand each other. Each assumes the other shares their unconscious world views, as each have been conditioned (although the Savage less so) to view the world in a particular way. And these "world views" are so in conflict, that personal interactions give rise to tragically comical situations. Alfred Korzybski in his Science and Sanity immediately springs to mind. And with this inability to communicate and understand, comes the ineffectiveness of seeking to "help" individuals who are so deeply conditioned, as seen through the Savage's well-meaning attempt to destroy the local supply of soma pills, resulting in chaos.

One final area explored is the notion of highly intelligent individuals (Alpha's and higher), who somehow become dissatisfied with society. In spite of all their conditioning, a feeling of hollowness and emptiness pervades, a sense there must be more. This, of course, is the beginning of their demise within the structure of the established social order. If they can conceal their dissatisfaction they may be able to continue as seeming members of an inwardly rejected social order. Otherwise, they eventually transgress the various rules and laws of the establishment. After all, everything is and must be in the service of maintaining the social order. And so, these fortunate unhappy people are sent away to remote islands where they can live out their lives free from the constructs and obligations imposed on individuals by a highly structured society. The interesting allusion is that such islands would be composed of all varieties of interesting and intelligent individuals who have had some falling out with society, people with a keen desire to know and understand more than what they've been told. What such a population of individuals would create for themselves is an interesting speculation, and may have been intended to forebode Huxley's later utopian work entitled Island.

An entertaining and thought-provoking read. In his forward, Huxley indicates that in order for such a scenario to come about, there clearly must be an increasing tendency towards centralized governments. In fact, he predicts that almost all the worlds governments will be of a totalitarian nature in due course. Once these have been established, it is only a comparatively small further step to unite totalitarian governments into a one world government. The antidote for this kind of establishment is a massive movement towards decentralization of power. However, he did not see this happening as of post-WWII. And although Huxley certainly would be encouraged by many positive grass-roots movements in modern times, his verdict would likely be the same today.

Confessions of an Economic Hit Man (John Perkins)

2005-04-10T11:16:00.000-06:00

This is a remarkably revealing book. It condenses a great deal of sensitive and shocking information spanning a period of forty years. Of course, John Perkins has the advantage of having been an "economic hit man" or EHM, and so is privy to a great deal more insider information than most of us would ever know. And this is what makes the book so interesting: it's not speculative, or philosophical, but based on personal experience and facts. It tells the story of a man who was originally hired for one specific purpose: to persuade countries to accept enormous loans for infrastructure development, contract lucrative development projects to U.S. corporations, and ultimately enslave the governments of those countries ridden under the weight of these large debts. This is a story of the corporatocracy of large corporations, international banks, and big government bent on establishing a global empire. Perhaps the single most revealing passage for this book is found in the opening pages as Perkins embarks on the training that would prepare him for his new career:

Claudine pulled no punches when describing what I would be called upon to do. My job, she said, was "to encourage world leaders to become part of a vast network that promotes U.S. commercial interests. In the end, those leaders become ensnared in a web of debt that ensures their loyalty. We can draw on them whenever we desire—to satisfy our political, economic, or military needs. In turn, they bolster their political positions by bringing industrial parks, power plants, and airports to their people. The owners of U.S. engineering/construction companies become fabulously wealthy."

The book covers a lot of territory, and reads like a thriller at times. Whether it's observing alpha-male behavior in the local strip bars of Panama escorted by his friend Farhad, dining in an opulent restaurant in Iran speaking with his secret contact Yamin leading to a mysterious rendezvous with Doc, or touring on a moped in Jakarta with his friend Rasy to witness a highly political Dallang puppet show, only to end up engaging some of the educated locals who seem to know more about global empire and geopolitics than most Westerners. It is difficult to forget the very apropos quote by one extremely bright Indonesian university English major:

"Surely," I protested, "you can't believe that the United States is anti-Islamic?"
"Oh no?" she asked. "Since when? You need to read one of your own historians—a Brit named Toynbee. Back in the fifties he predicted that the real war in the next century would not be between Communists and capitalists, but between Christians and Muslims."
"Arnold Toynbee said that?" I was stunned.
"Yes. Read Civilization on Trial and The World and the West."

Perkins sets the stage by describing the various mechanisms by which the corporatocracy achieves it's objectives of global empire. If the EHMs fail in their task of 1) convincing foreign governments to assume enormous debt, and 2) securing infrastructure development contracts for large U.S. corporations, then

an even more sinister breed steps in, ones we EHMs refer to as the jackals, men who trace their heritage directly to those earlier empires. The jackals are always there, lurking in the shadows. When they emerge, heads of state are overthrown or die in violent "accidents." And if by chance the jackals fail, as they failed in Afghanistan and Iraq, then the old models resurface. When the jackals fail, young Americans are sent in to kill and to die.

Those less developed countries which Perkins was directly involved with in the role of EHM, or for whom he was privy to geopolitically sensitive information, include the Islamic nations of Indonesia, Saudi Arabia, Iran, and Iraq; and several nations of Latin America, including Panama, Columbia, Ecuador, Guatemala, Chile, and Venezuela. Provided below is a brief summary of several of the key scenarios presented with partial disclosure of U.S. involvement. Overall, a shocking eye-opening encounter replete with intrigue, extortion, and murder all under the purview of a corporatocracy bent on establishing a global empire in the uncertain geopolitical climate of the modern era.

Indonesia

Sukharno emerged to declare independence of Indonesia in 1949, free from centuries of Dutch rule and Japanese occupation during War II. Close alliances were forged with Communist governments. Over time, opposition built, and a coup was launched in 1965, and army-initiated massacres of 300,000 to 500,000 followed. The head of the military, General Suharto took over as president in 1968. It was during this time the U.S. became determined to seduce Indonesia away from Communism. The master plan for the electrification of Java began in 1971, where Perkins was involved to provide the economic forecasts that greatly exaggerated projected growth in order to secure government approval and financing.

Saudi Arabia

The United States support of Israel in the Middle East conflicts of the early seventies was largely responsible for the 1973 Arab oil embargo. The position of the Arab states during this time was sufficiently powerful to potentially result in a panic in the U.S. not unlike the panic of 1929. Realizing this, after the oil embargo was lifted, the U.S. immediately proceeded to develop a relationship with Saudi Arabia, and form agreements for infrastructure development and modernization. The sentiment in Washington and Wallstreet was that such an embargo must never happen again—U.S. oil interests must be protected at all costs. The idea was to make the Saudi economy inextricably linked to the economy of the U.S. Agreements were devised which required Saudi petrodollars to be used to purchase U.S. Treasury notes, and the interest from these notes would be used to finance infrastructure development in Saudi Arabia through U.S. corporations. Saudi Arabia was to become dependent on U.S. corporations to maintain, service, and upgrade the advanced technological society being fashioned from the ground up. This heavy dependency in itself would hopefully prevent the catastrophe of 1973 from ever occurring again. But even more, this resulted in another round of development in the way of military infrastructure, to protect the newly modernized Saudi society from unstable and potentially destructive influences in the region. The agreement had the effect of entrenching the U.S. deeply into the Kingdom, fortifying the concept of mutual interdependence. Not only was the entrenchment technological, but eventually ideological, as Western values and beliefs inevitably followed. This would ultimately pave the way for Saudi-U.S. joint financing of the mujahideen in the Afghan war against the Soviet union in the 1980's. In time, the fast-growing jihad movement would lead to the House of Saud becoming the epicenter of terrorist financing around the world.

Iran

The Shah came to power in 1941 after the British and Soviets overthrew his father whom they accused of collaborating with Hitler. He was forced into exile in 1951, when the popular democratically elected Prime Minister Mohammed Mossadegh came to power. Mossadegh came into conflict with a British oil company, and nationalized all Iranian petroleum in response. An outraged England sought the help of her long-time ally the U.S., but rather than deploy the military and provoke the Soviet Union, Washington dispatched CIA agent Kermit Roosevelt. Roosevelt fomented a plot through payouts, bribes, and threats, to organize a series of street riots and violent demonstrations, which created the impression that Mossadegh was both unpopular and incapable. Finally, Mossadegh was deposed, and spent the rest of his life under house arrest. The pro-American Shah was reinstated, became the unchallenged dictator of Iran, and launched a series of revolutionary programs aimed at developing the industrial sector and bringing Iran into the modern era. This was the event that reshaped the politics of global empire, as it testified to the effectiveness of propaganda and payouts in over-throwing foreign governments in non-wartime conditions. However, after years of behind-the-scenes corporatocratic rule, a violent Islamic uprising finally exploded onto the scene in 1979. The Shah was forced to flee into Egypt, and the Ayatollah Khomeini took power and declared Iran a cleric state.

Iraq

The Reagan and Bush administrations wished to transform Iraq into another Saudi Arabia. However, over time it became apparent that Saddam Hussein was not open to the EHM scenario that was successfully employed in the neighboring countries of Saudi Arabia, and Iran during the rule of the Shah. This resulted in escalated tensions between the U.S. and Iraq, and attempts to oust Hussein from power. Iraq's invasion of Kuwait in 1990 gave the U.S. government the ideal pretext to employ the military card. Although the campaign was not a success as far as the corporatocracy was concerned, an uncooperative tyrant had been severely chastised and relegated to a position of relative powerlessness. It would not be until about a decade later under the new Bush administration, that the U.S. government would employ another catastrophe—the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center—as the latest pretext to complete the task that was left unfinished in the early nineties: the complete removal of Saddam Hussein, the installation of a pro-American government, and behind-the-scenes corporatocratic rule.

Panama

At the beginning of the twentieth century the United States demanded that Columbia sign a treaty turning the now Panamanian isthmus over to a North American consortium. Columbia refused, and in 1903 U.S. soldiers landed, seized and killed a popular local militia leader, and declared Panama an independent nation. A puppet government was installed and control of Panama and the Panama Canal was in U.S. hands. In 1968, a coup overthrew the puppet dictator Arnulfo Arias, and Omar Torrijos, a non-communist who was not involved in the coup, emerged as head of state. Omar Torrijos was one of those rare principled leaders who was genuinely interested in helping his people, offered asylum to refugees from all sides of the political fence, and sought to resolve conflicts between the various factions among the Latin American countries. Perkins met with Omar Torrijos, and ended up agreeing to work more honestly with him, and in return contracts were guaranteed. However, this situation was distinctly different than others, in that President Torrijos was determined to use the money to help his people rather than enslave them. And in 1977 he successfully negotiated new treaties with President Carter that transferred the Canal Zone and the Canal itself over to Panamanian control. Several years later, President Torrijos adamantly refused to give in to the Reagan administration's demands to renegotiate the Canal Treaty. He subsequently died in a plane crash in 1981.

Venezuela

In 1922 oil was discovered in Venezuela, and by 1930 the country was the world's largest oil exporter. Oil revenues for the next forty years allowed Venezuela to evolve from one of the poorest nations of the world to one of the richest nations in Latin America. During the 1973 oil embargo, oil prices soared, and Venezuela's national budget quadrupled. The EHMs were brought in, and international banks flooded the country with loans that paid for vast infrastructure and industrial projects. Oil prices eventually crashed, and Venezuela could not pay it's debts. In 1989 the IMF imposed harsh measures and pressured Venezuela to support corporatocratic policy in various ways. Poverty increased dramatically, and Venezuela reacted violently in riots killing hundreds of people. In 1998 Hugo Chavez was elected as President in a landslide victory. He made rapid and extensive changes, by taking control of several institutions including the courts, dissolved the Venezuelan Congress, introduced a hydrocarbons law, doubled the royalties charged to foreign oil companies, and replaced the top executives of the state-owned oil company. The Bush administration eventually brought in Kermit Roosevelt's Iranian model of propaganda, payouts, and threats, and in 2003 Hugo Chavez was overthrown. However, in a matter of days Chavez was back in power with the help of his loyal military. It appeared to be only a matter of time before the U.S. military would be sent in to overthrow Chavez and install a pro-American government. But the U.S. was already embroiled in wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, and could not afford another war in Latin America; Venezuela would have to wait.

Heaven and Hell (Aldous Huxley)

2005-03-22T21:05:00.000-07:00

This essay deals with what Huxley calls the "antipodes" of the mind, leading potentially to the personal experience of heaven and hell. He draws the analogy of the great explorer of unknown lands of the mind:

A man consists of what I may call an Old World of personal consciousness, and beyond a dividing sea, a series of New Worlds—the not too distant Virginias and Carolinas of the personal subconscious and the vegetative soul; the Far West of the collective unconscious, with its flora of symbols, its tribes of aboriginal archetypes; and, across another vaster ocean, at the antipodes of everyday consciousness, the world of Visionary Experience.

Huxley draws our attention to the absorbing quality of bright colors immanent in precious stones, flowers, stained glass, light displays, and many forms of visual art. He suggests that these artifacts are all potential transporters of consciousness to the antipodes of the mind. The idea that for all those accounts of visionary experience, the most important experience is one of light. That everything is perceived to be brilliantly illuminated from within.

However, there is not only the experience of the positive, and so we have the personal experience of both heaven and hell, and descriptions of each in terms of theology and their translation into art. We have the beatific visionary experience, and the terrible visionary experience. Huxley sites various painters, poets, and other artists that have described the positive and the negative visionary experience. He gives as examples of positive visionary experience, George Russel, Wordsworth's Ode on the Intimations of Immortality in Childhood, certain lyrics by Geroge Herbert and Henry Vaughan, Traherne's Centuries of Meditation, and many others. Examples of the negative visionary experience include Kafka, Dante's Inferno, Van Gogh's later landscapes, Gericault, Goya, Charles Williams, and others.

Huxley describes two reliable means of transporting oneself to the antipodes of the mind. One is by aid of a chemical substance such as mescalin or lysergic acid, and the second method is through hypnosis. In Appendix I, he further explores the subject by describing the use of carbon dioxide and the stroboscopic lamp. He provides a lucid description of the effects of carbon dioxide on the brain, and it's parallel to yogic breathing exercises. The prolonged suspension of breath over time leads to high concentrations of carbon dioxide in the lungs and blood, which lowers the efficiency of the brain as a reducing valve of Mind-at-Large. Sustained shouting, singing or chanting have similar effects. As for the stroboscopic lamp, brilliant colors are seen with eyes closed, depending on the frequency of the lamp. Huxley describes how a medical friend who had taken lysergic acid and was seated in front of the stroboscopic lamp with eyes closed, was seeing only colored moving patterns that were transformed into "Japanese landscapes" of surpassing beauty. He describes these small mysteries as particular cases "of a larger, more comprehensive mystery—the nature of the relationship between visionary experience and events on the cellular, chemical, and electrical levels."

Huxley speaks also of other means of inducing visionary or mystical states through fatigue, sleep deprivation, or a period of confinement in a place of darkness and complete silence (Appendix II). He describes how undernourishment, illness, and fasting can lower the effectiveness of the brain as a reducing valve through the reduction in blood sugar and vitamin deficiencies. And also through physical mortification and psycho-physical stress due to the chemical results of adrenaline and histamine released into the bloodstream. In short, all our experience is chemically conditioned. But this in no way denigrates the visionary or mystical experience, it only grounds them in physical science. The end result being to lower the efficiency of the cerebral reducing valve of Mind-at-Large in order to allow into consciousness visionary or mystical experience.

Returning to the mysterious nature of mind in it's relationship to the experience of heaven and hell, Huxley states,

The nature of the mind is such that the sinner who repents and makes an act of faith in a higher power is more likely to have a blissful visionary experience than is the self-satisfied pillar of society with his righteous indignations, his anxiety about possessions and pretensions, his ingrained habits of blaming, despising and condemning. Hence the enormous importance attached, in all the great religious traditions, to the state of mind at the moment of death.

This speaks quite candidly about not only qualities of mind attendant to visionary experience, but also religious tradition, and the importance of not confusing the map for the territory.

However, the experience of heaven (or hell) is not the goal—there is something more, something beyond the visionary experience. Huxley states,

Visionary experience is not the same as mystical experience. Mystical experience is beyond the realm of opposites. Visionary experience is still within that realm. Heaven entails hell, and "going to heaven" is no more liberation than is the descent into horror. Heaven is merely a vantage point, from which the divine Ground can be more clearly seen than on the level of ordinary individualized existence.

A truly visionary mind.

The Illuminati Papers (Robert Anton Wilson)

2005-03-05T21:16:00.000-07:00

This book carries with it a flavor of flippant irony and dry humor weaved together with the thread of a keen and discerning intellect. Wilson's style encourages the reader to explore uncommon views and ideas using common everyday language, continuously challenging the reader to question the status quo. Not only is the reader educated and informed in the process, but s/he is thoroughly entertained. The book is essentially a collection of informative essays, with more light-hearted material interspersed throughout as a kind of information overload relief valve (e.g. "Conspiracy Digest"), usually with additional generous helpings of erudite Wilsonian wit. A great deal of area is covered, including science, literature, art, music, politics, economics, sociology, psychology, and religion. The key ideas in each essay are summarized below.

There is a brief article outlining the eight circuits of the nervous system adapted from Exo-Psychology by Timothy Leary, which is a nice condensation of Timothy Leary's model of the human being. This eight circuit model is referred to repeatedly throughout the book when describing patterns of behavior and the specific neural circuitry being employed. In brief, the eight circuits are in order, biosurvival, emotional-territorial, semantic, sociosexual, neurosomatic, metaprogramming, neurogenetic, and neuroatomic. The first group of four are termed the "terrestrial circuits," and the second group of four, the "extraterrestrial circuits."

The Abolition of Stupidity is an essay whose main idea is to encourage a War on Stupidity. The essay moves to arguments in support of such a war by examining some examples of the effects of stupidity on science, politics, economics, and religion. The most memorable and amusing quote by Voltaire is extremely appropriate, "The only way to understand the mathematical concept of infinity is to contemplate the extent of human stupidity."

Neuroeconomics is an extraordinarily perceptive essay that describes the effects of modern western economic policy on the human mind. It makes the point that human beings have the biosurvival circuitry that in former times imprinted pair and group bonds for security. Today however, "Paper money becomes the biosurvival imprint in capitalist society. [...] The capitalist citizen learns neurologically that money equals security and lack of money equals insecurity." We become so fixated on acquisition of money, that we literally take leave of our senses, and "the conditioned token, the symbol money, controls our mental well-being." Parallels between capitalism and heroin addiction? An interesting comparison by William S. Burroughs.

Coex, Coex, Coex! is an excellent essay about Finnigan's Wake by James Joyce. 'Coex' stands for 'condensed experience,' and 'coex systems' are condensed experience montages. This means you are experiencing a variety of images, feelings, memories, etc. all at the same time. This is a powerful concept, as it suggests what happens to consciousness in certain expanded states, where everything takes on profound depth of meaning due to sheer numbers of interconnections between symbols. A single phrase can have dozens of meanings through clever manipulation of symbols—a testimony to the genius of Joyce. As Wilson states, "To learn to read Finnigan's Wake with ease and pleasure, is to learn to think with your whole brain, 'conscious' and 'unconscious' circuits included [...] Finnigan's Wake is not just a great novel and a semantic symphony; it contains a whole science of psychoarchaeology, and historical linguistics."

Beethoven as Information makes some fascinating points on the importance of art, in particular, how the artist so dramatically expresses the struggle which every human being must fight: "the struggle to see and hear with one's own eyes and ears, not with the circuitry of social conditioning." Wilson states (through Maynard Solomon) that the formula for all creative endeavor is given by "irresistible motion and intolerable strain"—the typical structure of Beethoven. How important is the function of art? Well, it is hinted at in the statement: "The mystic, unless he or she is also an artist, cannot communicate the higher states of awareness achieved." And it is this profoundly important communication that serves to establish individual transcendent experience, which in turn transforms society. Listening to Beethoven, one shares in his expanded perceptions.

Mammalian Politics: Thackeray via Kubrick is an interesting essay that describes some of the powerful Brechtian-Joycean "artistic judo" techniques employed in an attempt to disintegrate the viewer's emotional identification of traditional patterns of human socio-political behavior. More specifically, in Kubrick's portrayal of Thackeray's Barry Lyndon (but also in Thackeray's sister work, Vanity Fair). To quote Wilson, "Barry Lyndon is a precise neurological dissection of the robot imprints that underlies predatory politics."

Beyond Theology, The Science of Godmanship is a brilliant essay that explains succinctly and with great lucidity Quantum Theory and it's three interpretations: the Copenhagen Interpretation, the Multiple-Universe Model, and the Hidden Variable Theory. The story begins by presenting an incident described in Carl Jung's autobiography concerning a psychokinesis event occurring in the presence of Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud (which incidentally so shocked the latter, that the incident was never spoken of again). Wilson then proceeds to explain this phenomenon by way of Quantum Physics and the notion of nonlocality that was examined by Einstein, Bohm, Bell and others. In fact, Bell had published a demonstration that seemed to prove nonlocality of quantum phenomena, which was later experimentally verified by others. The resulting implications are, of course, tremendous. Ranging from how we view ourselves, the universe, and the pursuit of knowledge in general. The end result is the tantalizing view that consciousness is everywhere, everywhen, in all things, and not localized to our brains or even our bodies. And that it is our task as sentient beings to discover how to step outside our prevailing slice of space-time consciousness, so we may experience consciousness in myriad other forms, and make weird and wonderful things happen. One of the most accessible and inspiring explanations of Quantum Theory that I have yet come across.

The Goddess of Ezra Pound, is a brief examination of Ezra Pound's feminine religious principle in his Cantos. His beloved goddess is seen through the eye of neo-Confucianism and appears repeatedly in many diverse forms. As Wilson states, "The Cantos are full of references to Gnostic and Christian heresies, especially the erotic tantric ones." The "initiation" process of the soul was one that Pound decided must begin his entire Cantos, and this work seems to teem with the expression of the profound mystical experience of an initiate. This wonderful essay fosters a much deeper interest and appreciation for Pound and his Cantos, especially for those with a poetic-mystic bent.

Celine's Laws is a very appropos essay that discusses the issues surrounding security, surveillance, information, and disinformation. The first of three laws states, (1) National Security is the chief cause of national insecurity. The basic premise is that those who employ secret police must monitor them so that they do not acquire too much power. This group then must also be monitored to insure they do not acquire too much power, and so on, ad infinitum. Worry and suspicion lead to more worry and suspicion. As Henry Kissenger is rumored to have said, "Anybody in Washington these days who isn't paranoid is crazy." Once a secret police is established, we are then lead to the second law, (2) Accurate communication is only possible in a nonpunishing situation (i.e., non-authoritarian). Every authoritarian structure can be visualized as a pyramid. At each rung the individual bears a burden of nescience to those above. They must be very careful that their perceptions, or rather, inferences drawn from perception, as Wilson states, "be in accord with the wishes of those above them. [...] It is much less important that these perceptions be in accord with actual reality." As Freud noted, that which is objectively repressed (unspeakable) ultimately becomes subjectively repressed (unthinkable). Wilson makes the amazing but accurate statement, "It is easier to cease to notice, where the official reality grid differs from sensed experience." The third law states, (3) An honest politician is a national calamity. The idea here is that a typical dishonest politician is interested in enriching himself at the public expense, as is almost everyone. An honest politician, on the other hand, is sincerely committed to improving society by political action. This political action is invariably manifested by way of passing new laws. However, every new law creates a new class of criminals. The example that is given is the illegalization of marijuana in 1937, where several hundred thousand law abiding citizens instantly became criminals overnight by Act of Congress. As more laws are passed, more citizens become criminals, with increased restriction on freedoms. Wilson provides the perceptive and alternative view, "The chief cause of the rising crime rate is the rising number of laws being enacted." Brilliant.

Stupidynamics, is a supremely satirical but serious essay that examines some of the main categories of stupidity, and their remedies in modern society. Generally, "Stupidity is a blockage in the ability to receive, integrate, and transmit new signals rapidly. [...] Enculturation can also cause signal-blindness: signals not consistent with the tribal mythology are repressed, ignored, covered over with projections or distortions until they do fit the local mythos ..." According to Wilson, their are four main categories of stupidity, in correspondence with the four lower circuits of the nervous system: biosurvival, emotional, semantic, and sociosexual. Remedies? Martial arts or yoga alleviates biosurvival stupidity, pranayama alleviates emotional stupidity, proper nutrition and education alleviate semantic stupidity, and group encounter psychotherapy alleviates sociosexual stupidity. A fascinating approach to intelligence increase.

Paleopuritanism and Neopuritanism is a technically astute essay that dissects and analyses Puritanism and it's neo-variant, through the lenses of the lower level circuits of the nervous system. The Puritan personality begins from aversion-based second circuit emotional imprints during the crawling and toddling stages of infancy. As Wilson states, "Puritanism is imprinted when the child is taught aversive, loathing, shameful reflexes toward its own anal-genital parts." When the child has later learned to handle language, the emotional imprint is reinforced by a third circuit semantic imprint, by way of a special vocabulary "associating all sexuality with the anal shit-dirt-mess aversion reflexes." The forth, sociosexual circuit then imprints with a "Mr. District Attorney" or "Holy Inquisitor" persona. Stimuli that trigger the anal guilt-shame reflexes in the Puritan are mediated through the semantic circuit, where they are appropriately labeled, and the emotion is discharged by attacking the person who was the source of the stimuli. Most importantly, "Those who identify their own imprinted emotional-glandular response with the external stimuli, cannot imagine how the stimuli appear to someone else who has not had their imprinting." In short, they act as if the map is the territory—their own emotions are all that are real to them. As usual, Wilson does not fail to offer a humorous and pertinent epithet, "Emotional identification is a mild form of hallucination."

The RICH Economy is an inspiring essay describing a vision of the future, where individuals are transformed from modern "wage slaves," to independent creative producers. In this vision, unemployment is no longer viewed as a disease that must be eradicated, but rather as a natural and healthy functioning of an advanced technological society's increasing tendency to do more with less. But how will people sustain their lives without income? Enter the notion of a Negative Income Tax or Guaranteed Annual Income as devised by Nobel economist Milton Friedman and others. The Negative Income Tax or Guaranteed Annual Income simply asserts a minimum annual income for all citizens. This would gradually be raised to the level of a National Dividend, which calls for all citizens to receive dividends on the Gross National Product for the year precisely equal to the GNP. This would afford every citizen the living standard of the comfortable middle class. As Wilson states, "Delivered from the role of things and robots, people will learn to become fully developed persons, in the sense of the Human Potential movement. They will not seek work out of economic necessity, but out of psychological necessity—as an outlet for their creative potential."

A wonderfully illuminating read.

The Doors of Perception (Aldous Huxley)

2005-02-25T14:45:00.000-07:00

In this famous essay, Aldous Huxley describes his experience of swallowing four-tenths of a gram of mescalin that would influence a generation's perception of life. His descriptions of external phenomena are immensely rich and detailed, filled with depth and vitality. It is as if everything in his new world comes alive. He makes the statement of "seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation—the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence." Huxley makes extraordinarily profound descriptions of the various contents of his experience while on the drug, including his perception of common things such as flowers, fabrics, furniture, painting, color, music, poetry, space, and time. In particular, he makes a very insightful point with regard to the essential function of art, and the poet-artist's uniqueness not consisting in the visionary quality itself but,

solely in his ability to render, in words or [...] in line and color, some hint at least of a not excessively uncommon experience. The untalented visionary may perceive an inner reality no less tremendous, beautiful and significant than the world beheld by Blake; but he lacks altogether the ability to express in literary or plastic symbols, what he has seen.

In preparation for the description of his peak experience, Huxley neatly addresses the issue of how the mind and sensory apparatus function, quoting an eminent Cambridge philosopher, Dr. C. D. Broad,

[...] that we should do well to consider much more seriously [...] the type of theory which Bergson put forward in connection with memory and sense perception. The suggestion is that the function of the brain and nervous system and sense organs is in the main eliminative and not productive. Each person is at each moment capable of remembering all that has ever happened to him and of perceiving everything that is happening everywhere in the universe. The function of the brain and nervous system is to protect us from being overwhelmed and confused by this mass of largely useless and irrelevant knowledge, by shutting out most of what we should otherwise perceive or remember at any moment, and leaving only that very small and special selection which is likely to be practically useful.

And so, with this protective and eliminative function now largely removed, Huxley is confronted by a chair that he perceives as the chair of the Last Judgment, and finds himself on the brink of panic:

This, I suddenly felt, was going too far. Too far, even though the going was into intenser beauty, deeper significance. The fear, as I analyze it in retrospect was of being overwhelmed, of disintegrating under a pressure of reality greater than a mind, accustomed to living most of the time in a cosy world of symbols, could possibly bear. The literature of religious experience abounds in references to the pains and terrors overwhelming those who have come, too suddenly, face to face with some manifestation of the 'Mysterium tremendum.' In theological language, this fear is due to the incompatibility between man's egotism and the divine purity, between man's self-aggravated separateness and the infinity of God. Following Boehme and William Law, we may say that, by unregenerate souls, the divine Light at its full blaze can be apprehended only as a burning purgatorial fire. An almost identical doctrine is to be found in The Tibetan Book of the Dead, where the departed soul is described as shrinking in agony from the Pure Light of the Void, and even from the lesser tempered Lights, in order to rush headlong into the comforting darkness of selfhood as a reborn human being, or even as a beast, an unhappy ghost, a denizen of hell. Anything rather than the burning brightness of unmitigated Reality—anything!

Huxley then goes on to describe the profound affinity of the mystic and the schizophrenic. The primary difference between the two being, the mystic has learned how to swim in the waters of the unconscious, whereas the schizophrenic has not. As Huxley puts it,

The schizophrenic is a soul not merely unregenerate, but desperately sick into the bargain. His sickness consists in the inability to take refuge from inner and outer reality (as the sane person habitually does) in the homemade universe of common sense—the strictly human world of useful notions, shared symbols, and socially acceptable conventions. The schizophrenic is like a man permanently under the influence of mescalin, and therefore unajavascript:void(0)ble to shut off the experience of a reality which he cannot explain away because it is the most stubborn of primary facts, and which, because it never permits him to look at the world with merely human eyes, scares him into interpreting its unremitting strangeness, its burning intensity of significance, as the manifestations of human or even cosmic malevolence, calling for the most desperate countermeasures, from murderous violence at one end of the scale to catatonia, or psychological suicide, at the other. And once embarked upon the downward, the infernal road, one would never be able to stop. That, now, was only too obvious.

     "If you started in the wrong way," I said in answer to the investigator's questions, "everything that happened would be proof of the conspiracy against you. It would all be self-validating. You couldn't draw a breath without knowing it was part of the plot."
     "So you think you know where madness lies?"
     My answer was a convinced and heartfelt, "Yes."
     "And you couldn't control it?"
     "No I couldn't control it. If one began with fear and hate as the major premise, one would have to go on to the conclusion."
     "Would you be able," my wife asked, "to fix your attention on what The Tibetan Book of the Dead calls the Clear Light?"
     I was doubtful.
     "Would it keep the evil away, if you could hold it? Or would you not be able to hold it?"
     I considered the question for some time. "Perhaps," I answered at last, "perhaps I could—but only if there were somebody there to tell me about the Clear Light. One couldn't do it by oneself. That's the point, I suppose, of the Tibetan ritual—someone sitting there all the time and telling you what's what."

Huxley describes through direct personal experience the world of the schizophrenic, and goes on to prescribe methods he believes would be particularly helpful in dealing with the states encountered. These are in principle the same methods employed by the Buddhist monks of Tibet described in The Tibetan Book of the Dead. It essentially requires the psychiatrist to assure the patient day and night, even while they sleep, that "in spite of all the terror, all the bewilderment and confusion, the ultimate Reality remains unshakably itself and is of the same substance as the inner light of even the most cruelly tormented mind." He indicates the use of public address systems, and pillow speakers, for example, to keep the patients constantly reminded of these primordial facts, walking them through the turbulent waters of their unconscious.

Moving towards societal implications, Huxley speaks to the possible uses of a mescalin-like psychoactive as an innocuous aid for the initiation of the masses into self-transcendent experience—a temporary release from selfhood—which in present times are sought ineffectively in so many ways to the detriment of the individual and society. A kind of "gratuitous grace" available for those who wish it,

[...] To be shaken out of the ruts of ordinary perception, to be shown for a few timeless hours the outer and the inner world, not as they appear to an animal obsessed with survival or to a human being obsessed with words and notions, but as they are apprehended, directly and unconditionally, by Mind at Large...

And finally, Huxley presents a pertinent critique of our education system, indicating that it places far too much emphasis on book knowledge and little if any on knowledge obtained through direct perception. And for those learned individuals who have climbed the heights of this system, the "Angels" described by Blake as those who "have the vanity to speak of themselves as the only wise, doing so from an insolent confidence sprouting from systematic reasoning," Huxley describes a more realistic scenario, a less exclusively verbal system of education, where every Angel would be permitted, urged, and even compelled to take an occasional trip through some chemical Door of the Wall to the other side. To what end?

The man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out. He will be wiser but less cocksure, happier but less self-satisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to the unfathomable Mystery which it tries, forever vainly, to comprehend.

On the Road (Jack Kerouac)

2005-01-18T01:27:00.000-07:00

This book is a wild, mad rollercoaster ride through the hearts and minds of a generation. Everything is so believably crazy and insane, one can't help but imagine it could happen to any one of us if we just let it. The themes of adventure, freedom, fearlessness, optimism, and acceptance are especially pronounced. A kind of Hero's Journey through the depths of ones mind and heart that vibrates and manifests on the material plane in regard to what's happening all around. The book takes you criss-crossing all over the United States lost in the adventures of circumspect Sal Paradise and crazy Dean Moriarty. Although I've never read Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn, I've read of them, and my impression is here we have a great tribute to such enduring classics, though couched in the speak of a new generation. "Digging" everyone and seeing beauty everywhere even in the midst of paltry mediocrity, fostering a deep interest and curiosity of people and life.

The book continually reveals layers of people and culture with amazing clarity and insight. One is left with the impression that the work is based on the author's own personal experience, such is the depth of observation and attention to detail. The many adventures really brought home to me how paranoid we have all become in the West, how untrusting and fearful. Such a contrast with the people encountered in the later adventures in Mexico, a journey into the true unknown—"The New World." Also a symbol for the return to that childlike state we all find ourselves in at the beginning of our lives, a state of heightened perception and consciousness, where everything is so new, fresh, virgin, one profound discovery after another. That is, all until the machinery of conditioned society grabs hold of us, and forces upon us the monotony of our role as cogs moving forward it's wheels—all the while, being taught to pay relentless homage to the gods of unbridled greed, power, selfishness, and anything and everything lacking intrinsic value or meaning. Life stops flowing. Everything becomes planned to the finest detail. Our lives become mere shadows and pretenses of plastic experience concocted so we can lull ourselves into thinking we are genuinely partaking of life.

There are also some very philosophical sections hinting at getting TIME, about getting IT which I absolutely must quote. This seems to point markedly towards ideas in Eastern philosophy regarding the importance of moment to moment awareness. That the more present we are, the more IT manifests all around us. In a nutshell, stopping our continual reminiscing or regrets for the past, our compulsive planning or worrying for the future, and just being here, now. Letting all just unfold on it's own. Kind of Ram-Dassian, but then Jack Kerouac's followup book a year later was The Dharma Bums, so it all fits together.

In one extremely potent moment, as Sal wanders alone down the streets of San Francisco, desperately tired and hungry with no money in his pocket, picking butts from the street, passing by a fish-'n-chips shop on Market Street, and making eye contact with the proprietress:

[...] I walked on a few feet. It suddenly occurred to me this was my mother of about two hundred years ago in England, and that I was her footpad son, returning from gaol to haunt her honest labors in the hashery. I stopped, frozen with ecstasy on the sidewalk. I looked down Market Street. I didn't know whether it was that or Canal Street in New Orleans: it led to water, ambiguous, universal water, just as 42nd Street, New York, leads to water, and you never know where you are. I though of Ed Dunkel's ghost on Times Square. I was delirious. I wanted to go back and leer at my strange Dickensian mother in the hash joint. I tingled all over from head to foot. It seemed I had a whole host of memories leading back to 1750 in England and that I was in San Francisco now only in another life and in another body. [...] It made me think of the Big Pop vision in Graetna with Old Bull. And for just a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, with a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the holy void of uncreated emptiness, the potent and inconceivable radiancies shining in bright Mind Essence, innumerable lotus-lands falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven. I could hear an indescribable seething roar which wasn't in my ear but everywhere and had nothing to do with sounds. I realized that I had died and been reborn numberless times but just didn't remember especially because the transitions from life to death and back to life are so ghostly easy, a magical action for naught, like falling asleep and waking up again a million times, the utter casualness and deep ignorance of it. I realized it was only because of the stability of the intrinsic Mind that these ripples of birth and death took place, like the action of wind on a sheet of pure, serene, mirror-like water. I felt sweet, swinging bliss, like a big shot of heroin in the mainline vein; like a gulp of wine late in the afternoon and it makes you shudder; my feet tingled. I thought I was going to die the very next moment. But I didn't die, and walked four miles and picked up ten long butts and took them back to Marylou's hotel room and poured their tobacco in my old pipe and lit up. I was too young to know what had happened.

Wow. And again:

Now, man, that alto man last night had IT—he held it once he found it; I've never seen a guy who could hold so long... Here's a guy and everybody's there, right? Up to him to put down what's on everybody's mind. He starts the first chorus, then lines up his ideas, people, yeah, yeah, but get it, and then he rises to his fate and has to blow equal to it. All of a sudden somewhere in the middle of the chorus he gets it—everybody looks up and knows; they listen; he picks it up and carries. Time stops. He's filling empty space with the substance of our lives, confessions of his bellybottom strain, remembrance of ideas, rehashes of old blowing. He has to blow across bridges and come back and do it with such infinite feeling soul-exploratory for the tune of the moment that everybody knows it's not the tune that counts but IT...

And finally:

[...] the point being that we know what IT is and we know TIME and we know that everything is really FINE... Now you just dig them in front. They have worries, they're counting the miles, they're thinking about where to sleep tonight, how much money for gas, the weather, how they'll get there—and all the time they'll get there anyway, you see. But they need to worry and betray time with urgencies false and otherwise, purely anxious and whiny, their souls really won't be at peace unless they can latch on to an established facial expression to fit and go with it, which is you see, unhappiness, and all the time it all flies by them and they know it and that too worries them no end. Listen! Listen!

I wanted so much to be there with these crazy madmen as they traipsed across America and beyond in ultra-cool devil-may-care style. Wanted to let go, join them, lose myself, and become a little bit mad also.

The novel that defined a generation? Definitely—and inspired the next.

The Psychedelic Experience (Timothy Leary, Ralph Metzner, and Richard Alpert)

2004-10-16T16:40:00.000-06:00

A remarkable book that demystifies, clarifies, and engenders depth of understanding into the nature of human consciousness. This book is intended as a kind of road map for the experiences surrounding ego-death and rebirth. It has little to do with physical dying except that, according to Tibetan tradition, ego-death and rebirth also occur at physiological death. The purpose of working to experience these states is to gain understanding into the nature of consciousness through direct personal experience, and ultimately to liberate oneself from the confines of ordinary ego-consciousness.

This book not only has the effect of demystifying the Tibetan traditions, but also all religious traditions by placing them within the realm of consciousness expansion experiences. Religion becomes consciousness expansion with the individual selecting which religious or psychological model or metaphor is to be overlaid in an attempt to explain the experiences and draw a degree of coherency to them. The title of the book stresses the psychedelic nature of experience, but this book could just as easily been titled, "The Religious Experience," or "The Consciousness Expansion Experience."

It is the intent of the original Bardo Thodol, upon which this book is based, to light a pathway towards the exceedingly difficult task of permanent ego-death, otherwise known as 'liberation.' The use of psychedelics is only one way to bootstrap the process that temporarily plunges one's ego-consciousness into expanded or ego-loss states. Having entered the ego-loss state, the instructions contained in this book then act as guide to help prolong the experience and ease the inevitable return to more ordinary states of awareness or ego-consciousness. The whole process promises to intimately familiarize the voyager with the varieties of experience attendant after ego-loss or temporary ego-death. As the ego begins to reassert itself, experience then moves out of the transcendent and into the hallucinatory, and finally into the game-playing, re-entry and ego-rebirth stages. Recognition of the entire process in the midst of experience is key.

It may be worthwhile for the reader to make comparisons with the accounts of other documented psychedelic experiences (Alan Watts, Aldous Huxley, Timothy Leary, et al.), in addition to the non-psychedelic experiences described by the famous twentieth century psychologist William James in his work entitled The Varieties of Religious Experience.

The book has a section dedicated to the review of commentaries for the original translation of the Bardo Thodol (translated by W. Y. Evans-Wentz) by Carl G. Jung, and Lama Anagarika Govinda. The book is organized into the following sections:

I. General Introduction
II. The Tibetan Book of the Dead
・First Bardo: The Period of Ego-Loss or Non-Game Ecstasy (Chikai Bardo)
・Second Bardo: The Period of Hallucinations (Chonyid Bardo)
・Third Bardo: The Period of Re-Entry (Sidpa Bardo)
III. Some Technical Comments about Psychedelic Sessions
IV. Instructions for use During a Psychedelic Session

—

DEDICATION EXCERPT:

This version of The Tibetan Book of the Dead is dedicated to

Aldous Huxley

July 26, 1894 – November 22, 1963 with profound admiration and gratitude.

"If you started in the wrong way," I said in answer to the investigator's questions, "everything that happened would be a proof of the conspiracy against you. It would all be self-validating. You couldn't draw a breath without knowing it was part of the plot."
"So you think you know where madness lies?"
My answer was a convinced and heartfelt, "Yes."
"And you couldn't control it?"
"No I couldn't control it. If one began with fear and hate as the major premise, one would have to go on to the conclusion."
"Would you be able," my wife asked, "to fix your attention on what The Tibetan Book of the Dead calls the Clear Light?"
I was doubtful.
"Would it keep the evil away, if you could hold it? Or would you not be able to hold it?"
I considered the question for some time. "Perhaps," I answered at last, "perhaps I could – but only if there were somebody there to tell me about the Clear Light. One couldn't do it by oneself. That's the point, I suppose, of the Tibetan ritual – somebody sitting there all the time and telling you what's what."

(Doors of Perception, 57-58)

Jonathon Livingston Seagull (Richard Bach)

2004-10-13T13:12:00.000-06:00

This is a wonderfully inspirational little book. Packed into a small space with important messages scattered throughout. There are, I think, a couple of key messages the book conveys in very simple and easy to understand allegory.

The first is the need for less regard for the overly critical opinions and judgments of society. These systems unfortunately serve to discourage real personal discovery and development. Our society tends to encourage individuals not to follow their dreams and instead become cogs of the machinery of established socioeconomic-political structures: "Do you have any idea how many lives we must have gone through before we even got the first idea that there is more to life than eating, or fighting, or power in the Flock?"

But perhaps the single most important message is the quest for personal knowledge and understanding. It seems one of the greatest things we can do with our lives is to cultivate a flexible, receptive, inquiring, and compassionate mind that is able to suspend judgment and criticism in order to see things with fresh eyes free of preconceived notions and ideas. And then pointing that penetrating vision at ourselves.

The book is split into three parts. In part one we have the quest, search, or struggle. In part two we have realization and higher knowledge. In part three we have sharing our discoveries and knowledge with others. In this division there are strong parallels to the work of mythologist Joseph Campbell and his book The Hero's Journey.

The Great Gull said it best: "It's strange. The gulls who scorn perfection for the sake of travel go nowhere, slowly. Those that put aside travel for the sake of perfection go anywhere instantly."

A beautiful little book.

Awakening the Buddha Within: Eight Steps to Enlightenment (Lama Surya Das)

2004-09-05T16:30:00.000-06:00

This book is a wonderful, practical approach to Buddhism with a distinctive Tibetan flavor that takes the study of Buddhism out of the monastic environment and into the real world. The book is written in a very casual, lucid, and concise style that makes the reader feel like s/he's participating in a transformative process that actually can be understood and directed. The author speaks the language of the modern Western world. Some section titles illustrate the point: "Getting Real, Becoming Clued In," "Better Late Than Never," "Avoiding Idiot Compassion." I've read a few books on Buddhism and would say this is by far the most accessible.

The title mentions eight steps: The Noble Eight-Fold Path. These steps are treated individually through a collection of insightful key ideas, fresh viewpoints, psychological tools and techniques, and personal anecdotes. The anecdotes especially give the book a kind of warmth and intimacy that allows the reader to relate to the author on a more personal level. The practical suggestions offered are based on personal life experience and are much easier to take as the author has clearly walked the walk.

Reading this book I found myself repeating things like "wow!", "amazing!" page after page in a seeming continuous stream. Insights galore. It embraces all the traditions of Theravada, Mahayana, Vajrayana, culminating in Dogzchen. The author seems to describe a kind of evolution of Buddhism that moves from the more disengaged ascetic traditions in the Buddha's day to increasingly engaging life-affirming traditions that take everything we experience as a form of meditation: Krishnamurti's "choiceless awareness." Quite probably the best book on practical Buddhism for the modern Western world.

—

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgments
Preface

PART ONE: Discovering Ancient Wisdom in a Modern World

We are all Buddhas
A Tibetan Prophecy
Deconstructing the House that Ego Built

PART TWO: Walking the Eight–Fold Path to Enlightenment - The Heroic Journey

The Four Noble Truths

Wisdom Training: Seeing Things as They Are

・Step One: Right View – The Wisdom of Clear Vision
・Step Two: Right Intentions – Plumbing Your Wise Buddha-Nature

Ethics Training: Living a Sacred Life

・Step Three: Right Speech – Speaking the Truth
・Step Four: Right Action – The Art of Living
・Step Five: Right Livelihood – Work is Love Made Visible

Meditation Training: Awareness, Attention, and Focus

・Step Six: Right Effort – A Passion for Enlightenment
・Step Seven: Right Mindfulness – Keeping Your Eyes Open
・Step Eight: Right Concentration – The Joy of Meditation

Epilogue: Toward a Western Buddhism and Contemporary Dharma

Recommended Reading Index