Rabbi Tarfon urges us all to act responsibly now. He said, “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.” He doesn’t give us a reason to be just, loving and humble. He just asks us to do it Now. What’s the urgency, and more importantly for some of us, what’s the payback? After all, that’s a major commitment to changing the world, through a not so simple act of lovingkindness and justice. Why should we?
Certainly, our gracious generosity of time, energy and spirit is not always appreciated. Why then do so many of us offer our kindness to others? Some of us do good deeds because we have expectations. The problem often is that our expectations and those of the people we help are not always in alignment. Try to have that talk about the dangers of drug use with today’s teens, and you’ll know what I mean. Try having a conversation with someone with deeply embedded beliefs in anything about a different perspective, and you may experience this battle of ideas and expectations. But we continue to care. Why?
On the surface it seems that we are acting to present ourselves as just, fair and loving, whether or not we really believe that we are all those things. Some may even be aware that we want to experience love from the “other” person, so we extend our loving acts in the hope that the others will return the favor. Others may say that we want to matter in some way, so we rescue others from their challenges in the hopes of feeling good about it. And sadly, with all these desires for change, the reality we create for ourselves is awareness of enormous grief.
Perhaps there is an answer: Be open to life, curious about what is in the present moment. Transactional acts – if I do this, you’ll do that – are bound to disappoint, because that cycle never delivers enough of what we are seeking. Desires and expectations are tricks of the mind, unsatisfying ruses that fling us into the future, or drag us kicking and screaming sometimes to the past, so that we then miss the joy of the present, by obscuring it with untrue thoughts.
We are one spirit, expressing as the divine love of the universe, in the present moment. If we are awake to our truth, we are aware that we cannot be anything but love. We expect no thanks because thanks are a future event that may or may not happen, creating suffering.
In the present moment we need no thanks for our acts of compassion and lovingkindness. The true expression of our humility is to ask for nothing, because kindness and love are not transactions, they are just the way it is in the universe. What we do “for others” we do for ourselves, because we are one spirit. Who we are has no requirements, no payback, no expectations. Be still now, be the love you are and expect no applause.
Author Archives: Ndidi
Our Fight With Time
I woke up one morning wondering about my life as it is now. I was surprised when my awareness of my present experience thrust me into the past. I reflected, I admit regretfully, on lost opportunities to be in the moment, instead of attempting to live my life in the ethereal future. I realized that I missed the present moment in my fight with time. Woody Allen once said that “life is what happens when we’re busy making plans.” The battle, more like a war with time has been one launched in my own mind. The concept of time is constructed in the mind in a failed attempt to control our life experiences. Controlling time is much like boxing the air. Believing that time is a viable vehicle for our desires and future, is fighting a losing battle with a mental sandcastle that only exists because we painstakingly build it. Like most sandcastles, it washes away, as our imaginary grip on time renders us defeated, weary and stressed. Here’s a mental knot of time that we may have difficulty untying:
I use my time to prepare for some future time when I can take the time to relax and spend time with myself and the people I love. I don’t have time to waste. Time is limited and scarce and precious. Give me enough time and I will make time to be with you. But, at this time, I’m too busy to spend the time. I only have a little time left before I run out of time. Time is short and my lifetime is short, so I have to make the best of the time that I have to live. I have to use my time wisely. Time waits for no one. There’s never enough time in the day to do everything I have to do, but some time in the future, I’ll have time.
Time flies. I don’t remember where all the time went. I was spending time doing something that was important. I don’t remember what it was. It must have been important …at the time. I don’t remember…
Now is all that we ever experience of life and love. All else is a constructed reality that continually offers frustrating, crazy making, twists and knots that cloud our awareness of who we really are. We are timeless spiritual beings, expressing who we are as we love and touch the core of our being. We acknowledge who we are being with love, compassion, kindness, and breath in the present moment.
Be still. Lay down your defensive armor of limited time. All is possible now. All is well now. All is as it should be now. All is love; be that love now.
A Spiritual House
The following is an adapted reprint from the book African Zen. The chapter/meditation is entitled “A Spiritual House.”
“You cannot build a house for last year’s summer.”- Ethiopian proverb
Our expectations about what we will experience can be so different from the reality of our present experience. Just as our perceived future can defy our expectations, the perceptions of our past can thwart the present and the perceived future.
If we choose to keep living in the past over and over again, we become oblivious to the changing of “the seasons” and build our “house” on the basis of illusions. Reliving the past in our mind (that’s the only place the past can “live”) is a way to ensure suffering, to punish ourselves for missteps, mistakes and missed opportunities.
The words, “if only,” are our constant refrain when we recount events of the past, rather than ” I chose to…”. Someone once told me that when a series of unfortunate events occur in my life, one person is present in every event – me. We can take responsibility for the choices we have made, but we must also be willing to accept what we have become, the influence of those choices on our present moment of experience and being. Since we see the past as unchangeable, we become frustrated with trying to change it, and then become obsessed with our powerlessness to redo the events. Our egoic minds commit us to constant repetition of these thoughts with the hope that something will change. Obscured in all our fantasizing and recounting is the possibility of a full appreciation of our present moment. Each moment marches by as we invest our precious energy in recriminations of the past.
In the present moment, we build a house that endures all seasons, because in our spiritual house the past, present and future converge into the oneness of the universe. In our spiritual house, time is eternal, there are no mistakes, and there are no regrets. We embrace each new moment like the joy of spring, the light of summer, the fragrances of fall and the coolness of winter. We move effortlessly through the series of “right nows.” The present moment is where we live, what we experience and where all of who we are rests.
Clutter
Hoarders are often our extreme reminder of the dangers of clutter, but our lives are often not lived in extremes. My closets, closed to visitors and friends are often cluttered with too many clothes, supplies or unused and forgotten objects. I have forgotten the values or memories I have unwittingly attached to many of those objects, but I am reluctant to let the objects go.
Why then do we accumulate things, and then hold onto them, as if they are important to us? And if we release them what remains? Will their release create empty spaces — in our living space or in our hearts and minds? Each item is embedded with memories, some faint and some vivid. Somewhat like the “Velveteen Rabbit,” our even faded love of possessing these items makes them and us real. Perhaps without them we think we have no life signature, no definition, no uniqueness. That’s why they are “our things.” But in what way do these possessions reveal who we really are?
What remains when we let go of what does not support us emotional, physically and spiritually? Do we plan to refill the space with new trinkets or clothing? Do we see the removal of clutter as a loss or a gain? What remains of us when all else is gone, all that we believe defines us?.
What Remains?
When the laughter stops
What is it that remains?
Some memory of the bolt of rapture
Some glimpse of happiness now faded?
What remains when the glow of the trinket
Dulls us into habitual patterns of boredom?
What stirs us during cold nights, shivering arms,
Clinging to gossamer dreams?
What remains when the song ends, the music
Now a faded echo?
The even breath of spiritual energy remains,
Energy that fills the soul with peace,
And rests in quiet awareness,
Of infinite abundance.
But I had to experience the transient moments,
The folly of wanting.
The dissatisfaction with receiving
Some insufficient thing.
I had to. I wanted to. I thought I needed to…
I had to remember what, with clouded thoughts, I had forgotten.
The bold, relentless Now clears the false ideas I cling to,
And I appreciate the pregnant silence that remains,
Full of the love and joy I could not see beneath the clutter.
And who I am being is now liberated from thinking
That I could ever love what I am not.
All About Now
It’s so easy to think that we are all the labels ascribed to us — mother, father, sister, brother, daughter, teacher, preacher. We sometimes accept personality descriptions like aggressive, moody, intense or amiable. We introduce ourselves to others by name or profession, and without question believe that the appellation or title represents who we are. This experience of allowing ascriptions to define us is a bit like plastering all the faces of everyone we meet onto our own face until we can no longer recognize who we are. The process of peeling off those “impressions” is a life long journey, one that begins with an alignment with the present moment.
One impression that we carry with us is in part a result of all those plastered images and unspoken expectations: a belief in the limitations of the body as a separate self that defines us. I pondered the restrictive nature of that belief and wrote the following poem:
All my life I have defined my limits,
squeezed myself into a body I call me.
That body defied my innocent consciousness and
attached itself to my mind for security.
The social rituals of age piled onto my small frame and
exploded as my body grew.
I watched as the frame I called body,
changed and moved beyond who I thought I was.
Deep within each moment I remained me
expressed as a universe of spirit.
I tried to free myself from the speeding train
that is my life and body in action.
I paused to breathe, like stopping at a train stop
on a mindless journey.
The train door stays open and the vistas
are endless.
I see myself and the wonder of Now
in that present space, that question with no answer.
And all comes together for me
All-That-Is kisses my soul
as I shake hands with peace.
I am not the body I squeezed myself into,
but I am life’s expression in this moment.
I open the gates of my heart
and ease out of my limitations.
Out beyond what I thought was myself,
I touch freedom and watch a thousand moments
collapse into one.
Everything meets me and carries me lovingly into my self,
the deep resonance of NOW.
Cool Breath
I am sometimes tempted to blame a series of unfortunate or traumatic events in my life for my feelings of sadness or anxiety. I may for a moment feel justified in believing my untrue thoughts about what I think is happening to me. I may allow myself to feel deep sadness at the passing away of my daughter, sisters and friends, or I may surrender to the stress of managing a home, business, health and relationships. Life conditions can be challenging, but we have options in how we perceive and respond to those challenges.
The challenging conditions are fearful projections or painful memories, arising from a fearful place called past or future. But in the present moment, all is well, so from the experience of the present moment, we can breathe with the coolness of peace. The French have a name for the unflappable calm under pressure, called “sangfroid,” but in the context of the present moment, a Zen metaphorical story illustrates what I call cool breath poignantly.
Long ago, in a monastery, monks meditated consistently and peacefully. One day a message spread through the monastery that Samurai warriors had burned a nearby village and were heading toward the monastery. The usually introspective monks became uncharacteristically afraid and decided to flee the monastery in search of caves where they could be safe. But one monk remained, unfazed by the news, and continued to be in the present moment with deep sitting meditation. Soon the entire monastery was empty, and warriors approached, determined to destroy anything and anyone in their path. The monk sat quietly as a warrior finally entered the monastery. The warrior approached the monk and said, “Old man, you sit here meditating, but don’t you know that I could run you through with my sword without blinking an eye?” The monk opened his eyes, looked up and met the fiery eyes of the warrior, and said, ” Don’t you know that I could be run through with your sword without blinking an eye?” At that moment, the warrior fell to his knees in the presence of cool breath and as the story goes understood the meaning of enlightenment (full awareness of the nature of being).
Coolness under the pressure of conditions is possible when we know who we are, and when we know that our fears are our own possessions. Some “past” experiences that we bring into the present, threaten our sense of safety or status quo. We shudder to think that life could change in the next moment that we call the “future,” so we either fight with those long-gone experiences, attempt to flee from the present, or become paralyzed by the fear of a repeated rejection or failure in the future.
When we become still in the present moment, give up our need to control conditions, a need which instantly creates an attachment to outcomes, we can allow conditions to appear and disappear, to emerge and dissolve, to come and go as they always do. The universe is naturally self-organizing and evolving. We can witness our thoughts without attempting to make them real. Be still. Allow the thoughts and feelings to rise and fall, but give up the attachment to them as real and permanent. I realize that I am not what appears in my life; I am a witness and the experiencer of impermanence in life. In the blink of an eye, life changes.
Allowing Awe
How often have you experienced awe, the emotion that is a combination of both fear and appreciation? After several experiences, I have become awe prone, allowing myself to experience the “dilation of my imagination” and fullness of being. Awe has opened the door to the complex admixture of probing life’s mysteries while basking in the beingness of the present moment.
One such awe experience occurred one night while I was on an airplane, more than 30 thousand feet above ground, when the pilot, in an excited voice, announced that there was a “light show” on the left side of the plane. I quickly looked out of the airplane window, feeling lucky that I was seated on the left side and therefore able to see the spectacle clearly. The lightning flashed brilliantly from what seemed like only a few hundred feet away. The “show” was truly “awesome” or awful- both ways of describing it are appropriate. My response was a combination of immediate fright with no possibility of escape, and deep, abiding fascination with the sheer power and beauty of nature’s energy. Then suddenly I had an inspired sense of reverence for the energy of the universe, even though in that moment I still experienced the lightning as outside myself. But soon, I realized that I AM THAT universe and that lightning, one with all in the universe, so then I felt both love and humility. Awe changes how we think of the “outside” world; it changes how we experience the present moment of our life.
Another experience of awe occurred when I stood stunned on the edge of the Grand Canyon. It’s difficult to escape the awe of seeing the vast beauty of that approximately 17 million year old magnificence. My smallness once again produced appreciation but my thoughts turned quickly to the dangers and mysteries that could lie within the Canyon. The size of the colorful valley alone is overwhelming, but mysteries about the Canyon raise questions about the entire universe. The Canyon is mystical, like a hologram of our Galaxy filled with mysteries of the universe. As Albert Einstein said,” The most beautiful and most profound emotion we can experience is the sensation of the mystical.”
But I don’t visit the Grand Canyon or fly through or around lighting on a regular basis. The rarity of those events do not preclude the emergence of opportunities to allow awe. My great niece provides opportunities. She is a 6 year old gymnast who flips and jumps with awesome agility and flexibility on high beams, parallel bars and floor mats. I watch her practice with all the protective fearfulness that she lacks in her embracing of adventure. I am in awe of the heart in her practice, and the mysteries and capabilities of the human body. She is universal energy in vivid motion.
There are countless opportunities to allow awe in my life. From the brilliance of a sunset from my deck to watching the grateful flowers in my garden turn their faces toward the morning rain. Nature is a relentless source of awe, whether it is witnessing the stoic growth of plants or trees or the complementarity of land and sea, we can connect with their beauty and their power. To the extent that we see and feel our oneness with nature, we cannot escape being in awe. Being in communion with all of life deepens our sense of the infinite.
Awe raises questions with no easy answers, but the questions make our lives an evolving story rather than a stale tale of suffering and challenges. In difficult times, awe rescues us from despair because we see beyond the conditions in our lives to how the challenges themselves can reveal unsolved mysteries. Awe, the brief experience of joy and love, can create what Dr. Paul Pearsall described as “unbounded delight, humbling dread and excited incredulousness.”
If we want to see the fullness of the present moment, awe is the lens. Allow awe to disrupt the illusion of certainty, the routine nature of a life of doing and activity, and move deeply into being and thriving as the spirit that you are.
As It Should Be
A few weeks ago, I cut my finger using a mandolin kitchen tool. I was trying to prepare sliced fruit for a celebration at my home. Hours before guests were to arrive, blood gushed from the top of my right thumb, and in the interest of being alive for my guests, I dashed off to Urgent Care for treatment. I arrived back home with an hour to spare before guests rang my doorbell; with a bandaged finger and a reminder of my vulnerability I made light of the incident. I typically heal quickly from injury, so I was not surprised that after only a couple of weeks, the wound seemed to heal –on the surface. But the thumb remains tender to the touch, even though the surface appears restored and sealed.
The internal healing will take a bit more time. I realize that I must be patient with the process, because everything is always as it should be in life and healing. We may feel pain for a while, but there’s no need to hold on to it, since healing starts quickly — from the outside in. Deep hurts are slower to heal on the inside. As we manage the impressions we make on others, we sometimes conceal the pain with smiles and avoidances, but with steadfast belief in the inward sanctuary, the inevitable healing occurs.
For me, the internal and external healing is a metaphor for change. We cannot hurry it along, believing that because it looks good on the surface, the internal workings are moving in perfect symmetry. Everything is as it should be, even if our perceptions and stories try to convince us that the world is broken or damaged or unsafe. The pace of the change helps us to be stronger and more in touch with what is our core being, the I am where who we really are sits in quiet perfection. The slowness of the change helps us to savor the present moment, to allow the asymmetry between who we are and what we are experiencing to come into alignment with each other.
The internal sensitivity of my thumb is also a metaphor for the story we create about loss. We see daily the loss of life, wealth, status, relationships, and reputation, and we sometimes use those conditions to lament the temporary and somehow unsafe nature of life. We become melancholy about the seeming “death” of aspects of our lives and ignore the birth of life all around us. In fact it is the endings that make the beginnings possible. Each moment is a beginning, and our only reality. Life is an eternal continuation; death and loss are simply tipping points where a growing awareness transforms.
You are Subject
One of the definitions of subject according to my Merriam Webster app on my phone is “that of which a quality, attribute, or relation may be affirmed or in which it may inhere.” We are subjects in life, not the objects that we imagine ourselves to be. We are “inherently” spirits being. We aren’t separate bodies moving around until the music we’re dancing to stops. We don’t have a life, we are life. We don’t lose a life; there is nothing to lose. All else is an illusion. As Thoreau has said, “The world is but a canvas to the imagination.” We bring essence to life experience in how we express who we are.
What does it mean to be a subject? As subject, we let go of the imagined need to know happiness; we experience joy in the present moment, because in the consciousness of now there is deep abiding peace. As an object we would believe that happiness, even joy lies outside of the self, so we would desperately seek it somewhere else. But sometimes we miss the joy of the moment because of our relentless search for that which we already have. We look for the right conditions, the right person, the right career, the right amount of money, and we are often disappointed. Like fish in the ocean looking for water, we are fed continually as the spirits being who we are. We think love is something we receive or give, but we are love. To paraphrase a Gandhi statement, “Be the love you want to see in the world.”
John Stuart Mill captures the state of illusion that occurs when we see ourselves as objects rather than subjects. He said, ” Ask yourself if you are happy, and you cease to be.” By asking yourself the question, you have made yourself an object, not the aware, conscious spiritual energy that you are. Happiness is a reflection in the mirror, an afterthought, based on a memory of some event that we now regard as happy. Joy is present in the now, always and eternally present. We realize who we really are in the stillness of consciousness. We can be happy, joyful and at peace as subject, whose very essence creates the possibility of life expression. Zen expresses this notion exquisitely: If a tree falls in the forest, it does not make a sound unless we hear it. Nature is a gift if we are here to witness it.
Own your state of being “subject.” Settle into the stillness of being and know that you are love, joy, peace and beauty – a veritable blessing in the universal mind.
The One Buttock Life
Ben Zander, conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra says that he wants his musicians to be “one buttock” virtuosos. He wants them to be so ‘at one’ with the undulations and rhythms of the music that they cannot sit flatly and technically in their chairs. Instead, Zander wants them to lift one buttock in synchrony with the textures of the music. I’ve seen excellent musicians move with the music, but the ones that speak to my heart, seem to be unable to contain themselves. They merge with the sounds and embrace the spirit of the silence. Like a romantic encounter where two lovers connect with each other’s spirit, these music lovers remove the boundaries between the player and the played, the music and the musician.
I remember visiting Blues Alley in Georgetown when I lived in the Washington, DC area. I entered the deep, cavernous venue of Blues Alley to hear the genius of Dizzy Gillespie, Marcus Roberts or Wynton Marsalis. I usually positioned myself as close to the stage as possible, close enough to touch the spirit of the performer. But the trumpet or trombone or piano was as much a performer as the hands that lovingly communed with it. The instrument was alive and the musician honored that life that was waiting to be expressed. Often the energy was so palpable that the stage seemed to rise, as I tried to sit comfortably in my seat. But invariably, I would lean to one side, as the player reached a crescendo or when the music stopped suddenly in the middle of a set, to allow the penetrating silence to send the crowd into a frenzy. Every time, without fail, I was having a one buttock experience.
I have experienced African drumming, or the Alvin Ailey dancers, or a captivating song on the radio, and I cannot sit quietly on two buttocks! I have read a beautifully passionate poem or a philosophical treatise on life and faith, and the sheer joy makes me rise out of my chair.
Music shows up in many forms in our lives. We don’t just make music, we are the music of our lives. When we embrace a one buttock life, we live and move and have our being.
nine principles for joy 