Full Stop...

A student once asked Zen master Shunryu Suzuki what nirvana was and he said, “Seeing one thing through all the way to the end.” 

I had the opportunity to listen to my new teacher recently, as he opened a conference in Colorado.  The woman who started Sounds True publications accompanied him, and her role in the process was one of asking him questions, for us, the audience.  She was really good at it and very clear, his responses were equally resonant with clarity and potency.  

At the very end she asked him what his “inner” life was like.  And he proffered a most interesting response…he said, “I have no inner life”.

I had heard him say that once before, and I found it then, as now, to be such an arresting idea.  I would say if I were to guess, that my Beloved Teacher also had no “inner life”.  Think about that for a moment…can you say that you have met anyone else, in the flesh, that you believe does not have an inner life?  Most of the people I meet are so deeply engaged in their inner life, that they can’t spare you enough attention to even notice your presence, much less hear what you have to say.

He went on to say that to have an inner life, one must always be referencing what is occurring, in the (seemingly) outer, to how one feels about it, in the inner.  I was startled to realize that is exactly how my “inner” life exists.  It is a compilation, a concoction, and a compendium, of my opinions about how I feel about what is occurring as events, in the world around me.  And further, that I can see clearly that full realization would mean that the referencing he was speaking of, would stop entirely.

If we came to the place where we had no resistance to the events that populate our world, then the inner dialogue that constitutes the “I” would disappear, if that were to happen we would have no “inner life”.  Full Stop.

My Beloved Teacher spoke about that idea through the use of the old traditions by using the via negativa, the “not this”, “not that” of the ageless wisdoms.  He was always entreating us to “die” to the self so that we might be reborn anew.  My new Teacher gets right to the meat of the thing and says quite clearly, and bluntly, that the “self” does not exist.

I have come to know experientialy that is true, that there is no self.  But, what I did not understand is why… there is no self.

My Beloved Teacher would speak of giving up your opinions as a way of softly approaching the quite scary notion that “you” do not really exist.  My new teacher describes how that happened to him and for him, and it now makes perfect sense to me.

If I am no longer referencing my opinion about a given event, then in that moment “I” do not exist, and to the degree that “I” do not exist is the degree to which I cannot be harmed, hurt, rocked off center, or experience the sharp pains of seeking for a solution that can never arrive.  Herein and hereby, ends the life long search for the answer to the question… “What is wrong with me?” or “Why is this happening to me?”

I can’t think of a better nirvana than an end to those two questions…can you?

It is the only direction left that I am interested in traveling toward.

I find in my current experience the potential for that to arise.  I did not want to return to the emptiness that surrounded me for the first three years that I went without a job, while my life savings drained slowly away.  I did everything I could think of to keep my employer happy.  I gave the very best of my talent.  I did not cross or challenge her opinions or desires, I tried always to provide a right result…all to no avail.  An end to my employment was in many ways well beyond my control, and something I should have expected.

I am in the process of breaking up my home, getting rid of furniture and possessions so that I might build a studio.  I no longer have the sales outlet I had hoped for, and I can’t seem to decide what it is I hope to create, but I know that I am going to go alone toward whatever is about to arise.

I have paid dearly for the small amount of liberated consciousness that I can currently embody.  I have given up entirely the “normal” life that is the pursuit of almost everyone I meet, and now…I am willing to fully give up hope itself.

The physical relaxation alone…of not having opinions about the events that I witness…is enough to spur me forward.  I don’t know about the availability of nirvana, but I do know, and can imagine, how completely relaxing it would be to have no internal reference for external events.  

And if I can imagine it…isn’t that the first step to abiding in it?

Ronni Miller

8/26/12

photo courtesy of flikr photo sharing and Stevendepolo to see more of this artist’s work please follow this link:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevendepolo/4550903693/

A Small Test…

I recently engaged a cook.  It seems there is a lovely woman in downtown Phoenix who will cook vegan and vegetarian meals for you at $3.00 a serving, (and they are very tasty – although almost always in need of salt).  Even without an income, I couldn’t do it cheaper than that, (and since food stamps do not make it all the way to the end of the month, I might as well pay her).

You can pick the meals up from her at her home, or from the restaurant where she prepares the meals, and if you choose that option you may also stay for “Sunday Community Dinner”.  Which I did choose to do…

I sat at a long table with a variety of folk, the most vocal of which were two young men.  They were both very beautiful, long of bone, slender of build, with soft, long fingered hands whose nails were neatly trimmed and cared for.  I enjoyed watching them and the vigor of youth they displayed so effortlessly, so potently.  They were engaged in some sort of social or political movement, or perhaps religion, I didn’t listen as well as I watched.  But the tone was clear, the intent obvious, and the commitment complete.  They spoke of supporting the cause, giving their energy and will to the outcome, they sparkled as they spoke, and gave off a charming residue of the faith, that youth can often provide us with.  I enjoyed them very much…

As I sat and watched, I wondered at our capacity to believe, how much we give ourselves to our beliefs, how complete is our surrender.

And then, on Wednesday of this past week, I was invited into the home of a couple of women whom I have come to admire and value.  They were a part of the crew that I led, while doing the redesign on the large commercial building job, from which I was just laid off.  My admiration was born of how easy it was to work with them, and how committed they were to the assignments it was my job to provide.  I gave them direction and they would carry the ball over the finish line…it was of great help to me, as I strove to complete a job of such overwhelming dimensions.

The invitation was to a support group.  Seven women, most of whom were younger than me, coming together to provide “support”.  I haven’t done that in a very long time, in part, because I was insecure about whether or not I could maintain the understanding that has been blooming in my heart and mind these last years, while participating in an environment that is dedicated to fixing, or solving, the lives and problems of its members.

It took me so long to awaken from that sort of trance, that I have been unconsciously avoiding that type of group for a very long time now.

You might wonder how the young men and the young women in my story link up to one another.  Here is that link…they were both, in different ways, actively demonstrating the power of believing.

A belief, I have come to see, is a lot like a virus.  It is so potent, so capable, and so powerful, that even the simplest ones can infect your mind, before you have the ability to even recognize their presence.

The earnestness of the young men, and the vigor of their commitment to whatever belief they had been espousing was so complete, it consumed all their time, skills, energy, will, and had them visibly bent upon the path determined by those beliefs, (I repeat, I don’t know what the belief was, as I was only interested and engaged in watching the activity of believing as it played across their countenance…so unfortunately I cannot report the nature of the belief.)

As for the young women, they too, were completely engaged.

As we talked and expressed the current circumstances of our lives, we chose “angel” cards and talked about how it related to our understanding.  We spoke about the challenges we are facing or the concerns that are capturing our attention.  I have a hard time with this sort of conversation, now, as everyday I believe myself a tiny bit less than I did the day before.  And, I remember a tiny bit quicker than I did the day before, that thought arises in consciousness and not the other way around…

One woman at the table was most arresting.  I felt a kind a strong pull away from her that was entirely inexplicable to me.  I had a very difficult time looking at her, although she was entirely presentable appearance wise.  I also, had a hard time listening to her.  It was as though my body wanted to move away even as I continued to sit quietly beside her.  As I said, it was very arresting.

As the evening wore on, and the clock wore down…it was her turn to express her view of the card she had drawn, and the turmoil she was facing in her current life experience.

I have to say, that I was deeply moved by her candid disclosures and the agony that was written so large upon her expression.  She spoke about her search for a lover, of her need for friendship and companions, for her desire to be attractive to others.  It was a long and winding path, and included conversation about how she repelled others and how hard she sought for a solution to that problem.  How she had radically changed her appearance, behaviors, expectations, and whittled down her requirements to the bare necessity, all for naught.

I found it really difficult to listen to, for two very different reasons.

First she reminded me so strongly of me in my twenties, when I too, felt entirely unlovable.  (Which still occasionally strikes me to this day.)

Second was the shear intensity of her search.  That too, I was entirely familiar with.  An all out commitment, a Katie-bar-the-door-dedication to uncovering the potion that would end the dreaded and dreadful spell under which she was laboring, a willingness to do WHATEVER it might take to successfully end her search.  Man… it made my teeth ache…

As she continued her pleading verbal onslaught for help, support, guidance and “the-all-consuming-passionately-sought-after-solution, each member of the table’s gifted young women spoke of one solution after another.  One – right word, action, fix, attitude, mechanism, formula, process, and idea – after another, tumbled onto the table like rabbits running from hounds.

As I sat there, I began to notice that I had unconsciously begun stroking the tablecloth along the hard edge of the table.  My thumbs hooked under the edge, my eight fingers resting atop the surface, I smoothed the cloth over and over, as I listened to all the heart felt and utterly kind advice, that was pouring forth to put out so hot a flame.

Soon, my nervous system could not take it any longer.  I had promised myself, prior to coming, that I would not threaten any portion of any belief system that might be expressed, from angels to crystals, to tarot cards…my commitment had been to allow others, just as I had done with the young men, to express their believing with not a word from me.

I have stayed away from groups such as these, for the express purpose of not again becoming infected with believing myself, and also that I would not unconsciously or unwillingly attempt to dispose another, of whatever belief they are taking some small comfort in.

I realized that the stroking of the table that my fingers were unconsciously acting out, was an expression of the internal pressure I was feeling, as I listened to someone harm themselves in the exact manner I had harmed myself for so many years.

Finally I could not take it any longer, and I asked her permission to speak… she granted me it and I spoke to her about the power of her disclosure.  The honesty, courage, candid nature of her expression was admirable and profound, and it moved me.

But…I queried…”could it be that there might be another choice?  Is it possible that you might consider stopping the search that occupies your every waking moment?  Not forever, or even for a day…but just for one moment?  Could you stop searching for that one moment to discover what might happen in the stillness that would follow?”

I said more than this, and I said it in more fluidly and in more convincing terms…but it is the essence of what I said.  It seemed to have stunned her for a moment, as she fell entirely silent.  I did not then, nor do I now, know whether what I said was of use to her or not.  But I do know that I was compelled to say it.

Shortly after that, the group broke up and she left.  The hostess asked me to stay behind for a moment to look at something she had in storage, and I did as I was bid.  As we stood together reaching a conclusion, somehow the woman and her search was brought back into the conversation.

In this conversation I answered the question of why I do not join in the solution seeking process that dresses itself up as support.  I talked about how completely she, and they, had been “seduced”, (my term), into joining in the woman’s belief that her life needs a solution to the problems she had so passionately detailed…(and before you recognize that she had indeed repelled me – I counter – that it was not she, that was repelling me, it was the need with which her seeking took over the room, she is not the source of that, but rather… a carrier.)

The desire, and therefore the seduction, to provide a solution to the world’s problems is so rampant that whole industries are based on it.  Large businesses would close their doors, if it were not for the belief that things, and lives, and the world’s problems can be solved, and further, that it is only a matter of finding the right combination of processes to produce that solution.

Which is why my Teacher’s essential lesson that, “nothing in the world needs fixing, and no personal solutions are necessary”, is such a radical departure from life as it is lived on this planet, every moment of every day.

I spoke to the remaining young women about the way all concerned, had been seduced by the great need and the seeming necessity for a solution so deeply heartfelt and compelling, most importantly the woman who was suffering the greatest, she chief amongst us, was the one most seduced by the search for a solution.

I did not know, until that precise moment, how much clarity I had access to.  It released me from the need to stay away, lest I be reengaged in the seeking that is the primary force upon our planet.

You do not have to be a “spiritual seeker” to be seeking.  Seeking fame, money, relationship, companionship, hope, help, health, awards, achievements, fame, or recognition will do just as well.

And all forms of seeking lead to a type of blindness that is absolute.  Seeking means that we are not really engaged with life at all, but rather that we are living the life of the mind, engaged only in the images and thoughts that run through our busy minds and keep us always on the trail of something better, and something different.  Living for a future that will never arrive…

A form of agonizing living death, no wonder Zombie movies and stories are all the rage now.

I understand more now, than ever before, why the best Teacher’s never market or push their ideas.  Why they speak only when spoken to, why they require their students to ask before they will give the secrets they have come to know in their hearts and deep wisdom.

I do not know if I served the woman whose loneliness and abandonment was so powerfully compelling or not, I do not know if I served the other young woman who were so generously engaged in the pursuit of solutions or not.

I can only know what occurred for me, and I can say with deep relief, that I have demonstrated to myself that I am now, at this particular moment, immune to “believing” that a solution is necessary, needed, or wanted.  I may now, for the first time ever, be of real use in the world…or not…depending on how life chooses to move.

It was a small test.  I am the only one interested in the grade, and although it is a pass/fail grading system, it is really more like pass/or “not just yet”.  Perhaps soon, I will be able to live more fully in the compassionate understanding that no solutions are ever required, and thereby not end up lost again, as I did while working in the job I just left.  Or perhaps not…after all, it is truly a pass/or “not just yet” system…and that is a very good thing.

To live with compassion, but without the capacity to be seduced into believing that life has anything other than total perfection to provide us with, is the Mastery that my Teacher breathed into my life.  To be willing to let others choose their emotional addiction to suffering, over the fear of letting go of the problem solving, around which their entire identity is formed, takes great courage and true command of oneself.  I have made, it seems, a tiny step forward in that direction.

What a great blessing it is to be alive and sane…

Ronni Miller

8/24/12

photo courtesy of flickr photo sharing and Nevada Tumbleweed to see more of this artist work please follow this link:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/us_army_rolling_along/4273036140/

A Wonder to Behold…

I can’t recall a time in my life when I felt more vulnerable than I do just now.

I suppose it sources from many different places, losing a job that I had no idea would disappear, watching a video of my just completed work with no mention of me or my contribution, going to the dentist – who is the best I have ever seen, and yet – the shock of the drill, and the scraping and the pressure, causing my heart to race and my nerves to fray…but I doubt that these are the real sources of the vulnerability of my experience.

I think it really comes from a new level of dismembering believing.

I remember when I first moved back here, and began again with my Teacher, how he spoke so often of the need to dismantle our beliefs, if we were to face and find the truth.

My new Teacher has a similar approach, he wonders aloud whether we would be so committed to our notion of God, or the Universe, or whatever name you like best…if we knew, really knew, that we might get nothing at all, from our fervent believing.

He uses the analogy of the Christ as an example, would we choose abandonment, torture, death and defeat?  Would we have the courage, the will, the fortitude, the commitment to stand alone at the precipice of annihilation, for the sake of devotion and service to others? Would there be a line for that outcome?  Would we clamor to have that “large” a life?  Would we, could we, choose starvation and a bullet, as the Mahatma did?  Or Joan of Arc, or the early Christians, or…so very many other examples of faith pressured right to the edge.

You wouldn’t find me there.

I can barely handle being dismissed, overlooked, unappreciated, poor, and scared.

I cried at the dentist, something I have never before done.  I think, in large part because they, she and her staff, are so compassionate and kind hearted.  And I have felt so very betrayed by my most recent experience.

The Bible says that faith without works is dead.  Most folk would interpret that to mean that activity in the outer must be accomplished, that we should pray and “row the boat” as well.  No doubt that is the easiest interpretation, but it is also the most surface one.  I am not disputing that action is necessary, nor that we should not be rowing our boats.  I, for one, am taking every action I can think of to mitigate the problem I am facing.  But I can see clearly it is not nearly enough, or even the best of choices.

Most of the action I take, if I watch closely and listen carefully, I can hear the hum of anxiety behind it.  Which is why a kind hearted dentist, and the sound of her drill can bring me to tears.

Does rowing my boat, as fast as I can pedal because I am scared, really have any deep resonance to it?

I am reminded of Byron Katie asking, in the nine-day workshop I attended with her, “can we just follow simple instruction?”

She talked about doing only what she was told by the requirements of the moment.  Answering the phone because it was ringing, opening the first piece of mail on an otherwise mountain of paper, doing the dishes because they had become a pile in the sink.  Simple steps, done with full commitment…

After shedding a few tears, in a chair tipped so far back my head was lower than my feet, almost unable to swallow, and with enough gear in my mouth to sustain a small army in wartime…I realized that the moment called for a couple of very simple actions.  I must trust this kind dentist, and her equally kind staff.  I must keep my mouth open and continue breathing.  I must welcome (as all thoughts and emotions must be welcome for balance and equilibrium to return), but not indulge, thoughts that spoke of the sensation of drowning, and I must be willing, for the greater good of my mouth and health, to allow her to demonstrate her considerable expertise and professionalism.

Here then a much deeper view.

Action born of the conditioned minds desire for escape, is only mindless and debilitating flapping about.  It hurts rather than helps.  It damages rather than succeeds.  It is a methodology meant to soothe the wounded aspects of ourselves, rather than build the raw courage, that truly living calls for.

I am drawn to a Facebook “friend” that contributes a lot of dog videos, and thus I scroll through all the opinions and advice and so on, looking for the four legged contributors.  As I do so, I am often impacted by all the talk about light filled, joy producing, hopeful advice, and beliefs, and opinions.  It seems that a staggering amount of information that surfaces on Facebook is meant to herald the great and coming awakening.  Pictures and text that produce images, both actual and mental, that promise so very much well being and bliss, that you would think that the world is on the very edge of everlasting joyous jubilation.

I have come to the place that it sets my newly filled teeth on edge.

There is such a quality of force to it.  A marketed form of deep manipulation, that put to the slightest test, reveals itself to be millimeters deep…if even that…nothing more than a really good sales strategy and profit builder, aimed at the weak of heart and the timid of mind, a clever sales person selling the newest forms of self indulgence.

The belief that we know how it all works, and can sell that knowledge to others is the very worst form of self-indulgence.

And self-indulgence is the source, the root, and the wheelhouse of the sense of separate self.

I hesitate to share this next piece with you, but it too, factors into the vulnerability that I am speaking of and about…and somehow it is a part of the need to drop to a deeper level of Not Knowing, over the indulgences of “believing”.

Last night at three in the morning, I got up and turned on the computer, rather than continue to toss and turn.  Intending to play some solitaire, I first surfed Facebook for a sweet dog playing with a cute kid video.  Scrolling through all the advice and such, I saw a post that stated that it included a video of a Chinese man skinning an animal alive.  I watched a portion of it, I think, largely because I did not believe it could be true.  He first clubbed and then beat a raccoon on the ground, hard enough to daze it, not hard enough to kill it.  As he began pulling the skin from its still alive and conscious body, watching its leg dance, was almost more than could be born and of course, I quickly turned it off.

The image would not leave me, still won’t.  I crawled back into my bed and pulled my beloved red-haired dog up next to my chest, and pulled gently on his soft and sweet ears, as I stroked his head and wondered to myself how such a thing could be done to another sentient being.

All of the Teachers that I admire, counsel the need and requirement of acceptance of what is so, because it is so…  None of them sell the idea that all should be sweetness and light.  They would not run from such an image, and the fact that because it exists, somewhere in the world, and because I encountered it…it is now mine to accept.

It took me ages and ages to understand the difference between acceptance and agreement. 

There is nothing that could or would cause me to agree with animal abuse, but because it exists, I must come to terms with it and accept that there is a place for such a thing as this.

I find it equally difficult, at this time in my life, to agree with the vulnerability that I am experiencing…but I must accept it, if I am to receive its gifts.  One day, I will be so vulnerable that I will be facing the death of my body, and I do not wish to wait until then, to cultivate the courage that may see me through to the other side.

The image of this poor thrashing creature echoed in my mind as though it was a loved one.  And I turned toward it over and over, how could I accept such a thing as this?  And…how can I live so close to the knife’s edge, as I am now required to do?  How can I earn the right to a deeper perspective, if I cannot open myself to the demands that life serves up to me?

When I was young, I managed my fear with frequent trips to the altar… where I cried and begged the Christ to save me.  When I grew older, and until very recently, I indulged in glorious images of me as a successful and admired human being, to manage the dark nights and the long absences of true faith.

When George invited me to lay down those indulgences I practically had to pry my fingers from around the neck of the sweet idea that one day I would be enlightened, and thereby “saved”, to live in bliss for the remainder of my life.

My new Teacher is even more direct, with his counsel that all the stories of bliss and everlasting joy are the indulgences of a mind to frightened to be willing to tell itself the truth.

It has taken me a very long time to understand that the notions of peace and light are the cries of the immature and the unwilling, unable to face the fact that we are living a life of the conditioned mind’s need for playing hide and seek.

You probably imagine, at this point, that I am the world’s most hardened cynic, that I have no kindness in me, if I wish to take away the illusions of success, and bliss, and everlasting joy.  But I do not wish these things for others…but rather, only for myself.

Seeking the bliss and the joy and the success, is a path that most of the world has chosen.  It is a very handy little tool.  Seeking, or as I have been calling it, indulgence, is a kind of opiate that sells really well.  And I have bought more than my share of its sweet, and entirely empty of nutrition, calories.

But it will not garner me the courage I wish to take with me, at the end of my life.

I will turn 58 in a little over two weeks.  If I live as long as my Mother, then 19 years will be all that is still available, and it has taken me so very long, to find such a small thimble’s worth of courage, that I doubt I will have much in my harvest come the reaping.

I have become so painfully clear recently; about all the many ways I practice indulgence, rather than courage.  All the ways I turn away, rather than have the courage to turn toward.  Lord… it’s a long climb…

Again the image of that poor animal moves into my mind.  Hopefully it had some measure of chemical concoction moving through its brain to shut down some of the pain receptors, but like all animals, its only real choice was surrender and endurance.

And here is the really hard truth…

Our only real choice is surrender and endurance as well.  We are not unlike our furred brethren; no matter how much we indulge the notion of some control over our lives…it simply is not true.  But unlike our four legged fellows, we can use the circumstances that enter our lives to drive us deeper into indulgences, or to lift us to the higher realms of acceptance and surrender, and there upon be given the gifts of endurance, grace, and courage.  When these gifts enter the life of a human being, they end the reliance on the self-indulgent lie of separation, and produce the sparkling qualities of Nobility of Spirit, Chastity of Soul, and Courage of Heart.  And these people are a wonder to behold…

Ronni Miller

8/21/2012

Photo courtesy of flickr photo sharing and NoSha NaQi to see more of this artist work please follow this link 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/nosha-q8/4144817629/

One More Attempt To Tell The Truth…

I am, just now, so downcast that my body is actually pulling closer to the ground.  There are tears burning the back of my eyes and causing my jaws to feel like I am contemplating eating a lemon wedge.  My shoulders are curling a little more forward, and my heart feels sorrowful.

I had come up with an idea that I believed would set me on the path to creating financial salvation for myself.  I was moving boldly toward it, taking decisive action and preparing for a risk of monumental size.  A leap.  A leap that would free me from the total lack of financial safety, that has been my life, for more years than seems really fair.

And now…the venue that I was going to set up shop in, that I just knew would be the place where I could launch a financial turn around, using the talents I have developed over three decades, has a ten year waiting list…you-heard-me-right-ten-years…

Clunk.  And, full stop.

Once more, same tune different verse.  Even though I know that the sorrow and disappointment that I am feeling is interior based and has nothing to do with the information I have just received, and instead everything to do with how I am processing that information.  That “knowledge” does not seem to mitigate the twins from arriving.  The one who whispers fear, and the other who promises ruin.

Since being laid off this time, just after having completed the best work I have ever produced.  (Believe me when I tell you, that giving the best you are capable of, and having that met with an electronically delivered employment dismissal, is a shock of fairly substantial proportions.)  I put together in my mind’s eye, this small retail shop, in this astoundingly busy venue and not for a moment did I imagine that I could not get in.  The shear naïveté of that boggles the mind.  And the timing is not lost on me either…finding out about that, is the very first action I should have taken, rather than gearing up so much for something that turns out not to be possible.

Just yesterday, I wrote about not feeling sorry for myself…about not hiding from my own mind by slipping under the covers and fantasizing…and just now, that is the only thing I want to do.

I suspect they’re a hand full of folks alive on the planet at any given time that are actively telling the truth about life.  And I do mean a handful…

George, my beloved and now deceased teacher, was fond of attempting to get us to understand how very much we lie to ourselves, each other, and the world at large.  The Lie he said was the one unforgivable sin…the one choice that kills spirit, and loosens ones grip on reality.

And I am lying right this moment…

Let us look.  The truth is that I am sitting here, my fingers on my keyboard, comfortable from just having trimmed my nails, with my window air conditioner beating back the scorching Arizona sun, food is in my refrigerator, and my wee and furry companions are at my feet and breathing the breath of slumber.

In this moment, I am physically well and even cared for.  But my mind insists on commenting about how scary the future is, how little money I have, how little hope there is, how completely alone I am.

You will think me a bit of a monster for reporting what I am about to disclose…but…I am suddenly willing to risk everything.

I watched a YouTube video last night; it had been “shared” by someone who said that the viewing of it should include a box of Kleenex because, surely, tears would flow.

It showcased a young man, who reported himself to be 28.  He had been told a week or so earlier that the leukemia that he had been battling for ten years was no longer treatable.  That he would soon begin the process of dying, and that he was sitting down for the videotaping of his “last good bye”. 

I didn’t cry.

I am not saying that his conversation was not poignant, nor that his circumstance was not immediate.  I am only saying that it being honestly or accurately horribly unfair, was the type of lie that George tried so hard to get us to see.

If, and it seems it is so, that he is to die at 28, rather than the 88 I am sure he had hoped and prayed for…if that is to be, then it surely must be the will of the One.

We, the collective, since time immemorial… pray for what we want…when we should be praying to mold ourselves to accept the truth as it presents itself.  He is about to die.  I may come to the place where I cannot feed myself.

But here is the truth for both of us.  At this precise moment, he is, in all probability, alive and even relatively comfortable.  And I am certainly well fed.

We, both of us, are scaring ourselves only through the misuse of our minds.  He spoke at length about how scared he was, and I sat down at this computer because I was scared.  His circumstance is more probably going to happen than will mine.  The state will give me 200 dollars a month to feed myself, having tried it before, I know that 200 dollars doesn’t make it to the end of the month, but it could…if I were more conservative.  So my fear isn’t even real.  And as for the young man, he has no idea about what dying is, or what it might bring with it.  Perhaps he will feel so grateful that he was released from the prison of the flesh that he might metaphorically jump for Joy.  Perhaps he will discover that he is glad to be free once more.  Who is to say…but the real work is not in the outer world.  The real work is being capable of distinguishing the truth, from the lie.

I went to a group gathering a couple of nights ago.  It is a pleasant experience, a well cooked vegetarian dinner, followed by a video of Eckhart Tolle.  The price is paid in the “discussion” that follows the videos.  It is ostensibly a group participation, but in truth two or three of the older men use it as a platform to act out the fantasy of being a teacher and spiritual leader. (Something I am intimately familiar with…)  They discourse about their beliefs, providing opinion and statements of profundity, which they imagine are welcome and potent.  But what I hear is the same form of illusion that speaks through the voice of fear; only it is using the more clever disguise of positivity and certainty.  The same illusion which, in the beginning, drove these essays and my desire to be an “author”.

It seems most of us, and most assuredly myself, do not possess the strength of character necessary for the simple truth.

Listening to the older man pronounce us all “divine” and Beings of Light and Joy, had exactly the same effect on me, as listening to the young man speaking of dying.

That too, is a form of lying.

To counsel peace and joy, light and love, hope and dreams, is to deepen the trance…not awaken from it. I am not saying that joy and light and love and peace do not exist, far from it!  I am saying that discoursing about it with the intent and energy with which the older man spoke, is a form of self soothing, disguising itself as wonder and awe.  He tells himself, as I once did, that speaking in this manner serves others…when the truth is, that speaking in that manner, serves only the self made conceptual mind’s ability to keep us asleep and lost to the truth, which is always hiding behind the full vulnerability of the current moment.

We hide.  That is what we do.  We hide from the shear terror of the truth, that our lives are so fragile it cannot be born by the mind that was constructed out of our thoughts.  We are so vulnerable.  Soft. Ephemeral. Temporary.  A mist upon the breath, a mere hint of a moment of movement, a trembling quiver of energy lost amidst the galaxies.  We do not belong to ourselves, no matter how much we run from that truth.  We do not even truly exist…not in the manner our minds would have us believe.  We do not control anything, least of all our outcomes.

I am pretty sure we do not even control our thoughts.

As time has gone by and my mind has slowed down so very much, and is now capable of stopping altogether…I discover the most amazing thing.  A thought, (I hesitate to call them mine any longer), arises out of nowhere, like a cloud suddenly obscures the suns light and bringing the shadows of worry with it.  When a thought has no personal content to it, no emotional sensation of mineness attached… it merely surfaces like a dolphin breaking the surface of the sea.

I am not great at knowing that in the moment, but that is why I write it down.  So that I can see, for myself, the lie that is buried underneath the fear.  So that I can see, for myself, that I am believing something that is well outside the boundaries of actual reality.  Let’s revisit the urge that sat me down at this computer.  I got some information that my expectations and anticipations were not possible, that the hope I had pinned on my “solution” was in vain.  And that led to an emotional and body based sensation that nearly doubled me over with its weight and heft.  But let us check once more…am I starving in this moment?  No, I am not.  May I end up homeless and completely without resources?  That is entirely unknowable, and to labor under that fear is to lie to myself rather than to accept the truth that control over my life is not possible.

My current teacher, (yes I am aware that I said I was not going to talk about either of them – and yet, here I am), posits the notion that we cannot control any aspect of our lives.  George said that as well, in this form; “outer events are entirely karmicly delivered, inner experience is the only place where free will exists.”

My coach, a man I admire a great deal, supports the idea that we have “influence” over the direction of our lives.  Which is a way of saying that we do possess control.

So which is it…do we have some measure of control, or none whatsoever?

Am I in some way responsible for nearly thirty years of, almost to abject, poverty?  Have I done something wrong?  Missed a turn?  Spoke when I should have been silent?  Or silent when I should have spoken?  These are the types of answers the conditioned mind requires, and will gladly follow anyone who purports to have the answer.

The woman, for whom I was most recently working, told me on more than one occasion that she was “rescuing” me, by giving me a job.  I found that to be a bit offensive, given the profoundly positive change I produced to the appearance of her building…but I did not challenge her story of my neediness and her heroic action, mainly because it would not have done any good.

But I reflect back on it now, and realize that there is no one who can “rescue” another from the contents of their inner experience.

And so, I must join once more with the profound wisdom of my beloved Teacher.  Outer events are mine by virtue of my karmic load and accountabilities…inner experience and the wholesale freedom it can provide, can only be acquired by me, through my willingness to stand in the face of my own personal terrors.

Facing yourself, and not running through fantasy, busyness, goal acquisition, positive story telling, illusion, or just plain ole lying, I have found to be a bit like standing in the face of a gale force hurricane.  Everyone around you counsels that you run for safety, you personally would rather be anywhere, or anytime else…and yet, standing still is the only thing that will deliver true freedom, and even that… is not in our control.

I feel that I am getting closer to the time when the truth might find me, a little bit nearer to living with reality, rather than the distortions of my fears and anxieties…but who is to say? 

I suppose my reactions to the young man who is dying, and his assertions that it isn’t fair…and to the old man and his continuing need to feel important and special so that he too, may handle his fears about death and non-existence, is in some way a measure of the capacity to deal in truth rather than in lies.

The young man’s death, may turn out to be the best thing that has ever happened to him…and the old man’s “positive thinking”, may turn out to be the very worst choice he could be making.

Our conditioned minds are so very polluted with the illusions that were meant to stave off our existential fears, that we should not trust anything they have to say.  Or at least…that is my current commitment.

One more attempt to tell the truth rather than to soothe myself with a lie.

Right this moment; I am comfortable, fed, at ease, and alive…who is to say what will happen in the future?  That is not my business. 

My business is with this moment and uncovering the truth, rather than living with the lie…

Ronni Miller

Photo courtesy of flickr photo sharing and rich wall – to see more of this artists work follow this link

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richwall100/5786397319/

Better To Die With Your Blade In Your Hand…

It takes enormous courage for me to put one foot in front of the other, as I struggle toward this attempt to create an income stream.  It seems the list of things that must be accomplished grows exponentially each day, pushing the shore farther and farther away.

Tuesday I couldn’t get my camera to upload the pictures I need, to send to the auctioneer, who might consider buying my hand painted bedroom and dining room furniture.  I must get rid of these items, if I am to have the space in my house to go into production, and moving these heavy items by myself is not feasible.

So since the pictures would not load – I had to go to the Apple store, wait in line an hour, for them to show me something that took mere moments for them to fix.  Finally able to upload the pictures I lost an entire day of forward momentum, all because I do not understand my camera.

This morning, prepared to do battle with the upheaval that my house is now in, I opened my mail to find that the food stamps and unemployment that I am counting on to sustain me for at least the next six months, have been denied, because I didn’t get every form correctly processed.

I spent four hours waiting on hold, in three different phone calls to resolve the issue.

At every turn and in every way, I am invited to stumble and fall.

I compare my inner dialogue now, with even a year ago, and I find myself ever more capable of taking action without commentary or expectation.  But the seduction, for commentary and expectation are as potent and real as the breath that causes my chest to rise.

The desire to talk to myself about the potential for epic failure waits just beyond the capture of my peripheral vision.  It pauses, scents my anxiety, looking for a weak point, circling to see if there is blood in the water…and if I will give in, to the desire, to pull the covers up over my head.

At days end, if I have not been successful at continuous movement, then it catalogues my inactivity and whispers to me through the sane sounding voice of reason, while examining the probability of failure, due to how little I accomplished during the day.

Because I am alone with my mind, all day everyday, I am aware of its every nuance, its every subtle turn and its constant need for stimulation and attention.

It seems now, as though there is nothing in the world left to accomplish, save developing a working relationship to the mind I am the bearer of.  I still enjoy large time blocks of utter silence, but I have discovered that is not all that is called for.

The simple knowledge that I, and all others, are the not the chatter we hear in our minds is merely the threshold of wakefulness.  The first rung upon the ladder of escape…or perhaps not even that…perhaps it is only the first notable sense of direction, toward the first rung, on the first ladder, on the trip toward wakefulness.

This newest loss that was delivered with so little care, has awoken in me a type of negation.  A deeper bottom than has ever been felt before.

Oddly it brings to mind a scene from an otherwise completely forgettable film.  Our heroine has joined the Navy Seals and is expected to wash out of the program, as so many men have already done, while standing knee deep in mud and in pouring rain, the Staff Sergeant spits out this rage filled phrase…“I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.  A bird will fall frozen dead from a bough, without ever once having felt sorry for itself.”

He is attempting to illuminate how useless feeling sorry for oneself is…how that only the human mind can even conceive of such a thing…how in the animal world the complication of feeling sorry for oneself is never even a potentiality.

I am coming into this kind of toughness.

I find in myself the willingness to simply move forward, no matter how frozen I feel, how alone I feel, or how scary are all the implications of the decisions I am making.

I can’t remember who said it, perhaps Thoreau or Emerson, but it goes something like this…boldness has genius and magic in it…

I don’t know…perhaps it does.  I only know that if I were a solider, I would know and understand the concept, that it is better to die with your blade in your hand and your boots on, than safely tucked in your bed.

More reports from the front soon…

Ronni

Photo courtesy of flickr photo and Rozanne Hakala to see more of this artist work please follow this link http://www.flickr.com/photos/40001315@N00/4045143898/

Faith is the Bridge...

“Faith is the bridge between where I am and the place God is taking me.” 

- Author Unknown

I am changing the focus of my essays, as they are needed now in ways that I could not have understood, when I began writing for the approval of others.  They will not be about my desire to understand, as currently understanding is quite low on my priority list.  They will not be about what I learned from my old teacher, or my new one.  They will be about the need to describe the bridge between “where I am and the place God is taking me”.

I have recently been laid off, again... 

My employer sent me an email offer to come in for a  “chat”; it had the tone and quality of a request for friendship, but instead it was to be a conversation about ending my employment and being laid off from her business. That chat never took place, as I was out of the office and unavailable when the request came in…so, much later that same day, I received an email that ended my employment and took with it my income stream.  And so, I am adrift again.  Pressured from all sides by poverty, and the need for the strength to face that poverty.

My feet feel like lead.  I am alone in new and much more provocative ways.

In days past, alone then as well, and even more frightened…I would soothe myself with images and internal visual movies, starring me as the returning hero.  Redemption, rescue, hope, help, the star of the show I envisioned all manner of positive outcomes.  What our culture calls, “following your dreams” and being “passionate” about your goals.

But now, older, wiser, more seasoned…I no longer rely on the capacity to visualize the future, as a means of dealing with the present.

Each day, I must rise and face myself anew.  I must discover within the will to tend to the days needs, while also feeling the anxiety that hums just below the surface, the quarter turn volume of the idea that the clock is ticking and time is running out on my capacity to feed myself, clothe myself, shelter and abide.

It is a reckless and potent choice I have made, to live in the face of my fears.  To honor the sorrow of the loss I have sustained, while deciding to cast my lot on one throw of the dice.

With the job market as bad, or worse, than it was the first time I was laid off, I have decided to shorten the trip to the cliff's edge by spending money I quite literally don’t have, to attempt a shot at the return to self-employment.

I did not succeed, financially at least, at being self employed the first 15 years I tried it.  I could attempt to parse out the reason…but why bother?  That is not what these pages are for.

If I am to be entirely alone, if I am to stand on the very precipice of the edge of a financial cliff…I might as well sing…

I have above my computer, a quote from a friend.  It is written next to a dancing woman drawn with such exuberance that she has six feet and four arms, to show the movement of her dance and the excitement of her joy.  The quote reads: 

She spoke in exclamations…now that she had found her voice.

I hope to move from the place of sorrow and anxiety that now populates my experience, to the one depicted by my many limbed and joyful dancer.

I intend to write about that journey, for my sake and mine alone…if it serves you to journey with me, I welcome the company.  If not, God Speed and Be Well.

Yours Truly,

Ronni