Tag Archives: The Mind

Falling Into

There is a seduction in writing 27 days in a row.  It needs to be 28.  A “have to” emerges which does not foster the richness of living.

I woke up this morning saying “What will I write about today?”  Wrong question.  My calculating brain scanned what I know about Ghent.  It focused.  It tried.  And what it came up with was “Tourists”.  Surely I could say something meaningful about them.

As I sat in Caffè Rosario later, sipping my flat white coffee, the error of my ways washed over me.  What was needed for today’s words was a wide open sky, not a surgeon’s scalpel.

So I let go into my croissant and the people walking by.  The bell of the tram beside matched the flow of its windows.  I sank down into something comfy.  My coffee became my coffee and all was right with the world.

I felt taken by a mysterious hand, beckoned to parts unknown.  I grasped those outstretched fingers with my own.  I followed into the mist. 

***

It’s hours later now.  The thought just came “Who knows where we’ll end up?”  I really need to let go of some vocabulary.  There’s no “ending up” here.

What I didn’t tell you was that as the moments in Caffè Rosario came, lingered and floated away, today’s “topic” said hi.  When I got home, I even changed the title of this post from “Visiting Folks” to … something else.  Now I will change it again because the “new” topic isn’t fresh anymore.  Perhaps tomorrow it will be again.

Now … for a title that makes me smile.  How about “Falling Into”?  Yes, that will do nicely.

Dream a Rotten Dream

5:41 am … this morning.  I was thrust out of a sickly sleep back to the world of solid things.  Not sickly like physical.  Sickly like emotional pain.  I’m sure you’ve been there.

I was in a university program.  It felt like accounting.  There was a prof at the bottom of a lecture hall, talking about incomprehensible concepts of mathematics.  I looked around and all of my pen-wielding classmates were nodding in approval at the wonders of calculus.  Then it was a seminar room, with everyone walking around with rolled up blueprints.  Person after person unfurled their creations, to the delight of themselves and all assembled – except me.  Someone asked me a question about balance sheets and I stuttered and drooled.  Disapproving chins dropped in a 360° dance.  I blobbed to the floor.

In the cafeteria, I sat alone, shunned by the mathematically inclined.  No cell phone, no internet, no use on the planet.  Eventually some kind soul offered me a ride home in their van.  Seven folks watched me walk up the steps of home.  No one said “Goodnight”.

(Bam!)  5:41.  My mouth was sour, perfectly aligned with my stomach.  The details of university accounting poured out easily and I knew they’d remain throughout the day.  They did.

Where did this yucky world come from?  Why did it visit me, a spiritually sensitive human being?  Don’t you graduate from nightmares eventually?

Apparently not.

Too Small … Too Oppositional … Too ?

Images are flying in my head, and out of my head. I don’t know where they come from or where they’re going to. They’re simply moving and grooving.

I like these explosions. They’re not a danger to me. They feel like messengers … if only I can crack the code. Or do I even want to do that?

Yesterday I was doing the Mutual Awakening Practice with a woman and it was my turn to talk. Suddenly I was intimate with my internal organs. They seemed squeezed together, irrationally arranged around bones and muscles. And then I was my dear organs:

“This is too small! What are we doing in here, so tight against each other? Hasn’t anybody heard of wide open spaces?”

As a yammering heart and liver rose up in protest, my stomach skin opened wide and internal friends burst out of their confine. They bounced in the air before me, jiggling in a raucous organ dance. Free at last! It was disco music and they were giving ‘er. My small intestine, normally a bundle of tube, had unfurled to its full 22-foot length and had transformed into a skipping rope, much to the delight of my spleen.

(I just reread this, and a smile comes easily. I wonder if I sound crazy. Oh well, I’m not.)

Today was another MAP practice. This time a chess board appeared in my mind. I don’t play but that doesn’t matter. The game appeared to be halfway through, with white pieces and black pieces dotting the squares in an unknown pattern. A voice yelled out in my brain “I don’t want to do this anymore!” Other pieces chimed in in agreement. “This game is over!” “Enough!”

And then each piece, whether white or black, leaned towards the centre of the board and nestled there together. There was peace.

I choose not to interpret. The visuals are stunning. Something inside me is churning out this stuff and I’m happy to be along for the ride. And tomorrow? That’s another day. What will appear unbidden as time unwinds? I’ll let you know.

A Couple of Tips

I love Star Wars.  And I love reading the posts in the What’s On Disney Plus message board.  A few days ago, this showed up:

Admit it!  You’ve tried to use the Force before

Far in the past, Obi-Wan Kenobi told us true: “The Force is what gives a Jedi his power.  It’s an energy field created by all living things.  It surrounds us and penetrates us.  It binds the galaxy together.”  Classic Star Wars quotes about the Force include:

Use the Force, Luke!

Close your eyes.  Feel it.  The light … it’s always been there.  It will guide you

The Force is strong with him

The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force

I felt a great disturbance in the Force … as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced.  I fear something terrible has happened

For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is.  Life creates it, makes it grow.  Its energy surrounds us and binds us.  Luminous beings we are, not this crude matter

***

In What’s On Disney Plus, I wondered how my fellow luminous beings would describe their use of the Force.  Here’s a sample:

Every time I’m in an elevator

Every time at automatic doors

I use it at red lights

Every time the remote is across the room

What do you mean, “tried”?

Those first three are modest achievements, speaking of external technology rather than internal fire.  I invite you to experiment with your own luminosity.  It requires two metal clothes hangers.  For years, the apparatus I describe below was propped against the wall of my family room in Union, Ontario.  When I moved to Belmont three years ago, I threw the hangers out.  (Sigh)  I sense that it’s time for a resurrection.  Sadly, I have no metal hangers in my home.  A trip to Walmart seems to be in order.

Here are the instructions:

Cut two metal clothes hangers to create right angles
Hold one half of each hanger vertically, so the other half is horizontal
Hold the two hangers in front of you, parallel to each other
Using your mind, not your hands, move the two tips together

Have fun!

Lost!

I was up at 6:00 this morning, if “up” means rising on my elbows in bed, swirling between conscious life and sleep. I wanted to go for breakie at the Belmont Diner, and then on to school to say silly things to kids.

I reached over to the nightstand for my glasses … and they weren’t there. Odd. Somewhere in the night, I remembered sweeping the comforter over my snoozing body, and there was a faint recollection of nudging something.

No problemo. I dropped to the floor and scanned the usual spots where glasses have been known to descend. Nothing.

“Look harder” said the Bruce voice. I expanded my search, including the narrow space behind the nightstand, and unlikely distances under the bed. Nope.

You’ll be happy to know that these gyrations were all accomplished in the nude. My bedroom window was right there, and my body was well lit, but surely there wasn’t anyone out in the field walking their dog in the dark.

My heart rate climbed. A sheen of perspiration appeared on my forehead. I got up and roamed around, purposefully.

In good time, I discovered that all of these yielded a “No”:

-on top of the nightstand
-in the drawer of the nightstand
-on top of my dresser
-on the raucously coloured comforter
-under said comforter
-under the sheet below
-on the kitchen counter
-on the living room couch
-on the patterned living room rug (crawling and brushing with my hand)
-across all available surfaces in the bathroom
-inside the bathroom cupboard
-on the washer and drier
-in the den (hadn’t been in there for a day or two)

Such was the descent of my mind. And the wanderings of my naked body. (Lights were bright in the den, which faces the street. I didn’t care.) Visions of days with only sunglasses came to my fuzzy eyes. Having a neighbour come in with 20/20 to scout the premises. Etcetera.

I was speeding up and revisiting unlikely locations. Breathing fast and shallow. Scurrying.

And then I stopped. “Bruce, go have a shower. Maybe that’ll help you think more clearly, and erase from your mind the probability of aliens having landed.”

Oh … the deepest sigh. Before hitting the spray, I decided to make my bedroom more presentable. I carefully pulled the sheet tight over the pillows, and then did the same with the comforter.

Then I shook my head. “What’s to become of me …?”

Watching the Mind

I got home last night, tired from a day of travelling. For some reason I unpacked immediately. “Odd. That’s not me.” Except I guess it gets included in the symphony that is Bruce.

I remembered tennis. The US Open is in full swing. Rafael Nadal from Spain and Dominic Thiem from Austria were facing off. Expecting an epic, I started watching. Nearly five hours later I stopped watching, with Nadal the victor. They smashed the ball at each other in 26 degree Celsius heat, with a healthy dose of humidity on top. Stunning! I loved the long rallies, the zapping serves and the deft drop shots.

What I didn’t anticipate was falling into a meditative state for most of the match. It was so similar to sitting in the meditation hall in Massachusetts a year ago. But this was sports … the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. Is it possible that this sweet freedom will keep showing up in my daily activities? Yes, it is. When it comes again, it will be by grace, unbidden.

I felt myself swooning as the games rolled on, falling into a shining place that was totally safe. At 10:30, there was a scheduled live meeting online with members of the Evolutionary Collective global community. I could feel the pull of the group but even stronger was the space of peace within the tennis. I happily let go of contributing to the collective last night. I fed me, and perhaps my stillness reached my internet friends.

I smiled and flowed onto the pillow at about 2:15 am. Some unknown time later, I was barraged by a dream that seemed to go on forever. I was riding my bicycle up extremely steep streets (sounds like St. John’s). There were sculptures everywhere of Tour de France moments: the big group of riders, each jostling for position; two cyclists nose by nose, sprinting for the finish line; two crashed riders lying on the pavement, bleeding; happy onlookers cheering for their favourite; and spectators throwing pebbles at an acknowledged drug cheater. I weaved in and out of these scenes, terrified of the energies in the stone.

Where, oh where, did the peace go? I was being assaulted with mental barbs and whips, and there was no end in sight. I woke up time and time again, drenched in sweat. What evil force was doing this to me?

How can these two poles show up in me only hours apart? My evolutionary possibilities were so quickly squashed by the rudeness of the climb. My mind must be a many splendoured thing.

In the afternoon, I logged on to today’s Evolutionary Collective call. There were about twenty of us. Part of our hour together is a 30-minute 1-1 practice with a partner whom the organizers select. Today it was Arthur. As I listened to him speak, I felt flooded with a huge energy. I soon realized … that energy was love. I had never met Arthur before and I felt an immense wish for his well-being. I wanted his life to be great. I wanted him to be supremely happy. The experience was overwhelming.

***

No travelling today by trains and boats and planes
But I traversed some special territory between my ears

Red Light, Green Light

I love my cell phone.  It allows me to reach out to the world … talking to friends, buying concert tickets while standing in the most unlikely locations, reading the words of Ken Wilber or Stephen King.  Plus it has a cool red case.

I was charging my lovely device yesterday.  But it was time to go.  The light was red, indicating that charging wasn’t done.  I detached the cord and the display said “100%”.  And I thought, “I’ve never seen that light switch from red to green.  Think I’ll replug and sit for a few more minutes, and gaze lovingly at the light.”  So I did.

And so the mind proceedeth.  I was focused on my object of meditation for 30 seconds and then roamed off to another world.

“You’re not a very patient person, Bruce” … Return

“What’s wrong with you?  You just spent three months in a meditation hall.  How come you can’t maintain focus for more than a few seconds?” … Return

“What’s with all this self criticism?  I thought you came home with lots of love for yourself?” … Return

“This is silly.  You’re staring at a light” … Return

“What do these lights mean about change in your life, Bruce?” … Return

“I’m tired of this.  Why doesn’t this light turn green?” … Return

“It’s a plot.  That’s what it is.  Unseen forces are conspiring against me” … Return

“Let go.  Let it all go.  Green will appear when green is ready to” … Return

“Don’t look away!  You’ll miss the moment of change” … Return

“Concentrate!” … Return

Etcetera

Maybe eight minutes on, happily when I was looking at the display, red turned to green.  I caught the moment I wanted to catch.  And received a deep education about the wanderings of the mind.

I’ve learned that change in my life happens little by little.  Rome wasn’t built in a day, and all that.  But the lights show me something else.  If I’m mindful of the moment, could there be instants of transformation just waiting for me?  I think so.  And now I’m watching for them.  Thank you, dear lights.