Musings on Mindfulness

Mindfulness is a constant state of being. Some of my friends – notably two among them – are quick with their repartees and make priceless puns, and sometimes elegantly witty comments, both barbed and unbarbed, depending upon the requirements of a given context. Of course being witty is one among the many consequences of mindfulness.

Mindfulness means “being present in the moment”. Much has been said about this and much more has been written about it. The first time I ever came across this term was within a Class 5 History textbook, which talked about Buddhism. I had no idea what it meant; indeed I didn’t know how one could not be in the moment. Yet through all these years – I don’t think I’ve gotten any closer to really practicing what this means. I am hardly ever mindful to and of the moment.
Yet, what indeed, does it mean to be in the moment?
Or better still: what does it mean to "not be in the moment"?
My mind wanders. Even when I’m talking to people I love my own mind splutters, jumps the gun, and is leaping over bushes and shrubs, mountains or oceans or skulking in a dark cave with a shroud pulled over its head.
Very rarely am I in the moment. Present with all my senses intact, listening and hearing carefully and mindfully, and looking and being with what is happening and unfurling around me. And the times that I am in the moment – they are – needless to say, the best.
Very natural, easy, gliding, cruising moments.
And as the saying goes, time flies by without me knowing.
Being mindful, being in the moment: the best quote for me comes from a nice movie that I watched recently: “Who are you?” “I am the moment.”

Lately, I’ve noticed I get into this mindful moment when I’m almost finishing a book. Even if the book is halfway decent; I am in that moment racing along with the story as it comes to an artificial end. This used to happen extremely frequently some two decades ago when I’d race back home from school with a good book, and nothing would be better than snuggling into a comfy armchair or getting into bed and reading through the sunny afternoons.
These days this happens less often; even when I’m reading a good book, my mind wanders, and not with the tale – but on its own on exceptionally mundane routes, following trails...of work that needs to be done later, official stuff that needs to be attended to, papers that need to be read, papers which should be written, the tummy that needs to be exercised, the worries that do not have any outlet….and on and on – until my chattering mind makes it impossible for me to read. I realise sometimes to my utter disgust that I have gone through ten pages without anything registering in my head. Sometimes these days, when I drive I get into that “in the moment” state. But since I don’t know all the roads around the city – I can’t really let my mind just be – I’ll most likely be on my way to Milwaukee if I don’t squint and glare at all the roads and routes I’m taking.

Being with some people – sometimes I’m in the moment. When I’m not just-listening without really listening just so that I can speak later. I really listen and really talk, and sometimes the interaction proceeds without any hiccoughs or bumps. It becomes one emerging lovely dance where both become one with the moment. Sometimes I talk, sometimes I listen – and I really am in the moment. Paying attention to what is being said instead of trying to make my own point or leap around with my own silly mind or run away in fear because of what is being said, because my silly inattentive mind just wants to hide away from "what is being said" or because it doesn’t know how to deal with "what is being said" or because it starts spinning scary stories from or is deeply uncomfortable about "what is being said".

The same thing of my “mind running away” happens when there is a situation that my mind doesn’t know how to deal with. It will start spinning tales and stories and make a gigantic universe out of a grain of sand. I start hyperventilating within and the whole “real” world crashes even before seven seconds have come and gone. And of course my mind has paid no attention to what has really been said or to what has really unfurled. Some day I’ll make a list (as honest a list as I possibly can of the moments when I am mindful of the moment, but that’s for later).

The Dalai Lama says that the key to seeing what really “is” – is to cultivate a peaceful mind. Yet my mind no matter how “smart” and “clever” and “knowledgeable” it thinks it is – never really is in the moment as things happen. Nor does it see and hear what really is. It makes a story of things as it wants to, and sometimes it takes me days and years to figure out why I react the way I do; why I am the way I am. So far I realise that I may have grown exceptionally knowledgeable but I’m no more wise than I was when I was 17 (at 5, I was wise), although I have definitely had more experiences.

And how does one become wise? By acting out one’s knowledge.
What is wisdom? Knowledge, which is acted out.

I realise with a sense of bemusement that when I was physically attacked once, I did act with complete mindfulness. I didn’t know that I was acting in and with the moment – but I was. I kept my wits about me, and I was out of a sticky situation, which might have gotten pretty unpleasant if my mind had decided to cower or flee (or if God and my stars hadn’t been with me). But the truth is apart from that one time, and a couple of other times – I can’t really point out to important times in my life where I have "been (or am) in the moment". And it seems to me that the more momentous the occasion, the more crucial the timing, the less likely am I to be in the moment.
I slap my head later.
I kick myself later.
I grin and shake my head sadly later.
I used to get angry earlier – now I am just amazed and even more bemused at how my mind just splutters and stutters and whimps like a pipsqeak, and how sometimes I chatter without really thinking. In some rare important moments I can be myself; I can flow with the moment, be engaged in that moment and all the pretty, beautiful, lovely, and promised elements do come together in one delightful rush. Many times it happens when I’m by myself (or with my fimh - only that I guess, doesn't really count), when it’s vis-à-vis other human beings, it happens only when the other has no inhibitions at all about being with me, and is able to draw me away from my chattering mind (and this I have realised happens between some unusual children and me) or when I have had enough time with another to have no fear about anything that comes or may come between the other and me.
“Being in the moment” (ironically enough) happens, both with people I love and with people I don’t give a rat’s ass about.

But what is particularly distressing is that even with people I love dearly, I can very rarely be in the moment. I am always worried about giving offence or hurting the other or else I'm mortally scared about what the other is going to say (no matter how much I say I can be on my own, and I know I can be; I fear the fear of abandonment and sometimes what feels like very real abandonment in a couple of relationships) or else I genuinely fear making the other incurably angry and disgusted with my presumptuousness. Or I imagine that the other is going to think I’m silly or stupid or God-forbid “slow”. I don’t much care what the world or anybody else thinks of me any longer – but the thing is I still do care enormously and terribly about what a couple and more of people “think” of me. I know it doesn’t make sense to play out Cooley’s Looking-glass Self (which says we act the way we do depending upon how we believe other people see us)in my head – but barmily enough it’s almost as if some of the times in life I really am stuck in a moment in time, and I can’t be who-I-want-to-be because my silly mind is defensive, is offensive and is looking for flight, and all at the same time.

It’s very similar to what Eddie Izzard in his once-again priceless act spins on (aggressive) children who tend to lie (because they are "always" on the look-out for something which might leap out and bite them, maybe?)
“Did you…?” comes the shooting question from an adult, and the child goes, “Yes I did. No I didn’t. It wasn’t me. I didn’t know. …err…did I 'what'?"
“Did you brush your teeth?”
"Yes I did. No I didn’t. I was dead at the time. Errr…what’s the right answer?”

So in a way, it all comes back to my previous post: it’s all about fear. Even when I imagine I have nothing to fear about – I fear. I fear because my mind convinces me that if I don’t fear what I don’t fear, what-I-don't-fear will happen! Now as I’ve said before, it doesn’t matter at all when I am completely indifferent to people or situations; but when I have any feelings – when I want to whack people hard (because they irritate me or offend my sensibilities every day because I see them everyday) or when I want to hug them – I am not so mindful anymore. I am caught up in the trap of my mind where mindlessness persists and my own silly chattering.

What upsets me is that with all my knowledge gathered quite painstakingly – I must mention, through all these 32 years – I have nothing to show for it! I know I have the necessary knowledge – but for the life of me I cannot imagine what stops this knowledge from being translated into wisdom. I have become no better at my work ethics. I have become no more disciplined in my work habits (or otherwise). I do not seem to have a phenomenal memory all of a sudden (yes, my worries about my memory, although not as acute as before still worry me at a level). I do not seem to have any extraordinary skills that anyone else or I happen to notice or gloat over. I am just as lazy as I ever have been. I lack the patience and concentration and attention span that I had as a 7 year old. After a month and a half of frenetic activity and unfurling, my favourite pastime is once-again, sleeping. And what I know and sense seems almost like a wistful dream at times and sometimes like the starkest piece of truth that has ever hit me. Yet in terms of action – there is nothing that is remotely noteworthy. I can’t even talk for heaven’s sake (with people I genuinely love and care about) without my mind taking a hike or just completely blanking on me, so I realise. I can’t talk but even more than that – I can’t really think straight. So where is all my mindfulness disappearing when I “need” it the most, I wonder.

I could and can talk till Kingdom come about God, and how and what I feel about God. I also know that it doesn’t matter what I say or think or speak about God. For it doesn’t matter in the end, beginning or the middle. It is what-it-is. I feel-what-I-feel. And, my Self smiles as I write this (much to my embarrassment) – it can’t really be “talked about” or written about….

Yet what of life as it is.
If I go through life; and still go through life with knowledge and no wisdom in the way I act, speak and am – then of what use is my prattle-babble and wugga-wugga. I could give lectures and “say” a lot. But to my growing consternation and annoyance, I see that when I have to act and speak and listen carefully to what-is-being said and pay attention to what-is, my mind goes on a chattering rampage or an autistic trail, just the way it always has!

My mind has started sniggering unkindly of late (all over again? – But not as loudly and vociferously as in the past – because it no longer can be that pompous). It tells me if my fears are imaginary – why should I imagine that my love and my God is real. It tells me that I have learnt nothing from life that is “useful” to/for me or to anyone else. It doesn’t make me publish papers by the dozen, and become a bigwig within the field of academics (or a rising star). It doesn’t suddenly make me famous and rich. It doesn’t even – and here it sniggers even more loudly – make me act in more fearless and more honest and more careful and more mindful ways. It doesn’t help me make human beings happier or less confused or relieve another, if even a bit, of his/her misery. It doesn’t help me make the sufferings of anyone in this world a little lighter. It doesn’t help me be both compassionate and wise in my “real” dealings with human beings who cheese me off. It doesn’t help me do good to those more unfortunate. It doesn’t make me always and forever “be in the moment” vis-à-vis those whom I loudly claim to love…. And this is where I sigh. I do. For here, if not in any other matter, my mind is “right”.

I have indeed been blessed to have the life I do. Yet vis-à-vis people, I’m still as much as the strange un that I always was and have been. Vis-à-vis fears and obsessions my mind goes running on the same mad rushing freight train as it always did even when I was a kid, although the fears were different at that point.

I’m reminded again of the love and fear dichotomy. I’m reminded again of the light and darkness dichotomy. I’m reminded again of wisdom and ignorance. I know that all can be without the other. And of course they do not exist as this or that. Creation, destruction, life, death, fear, wisdom, ignorance, love, madness, sanity, Yin and Yang, God and the Devil (?)…all of it is one whole. There is an absolute indestructible unity. And I seem to know this as well. Yet, yet, yet and yet – where is the wisdom in this confounding puzzle? If the illusion breaks and if mindfulness “Is” – shouldn’t mindfulness/clarity of mind be some absolute state of knowing and being, without ever forgetting who-one-is? Letting go of fear is probably the key.

I’m reminded of that one line which is repeated over and over again in Dune, “Fear is the mindkiller…” and it truly is. It makes me mindless.
And it’s fear in one form or the other, which leads to most of what is going on in the world today, and has been for ages. The horrors of our world.
I can’t help but think that Fear should have found its place of glory as one of the seven deadly sins….

The Fear of Fear: Potter and Ged; Me and some Thoughts

Love and fear are the opposites. It’s not love and hate. I realise this, and it’s been talked about by many, many grand human beings – who were/are far, far wiser than I am. Most of the time I’m too indifferent about things to really “hate” anything or anyone. Things disgust me, irritate me, annoy me; some people disgust me – but there it ends. Nothing – or so I keep telling myself, and have been telling myself for the longest time - deserves or is worth hating.

Not to say that I don't feel violence within. Not to say that I am not a violent person. I am. And I know I can be. Yet even now I believe that there is a time for violence, and that time is when one is faced with violence from elsewhere. If I am threatened - physically threatened; if the ones I love are threatened - physically threatened - I do hope and believe that I can make violence work to prevent the instigator.
Yet this post is not about love nor is it about hate nor about disgust nor about violence. It’s the aspect of fear. I know about fear.
Even more than love – or at least just as much as I have felt love, have I felt the crippling and devastating demons of fear, which have driven me out of myself.

Very few of the fears are really real. Is fear ever real? Maybe, sometimes. I doubt it though. In some sense, and I don’t know how to explain it – fear seems “imaginary” while love feels very, very real.

I am reminded of Harry Potter’s experience with the boggarts in The Prisoner of Azkaban. He conjures up the dementors. And what indeed were boggarts and dementors? Boggarts were virtual representations of our deepest fears. All the other kids saw that which they feared the most, walking out of the closet. Lupin told them exactly how to ward them off: “think of “funny” things. Think of humour. Conjure up something hilarious that makes you laugh. Watch your fear dissipate”.
And it worked. It worked for everyone, but Harry.
Because Harry conjured up the dementors.
And the conjured dementors were real, or contrarily – never seemed really real or imagined. Or more appropriately, the conjured dementors were in fact, as really real as their “real” counterpart.
Dementors, sucking out one’s soul with their death kiss.
As I wonder, and wonder some more – my mind wanders, and gets fuzzy.
I can’t really pinpoint what the dementors really are/were nor can I remember (memory loss plagues me again!), although I’ve written plenty on them and thought about them elsewhere and at other times.
But how indeed are dementors gotten rid of?
(This I do remember, and have had to remember. Rowling has no idea how much I thank her, and how grateful I am for her books).
By thinking of the happiest thoughts that one is able to imagine. That works.

And what about occlumency? Harry in The Order of The Phoenix has images hurtling through his insides.
Ron’s dad being attacked. And it was true.
Dumbledore wanted Potter to be able to distinguish between the “real” and the “imagined”. Snape was given the task.
Potter rebels, Snape reacts.
Harry is in the same boat – reading Voldemort’s thoughts. Reading what Voldemort wants him to read. Sirius dies. Not the way that Harry had seen it – but Sirius dies trying to save Harry.
Ironical indeed. Harry had rushed in to save Sirius because he saw the “image” of Sirius being tortured.
Occlumency and the power to distinguish between the “real” and the “imagined”. A power indeed for those who do see within – to distinguish between one’s fantasies and reality; to distinguish between mind and soul and body crippling fears, and reality as it is – out there in the real world, in the “real” time-space continuum.
Occlumency – the tool that separates madness and clarity. That’s how I see it.

Fear and the chasing shadow that hunts Ged in LeGuin’s The Wizard of Earthsea.
And what does Ged do? He turns around to face it. He hunts the fear. He chases the fear. He chases down that hulking shadow, for Ogion tells him, “Name it. Name the shadow.”
Ged says, “But it doesn’t have a name.”
Ogion replies with his infinite wisdom, “Everything has a name.”
And Ged indeed does name the shadow.
The fear.
The fear of fear is what Ged had been running away from.
“What exactly do you fear but fear itself?” This is what one of my dearest people asked me once. And this has seeped through me through the years.

Yet fear I still do feel. Wild banshees that shriek within. This fear is not something that I can ever hope to express in words or in any human language. And the world as I know it crashes and breaks down all around me.
Images of brutality, rage, anger, torture, savage cruelty, viciousness, and sickening sliminess run around within. The images come unheeded, unasked for, uncalled for, uninvited. But visit they do, and it takes everything I’ve got to deflect them; to show them the door, and many times over they have indeed gotten the better of me; where all I can do myself is shriek and shriek – sometimes silently and wildly within, until I implode.
Two months ago, I watched, and watched, and watched them come in like laughing hobgoblins.
Monstrosities.
And there was nothing else in me as I watched, and I nearly lost all I’ve got in terms of intangibles and incommensurables – but somehow I didn’t……I would have mentioned names - but I know that it would be deeply distressing and embarrassing for those concerned.

The only “thing” that explodes the fear is love.
I know. I know that. I feel that with every bit of me.
For the fear is a feeling that rises from within, and love too is an emotion that rises from within.
Both may, and sometimes indeed do rise from without.
And if the fear is an emotion, which is life crippling, the only element that can save the mind from disintegrating completely is a power that is strong enough to shatter the fear, and that really is love.
The horrors that exist within our world – they do indeed live within the mind. That which-is on the outside lives in no less mighty a form within.
So does the love. That also exists.
Yet love is hard to practice.
Extremely hard to practice, even within.
Some days my energy is spent on chasing out my own fears.
It's all I can do. To "get" enough love inside to chase out the blinding fears and phobias.
"Being and acting with love, compassion, and kindness" is left for later.
I do "try" not to get angry and not to feel violently angry or not to let disgust paralyse my senses and sensibilities.
Sometimes there is no trying. Things simply are what they are.
There is an easy Is-ness.
No disgust. No anger. No violence. No pain. No guilt. No fear. No happiness. No euphoria. No nothingness. A coldly rational, completely non-emotional, completely dull metal like Is-ness. A blue-glacier light that simply Is. That's how I would describe "it".

Clarity is priceless. Clarity of mind. Clarity within. The Dalai Lama stresses the importance of a peaceful mind. "When the mind is peaceful", he says, "it does not distort 'reality'." Yet sometimes when all else fails, and even clarity seems to be a fairy tale, what gets me through is love.

Yet, I also know that when one can see with clarity, all is what-it-is. And fear, I've noticed is the one thing that eclipses clarity.

Sometimes anger does it for me or an intense disgust. Yet most often than not it is a strange unreal fear....even now.

I'm reminded of what Lennon said, "I talk about love because I know I am a violent man."

I’ll conclude this (seemingly random) post with a story about the Dalai Lama, which I found in a book on Environmental Ethics: He was once asked, “You talk about compassion. How would you show compassion to Hitler?” The Dalai Lama responded with a lightning sharp “Show compassion to Hitler? That’s easy. Kill him.”