FOLLOWING THE BREATH LEADS WHERE?
Without awareness, I am easily caught up in the momentum of onrushing thoughts and feelings. They become the starting point for my decisions and action. Without observing, I jump from the inner stream of consciousness to the outer world. There, I easily react and accuse. I seek what is pleasing and avoid what is unpleasant. Without realizing it, my avenue of endeavor had been pre-determined from within. Usually I have no idea of my own imprisonment.
I cannot be aware of anything outside the realm of my own mind. That is why it is so important to be aware of everything that is going on in my own mind. An Eastern commentary says our mind is like a run-away chariot, and we keep beating the horses to go faster and faster. Meanwhile, inside the chariot, a still, small voice pleads, "Please stop, please stop." The way to come to grips with the wayward mind is to stop its outward thrust, to be still, and to see what is going on inside.
In paying attention to the breath, I go from doing to knowing, from acting to watching. With my mind's eye, I can see thoughts come and go. I may think of the breath as sunlight, making it possible to see all the things that light permits me to see.
In witnessing, a very strange and wonderful thing happens. Thoughts and words are slow to form, and eventually do not form at all. Thoughts and words need a doer, who usually acts unconsciously and out of self-preservation. In the calm and equanimity of non-doing, my driven nature takes a rest. I see that so much of what is going on stems from my thinking. I eventually see that these springboards are thoughts only and not me. Meanwhile, room is made for creative and nourishing input. Previously such positive impulses were squeezed out and deprived of attention.
Awareness is the best method I know to slow down, to be aware, and to allow something more, perhaps something greater, to happen. Just watching can slow down the sporadic spurts of the will that sometime charge wildly ahead unrestrained.
There has to be trust that following the breath will result in something positive. The meditator needs to commit him/herself to engaging the breath as fully as possible. Feeling the breath anywhere in the body can be the focus of the mind's attention. It becomes relaxing and joyful as the mind is rescued from so-called obligations. I consciously hold on to breathing so that something else may occur.
In letting the breath hold sway, I am allowing the universe to work on me. In this connection, I like to think of what Buckminster Fuller said about bees. For the honeybee, it is the honey that is important. But simultaneously the bee is nature's vehicle to cross-pollinate and make possible the world's beautiful flowers. All things are connected and Interconnected as a fundamental principle of nature.
By so concentrating on the breath, I become absorbed in awareness. The absorption progresses till I see that awareness belongs to my basic nature. Awareness is what I am. Some say "That simple witnessing awareness...is Spirit itself, is the enlightened mind itself, is Buddha-nature itself, is God itself, in its entirety....In other words, the ultimate reality is not something seen, but rather the ever present Seer....And thus, the ultimate state of consciousness--intrinsic Spirit itself--is not hard to reach but impossible to avoidI" (Ken Wilber in The Eye of Spirit).
As tempting as that sounds, I would not go that far. I see myself as having three centers: head, heart, and body. Most meditations aim at the head. If the mind is the focus, then awareness certainly is preeminent and dominant. B. Pascal gives us a warning how basic truth can be a snare: "We make an idol of truth itself; for truth apart from charity is not God, but his image and idol, which we must neither love nor worship."
Evelyn Underhill outlines an excellent psychological profile of the different human faculties engaging in spiritual and mystical pursuits in her book, Mysticism. "Metaphysics and science," she says, "seem to offer to the intellect an open window towards truth; till the heart looks out and declares this landscape to be a chill desert in which she can find no nourishment. These diverse aspects of things must be either fused or transcended if the whole self is to be satisfied; for the reality which she seeks has got to meet both claims and pay in full....Love, all wings,..is a quest, an outgoing towards an object desired, which only when possessed will be fully known, and only when fully known can be perfectly adored."
Underhill continues: "Aristotle said, 'The intellect by itself moves nothing,' and modern psychology has but affirmed this law. Hence (man's) quest of Reality is never caused, though it may be greatly assisted, by the intellectual aspect of his consciousness, for the reasoning powers as such have little initiative....They stay at home, dissecting and arranging matter that comes to hand, and do not adventure beyond their own region in search of food. Thought does not penetrate far into an object in which the self feels no interest--i.e., towards which she does not experience a movement of attraction, of desire--for interest is the only method known to us of arousing the will, and securing the fixity of attention necessary to any intellectual process."
"None think for long about anything for which they do not care; that is to say, which does not touch some aspect of their emotional life. They may hate it, love it, fear it, want it; but they must have some feeling about it. Feeling is the tentacle we stretch out to the world of things." Underhill points out the need for integration, and places the emphasis in the heart rather than in the mind.
The Cloud of Unknowing puts this discussion in perspective and indicates the way to a solution when it says that God cannot be thought but He can be loved. Although both are indispensable, I like to think that love rather than awareness makes up more of the deeply human being that I am.
The heart is usually regarded as the love center. We have two great capacities, to know and to love, and I think both must be and can be satisfied. Many regard the most important passage in all of Scripture, and perhaps in all literature, is: "God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God and God in him" (1 John 4:16). St. Augustine in the fifth century called attention to the singular value of those three words: "If nothing else in the praise of love was said in the rest of the epistle, nay in the rest of Scripture, and we had heard from the mouth of the Spirit of God that one statement, "God is love," we would not have to look for anything else."
Awareness takes me to the opening door of my being, of who and what I really am. Curiosity, interest, and finally fascination lead the way. An inborn impulse arises to explore. There's a desire to engage what is not yet mine. I want the whole; I want to embrace the complete person of whatever I am as well as the entire universe. Only the whole is the truth. Only the whole satisfies the mind and heart.
At the same time, nothing is enough till I am enough. I am peace! I am joy! I am love! I am an invisible presence. I say invisible because it is a presence that is ultimately unknowable yet always available for further discovery. Unknowable but reachable from the deepest womb of love that I am. Awareness arrives at being love and surrenders without losing its own identity. I am love and I can extend that love in all directions, to anywhere I please. An inner opening gives birth to the new source that I am. I am talking here about self-realization, always a gift for those fortunate enough to claim it. I apply to myself what St. Bonaventure said of God: "I am a circle whose center is everywhere, whose circumference is nowhere." The answer lies within each of us awaiting self-discovery. No one can give it to me or do it for me. I must see it for myself; I must feel it for myself; I must know it for myself.
Although awareness is not the totality of what I am, it moves me into loving the way I am made and toward intentional functioning out of love. If meditation has a goal at all, it is to realize who and what I already am. The ultimate reality is not something seen, but something I am. I am the ever-present Seer and the ever present Lover.
I cannot be aware of anything outside the realm of my own mind. That is why it is so important to be aware of everything that is going on in my own mind. An Eastern commentary says our mind is like a run-away chariot, and we keep beating the horses to go faster and faster. Meanwhile, inside the chariot, a still, small voice pleads, "Please stop, please stop." The way to come to grips with the wayward mind is to stop its outward thrust, to be still, and to see what is going on inside.
In paying attention to the breath, I go from doing to knowing, from acting to watching. With my mind's eye, I can see thoughts come and go. I may think of the breath as sunlight, making it possible to see all the things that light permits me to see.
In witnessing, a very strange and wonderful thing happens. Thoughts and words are slow to form, and eventually do not form at all. Thoughts and words need a doer, who usually acts unconsciously and out of self-preservation. In the calm and equanimity of non-doing, my driven nature takes a rest. I see that so much of what is going on stems from my thinking. I eventually see that these springboards are thoughts only and not me. Meanwhile, room is made for creative and nourishing input. Previously such positive impulses were squeezed out and deprived of attention.
Awareness is the best method I know to slow down, to be aware, and to allow something more, perhaps something greater, to happen. Just watching can slow down the sporadic spurts of the will that sometime charge wildly ahead unrestrained.
There has to be trust that following the breath will result in something positive. The meditator needs to commit him/herself to engaging the breath as fully as possible. Feeling the breath anywhere in the body can be the focus of the mind's attention. It becomes relaxing and joyful as the mind is rescued from so-called obligations. I consciously hold on to breathing so that something else may occur.
In letting the breath hold sway, I am allowing the universe to work on me. In this connection, I like to think of what Buckminster Fuller said about bees. For the honeybee, it is the honey that is important. But simultaneously the bee is nature's vehicle to cross-pollinate and make possible the world's beautiful flowers. All things are connected and Interconnected as a fundamental principle of nature.
By so concentrating on the breath, I become absorbed in awareness. The absorption progresses till I see that awareness belongs to my basic nature. Awareness is what I am. Some say "That simple witnessing awareness...is Spirit itself, is the enlightened mind itself, is Buddha-nature itself, is God itself, in its entirety....In other words, the ultimate reality is not something seen, but rather the ever present Seer....And thus, the ultimate state of consciousness--intrinsic Spirit itself--is not hard to reach but impossible to avoidI" (Ken Wilber in The Eye of Spirit).
As tempting as that sounds, I would not go that far. I see myself as having three centers: head, heart, and body. Most meditations aim at the head. If the mind is the focus, then awareness certainly is preeminent and dominant. B. Pascal gives us a warning how basic truth can be a snare: "We make an idol of truth itself; for truth apart from charity is not God, but his image and idol, which we must neither love nor worship."
Evelyn Underhill outlines an excellent psychological profile of the different human faculties engaging in spiritual and mystical pursuits in her book, Mysticism. "Metaphysics and science," she says, "seem to offer to the intellect an open window towards truth; till the heart looks out and declares this landscape to be a chill desert in which she can find no nourishment. These diverse aspects of things must be either fused or transcended if the whole self is to be satisfied; for the reality which she seeks has got to meet both claims and pay in full....Love, all wings,..is a quest, an outgoing towards an object desired, which only when possessed will be fully known, and only when fully known can be perfectly adored."
Underhill continues: "Aristotle said, 'The intellect by itself moves nothing,' and modern psychology has but affirmed this law. Hence (man's) quest of Reality is never caused, though it may be greatly assisted, by the intellectual aspect of his consciousness, for the reasoning powers as such have little initiative....They stay at home, dissecting and arranging matter that comes to hand, and do not adventure beyond their own region in search of food. Thought does not penetrate far into an object in which the self feels no interest--i.e., towards which she does not experience a movement of attraction, of desire--for interest is the only method known to us of arousing the will, and securing the fixity of attention necessary to any intellectual process."
"None think for long about anything for which they do not care; that is to say, which does not touch some aspect of their emotional life. They may hate it, love it, fear it, want it; but they must have some feeling about it. Feeling is the tentacle we stretch out to the world of things." Underhill points out the need for integration, and places the emphasis in the heart rather than in the mind.
The Cloud of Unknowing puts this discussion in perspective and indicates the way to a solution when it says that God cannot be thought but He can be loved. Although both are indispensable, I like to think that love rather than awareness makes up more of the deeply human being that I am.
The heart is usually regarded as the love center. We have two great capacities, to know and to love, and I think both must be and can be satisfied. Many regard the most important passage in all of Scripture, and perhaps in all literature, is: "God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God and God in him" (1 John 4:16). St. Augustine in the fifth century called attention to the singular value of those three words: "If nothing else in the praise of love was said in the rest of the epistle, nay in the rest of Scripture, and we had heard from the mouth of the Spirit of God that one statement, "God is love," we would not have to look for anything else."
Awareness takes me to the opening door of my being, of who and what I really am. Curiosity, interest, and finally fascination lead the way. An inborn impulse arises to explore. There's a desire to engage what is not yet mine. I want the whole; I want to embrace the complete person of whatever I am as well as the entire universe. Only the whole is the truth. Only the whole satisfies the mind and heart.
At the same time, nothing is enough till I am enough. I am peace! I am joy! I am love! I am an invisible presence. I say invisible because it is a presence that is ultimately unknowable yet always available for further discovery. Unknowable but reachable from the deepest womb of love that I am. Awareness arrives at being love and surrenders without losing its own identity. I am love and I can extend that love in all directions, to anywhere I please. An inner opening gives birth to the new source that I am. I am talking here about self-realization, always a gift for those fortunate enough to claim it. I apply to myself what St. Bonaventure said of God: "I am a circle whose center is everywhere, whose circumference is nowhere." The answer lies within each of us awaiting self-discovery. No one can give it to me or do it for me. I must see it for myself; I must feel it for myself; I must know it for myself.
Although awareness is not the totality of what I am, it moves me into loving the way I am made and toward intentional functioning out of love. If meditation has a goal at all, it is to realize who and what I already am. The ultimate reality is not something seen, but something I am. I am the ever-present Seer and the ever present Lover.