THE ZEN ZONE – Twelve Ways to Know You’ve Glimpsed the Essence

Those of you who follow me here know I like to take occasional pokes at the arcane, seemingly impenetrable façade of Zen spiritual practice. I just believe that one can reap the benefits of mindfulness—in a form not all that different from that practiced by serious aficionados—without committing to a lifetime of study, denial, nor a solitary stint on some icy crag in the Himalayas. This post is a reflection on that kind of...well...let’s just call it Zen Lite.
 

FROM BATTERED TO BLESSED
If you’re anything like me, you spend the vast majority of your waking hours either consciously or unconsciously pursuing someone’s—perhaps your own— agenda. It’s as if there’s this insidious, self-refilling to-do list; no sooner do you check off one task than another pops up to replace it.

Welcome to 21st century life in the western world.

Since retiring a few years back, I've been more or less free of the largely client-dictated schedule that used to drive me most weekdays. Even so, I’ve found it very hard to rise above other daily compulsions and expectations.

But then, in the past year, I’ve had to undergo a couple of surgeries—the first, to open up my sinuses and, I hope, avoid the frequent bouts with bronchitis I'd been suffering for several years; the second, major surgery to reinforce a crumbling spine.
         I’ve come to realize what a blessing 
         those operations have been.

And in the month and a half since the latter procedure, I've come to realize what a blessing those operations have been. First of all, it appears they may have cured both my recurring respiratory problems and my chronic pain.

Secondly, the spine surgery has forced me to make room in my daily busy-ness—much of which is really of little consequence—for my rehabilitation. And, for me, at least for the first couple of months, that has meant walking, lots of walking. I've already worked up to over two miles a day…and I plan to do even more.

And finally, the amazing success of my surgeries has given me a new—or perhaps I should say heightened—sense of appreciation for the many small miracles of life. Nowadays I celebrate each and every pain-free step, every single unimpeded breath.

THE ZEN ZONE
For years I've aspired to be more conscious—of myself, of others, of this amazing planet…of life. Like most folks, I find this hard to do while preoccupied with workaday goals and deadlines. But my forced re-allocation of time, and the recent glow of awe and gratitude I’ve been feeling, has allowed me to renew that quest for consciousness.

One result has been more frequent encounters with a state of mind I’m lightly calling the Zen Zone—an extraordinary feeling of connection with my own body, with life and, dare I say, with the cosmos. And it’s changing me to my core.

So far, as a relative novice in exploring this stuff, I’ve found two ways to rather easily reach such a place of heightened awareness. One is by meditating (which, in the form of a kind of self-hypnosis, helped me immensely in preparing for and recovering from my back surgery). I continue to do it—though I could practice anywhere, I’ve been doing it mainly indoors. Through meditation I follow my breathing, turn deep within myself, and find there a profound sense of understanding, a place which feels like it encompasses all space, all time.

          It’s a place that is all places, that exists 
          not within myself, but beyond.

ART: Colleen Wallace Nungari

During this journey inward I have these extraordinary flashes of clarity. It feels like I truly get that everything—all this beauty, everyone I’ve ever known, all the love in the world, all life’s possibilities are connected, and they're all in there. I've heard it called a state of centered-ness. 

Then there’s another kind of Zen Zone, the one I occasionally find while outdoors walking. And, while the level of consciousness feels like that of my "inner" meditations, its location seems precisely the opposite. Again, it’s a place that is all places, a time that is all time, but now the expansiveness exists not within myself, but beyond. My essence, life’s essence, the Essence, seems to flow into me from somewhere, everywhere, outside of me—from that speck of soil under my sandal to the incomprehensible reach of the heavens.

Part of this happens simply because I want it; I’ve made room for it in my consciousness. But it's also because I'm deliberately practicing it. By doing so I’m able to find that outer-expansiveness more and more frequently every day. It may have started during those daily rehab walks, but now I encounter it at other times too. (Certain kinds of music seem to help put me in a receptive frame of mind.)

PHOTO: Pixabay

Here are the top twelve ways I know when I've found my Zen Zone:

1. I’m aware of human life going on well beyond the reach of my basic senses. It’s a poignant, deeply empathetic realization that, at this very moment, a baby is being born, someone is dying, a crew buried deep in a mine shaft somewhere prays for rescue, folks are experiencing triumph and heartbreak—around the world, in my city…perhaps in some of the houses I’m passing.

2. Strangers pass and I experience a sense of kinship. I wonder about her, what he does, what going home looks like to her, whether he’s happy. As we move on, it feels like we've blessed each other.

3. I believe I am one with other living things too. I regard a tree, a knot of wildflowers, a sweeping green lawn, as fellow sentient beings, each all-knowing in its own way, each my co-inhabitant in the Essence.

4. I feel my own body in a new way. I experience my weight, visualizing each horizontal slice of me, from head on down, bearing the cumulative load of all the slices above. I notice the circular rhythm of my breathing, absorbing each inhalation like water in a thirsty sponge. I’m aware of my blood flowing, from heartbeat to arterial pulsing to all those barely seeping little capillaries just under my skin. It makes my hands and feet pleasantly warm.

      I am myself at all ages, like I was as a boy, 
      like I'll be as an old man. All of it is now.

5. The sun, though a mind-numbing 93,000,000 miles away, warms me as if it were a cozy little bonfire at my feet, its warmth shining on me, in me, through me.

6. Bird song, squirrel chatter, even the rasp and whir of insects, feels like it has meaning, evoking a spontaneous urge to answer. When a critter is close enough, we stop and size each other up. I pray it  knows I mean no harm. And I know deeply that, while we may not have the same blood, and that perhaps ten or twenty percent of our DNA is different, we share the identical force.

7. Any fear, anger or negative thought I may have carried a few minutes ago is consumed in a calm sea of patience and certainty.

8. I am myself at all ages—like I was as a boy, like I'll be as an old man. All of it is now.

9. I am unaware of looking for wonder, joy, love; it all seems to find me...and then
...it is me.

    I appreciate each blessing so poignantly that 
    I am aware, simultaneously, of its absence.

10. It’s not as if I’m without a mundane thought—little aches and pains, daydreams, my ever-present to-do list—but somehow they seem to just float lightly on the surface, above the liquid depths of my reverie.

11. I appreciate the blessings in my life—love, good health, peace, freedom…even that venerable cottonwood I just passed—so profoundly that I am aware, simultaneously, of their absence. Knowing they are not yet gone causes tears to well up in my eyes.

12. Finally—and this may well be the most telling of signs—as if any one of these sacred facets of consciousness weren’t spellbinding enough in itself, they all cast their radiance on me simultaneously. If I weren't so calm, I'm afraid it might be overwhelming.
                                            ~ // ~     ~ // ~     ~ // ~

Once again, I am a mere pretender at any respectable kind of Zen meditation. Yet I’m reminded that all of one’s abilities begin with pretense. With any new skill or awareness, what keeps you doing it are those first blushes of accomplishment—Hey, I could really do this!

Perhaps some day I’ll be able to find myself in the Zen Zone—where I am the Essence and it is me—at will. But for now, at least I know a few things to do and places to be where it is most likely to find me. And I know to open my heart and soul to it when it does.

My friends, I wish you such blessings.

INTENTIONAL GROUNDING – Making Room for Wonder

The world has changed considerably for most humans since we roamed the woods and prairies, and every day was a struggle for survival. These days, for most of us anyway, life’s pretty easy, pretty safe. We’ve had the luxuries of both time and opportunity to change our view of Nature from one that was mainly reactive to one that’s more intentional.

Intentional observation is what this blog—in fact, my book and most of my writing—is all about. Seeing and appreciating not just Nature’s superlatives—the Everests, the Grand Canyons, the cheetahs and tsunamis—but also the other stuff, the small, the subtle, the unexpectedly elegant things that surround us all the time. So if such wonder is all around us, why is it apparently so elusive for some people?

NUMBED & DUMBED

Intentionality’s not easy. Initiating is harder than reacting. Creating is harder than consuming. People seem to get lulled into a sort of “on demand” way of looking at the world. Whatever’s the biggest, loudest, brightest or fastest steals their attention, their initiative. I suppose this is understandable.

After all, it’s deeply engrained in us to notice things that can excite or threaten us; that’s how we and most other creatures have managed to survive. But we’ve allowed this tendency to be exploited for commercial—and, some might say, political—gain. Too many of us have given in to the brainwashing and find ourselves paying heed to stuff we know doesn’t really matter.

Too many of us have given in to the brainwashing...paying heed to stuff 

we know doesn’t really matter.

We get so distracted by the trivial that we miss the profound. We spend so much time indulging our fears that we fail to nurture our hopes. We do things not because we’re drawn to them, but simply not to be outdone. It all seems like a battle for our intentionality and, along with it, our sense of wonder—and I’m afraid we’re losing.

The media’s played a disappointing role in all of this. It’s numbed us and dumbed us. It touts everything and everyone as the ultimate, leaving no place for the simply beautiful, the average—in other words, the real. It’s got people, as if on cue, emoting and exaggerating their movements the moment they realize they’re on camera—which seems to be nearly all the time.

How’s there room in that sensibility for silence, for thoughtfulness, for reverence? And, when the media would have us valuing everything by how little time it takes, what does that say about things whose awesomeness is their very slowness and certainty?

AN INTENTIONALITY REVOLUTION

Are we being lulled back into a culture more of reaction than intention? Is it all, as some would have us believe, about conflict, about winners and losers? Would we really rather react to what someone else says and use it to demonize him, than to come up with our own ideas and then advocate for them civilly?

What we need is an intentionality revolution. Let’s take back our sense of responsibility for what we do and think.

When someone sticks a video camera in your 

face, act like yourself, not a character in 

someone else’s play.

• Do things because you want to do them, not because you feel guilty or obligated, or because someone might think you have nothing better to do. Decide what’s most important to you and then do it. 
• When someone sticks a video camera in your face, act like yourself, not a character in someone else’s play.
• Find one or two sources of news you respect and trust, sources that are long on content and balance, short on sensationalism. Sure, you can consume other news media if you find it entertaining, but realize that’s all it is – entertainment.
• Don’t wait for others to set the agenda. Take a few moments to figure out what you want, and then start making plans to do it.
• Respect your own plans; you’re entitled to have an agenda. In fact, perhaps even more importantly, even if you don’t have one, you’re entitled to that too.
• If you find yourself always doing what a certain friend wants to do, make sure you get to choose next time. If that doesn’t work, maybe that person’s not as good a friend as you thought.

IN YOUR NATURE

When you’re in Nature, expect to experience fascination and wonder. But realize that, when Nature invites us to notice, she often does so very quietly. Here, there are no sound bites or zingers. If you’re to hear the invitation above the din of other voices in your head and heart, turn them down…no, turn them off!

Even once you’ve made room for them in your consciousness, the many wonders life and Nature hold for us aren’t always readily apparent. (If they were more apparent, they wouldn’t be wonders, would they?) And finding wonder is often as much about the process of discovering something as it is about the discovery itself.

In fact, Nature’s little miracles seldom happen without your doing something—turning something over, looking from a different angle, or just deciding it’s worth waiting and watching for something to happen.

Don’t just use your eyes. Touch everything you can without hurting it; listen to it; what the heck, why not smell it. Notice where everyone else is looking…and look the other way. If you’re at a concert or sports event, look at the faces of the people behind you. (This can be especially rewarding at kids’ music recitals or individual sports events; see if you can pick out the parents of the kid performing.)

This takes no skill at all; everything we need 

we already have.

When everyone’s listening to something, try filtering out the obvious and listening for some of the softer sounds always at play in the background. If it’s music, see if you can distinguish the sounds of the orchestra’s sections or of individual instruments. (I must admit it, when I listen to music at home or at work, it’s hard for me to give it my complete attention; I’m as likely to be appreciating the accompaniment of a bird singing just outside the window.)

The intentionality revolution is about reclaiming our God-given instincts. Despite our culture of excess, despite all the competing demands on our lives, despite the coordinated assault of the dumbed-down media and pop culture, we can still learn—or should I say re-learn—how to be fully present with Nature.

And, believe it or not, this takes no skill at all; everything we need we already have. Curiosity, wonder, hope, humility and the sense of play still come as standard equipment when we’re born. All we have to do is dig them out and give them some air.

INTENTIONAL AWARENESS - Seeing As a Contact Sport

As I was walking this afternoon down by the flood-swollen Mississippi River, I happened to notice one tree among many others just off the path. There was something hanging from one of its lower branches. I went over to look more closely.

Wrapped loosely around the base of the branch was some string. Tied in it every inch or so was a little clump of fabric wadded from torn strips, alternating in color between dusty shades of rose, gray and yellow. Just above this odd necklace a three-inch-wide tin band wrapped neatly around the branch. I carefully turned the band back and forth to read the neat, press-on lettering that wrapped around it in three lines:

  "They are the roots;
    We are the fruits
    So that others may grow."

Was this someone's environmental art installation? A tribute or memorial of some kind? Whatever it was, I found it sweet and touching, and identified with the artist's putting something out there for anyone—or no one—to see and judge. I wondered how many people had noticed and taken the time to consider it.

          Sometimes awareness turns insistent...
          a capacity with which you purposely
          set out to find meaning.

For a second, I stepped back from my reverie and looked around at the bigger picture: the steep slopes of the river valley, shouldering the stocky red brick buildings of the University of Minnesota Medical Center; the gray, wrinkled fingers of a thousand still-bare trees pointing every which way; students drifting in slow motion through their tai chi on the field below; on the path, a young couple delighting in their baby's tottering steps; and, in the background, the surging Mississippi, affecting all with its certainty.

There was so much that could have caught my eye, and yet here I was, drawn in by this quiet, quirky little assertion.

How do you choose what you pay attention to, what stirs you to wonder? It's not always just the biggest, the fastest, the brightest, the loudest that reaches out and grabs us, is it? Don't you find, as I do, that sometimes awareness turns insistent, becoming a more proactive sense, a capacity with which you purposely set out to find meaning?

I've made it my life's work observing wonder. And part of that is observing people observing wonder. Some clearly don't have time for it. Others manage to make time and space for wonder, but play a sort of waiting game. There's certainly nothing wrong with this kind of reactive attention; the openness and patience it requires are the core values of awareness, and they're often rewarded.

        Instead of waiting for wonder to happen
        to you, you expect it. You look for it. In a
        way, you create it.

 
But then there's a more intentional form of awareness. It's a blade alloyed of openness, patience and wonder, then honed to a fine edge by a spirit of inquiry. Instead of waiting for wonder to happen to you, you expect it. You look for it. In a way, you create it. Sometimes I refer to this capacity as "seeing generously," which means your vision is no longer just a one-way process of taking things in. It becomes a transaction, for you also give something of yourself to the deal, investing your interest, your expectation, your faith.

It's the difference between simply noticing a stranger entering the room, and studying her. You might wonder why she's there. Maybe you keep watching to see where she goes or whom she meets. You examine her expression and body language for clues about what kind of a day she's having or what kind of person she is. Perhaps you're curious to meet her. All of this while other more obvious things are going on in the room all around you.

    I don't think the connection would have
    been made if I hadn't been reaching out too.

So why did I happen to notice, among all the other things going on, that curious little art piece on the tree limb? Why did it catch my eye, engage my curiosity? Surely it reached out to me in some way, but I don't think the connection would have been made if I hadn't been reaching out too.

I can't prove that we intentional observers actually see more than reactive ones, but I know there's a difference. Perhaps it's just that we see different things…or in different ways. What do you think? When you invest like this in the way you see, how does it affect what you see?

Next time you're out walking, see if you can dial up your passive awareness to the next level. Look at the subtle, quiet things and find meaning. Look intentionally. See generously. Expect wonder!

…and let me know how it goes!

“You can ask the universe for signs all you want, but ultimately, we only see what we want to see, when we are ready to see it.”
  TED MOSBY (TV character, How I Met Your Mother)