Essence Revisited
Page 6
As long as there’s the fantasy that you’re directing existence, life will never be enough. With the realization that everything is a movement of the cosmos, an underlying sense of peace, well-being, and openness is present in some variation, no matter what happens, because all of it is felt to be the natural dance of existence.
That peace, well-being, and openness is often called love.
Q: How does humility arise?
DB: What could be more humbling than to discover you’re not personally responsible for anything you think, say, and do? You can no longer praise yourself for positive things; they can only be appreciated. You can no longer wallow in self-pity or recrimination for any so-called negative things; they can only be lived out.
The belief in personal doing is replaced with the simple acknowledgment of life’s mysterious dance. This is not some cold, sterile, situation; it’s exactly the same event that is usually perceived as people in a world. The labels and stories still arise as part of the flow, but there’s no sense of understanding any of it; it simply happens, a vibrantly rich and magical parade of appearances.
Q: When all is said and done, where does this leave us?
DB: We continue to be whatever nature expresses in any particular moment. The ignorant assumption that it could ever be otherwise comes to an end.
Life will not express itself in a continuously calm and clear fashion. In certain periods, there can be stomach-twisting, head-pounding energies pushing and pulling in many directions, with no indication of how it will all play out.
The natural current of life is showing itself just as much in periods of intense vagueness and confusion as it is in periods of certainty and clarity.
The average so-called person isn’t comfortable as the process they are. Most of us feel inadequate, or inferior, to others who appear to be more competent and happy. The most judgemental human beings are often the students of spiritual teachings. Not because they intentionally want to judge others, but because they carry the fantasy of a perfect being and hope to become that.
This hopeful fantasy doesn’t allow for periods of confusion, anger, jealousy, fear, aggression, and so on. Many people view those expressions as being tainted and distorted in some way and will fall into periods of self-loathing for exhibiting this natural human behaviour.
Can you imagine a robin covering its face with its wing as it breaks down, sobbing, “I can’t believe I chirp and eat worms. Why, why, why can’t I get rid of this behaviour?” You laugh, but is it any different from a meditator sobbing, “Why do I still get angry, jealous, fearful, and confused?”
How many of us have prepared ourselves to act in a reasonable, calm manner when anticipating an upcoming stressful situation, but, when the moment actually arrives, we find ourselves emotionally unhinged?
This isn’t our personal failure; it’s the fact that our will is not ruling existence. We’re a movement of nature and, no matter what the mind wishes, we have to be whatever nature expresses in any particular moment.
If there’s a profound realization of this, there can be moments of absolute clarity regarding the truth of it, the feeling that there is nowhere else to get to, and nothing else to be, other than whatever presents itself in each instant. All of it is a fascinating and totally inexplicable event presenting itself.
Initially, even with deep realization, this clarity can alternate with the old illusion of being someone separate from the world, a someone desperately needing understanding and control.
At first, there will be the desire for this fluctuation to end, leaving only the feeling of clarity, but as it becomes obvious that this fluctuation is also life’s natural expression, it ceases to be worrisome. At times, existence may literally feel like one great ocean moving and shifting and, at other times, that universal sense may be barely noticeable. Eventually, though, the idea that life is our doing comes to an end.
Right now, my favourite spiritual story is one of a Zen master who’s dying and his students have gathered to witness his passing.
Zen masters have a reputation for uttering something profound just before they expire. There was one who, upon hearing a squirrel running across the roof tiles, sat up proclaiming, “Just this; nothing more”, before falling back dead. Others have uttered marvellous poems on the links between human life and nature’s flow. Consequently, these particular students are waiting in great anticipation for the final moments.
The master is having trouble speaking, so he’s given paper and brush to enable him to make a statement. He writes something, hands the paper back, and the students read, “I don’t want to die.”
Surprised by this, since it seems to express desire, and believing that Zen masters are beyond such human traits, the students immediately assume it must have a deeper meaning. They again give the master paper and brush, begging him to explain the real meaning of his words. Once more the old man writes something and gives the paper back. This time the students read, “I really, really, don’t want to die.”
The point is this: the master is free to be whatever he is, without apology or regret. The students, however, live in fantasies of what life should be; they’re unable to acknowledge the simple facts of the moment, the simple expression of existence.
In this moment, you may love your life or you may hate it. You may be confused and frightened or clear and calm. You may be on a spiritual path or a course of crime. You may be a worldly success or a failure. You may be living to feed the poor or living only to acquire money. You may be anything a human being can appear to be and not for one moment have you stopped being the complete and pure expression of existence.
Q: That seems like the perfect note to end on. Thank you for taking the time and trouble to do this.
DB: I’m not doing this, and you’re welcome.
Nothing ever comes to stay, to “be”.
There is no “being”, only endless becoming.
But there’s never any real becoming.
Nothing comes to stay, to “be”.
Nothing ever “is”,
There is no “isness”, only change, or movement.
But there’s never any real change or movement.
There’s never any “thing” to change, to move.
There’s simply the absence of form.
Movement is the ongoing absence of form.
But there’s never any real absence of form.
Form has never existed. How could it possibly be absent?
Nothing is ever established or defined. There is no
arriving. There is no being, no “isness”, no becoming.
No thing, no change, no movement.
No presence and no absence.
Just this.
Just this.
Life’s struggle
is just
a lack of light,
the sense of rush
and endless flight,
a ripple’s vain
and angst-filled fight
to find its way
back to an
ever-shifting sea,
when all the while
nothing else exists.
There is no you;
there is no me;
and yet
it is so
nice
to dream
so,
until a moment’s
sanity
erodes that long
held fallacy,
and leaves
just one
great truth-filled
pulse.
Mind comes before
all things.
What kind of foolishness
is that?
Illusion comes before
a mind;
that has always been
the fact.
All form is truly
without form,
and mind,
another form along
the way.
It’s just a
misconception,
an ocean,
now,
at play.
A great ocean,
whose tides
and rivers
appear
as
things,
gives birth
to newborn
babes,
and the
river’s way
is written
in their new
and pudgy
flesh.
I think
of words
to paint life’s
mighty sea,
but they are never
as splendid
as the real
thing.
For oceans are
a vital dance,
beyond the mind’s
caprice,
and live a life
of liberty
outside of
thought’s
convention.
They never stop,
these pains of change.
Internal surging,
exquisite bursting
seams
of present comfort.
Moving now,
receding,
then driving forth again.
Ever pulsing,
never arriving.
Life.
What greater law to serve
than life’s determined
flow?
What greater will
to follow
than the manifesting
now?
What greater love
to live
than the present
sweet, sweet
storm?
Life’s ocean
never
changes:
heave
and roll,
in fine-spun
mist,
conception.
This
movement
round the unfold
enfolds
twice times more
than we
can
imagine
and left agog
is truly
awe,
enticing only
yes.
For what else
can be done?
And all
the struggles
cease.
Endnotes
This book is primarily composed of fragments from conversations with various people over many years.
Taoist Echoes and Shades of Advaita, were prompted by the teachings of the Taoist masters, Lao Tzu, Chuang Tzu, and Lieh Tzu, and the twentieth century Advaita master, Ramana Maharshi, as presented in the works of Timothy Freke and David Godman resp ectively. “Echoes” and “Shades” were originally much longer pieces for my own enjoyment. They’re not a collection of exact quotations, but carry the essential message of the original texts.
Advaita is an ancient teaching of India; so is Buddhism. Taoism is an early teaching of China. Chan (Zen) also began in China, and is basically Buddhism mixed with Taoism.
About the Author
Spontaneously drawn to meditation at age fourteen, Darryl spent the next seventeen years exploring the awareness and concentration teachings of Buddhism, Taoism, Sufism, Hinduism, Christianity, and Western psychology. He then spent nine years apprenticed to mindfulness teacher Ruth Denison and another six years as a meditation monk in the Thai Forest Tradition of Theravada Buddhism, under the guidance of Ajahn Sumedho.
Along the way, there was recurring contact with the independent philosopher, Jiddu Krishnamurti, and a significant connection with the Advaita sage, Robert Adams.
Darryl has worked as an ice fisherman, bus driver, suit salesman, carpenter, child-care worker, and maintenance man, among other things. He has lived, and taught, in England, Switzerland, and the United States. He currently lives, works, and teaches in Winnipeg, Canada.
Acknowledgments and Appreciation
To my mother, Gwen, my father, Ed, and my brother, Brent, for their love and unconditional acceptance.
To Jiddu Krishnamurti, Ruth Denison, Ajahn Sumedho, and Robert Adams, for their presence in my life and all that they offered.
To Alan Watts, Ramesh Balsekar, and U.G. Krishnamurti, for their recorded words.
To Sandra Stuart and Link Phillips, for their companionship and talent in the birthing of two books and the remodelling of another. It was in conversations with Sandra that I first expressed my views openly and she subsequently offered the encouragement and opportunity for sharing them with a larger audience.
Again to Sandra and Link, as well as to Valerie Metcalfe and Sally Perchaluk, for their reflections on the rough draft of this present work.
To Wendy Rondeau for offering my books to Joan Tollifson. To Joan for her strong acknowledgment and the referral to Julian Noyce. To Julian, for his efforts over the years in publishing expressions of perennial truths, as well as his willingness to publish radically different expressions.
To Mary Wall, Nick Herzmark, Keith Millan, Dianne Wilt, Anna Millan, Toan Tran, Dale Purvis, Jon Mousely, Jill Osler, Karen Clements, Brenda Reimer-Dorratt, Juliette Sabot, Dale Ingram, Sheila Konyk, Ruth Wood, and Norma Nickson for their support in various ways.
And to many others, too numerous to mention.
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