Who I Am by Who I Am Not...

At the retreat mentioned in the previous posting, the head of our Healing School contrasted two approaches to finding God.

She told us that Kashmir Shaivism, a branch of Hindu philosophy, identifies God by what God isn't. God is not the earth, God is not the sky, God is not this or that. And once you have eliminated everything, what remains is God. (I'm pretty sure I've got that right...) For more information, visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kashmir_Shaivism

It intrigues me that this approach to finding something by eliminating everything is reminiscent of the concept of "vacuum energy," which is what you have left when you've removed all matter from space. For more information, visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vacuum_energy

So what we have here is Kashmir Shaivism, an ancient religious concept; and vacuum energy, an idea developed by 20th-century quantum physicists. But the concepts seem to overlap heavily...

(Coincidentally, a manifestation of vacuum energy is called the "Casimir Effect" -- but enough of idle musings...)

My point is that different people in considerably different times and pursuing considerably different disciplines have used this "eliminate everything" approach to find information or guidance or wisdom or something else useful to them.

And it then occurred to me that my (informal but lengthy) study of the Tao Teh Ching indicates a strong flavor of the same approach to finding Truth: eliminate everything you can to find the deepest truth.

ANyway, something clicked at the retreat and I found myself writing the following:
-- you are not your ego!
-- you are not your mind!
-- you are not your emotions!
-- you are not your fears!
-- you are not your desires!
-- you are not who you think you are!
-- you are not who you want yourself to be!
-- you are not who you want others to think you are!

And I'm coming to believe that, in the search for your deepest and most-true/most-real Self, you are not the collection of all of these things or any subset of these things.

Perhaps your True Self is what you have left when you have abandoned all of these things. This resonates with the Buddhist concept of non-attachment. And it is the fundamental position of (Japanese) Zen and (Chinese) Chan. Perhaps.

So, does all of this qualify as idle musings? New openings?

Can anything be more important than searching for your True Self?

Dunno...

Ego Warnings

A recent posting described a retreat arranged by my healing school -- the one I went to but had to leave early. But in the short time I was there, I had several revelations that I wanted to share with you. One of them had to do with ego:

When folks at my school -- and similar disciplines -- use the word "ego," it has a different meaning from what you may recall from your Psychology 101 course. In the healing school context, the ego is that part of your psyche that makes you think you're the Center of the Universe and everything and everyone around you should conform to your view of things and agree with it that you are justified in everything you do and say. The ego, then, isolates you from a deeper understanding of yourself, the people around you, and the world at large. The ego can make you very small, very hard, very brittle. While it seems to want to protect you from danger or pain, the truth is that it creates barriers between your self and love. Love of self, love of others, love of the world around you, love of God. And it can do so with all the creativity and imagination you have. Yup, it's that sneaky...

Thus, a major objective of many Eastern religious disciplines is the destruction of the ego.

Well, if it's that sneaky, how do you know when your ego is at work? When is it driving your bus rather than your True Self -- whose basic nature is love and acceptance?

Ah, glad you asked. 'Cause that was the revelation I wanted to share. During the short time I was at the retreat, I wrote out the following list:

I know my ego is driving the bus...
-- whenever I'm angry.
-- whenever I feel separated.
-- whenever I'm explaining myself to myself.
-- whenever I'm explaining myself to other people.
-- whenever I'm feeling recriminations.
-- whenever I ignore my internal Red Light.
-- whenever I'm feeling judgmental.
-- whenever I want to hang onto my resentment.
-- whenever I'm disappointed.

(Additions to the list are warmly invited!)

A Declaration of Freedom

So, my last posting talked about expanding my horizons. Living outside my self-imposed limits. Taking a few more (well-chosen) chances.

And I started that process yesterday:

I hadn't touched my unicycle since before my diagnosis last year. And during most of my treatment, I simply didn't have the energy to ride. And by the time my radiation and chemo treatments were done, I was on blood thinners and concerned that I might fall off my uni and start bleeding uncontrollably. Maybe "frightened" is a better word than "concerned."

And I missed riding. And I especially missed the early Saturday morning riding sessions that members of the Turks Head Jugglers had held for years. (Not that often, mind you, but maybe four or five times a year...) And I knew that these sessions would not start up again unless I took charge and scheduled them.

So last Friday, I sent an e-mail off to those members of the THJ who might be interested in unicycling: please join me at our regular riding place tomorrow morning. Understandably (as everyone had less than 24 hours' notice), no one showed up.

That is, no one but me. Which was fine. I had three unicycles with me -- just in case -- but didn't expect any company. Which was a Good Thing Not To Expect, since I didn't have any company.

But I rode! And I rode well!

As I rode, I thought to myself: "I haven't fallen off a unicycle and bled seriously for years, so why was I so concerned about this?" And it dawned on me that I had been letting fear dictate what I could and could not do. Irrational fear. Incapacitating fear.

For the last 6 months and more, I told myself that I could resume riding when my body was totally healed and off the blood thinners. But it has recently occurred to me that that day may never come. And if I waited for that day of total healing, someone would likely inherit my unicycle after I die. And it could wind up hanging in someone's garage and never get used again.

As I rode, all the little tricks you need to stay aloft on a uni came back to me one-by-one: Keep your posture perfectly upright. Keep your weight on the seat, not on the pedals. Turn by looking in the direction you want the uni to go. Trust your body to make all the necessary adjustments to keep you upright and moving. Stop by letting your body fall slightly forward as you grab the back of the seat. (This will allow you to remain standing upright with the uni safely in hand -- keeping it from bouncing off the pavement.) Relax as you ride.

And as I rode, I felt unshackled.