Saturday, 17 November 2012

iSit: Days 4, 5 & 6

When you sit, don't expect Nirvana. If you do, you are still bound by expectation and clinging to desire.

Day four, I oscillated between self-congratulations and despair, one minute chasing the tails of enlightenment and the next, dragged down by doubt, self-judgment, worry and darkness.

Meditating will not make you a "better person." Self-improvement has its place, but not on the zafu cushion.

You are already perfect; the body just may not feel that way and the mind may not believe it. I don't think "perfection" means what we, typically, think it means.

The only objective is toward full concentration. With sustained effort, you may shift focus, beyond mind and body, out of doing and into being. Here, there is no commentary (which is a freakin' relief!) just boundless unbound. I am at home, and awake, and at One with Peace, itself, in the whirling dervish of the present moment. Then suddenly Kurt Cobain is serenading me from a bed of 1,000-petalled lotuses and I reach, and Pop! It's gone. Don't expect Nirvana.

Sit in your shit. It's stinky and unflattering and it may change what other people think of you, including yourself. But who knows?! Maybe that's a good thing! Dogs instinctively roll in their own poop to mask their own scent from other predators and prey. But what if sitting in your karmic dung heap ... getting really still and unceremonious and honest with yourself ... could help you sniff out the delusions and lies, drop the disguise ... and recognize that the only predator or prey, is fear, itself? And what if you could hold only that piece of Truth every minute of your day or life? Now that's powerful shit!

You don't need more time, just more attention and focus. Whether you sit for 10 minutes or two hours is irrelevant. It's quality over quantity. Day six I spent several minutes with my inner Drama Queen before losing interest in her seductive rant. Then there was this spinny thing. It's happened before, in my palms and in my chest and in my head. Little revolving energy orbs which dissolve my sense of inside and out. These spiralling reeling sensations are like being inside a dance. I am neither spatial moving body nor the intelligence in the time-bound steps, but flow itself. Could this be Rumi's unseen Friend, come out to play? Here I am!

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