"O" As In Om

From a certain point onward there is no longer any turning back. That is the point that must be reached. - Franz Kafka in the Zen Calendar (September 10, 2002).

Day 254. I rode my bike in the middle of the day. Twenty-five miles of feeling like complete and utter crap. I may be the tiniest bit ill. It is interesting to watch myself pedal away even when I am sick. I suspect my accumulating experiences of writing a daily blog and getting my butt on the cushion - whether I want to or not, whether I feel like it or not, whether anything happens or not - is spilling over into other aspects of my life. When you are not attached to any particular outcome, it feels much more possible to just engage in the endeavor. No wonder Nike sells so many shoes. They have a damn good motto.

I have developed a few therapeutic metaphors that have stood the test of time (evidenced by clients continuing to find them meaningful). I share one I call "The Tunnel" if a client is grappling with a painful and complex issue she didn't anticipate when she originally entered therapy. This occurs when the client has received just enough therapy to recognize a painful issue in her life and notice when it is occurring, but has not yet progressed to the point of actually behaving differently. It is an exquisitely painful period that spans "Ignorance is Bliss" and "I've Got it All Figured Out and Know How to Apply It."

The metaphor involves envisioning the beginning of therapy as walking into a tunnel in which it is possible to stand upright. As you walk through the tunnel, it gradually decreases in diameter, requiring you to hunch, then stoop, then crawl on all fours. At some point, the tunnel becomes too narrow to turn around, and crawling out in reverse without being able to see what is behind you is too terrifying. Thus, the only option is to continue moving forward, even though it is dark, cramped, uncomfortable, and you can't yet see the light at the end.

At this point in describing the metaphor, I always reassure my clients that they are not traversing the tunnel alone; I am with them as we crawl through the tight, difficult sections. I let them know that I am willing and able to be the "Hope Holder" - the tunnel guide who believes there will be a light, that we will emerge and once again stand upright. I am able to say this with conviction and sincerity - not as a false or naive promise, rather, I base my hope on twenty-two years of bearing witness to the awe-inspiring resiliency of humankind.

A few clients do back out of the tunnel, i.e. drop out of therapy and never emerge into the light (at least, not with me as their tunnel guide). I validate this choice; it is a legitimate option and sometimes people have sound reason not to push on through the pain of change. Curiously, most clients who reach the cramped, dark place where it is impossible to turn around (because they've learned too much to return to old behaviors) commit with vigor to the work that remains. It is at this point that there truly is no turning back. If you stay with something long enough, this point is eventually reached.

I am at this point in my zazen practice. Over the past few nights, there has been another subtle shift in my sitting. As always, it defies words as explanation; as always, I will assign some anyway. At the intersection of emptying my mind and resting awareness on my breath lies an on ramp to actually entering the breath. Becoming it. Me as Breather evaporates, leaving "no-me" -- only breath. It's the closest experience of "mind and body falling away" that I have encountered. I have to perfectly balance trying with not trying to get there - and of course when I get there, there is no "there" there (only Zen practice could EVER prompt a sentence such as that one!) It reminds me of the few flying dreams I've had in my life. The first fly always happened spontaneously, and then I had to accomplish not "trying" to fly to evoke the experience of flying (in the dream) again. Who knew my flying dreams were precursors to enlightenment? I just always awoke with the sensation that the dream was WAY cool!

When I have entered the breath, the sensation of breathing is replaced by (this is very hard to describe) an awareness of a perfectly symmetrical, cylindrical "O" in the region of my solar plexus. It rises and falls a little just behind my breast bone. The "O" intuitively contains the essence of All. It is like the address for The One. The feeling isn't exactly a physical sensation. It is like a combination of body, mind and spirit awareness. If I remain calm and surrendered, awareness itself vanishes. That is the best. Fleetingly, there is no longer any "me" to stand on the outside to be aware. It is as if I am dwelling within the ultimate "Is."

I doubt this state will be a nightly occurrence. So far, I have not been successful at willing myself to have flying dreams. Instead, it's like a gift I am practicing to receive. When it is given, my tunnel is infused with light. A brilliant, white light radiating an indescribable peace. There is definitely no turning back.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc