Originally Published: January 12, 2013 by remingtoncooney | For almost a month now I’ve been visiting my family in Singapore, and staying in the old family home. The day after my arrival, I decided it would be good to continue my Tai Chi studies, especially since I was now in an Asian country. So, like all eager Taoist students, I sought out a master. To my surprise, it didn’t take very long. A morning walk in the botanic gardens led me straight to her. Around the outdoor terraces and fountains, were numerous small groups practicing various Tai Chi methods. Some were practicing the very traditional sequences – Yang and Chen. Others were practicing slightly less traditional versions – since when did the Gangnam style dance become a tai chi sequence?! Drawn to the more authentic styles, I spotted a group who had just finished and spoke to the master, clad in her formal, white tai chi gear. Alas! No english. But with the help of a kind student, my desire to learn was translated to her and we set a date: I would begin tomorrow morning. My teacher was the perfect master. Firm but kind; ruthless but forgiving. She would laugh at my instability during my one leg poses, and reprimand me whenever I stuck out my butt during squatting poses (I was reprimanded a lot). On the week days I would do private lessons, one on one; but on weekends I joined the group and would do my best to fake my way through the remaining poses I was still yet to learn. Coming to the end of my holiday, I had my last lesson today. I’ve learnt far more in these last 3 weeks about Tai Chi philosophy and practice than I did in the 4 months of studying it in Vancouver. This is why sometimes it’s essential to go to the source of traditional teachings. After one of my group classes, a classmate described to me the importance of feeling the “Ch’i” whilst practicing Tai Chi. But before I describe the importance of this “Ch’i,” let me give a brief intro to what Tai Chi actually is. T’ai chi ch’uan (tai chi for short) translates to “boundless fist” and is an internal chinese martial art form. Like many other Chinese martial arts, Tai Chi allows the body to emulate the movement of nature. Such movements attune the body to the Tao which serves two purposes: health and self-defense. Being a martial arts form, Tai Chi is based on self-defense methods, but they are slowed down…like, really slowed down. Like so slow that it actually becomes more difficult than it would be if it was really, really fast. Although there are some faster paced versions, the most traditional forms are the ones you would see your Grandmother doing in the park (in case you’re wondering, this does not include the new and “improved” Gangnam-style version). But why so slow? The reason comes back to the fact that it’s an internal art; thereby, its key lies in cultivating internal power. And this internal power is gained by the building and movement of what is known as “Ch’i” – the chinese word for life force, or life energy. This life energy exists both internally within us, and also, externally, everywhere around us. This reinforces the Taoist belief that what is within, is also without. The reason for why Tai Chi is conducted so slowly is so that we can really feel the Ch’i that is moving within us. Moreover, Tai Chi is predominately a moving meditation, so by calming the body and not exciting it, it becomes easier to reach a heightened state in which feeling the Ch’i also becomes easier. My fellow classmate taught me how, through your Tai Chi practice, you must concentrate on building the Ch’i and then allowing it to do the actions for you. Instead of your mind being focused on the movements, it’s actually focused on moving the Ch’i in your body, which in turn creates the movements. This is the essence of the Taoist term Wu-Wei (non-action). The Ch’i is acting for you but you are still intending that action to occur. Ultimately, by gaining control of this Ch’i energy you can then cultivate it and use it for healing purposes both internally and externally. For example, I was taught how to create a ball of Ch’i energy and then place it over any part of my body that needed healing. If this notion of Ch’i energy is still a little bit too difficult to imagine, let’s go back to my Star Wars analogy. In that previous post I described the Tao as “the Force.” In Star Wars, Jedi’s train by cultivating the force, so that they can work with it, and consequently, utilize it. Well, Tai Chi is similar to Jedi training in the fact that by learning to cultivate Ch’i, you are learning to move with the Tao. As you learn to move with the Tao, you, like the Jedi, also learn how to utilize it. This is why health benefits and calmness result from dedicated practice of Tai Chi. I’m afraid to say that practicing Oppa Tai-Chi style, will not help you to cultivate Ch’i; however, if you videotape it and put it on youtube you may get 1,156,153,347 hits and some good T.V air time. Health? Or fame? Your call.
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Originally Published: December 23, 2012 by remingtoncooney | “When we awaken during our practice, it is like we come “back” – but back to what? There is no beginning to the circle, so we cannot come back to the start of an enso. But in a sense, we do come back to some kind of a beginning; however, this beginning is also an ending. This is why the circle, or enso, is an adequate representation of our awakening. As we awaken, we come back to the beginning – that is, the beginning of our realization. But we’re also coming to the end of the circle at the exact same time because that beginning is also the ending. But ending of what? Well, ending of sleep of course.” – Toronto Nov 15th This was an excerpt from a journal entry that I did after the first day of my yoga retreat at the Centre of Gravity. Michael Stone – a great mentor of mine – conducted the retreat over a 5 day period. This, I can safely say, was the highlight to my year. In early May I interviewed Michael Stone for an article I was writing. When I learnt that he was a yoga teacher and Zen monk committed to intergrating traditional practice into a contemporary lifestyle, I knew that this was a man after my own heart. Following the interview, I continued listening to his teachings online and when the opportunity arose in November for me to visit Toronto, I knew what I’d be doing – practicing at the Centre of Gravity. My 5 day retreat was certainly not your typical yoga retreat. For one thing, the Centre of Gravity is not located deep in some forest or atop misty mountains. No. It’s situated right in the middle of the city, at the hip end of town I might add – Queen st. I had trouble finding the centre initially, as it’s well disguised within a concrete complex that looks much like your average low rise condominium. To make matters just that little bit more urban, there was a large construction site right next to the complex, so the view from the yoga room was of tractors, mud, and graffetied make-shift fences. Like I said, not your usual retreat centre. But then again, that’s why it was so perfect. At the core of the centre’s philosophy on practice, is the notion that one does not need to be in a pleasant ‘retreat-like’ environment, in order to perform authentic spiritual practice. Such a practice is ongoing, and needs to be conducted at all times in all places. This is a belief that has permeated Taoist and Zen philosophy right since the beginning. For example, in Zen Buddhism, meditation (known as Zazen) is conducted with eyes half open so that we don’t close ourselves off to the world. When we rise out of meditation, we don’t leave our meditative state there on the cushion that we were perched upon. We carry our meditative state with us, throughout the rest of the day . In other words, we don’t close our eyes to the world in order to find peace. We find peace with our eyes open to the world. In a similar sense, we don’t leave busy and polluted metropolises to find peace in our lives. We find peace within the busy metropolises – with eyes open. This is one of the reasons why I enjoyed studying at this particular centre. I also realized how much I enjoyed dedicating myself to the simple things: to the breath, to chanting, to listening, to meeting people, to walking the Toronto streets in a meditative state. The best part of the day was mid-afternoon when we all pulled our cushions in around the front of the classroom, and Michael gave his daily dharma talk, offering wise words on how to drop into our lives: how to deepen our practice; how to avoid getting lost in spiritual bypassing; how to come to terms with your own mortality. Such profound speeches would shake me everyday. I would often leave the centre, returning to my friend’s place where I stayed, feeling unsettled and full of mixed emotions. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t able to put words to how I was feeling. I was just feeling these strange sorts of emotional combos: bliss and anxiety, saddness and happiness, nostalgia and excitement. And when I tried to write about them in my journal, all I could say (for the first time in my life) was “I can’t put words to how I’m feeling.” My state of being was beyond language. And that for me didn’t matter. It was refreshing. It was exactly what Michael was teaching us to do through our yoga and meditation. To feel your emotional states simply as raw senesations and nothing more. No judgement. No interpretation. Just being with them. Just holding them with both hands. Palms open. There were many moments during those 5 days that I now reflect on with great fondness. However, there was one thing that stands out the most: the sound of water in the drain pipes. At 10.30 am each day we would begin our sitting practice, Zazen style. Bowing to the cushion and to the sangha, we would then sit crossed legged for an hour and a half. As I focused on slowing my breath, I also allowed my ears to open to the surrounding sounds. Being at the centre of the city, the room was never quite silent. There was the opening and closing of heavy metal lids, as homeless people salvaged food from the outside dumpsters. There was the roar of tractors lifting dirt, and the abrasive bouncing of jack hammers from the construction site next-door. And hanging from the ceiling were black drain pipes with the building’s sewage swishing through them. With eyes half closed, the water passing through sounded identical to the trickling of a soft stream. And so, with each breath I allowed myself to go deeper into this artificial stream. The sound of the water wasn’t constant either. It would come and go, depending on whether someone was washing their hands, or flushing the toilet on the level above us. The coming and going of the water was exactly like the coming and going of my thoughts, which was exactly the same as the coming and going of my breath. And often blending with this swishing of water, was the bouncing of jack hammers from the construction site. The deeper into the breath I went, the less I judged the surrounding sounds. At one point, the grating sound of the jack hammer met the soft sound of the drain pipe water at such an equilibrium, that it became its own unique sound in itself. Both good and bad; both grating and pleasant. And I sort of fell into this sound without judgement. It was at that moment that I really felt interpendence – a concept right at the very heart of Taoist philosophy. Where there is shallow, there is deep. Where there is softness there is hardness. Where there is loud there is quiet. The contradiction that exists at an intellectual level was no longer contradictory, for it was inherent in my very existence. It is inherent in all existence. I draw attention to this moment because it was a real highlight for me. I recommend taking a moment after reading this post to just consider what has been a highlight in 2012, for you. What have you achieved? What have you failed to achieve? What moments allowed you to really have raw experiences without judgement? What’s something that you’ve completed that you’re really proud of? What elements of this year can you take into next year to keep that positive momentum going? Remember: although this year and next are separated by calender, they are interdependent – just like the jackhammer and the drain pipes. The sounds of 2012 are reliant on the sounds of 2013. This year and next are not separated outside of our intellect. Time blends into union, just like the enso. All is interdependent. Originally Published: October 22, 2012 by remingtoncooney | Last week, I was fortunate enough to be able to host an in-store talk at the bookstore I work at – Banyen Books. For this particular talk, an author by the name of P.T Mistlberger was discussing his latest release: Rude Awakening. Rude Awakening explores, in an almost cautionary-tale style, how embarking on a so-called spiritual path is not really all smiles and rainbows like so many of us think it is. Granted, many spiritual seekers (myself included!) begin walking the ‘spiritual’ path with the intention of reaching the smiley, rainbow place, so as to escape the suffering experienced in the everyday ‘non-spiritual’ life. The “rude awakening” is the experience we have along that path when we realize we can work our butts off doing these so-called ‘spiritual’ things only to realize that these acts we are undertaking (yoga, meditation, etc), while they benefit our bodies and minds, are not going to get us to a place of liberation. There is no way to truly escape life, while you are alive. From my own experience, it has still been extremely beneficial walking down such a path full of spiritual activities and musings because it has brought me to this place where I now stand – and that place is a place of realization; a place where I understand that what I was searching for at the end of this ‘spiritual’ path was actually right at the beginning. But sometimes you need to take the long way round or walk all the way down, in order to see that there is nothing at the end and everything at the beginning. And this is the “rude awakening” Mistleberger speaks of. This is one of the reasons why the great Taoist and Zen sages believed that the true nature of life is cyclical. Everything that leaves, returns – as does our epiphanies and awakenings. They come and go. Ebb and flow. One minute we are asleep, the next minute we are awake. In Zen, this cyclical nature is represented by the Enso Enso I love to think of life as a returning process. A boomerang, if you will, of all our thoughts, ideas, musings, actions, friends, family, people, places all leaving us in one moment only to return in the next (whether in this lifetime or the next). This is the inherent nature of interconnectedness. During his talk, Mistlberger spoke of interconnectedness and its relation to manifesting what you want in your life. And while the entire talk was, how should I say it…enlightening (?) it was this part that I enjoyed the most. He said that so many are looking for magic in their lives, like a mystical experience, and this is one of the reasons why we start walking along the spiritual path. One of these magical experiences that many famous new age personalities have capitalized on, is the art of manifestation. This notion of having the power to will anything into your life, which is so often advertised as big cars, houses, lots of money, the perfect partner. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, watch ‘The Secret’…….on second-thoughts, don’t watch it.) Mistlberger’s response to this art of manifestation, is that there is no magical experience. It’s not about “pulling rabbits out of a hat.” Instead, realizing you can manifest anything; realizing you have the potential to do anything – comes from an understanding that you are not separate from that which you want. There is no separation between you and the big house or the nice car that you want (if that’s what’s at the top of your list.) But more importantly, there is no separation between the person you are and the person you want to be. Why? Because it is all interconnected. Many spiritual seekers (guilty again!) begin a spiritual path because we want to become someone perhaps more pure, more wise, more in-tune than the person we are at this point. But the person you want to become is the person you already are. The only separation exists in the false duality that the mind creates: The mind says: I am A, therefore, I need to do such and such so that I can become B. No. You are both A and B at this point in time. It is simply a matter of the mind, and more specifically, the ego, to whether you believe you are A or B (or both!) It’s one thing for me to say this, it’s a completely different thing for me, or anyone else, to actually truly embrace this. This is oneness. At the heart of all of this is, of course, The Tao (Way). The Way holds oneness. To know that we already are what we want to be, is to understand this interconnectedness. To know that we are not separate from that which we seek or desire, is once again, accepting this oneness. To know that there is no ‘spiritual life’ and ‘non-spiritual life,’ is also oneness. All of life is spiritual, and all of it is not spiritual, right at the same time. And soon you realize you are the world because the world is within you; just as you are within the world. Originally Published: September 18, 2012 by remingtoncooney | The Mayan prophecy of December 21st, 2012 – do you think it will come to pass? What were the Maya actually thinking when they decided to end their infamous calendar on this date? People are saying it’s the indication of an oncoming apocalypse. Others are saying it’s an evolutionary shift in consciousness. The majority feel it’s just another Y2K sensation; that we will arrive at this date that we’ve noted on our calendars, only to find that everything is still exactly the same as it was the day before. Some people even claim that the so called “evolutionary shift in consciousness” has already occurred and the date is just a representation of the ending of such a shift. Perhaps even, the Mayan man carving his civilization’s stone calendar, simply ran out of room on the rock…anything’s possible right? That being said, I don’t believe the Maya really did run out of rock. They were an incredibly advanced civilization. Had they wanted to, they would have found new rocks to carve out continuous calendars on. They may have not been as technologically savvy as our present civilization, but they were certainly more in tune with the world they lived in, and understood its ongoings far more deeply then we do. This is how I would really define “advancement,” in terms of a civilization. From what I’ve read and studied, the Maya, much like the Incas and Egyptians, were intuitively in touch with the land that they cultivated, and furthermore, had many rituals that brought them closer to the spirit within them, which in turn, is also the spirit outside of them. It is because of this that I take their perspective as legitimate, but as always, it must also be taken with a pinch of salt. Using this approach, I’ve formulated my own interpretation of what the ending of their infamous calendar could signify. The ending of the calendar on 21st December 2012 is the marking of the end of a cycle. “What cycle is ending?” is everyone’s question. And my best guess is, it’s not an asteroid coming to hit us; no explosions; no tidal waves; no one will die. The Maya were actually optimistic. They were predicting that by this date, people will have started to have woken up. They were saying, “let’s give humanity the benefit of the doubt and hope that by this date people they will see the reality of the situation.” But what is that reality? The reality is that the world really needs us – our Earth really needs us to step up our game. This does not mean giving it our sympathy. It means giving it our compassion (there is a BIG difference). And to be compassionate towards Earth we start by being compassionate to those that inhabit the Earth. And that begins with our own species. And from their it extends to other species. And then others. Eventually, it transmutes into the land and becomes like a healing energy for the Earth itself. Many people have indeed woken up to the fact that the Earth needs us right now. We see it all around us in various environmental movements and projects that aim to save the planet. And these are extremely important movements in terms of their contribution to healing our planet, and in raising awareness to those that are insensitive to our Earth’s needs. Personally, however, I think that a lot of people are overwhelmed by how to treat the world’s instability at this point in time. There is so much chaos, that many don’t really know where to begin. They want to reach out and lend a hand but they have their own lives to attend to. And quite frankly, these lives we lead take up the majority of our time. How do we fit in “healing planet Earth” into our busy schedule? Do we just drop all that we’re doing at this point, if it’s not orientated to “making a difference”? No we don’t. To me, the answer is much simpler than we think. The biggest difference can be made right where we are now, within our busy lives, without having to drastically change anything or give anything up. We just have to start small. Start where you are now. Start with the person next to you and then spread out from there. I feel, the answer to waking up to the reality of the Earth’s situation, can be brought down to the relationship between you and that person next to you. If you can give the person your next to, your compassion, your time, your truth, your ear, dare I say it (again), your love, then there is not much more you will need to do. The shift has already begun. The awakening has already begun. I have Dec 21st circled on my calendar. Part of the reason for that is fairly pragmatic: I’m flying back to Singapore on that day so it indicates the day I will need to leave to the airport. But on a deeper level, I’ve circled this day because I’ve set a goal for myself; from now until this date I would really like to give the people that are part of my everyday life, my time, my ear, my compassion. Michael Stone, who has been somewhat of a mentor to me these last few months, terms this personal movement as “showing up in our hearts.” And when I’m with others, I would really like to do this. No matter who that other is. I would like to “show up in my heart” as I engage with them. Because if I’m doing that, I’m not only authentically corresponding with them, I’m also authentically being with myself. What the Earth REALLY needs right now, more than anything else, is for you to authentically be with yourself. The catch is, however, that you cannot authentically be with yourself, unless you are being authentic with others (and vice versa). I recommend circling the date and setting a goal that moves you, so that you can show up in your own heart. It doesn’t have to be the same goal, but approach the situation in a similar way. By doing this we are using the Mayan prediction (whatever it may be!) to our advantage. And remember: start small. Give the person your talking to 5 more minutes of your time as you listen to what they have to say. That’s enough. And if an asteroid does collide with Earth on Dec 21st, at least you can say you gave the last few months your best shot at being you. (But please, do not let this be your incentive!) Originally published: August 5, 2012 by remingtoncooney | Just the other day, my roommate and I sat in heated debate over whether hot yoga can, firstly, be considered “yoga” at all, and secondly, whether it’s actually beneficial for you. My roommate, Troy, is a yoga teacher himself but he does not teach the hot asana style. On the contrary, he is very much against the teaching of this style especially when it’s done in the patented form us hot yoga lovers have come to know as Bikram yoga. Troy claims that many of his students have done Bikram’s prior to attending his class and now come to his class with complaints of aches, strains, and injuries that the intense Bikram’s style has induced. Troy also says that the format and philosophy of Bikram’s – whereby one “locks, pushes and forces” themselves into postures – goes against what yoga has traditionally set out to achieve. And you know what he’s right; he’s spot on. Bikram yoga steps as far away from yoga as you can possibly go, whilst still retaining the title “yoga.” And as we were arguing over whether Bikram yoga is good for you or not (I was for Bikram’s, he was against), I realized a few things about spiritual practice and what is really at the foundation of yoga. But before I go into that I would like to start off with recounting my experience of when I first tried Bikram yoga. (Just a side note: when it comes to spiritual practice I used to be more of a traditionalist. I used to want to do the practice in the format closest to how it was originally created. The reason for this is that spiritual practice becomes modernized and Westernized when it reaches, well, The West. Practitioners in the West typically reflect their life philosophies onto ancient Eastern philosophy. One could argue this tampering with the traditional practice seems to bastardize it often to the point where the reason for practicing is missed altogether (then again you could say the same thing about this very blog…but let’s save that argument for another time). It seems here in Vancouver and along the West Coast, Yoga has become trendy because it’s a good physical work out. And the reason hot yoga was developed was so that you could get an even better physical workout as you sweat your body into shape. This is why, I, like many others, felt it was a superficial practice and one that didn’t adhere to the traditional philosophy of yoga; that is, until I tried it). When I arrived back in Vancouver, after the Christmas holidays of 2011, I was jobless, homeless, and somewhat directionless (my only directions being: get a job, and get a home). Looking back now, this was one of the best and most exhilarating moments of my life. It was daunting, for sure, but it was like I had this new, blank canvas that I could paint anything on. Despite my initial excitement, after 3 weeks of couch surfing with still no job (I had a few job interviews lined up) or no potential home I was starting to get a little anxious and depressed. I was asking those questions, “what the hell am I doing with my life?” and “where is this all leading?” By the end of the third week I was starting to feel really despondent. What was once a romantic “freedom” was now leading into existential crisis. It was during this week that a friend of mine suggested I join her for hot yoga. I thought it would be worthwhile checking it out and I was living in “yes-man” mode anyway, so there wasn’t much at this point that I wouldn’t try. Entering the 37 degrees room was a strange experience indeed. Everyone was so close to each other, there were mirrors everywhere, which made it even more intimidating, and the teacher was mic’d up so that her voice boomed through the class room: “lock your knees, LOCK YOUR KNEES!”… But once I got past the self-consciousness and the intimidating layout of the room, I began to feel better and better with each deepening posture. I hadn’t breathed like this in so long, I hadn’t stretched like this, I hadn’t sweated like this. But the best thing was, I wasn’t thinking this as I was doing it, I was just doing it. Something about the intense heat and the blaring, bootcamp-esque voice of the teacher puts you into this kind of suspended stupor where you are so uncomfortable that all you can do is focus on your breathing and stay present. It forces you to stay present because anything else is too unbearable. All you can bear is remaining with the breath in this moment. It reminded me of the days when I did long distance running. I would go into a similar meditative state where I would focus on breathing in the here and now because I couldn’t handle the run any other way. And for me, this leaves an incredible, euphoric feeling because in the course of that event, I have forgotten about everything that exists outside the moment that I am in. Right now, this probably all sounds very unappealing and hardly relaxing. And the thing is, at first, hot yoga is really uncomfortable and not relaxing. But as you continue your practice, you learn how to relax in an insufferable environment. And as your practice deepens, the “uncomfort” of the environment begins to switch and you realize that 99% of what is unbearable in the hot yoga studio, is actually, in your head. This pain and discomfort that hot yoga supposedly creates, is mostly your head telling you stories. And as you root yourself further into the postures and breathe more in-depthly with each passing class, you begin to build up this mental acceptance to what is “uncomfortable” and you learn how to meditate and let-go in a situation where your mind would have once said, “get me out!” In other words, you learn how to meditate through a challenging experience. Whether this is healthy or not, I’m still not sure. What I do know is that doing a hot yoga class makes the rest of the day’s challenges a lot easier for me because I’ve already meditated in the most disagreeable state I will be in all day. So, now I can meditate anywhere else. What results, is a removal of the fear that we may associate with everyday living. This is because we are being confronted with all our fears within our yoga practice and we are choosing to deal with them through breath meditation. Later on in the day, when I’m faced with other challenges, I approach them in a similar way: through the breath, which will always, without fail, bring a sense of presence, grounding, and acceptance. The more I practice this, the more I am able to meet any confrontations face to face rather than running away, which is something I used to do…a lot. This is my argument for hot yoga; however, there are some undeniable things that make hot yoga a dangerous practice. The instructors are encouraging you constantly to push and force your way into postures. This is NOT yoga, and on a macrocosmic level this is not how we should be living our lives. You must listen to your body, where does your body want to go today? How far does it want to be pushed? By no means should we be pushed passed this limit that our body gives us. What we need to learn is how to understand this limit, which is ultimately a self-taught practice, but one that a yoga instructor should give guidance with. Bikram’s instructors rarely give this sort of guidance as they come come from a very Western mindset; a mindset that believes deeper is better and the more we push, the more we achieve. Yoga practice traditionally embodies the Taoist philosophy Wu-Wei where we are putting in an effortless effort. We are pushing, but in a way that is not over our limit. As we push, our bodies push back and in this state of balance our bodies reach a harmony known as Yin and Yang. A meeting of feminine and masculine in the form of balance. It is understandable that because the modern western lifestyle has become so intense, our spiritual practice must also be more intense and rigorous because it will naturally reflect back the balance we hold in our daily living (which is often more imbalance than balance). This is why Bikram yoga has become so popular over here in the West. A little more traditional. Nevertheless, it’s great that a yoga/meditation practice is becoming mainstream because it’s the start of realization. The start of awareness that we need to breathe and meditate on the present moment in order to really engage with our lives. Every activity, every challenge, everything we do, needs to be met with the breath for us to fully engage with that which we are presently doing. Yoga is the practice that allows us to understand and develop this. Whether you’re doing a rigorous Bikram’s sequence in a smelly, sweaty 37 degree room, or a lighter Yin sequence on the white sands of a Bali beach, it doesn’t really matter at the end of the day. What matters is your understanding and your attitude. You must always ask yourself, “why do I practice?” And if your answer is: “Because it makes my beach body looks AHHHHmazing and I feel super spiritual,” then you may be missing the point. But if your answer is more along the lines of “because it deepens my mental awareness, allows me to return to breath, and cultivates an intense self-love where I can appreciate the physicality of my body and what it is capable of,” then, my friend, you just might me onto something. July 7, 2012 by remingtoncooney |
In the times when Siddhartha began teaching as ‘the Buddha’ (enlightened one), one of the key practices he emphasized was walking “The Middle Way.” This meant not siding with extremes but instead finding a balance and centre in your life, so that everything can be participated in, in moderation. Literally, we can envisage The Middle Way as a path down the centre with various extremes hiding in the hedgerows either side of this path. Finding balance in life is a difficult thing to achieve because it needs constant maintenance. Much like the surfer on his board, you can’t just stand still and expect balance to remain. You have to lean in and out and respond to the various bumps and changes you experience while riding what I once phrased “the wave of life.” Like I said before, it takes some serious practice and a willingness to make mistakes along the way. But now is not a time to dig up and reiterate old blog posts. Now is a time to share with you, my own struggles with finding balance. For I have often felt that I’m slightly schizophrenic when it comes to finding the inner “me.” The characters I assign to my dual personality are: Inner-Monk Inner-Teen The inner-monk is disciplined with his practice, enjoys meditating and doing yoga, likes to eat healthy, is very humble, and is overall, very serious (especially when he is led astray from his practice). The inner-teen is silly, egotistical, social, attention-seeking, flirtatious and adventurous, and is actually fairly loud and boisterous. They are two very different personalities and they seek very different things in terms of contentment. But the truth is I am both, and the reality is I have spent most of my late teen and early adult years suppressing the inner-teen in order to bring out the inner-monk. But since both facets are me, by suppressing one side, I’m causing myself imbalance even though my reasoning is that the inner-monk leads a much more balanced and healthy lifestyle than the inner-teen, and therefore, I should side solely with him. What results, from siding with the inner-monk, is that I begin leading a life where I’m always trying to act older and more serious than I actually am. I’m missing out on the fun part which our inner youthfulness is not afraid of having. Soon, life loses its adventurous edge and quite frankly, gets mundane. I’m glad I have recognized this, but to reconcile the two sides of myself is easier said than done. Take for example, the other day when I was hanging out with some of my buddies at the beach. After a few hours of lazing in the sun, they voted we go grab some beers from the closest bar. “Great idea,” says the inner-teen, “a couple of beers on a beautiful sunny day like today, what could be better?” Then the inner-monk steps in: “actually this is not such a great idea, inner-teen (picture the angel-devil on my shoulders scenario) because don’t you remember, Mr Cooney here will be attending a psychic reading later this evening. It’s probably best that he does not turn up to this reading drunk. Don’t you agree? “Yeah, yeah he’ll only have a couple,” replies the inner-teen and the next thing I know I’m up at the bar with the guys with a pint in my hand. It so happens we bump into a friend of theirs’, and, of course, it’s that person’s birthday. “Birthday shots!” yells one of my friends. Once again the inner-monk and inner-teen pop back up on my shoulders. “It’s probably not such a good idea that you do this shotgun shot right now because it’s likely you’ll get drunk…” I agree with my inner-monk but when I turn to the guys to tell them that I probably shouldn’t do this birthday shot because I’m attending a psychic reading later on and my drunkenness will affect the reading, I can’t really bring myself to do it. It just doesn’t sound right, especially since the people I’m with probably don’t even know what a psychic reading entails. And besides, no one really wants to be a kill-joy, especially on someone’s birthday. So, next thing I know my throat is burning from the Jack Daniels and they’re all laughing and smiling and giddy while I’m silently starting to go into panic mode. I’m thinking to myself, “if this keeps going the way it is I’m going to have to tell them the truth.” And for some reason, I’m afraid of doing that because it means becoming the inner-monk and being the responsible, serious one. And there’s no way around that, you simply become the kill-joy; you become the parent in the teen situation. It’s something I know all too well. Luckily, we all go our separate ways not long after our third beer and it’s only late afternoon. So I’ve got time to recover, but I’m spinning a bit and worrying that I won’t be completely sober by the time I get to my reading. And what was supposed to a fun, spontaneous afternoon has actually become quite stressful. Thoughts run through my dizzy head as I lie down in the bath at home for a while. I think of the time when I turned up to a Reiki session hungover. When I confessed to the Reiki healer that I was probably still over the legal driving limit, we had to call the session off. I remember feeling terribly ashamed at the time and thinking, “I wonder if there is any other 20-year-old in the world who has experienced this?” As I pass through this recollection, I start singing “stuck in the middle” by Stealers Wheel; an unconscious but rather fitting decision, so much so that I burst into laughter at myself. And this is the most important thing that I’ve done all day: laugh at myself. For as long as I can laugh at myself, I know I’m on track; laughing at yourself is key to walking The Middle Way. It might even be the most important aspect of it. For what is there not to laugh at in this life? This life is absurd! I’m floating in a bath tub; which is a pit-stop in between leaving the pub and going to a psychic reading. What in this life is not absurd, I ask? But through my drunken laughter and my swimming head comes the continuous question: “How the fuck do I find The Middle Way?” Long story short, the reading was fine. The reader herself is a good friend of mine and we had an in-depth conversation over these sorts of matters. The irony was that she suggested I just start having a bit more fun in my life and not worry so much about spiritual endeavors. She even suggested we go out for a beer sometime! As I sit here now, still asking myself this same question, two words come to me: acceptance and moderation. To walk The Middle Way, one must firstly accept that they are going to be making constant mistakes that will throw them off this path of perfect balance. What is far more important than not making mistakes, is having the awareness of when we do make a mistake and the compassion to forgive yourself for making that mistake. Forgiveness and acceptance will allow the re-centreing process to occur far more quickly. When walking The Middle Way, allow yourself to take baby steps. We do not blame a baby for losing their balance when they’re learning to walk, right? Instead we laugh, and their learning process brings us great joy. In truth, we are all still learning to walk and our mistakes should be treated in the same way: with laughter and joy. Nonetheless, it is impossible to walk The Middle Way if we are leading a life of excess. Pay attention to those things that get neglected in your life. If you can balance yourself internally, you will notice how your external will also take on a similar sense of stability. And if you find yourself in a bath tub between the pub and a psychic reading just start singing: “monks to the left of me, teens to the right, here I am (stuck in the middle…)” Originally Published: June 17, 2012 by remingtoncooney | A friendly game of golf between Lao Tzu and Tiger Woods. As they play, Lao Tzu kindly offers words of wisdom to help Tiger overcome his lustful addictions. Golfing with Lao Tzu “That is not The Way,” Lao Tzu said to a crouching Tiger in the woods, stalking his prey. “This is the money shot,” the Tiger replied, smiling and licking his big white fangs. “No! If you put your balls in that hole, you will never be happy,” cried Lao Tzu. “It may bring you fame, but it will never bring you fortune.” They walked out from the trees, and alongside the trimmed bushes by the green. “It’s a trap!” Lao Tzu exclaimed. But the Tiger was no longer listening. He had run off and was now stuck at the bottom of a bunker. Lao Tzu called from the top of the mound. “You must learn to control your iron, even if you find it hard! Your rigidity is resistance to emotional pain. Allow yourself to become bendy like a bamboo shoot in a hurricane. When you swing, your pain leaves, but come the rising sun,your pain remains!” The Tiger roared and swiped his claws at Lao Tzu. Lao Tzu jumped back laughing. His golf-bag swung on his back, and the metallic clubs rattled. “Old friend, you used to be a hole-in-one kind of guy; what happened?” Lao Tzu was almost crying with laughter now. As the sun began to set, the Tiger finally managed to climb out of the bunker, just as Lao Tzu was lining up for his last shot. He had his driver at the ready; waiting at the tee. The Tiger watched from the side-line, calm for the first time that day. Lao Tzu raised his club with such eloquence; twisted his body with such grace. His thin frame now just a silhouette. With a mighty swing he clipped the ball. Together, they watched the white dot sail into the tree-tops, and there it remained. “Ah well, even I have my rough days,” Lao Tzu muttered. Originally Published: June 17, 2012 by remingtoncooney | You awake early. 6.30 am. You can feel the remainder of last week still hanging over you like a drooping roof. The weeks have confused themselves. Your fiery schedule is now molten and has melted through May into June. The grey skies don’t seem to dissipate. Rolling around the bed with your breath, you finally rise from twisted sheets and stumble into the bathroom. The faded light through the window looks old. The window is fogged glass; no one can see in from the street lane. He will be here in half an hour. The shower is warm, as you wash off the night’s debris. You whistle and then try to sing in falsetto. You look into the mirror at your red, burning chest. It rises slowly. Soon you’re on the street corner. A white trucks rolls round. In it, a young man with a blue rain jacket. His smile has aged deep beyond his years. His eyes sparkle with wisdom and the wrinkles around the edges make them look deep, beyond his years. Down the highway in silence. Then a few soft questions. The mountains are hidden behind early morning mist. Your head, weighted on the head rest, watches the sedated city in the early hours of a Sunday. The bridge is long. Green. Empty. Petrified lions on either end. Mouths gaping. Questions unanswered. The North is uphill suburbia. Retired. An old village. Lost warriors. You talk with your companion, but his eyes never leave the road. His answers are steady. He stays under the speed limit. Climbing through the cross-streets. English names. Pretty, dainty houses. Bi-coloured with trim gardens. No wildlife. The truck pulls up next to one. Very close. You don’t have to step far to reach the fresh cut lawn. A wooden plaque ruins the disguise: “North Shore Zendo.” A stone Jizo Boddhisatva by the door mat. Its smile, petrified. You step inside. Remove your shoes. Remove your jacket. Zip up your sweater. Find your cushion. Bow at your cushion. Sit on your cushion. Keep your eyes open. The bell rings… you breathe count to 10 and then again you nod in out of sleepiness you wonder, “what for?” you picture your mind as a small monkey squeezing itself out of your gripping hands your foot goes to sleep the bell rings… you stand and stretch and seat yourself again you wonder, “what for?” your mind is still your mind is quiet your mind is loud your mind is a child a baby… your mind is innocence your mind is dirty your mind escapes you your mind is nothing you are nothing you are everything the bell rings… You rise. You chat. Casual conversation. Small talk. Warm hearts. Familiar, friendly faces. Shaking hands. Stepping into the cold morning, you wonder,”what for?” Still the sun remains hidden. Still the day seems hesitant. Coffee with your companion at the end of the block. The barista is irritable as you order. “It is only early days,” you think. Discussions of the Tao proceed. The Wen Tzu follows. Lao Tzu rode a water buffalo across China. “Hope for humanity?” ends the conversation. You ride the sea bus back home, alone. A young child’s wail, tests your patience. The city wakes with your arrival. The 22 rattles on home. The sun peaks through the clouds. Your plans are hazy.”Such is life,” you think and you wonder, “what for?” Originally published: May 16, 2012 by remingtoncooney | A monk and a mechanic walk into a bar. The monk walks with soft steps over to the bar stool, takes his seat, and asks for an orange juice. The mechanic trudges along behind him, lifts his heavy-built body onto a stool, and orders a pint. The two begin talking but the conversation is short lived: The monk talks about his day at the monastery; he tells the mechanic that he and his fellow monks have raised enough money begging, so that they can now build their community garden. He also mentions how their 2 hours of group chanting, brought him into a new state of bliss; a state he didn’t even know was possible! The bored mechanic looks at the monk with raised eyebrows. He then sips his beer, hiccups, and burps under his breath, before launching into a lengthy description of how the carburetor that he ordered for Bill’s truck arrived today, but it turns out that the supplier sent the wrong one and it was only after it was installed into the truck, and turned on, that he realized it wasn’t right. “Them Ford suppliers are bloody hopeless,” the mechanic concludes. “Om….” is the monk’s only response. He has become disillusioned by the mechanic’s dull story, and focuses on trying to relive the blissful state he felt earlier today. The bartender (who is also the owner of the bar) notices this very strange and awkward interaction occurring between the two patrons. He sees that the mechanic is now just muttering and swearing to himself, and the monk has his eyes closed and is making a deep, chant-like sound. Being the bar’s master of ceremonies, the bartender takes it upon himself to try and break the ice between his two customers, and to get their conversation back on track. After all, he wants them to stay for more drinks. Business has not been good in these last few months of recession. He approaches them and with a big grin on his face says, “How’s the evening gents?” “Ah, them bloody Ford suppliers and their bloody no good carburetors, why I orta…” “Ommmmmmmmm……..” Not dissuaded by these unusual, one-sided responses, the bartender continues: “I must say you two are unlikely duo. What brings you two to my wonderful bar, on this fine evening?” The monk stops ‘omming’ and replies: “not much actually. This seemed like a good idea at first, but now I realize it was foolish. I thought I could talk some sense into this grease monkey and find some common ground. All I’ve learnt is that we have nothing in common, whatsoever.” The bartender turns to the mechanic. “Would you agree with this, sir?” “…I shoulda tried Holden, you know? They’d never let me down. Ford on the other hand, why I orta…” The bartender chuckles. “My good men, judging by the conversation I overheard earlier, I take it you are a monk and you are a mechanic. And while it is true that I have never before seen such a combination of personalities, I believe there IS one thing that you both have in common.” “what’s that?” both men ask in unison. “Well, you both meditate,” says the bartender. “Huh,” the mechanic replies, “medi…what?!” “Meditation,” replies the bartender. It’s the act of stillness; the act of presence; the act of being with the breath. “Sounds more like sleeping to me,” cracks the mechanic and bursts into hysteric laughter at his own joke. He slaps the counter in front of him, and looks at the monk to see if he too, is laughing. The monk is sitting there very unimpressed. No,no, no, no,” says the monk, “he does not meditate. I meditate” He points an accusatory finger at the sniggering man at his side and continues, “He drinks beer and watches television and asks his wife to iron his shirts. I meditate.” The bartender replies, “As a matter of fact you both meditate, it is just the type of meditation you do is very different. The bartender addresses the monk: “For starters, you are aware that you are particpating in meditation, when you do so. You are consciously meditating. He then turns to the mechanic: Michelin man over here does not realize he is meditating, but he is. He is doing so when he is fixated on repairing a veichle, and has become so involved in the activity that the rest of the world around him has disappeared. In this moment, his breath is still, as he carefully tightens the nuts and bolts of the engine with his spanner. He knows that if he takes his attention away for just a split second, something could go wrong. He understands that all his energy and focus must be pin pointed in that present moment. Understanding this, he is able to channel that energy, and in doing so he meditates on that moment. It is also in this moment that he enjoys his job most. He forgets about the fight he had with his work colleague earlier that day, or that the wrong carburetor was ordered. He is just here and now, at peace with the task at hand. When those nuts and bolts are tightened and the engine is secured, he comes out of his trance, and realizes how good he now feels and that his job isn’t so bad after all. It’s moments like these that makes us all feel good about working. It’s moments like these where everybody enjoys their job. It’s also a time when many meditate without realizing they’re meditating. Tell me now, do you still not believe your bar-mate meditates? The monk contemplates this for a moment. “If he meditates, then why is he so vulgar? Why has he not developed spiritual attunement and sensitivity like myself and my fellow monks back at the monastery? I mean, look at him. He is not far beyond an ape.” They both look at the mechanic who is now trying to flick toothpicks into the cleavage of a woman sitting on the opposite side of the room. “It is because he does not meditate with the intention of expanding his awareness to the life that exists around him. Although he has moments of meditation in particular activities, these activities do not necessarily bring about mindfulness. Just because you participate in a meditative activity does not necessarily mean you are mindful. To be mindful, one has to be consciously meditating. They have to realize what the state of meditation is, so that they can tune their senses to the reality of that meditative state. Once mindful, sensitivity will soon follow, and with sensitivity comes compassion. The mechanic turns around to see them both staring at him. “Oh sorry boys, got a little sidetracked…but I’m still listening…you were talking about the medi..meditation thingy and how it’s real good for you, and stuff.” “yes…” The bartender hesitates, “do you now see how you also meditate?” “Na not really…all sounds a bit poofy to me. You talk like the guys who go to my wife’s yoga class. She invited a few them around for dinner once. Said they’d have a good influence on me. I thought, “oh what the hell, at least I’ll get to try out my new barbie.” So, I whack on these juicy T-Bones, and when it’s time to serve ’em up, they all tell me that they’re vegetarian. And they’re just sitting there, pushing lettuce leaves round their plate like a bunch of pansies, and…” “With mindfulness comes sensitivity, with sensitivity comes compassion,” interrupts the bartender patting the monk on the shoulder. “He’ll come round.” “Yeah, speaking of rounds, me and baldy here could do with another! “ “Coming right up, my good sir.” the bartender pours a fresh beer and orange juice and hands them over. As he walks away to serve another customer, the monk speaks again: You, bartender, are a wise man. Would you be interested in renouncing your bar skills and joining my monastery? “Thanks for your offer, but I’m already affiliated with a monastery. “What is this monastery you speak of?” My monastery is here,” and he points to the neon sign above the liquor bottles: “Buddha Bar” it reads. “Oh my, can it be, you are a great Bodhisattva? asks the monk. “Well, I don’t know about that. Although, I do conduct all my sermons here. Most of my customers don’t remember them…but they seem to enjoy them at the time. And this is a good place for my practice. You’d be surprised how meditative pouring beers can be!” “I will be back tomorrow with my fellow monks for another of your sermons. Thankyou, wise one!” The monk bows, turns, and runs out, feeling as if he is on the brink of enlightenment. Still seated at the bar, the mechanic returns to his toothpick flicking. Originally published: April 29, 2012 by remingtoncooney | What is enlightenment you ask? When I was young boy, around the age of 6, what I wanted to be when I grew up, was a garbage man. Specifically, the garbage man who hangs on the back of the truck during that smelly joy-ride round town. Why did I want to be that? For a long time I wasn’t sure. As a young child I was interested in very strange things: stick insects, flying lizards, the flashing lights on top of cop cars…and garbage trucks. I guess you could say I had ‘alternative’ interests. Nowadays, the occupation doesn’t appeal to me anymore, and I’m thankful to say that my career aspirations have evolved, for want of a better word (although, I have utmost respect for garbage men – tough job!). At first, looking back on this desire slightly disturbed me, but now I can understand it perfectly. My desire to be a garbage man was actually quite profound. For it is only in the recent months that I have come to fully realize that taking out the garbage is the most enlightening thing you can do. Note: As I write this, I have two overflowing trash bags that are sitting on my kitchen floor, awaiting to be taken out. I still have many things to learn. For a long time I sought spiritual wisdom in far off places. I had plans in the back of my mind to travel to spiritual havens like ashrams in India and Tibet. I wanted to renounce the world and be like the Taoist hermits of the great Hua-Shan mountain, sitting and meditating; transcending this material existence so that I could become of the air, of the sky, of purity (as you can see, my interests have remained somewhat ‘alternative’ even still). In moments of existential crisis, I would voice my desires of renunciation to my mother, an all knowing oracle, and just like the ancient sages, she would reply with wise words: “don’t be an idiot, stay in school,” and she would give me a virtual slap through the telephone. With such words, I was brought back down to ground and remained focused on the task at hand, within the moment that is now. At the time, I didn’t see why this was important. I criticized it, I swore at it, I was in angst, and felt I needed to escape. In hindsight, I now see ‘the task at hand’ as an invaluable element to our daily living. Immersing yourself in the task at hand, no matter how mundane the task is, is immersing yourself in the power of now (hats off to Tolle). If you can be content with the task at hand, whatever that task may be, you are transcending. One of the more tedious tasks commonly at hand, is taking out the garbage. Now, in my belief, the most awakenening experiences are achieved through the most wearisome chores. The more monotonous the task, and the more enjoyment you can get out of it, the more you are simultaneously transcending, whilst remaining grounded in the here and now. Let me explain further through an old Zen tale: There was once a Zen monk (let us call him Soto) who was practicing at a monastery under the great Zen master, Joshu. Soto was particularly eager to reach enlightenment, and after years of participating in Zazen meditation and other rituals, he was finally overcome by angst and approached Joshu with his dilemma: “Master Joshu, I’ve been here 10 years now and all the while, have been dedicated to my practice, and yet, I still do not feel I am getting any closer to enlightenment. Why is this? Joshu remained silent at first, breathing slowly. His eyes focused, not on Soto, but on the surroundings of the monastery. Finally, his eyes came to rest on the monk bowing in front of him: “Have you eaten your rice porridge?” asked Joshu. “Well… yes I have, but what has this to do with my question?” “If you have eaten your rice porridge, then you must wash your bowl.” Upon saying this, Joshu rose up and walked away, leaving a perplexed Soto to ponder this riddle. The idea behind this parable, is that enlightenment exists ONLY in the present moment. When we seek something, we are stepping out of the present, into the future or past. We lose focus of the task at hand, and yet that is where this so called ‘enlightenment’ resides. By coming to Joshu with questions of enlightenment, Soto was stepping out of the present moment (breakfast time), and musing on what had happened in his life so far, and what would potentially happen. Joshu is saying, forget about enlightenment for it is not a matter worth worrying about. What is a matter worth worrying about is doing the dishes. For you have had your breakfast, so now that has become a thing of the past. What is now present is the washing up. As soon as Soto begins living his life through present awareness – that is, being fully focused on the task at hand – all desires of reaching enlightenment will cease to exist. Once this had occurred, Soto becomes an empty vessel and, as a result, the Tao can now pass into him. In other words, when we empty ourselves of our desires and become one with the present, we are opening ourselves to the infinite potential of possibility; we are opening ourselves to the Tao. We have no judgement on how the past will influence our future. We have no judgement on how past desires will influence future desires. It is in this state that so-called ‘enlightenment’ exists. Those that can remain empty vessels for the Tao to fill, are those that are enlightened. Joshu used the activity of washing a bowl, as a symbol of washing out the mind. He was suggesting that when one comes back to the present moment and focuses on the task at hand, they are washing their mind of desire to reach enlightenment. Once this desire, along with the mind’s preconceptions, are washed away, the mind is empty and enlightenment is now achievable. In a similar sense, I have expanded on this Zen tale with the notion of taking out the garbage. For this is an even more menial task than washing the dishes. Hence, this is where enlightenment is to be found: in the horrible smells of the dumpster outside; in the horrible mould that exists on the inside of the kitchen trash bag. If you can treat this activity as the most blissful activity of your day, you are surely on your way to becoming enlightened… But remember, for those who are truly becoming enlightened, enlightenment is actually the last thing on their mind. Thoughts of enlightenment do not exist in the here and now. Only enlightenment itself exists in the present moment, and it is disguised as a garbage bag (which you must take out). So, do as Joshu instructs and forget about enlightenment altogether. It is not a matter of any importance. What matters is taking out the trash. The next time you do so, try to empty your mind in the course of the event. Imagine all your thoughts, desires, worries, and anxieties pouring out of your head into the garbage bag you are tying up. Now your bowl is washed. The rubbish in your head is removed and you can proceed to take it out. As you walk towards the dumpster outside remain aware of the present moment. Use this time to become aware of your surroundings; your peripherals. What can you smell? What do you notice about taking out the garbage? Don’t place judgement, just treat the moment as a complete observer. It is difficult, I know. That is why it is the greatest time to meditate. What is enlightenment you ask? Enlightenment is taking out the garbage. Originally published: April 29, 2012 by remingtoncooney | |
What is this?Writings from my life in Vancouver, Canada: Archives |