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[post_content] => Have you had an experience of awakening to something that feels more real than ordinary reality? I remember the first time I heard Zen-inspired spiritual teacher Adyashanti refer to these moments as “gaps” in everyday awareness, when we stop focusing on our own mind and experience the world as it really is.
I’d had some of these expansive periods but felt a great letdown when I returned to ordinary reality. This is sometimes referred to as the “I get it! I lost it” phenomenon. It was relieving to hear Adyashanti describe these moments simply as windows through the dominant narrative. He explains that when we’re adamant about finding the truth, the gaps tend to get longer and more frequent. He also observes that what we find there isn’t usually what we expect it will be.
When the gaps run into each other and become our abiding reality, this is often referred to as spiritual awakening or enlightenment. It’s natural to imagine that something that sounds so grand and mystical must be a state unlike anything we’ve ever felt – maybe even a condition of perpetual ecstasy.
This makes it highly appealing to the ego, which often tries to take over the mission. It can easily turn spirituality into a competition and a source of identity and approval (“I’m woke AF!). And it may desperately hope that it’s finally found the thing that’s going to make us happy.
Happiness is a noble pursuit, but it’s not necessarily the same path that the question of “What am I really?” takes us on. Likewise, while I believe the “What am I?” path does eventually lead us to happiness – true, causeless happiness, in fact – there’s likely to be some unhappiness along the way, which is generated by the ego’s unwillingness to get out of the driver’s seat.
Spiritual awakening shrinks the ego to irrelevance, and this idea is about as scary as actually dying. The ego – the mental construct of personality, feelings, memories, and intellect that we’ve cultivated and reinforced since childhood – dominates our inner and outer experience of life, and in this way confuses us into believing that it is who we are. It’s been this way for so long that we may have forgotten what the unfiltered, egoless experiences (i.e., gaps) feel like. The ego isn’t malicious; it’s just trying to survive. But to the extent that we believe our ego is who we are, we’ll find it impossible to circumvent – because how could we get away from ourselves?
As of this writing, my ego is alive and well, and my gaps are fewer and farther between than I would prefer, but I’ve spent enough time cultivating gaps that I hope I can share something worthwhile. In my experience, though I have had moments of true ecstasy (while completely sober!), the most striking surprise is the incredible familiarity and closeness of the transcendent experience. I think this is what Adyashanti and other teachers are getting at when they say, “It’s not what the mind thinks it’s going to be.”
While we may imagine that spiritual awakening is like acquiring new powers, I believe it’s more of a remembering. It’s like having your head in one of those old-school arcade machines, gripping the joystick, munching pellets, running away from the ghosts, believing “this is what life is,” and then pulling back and taking in the true surroundings. The surroundings were always here, and so was the consciousness that the game wasn’t reality, but you were so immersed in it you forgot.
In one of these gap experiences I actually found myself saying out loud, “Ohhh! It’s THIS! It’s THIS!” The best I can explain it is that I suddenly noticed something that had always been in the background – always, always, always there for the entirety of my life, but so constant as to be disregarded. It wouldn’t call it mystical, but it was incredibly relieving.
Upon tuning in to it and recognizing it as part of myself, that “background” immediately expanded, rendering all of “Peter’s life stuff” relatively small and insignificant. In that state I remembered that I had previously been afraid that letting go of my “small self” would mean that I’d stop caring about my loved ones. But in this expanded awareness, I saw that this was just a fear my ego came up with, and if anything I was able to love people more completely than ever.
I wish I could say I stayed there forever, but my conditioning crept back in. I was able to see myself, little by little, choosing smaller points of view, picking up my phone for no good reason, and shrinking my field of awareness. But these experiences change us even if they’re not sustained forever. They give us a glimpse that’s not easily forgotten.
So, how do we remember? A good starting point is to ask yourself, What has been with me ALWAYS? Or, Who is that consciousness that has been watching my life, that has been there all along, never departing, even while my body grew and my life circumstances changed?
As Meister Eckhart wrote, “The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me; my eye and God's eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love.” What happens when you try to see the one who’s doing the seeing? What happens when, as Adyashanti says, you “turn Awareness upon itself”?
Here’s to more and longer gaps. And feel free to share about your gap experiences in the comments section.
Be well,
Peter
[post_title] => Opening Up the Gaps in Ordinary Reality
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[post_content] => In summer I like to explore and teach about the Fire Element. Summers are dominated by that big fireball in the sky, which has recently been bringing us some extreme temperatures and, sadly, droughts and major wildfires.
I recently wrote an article on the summer solstice – the day of maximum sun – and it occurred to me that I tend to celebrate the light (fire) on both the winter and summer solstices. On the darkest day of the year our family focuses on honoring the light and remembering that even during dark times it never completely disappears. Then on summer solstice we revel in the light’s fullest return.
Less often do we stop to appreciate what’s healthy and balancing about darkness. And if there’s anything worth calling forth in summer (especially in the western part of the country) it’s not more fire but water.
Perhaps our fixation on the fire of life is symptomatic of a broader cultural imbalance – to value yang qualities over yin ones. If you’re not familiar with yin-yang theory, the nutshell explanation is that these terms are adjectives describing two opposing and complementary sets of qualities. Some yin characteristics are: soft, receptive, dark, cool, passive, internal, solid, still, hidden, moist, grounded, shadowy, supple, yielding, and tending to descend. Some yang characteristics are: hot, assertive, bright, active, sharp, rising, expanding, transforming, external, hard.
We need both yin and yang in ourselves and our lives, but if we’re wired to regard survival, hoarding, and conquering as most important, it’s difficult to see the virtue in yin qualities. A yang-orientation seems preferable. Thus, we like to be active all the time. We feel we should always be doing something, always productive in some way. We believe it’s best to be extroverted and we esteem people who are driven, even dominating.
We’re attracted to parties and passion, and our movies tend to portray love as intense, fervent, and insatiable – like an out of control fire. We treat the planet in a similar way – consuming, controlling, ravaging, and desiccating it. We often live “up high” – in our heads – rather than in the depths of our feeling and intuition. The many illuminated things that now fill our world – electric lights and screens especially – have taken the place of the fires we used to gaze into. And the perpetual data stream these electronics connect us to – news, tweets, texts, emails, videos – ensure that there’s rarely any total darkness or stillness (i.e., yin) in our waking lives.
There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with these yang qualities, of course. It’s only when they aren’t balanced by yin ones that we run into trouble. Climate change, media overload, unsustainable growth and consumption are symptoms of this imbalance. While there are plenty of material changes that are worth making – reducing our carbon footprint, buying less virgin plastic, limiting screen time, and supporting sustainable agriculture to name a few – a cultural change will be instrumental in turning the tide, and that change is about honoring the yin.
It’s a tall order, I know. We tend to think we’ve done this work already, but the fire has grown more quickly than our measures to balance it. For instance, many people believe that women have had equality with men for decades. It’s true that things get better over the years, but much of this “equality” has looked like men (and women) accepting female empowerment only to the extent that women flex their yang qualities. More revolutionary is the idea of cherishing women (and men) who embody the yin, and recognizing that all that is yang in the world needs an equally monumental anchor of yin in order to be in balance.
This means (to give just a few examples) accepting and cultivating stillness, appreciating healthy darkness, saving water, listening, being receptive, being humble, being moderate, living simply, being self-reflective, and being truly adaptable.
It amounts to reverence for what sets humans apart from other animals. It’s the biggest work our species will ever face.
Love,
Peter
[post_title] => The Biggest Change in the World
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[post_content] => Early in my practice, people told me I should choose one area of medicine to specialize in, but I was resistant to it because of the lack of variety. Also, it seemed that the natural specialization for me would be pain since I have a knack for treating it, and that sounded, well, kind of boring.
But I gradually began focusing in that direction, and over the years my understanding of pain broadened. I became interested in the whole human experience of suffering, which was like finding a loophole because it’s a pretty vast spectrum.
Suffering is fascinating.
As much as humans hate suffering, we have a curiously complicated relationship with it. We watch movies and read books about it for entertainment. We ache when we see others suffer, but we kind of like the ache. We try it out intentionally (ghost peppers anyone?) and we’re compelled to learn the graphic details of a tragedy just so we can feel it more richly. Often we simultaneously generate it and resist it. And sometimes, we turn it into an incredible, life-changing blessing.
To an extent, it seems that when good outcomes happen after a period of suffering, it's evidence of healthy adaptive mechanisms that help us make the best of a bad situation. But occasionally the suffering appears to be a kind of magic ingredient that provokes an evolution (or a revolution) that wouldn’t have otherwise occurred.
Few people would ask to suffer, but studies show that when they look back on how suffering ultimately facilitated a great favorable change, most say they wouldn’t change anything.
Well, maybe one thing.
If only they could have trusted, they reflect, it could have been a different experience.
On top of the discomfort of suffering we often add an additional dimension of discomfort in the form of resistance (which is often triggered by fear). When the resistance stops – because we just can’t keep it up any longer, or through a conscious choice to trust and relinquish the resistance – this is when something else enters the equation. What do you call it? Grace? Clarity? Insight? And the suffering becomes a portal to a new way of being.
Today, when you encounter some suffering – maybe it will just be a little micro-suffering – what happens if you don’t resist it? What happens when you say, “I choose to trust” and dive into it?
I’d love to hear your thoughts on this (in the comments section below). Have you had experience where suffering facilitated something good? What was the pivotal point, when it turned from suffering into grace? Did that change your relationship with suffering? Do you trust more? Why or why not?
Love,
Peter
[post_title] => From Suffering to Grace
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[post_content] => Have you had an experience of awakening to something that feels more real than ordinary reality? I remember the first time I heard Zen-inspired spiritual teacher Adyashanti refer to these moments as “gaps” in everyday awareness, when we stop focusing on our own mind and experience the world as it really is.
I’d had some of these expansive periods but felt a great letdown when I returned to ordinary reality. This is sometimes referred to as the “I get it! I lost it” phenomenon. It was relieving to hear Adyashanti describe these moments simply as windows through the dominant narrative. He explains that when we’re adamant about finding the truth, the gaps tend to get longer and more frequent. He also observes that what we find there isn’t usually what we expect it will be.
When the gaps run into each other and become our abiding reality, this is often referred to as spiritual awakening or enlightenment. It’s natural to imagine that something that sounds so grand and mystical must be a state unlike anything we’ve ever felt – maybe even a condition of perpetual ecstasy.
This makes it highly appealing to the ego, which often tries to take over the mission. It can easily turn spirituality into a competition and a source of identity and approval (“I’m woke AF!). And it may desperately hope that it’s finally found the thing that’s going to make us happy.
Happiness is a noble pursuit, but it’s not necessarily the same path that the question of “What am I really?” takes us on. Likewise, while I believe the “What am I?” path does eventually lead us to happiness – true, causeless happiness, in fact – there’s likely to be some unhappiness along the way, which is generated by the ego’s unwillingness to get out of the driver’s seat.
Spiritual awakening shrinks the ego to irrelevance, and this idea is about as scary as actually dying. The ego – the mental construct of personality, feelings, memories, and intellect that we’ve cultivated and reinforced since childhood – dominates our inner and outer experience of life, and in this way confuses us into believing that it is who we are. It’s been this way for so long that we may have forgotten what the unfiltered, egoless experiences (i.e., gaps) feel like. The ego isn’t malicious; it’s just trying to survive. But to the extent that we believe our ego is who we are, we’ll find it impossible to circumvent – because how could we get away from ourselves?
As of this writing, my ego is alive and well, and my gaps are fewer and farther between than I would prefer, but I’ve spent enough time cultivating gaps that I hope I can share something worthwhile. In my experience, though I have had moments of true ecstasy (while completely sober!), the most striking surprise is the incredible familiarity and closeness of the transcendent experience. I think this is what Adyashanti and other teachers are getting at when they say, “It’s not what the mind thinks it’s going to be.”
While we may imagine that spiritual awakening is like acquiring new powers, I believe it’s more of a remembering. It’s like having your head in one of those old-school arcade machines, gripping the joystick, munching pellets, running away from the ghosts, believing “this is what life is,” and then pulling back and taking in the true surroundings. The surroundings were always here, and so was the consciousness that the game wasn’t reality, but you were so immersed in it you forgot.
In one of these gap experiences I actually found myself saying out loud, “Ohhh! It’s THIS! It’s THIS!” The best I can explain it is that I suddenly noticed something that had always been in the background – always, always, always there for the entirety of my life, but so constant as to be disregarded. It wouldn’t call it mystical, but it was incredibly relieving.
Upon tuning in to it and recognizing it as part of myself, that “background” immediately expanded, rendering all of “Peter’s life stuff” relatively small and insignificant. In that state I remembered that I had previously been afraid that letting go of my “small self” would mean that I’d stop caring about my loved ones. But in this expanded awareness, I saw that this was just a fear my ego came up with, and if anything I was able to love people more completely than ever.
I wish I could say I stayed there forever, but my conditioning crept back in. I was able to see myself, little by little, choosing smaller points of view, picking up my phone for no good reason, and shrinking my field of awareness. But these experiences change us even if they’re not sustained forever. They give us a glimpse that’s not easily forgotten.
So, how do we remember? A good starting point is to ask yourself, What has been with me ALWAYS? Or, Who is that consciousness that has been watching my life, that has been there all along, never departing, even while my body grew and my life circumstances changed?
As Meister Eckhart wrote, “The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me; my eye and God's eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love.” What happens when you try to see the one who’s doing the seeing? What happens when, as Adyashanti says, you “turn Awareness upon itself”?
Here’s to more and longer gaps. And feel free to share about your gap experiences in the comments section.
Be well,
Peter
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