The World Was With Me

Waking up short of breath, I dreamed I was Hildegard von Bingen, who outsmarted a female demon robed in the bone-white garments of death. Stealthily exiting from behind my small fortress wall, I could see her, but she could not see me; I had frustrated her well. Waiting for me was a darkened, stone nunnery cell, but when I entered it became light and beautiful and full of good things. I entered and I lived a milenia there, and I did not die, because the little cell became a pathway unto The World, and The World was with me while I overcame my heart’s loneliness. A thousand years later I emerged from the cell into a world that was waiting for me in whispers. So many stones had fallen around me, a sea of small rocks. Bear tracks, huge and clearly present: I saw them, and followed them to where awaited an violent, small wolf, rabid with anger and pain. He lunged at me. I deflected him; he lunged again, I caught him, held his small self as his little body surrendered in howling tears, now loosening and reaching for comfort, the curse dispelled, a loving puppy once more.

Tarot for Clarity, Not Superstition

I don’t believe in divination or “telling the future” at all and I’m turned off by any belief system which promotes that. I play with Tarot because of its ability to prompt clarity of reflection and critical thinking about my own life and mind. It’s an artistic tool for awareness, not hocus-pocus. It’s nothing more than thoughtful, contemplative play with really excellent art-cards. And that’s why I love The Wildwood Tarot: it focuses on naturalistic elements of archetypal folklore that are beautifully aimed at clarity of thought, not superstition.

Wisdom From The Mind of the World

One of the difficulties in learning to be present with a calm mind, and more important in learning to listen deeply to others, is the fear that we will loose track of our own valuable thoughts if we step out of our own minds long enough to listen to other minds, or have respite from the human mind at all. There is an underlying pressure we feel, when striving for mindfulness, to devalue our thoughts as if they were not the rare jewels that are precious sparks of insight. If we think we must believe our own thoughts are unworthy of attention in order to practice deep listening, we run the risk of not wanting to listen deeply because we feel we must choose between basic self-respect and respite from our own minds. Instead, we can maintain and grow our self-respect by trusting that whatever thoughts we discover within us that are worthy of chronicling will return to us again after our attention leaves our own our minds to venture out into the mind of another or the mind of The World: wisdom comes through us, not from us. Thoughts worthy of keeping are of the wisdom which comes from The Mind of the World.

Word Magic Spelling Its Spells

The following piece is from an old journal entry written when I was practicing the free-form writing advised in such books as Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, which I have referred to with appreciation before. While this method has been helpful at times, I share here my reflection on the changing of my mind in the creative process. It has been too easy for me to have anxiety in my writing induced by my own “monkey mind”, the racing thoughts that arise when a writer practices free-form writing without self-editing along the way. I am now at a stage where I am no longer doing unedited journaling, because I have come to realize it is ultimately not the constructive mindset I want to cultivate. Ironically, the value of a constructive and sane mind in writing is taught by Goldberg in her book, so I continue to have a great appreciation for this part of it. While free-form journaling does produce some scattered gems, these gems are still emphatically scattered. This causes clutter in my writing archives that I don’t currently have the solution to editing. It leads to more somewhat anxiety-inducing primal chaos to wade through when going back to edit. It is paradoxical that by practicing a form of journaling which is beneficial to some people, in learning to let out their thoughts unrestrained, this method has become to me more of a burden than a help. But I would not have known this had I not experimented with it… and I am admittedly cheered to rediscover this journaling piece.

Don’t try to watch or only look from the sides just reporting what you see because you’ll never be there, really telling exactly what is. Be standing in the light and speaking from the inside of the dream where the power and love spirals. Be standing and writing from in the inside of the holy waters, holy rivers who flow down without giving up through the desert valley. Desert valley’s still loved and don’t you forget that. Mother waters mountain to the east have work to be done. It’s coming from the chaos that life happens. The earth was formed by magma. By fire and thunder, how frail we are here below. Plate tectonics cray insane volcanos roaring into life as fire make energy, this is how the earth was formed, and from this heat all life has come into being. Get out of its way. Beautiful! And what a tragedy especially when the feminine won’t by lava create.

 

See the magic here is too much, maybe like monk sitting in snow, a lot of distraction but keep quiet mind in the midst. Yes you want not too much of one way and a balance with the other. No rules, just energy. This way when you write with the truth, the truth doesn’t have to sit tucked up inside you threatening you. You get to look forward to all of life, ever in the in-between moments of everybody because it’s there that the power lives and you live with it, you conduct it in conversation with it, you begin to see that the raw pieces of another wise disoriented or disconnected or unfulfilled life actually do make sense after all. You begin to see you live in sacredness, you walk in communion with a tribe of the sacred and even a strip mall will not hurt you, or sap your vital energy. The power is sneaking in around everywhere and it’s the in-between moments between one place and another that she comes to you and whispers “I am here” and you are not alone. Your own small life is in her. You live in praise. The call to give praise in the core of our beings is the call of the bright mind, the writer’s mind who doesn’t know one holy place from another. To return here yet with the eloquence we have learned later on the journey is the task of the monk in the snow.

 

Sometimes the mind goes very fast. Thought becomes enormous and many splintering visitor-spirits in a modest country hut where you live can’t contain them, unaccustomed to such a commotion. They knock on the door of the back of the head at the base of the skull, at the top of the neck and say “enter”, for a human mind lives here. Traveling down your arm, first thoughts, the many spirit ideas get bottlenecked somewhere between your shoulder and palm. It’s what happens when you don’t know what to say next because you have so many visitors and this is why you’re never bored. “That’s exactly what it is,” said a fellow creature I met on a hot afternoon. She was an artist of pictures, this fellow creature, but it is no different. There’s a traffic jam getting stuck somewhere south of my elbow and that’s why I get a numbness sometimes north of the place where I figure out how to say what I need to say. I got to shake out my hand to get the traffic of word magic spelling its spells again.

Matter Over Mind

Last night I woke up at 3:30am with a feeling pulling me to go sit outside for a little while. I call this a sit-spot, coming from my time as a student at Wilderness Awareness School where this tradition of sitting, quietly, in the natural world is practiced. It is near-constantly rainy in the Pacific Northwest this time of year, but last night the sky was perfectly clear, and I could see every star not obscured by the city lights, and the air was a cool but pleasant temperature.

I sat on our gravel driveway where we never park our cars, the place where, for three years, I have neglected to make a fire though I have lived here with my partner who owns the land and would happily allow me to do so. Why have I not made a fire? This is an important question to me: being near a real fire has been a sacred practice in my life. I still loathe fake gas fires with a deep repulsion unknown to most of my modern peers. Fires must be made by friction, or by a simple lighter with a hand-assembled tinder bundle at most. We all need to have our ritual ways.

When I woke up this morning, the stomach ache from eating three spoon-fulls of delicious bee pollen at 3:30am before going outside was still gnawing at me, but I slept really well. I usually sleep like a rock, regardless of almost anything, and I count this a lucky blessing. But upon waking, I got word that there will be an elder fire tonight, where the older folks of the community come together to share minds with the younger ones at a place we call home, and I should go to this. Tomorrow I will hear stories around a fire with new friends, too. Maybe the fire is coming back to me, but it is a calming fire, now, not the fervent, uncontrollable feeling of my youth.

The stars were beautiful last night. I noticed that the Big Dipper was positioned differently than how I am used to seeing it. That is to be expected, but it matters to notice these things with our own eyes.

What I thinking most about last night was my own ability to logic my way out of depression, which I’ve had a perpetual case of to varying severities since adolescence. While sitting remarkably peacefully under the stars (“remarkably”, because I have often felt self-conscious, monkey-minded and unworthy while sit-spotting) then subsequently breathing myself into a restful sleep back in bed despite my foolish overconsumption of bee pollen causing a tummy ache, I was continuing to consider the wisdom that I truly do have the ability to change my mindset at any moment. I am on antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication, and I do think they work to a possibly life-saving degree. But good scientific medication is only half the effort (don’t talk to me about woo woo “naturopath” medicine, please), where the other half of thriving is the far harder effort of changing one’s own mind.

But is it effort, exactly, with such strenuousness? Or is it simply being, that delivers us into the peace of “no-thought“? I’m thinking back to Natalie Goldberg’s wonderful book, Writing Down the Bones, where she refers to the power of writing in the right mindset that she learned through her Buddhist study with Shunryu Suzuki, author of Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind. Zen Buddhism is infamously easy and difficult all-in-one, and I’m no practicing expert, but the sense I got from the teachings in these books were what I like to call “matter over mind“. (Isn’t that fun? I thought of that. Probably someone else has, too, just like eyes evolved in the animal kingdom separately in various complex species.)

And here I am, on this clear morning, with a clearer mind, finally writing and thinking fluidly with the lighter breath I was looking for. Here is how I can describe this “matter over mind”.

The human mind, and all it produces, are phantoms. The brain is its own constant enemy, or friend, depending on its untamed impulses. I think that this is the image of the untamed horse and rider that Tibetan Buddhists talk about: the mind is the horse, the person is the rider. The human brain is crazy. Even typically healthy brains with no signs of depression or any worse mental illness are just crazy deep down in there. But what a light-hearted relief, what soothing valve for mental pressure it is to acknowledge this. It’s crazy being human!

Speaking from my own depressed brain in its gravest dips into pain, this human brain produces longings and memories and fear and intense feelings that serve no purpose but to cause anguish, now. This is progress from my former way of valuing these emotional depths as something spiritual I wanted to protect, even if they pained me greatly. Now, I don’t want to pin my spirituality on these emotional weights, even if they do produce some great art and passionate spiritual feeling. I’d now rather be calm and utterly mature, like an unshakable old Sequoia tree, unbothered by and calmly accepting of the insanity of life. Big change in perspective.

The minds of other animals do not appear to be nearly as harried by this human craziness. Animals must be completely grounded in the reality of the physical world around them. Matter over mind. The world of what is profoundly real, this physical world exterior of the brain’s torturous phantoms, is the anchor of sanity, to a very serious point. Those who are clinically insane are diagnosed as such precisely because they have lost contact with blessed physical reality. And physical reality is blessed, because it is the foundation of everything and so is infinitely valuable though sometimes sadly disregarded and overlooked for its goodness. The constant ground of matter –the literal ground of the world holding us securely in gravity, covered by a blanket of sky– shall always exist independent of the brain’s self-cycling drama.

Matter over mind. Constantly looking inward is the source of a lot of suffering. Looking outward, instead, brings relief. The mind will always be crazy inside, but when anchored in the physical matter of the world, it is calm.

The brain does not change its neural pathways by wishing, or by praying, but by doing. The will to change one’s actions doesn’t even come from the inner mind, but instead comes from a grounded awareness in the reality of the real exterior world. Matter over mind.

I focus here not on the “action” of social political agitation, which I am mortally tired of. I mean the action of physical movement and awareness: breathing, walking, focus on the movement of a leaf on a tree, the presence of an animal.

What should be made of the inner sanctum of the mind? It is this place of refuge from the harsher parts of the exterior world that I have cultivated for so long, guarding its impulses even in the anguish it causes. I am not alone in having wanted to retreat from the glaring, unnatural clatter of urban life. Coming to terms with the atonal disharmony of our current times is also an act of kindness to ourselves, forgiveness for the environmental stress we feel, in that we should not expect ourselves to be perfectly at peace all the time. We are fervently trying to adapt to a changing landscape. But this effort at adaptation puts us in good company with all our plant and animal relatives of evolution, who themselves have survived all environments, peaceful and hostile, to get us here. We can feel less alone when we realize that, by our experience of environmental disharmony and subsequent behavioral adaptation to adjust to or even influence our environment, we are participating in the long and beautiful life of evolution itself. This mental inner sanctum of refuge from harsh environmental exteriors should then be a temporary refuge, and not an addictive escape from reality. This is a critical distinction. There is too much attempting to escape reality, now, at the cost of losing that shimmering image of beauty which we seek in our escape, for only The World itself truly offers this relief. The effort of the wise is to find this shining world open its way to us, even among the grit of inquietude. In every city there are the laws of physics, still: the pull of gravity never leaves us, and the air is present, and even animals and plants are to be found slowly and surely repopulating their habitats. Most significantly, should I give in to the temptation to view the creatures of nature as in a war against the structures of human design? I should not, for then I would see myself as an enemy to my anchoring world of matter, when I am no less a native animal here than the nearest little creature who scuttles or flies. Nothing can truly be ever outside of nature. That is, by definition, impossible. Nature is the sum total of all that is real. Ultimately, all our human designs are within this force as much as any other assembly of atoms. Matter over mind. The inner sanctum of the human mind needs constant fortifying by the solidity of the great exterior world of matter, which is the very definition of solidity itself. Then, we carry the world of matter within us, and it is a constant source of peace.

I am convinced now that this is how animal minds endure the hardships of their own lives. They cannot afford to be distracted by fantasies. Their lives and entire mental wellbeing depend on their constantly being centered in the physical world itself, and in the wild they show no trace of boredom. It is possible that the “domestication” of modern humans contributes greatly to the mental suffering of our time. If this is so, and the environment is unlikely to spontaneously change for us, then it is all the more important that we creatively adapt to and influence our environment not by escaping from it, but by going into it in sensory awareness.

This sensory awareness practice is what I was being taught at Anake Outdoor School at Wilderness Awareness School. I was not ready to understand it until now. But, like all great and complicated human communities that impart wisdom, they taught this wisdom alongside what felt like a contradictory practice. In my words, I’d call it too much navel-gazing, too much self-examining of so many emotions. It’s possible it only felt like too much to me, because I had done it already for so long and to a pointless, depressive degree, whereas such self-examination is new and useful to others.

From the beginning, animals accept this Dark Mother that is present in the beauty and violence of natural life. This Dark Mother is an archetypal rendering of the simultaneously nurturing and brutal aspects of Great Nature, as Shinto beautifully and simply names it. Nature is the mother who gives birth in one breath, then impersonally strangles the helpless infant in the next (countless babies in have died in childbirth from umbilical cords wrapped around their necks). Great Nature brings us abundant food and the right amount of sun and rain, then is unrestrained in famine. She allows a creature to escape from certain agony by the fortune of its genes for swiftness or camouflage, while another is crushed by an amoral falling tree. Evil exists, but it is a construct only of human social life, and is natural only insofar as the human brain with its demons is natural, though we have every justification to expect our humanity to behave morally. Evil is not a component of all the rest of Nature. This does not mean it is less of a serious thing: we use the word “evil” to rightly describe extreme and unjustified suffering, such as torture or rape, caused upon one social, sentient being by another. The amorality of scientifically-revealed “Great Nature” is, then, all the more a relief to the human brain which tires in these maturing centuries of distinguishing the phantom agents of evil and good beyond the human sphere, once attributed to gods. A tsunami is devastating, but it can never be called “evil”.

Today is a beautiful, rare sunny day in a Seattle winter. I want to get out and enjoy it, but with humor I am realizing that I won’t enjoy it if I follow my typical pattern of anxious thinking by worry about not enjoying it enough. That’s a non-helpful thought pattern of seeing this bright day as something I need to “measure up” to. Instead, there is no pressure of measuring up to this day by showing it how much I appreciate it by going snowshoeing for fifteen miles and wiping myself out. If I merely go out into it and don’t even think about being “happy” or “sad”, then the calm of a deeper happiness comes.

What this comes back to, in my original point about calming the crazy human brain through sensory awareness, is the value of not extending moral judgments further than they need to be applied. I am prone to feeling unreasonable guilt, even for such ridiculously common reasons as being depressed in itself. You can see how this becomes a depressive cycle. That is an overuse of the human need to name “good” and “evil” actions. It is easy for depressed brains to turn this thinking on themselves, and fall into a cycle of feeling a lack of worth or ability to be “good” again. But when we see that this depression is only the result of a brain being a brain, merely in need of getting outside of itself and into amoral Nature, relief is found. A brain is not committing a wrong just by being depressed, but it is doing a right action by putting matter over mind.

 

 

Above: “Groundwater” © 2017 Gentle J. Pine. Watercolor on paper.

Featured image: “High Desert” © 2017 Gentle J. Pine. Watercolor on paper.