The Authentic Life (2 page)

Finding our authentic way doesn't mean we have to have a deep realization of the connectedness of all and everything. We can find it in increments, starting with the understanding that every event in our life can be seen as part of the path to awakening. When spiritual practice begins to become the central orientation of our life, when we increasingly remember to ask ourselves, “Can I see this situation as my path?”—then we are in the process of living most authentically.

The point is that it's sometimes good to look at what drives our practice, to see where we're motivated primarily by wanting to alleviate our distress, to make our life more comfortable and safe; and conversely, where we're driven by our aspiration to live genuinely, to reconnect with our most authentic self. A good question to occasionally ask ourselves is, “How can I feed my aspiration without turning it into just one more form of grasping?”

For example, we can read books that feed the part of us that wants to live more genuinely. I mentioned that I've been reading a number of very moving novels—accounts of people's struggles during the time of World War II. And interestingly, although there was no mention of spiritual practice as I would normally
understand it, the books nonetheless touched me in a way that feeds the desire to awaken. More specifically, because the events are so evocatively described, one feels as if one is actually living and suffering through them. As a consequence, they've deepened my compassion for the very real suffering that so many people have gone through.

Each of our experiences is like “food” for our spiritual growth. Just as the food we eat can either nourish or deplete the physical body, so can our everyday experiences nourish or deplete our spiritual growth. Do we want to feed the small mind and continue living like a skeleton at the feast, or do we want to feed our aspiration, our Big Self? I believe the kind of food we get from reading certain books and perhaps seeing certain films, although certainly not enough by itself, is nonetheless invaluable on our path. It can remind us and deepen our aspiration to awaken.

We have to continually reflect on what we're doing, to recall what we truly aspire to. At bottom, the heart that seeks to awaken, to live genuinely, is more real than anything. It is the nameless drive that calls us to be who we most truly are. When we are not in touch with this, we feel the existential anxiety of disconnection. In order to reconnect, perhaps more than anything we must cultivate honesty in seeing how we skate on the thin ice of life, ignoring the fears we don't want to deal with while pretending that we have endless time.

As we feed and cultivate our aspiration, we gradually develop a sense of purpose—that is, a bigger view of what our life is about. Without this sense of purpose it's very difficult to actually commit to truly living genuinely rather than just gliding along on autopilot from one thing to another, driven primarily by the desires for comfort, security, control, and approval. One way to help develop a sense of purpose is to reflect on who we
most admire and ask ourselves what qualities we see in them that are most inspiring to us. These are the very qualities within us that are calling out to reach fruition. These are the qualities that inspire us to become who we most truly are. We may be moved by another's kindness, or their ability to be appreciative, or by their seriousness of purpose, or sense of presence and inner quiet. As we reflect on these qualities, they feed our aspiration. Just as our difficulties can push us in our spiritual quest, our aspiration can elevate us and pull us. This dual motivation is what is required to help us find our authentic way.

It may also be helpful to experience what author and longtime spiritual practitioner Lewis Richmond calls “Lightning Strikes.” This is the moment when we realize deeply that we won't be here forever. Of course, when experiencing a moment like this we can easily sink into despair and regret. But it's also possible to use these moments as a wake-up and to see them as a doorway into living in a more open and genuine way. We don't have to continue living like skeletons at the feast. When we find our own way, we can understand Wu-men's famous line: “When the mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things, this is the best moment of your life.”

2

The Rocky Road

F
ollowing the path of spiritual practice is bound at times to be a rocky road, filled with obstacles and detours. Some are of our own making, based in our individual psychology and conditioning. For example, if we're prone to procrastination or to seeking diversions, this will surely impact our practice. So will the tendency to be a perfectionist. However, there are other obstacles that seem to be universal, and it is almost inevitable that these will be encountered along the practice path. Interestingly, if we don't recognize how these obstacles and detours manifest in our lives, the practice path becomes much rockier and more difficult to traverse. There are three obstacles in particular that we need to address.

1. N
OT
U
NDERSTANDING
THE
P
OWER
OF
W
AKING
S
LEEP

The first obstacle on the practice path is misunderstanding the magnitude of what is called “waking sleep,” and not recognizing the power of its impact on practice. The term “waking sleep”
describes the state in which we spend most of our waking hours—where we are identified, or lost in, whatever is happening. For example, we may be so identified with our thoughts that we rarely question whether they are true. In fact, quite often we're not even aware that we're thinking; yet our thoughts are the veil though which we perceive reality, and they certainly dictate how we feel and act. Our thoughts are not the only integral part of waking sleep—we seem to be equally addicted to our emotions. Even when our emotions are unpleasant, as when we're irritated, we nonetheless often prefer to indulge them.

Waking sleep is also characterized by being completely identified with our activities. We can be so lost in what we're doing that hours can go by without much actual awareness. In fact, it is this lack of awareness that is the most significant aspect of waking sleep. We're rarely present for more than a few moments at a time—most of our waking moments are spent lost in or identified with our thoughts, emotions, and behaviors. In a way we exist primarily as sleepwalkers, rarely having the sustained state of presence that is part of being more awake.

This description may sound quite pessimistic, and at odds with how some traditions emphasize our basic goodness. Buddhism, for example, teaches that we're born with our true nature fully intact and that our spiritual aspiration is to allow our true nature to reveal itself, just as an acorn aspires to become an oak tree. Yet emphasizing our basic goodness, as important as it is, is only part of the picture. No matter how strong our aspiration may be, if we don't develop deep insight into the power and magnitude of waking sleep, we will be blindsided by it again and again.

It's imperative for us to understand that spiritual practice is not just something we do when we're sitting in meditation or when we're attending a spiritual retreat. Because of the pervasive
and unrelenting nature of waking sleep, living a life of spiritual practice means practicing with
everything
we encounter, not just with meditation techniques or when something upsets us. The more we include in our practice life, the more satisfying our life can be; if we neglect seeing
whatever arises
as an opportunity for practice, it greatly limits our possibilities for inner growth. Whatever we exclude from practice guarantees that we'll stay stuck where we are, which eventually leads to frustration and disappointment—perhaps even to giving up on practice, or on ourselves.

2. U
NDERESTIMATING
R
ESISTANCE

The second obstacle we encounter in practice, closely related to the first, is underestimating the degree to which resistance is a predictable and inevitable part of a practice life. Resistance is not the same thing as being passive or lazy. We can be busy and productive and still be quite resistant—resistant in the sense that we don't want to honestly look at ourselves and what we're doing. Resistance comes in many forms: not wanting to sit in meditation, choosing to spin off into our mental world, suppressing or avoiding emotional pain, finding fault with ourselves, finding fault with others. Another, more subtle form of resistance is thinking and talking about practice rather than actually experiencing our life. Thinking and talking about practice is an easy substitute for the real efforts that a practice life requires. They allow us to avoid the anxious quiver inside.

Wanting life to be other than it is seems to be the most basic form of resistance. We don't like the fact that life is not subject to our control and that it is always changing. We resist facing our life as it is because that would mean abandoning our sense of entitlement to safety, control, and comfort. This is not a small
thing. As we observe ourselves, we'll see that there's a big part of us that really doesn't want to wake up to life as it is. We have to be honest about this. We want to hold on to our beliefs and, in a way, even to our suffering. It's a sad fact that we don't want to give up our habits and illusions even when they make us miserable, in part because we cling to the familiar. We spend much of our lives trying to just get along, hoping for our little share of happiness. Unfortunately, this guarantees that we'll end up living primarily from the smallness of our attachments and from the slavery to our fears.

Resistance can be seen as the ego's effort to maintain control. We can see our resistance in virtually everything we do: in resisting effort and change, in not wanting to stay with our experience for more than a few seconds, in spinning off into thinking about the past or the future. We can see this resistance in our commitment to believing such thoughts as “This is too hard,” “I can't do it,” “I'm unworthy.” Yet no matter what form it takes, resistance brings us no peace.

We will particularly resist certain feelings and experiences—the ones that make us feel the most uncomfortable. This is our “edge,” the place beyond which we're presently unwilling to go. The point is that it is in turning away from our own edge that we make it seem so solid. Whatever we resist will continue to exert a strong hold on us. But when we cultivate the willingness to be with life just as it is, our relationship to what we've avoided starts to change. As we begin to see through the solidity of our resistance, our lives become more fluid and workable, enabling us to move beyond where we were once stuck. Even if we don't like our life as it is, we don't have to wage war against it. We can start meeting our resistance squarely by first noticing all of the ways that we avoid the present moment, all of the ways we avoid practice, all of the ways we resist life as it is. And then, to
practice with resistance, we need to simply
feel what it is.
If resistance is our experience in the present moment, we can explore it with the mind of curiosity. What does it actually feel like to resist? What is the actual physical experience in the body? The practice is to feel it—feel it fully. Clearly, understanding the depth of our resistance is of major importance in practice.

Another important aspect of resistance shows up when we hit “the dry spot,” the place where we lose our connection with the aspiration that originally brought us to practice. Often we hit the dry spot when our expectations of practice are unfulfilled—when practice isn't bringing us the immediate peace, calm, or freedom from fear that we had hoped for. Disappointment can lead to anger, and anger to resistance.

The dry spot can come in different ways. For some it comes early on, as when students aren't motivated to set up a regular meditation routine. Others may suddenly hit a very solid wall, even though they've been meditating daily for many months or years. It's important to understand that vacillating between aspiration and resistance is the natural rhythm of practice, and the dry spot is a predictable manifestation of this natural cycle. But the first few times we hit it, the dry spot doesn't seem natural at all. In fact, we may believe that we're failing at practice, since the thoughts that arise in these moments seem like fixed truths: “I'm just wasting my time,” “We're all just fooling ourselves,” “I'll never be good at this.” It's hard to see these thoughts for what they are: automatic reactions based on the natural ups and downs of the practice life.

Often when students hit a dry spot, they even leave practice. But if we can wait it out, we begin to understand these natural cycles of resistance. We even come to
expect
that the doubting mind will arise. We can learn that doubt in itself is not the problem;
the problem comes from identifying with this small doubting self as who we really are. Doubt can even lead to a deepening of our quest—as long as we don't get lost in the negative beliefs that fuel it. For example, we can learn to use doubt as an opportunity to experience the grief of our unfulfilled dreams. We can learn to surrender to, and reside in, the physical experience of what doubt feels like in the body, instead of following the story line of negative thoughts. Not following the story line can be difficult, because the thoughts seem so real, so solid, so compelling. But as we stay with the visceral experience of doubt itself, even as the confusion of not knowing remains, the dryness is transfused with a deeper sense of aspiration. Thomas Merton expressed this clearly: “True love and prayer are learned in the moment when prayer has become impossible and the heart has turned to stone.” When we understand the cycles of resistance, and when we can wait out a dry period by resting in the direct physical experience of doubt, we will gradually come to feel a sense of renewed direction.

3. W
ANTING
TO
F
EEL
A
P
ARTICULAR
W
AY