Archive for July, 2006

Meditation on meditation

This morning I sat on my little bench and “meditated” for the first time in many weeks. No big deal, just attended to my breathing and the other thoughts and sensations passing through. Presently, I’m enjoying a cup of coffee and playing on the computer, and a few minutes ago I took a peek at Matthew Dallman’s latest blog entry On Wilber’s advocacy of meditation. Dallman links to an essay by Jim Andrews, who questions the validity of Wilber’s general assertion that meditation is the Royal Road to Enlightenment.

I wasn’t as impressed by the essay as Dallman seems to be, but it still raises a few interesting questions in my mind, questions I have grappled with many times before. The first is: What exactly is meditation anyway? If it is, in fact, the Royal Road, then we can expect to benefit greatly from a thorough understanding of the process by which such an “activity” facilitates personal transformation. And if I’m to be quite honest here, I’d have to say that understanding the basic principles of transformation–in experiential terms–is the only part of the “integral” agenda that I find truly compelling these days. In this regard, I am not satisfied with Wilber’s theory, and so I will have to get off my duff and inquire for myself.

Now, this is an important issue, not just because it’s my thing, but because it speaks to the heart of Wilber’s core message which, in the early days at least, was essentially: “MEDITATE!” Quite recently, in fact, Wilber concluded: “the single greatest thing that the world can do to stop starvation is to meditate…Nothing else has been demonstrated to move people stages.” How has this been demonstrated? By Alexander’s TM study? Is that it? There’s obviously more to Wilber’s claim, and I think it’s the fact that he attributes HIS OWN transformation to his years of meditation. I’m fine with that logic, as long as one is honest about it.

In order to be considered properly scientific, I would assume researchers have to define meditation in terms of a particular form that all research subjects must follow. In the Alexander study, it was TM. But who’s to say what’s really going on within an individual’s consciousness while they practice a particular form of meditation? For one person, the first five years of zazen practice might be a striving to achieve some sort of special, spiritual experience, preparing one for some big moment of realization down the line that there’s no “I” to achieve anything. For another, sitting in meditation is simply an expression of an already-apprehended realization of peace and contentment. I know from my own experience that there is a particular attitude or mode of awareness that accompanies and is strengthened by a number of practices I consider “spiritual” and “transformative.” For me, there something going on during the creative process (while playing and writing music) which feels the same as what’s going on while I do sensory awareness stuff on my floor, which feels the same as what’s going on while I make love, which feels the same as what’s going on when I sit zazen… In other words, there are principles of transformation that go way beyond any particular form of practice, so that propping up one’s own favorite forms (like sitting meditation and weight-lifting) with references to “studies” feels too biased, like it’s partially an unconscious attempt to justify one’s own choices. I’m not saying we should ignore research, I’m just suggesting that what we consider significant or insignificant can often be more a matter of personal bias than anything else. We all do this to a certain extent, I think. We unconsciously employ selective attention to highlight those “studies” and arguments and ideas that justify and maintain our current “status quo.”

Okay, out of intellectual laziness I just cut and pasted the above paragraph from a blog I wrote a few months ago, but my issues are still the same I guess. Even if you give people the same instructions, there’s no way to tell what a person is really doing or experiencing while they sit on a cushion and breathe. Some people are able to turn everyday activities into spiritual practice. Others go through the motions with a technique or practice for years without ever really “getting” it. So, I believe it’s mindfulness in the broad sense that inspires or fuels the transformative process, and that this mindfulness has to do with a quality of attention one can bring to any activity. So, the current research, which does not account for this, has demonstrated DIDDLY SQUAT! And yet, I believe my hypothesis to be true anyway, simply because it fits with my experience and my intuition of other’s descriptions. Upper Right quadrant research is great, but it doesn’t tell us much if we don’t even understand what it is we’re looking at. I think we have to get a much clearer phenomenological account of the meditative process, and distinguish it (if it can be) from other “transformative” processes (mindfulness, creative expression, flow) before we can set up a UR research study that can even begin to support Wilber’s bold claims.

The Many Faces of Narcissism

Maybe it’s because my wife has been in Mexico for the past several weeks, and there’s nobody else around but me. Or it could be I’m having a little too much fun with the camera and recording software on my new computer. Whatever the reason, I seem to be getting way too into myself these days. I’ve listened to my new song (The City) at least a hundred times since posting it on this blog last week. Come to think of it, my family always jokes about how I spent half of my childhood in front of the mirror. By my recollection, the first half was spent making silly faces, the second picking at zits.

In any event, I got to thinking about all this today after reading a couple of blog entries. The first was the latest entry on Ken Wilber’s website, passing along the news that Jennifer Aniston loves Ken’s book Grace and Grit, that she and Brad Pitt used to read it to each other when they were together, and that Jen wants to play the role of Ken’s deceased wife Treya if the book gets made into a movie.

The other was a piece written by integral blogger “Colmar,” who ripped Wilber a new one over Ken’s recounting of his big night hobnobbing around with Hollywood elites at the premier of “V for Vendetta” a few weeks ago.

Now, this wasn’t Colmar’s point, but I couldn’t help wonder why there’s so much name-dropping going on these days at Integral Institute. On the one hand, it could all be a marketing ploy to sell more subscriptions to their websites. But I smell a little too much self-love, and an ego inflating ever nearer to the breaking point.

But what do I know. If everyone constantly told me that I was the bomb, I’d probably blow up too. Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about that right now. It’s just me and me for another three weeks.

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The City

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The City.mp3

All the colors fading into grey
Pull a string and push it all away
Right beside the Bible on the bed
A blister where you kissed her on the forehead

Tell me, how am I supposed to find The City
I remember I could see the marquee
But all the other streets were foggy
Now, how am I supposed to find The City

Sinking like the tide into the sand
Under what I think I understand
Echoes empty shell under the sun
I wonder was it thunder or a shot-gun

The Clock

It never ceases to amaze me how much energy can be channeled through an acoustic guitar and a strong set of pipes. Watching this performance by Thom Yorke makes me want to lock myself in my room for a day with my guitar.

Reflections on Longing

Last night I dreamed of my Grandmother dying. I stayed with her through all the dreamy plot twists and the phantasmagoria, all the way to the end when I sent her off with “Goodbye my beautiful, wonderful Grandmother.” This is when I got up to pee. I went back to bed and woke up a few hours later from a made-for-TV version of the same dream. This time it was Gene Hackman saying goodbye to his dying grandfather, played by Tony Danza. Grandpa Tony passed away at a baseball game, just as grandson Gene set him down in his seat, somewhere back behind third-base. Tony died with a smile on his face, and the moment of expiration just happened to be caught on the giant jumbo-tron screen. The fans and players burst into applause, paying tribute to the old man with the frozen smile, as his proud grandson held his Granddad’s corpse in place, glancing up at the screen from time to time to make sure everything was centered properly.

I was away at college when my grandmother actually passed away. My mom called to break the news. I remember telling my girlfriend and then trying to force some kind of catharsis. It was awkward, as was the sex that followed.

This morning I’ve been missing my wife intensely. Normally, about this time, she’s getting stuck on the last few words of the newspaper crossword puzzle. I go in, put my hand on her shoulder, lean in to see what’s what, and then bail her out. I can’t complete a puzzle on my own, but I do rather well in the clean-up role.

Anyway, back to the longing, the swell in my heart. It reminds me of the first year after moving from New York to San Francisco, when I didn’t know a soul and I was desperately trying to figure out who the hell I was. Everything I did was colored by this longing. I wanted everyone to fall in love with me, to rescue me from the ache. Once, I walked through Golden Gate Park and thought about falling to the ground right in the middle of a crowd, faking unconsciousness in the hopes that someone, anyone, would rush to my aide, put their hands on me even, at long last acknowledging my existence.

I feel like maybe I’m doing the same thing right now with all this blogging and posting on forums. I long for attention, acknowledgement, love. When I was posting on the Integral Naked forum a while back, I would often be struck by the sense that most posts, even the high-minded philosophical arguments, were in essence little more than thinly veiled come-ons. All this rigmarole about psychology, politics and spirituality, when what we truly wanted was a warm hug, or even better, a roll in the hay.

Right now I’d give anything to smell my wife’s skin, to hear the lilt in her voice.

But, today, all I have is you. A blinking cursor and the ebb and flow of longing.