Monday, August 09, 2004
Discipline vs. Pleasure
I recently spoke with a friend who does two hours of spiritual practice each morning, mostly mantra repetition. When I asked her if she felt the energies move, she said only on a very subtle level. This gentle approach spares the body any discomfort (she explained.)
Then this morning I went to Golden Gate Park (in San Francisco) and for the first time saw the large group of tai chi practitioners who gather there each Sunday morning for two hours. For years I have wanted to visit this class, perhaps to join in, certainly to feel the exquisite energies I was certain must flow there.
What I observed was, to me, more like a military discipline. The instructor spoke through a loudspeaker, leading the large crowd through a complex series of intricate postures, one coming on the heels of another, the entire process taking a very long time. The emphasis seemed to be on "getting it right," rather than on "getting in touch with the within."
I was reminded of the time I visited a Zen Center to receive preliminary instruction. When I discovered that the meditation was a carefully controlled ritual, where every movement was prescribed, I realized that this was not for me. I was certain that I would forget and step into the zendo on the wrong foot, or turn to face the wall from the wrong direction. Later we observed the tea ceremony, again a rite conducted under strict protocol.
I myself am not clear as to why people follow such carefully orchestrated protocols to such a degree. Of course, tai chi practice is good for the body, keeping it limber and supple. Quiet meditation does calm and balance the mind. And certain asanas, certain moves of chi gong, certain sounds do indeed awaken the energetic centers and allow for a truly invigorating and often enrapturing experience. But must the approach be so rigid? Must the instructions be followed with such total mechaical precision? Anxiety over "whether I am doing it right" can prevent awareness of inner feelings. Someone even suggested that students obtain satisfaction simply from the act of "mastering" the practice. Following the protocol is, for them, itself the reward. Always, I am wondering, what do they feel, if anything other than the gratification of being able to follow difficult instructions? Many people follow such regimented modes, so they must gain some benefit. But always I am unclear as to what this might be.
For the person whose kundalini energies are fully awakened, almost any movement or mantra can produce an exquisite flow of shakti, affirmation of divine connection. Thus some "invent" their own tai chi forms, improvise their own mudras and mantras. These achieve easily and spontaneously what the various energy and sound practices are meant to accomplish. The channels are wide open. The range of energetic response is vast. These responses, whether subtle or intense, are a "self-validating experience," one the practitioner yearns to repeat again and again, not as an imposed discipline but as pure joy in existence itself, confirmation of the divine source of all being.
And, of course, there are also problems with such a seemingly haphazard, inner directed mode. Both the physical and subtle energy bodies can become unbalanced, and produce unwelcome symptoms, such as illness or emotional disturbance. The swings from pleasure to pain can be dramatic, with no apparent cause for either extreme. If the student is not sufficiently grounded, from prior life experience or mental maturity, the experience can lead to a state of disconnection with the "real" world of practical affairs.
But some of us are the "rugged individualists" of the spiritual realm We test all authority, follow our gut instincts, make our own discoveries as we go. Whether we rush headlong into disaster, or soar into the empyrean, we are our own guides and teachers. We seek the connection to the original source, not the (sometimes) diluted or distorted philosophies and practices of the contemporary scene. After all, someone had to invent these movements, discover the power of these syllables. My own guess is that the originators felt the effect of the moves quite clearly as bliss within, repeated the mantras because these sacred syllables resonated wondrously within their own bodies. And, for us today, there is still a "teacher within" waiting to reveal the sacred paths if we but pause to attend. We do not avoid all teachings, nor shun all preset directions. But we pick and choose carefully, adopting only those ideas and approaches which feel "right" to us and which can be effectively integrated into our own self sustaining modes.
Then this morning I went to Golden Gate Park (in San Francisco) and for the first time saw the large group of tai chi practitioners who gather there each Sunday morning for two hours. For years I have wanted to visit this class, perhaps to join in, certainly to feel the exquisite energies I was certain must flow there.
What I observed was, to me, more like a military discipline. The instructor spoke through a loudspeaker, leading the large crowd through a complex series of intricate postures, one coming on the heels of another, the entire process taking a very long time. The emphasis seemed to be on "getting it right," rather than on "getting in touch with the within."
I was reminded of the time I visited a Zen Center to receive preliminary instruction. When I discovered that the meditation was a carefully controlled ritual, where every movement was prescribed, I realized that this was not for me. I was certain that I would forget and step into the zendo on the wrong foot, or turn to face the wall from the wrong direction. Later we observed the tea ceremony, again a rite conducted under strict protocol.
I myself am not clear as to why people follow such carefully orchestrated protocols to such a degree. Of course, tai chi practice is good for the body, keeping it limber and supple. Quiet meditation does calm and balance the mind. And certain asanas, certain moves of chi gong, certain sounds do indeed awaken the energetic centers and allow for a truly invigorating and often enrapturing experience. But must the approach be so rigid? Must the instructions be followed with such total mechaical precision? Anxiety over "whether I am doing it right" can prevent awareness of inner feelings. Someone even suggested that students obtain satisfaction simply from the act of "mastering" the practice. Following the protocol is, for them, itself the reward. Always, I am wondering, what do they feel, if anything other than the gratification of being able to follow difficult instructions? Many people follow such regimented modes, so they must gain some benefit. But always I am unclear as to what this might be.
For the person whose kundalini energies are fully awakened, almost any movement or mantra can produce an exquisite flow of shakti, affirmation of divine connection. Thus some "invent" their own tai chi forms, improvise their own mudras and mantras. These achieve easily and spontaneously what the various energy and sound practices are meant to accomplish. The channels are wide open. The range of energetic response is vast. These responses, whether subtle or intense, are a "self-validating experience," one the practitioner yearns to repeat again and again, not as an imposed discipline but as pure joy in existence itself, confirmation of the divine source of all being.
And, of course, there are also problems with such a seemingly haphazard, inner directed mode. Both the physical and subtle energy bodies can become unbalanced, and produce unwelcome symptoms, such as illness or emotional disturbance. The swings from pleasure to pain can be dramatic, with no apparent cause for either extreme. If the student is not sufficiently grounded, from prior life experience or mental maturity, the experience can lead to a state of disconnection with the "real" world of practical affairs.
But some of us are the "rugged individualists" of the spiritual realm We test all authority, follow our gut instincts, make our own discoveries as we go. Whether we rush headlong into disaster, or soar into the empyrean, we are our own guides and teachers. We seek the connection to the original source, not the (sometimes) diluted or distorted philosophies and practices of the contemporary scene. After all, someone had to invent these movements, discover the power of these syllables. My own guess is that the originators felt the effect of the moves quite clearly as bliss within, repeated the mantras because these sacred syllables resonated wondrously within their own bodies. And, for us today, there is still a "teacher within" waiting to reveal the sacred paths if we but pause to attend. We do not avoid all teachings, nor shun all preset directions. But we pick and choose carefully, adopting only those ideas and approaches which feel "right" to us and which can be effectively integrated into our own self sustaining modes.
