Tuesday, October 03, 2006
My Morning--Tibetan Chants Once More
"Cloud" continues his dramatic awakening, which seems to be like riding a bucking pony. Meanwhile, I am continuing my own advance, but in a much gentler, softer manner--more like "bringing the ox back home," perhaps. His account brings up some memories of the past for me, though my experiences were not as extreme as his--in particular I recall one morning when the "ecstasy" was so overwhelming that I simply lay down on the floor and said "Here I am, god, take me." Giving up was the only choice.
Is what I experience now "ecstasy"? More like bliss, I should say This morning I felt the energies stir even as I was brushing my teeth. So, sans clothing, before breakfast, I went into the living room and played (again) my favorite Tibetan CD ("Tibetan Buddhism: The Ritual Orchestra and Chants" recorded by David Lewiston and issued in 1976--available from Amazon, but it has to be imported and takes some time to get here). Once more, it is difficult to describe the exquisite sensations these ancient tones evoke--the cymbals, the bells, the throaty chants--all send me into extreme bliss states, but the energies are quite "high" and delicate and amazingly thrilling--much as if gentle and lovely breezes played over the body, sometimes awakening solar plexus or legs, sometimes vibrating in shoulder and hands.
Somehow, I connect deeply with this music (still). And some inner images accompanied the moves--I saw (in my mind's eye) the lamas in their strange yellow hats (for some reason, these hats always remind me of ducks--and I am always envious of those who get to wear them, along with their robes). And, as my imagination continued to open, I "became" one of the dancers, turning in slow grace to the reverberating music. And then I realized I was masked as a dancing "demon" figure, one of those images so prevalent in Tibetan Buddhism iconography. And for the first time, I did not disdain this figure, as it turned to "scare" the audience, especially the children who shrieked in terror. It was simply another "pretend" bogey-man, all those things that threaten or go "bump in the night." The "Tibetan Book of the Dead" explains that such "demon shapes" are in fact products of our own minds, and that when we enter the Bardos after death, we should never fear them for they are our own creations.
And so I turned and "danced" (but with very little movement) for some thirty minutes, at which point I felt that was all I could handle, and quit.
At one point, I felt I wanted percussion instruments to accompany the ritual sound, and broke my session to go look for a drum or a rattle, but this was enough to threaten (but not destroy) the mood of the moment. In the book on Tantric initiation which I have been reading, the tantrika gives the initiate a pot and instructs him to drop a pebble into the pot each time a thought intrudes. In order to do this practice one must feel, not think. The two cancel each other out at this stage. So we must feel our way to "god," for "he" is not to be found in bed with concepts. (Please remember that I use the term "god" in the generic sense, to refer as well to the goddess, or the divine, or "it", or the vast unreal, or the abyss, or the ultimate presence, or the Mystery, or the Beloved, or the Lover Within, or "whoever", as Jeannine says.)
Of course, once back in the "world," we reclaim our mental faculties. As I have often remarked, both thought and feeling are essential for fully realizing our true nature, both necessary if species evolution is to occure. We are no longer the primitive "man." But we do nto want to become too "intellectualized," either, for mind can in fact become a barrier to soul.
Is what I experience now "ecstasy"? More like bliss, I should say This morning I felt the energies stir even as I was brushing my teeth. So, sans clothing, before breakfast, I went into the living room and played (again) my favorite Tibetan CD ("Tibetan Buddhism: The Ritual Orchestra and Chants" recorded by David Lewiston and issued in 1976--available from Amazon, but it has to be imported and takes some time to get here). Once more, it is difficult to describe the exquisite sensations these ancient tones evoke--the cymbals, the bells, the throaty chants--all send me into extreme bliss states, but the energies are quite "high" and delicate and amazingly thrilling--much as if gentle and lovely breezes played over the body, sometimes awakening solar plexus or legs, sometimes vibrating in shoulder and hands.
Somehow, I connect deeply with this music (still). And some inner images accompanied the moves--I saw (in my mind's eye) the lamas in their strange yellow hats (for some reason, these hats always remind me of ducks--and I am always envious of those who get to wear them, along with their robes). And, as my imagination continued to open, I "became" one of the dancers, turning in slow grace to the reverberating music. And then I realized I was masked as a dancing "demon" figure, one of those images so prevalent in Tibetan Buddhism iconography. And for the first time, I did not disdain this figure, as it turned to "scare" the audience, especially the children who shrieked in terror. It was simply another "pretend" bogey-man, all those things that threaten or go "bump in the night." The "Tibetan Book of the Dead" explains that such "demon shapes" are in fact products of our own minds, and that when we enter the Bardos after death, we should never fear them for they are our own creations.
And so I turned and "danced" (but with very little movement) for some thirty minutes, at which point I felt that was all I could handle, and quit.
At one point, I felt I wanted percussion instruments to accompany the ritual sound, and broke my session to go look for a drum or a rattle, but this was enough to threaten (but not destroy) the mood of the moment. In the book on Tantric initiation which I have been reading, the tantrika gives the initiate a pot and instructs him to drop a pebble into the pot each time a thought intrudes. In order to do this practice one must feel, not think. The two cancel each other out at this stage. So we must feel our way to "god," for "he" is not to be found in bed with concepts. (Please remember that I use the term "god" in the generic sense, to refer as well to the goddess, or the divine, or "it", or the vast unreal, or the abyss, or the ultimate presence, or the Mystery, or the Beloved, or the Lover Within, or "whoever", as Jeannine says.)
Of course, once back in the "world," we reclaim our mental faculties. As I have often remarked, both thought and feeling are essential for fully realizing our true nature, both necessary if species evolution is to occure. We are no longer the primitive "man." But we do nto want to become too "intellectualized," either, for mind can in fact become a barrier to soul.