Life, Right?
About four years ago now, I had an epiphany. Or several, in succession, I guess. Epiphanies. It's strange how it happens. I had heard the words so many times, had filed them away in my brain. I understood what they meant. Of course I did, I speak English fairly well, most days. But I didn't understand what they meant. Because the meaning of things is not in words, it is what the words point to. The moon is not the word "moon", for example, it is a celestial satellite being pulled around by the Earth while tugging back in its own way. And it is much more even than that. I had somehow, though, through the process of growing up and being a person, come to internalize words in such a way that the words were understood, but often the things they represented were not understood, and I left it that. I was basically fine with that.
Anyway, my big epiphany was this: I am not my thoughts.
A phrase I had heard before. But this time, I got very still and I said the words slowly and intentionally, pointing them inward. "I am not my thoughts," I said, and the melee that is my eternally spinning mind paused for a moment. My head went blank. Thought was suspended. It was a glimpse of what lies beyond the voice in my head that I had always assumed was myself, but which, in fact, is not even close.
This idea, and the vastness that lies beneath it, stunned me. For quite some time. I felt so joyful and at peace and connected to the world around me. And I expected that to continue on and on. As if I had flipped a switch and now I would never be turned off again.
But the mind is a powerful thing, and it has programmed us and been programmed for us from the day we were born. And the switch flickered and snapped on and off, until it was more off than on most of the time.
When I tried to determine what to do to flip the switch on again, it helped me to picture it like this:
When I learned to play the piano, I started by picking out melodies with my right hand. That is all I did. One handed songs, plunked out of the keys.
Then, I learned how to play melodies with my left hand. Just the one hand again, until it felt natural. The music was there, but austere, plain, dull.
And then, finally, the day came when I started to play songs with both hands. I still remember that moment. The song was a simplified version of "The Entertainer" by Scott Joplin, and suddenly I could play both the melody and the supporting notes and chords, and the world of music opened up.
If being connected to my mind is my right hand, and being connected with my spirit or soul is my left hand, I think that maybe the world of everything will open up when I learn to use both at the same time. Not just thoughts, and not just pure meditative awareness of the oneness of all things and the spiritual dimension. I suspect the two parts of my existence will be much more beautiful when they are together. I suspect that the piece I am playing will come alive.
So, it's time to practice, I think.
Anyway, my big epiphany was this: I am not my thoughts.
A phrase I had heard before. But this time, I got very still and I said the words slowly and intentionally, pointing them inward. "I am not my thoughts," I said, and the melee that is my eternally spinning mind paused for a moment. My head went blank. Thought was suspended. It was a glimpse of what lies beyond the voice in my head that I had always assumed was myself, but which, in fact, is not even close.
This idea, and the vastness that lies beneath it, stunned me. For quite some time. I felt so joyful and at peace and connected to the world around me. And I expected that to continue on and on. As if I had flipped a switch and now I would never be turned off again.
But the mind is a powerful thing, and it has programmed us and been programmed for us from the day we were born. And the switch flickered and snapped on and off, until it was more off than on most of the time.
When I tried to determine what to do to flip the switch on again, it helped me to picture it like this:
When I learned to play the piano, I started by picking out melodies with my right hand. That is all I did. One handed songs, plunked out of the keys.
Then, I learned how to play melodies with my left hand. Just the one hand again, until it felt natural. The music was there, but austere, plain, dull.
And then, finally, the day came when I started to play songs with both hands. I still remember that moment. The song was a simplified version of "The Entertainer" by Scott Joplin, and suddenly I could play both the melody and the supporting notes and chords, and the world of music opened up.
If being connected to my mind is my right hand, and being connected with my spirit or soul is my left hand, I think that maybe the world of everything will open up when I learn to use both at the same time. Not just thoughts, and not just pure meditative awareness of the oneness of all things and the spiritual dimension. I suspect the two parts of my existence will be much more beautiful when they are together. I suspect that the piece I am playing will come alive.
So, it's time to practice, I think.
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