Friday, 9/28

Yesterday morning, my frustration at my inability to stop thinking and “stay present” came to a head, and I began hitting myself with the chukpi on the thigh every time I caught myself drifting off. This went on for nearly two days as my anger mounted to a fever pitch, and the self discipline intensified until I had welts on both thighs. And then it happened! My cherished state of one-pointed concentration appeared. I was totally alert and present—when thoughts appeared I was not pulled off center and they dissipated almost immediately. This continued for several sitting periods, until I noticed that there was an emotionless quality to this alertness, and it dawned on me that my inner disciplinarian had simply beaten all the other components of my personality into submission. I had conducted a kind of Pavlovian Zen experiment on myself, and the resulting state was clear and alert, but also cold and lifeless. It was not anyplace worth staying. Seeing this was like having a great weight lifted from my shoulders, and in the relaxed state that spontaneously ensued, I picked up and bored into the question of selfnature. “What am I?” “Who was so angry just before?” “How is it just now?” “At this very moment, what is it that sees and hears?” And within a short time I was immersed in a new and very different state of consciousness that lasted for most of the evening sitting session. There were several distinguishing aspects about this experience. One was that all boundaries had dissolved between me and the world, between inside and outside, between “this” and “that.” Things looked and sounded as they always do, but everything—form, light, color, sound, thought—was made of the same energy, which I saw visually as very thin glowing lines or grains of light flowing between things. Another aspect of this experience was a subtle sense of warmth, calmness, well-being, and of belonging. I felt comfortable and at home. And finally, there was an awareness that my small self and its needs had fallen away, so it seemed natural to devote more time to others (not so much a feeling of proactive altruism, but more like “what else is there to do?”) Now that the world looks “normal” again, and the feeling of euphoria is receding, I think there may have been a mild hallucinogenic component to this experience, perhaps induced by all the endorphins released into my bloodstream after two days of self-mortification. However, I was here in the hut the whole time, following the schedule, sitting, walking, and so forth—so I wasn’t out of control either. I know I shouldn’t ascribe undue importance to this experience because of its “specialness.” But I don’t want to completely discount its meaning either. Perhaps this was a window on an equally valid way of experiencing the world when the conceptual mind is cut off. At minimum, it reminds me that the world is not quite the way it seems, and this somehow energizes my practice, and reinforces my belief in the Zen view of the underlying unity of all things.

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