Listening to within

I'm getting back to sitting and now when I sit, I work through a loop of meditation beads to keep my monkey brain busy. I'm learning to simply listen to within, rather than try to achieve emptiness or blankness. Today I relaxed into a feeling of heading into a tube going down. I fell out of it too quickly to find out where it went. Begin again.

The Bardo

Bardo is a Tibetan word meaning "intermediate state" or "in between." The book known as the Tibetan Book of the Dead is also known as Liberation through Hearing in the Between or in the Bardo.

Many in the Buddhist world consider the time after death and before the next incarnation to be a bardo. The book of Liberation through Hearing exhorts the soul in bardo to be aware of its true mind and to not fall prey to false illusions.

Buddhism stresses the centrality and primacy of the mind. As stated in Stephen Hodge's translation of the Tibetan Book of the Dead,

The mind is the source of all things; it contains within it the possibility of enlightenment or else continued repetition of the dreary miserable round of lives in the cycle of existence. Indeed, it is the view of these teachings that the mind in its purest form, shorn of all ignorance and negativity, is inherently enlightened and replete with all the qualities one normally associates with enlightened beings such as the Buddhas. This pure primorial mind that precedes any manifestation of our own egocentric lives is said to be the very substance of reality. (pp. 8–9)

The true mind sees reality as it is, without the distortions of psychological filters or expectations. A crude analogy might be vision versus perception. Look at the following image. What do you see?

You see lines and circles. But you perceive a cat. The mind puts its filters and expectations to work to make meaning out of the lines and circles. The book of Liberation through Hearing in the Bardo keeps telling the soul in bardo to ignore what it's perceiving and just see with a true mind.

Stephen Hodge's translation of the Tibetan Book of the Dead discusses the bardo, the transitional phase, in his introductory material:

The state called here "the transitional phase" (Tibetan: "bardo") is the actual moment of change, occurring at the end of one phase and the beginning of the next. It is the state of flux itself, the only state that can really be called "real." It is a condition of great power and potential within which anything could happen. It is the moment between moments. It may seem to span an entire lifetime, like the moment between being born and dying, or it may be imperceptibly short and fleeting, like the moment between one thought and the next. Whatever its duration, however, it is a moment of great opportunity for those who perceive it. Anyone who can do this is called a yogin. Such a person has the power of destiny in their hands. He or she has no need of a priest to guide him towards the clear light of truth, for he sees already the clear light of truth in the intermediate phases that occur between all other states. Refusing to become trapped in the false belief that all about him is fixed and solid, the yogin moves with calm and graceful ease through life, confident that changes are now under his own direction. He becomes the master of change instead of slave.

To one who understands this and develops some skill in its application, the difficult uncertainties of life become no more troublesome than the bardo of getting dressed in the morning. Between waking up and getting dressed, one must decide what clothes to wear. That is all. It should not be a problem. Similarly, between any encounter and one's reaction to it, there is an intermediate space that offers choice to those who can see it. One is not obliged to react on the basis of habit or prejudice. The opportunity for a fresh approach is always there in the intermediate state for those who have learned to recognize it. Such recognition is the essential message of this ancient and profound book. (pp. 10–11)

As Robert Thurman says in his introductory material to his translation of the Tibetan Book of the Dead, Buddha taught that the psychological habit of assuming a fixed subjectivity, an unchanging identity, was a key obstacle to a good life. He insisted on the changeable, fluid soul's reality, vulnerability, responsibility, and evolutionary potential (p.16).

Being aware of each bardo as I walk through my day provides the opportunities for me to stretch toward my evolutionary potential.

Listening

Real Life is settling in, and I am again able to spend moments practicing.

I rediscovered my bone-conducting headphones. I clamped them onto my skull and it was as though music was somewhere up there in my head.

When I sat today, I made the connection of putting my visualizations somewhere up there in my head.

It's about listening, and responding to what you hear.

I figured it out

When I hear other psychopomps talk about their work, they talk about seeing the being and talking to it, convincing it to pass over or connecting with past issues and working them out. But my work is all . . . feel. I feel the attachment. I say a greeting, and I may see and "hear" a response, but not often. Usually I just connect with the light, feel the unconditional love that awaits on the other side, and feel the being leave me. I am not a wordy person and am especially not good at persuasion.

And that's what I figured out: my "skill" is that connecting with the light. I "channel" the goodness and joy that awaits. It's okay that I don't do words.

The nasty being that hollered at me about dabbling was an "incarnation" of my insecurity. I don't do things the way others do. And that's okay.

A bridge without attachments

My work situation now allows me time to resume my practice. This was made known to me: Recently I didn't feel like myself-- dark, cranky, lacking joy. On the second day, I remembered Rossco's post about attachments. I sat, met my guide, and connected with the light. I did not have any visual or auditory awareness of the attachment; it was more of a bodily/kinesthetic awareness. I showed it the pure love of the light and apparently it agreed to move on. After clearing the first attachment, I felt another "grabbing me around the legs." When I acknowledged it, I felt some nasty being yelling at me. It was angry that I was dabbling. I replied that I was offering all I had at the moment. We had a peaceful parting. I was able to remove the energetic attachments. I felt much better.

I now start each work day by sitting and making myself available.

Slow death

I've been hesitant to write this, based on something along the lines of: if you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail and if you have shamanic practice, everything looks like initiation.

My workhouse closed its doors and I was the only one happy with the announcement; it was my opportunity to begin my freelance career. But then a handful of us were asked to continue on as a new company. If I said no then I was saying no for everyone; everyone was needed to get the new company going. I didn't feel I could say no.

My job evolved into something I couldn't handle. I actually melted down at work-- more than once. It was humiliating to fail so publicly in front of people I'd worked with for more than a decade. One day I walked out, spouting to my boss, "This job and I do not get along. This job and I do not get along."

The next day I gave an open-ended notice. When they could manage without me, I'd leave. It was months before I could leave. The process was like a slow death. I was repeatedly presented with my shortcomings-- so many shortcomings! I watched my boss go through the stages of grief: denial, bargaining, anger.

Finally she called me into her office to arrange a termination date: November 18, the day my father died, the day of my one and only paranormal experience that got me into all this psychopomp stuff.

Bridge

As I sat in our drafty bathroom with the space heater blowing on me, I was warm on one side and cold on the other. It seemed so appropriate.

I had my verbal monkey brain chant Cindy's "I Give Thanks" poem:

I give thanks for this time, for this place, for this life, for this love.

I give thanks for the ground that I walk on.

I give thanks for the sky up above.

I give thanks from sunrise to sundown.

And all through the night

I am nestled in a blanket of gratitude

and love.

I give thanks.

I give thanks.

I give thanks.

It recited that while breathing, working the billows.

And I felt hot on one side and cold on the other and the Mannaz came into my brain.

I felt like a bridge.

I felt the Light open and felt like a bridge.

A week or two ago, I had a dream that I met with the indexer spirits who are helping me. They were asking why I was too busy to meet my indexing course Unit C deadline. And instead of telling them the truth--that I chose to work on Remarkable Journey instead-- I lied to them. I told them I was working on articles for Key Words. I lied! The next morning was a weekend morning and as we sat in the den, this dream came to me and I realized that the song playing kept repeating the words "You lied! You lied!"

I think the lie was that I wasn't keeping my commitment to sit. But this morning's sit was so wonderful that I think I'll be keeping my commitment.

I am a bridge.