Awake and Aware
As we approach the topic of living as awake and aware people in this world, I invite you to begin our sermon together this morning with a few moments of meditation. What we will be doing together is an exercise in mindfulness. Mindfulness is the art of being in the present moment; fully attending, fully being aware of one's present experience without judging that experience.
Settle back into your chair if that is comfortable for you, place your feet solidly on the floor if you are able. Allow your back to be aligned with your neck and head in a dignified posture that is not too rigid. And if you are comfortable doing so, close your eyes or let the focus of your vision become soft - and while breathing in a relaxed manner - with your abdomen rising on the in-breath and falling gently on the out-breath - simply notice your environment.
The sounds you hear. Any stillness. Any smells. The air temperature. Any movements around you.
Simply turn your attention to your experience in the room right now - notice the sounds and any other sense perceptions in the room.
If you find yourself wanting to evaluate your experience now, saying for instance if it is good or bad, desirable or undesirable, comfortable or uncomfortable. Simply notice that you have begun to judge your experience and then gently return your attention to the room letting go of any judgments you might make about your experience.
Now let your attention turn to your breath in a relaxed gentle manner. This requires no particular effort except to notice the inhale of breath coming from the rise of your abdomen or belly and the exhale of your breath as your abdomen and chest gently fall.
Notice your breathing and any associations with the in-breath and out-breath. There is no need to control your breathing in any particular way. No particular effort is required. Just notice.
If you find your attention wandering away from your breath to any thoughts simply notice this has happened and gently return your attention to your breathing - letting your breath guide you to a relaxed and comfortable - yet keenly aware state of mind.
And then, as you are ready, I invite you to open your eyes and slowly bring your vision back into focus - returning your attention again to this room and to this time and place.
Thank you, for that time of meditation with me. I hope that it felt good.
Now I don't know exactly how that experience was for you - but I know that for me - while I am often able to follow a person's voice and notice all of the noises in the room, the sensations in my body, and hopefully even my breath as I meditate - I also notice so much more.
It doesn't take long for me, and the errant thoughts start come in - I wonder what I'll have for lunch today - how long will this go on - is anyone looking at me - They just keep going on and on and each time when I catch myself following them I gently bring myself back to the present time and place - to this breath and this intention of simply sitting quietly and gently with myself - over and over again.
And I wonder if you had a similar experience - did any of you find your thoughts wandering from my voice - from the instructions of the meditation during our five minutes of quiet together?
(many hands raise)
Good! It's a relief to know that I am not alone - that in truth none of us are alone when we struggle to be right here in the moment - when we find ourselves distracted by our habitual thoughts or feelings - by the situations right in front of us - or by the sensations in our body like hunger or discomfort. Most of us can only achieve that elusive goal of being right here, right now, in this moment - for just fleeting seconds at a time.
The Buddhist scholar, Sharon Salzberg, believes that meditation can help to teach us about one of life's most important lessons, starting over. In meditation, she says, we are presented over and over again with the opportunity to notice when we are distracted, to refocus our energy and attention, and ultimately, to begin again. Perhaps hundreds of times in a half hour span, she says, we get to practice the invaluable life skill - the invaluable spiritual skill - of noticing where we are and what we are doing, and starting over.
Noticing where we are and what we are doing, and then starting over - with intention. This, I believe, is the work of a spiritual life. Cultivating the ability to take a good clear look at ourselves - at where we are and what we are doing - and starting over each and every time we find ourselves distracted - bringing ourselves back over and over without judgment, simply trying again and again to align our actions and our thoughts with our highest values - this is the work of a spiritual life.
It is no easy task - this constant starting over - but unless we have reached enlightenment - and enlightenment of the type that never leaves us - then we are regular people - people who get distracted from time to time - people who think about their next meal and their relationship with their mother or their son or their sister or brother - people who live in fear for their safety and their children's safety - people who take on and take in the messages of our culture and our families - people who could use a bit of coaching and practice if we are to loosen the grip on our historical fears and beliefs and make choices in line with our deepest values.
Whether we choose to engage in a regular practice of meditation or not - this practice of starting over can serve us all. Starting over requires that we take a clear and honest look at ourselves - not a look tinged by shame or disappointment - but a clear and unbiased look - as if we were the student the poet spoke of earlier - here in the only day in existence - eagerly leaning forward in the wooden chair of our lives, ready with notebook and chewed-up pencil, eager to absorb whatever lesson this particular day has to teach us here in this spacious classroom of the world. And if we take this eager and curious look at ourselves - there is always something to learn - something to practice - as we constantly regather our attention and begin again - striving always to align our actions and our thoughts with our deepest values.
Recently, I read a short story by Beth Mayer, titled "Good Enough" in the latest issue of The Sun magazine. In the story, Beth writes, a little while ago "I was in Florida for a wedding. I went for a walk on the beach, looking at the white sand and the clear sky. There wasn't much room in my life for quiet, and an hour alone near the ocean was a gift. I was trying hard to be thankful. Then I saw my mother coming my way. My father was with her, and I gave them a brief wave. My mother raised her entire arm in response, and I immediately grew annoyed with her: How loud and obnoxious she is. Why must she wave with her whole arm that way? She is so needy. I've acknowledged her already. As we continued to walk toward each other, I saw that I'd been wrong: She was not waving her arm at all. Her right arm was raised, yes, but it was pointing toward the water. She wanted me to look at something.
"It was a moment before I saw them: dolphins. They were leaping from the water in pairs, closer to the shore than I would ever have guessed they might come...I met my mother and father at the edge of the water. They were thrilled to have brought me the dolphins. We talked for a minute, then turned to follow the dolphins down the shoreline. My parents seemed happy that I was walking with them. When was the last time we had done something like this? Had we ever done something like this?
"I have spent so many years being furious and right. I have not always chosen to be with my family, and sometimes my parents have chosen something else besides me. But slowly the truth has come to me, and it is beginning to break my heart: my parents have been seeking me, have been trying to love me the best they can for a long time - and for me it has never been good enough."[1]
Slowly the truth has come to her, she writes, and in those moments the author has seen herself and her parents clearly - and she is choosing to begin again. As the author goes on, she writes about forgiveness - about her desire to let of the anger and judgment she has carried toward her mother for so long - about the way that she has moved through the world so fast that she has not even see the signs in her life that point her toward the beautiful and the true - and as she writes about these larger truths, I am reminded through her story of how transformation really happens.
It takes laying the groundwork, yes, and it takes awareness, certainly, cultivating the ability to see what is happening inside ourselves and all around us - but then it comes - transformation does - sometimes like a safe dropping out of the sky or a bolt of lightning - it comes - as we walk on the white sand beach, trying hard to be grateful - it comes if only we, too, are brave enough to set our hearts up on a tripod in the field, over and over again, ready for the next arrow. Transformation comes just like that - suddenly announcing itself in our lives - as we see something in ourselves or in the world differently for the first time and respond with hearts willing to open, willing to try, willing to start over again despite past failures and old beliefs. Transformation happens just like that - in an instant - and it can happen over and over again as we move in our lives as awake and aware people.
There are the big transformations, of course - the alcoholic who stops drinking, the person who chooses to live with less and give away more, the move across the country to follow a love or a dream - there are these larger transformations, of course, but each of these larger transformations and so many more are made up of the small moments when we feel and see ourselves moving in an old pattern we do not like and we make a new choice - the choice to walk with our parents on the beach, to pick up a ginger ale rather than a beer, to volunteer at the local elementary school rather than putting in a few more hours at the office, to settle ourselves into the wooden chair of our lives - to allow ourselves to fall in love over and over again with the wren, the little brown mouse, or the bowl of broth - whatever shape these small moments of awareness may take for us - the new habits we embrace undoubtedly build the foundation of the larger transformations of our lives.
"In the shapeliness of a life," the poet Mary Oliver writes, "habit plays its sovereign role...Divine attentiveness cannot be kept casually, or visited only in season, like Venice or Switzerland. Or, perhaps it can, but then how attentive is it? And if you have no ceremony, no habits, which may be opulent or may be simple but are exact and rigorous and familiar, how can you reach toward the actuality of faith, or even a moral life, except vaguely? The patterns of our lives reveal us. Our habits measure us. Our battles with our habits speak of dreams yet to become real. I would like to be like the fox, earnest in devotion and humor both, or the brave, compliant pond shutting its heavy door for the long winter. But, not yet have I reached that bright life or that white happiness - not yet."[2]
Not yet, not yet. It is true for most of us - we have not reached that bright life or that white happiness yet - the place where our meditation brings a silent and clear mind or where our efforts toward change in the world are met with boundless energy and unflappable enthusiasm - we have not reached that bright life or that white happiness yet - and if my meditation teacher has anything to say about it I'm sure he would tell us that it is in the practice, and not the accomplishment - that true peace, that true change in ourselves and in this world - is ultimately found.
So whatever it is that we are facing in our lives, friends, may we approach this day before us like the eager student - hearts open to the small and large loves that have the power to sustain us - as we practice the art of concentration - of living awake and aware in this world - hearts propped up on a tripod in the middle of a field waiting for the next arrow - that we, too, might engage in the work of our spiritual lives - of seeing ourselves and this world clearly - of holding our highest aspirations up in front of us like guideposts - noticing when we are distracted or off track that we might start over again and again and in this be transformed - that we might live out our deepest values in this lifetime, in this world, creating the community of peace and justice, the wellspring of love and compassion we so long for.
May it be so, and Amen.
July 30, 2006
- "Good Enough" by Beth Mayer from The Sun Magazine, July 2006. 44-46.
- Mary Oliver, Long Life. Da Capo Press, 2004, 10-11.