Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Continuity

By now I should have been to enough meditation sessions to know the basic etiquette of of zazen, bow before you enter, bow to your cushion, three bell rings to start zazen, two rings to mark the end, a clap starts the kinshin, another clap speeds up the walking, etc. There is deliberation and significance to every gesture, not so much as to worship but to show a pronounced mindfulness in one's actions. And as a beginner cultivating mindfulness I always forget to bow! And even when I do bow, I manage to bow at the exact wrong time! Good lord, how embarrassing!

Somehow I have the hardest time remembering to bow before entering into a space. I simply just wonder into the room, quietly, timidly but never mindfully enough to mark the occasion! Then I sit down and wonder why I always forget! Life is a continuous journey, why must we break it into tiny pieces and bow in between? Yes, I get it. It's the similar to the thing people do at beginning of a good yoga class, they take a moment to seal their intentions. We bow to honor the space and commence our practice. I understand it intellectually but nevertheless, absent emotionally.

Some people live for structure, sequence of events, one after another. Caught up in the starts and stops, it's easy for the mind to become preoccupied by the next event rather than the one at hand. At the same there, there is another dynamic taking place. One that is rich, organic, fluid and constantly evolving. I feel deeply in a visceral way that there is continuity in all things. Whether it's an interaction with another person, an inanimate object or a physical experience, they never quite stop effecting us. Each experience comes to us at different times, overlaps with each other, and fads in and out of our conscious minds at different intervals. The music I listen to may come back to me later in my mind long after the music had stopped playing. The experience never truly stops nor does it stay static. And in this way, the most insignificant interactions can have the most significant effect on us, if not immediately then perhaps some undefined time in the future.

I asked the teacher if this is a healthy sentiment, to which he responded that it's fine as long as we're not blinded by it or find ourselves attached to our thoughts. We, in fact, carry the entire universe with us at all times. This moment we have now carries all the moments before it and envelopes all the moments there are yet to come. There is an element in music called a pregnant pause. When taken out of context, it is just a silent pause in between sounds. But when there is tension and anticipation in the music, a deliberate gap is defined by all the notes that precede it and carries the intention for all the notes that follow it. The pause carries just as much meaning as all that is audible. In this way, the music never breaks. There is no start or stop. The present is like a continuous stream of pregnant pauses. Sometimes the most profound music can be heard even in silence.

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