Verse 1
You are standing on a wooden dock. It is old and falling apart. In front of you, the open expanse of the ocean extends to the horizon. Below your feet is a boat, well stocked and fully equipped. You know it is, because you took care in preparing it.
It is the only boat at the dock. The other moorings are empty, forgotten.
You are not exactly sure how you came to be here, but you do know you cannot turn your back on the ocean. Yet you hesitate to step into the boat.
What stops you?
From the town behind you, you hear a constant hum of activity: cars, buses, people crying their wares in the market, the faint wail of an ambulance, a police car or a fire truck racing to the next emergency. You know that your friends, your colleagues and your relatives are all busy — providing for their families, moving ahead in their lives, making their mark in the world.
You are here looking at the ocean, the boat gently bobbing at your feet as waves lap against the dock.
The world behind you seems simultaneously full and empty. There are many enjoyments and rewards. You have tasted them. But you cannot escape a sense of futility and a gnawing insistence that wonders, “Is this all there is?” Your friends sometimes touch the same feeling, but they turn away from it quickly — a gap in the web of life that is never explored.
You cannot turn away. You wonder how they can. And you wonder what, if anything, you can do for them so that they do not turn away. You wonder because you are pretty sure that you are missing something, and that is why you prepared the boat. And you think they may be missing something, too. But you do not know what.
What will it take for you to step into the boat?
Verse 2
Do you really have to move to another country in order to practice?
Perhaps you have already gone to a retreat or a meditation program on the other side of the world, but you probably bought a round-trip ticket.
You arrive full of enthusiasm, unpack your carry-on, set up your meditation cushion and roll out your yoga mat. After a couple of days you discover a few unwanted items came with you, items that you do not remember packing.
During breaks, you flirt with the person who sits in front of you. You find the person who sits on the cushion beside you unbearable. Why did he have to sit right there? Why does he have to wear such bright colors? Others you just ignore because you do not need them, and you expect they feel the same way about you. The food, your accommodations and even the scenery you like, or dislike, or it fails to move you one way or the other.
Attraction, aversion and indifference — the three poisons. You traveled thousands of miles to be free from them, and here they are now as if you had never left home.
These basic patterns poison your life. You cannot just enjoy something — you have to have it. You cannot just meet a challenge — you have to oppose it. You cannot just relax — you have to check out.
These poisons pull you out of present experience and into the past, an eternal limbo in which you forever seek the love you always wanted and fight with the ghosts of those who stood in your way. When nothing touches you, your indifference creates a distance between you and the world around you. It is not so easy to leave your homeland.
There are other possibilities.
One. Bring attention to the feeling tones that accompany every sensory experience — pleasant, unpleasant and neutral. Feel how the three reactions — attraction, aversion and indifference — move in you. They are fast. They are insistent. They are insidious. As you keep doing this, your relationship with these three poisons gradually changes.
Two. When you feel attraction starting to run, breathe in and take in the same attraction, first from everyone you know, then from everyone in the world. What do you have to lose? The attraction is already running in you. You are already messed up. You might as well take in the poison from others and set them free. Ditto for aversion. Ditto for indifference.
Three. When you see someone or something you like, open to the whole experience, the person or object and the attraction in you. With attraction, you are aware of every detail in the person or the object. Rest right there. With aversion, your mind becomes very clear. Rest there. With indifference, you are aware of everything. Rest there.
When you are able to experience these poisons and not act on them, you have left your homeland.
Safe travels? Not likely.
Verse 3
How many worlds do you go to every day? Every disturbance, every emotional reaction, projects a different world. Like a flea on a hot stove, you jump from one world to another. Never mind jet lag, you are a different person in each world. Alice had an easier time in Wonderland.
How do you find your path?
In silence.
How do you practice silence?
You listen.
Arrange your life to reduce choice and unnecessary decisions. Refrain from taking on too many projects at one time. When you are involved in a lot of different activities, the demands from one create problems for another. In other words, create the conditions so that you do not have to be reacting to a steady stream of disturbances.
When you practice, rest in the experience of thoughts, sensations and feelings, using the breath or awareness itself as a place to rest. Whenever you are carried away, return and rest. During practice sessions regard thoughts, sensations and feelings as leaves swirling in the wind as you walk under the clear blue sky of an autumn day. When you do not engage them, you become aware of a silence — a silence that is always there, even in your darkest moments, a silence that includes everything and cannot be fathomed, a silence that allows you to listen to your heart, your body and your mind in a way you did not know was possible.
In that silence awareness is clear and vivid. You just know, and a quiet confidence is born.
How do you find your way? In silence.
Verse 4
Consider for a moment that you could die at any moment — in the next minute, today, tomorrow — or months or years down the line. Does your body tense or relax, or does something else happen? What feelings arise — fear or relief, anger or longing, guilt, hope, resignation or equanimity?
Even a little reflection along these lines brings up strong reactions. Your body does everything it can to stay alive. When your life is threatened, it reacts — strongly. Fear and panic seize you. Fight, flee or freeze — the basic survival tactics take over. Even when you face other kinds of death — the end of a relationship or the loss of your job — the same mechanisms run. You are conditioned to live, biologically and psychologically.
You know you are going to die, but you do not believe it. You ignore the fact that death is inevitable. You focus your time and energy on the conventional concerns — happiness, gain, respect and reputation — for these are what give meaning to most people’s lives.
However, if you are reading this book, you are looking for something beyond the conventional. As Robinson Jeffers writes:
If you want a bit of truth, then start with The Four Ends:
Nothing is permanent. Everything is constantly changing. Everything is in the process of becoming something that it is currently not — including you. Some changes take place quickly, at the speed of light. Others take place over such vast expanses of time that they are all but imperceptible. Everything in the world,...