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Bodhi Tree
2972 Posts |
 Posted - Jan 24 2016 : 11:05:25 PM
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Blog #61: Why I Love The Ego
http://ayprecovery.org/blog-61-why-i-love-the-ego/
The word "ego" is a Latin word literally meaning "I". Therefore, in the simplest, purest denotation of the word, "ego" means the individual self. The prime indicator of an individual self on the Earth is the body, which is a composite, animated form of matter that is easily distinguishable from empty space or other objects in the surrounding environment. Every single individual is totally unique, just like their fingerprints, though there are a plethora of shared commonalities between all individuals.
When "spiritual awakening" occurs in an individual, the person begins to directly perceive that their "self" is composed of more (and in some sense, less) than their individual, Earth body. They begin to understand that every single person is connected, by a matter of degrees, and that all persons are manifesting from a unified source, commonly called God, or in AYP, pure bliss consciousness. This perception does not have to include an "out of body" experience, but can be more like looking in a mirror and seeing one's universal self reflected everywhere.
What's important to note is that the ego, like the body, has many functions, and those include functions within the mind. And what is the mind anyway? The mind is the inner machine and creative platform that helps the individual navigate the entirety of existence as an ego. One of the prime abilities of the mind is communication, which involves learning language and thereby discerning the qualities of diversity that are ever-present in life.
To communicate requires two voices: an internal voice, and an external voice. The internal voice occurs within the mind, whereas the external voice occurs when the mouth speaks and creates audible vibrations that travel through the air. The internal voice precedes the external voice in order of manifestation, or sequence. For instance, when a baby utters their first external word, it is only because they have first received and learned the language on the inside. Once the internal mind processes the information, then it can be expressed outwardly.
With the passage of time and conditioning, the internal and external voices of the ego can be occurring in different modes, either separately or simultaneously. There is a bandwidth, so to speak, that creates continuity, fluidity, and cohesiveness between the two. In a spontaneous conversation, the internal and external voices can be so closely glued together, that they can seem to be speaking as one. But in reality, the internal voice will still be preceding the external voice, if only for an indiscernible nano-second.
So, the ego voice inside the mind is only one function, or attribute, of the mind. There are many other attributes of the mind that don't use words or verbal language, but instead use shapes, colors, images, emotions, feelings, concepts, and so much more.
The tricky part is that the inner awareness of an individual, which is fundamentally silent at its core, can get overly glued to the inner voice of the ego, and in doing so, forget that the inner voice is merely an extension of the silence, occurring in tandem with the mind. Then the mind overly identifies with the ego voice, and loses track of the inner silence which is its foundation. Just like any structure, a solid foundation is absolutely necessary, and for the mind, that foundation is silent stillness.
For someone that has been overly glued to the inner voice, when they experience some detachment, or distance, from the voice, it can be a great relief. Sometimes the detachment is so dramatically relieving that the mind quickly identifies the ego voice as the culprit. This is a crucial mistake, and happens with spiritual aspirants and teachers worldwide. In reality, neither the ego nor the mind can be blamed. If there is anyone or anything to blame, it is the silent witness. That's right, God has been playing a trick on Himself, Herself, and Itself all along, and that is the whole interplay in a nutshell.
What further complicates the problem of blaming the inner ego voice or the discerning mind is by using language to reinforce the punitive attitude. Here's how that pitfall happens. The "ego" begins to take on a new context other than simply meaning a separate individual. The "ego" now gets cast and spun as meaning an individual that is negative and malevolently superior (or inferior) to others. The "ego" takes on meanings that should instead be linguistically reserved for personality characteristics, like arrogance, pride, and so on. Similarly, "the mind" gets insanely narrowed down to only one of its multitudinous functions, and that singular function is mistakenly referred to as "the mind", when in reality, it is only a small fragment of the mind.
Imagine there is a basketball team called The Frost. The Frost have 20 active players on their roster. Out of that 20, there is one particular player who is especially vicious and notorious in the way he treats people. Inside, he has a dominant, wicked voice running in his mind, and outside, his spoken words are equally cruel. However, he scores lots of points and helps win games. One day, in his arrogance, he proclaims: "I am The Frost!" What he means is that he is the winning force behind the team, and so he greedily swallows the entire identity of the team with a twist of words. Sure enough, a journalist picks up on the gimmick and starts writing stories about "The Frost" as a player, and readers get confused between who is the team, and who is the individual. Alas, the power of language creates confusion and delusion.
And that is precisely the game that certain spiritual teachers play when they paint the ego or mind as enemies. They mistake the ultimate source of inner decision-making, and they inaccurately prosecute the two vastly, versatile vehicles of the ego and the mind. And why do they do this? To draw attention to themselves! That is the irony. (Irony is when something opposite of what is intended occurs. So, if the publicized intention is to downplay the individual, and the result is that the individual gets highlighted and amplified in the process, then that is irony.) They're using a linguistic sleight-of-hand to be clever and proclaim victory over the ego and mind—all because they happened to fall into a small pocket of detachment inside. What a joke!
There is no intrinsic problem with ego, or with "I, me, and mine". There is only a problem with the misuse and distortion of language. In reality, possessiveness is what becomes transformed and elevated in the process of spiritual awakening. When someone can say, with some level of sincerity: "All people on Earth are MY brothers and sisters; All people are MY fathers and mothers; All people are MY sons and daughters; All of life itself is ME..." then the egoic mind is properly expanding and coming into full maturity. The egoic mind is the instrument of enlightenment. There is none other. It has been designed this way, from the beginning.
To love another person is to love their ego of individuality. To blossom like a flower in full bloom is to enrich the ego's uniqueness, even as it merges with the continuum of the whole.
If the anti-ego attitude was taken to its culmination, the only logical outcome would be suicide. For if your individual self, or your inner ego voice, or the mind, are the enemies, then it would make sense to kill them. But, that is the essence of insanity, and that is not in the direction of emulating and embodying eternal life.
Therefore, celebrate the ego, and recognize the power of language in doing so. |
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sunyata
USA
1513 Posts |
Posted - Jan 25 2016 : 08:48:40 AM
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Hi Bodhi,
Very detailed post and well written.
quote:
When "spiritual awakening" occurs in an individual, the person begins to directly perceive that their "self" is composed of more (and in some sense, less) than their individual, Earth body. They begin to understand that every single person is connected, by a matter of degrees, and that all persons are manifesting from a unified source, commonly called God, or in AYP, pure bliss consciousness.
It's knowing instead of understanding.
quote:
For someone that has been overly glued to the inner voice, when they experience some detachment, or distance, from the voice, it can be a great relief. Sometimes the detachment is so dramatically relieving that the mind quickly identifies the ego voice as the culprit. This is a crucial mistake, and happens with spiritual aspirants and teachers worldwide. In reality, neither the ego nor the mind can be blamed. If there is anyone or anything to blame, it is the silent witness. That's right, God has been playing a trick on Himself, Herself, and Itself all along, and that is the whole interplay in a nutshell.
Yes, it's not the culprit but at the same time does not need more attention.
quote:
nd that is precisely the game that certain spiritual teachers play when they paint the ego or mind as enemies. They mistake the ultimate source of inner decision-making, and they inaccurately prosecute the two vastly, versatile vehicles of the ego and the mind. And why do they do this? To draw attention to themselves! That is the irony. (Irony is when something opposite of what is intended occurs.
I don't believe they are trying to draw attention. Simply expressing their reality.
quote:
There is no intrinsic problem with ego, or with "I, me, and mine". There is only a problem with the misuse and distortion of language.
It's not the language but functioning from this point of view that has lead to a lot of problem that we see around us.
quote:
To love another person is to love their ego of individuality.
We can love everyone because of knowing the true nature. It's okay to not be so attracted by certain personality traits even with knowing the true nature.
quote:
Therefore, celebrate the ego, and recognize the power of language in doing so
Letting the ego be as it is.
The realization here has been that it's the identification with the ego that has been the root cause of suffering all this Life. Ego has not completely disappeared but it's solidity is decreasing. It's getting fluid.
Yes, there is a sense of this individual. However,Silence does not need anything to function in the world. Everything comes out of it. We don't need the ego to decide anything for us.
Silence makes the choices and takes the appropriate action in the here now. No analysis, No thinking necessary.. It is noticed here that when functioning comes from the ego, there is disharmony in the body and the environment . When it comes from Silence, there is Joy in the body and the environment. The latter is when Life truely lives it's creation through the body.
Sunyata
P.S.- Yogani says that the ego is the vehicle to enlightenment and points us to tools like Samyama and Self Inquiry. The ego starts doing spiritual practices and some point uses the two techniques (Self Inquiry and Samyama) that helps let go and see through the ego. In this way, yes it is a vehicle. However, do not see the benefit in celebrating the ego. Just letting the ego be as it is. Silence is Celebration. |
Edited by - sunyata on Jan 25 2016 09:11:34 AM |
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Bodhi Tree
2972 Posts |
Posted - Jan 25 2016 : 11:16:35 AM
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Remember, Sunyata, it's a matter of denotation and connotation. In this case, I'm using ego in its purest definition, which means individual self. So, the ego, as individual self, gets illuminated by stillness in action, and the functionality of ego increases and improves, including its propensity towards meaningful analysis, intelligence, contemplation, conceptualization, creativity, and yes...active surrender.
I most certainly celebrate the ego, because I celebrate the self (individual and universal). As Walt Whitman wrote:
I celebrate myself and sing myself
And what I assume, you shall assume
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you
Also, there's a fine line between loosening identification with the ego, and denying identification with the ego. Loosening identification by expanding through stillness leads to full enlightenment and an outpouring of divine love. Denying identification using non-duality logic leads to dissociation, the illusion of attainment, and being stuck in the witness stage (pre-unity).
And yes, I can love someone when I see their true nature, even if I don't necessarily enjoy their personality that much. That's why Jesus said: "Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you." So, you make a good point on that note. |
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So-Hi
USA
481 Posts |
Posted - Jan 25 2016 : 12:15:52 PM
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Reading the discussion between BT and Sunyata it is easy to see both are right it just really depends on the context one is placing the discussion of the ego in.
Sunyata: quote:
Just letting the ego be as it is.
Agreed. |
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sunyata
USA
1513 Posts |
Posted - Jan 25 2016 : 12:56:00 PM
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quote:
Also, there's a fine line between loosening identification with the ego, and denying identification with the ego. Loosening identification by expanding through stillness leads to full enlightenment and an outpouring of divine love. Denying identification using non-duality logic leads to dissociation, the illusion of attainment, and being stuck in the witness stage (pre-unity)
Hi Bodhi,
This sums it beautifully.
Since we both don't drink. Here is a water toast to celebrating the ego and letting the ego be as it is.  |
Edited by - sunyata on Jan 25 2016 12:58:12 PM |
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Bodhi Tree
2972 Posts |
Posted - Jan 25 2016 : 1:17:56 PM
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| OK! Cheers! |
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kumar ul islam
United Kingdom
791 Posts |
Posted - Jan 25 2016 : 2:39:29 PM
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| renounce and enjoy ......gandi |
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Bodhi Tree
2972 Posts |
Posted - Jan 28 2016 : 11:05:06 PM
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Blog #62: Inspiration, Motivation, and Intention
http://ayprecovery.org/blog-62-insp...d-intention/
Inspiration. Motivation. Intention. Three strong words. Let's look at the etymology.
Inspiration is derived from the combination of a prefix and root word meaning "to breathe into". Motivation comes from a Latin verb meaning "to move". Intention translates as "to stretch towards".
Of all three words, inspiration is perhaps the most spiritually-oriented term. It is often surrounded with events of greatness and profundity. If we again refer to its etymology of breathing, we can see that breathing life into something is obviously a fundamental miracle that points towards a divine origin. How did Michelangelo breathe life into his paint-soaked brushstrokes that depict the creation mythology of Christianity on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? There is a bit of mystery in that source of inspiration. From nothing...comes something.
Motivation is usually more worldly and based on concrete goals and expectations. For instance, I was motivated to attend college and earn a degree, mainly because that's what most of my peers were doing, and I also received decent scholarship money to show up (which I ended up squandering with heavy drinking and drug use, but that's for another blog). Of course, motivation can be applied to spiritual situations and occurrences—it's just more commonly used to describe happenings within the finite realm, where cause and effect are more visible.
Intention definitely has the most passive connotation of the set of words in question. What is intended often doesn't come to pass. The word is fraught with outcomes of failure or disappointment. Last month, for example, per the insistence of a friend, I intended to read a neo-Advaita book in its entirety, but I had to stop halfway through, due to my own mental exhaustion and discontent with the abstract proclamations of the author. Also, intention is a good cop-out word. For God's sake, you know, I never intended to wreck my car into an oncoming Mercedes Benz, but that's what happened about thirteen years ago when the Xanax hi-jacked my motor skills.
In any case, with all three words, we are dealing in the realm of progress, which is moving from one place to the next, in the spirit of betterment and improvement. When it comes to progress, Yogani has said that enlightenment is a journey from here to here. Ultimately, it's not so much about the length or distance we must travel, but rather what we manifest from within, and attract into our immediate field of Being. The outpouring of divine love transcends the boundaries of space and time.
So, I am inspired to build a local community around the baseline of AYP. I am motivated to instill the proper habits and take the action required to achieve the dream. And I am certainly intending to follow through, regardless of the obstacles that stand in my way.
Game on.
And, as Yoda said: "Do, or do not. There is no try." [It's more of a hearty challenge than an absolute ultimatum.] ;-) |
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Bodhi Tree
2972 Posts |
Posted - Feb 09 2016 : 5:18:47 PM
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Blog #63: My Trip to Los Angeles
http://ayprecovery.org/blog-63-my-t...los-angeles/
I rented a car at the airport and drove to Bobby's hangout in Venice called Muscle Beach, which is an oceanfront gym planted on the boardwalk amongst a multicultural sprawl of shops, eateries, street artists, mobile vendors, and a general potpourri of personalities that spill out from the epicenter of Los Angeles. Since he had no cell phone, Bobby assured me that I would nevertheless be able to find him at his home base in the sand, near the weight machines, pull-up bars, and various workout apparatuses.
Sure enough, as I strolled along the strip and enjoyed the cool breeze of the Pacific Ocean, I found Bobby in the sand pit, among his fellow fitness enthusiasts. We greeted each other with great excitement and smiles, and Bobby punctuated the moment by saying: "I can't believe this is happening." His face was spectacularly tan and looked heartily weathered by the California sun. He had also clearly been at the mercy of a certain kind of raw exposure—a kind of unsheltered intimacy, nurtured by radical coexistence with the wild elements of the West Coast. He had abruptly and unexpectedly gone from being immersed in a scholarly setting at a private university (Loyola Marymount), to a primal mode of day-to-day survival on the beach. Yet, his yoga and meditation practices remained daily and consistent (true signs of intense bhakti).
Bobby soon introduced me to two of his friends that were sitting on a bench along the periphery of the sand pit. Both were immigrants—one from Ireland, the other from Romania. The Romanian was a professional chef who had also recently done massage therapy in Martha's Vineyard before coming out west in search of a warmer climate. The Irishman was a business graduate with a newfound desire to change the world. In a matter of minutes, our conversation touched upon topics like psychedelic, out-of-body experiences, to tantric, pre-orgasmic sex.
Not a bad start to my trip, considering that I had only hit the tarmac at LAX about an hour ago.
As the sun faded into the distant blue, orange horizon, we decided to walk around Venice and grab something to eat. Bobby gave me a running commentary of the scenery as we trodded along. There was a slightly unkempt man laying down on the sidewalk, and Bobby said: "That guy is a self-proclaimed Satanist who will answer any question you have for $1." A moment later, a kid came skateboarding by and skidded to a grinding halt once he recognized my illustrious tour guide. They hugged, and the youngster reached into a brown paper bag and handed Bobby a sizable chunk of a pot brownie recently procured from a nearby medical marijuana dispensary.
We found a slightly upscale Chinese restaurant called Mao's Kitchen. "Chinese country cooking with a red memory," said the menu. While Bobby spoke fluent Spanish to one of the bus boys bringing us water, Josh (the Irishman) read me some of his favorite selections from the revered Irish poet William Butler Yeats. I listened intently, then responded in kind by rattling off an excerpt from Walt Whitman's Song of Myself.
After dinner and plenty of jasmine tea, we headed back to the boardwalk. We came upon a couple of artists who were painting under the moonlight and the street lamps. One of them was covered with splatters of paint, even on his face and shaved head. He looked like Jackson Pollack had used his body as a canvas, with none of the epidermic regions left untouched. We started talking to him, exchanged hugs, and then he snatched a basketball from Josh's hands and painted a nice little diamond shape on the worn leather. Moments later, a wandering yogi came upon us, and we all started doing asanas on the sidewalk as people passed and watched. After stretching, we conversed, and it turned out that the yogi was in recovery from intravenous, crystal meth addiction. He found great benefit in achieving natural highs with yoga, so I told him about AYP for Recovery. It was a hopeful and synchronistic conversation.
The next morning, Bobby, Josh, and I picked up Chas from the airport, and headed to the Self-Realization Fellowship Lake Shrine on Sunset Boulevard, which Yogananda built near the end of his life. The sky was overcast and raining with a soft, persistent drizzle.
We pulled into the parking lot entrance and were greeted by a timid but friendly man. "Sorry, the lot is full," he said. Before I could respond, Bobby yelled from the backseat in roaring protest, with an impressively high decibel level: "We're devotees of Paramahansa Yogananda!!" In a gentler, less Brooklyn-like tone, Chas quickly pointed to an empty space in the distance and said to the attendant, "What about there?" I just laughed and told the besieged fellow that we were serious meditators. He reluctantly waved us through, realizing that we would not back down so easily.
We meandered into the main temple, which sat high atop a hill overlooking a little lake populated by big ducks and royal-looking swans. A statue of Jesus stood on the peak of a waterfall that was cascading down the embankment. Inside the temple, a Sunday service of a couple hundred practitioners was trickling out into the lobby and gardens. We walked into the nearly emptied meditation hall, and I explained the revered pictures of Yogananda's guru lineage to Josh, who was not familiar with SRF. The avatars were on display at the altar, front and center: Jesus, Krishna, Babaji, Mahasaya, Yukteswar, and Yogananda himself.
We returned to the lobby and huddled together, and I said: "Gentlemen, one day we will have an AYP center of this size and magnitude." They chuckled, and then we sauntered down a zig-zagged terrace of steps to the sizable pond below. There was a smaller chapel on the far side of the lake, away from the bookstore, gift shop, and museum. We decided to meditate inside the quaint structure, which was palpably serene and quiet.
After our 20-minute session and short rest, we emerged again into the open air, and lo and behold, all the rain and dark clouds had dissipated! Our inner housecleaning had been echoed by the clear light of consciousness and the sun shining down upon us. Score!
That night, we crashed in a 4-star hotel, thanks to the spectacular discount Chas receives for being a pilot with a major airline. Before bedtime, we found our way to the hot tub on the roof. We conversed about cosmic consciousness and supernormal powers (siddhis). I was feeling pretty joyful, and once I finally got to lay down and share a luxurious bed with Josh, I laughed raucously and convulsively for about ten minutes straight. He uttered words of tolerance and approval as I unwound obstructions through my bout of sober euphoria. He understood.
The next day Chas, Bobby, and I went to watch the filming of the Conan O'Brien show in Burbank. Being a big fan of Conan, and having watched many hours of his show on TV and YouTube, it was surreal to see him in the flesh. In a strange way, he almost seemed more distant in my real-time vision than when seen on the flat screen of my smartphone. I guess I was secretly yearning to shake his hand, to have a face-to-face conversation, to make it realer than just being an audience member. Oh well, the experience was still enjoyable, and much appreciated, and besides, before the show, the three of us climbed up a steep hill near the studio and meditated together—high above the monstrous power lines and the concrete-encased Los Angeles River flowing below. Another notch in the belt of AYP's fledgling satsang.
Chas had to fly out the next morning, and after he left, Bobby and I hiked a strenuous trail called "The Vital Link" in Wildwood Canyon Park. The elevation rises over a thousand feet in less than a mile when traversed on foot. Very sharp inclines are marked by the consistent 45-degree angle of the upward surge. At the top of one of the peaks, we took in a sweeping 360-degree view that revealed Santa Catalina Island off the Pacific coast, as well as the more inland mountains of Angeles National Forest to the east. We enjoyed the vast silence for a while. Like pure bliss consciousness, the space seemed to stretch infinitely.
On the way down, Bobby started shuffle-jogging, and I kept pace with him. Before long, he was sprinting at full speed with pogo-like legs. I felt exhilarated and charged, so I, too, hit the accelerator and let my senses become super-heightened as the pull of gravity dragged me gracefully downhill—bouncing off chalky rock and dirt the whole way...feeling fully alive and capable.
Later on, I was dying to get my hands on a guitar, so I dropped Bobby off at the beach and swung by a music store, where I found an acoustic Gibson in the high-end section of the shop. I felt so relieved, like a junkie finally getting a fix. As I was picking and thumping and singing, a Hispanic man approached me and asked for advice on what guitar to buy. His broken English made me desperately wish that I was fluent in Spanish, but I managed to convey a few hints despite the language barrier. He said he liked the looks and sound of the Gibson I was playing, so I handed it over to him. He strummed a few chords, and I told him that he was a natural. As I was leaving, I also told him that he couldn't make a wrong decision—they were all superbly crafted instruments. He had eager eyes and a childlike smile. It's random encounters with people like him that keep me motivated to open myself to strangers.
Farther down the road, I found an Asian massage parlor [Note: Not the "happy endings" kind]. Behind a partitioned wall in the front area, the hidden interior was like a miniature factory, with about 25 low-level couch-tables scrunched together in perfectly aligned rows. However, I saw only two customers receiving rubdowns. The cashier up front assigned me to one of the many free tables, and from behind a backroom curtain, a short Asian man emerged like a stealthy ninja, carrying a bucket of hot water for me to submerge my feet in. As I was soaking my feet, he worked on my shoulders and neck. Then he had me raise my arms so he could interlock them with his own and do some crazy, turbo stretches that I had never experienced before. He was like a pretzel magician. After that, I lay down, and he hit all the major spots any therapist would usually cover, but once again, he threw in some new tricks that I will definitely try to mimic and incorporate when I start massage school in March. It was an hour-long session, and when I arose and opened my eyes, I was stunned to see the entire room full of customers! I had only heard a few whispers the whole time, but the parlor had nevertheless been silently and magically flooded in the interim. What a marvelous and efficient operation they were running! When I went to pay at the register, the cashier said: "25 dollars." It was undoubtedly a real bargain, considering the amount of work the therapist had applied to my muscles. I gave a $15 tip.
I scooped Bobby up again, and we ate dinner at a restaurant called Baby Blues BBQ. It was Southern cooking transplanted to the West Coast. I ordered a beef brisket sandwich, an Arnold Palmer (which is non-alcoholic sweet iced tea mixed with lemonade), and a piece of buttermilk pie. Above our table, mounted on the wall, was a surf board with a painted rendition of Johnny Cash extending his middle finger in flippant defiance. Our waitress was from New York. She winked at me and called us "love bugs". Bobby ordered a second helping of his main course, and he looked totally blazed from the edible marijuana he had ingested earlier. I, of course, was sober, at least in the sense of being free of entheogenic stimuli.
After dinner, Bobby wanted to take me to the campus of Loyola Marymount, where I was originally scheduled to teach an AYP workshop for the master's program of yoga studies there (before Bobby's hiatus had altered the plan). We were coming full circle, and how timely it was, given that I was on the last night of my trip.
We shuffled up a side path and moved effortlessly though the sublime night. The campus was pristine in many aspects. It was such a contrast to the grimy boardwalk of Venice. We made our way to the most central academic building, which was open. It resembled a massive mall or corporate complex. There were multiple escalators connecting three floors, with a wide foyer that stretched for hundreds of yards. Along the rectangular perimeter were various departments, classrooms, and faculty offices. There were marble columns, glass walls, and even indoor trees scattered throughout the facility. It was state-of-the-art, and dripping with Jesuit money.
As we were leaving campus, we swung by Bobby's former dormitory, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his old roommate in the late-night laundry room. We kept going, due to a need to maintain an incognito presence. We returned to the rental car. My mind felt crystal clear and calm. Some kind of reconciliation and future premonition had occurred, though I couldn't explain it definitively.
The next morning, en route to check out of the Jolly Roger Hotel in Marina Del Ray, Bobby projectile-vomited in the corridor between our room and the lobby. The edibles had gotten the best of him. I quickly grabbed towels and cleaned up the mess. Fortunately, he was able to make it to the car. I dropped him off at Muscle Beach, where I had found him six days earlier. I hugged him and said: "Take care of yourself."
I arrived at LAX and boarded a plane to San Francisco, where six years ago, I had gotten divorced, sobered up, and found AYP during the transformative onset of my Saturn Return.
In the next blog, I'll write about what happened once the plane landed.
Thank you for reading. |
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sunyata
USA
1513 Posts |
Posted - Feb 09 2016 : 9:41:10 PM
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| Thanks for sharing Bodhi. Very interesting~ Vacay and AYP. I have never had an Arnold Palmer, need to try it. |
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Charliedog
1625 Posts |
Posted - Feb 10 2016 : 01:43:21 AM
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Enjoyed reading you Californian day's! Thank you for sharing Bodhi  |
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dv2014
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - Feb 10 2016 : 12:49:23 PM
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Thanks for sharing your CA trip; didn't know about the SRF Lake Shrine Temple before, certainly worth a visit from photos on the internet.
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jusmail
India
491 Posts |
Posted - Feb 10 2016 : 6:01:32 PM
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| Thanks for the CA trip description. Enjoyed it thoroughly. Even Oliver Sax was once part of the Muscle beach crowd. |
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Bodhi Tree
2972 Posts |
Posted - Feb 10 2016 : 8:11:27 PM
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 Sunyata Charliedog DV2014 Jusmail
I forgot to mention a really neat restaurant that we ate at. It's called Cafe Gratitude. For those with a "spiritual" diet, it's certainly attractive, because the entire menu is vegetarian/vegan. What was also really clever is that each entree or dish is named with a positively-oriented adjective. So, for instance, I got a dish called "Extraordinary", which is a vegetarian BLT wrap, with coconut bacon, shredded romaine, tomato, avocado, chipotle cashew aioli, whole wheat tortilla, and a side of Mexican coleslaw and radishes. And to order the dish, I had to say to the waitress: "I am Extraordinary." I also said to the waitress: "I am Superb!" (which signifies a smoothie with coconut milk, dates, avocado, cacao powder, reishi, shilajit, mucuna, bee pollen, and vanilla bean). Here is the menu: http://cafegratitude.com/wp-content...-2015-V2.pdf
Modern dining mixed with affirmational self-inquiry. Pretty groovy.  |
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Charliedog
1625 Posts |
Posted - Feb 11 2016 : 03:08:05 AM
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| I would like to eat there |
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Bodhi Tree
2972 Posts |
Posted - Feb 11 2016 : 10:20:10 AM
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| Are you vegetarian, Charlie-D? |
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Charliedog
1625 Posts |
Posted - Feb 11 2016 : 3:07:19 PM
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Yes I am, not all my life but for quite a long time now. I can not see meat without the steps and story before it is in the store or on the dish anymore. 
The moment I took the decision was a great relief. |
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Bodhi Tree
2972 Posts |
Posted - Feb 11 2016 : 3:43:23 PM
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| Excellent. I'm open to it. Following the inner guru... |
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Bodhi Tree
2972 Posts |
Posted - Feb 14 2016 : 3:31:08 PM
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Blog #64: My Trip to San Francisco
http://ayprecovery.org/blog-64-my-t...n-francisco/
After leaving my AYP comrades in Los Angeles, I flew to San Francisco, where I had not been since moving back to Tampa in 2010.
On the plane ride, memories and emotions flooded my consciousness. I wondered how I would react once I set foot in the courtyard of my old apartment—the place where my sobriety, divorce, and discovery of AYP had unfolded. Would I burst into tears and experience some kind of major catharsis, or would it be something calmer and more subtle? Either way, I was pretty stoked to find out.
First I had to make my way to my cousin's condominium in the Mission Bay neighborhood. She had recently moved to the city with a job working for Rolls Royce. I bought a ticket for BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) and boarded one of the inbound rail cars. The shimmying and shaking of the train, the whining and grinding of its wheels, made me feel like it had only been yesterday since I had commuted within the city, and across the bay to Oakland and Berkeley. The sounds, the scenery, the tactile sensations...how quickly my perception locked onto every detail and connected them with past experiences. At one point along the ride, the screeching noise was so loud, that I found myself laughing jubilantly and in tune with the pitch of the friction. And yet, I felt inner silence at the core of it all.
My cousin was taking care of her boss's dog, a little pug named Buster. His tongue hung perpetually out of the side of his mouth. We took the little beast to the park, along with my cousin's own dog named James, a wiry-haired mutt who had two bottom fangs protruding from his shut mouth, much like the tusks of a wild boar. The park was across the street from the baseball stadium, adjacent to a canal within the bay called McCovey Cove, where fans gather in boats and kayaks to catch home runs that fly over the fence. We reclined on the big grass lawn and basked in the sun with our canine companions.
Farther down the lawn were an affectionate man and woman intertwined on a blanket. They looked sublimely in love. They hopped up and starting throwing the frisbee. After a little while, I couldn't resist, so I jumped up too and yelled: "Hey, can I throw a few with y'all?" They both replied in the affirmative simultaneously. We formed a tight triangle and created a sweet rhythm as we torqued our hips and elbows—letting the beloved disc soar through the pristine air to and from each other's hands. (I've written about this before, but chucking the frisbee reminds me of samyama. There is a lot of finesse in the technique, and the release of the held object into space is reminiscent of a sutra set off into silence.)
The next day I met my dear friend Rob at the Lands End Trail near the Golden Gate Bridge and the Presidio. We hiked along the cliffs and admired the wetsuit-encased surfers riding down the barrels of cold waves below. To me, the Pacific Ocean is so palpably different than the warm, familiar Gulf of Mexico that kisses the west coast of Florida. Whereas the Pacific conjures up feelings of stark, masculine fierceness, the Gulf embraces me in a sultry, feminine haze, like an intoxicating bosom. (Also, I forgot to mention something in the L.A. blog, and that is that on one of the days there, some gale-force winds lambasted the beach for a couple hours. We walked to a pier, and I could literally lean into the wind and stay standing by virtue of the gale's leverage. The grains of sand spewing off the beach were pelting us like microscopic shrapnel. The waves were so choppy and monstrous that we didn't see a single surfer out there braving the elements. But I loved every second of the barrage. It was so real, and so exuberating.)
Anyway, walking and talking with Rob was a real treat. He had counseled me during my divorce, and had become a true saving grace for me during that time. He exemplifies the kind of sturdy tenderness that I appreciate in fellow men. On a professional level, he filters psychology through a spiritual sieve, which is a strategy much needed in the market today, especially when it comes to purifying and balancing the pharmaceutical monopoly and marginalization in the mainstream. The world needs more Robs. When I told him about my up-to-date dream of starting an AYP center in Tampa, he said: "It will come to be." In fact, we might collaborate in the future and do some podcast stuff. He also holds vision quests for men by going out into the wilderness and fasting for several consecutive days (check it out: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-...go-wild-wcz/).
After vibing with Rob, I headed to the courtyard of my old apartment building in Cole Valley, where my bedroom window had looked out upon an adjacent shop called The Sword and Rose (http://www.theswordandrose.net/). Six years ago, I had managed to unintentionally land next to this highly-charged, spiritual nook and cranny, and to end up spending quite a few months with its owners, Randy and Patrick, who also lived together as gay partners.
I sat down on one of the ornamental, concrete benches, where I used to play mandolin as an accompaniment to Randy's guitar playing and singing. A couple years ago, Randy had tragically passed away in a house fire. I learned of the news from a mutual friend, but had not spoken to Patrick since the event. As I rested and reflected on the bench there, an image of Randy appeared on the bench across from me, flickering holographically like a lively memory. It was faint, but of real substance.
The shop's single wooden door was adorned with vines and looked like it could fit perfectly in a Tolkiensque world of hobbits, dwarves, and elves. I walked through, and there was Patrick, tending to some incense on the shelves in the dimly lit interior. "Hi Patrick, it's Cody. Do you remember me?" I said. He squinted pensively through his glasses and replied: "Oh yes, you've gained a little weight, but you look healthier and more settled. You're doing well, I can tell." I thanked him, we hugged, and then he showed me his hands—telling me they had healed remarkably fast after being burned in the house fire while attempting to save Randy's life.
Patrick had dragged Randy's burning body down the stairs when the ambulance arrived, and that was the last time they ever saw each other alive, at least in the sense of incarnate body to incarnate body. Now, Randy appears to Patrick in his dreams at night, and also through mutual, clairvoyant friends. In fact, Patrick said that Randy had been hounding one of their friends in an attempt to get an important message through to Patrick about renovations and repairs to the house. Death, it seems, has not separated the two, but merely created new forms of communication and interaction.
The more we talked, the more it seemed like old times. Patrick was highly optimistic about many things, and he had me sit down in the rocking chair by the fireplace, where he gave me a card reading from a deck filled with Native American symbology and power animals. I don't remember the exact spread, but it all boded well for me. Patrick said: "If you ever feel afraid that your dreams won't come true, transmute that fear by imagining what the joy will feel like once your dreams actually do come true, which they will. See the vision as if it is real right now. You must have faith. Faith is the opposite of fear, and that's how we transmute the emotional energy."
He had spoken the language of AYP's path of bhakti and devotion to a chosen ideal. It resonated deeply, and that feeling of progress and coming full circle was upon me. I left his shop in very high spirits, and he extended an open invitation to call him anytime, which I sincerely appreciated and reciprocated in kind.
On my last night in town, back at the condo with my cousin, who is kind of like a sister to me, we talked about some of our family members...the dysfunction, addiction, resentments, and lack of transparency. We were sweeping through the shadows. Not that our family is overwhelmed with darkness, but there are certainly some kinks to be worked out. Sitting on the balcony, we could hear Metallica playing a live show in the baseball park across the street. I could see the lead singer James Hetfield on the Jumbotron. He was pouring his dynamic voice into the microphone—at times full of rage, at times sweet and melodic. The band rolled into one of their classic anthems, "Nothing Else Matters":
So close no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters
Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
And nothing else matters
On my early-morning flight back to Tampa, I knew that what mattered most was for me to stay active, and to keep teetering on the radical edge of progress. I couldn't settle for the passive, do-nothing spirituality. I had to maintain and improve my daily routine, and to keep putting myself out there—taking advantage of my current network, and staying perpetually open to new people and opportunities.
Metallica had it right: Life is ours, we live it our way. |
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yogani
USA
5241 Posts |
Posted - Feb 14 2016 : 4:51:42 PM
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sunyata
USA
1513 Posts |
Posted - Feb 14 2016 : 6:28:41 PM
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Dogboy
USA
2294 Posts |
Posted - Feb 14 2016 : 7:29:20 PM
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| Beautiful, Cody! There is specialness in being present when revisiting past "haunts", as if the films laid atop of each other warp time and space. It is a real opportunity to be young and older simultaneously, enhanced manyfold by your spiritual progress. Thanks for sharing |
Edited by - Dogboy on Feb 14 2016 7:32:27 PM |
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Charliedog
1625 Posts |
Posted - Feb 15 2016 : 01:47:35 AM
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| As the wise words of Dogboy said.... |
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Bodhi Tree
2972 Posts |
Posted - Feb 15 2016 : 4:22:07 PM
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quote:
Originally posted by Dogboy
There is specialness in being present when revisiting past "haunts", as if the films laid atop of each other warp time and space. It is a real opportunity to be young and older simultaneously, enhanced manyfold by your spiritual progress.
So true. Very well said and captured, Dogboy.
Yogani Sunyata Charliedog |
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Bodhi Tree
2972 Posts |
Posted - Feb 15 2016 : 6:01:26 PM
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Blog #65: Why is Drinking Alcohol Still Cool?
http://ayprecovery.org/blog-65-why-...-still-cool/
It's a good question, and the answer might be easier to surmise than we think.
First, let's look at smoking cigarettes, and how that's changed in our culture.
There was certainly a period in America when smoking nicotine-laced tobacco was considered hip and fashionable. Hollywood and the mass media portrayed the habit of inhaling cigarettes as a desirable activity. Images of celebrities breathing in the carcinogens tarnished movie screens and magazines across the globe. But eventually...the game started to change. What happened?
Well, the evidence of cigarettes' detriments became too painfully obvious. The handsome, rugged Marlboro Man was stricken with lung cancer. Tobacco's image of coolness began to rapidly deteriorate in the face of neurobiological reality. Like a castle in the air, the delusion and mystique of unintelligent consumption was seen for what it was—a vaporous apparition bearing little weight or benefit in regards to health, well-being, and especially transcendence.
Nowadays, it's not cool to smoke. It's more like a pitiful addiction that we're desperately trying to flush out of our cultural system and collective body. Smoking is being increasingly banned from restaurants, workplaces, airports, and public spaces in general. Bye bye, cigarettes.
But alcohol, a dear cousin to nicotine and other artificial intoxicants, is still going strong. Oh yes, some might say it's going stronger than ever.
A quick look around will yield instant confirmation of alcohol's prevalent status and endurance. There are bars and liquor stores populating nearly every city and town in the nation (except in the rare "dry" counties in conservative-minded regions). Drinking beer, liquor, and wine are intertwined with the notion of fine dining and enjoying exquisite foods. Megastars like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie even own their own vineyard and winery, and their parent film industry undoubtedly perpetuates alcohol's place as a substance and activity for recreation, celebration, and inebriation. There is no denying it.
Yet, the nightmarish effects of drinking alcohol are more apparent than ever. Cirrhosis of the liver, alcoholic hepatitis, drunk driving, increased violence, volatility, and horrendous deaths are happening across the board. I don't need to write another sentence to prove those facts.
And how does Alcoholics Anonymous, the mainstream option for recovery from alcohol addiction, fit into the Great Booze Machine that still has a vice grip on our society?
In simplest terms, and to cut to the chase, let me say this: AA merely reinforces, rationalizes, and validates the stranglehold that alcohol has on the neck of popular culture. Not that Bill Wilson or Dr. Bob ever intended for that to be the case. With all their humility and postures of kneeling down on bended knee before a masculine, paternal god, they merely wanted to follow "His Will", which they deemed to be living soberly as disease-stricken alcoholics. But for men that could still "drink like gentlemen", Bill and Bob tipped their hats in reverence and respect. In their eyes, there was no intrinsic problem with drinking alcohol. Only when drinking in excess or "unmanageablely" did the Higher Power need to step in and take the wheel.
But poison is poison, and the common-sense observation that alcohol is intrinsically toxic cannot be swept under the rug forever. The clear light of consciousness ultimately shines upon the darkness. For this reason, booze, like cigarettes, will begin to fade from the global landscape of products being ingested. And how will that happen?
First, not through punitive prohibition or anti-alcohol campaigns. AA definitely has it right in that arena. There is no effectiveness in trying to take down the animal by spewing animosity at the beast. After all, alcohol is just being alcohol. It is what it is. You can't blame or negate the chemical composition of certain liquids that undergo decay. That's just what they do (fermentation). That organic process is innocent.
What is not so innocent, or shall we say, not so wise and intelligent, is the conscious choice to imbibe in the elixirs. That's where we have to redirect our desire for transcendent euphoria and joy towards better means, and that's where AYP comes into play. It's all about how we accomplish our transformation and satisfy our pure, primal desire to be happy. Very simple.
So, why is drinking alcohol still cool? Well, the main reason people are still catching the rough, harsh buzz of firewater is because there is a lack of visibility and transparency in regards to superior methods of intoxication.
If we can demonstrably show that Deep Meditation, Spinal Breathing Pranayama, Samyama, bhakti, karma yoga, diet/cleansing, and other tools in the AYP toolshed—comprehensively and undeniably result in a far more functional and lasting divine intoxication, then people will flock to this yogic reservoir like thirsty camels in the desert. It will happen. Guaranteed.
The time has come to educate the masses with truth, and the truth is...our nervous system is the doorway to the Infinite.
I call upon and eagerly await the like-minded souls who are ready to facilitate revolution in the world of recovery. |
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