Toni Packer, The Wonder of Presence, Meditative Inquiry
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I was introduced to Toni Packer and her books by Thusness, and her books showed clarity on the truth of No-self, self-arising, natural and spontaneity, the Wonder of the Presence of fusing into everything, and also the meditative inquiry on ourselves, our emotions and reactions, to bring them to awareness and question them (but not let the mind give intellectual answers immediately), but to observe them in pure presence. I have just finished reading the book and thought of sharing them here.
I think it's no longer on sale in Kinokuniya, but it is widely available in Libraries, and I bought mine from www.acmamall.com (Singapore version of Amazon, they sell their books cheaper than Kinokuniya).
A new book called 'The Silent Question: Meditating in the Stillness of Not Knowing' will be released in 13 March 2007.
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www.shambhalasun.com/Archives/Features/2002/May02/packer.htm
What is This Me?
by Toni Packer
Are we interested in exploring this amazing affair of ‘myself’ from moment to moment?
A somber day, isn't it? Dark, cloudy, cool, moist
and windy. Amazing, this whole affair of the weather!
We call it weather, but what is it really? Wind.
Rain. Clouds slowly parting. Not the words spoken about it, but just this
darkening, blowing, pounding and wetting, and then lightening up, blue sky
appearing amid darkness, and sunshine sparkling on wet grasses and leaves.
In a little while there'll be frost, snow and ice covers. And then warming
again, melting, oozing water everywhere. On an early spring day the dirt
road sparkles with streams of wet silver. So - what is weather other than this
incessant change of earthly conditions and all the human thoughts, feelings
and undertakings influenced by it? Like and dislike. Depression and elation.
Creation and destruction. An ongoing, ever-changing stream of happenings
abiding nowhere. No real entity weather exists anywhere except in thinking
and talking about it.
Now, is there such an entity as me or I? Or is it
just like the weather - an ongoing, ever-changing stream of ideas, images,
memories, projections, likes and dislikes, creation and destruction, that
thought keeps calling I, me, Toni, and thereby solidifying what is
evanescent? What am I really, truly, and what do I merely think and believe
I am?
Are we interested in exploring this amazing affair
of myself from moment to moment? Is this, maybe, the essence of this work?
Exploring ourselves attentively, beyond the peace and quiet that we are
seeking and maybe finding occasionally? Coming upon an amazing insight into
this deep sense of separation that we call me and other people, me and the
world, without any need to condemn or overcome?
Most human beings take it for granted that I am me,
and that me is this body, this mind, this knowledge and sense of myself that
feels so obviously distinct and separate from other people and from the
nature around us. The language in which we talk to ourselves and to each
other inevitably implies separate me's and you's all the time. All of us
talk I-and-you talk. We think it, write it, read it, and dream it with
rarely any pause. There is incessant reinforcement of the sense of me,
separate from others. Isolated, insulated me. Not understood by others. How
are we to come upon the truth if separateness is taken so much for granted,
feels so commonsense?
The difficulty is not insurmountable. Wholeness, our true being, is here all
the time, like the sun behind the clouds. Light is here in spite of cloud
cover.
What makes up the clouds?
Can we begin to realize that we live in conceptual,
abstract ideas about ourselves? That we are rarely in touch directly with
what actually is going on? Can we realize that thoughts about myself - I'm
good or bad, I'm liked or disliked - are nothing but thoughts, and that
thoughts do not tell us the truth about what we really are? A thought is a
thought, and it triggers instant physical reactions, pleasures and pains
throughout the bodymind. Physical reactions generate further thoughts and
feelings about myself - I'm suffering," "I'm happy," "I'm not as bright, as
good-looking as the others."
That feedback implies that all this is me, that I
have gotten hurt, or feel good about myself, or that I need to defend myself
or get more approval and love from others. When we're protecting ourselves
in our daily inter-relationships we're not protecting ourselves from flying
stones or bomb attacks. It's from words we're taking cover, from gestures,
from coloration of voice and innuendo.
"We're protecting ourselves, we're taking cover."
In using our common language the implication is constantly created that
there is someone real who is protecting and someone real who needs
protection.
Is there someone real to be protected from words and gestures, or are we
merely living in ideas and stories about me and you, all of it happening in
the ongoing audio/video drama of ourselves?
The utmost care and attention is needed to see the
internal drama fairly, accurately, dispassionately, in order to express it
as it is seen. What we mean by "being made to feel good" or "getting hurt"
is the internal enhancing of our ongoing me-story, or the puncturing and
deflating of it. Enhancement or disturbance of the me-story is accompanied
by pleasurable energies or painful feelings and emotions throughout the
organism. Either warmth or chill can be felt at the drop of a word that
evokes memories, feelings, passions. Conscious or unconscious emotional
recollections of what happened yesterday or long ago surge through the
bodymind, causing feelings of happiness or sadness, affection or
humiliation.
Right now words are being spoken, and they can be
followed literally. If they are fairly clear and logical they can make sense
intellectually. Perhaps at first it's necessary to understand intellectually
what is going on in us. But that's not completely understanding the whole
thing. These words point to something that may be directly seen and felt,
inwardly, as the words are heard or read.
As we wake up from moment to moment, can we
experience freshly, directly, when hurt or flattery is taking place?
What is happening? What is being hurt? And what
keeps the hurt going?
Can there be some awareness of defenses arising, fear and anger forming, or
withdrawal taking place, all accompanied by some kind of story-line? Can the
whole drama become increasingly transparent? And in becoming increasingly
transparent, can it be thoroughly questioned? What is it that is being
protected? What is it that gets hurt or flattered? Me? What is me? Is it
images, ideas, memories?
It is amazing. A spark of awareness witnessing how
one spoken word arouses pleasure or pain throughout the bodymind. Can the
instant connection between thought and sensations become palpable? The
immediacy of it. No I-entity directing it, even though we say and believe I
am doing all that. It's just happening automatically, with no one intending
to "do" it. Those are all afterthoughts!
We say, "I didn't want to do that," as though we
could have done otherwise. Words and reaction proceed along well-oiled
pathways and interconnections. A thought about the loss of a loved one comes
up and immediately the solar plexus tightens in pain. Fantasy of lovemaking
occurs and an ocean of pleasure ensues. Who does all that? Thought says, "I
do. I'm doing that to myself."
To whom is it happening? Thought says, "To me, of
course!" -
(continued from previous post)
But where and what is this I, this me, aside from all the thoughts and
feelings, the palpitating heart, the painful and pleasurable energies
circulating throughout the organism? Who could possibly be doing it all with
such amazing speed and precision? Thinking about ourselves and the
triggering of physiological reactions takes time, but present awareness
brings the whole drama to light instantly. Everything is happening on its
own. No one is directing the show!
Right at this moment wind is storming, windows are
rattling, tree branches are creaking, and leaves are quivering. It's all
here in the listening - but whose listening is it? Mine? Yours? We say, "I'm
listening," or, "I cannot listen as well as you do," and these words
befuddle the mind with feelings and emotions learned long ago. You may be
protesting, "My hearing isn't yours. Your body isn't mine." We have thought
like that for eons and behave accordingly; but at this moment can there be
just the sound of swaying trees and rustling leaves and fresh air from the
open window cooling the skin? It's not happening to anyone. It's simply
present for all of us, isn't it?
Do I sound as though I'm trying to convince you of something? The passion
arising in trying to communicate simply, clearly, may be mistaken for a
desire to influence people. That's not the case. There is just the
description of what is happening here for all of us. Nothing needs to be
sold or bought. Can we simply listen and investigate what is being offered
for exploration from moment to moment?
What is the me that gets hurt or flattered, time
and time again, the world over? In psychological terms we say that we are
identified with ourselves. In spiritual language we say that we are attached
to ourselves. What is this ourselves? Is it feeling of myself existing,
knowing what I am, having lots of recollections about myself - all the ideas
and pictures and feelings about myself strung together in a coherent story?
And knowing this story very well - multitudes of memories, some added, some
dropped, all interconnected - what I am, how I look, what my abilities and
disabilities are, my education, my family, my name, my likes and dislikes,
opinions, beliefs, and so on. The identification with all of that, which
says, "This is what I am." And the attachment to it, which says, "I can't
let go of it."
Let' s go beyond concepts and look directly into
what we mean by them. If one says, "I'm identified with my family name,"
what does that mean? Let me give an example. As a growing child I was very
much identified with my last name because it was my father's and he was
famous, so I was told. I liked to tell others about my father's scientific
achievements to garner respect and pleasurable feelings for myself by
impressing friends. I felt admiration through other people's eyes. It may
not even have been there. It may have been projected. Perhaps some people
even felt, "What a bore she is!" On the entrance door to our apartment there
was a little polished brass plate with my father's name engraved on it and
his titles: "Professor Doctor Phil." The "Phil" impressed me particularly,
because I thought it meant that my father was a philosopher, which he was
not. I must have had the idea that a philosopher was a particularly imposing
personage. So I told some of my friends about it and brought them to look at
the little brass sign at the door.
This is one meaning of identification: enhancing
one's sense of self by incorporating ideas about other individuals or
groups, or one's possessions, achievements or transgressions, anything, and
feeling that all of this is me. Feeling important about oneself generates
amazingly addictive energies.
To give another example from the past: I became very identified with my
half-Jewish descent. Not openly in Germany, where I mostly tried to hide it
rather than display it, but later on after the war ended, telling people of
our family' s fate and finding welcome attention, instant sympathy, and
nourishing interest in the story. One can become quite addicted to making
the story of one's life impressive to others and to oneself, and feed on the
energies aroused by that. And when that sense of identification and
attachment is disturbed by someone not buying into it, contesting it, or
questioning it altogether, there is sudden insecurity, physical discomfort,
anger, fear and hurt.
Becoming a member of a Zen center and engaging in
spiritual practice, I realized one day that I had not been talking about my
background in a long while. And now, when somebody brings it up'sometimes an
interviewer will ask me to talk about it'it feels like so much bother and
effort. Why delve into old memory stuff? I want to talk about listening, the
wind, and the birds.
Are we listening right now? Or are we more
interested in identities and stories?
We all love stories, don't we? Telling them and
hearing them is wonderfully entertaining.
At times people wonder why I don't call myself a
teacher when I'm so obviously engaged in teaching. Somebody actually brought
it up this morning'the projections and the associations aroused in waiting
outside the meeting room and then entering nervously with a pounding heart.
Do images of teacher and student offer themselves automatically like clothes
to put on and roles to play in these clothes? In giving talks and meeting
with people the student-teacher imagery does not have to be there; it
belongs to a different level of existence. If images do come up, they're in
the way, like clouds hiding the sun. Relating without images is the
freshest, freest thing in the universe.
So, what am I and what are you? What are we without
images clothing and hiding our true being? It's un-image-inable, isn't it?
And yet there's the sound of wind blowing, trees shaking, crows cawing,
woodwork creaking, breath flowing without need for any thoughts. Thoughts
are grafted on top of what's actually going on right now, and in that
grafted world we happen to spend most of our lives.
Yet every once in awhile, whether one does
meditation or not, the real world shines wondrously through everything. How
is it when words fall silent? When there is no knowing? When there is no
listener and yet there is listening, awaring in utter silence?
The listening to, the awaring of the me-story is
not part of the me. Awareness is not part of that network. The network
cannot witness itself. It can think about itself and even change itself,
establish new behavior patterns, but it cannot see itself or free itself.
There is a whole psychological science called behavior modification that,
through reward and punishment, tries to drop undesirable habits and adopt
better, more sociable ones. This is not what we're talking about. The
seeing, the awaring of the me movement is not part of the me movement.
A moment during a visit with my parents in
Switzerland comes to mind. I had always had a difficult relationship with my
mother. I had been afraid of her. She was a very passionate woman with lots
of anger, but also love. Once during that visit I saw her standing in the
dining room facing me. She was just standing there, and for no known reason
I suddenly saw her without the past. There was no image of her, and also no
idea of what she saw in me. All that was gone. There was nothing left except
pure love for this woman. Such beauty shone out of her. And our relationship
changed; there was a new closeness. No one changed it. It just happened.
Truly seeing is freeing beyond imagination.