http://www.springwatercenter.org/teachers/packer/articles/openness/
Openness
The following article was adapted from a talk by Toni Packer on Day 4 of the September 1994 retreat.
In a group meeting someone said: "Hearing you talk, it sounds as though
there should be no wanting. That I should be free from wanting. And
yet, I wanted to come here and here I am. I want to live and enjoy life.
I don't feel I can let go of wanting."
Let's clarify right from
the outset that we don't talk in terms of "letting go of wanting," or
"being free from wanting." There is no talk about overcoming anything.
Rather, we speak in terms of seeing, being aware of what goes on, in
myself, alone and in relationship with others.
It's an
interesting thing to observe and to realize that we already listen with
certain categories of thinking which are well-established in the brain
from past history. How does it happen? Can we watch? Here is a talk on
wanting. There may be a certain inflection and intensity in my voice as
the nature and consequences of wanting are looked at and put into words —
the pain that ensues from not getting what one wants, or from losing
what one once had. The conclusion is then drawn in the listener, without
anyone actually having said it — it happens automatically — that Toni
has said wanting is bad — one shouldn't want. Be free from wanting!
So, in listening to a talk here with each other, can one also be aware
of the quick conclusions drawn by the mind? That seems difficult,
doesn't it? How rapidly thought slides into conclusions: "it shouldn't
be like this, it should be the opposite way."
Is there a
resistance to listen and to look at what goes on in ourselves, a
resistance to listen without the safety of a point of view? Difficulty
in looking without judging something right or wrong? It is so strange,
so alien to this conditioned mechanism of listening, so radically
different from how we've been brought up always thinking in opposites:
good and bad, right and wrong. If you're not good, you must be bad. If
you're not diligent, you must be lazy. If I'm not intelligent, I must be
stupid. If people don't like me they must hate me.
So — is it possible to hold still this instant, hold it, and just look at what is happening right now? No conclusions?
Someone is talking right now, but there is also looking — I'm not just
talking from rote memory, but am looking at the same time. So in
talking/listening, can we all look together and watch, hold still, keep
looking, keep wondering and listening? Without falling into this trap of
opposition, either opposing what is said or thinking that the opposite
of what is pointed out must be the good and right thing to do, to be.
Can we look at wanting? Having spent a lot of hours quietly — sitting
or walking, lying down, working, eating — it becomes quite obvious,
doesn't it, that wanting is going on most of the time. Manifesting in
restlessness. Wanting something different from what is going on, and
imagining, scanning, searching for something better, for something
different. Has that been observed?
Right now there is a buzzing
sound, someone is sawing somewhere. Can we just listen? Without any
resistance? Without opposition? Or is there wanting it to be quiet? At
this moment it is quiet!
It is true that wanting can have
results! You wanted to come here. We wanted to go to the moon and we
made it. Someone wanted to be president of the United States badly
enough, and there he is. Wanting can have concrete results.
We
are looking directly at this process of wanting in ourselves, without
falling into mere intellectualization. One can very easily follow
something intellectually and not look directly at what's happening in
oneself. So right now can we evoke the memory of something that we have
wanted, recently... today... last minute... this moment? Are we doing
it?
And what we want right now, this moment, isn't that a
concept, an idea, a picture? Wanting to be free — is that something
"real", or an idea, a picture? Imagining ourselves walking joyfully
through the "world," freely through "life." We have an idea about it and
can verbalize and picture it. Wanting something delicious to eat,
wanting to be attracted to someone or look attractive to someone.
Wanting a different mate, a better place to live, to meditate, a better
job. Right now all of this is imagination and idea, isn't it? Can we
agree on that? Can we look and be silent with what's there?
Is
wanting led on by an idea, by a fantasy of what could be there for me,
where I could be better off, happier, more peaceful, more purposeful,
more creative, more loved, more needed? On and on, imagining
possibilities?
What comes up in fantasy spurs energies throughout
the body to be somewhere else. Thinking of what could be, what I could
be doing, what I could have. And thinking about where I am right now in
comparison. Either the energy to go get a new thing, the new companion,
the new job, or confusion: "should I go there or should I stay here?"
All generated by the dynamics of wanting and not wanting, which are two
sides of the same coin. Our constant, perennial restlessness. Getting
away from what? To what?
Being here, simply being here can also
be an idea. People tell me: "I suddenly realize that `being in the here
and now,' has just been a concept." Is it? Right now, this moment? The
sound of cicadas, the fresh air — are these concepts? Is this
humming-buzzing-chirping a concept? Maybe it is, but it's also more than
that, isn't it? Let's listen quietly...
While listening I was
holding the breath . And now a deep breath to make up. The body is so
intelligent. The heart is beating quietly right now. Chirp. Chirp.
Chirp. Faintly. Faint sounds of whatever. Wheels on the pavement.
There's some imaging there, but that's also present and does not disturb
the listening. Trying to picture a cicada. I don't even quite know what
a cicada looks like. Like a grasshopper? Pictures in the mind. But the
chirping is clearly audible. And it's right here, isn't it? Doesn't it
permeate this whole room and one's entire being? It is one's whole
being! Not if the thought persists, "I'm sitting inside and the cicadas
are outside. I hope they are outside, I don't want them inside hopping
across my mat."
How quiet can the listening be? Quieting down
more and more and more and more, there is the transparency of concepts
and words that arise, of like and dislike.
Does the thought
arise, "I don't have quietness but I want it"? That thought brings
discontent, restlessness and the sense of separateness: "What must I to
do to get it?" Can thoughts like that be listened to, quietly?
Listening to the hum of wanting. To images that may be there of what I
want. They need not trigger the energies to get away from where I am.
Let the energy remain here. In listening. In sitting and sensing. In
openness. Just being. Not knowing what is next. Not knowing where I will
be tomorrow. Or this evening. Is that possible? For a moment to sit
without knowing what will be? The turbulent thoughts for a moment not
agitating the body to go and get, which means more imagination of how it
will be when I get there. In quietly listening now... [Toni imitates
the sound of the chain saw]... what is it all? What's sitting here? This
moment...
The movement of sounds, the movement of physical
sensations, and yet all of it happening in a vast silent space of no
motion at all. Listening right now to all the movement inwardly,
outwardly, has no motion of its own! Listening is simple, here, quiet.
Unmoved. Like a mirror reflecting what's there. No — not a mirror. It's
not a mirror right now. Everything is simply here. Moving without
motion. No movement away from listening, just looking, attending, being,
no knowing what the next moment will bring.
Does wanting arise?
Watch it. Wanting to have it, wanting to be this, wanting to be
undivided, wanting to be whole and complete. That's all idea, isn't it?
Or is it real?
When it's real there is no wanting, because
everything is already here. Not to be gotten to, not to be had by
anyone. It's our true being.
Watch the wanting. Quietly, without movement, watching the movement of wanting.
What I could be... what could be for me... what I don't have... what
others may have... Can one sense the movement of thought? Because that's
what it is, movement of thought going along with movement of body. They
go hand in hand. One person this morning said, "It's so clear, thought
is a physical sensation." It appears this way, transparently, as
physical movement, physical sensation. Thinking and sensing and feeling
all go together. Can we pay attention to the body manifesting the
thinking, with its agitation, an agitated body, a tense body, headaches?
Can they be sensed? Feel it without thinking, "I shouldn't have it, I
shouldn't feel tense, I should be free of the headache." Can one sense
the movements of those thoughts, how physical they are? Tensing against
tension. Resisting pain. Such a subtle movement of thought-body. But it
all becomes transparent in this stillness of awareness.
Wanting
is not just mental, psychological, conceptual. It's very physical. And
can that be allowed to be felt, rather than wanting to turn it into its
opposite of not wanting?
What happens when wanting is quietly,
dispassionately observed? Dispassionately meaning not meddling with it,
not interfering, not resisting it, just watching. Where is it?
Can the body relax in awareness of itself? It sounds paradoxical, to
relax in awareness of the tensions. No need to interfere, no need to do
something about it.
This is the essence of this work: awareness
without doing. This needs awareness of our compulsion to do, which is
physical, mental, psychological, observable. Compulsion to do something.
"What should I do? Go for a walk or sit? Or should I lie down?" And
thinking goes on and on and on. Why not at this moment, wherever one may
be, sitting down, lying down or walking, watch it: the confusion.
Confusion of thinking. "Should it be this or should it be that?" It's
all thinking, but the body goes with it. The body is thinking. Every
cell is also thinking. "Should it be this? Should it be that?" Listen to
the cacophony of it. Not excluding the saw and the cicadas. And the
smell of fresh, wet air.
People bring this up a lot: In a place
like Springwater, without much of any structure, it's so difficult to
decide what to do. Can one listen to the whole orchestration of
indecision? The sound of it [Toni hums]... and the body humming along,
tensing along, confusing along. And do nothing about it. There's nothing
to be done! Listening is not doing. It's natural, it's open, it's
without effort. It's no effort to hear that saw, is it? Someone
laughing, heart beating, cicadas chirping... is it an effort? Is it an
effort to listen to the inner confusion? Listening to it lovingly,
gently, embracingly. Listening without doing violence.
Whatever state we're in right this moment, what is it?
Wondering. What is going on right now?
It's not what we think! It's simply what is. As long as we think it's
this or that, good or bad, we aren't listening. We already have formed
an opinion about it, and we know, "this isn't worth it, I don't want it,
something else must be better. I want that — not this. Not pain. Not
confusion. But this is what's here right now. I'm not suggesting you
dredge it up. It's there when it's there.
How quietly can there be listening to the confusion of wanting and not wanting? All the conflicting wants.
We talked about it in one meeting, how often it happens that you go to a
doctor, because you have a symptom, it's painful, it's really bothering
you. You begin to tell the doctor about it, and he starts asking
questions. You look freshly, then and there, and it's not there! Where
is it? Darn it. If only I had come yesterday! You leave the office and
there it is again! I wonder whether it has to do with a moment of
shared, intense looking. I'm not saying it's so with all symptoms. Of
course it isn't. And I'm not saying they're only in one's mind. Just
that if one really looks completely at whatever is there and is with it
unconditionally — what happens?
Someone told me this morning,
"... there are many decisions I ought to make in my life, but it's very
clear that as long as thoughts are buzzing about what I should do, how
it will be this way or that way — as long as thoughts are buzzing about,
I better wait. Because no true decision comes out of buzzing thoughts.
There has to be a settling down in quietness. Empty of buzzing."
The buzzing is: "Where will I be happier? Where will it be better for
me? What will be the ideal situation?" Buzzing around within this
self-centered network. We're not saying it's bad. Or good. Let's just
watch it. It's there for all of us, this network of self. We're not
saying get rid of it. Just watch it. That's where confusion is
constantly generated, through buzzing thoughts about possibilities,
alternatives. And this person says, "it's very clear, knowing what to do
cannot come out of this buzz." If it does come out of that buzz,
confusion continues.
Does one say, "If I am in a buzz, then what
do I do?" Nothing. Nothing. We're talking here right now, we're not
talking a week from now or last month. Just this moment. That's enough.
This moment of buzzing. Being with it. The words may sound trite,
mechanical. Don't let it be that. It's fresh. I'm not talking
mechanically. Being with it means listening. Wondering quietly, "What is
it?" Not knowing...
Open. Open to the confusion, the buzz, the hum, the agitation, the queasy feeling, the headache, the tension. Cicadas chirping.
Being like a mother holding her crying child without feeling guilty
about it. Maybe one of the hardest things. One has tried everything. The
child is still crying. Can we keep holding it tenderly?
Someone
made the comment, "It often sounds as though nature were pristine, pure,
good, healing, while everything having to do with human beings is
programmed, compulsive, unintelligent." The person continued, "I refuse
to accept that. Human beings are not all programmed. Not all automatic.
There is freedom, isn't there? And intelligence. And not this separation
between us and nature."
I wondered about this, why do we feel so
good walking through the meadows? The sparkling grass, the flowers,
raindrops hanging from the leaves and branches. Clouds and animals. Why
does it feel so healing? So in touch. Is it because a leaf does not
think? And therefore does not vibrate with confusion? It's either a
little brown bud, the first green glossy opening of tiny leaves, and now
bright yellow, orange and red. There are no regrets here, no wanting.
No fearing. Does the leaf want to come out? Is it afraid to turn red? I
don't know, I've never been a leaf. Nor a tree. It doesn't affect one
this way. It's all here the way it is: cracked branches, upright ones,
dried, crumpled leaves and nibbled ones. A lot of nibbling has gone on
for these leaves. There they are, full of holes, like the finest of
lace. Somebody put some out on the dining room table. It was neat to
see: nibbled, holy leaves. Almost transparent. No sob story emanating
from them.
I'm not denying that there is freedom. Of course there is!
But there is a lot of buzz and fuzz in this thinking organism. Which is
no one's fault. It has evolved this way, and now we're stuck with it,
or we feel we are. Caught up in our thinking, in the emotions triggered
by thought and memory, and taking for real what is imagination about
ourselves and each other. Imagining the dream to be true! The pain that
goes with it, the suffering, or the momentary ecstasy.
Can that
buzz of thinking, of imagining, of wanting and fearing, and the organism
humming along with it, can it clear up in quiet listening and looking?
Be seen for what it is and seen through? Not changed, but seen through.
In openness, stillness, emptiness.
Not the words.
Chirping
of cicadas and breathing and people moving, leaves rustling and gentle
rain dropping... is that thought? Wanting? Or is it just happening,
plain and simple, with no one doing it?
No one doing it. No one.
That is all.