The Art Of Sleep - Oceans
This is an extended 8 hour Yoga Nidra designed to help you to fall asleep and, if you awaken during the night, to help you return to a deep and restorative sleep. Within this Yoga Nidra you will find restful ocean sounds along with a couple of bedtime stories to help you relax. Enjoy deep restorative sleep.
Transcript
Greetings,
And a warm welcome to this extended 8-hour Yoga Nidra session.
This Yoga Nidra will help to guide you to a state of deep sleep,
And if you reawaken during the night,
The audio will work to gently guide you back to rest.
Yoga Nidra is an ages-old practice designed to bring deep rest to our lives on multiple different levels.
We are restored and revived,
And somehow through this practice we learn to release step by step.
We open ourselves to deeper parts of our being.
Yoga Nidra is like diving into a deep ocean of calm.
Once our practice becomes established,
We are able to bring some of that peace back into our daily lives,
So that we are less reactive,
Less stressed,
More at ease overall.
We notice this as truth.
Sleep is an art form.
When we are children,
We know the path to deep sleep by instinct.
Yet as we become more involved with life,
We tend to lose the way as stress,
Anxiety,
And life pressures take over.
The good news is,
Though,
That we can retrain ourselves and we can relearn to access that deep state of peace that we yearn for.
Like any art form,
We need to make sure that our environment is conducive to sleep.
A few simple preparations can mean the difference between success and yet another night of broken,
Fitful unease.
The room or the space where we sleep needs to be inviting and welcoming to us personally.
When we enter our room to sleep,
What do we see?
A disorderly,
Messy space,
An unmade bed reminding us of the tossing and turning of the night before?
Or a space that is decorated with warm,
Inviting colors?
A bed that reminds us of comfort,
Inviting us to enter into its embrace.
So before we learn to reconnect with deep sleep,
Create a space that you are comfortable in,
A place solely reserved for sleeping,
Away from intruding noise and light as much as possible,
Free from distractions of our lives,
Comfortably cool to help sleep with your favorite blankets and pillows.
Once you are ready,
You will know it as a space that you look forward to being in.
It is very important to feel safe and secure in this space.
It is a sanctuary for you.
A sacred space in which you can release stress and tension freely,
Allowing your body and mind to relax on all levels.
Once you are ready,
Comfortably lie down on your bed,
On your back with your legs extended.
Allow your arms to rest at your sides with your palms facing upward in a gesture of openness and receptivity.
Close your eyes gently.
Take a deep breath in through your nose and exhale slowly through your mouth.
Feel the weight of your body sink down into the surface beneath you.
Let go of any tension,
Stress,
Or thoughts that you may be holding onto.
Notice that as you are releasing and relaxing that your breath becomes more subtle and the exhalations longer.
Already you are feeling more at ease.
Now,
Take a moment to set an intention for your practice,
Perhaps something related to healing or release.
Silently offer this intention to yourself.
It may be something like,
I am open to healing,
Or something that resonates deeply with you.
I am resting deeply.
I am secure in my space.
I allow myself rest.
Notice that as we allow ourselves these things,
Our bodies begin to soften further and with each exhalation we are drawn deeper and deeper and deeper.
I am practicing yogic sleep.
Our awareness now will be brought to different points along our body.
This rotation of awareness around our bodies is a gentle way to bring deep relaxation to our bodies and to bring us into a light,
Hypnagogic state.
And,
If you fall asleep from here,
It is perfectly okay.
As we begin this rotation of awareness,
Imagine a pulsating golden ball of energy at each point.
Notice that this golden ball of pulsating energy is our own genuine life force.
As it throbs and pulses around different points of our body,
It brings deep healing,
Deep release.
Begin at the top of the head,
At the point of the crown chakra.
Imagine the golden ball pulsing,
Throbbing.
Now move it gently to the point between your eyes.
Back of the right hand.
Tip of the thumb.
Tip of the forefinger.
Tip of the ring finger.
Tip of the little finger.
Center of the right palm.
Middle of the wrist.
Right shoulder.
Middle of the wrist.
Tip of the left thumb.
Tip of the forefinger.
Tip of the ring finger.
Middle of the wrist.
Solar plexus.
Tip of the fourth toe.
Tip of the first toe.
Tip of the second toe.
Tip of the third toe.
Tip of the fourth toe.
Root center.
Solar plexus.
Heart center.
Notice now the deep peace arising in your body.
You may be feeling deeply connected.
Beginning to feel a deep sense of profundity.
Depth of our being.
Breathing deeply and slowly.
Through the nose.
Making the exhalations slightly longer each time.
Be aware of your body breathing.
Be aware of your belly rising and falling.
Notice your body relaxing further.
And your thoughts slowing down.
As you tune into your breathing.
Your breath is the object of your attention.
Let go of any thoughts.
Focus entirely on the breath.
And now if you are still awake and still aware.
Up to the level of your heart center.
Turn your palms towards your chest.
And gently place them on your heart chakra.
You will feel an almost immediate warmth.
Flowing between your heart.
And the palms of your hands.
Expand your heart center.
By consciously breathing from your chest.
And expanding the ribs on the inhalation.
Visualizing a golden light.
Filling your entire chest area.
Intensify the warmth.
By bringing the power of your attention to the heart fully.
Be conscious now that you are dwelling in your heart.
With all of your being.
Being fully present.
In depth of the heart.
Feel your heart center.
Feel the warmth.
Radiating from your heart.
Into the rest of your body.
Feel the love in your heart.
Healing.
The depth of your spirit.
Feeling whole.
Feeling grounded.
Return your arms and hands to the side of your body.
Continue being aware of your breath and the warmth in your heart center.
If you wish.
You can turn into a more usual sleeping position.
Making your body even more comfortable.
And relaxed.
Safe in your sacred space.
Practicing yogic sleep.
Ah,
Feeling wonderful.
Now it's time for a bedtime story.
As you listen to this story.
Picture in your mind,
If you can,
The scenes being described.
Feel the emotions of love.
Between mother and daughter.
Feel the love in the story for.
The simple life.
The strength of love and family.
The beauty of being in this present moment.
Maki stood casually in the doorway of her home.
Watching the distant crows peck and fight noisily.
At the garbage mound in the far field.
In mid flight.
They seemed like black swirling gnats.
On the expansive azure sky.
She enjoyed the otherwise quiet time.
Before everyone else awoke.
Guarding it jealously.
And wrapping herself in a comforting cloak of stillness.
That would cling to her throughout the remainder of the day.
She knew grandmother was awake.
Eyes staring up into the still darkened roof space above her.
From the doorway where she stood.
Maki could almost make out.
The shape of the old woman's sparse form.
Lying in the cot on the raised sleeping platform.
She knew too.
That her bony hands would be clutching and grasping ceaselessly.
At the worn threadbare blanket.
That provided her a comforting link to her past.
These days the old woman preferred lying down.
It seemed it was less effort.
Sometimes though she would crank her old frame out of the cot.
And creak about wearily.
Cussing and swearing.
Harmlessly bumping into the world about her.
Turning her attention away from the inside of the house.
She heard the swordsmith at his fire.
Creaking foot bellows pumped by his adoring acolytes.
And eventually she saw thin wisps of smoke break out of the smokestack.
Uncurling like newborn dragons released into the morning sky.
Soon the tap tap clang of metal against metal on anvil.
Would fill the air.
Providing a background to the day at the base amongst other sounds.
The master was a predictable man.
And a slave to a steady routine.
That ironically had made him the creative and productive powerhouse of the village.
All accomplished with an unassuming and silent modesty.
Watching him at work was like watching minimalist theatre.
Each step controlled and calculated.
Deriving maximum results from minimum effort.
A philosophy in motion.
Letting the metal work and shape itself.
He became the tool.
The metal working him.
Forming the spirit within.
As much as the metal without.
Looking to the middle distance beyond the smithy.
And it seemed in front of the bevy of glamorous crows.
She saw another form bending over harvesting grain.
It was still early in the day.
And yet she knew that he had probably been up since before sunrise.
It had been a good year.
Sun and rain aplenty.
Seeing him reminded her of their brief tryst three years back.
He had been strong and serious yet gentle inside.
Somehow though it just hadn't worked out between them.
Maybe they had too much in common.
Time had passed and these days he chose to keep himself apart.
And in a way it was better.
Because his distance.
Self imposed though it was.
Had had a simplifying effect.
She had agreed at the separation of the time.
And hadn't insisted.
Even for the child's sake.
But still.
On the horizon she noticed a plume of black acrid looking smoke.
Curling into the still morning air.
Possibly someone's house.
She could imagine the panic and the commotion.
But she had no friends or relations over that way.
So there was nothing really to worry about.
There was no sense in complicating life.
Turning her back and stepping into motion.
She took the brush broom from its hook on the outside of the house.
And started sweeping the packed earthen floor.
Regular right to left step back.
Right to left step.
Turning left to right.
The previous day's straw had a slight dampness to it.
But it still burnt well in the fire.
Crackling popping and spitting occasionally.
She took fresh straw from the bale in the corner and scattered it generously on the floor.
It was dry and smelled of the summer sun.
Steam rose from the cast iron pot on the hearth in the center of the room.
The rice porridge was nearly ready.
And just needed seasoning with some dried seaweed.
Fish flakes.
Salt.
And a dash of fresh curd.
She removed the pot from the fire.
And placed it on the wooden bench to cool.
And reminded herself to move it back slightly.
As either the old woman or the child might bump it off the edge and over themselves.
The child was now two and a half years old and would soon receive her name.
Maki was looking forward to the rituals and the celebrations afterwards.
Not because it had any spiritual significance or meaning to her.
Nobody really cared about that anymore.
But simply because it would be a welcome break from the routine humdrum of daily life.
And it was also a way to more closely knit family and friends together.
Even though most children these days survived easily into their teens.
It was a reminder of when it was common to lose one in three children to a disease of one sort or another.
The first naming was an important milestone.
And that the child was by that stage strong enough to meet the challenges that life offered.
She thought about some possible names.
Certainly the child was headstrong,
Stubborn and willful.
But there were also softer qualities that provided a balance.
A name that reflected the child's nature would be ideal.
Nothing too unusual though.
She would have to give it more thought.
In the meantime there was the more pressing problem of paying for the naming ceremony.
Maki didn't like the priests and thought they were charlatans and leeches.
Living off traditions and fears of the community.
Was there a choice though?
Could she just name the child herself and be done with it?
Grandmother would never approve.
And nor would the members of the village council.
Still none of them had offered to help her pay for the ceremony.
Maybe it was time to get the father involved after all.
It would also lead to a drawing closer.
But she didn't hold her hopes that high.
There must be another way.
She looked around her small living room and scanned for things that she could sell.
She used everything.
The few ornaments she had were too valuable for her to get rid of.
They probably weren't of any significance to anyone else.
They just helped her to remember times and people.
That after all was the treasure of life.
She looked at her gathering kit and decided that she'd try the forests for mushrooms.
They'd be very scarce this time of year.
But she may be in luck if she went early enough on a damp morning.
Had it been the right season she could have cut and gathered bamboo shoots to steam.
She'd marinate them a little,
Steam them and sell them at the market.
But that was just an idle thought.
She would think of something.
All in all she had about five months before she would have to pay for the ceremony.
The priests were at least patient about payment.
As long as it came before the actual day.
Whatever happened she'd look into inviting a few of the other women along to make a pleasant time of it.
It was hard work in the forests but friends always lightened the load.
She was looking forward to it already and decided to ask Kimiko at the market later on that day.
There the child was awake.
Her daughter came tumbling out of her cot and running up to her.
So full of energy and life.
Driven by a curiosity that often got her into trouble with her elders.
But also endeared her to them.
Maki remembered the time just recently when the child had found a sudden interest in making little pottery items from cow dung.
She had been quietly absorbed in the artistic rendering of her dung pots behind the stables that housed the neighbors' animals.
Totally unaware that her absence was causing some commotion and worry among the adults.
She could have wandered off again and fallen into a well or into the river as children are prone to do.
Grandmother had eventually found her behind the stables adding water to her dung mix.
The child had succeeded in almost covering herself with excrement.
And needed a thorough wash before she was admitted to the company of adults.
She was very proud of her creation though and gave it to her mum with a very serious manner that mimicked the adult gift giving ceremony.
That had been priceless.
Maki looked at the child's gift to her.
A miniature dung pot and held it in her hands before placing it carefully back on the windowsill.
It was one of those items that meant absolutely nothing to anyone else.
And yet it managed to contain all those precious memories in itself.
How were we to remember those golden moments in our lives without these prompts,
She thought.
Life is just too long to rely on the workings of memory alone.
There had to be keys to unlock those experiences and bring them back to mind.
Maki was keenly aware of that fact and often made a conscious effort in these quiet mornings.
To review the histories of the objects contained in her growing collection.
Not now though.
She caught the child in her arms and breathed in her warmth and life.
What joy this child brings.
She never thought that it could be possible to feel such a connection,
Such a bond.
At times she became anxious at a possible loss.
But soon drove those thoughts out of her mind.
There was absolutely no use in becoming overprotective of children.
They were here to learn to live after all.
Keeping them from experience,
Whether that was good or bad,
Was not a role that Maki thought was hers.
She involved as many people as possible in the child's life and ensured that she lived as fully as possible.
Mama,
I'm hungry.
So what's new?
Do you want to eat a horsey for breakfast?
A horsey?
Yes,
A big fat juicy horsey.
The child giggled and squirmed.
Was it possible to hold still?
She always seemed to be in motion.
The energy was constant.
Only when the child slept was there a possibility of peace for her body.
Even then though,
As she slept she would dream.
Maki had watched her.
The child's eyes would move behind her closed lids as if they were following phantoms.
There was another world inside of the child to which she had no access.
She could only imagine what her child dreamt of.
Maki and the child walked giggling to the kitchen area.
She put her down and rummaged around for a bowl,
Spoon and ladle.
Then dipped the ladle into the cooling porridge and scooped two spoonfuls into the bowl.
She loved the raw feeling of the earthenware in her hands.
It had been made especially for her and she had sat watching its form appear on the command from the potter's fingertips as the wet clay turned on the wheel.
She had seen the pot swirl into life before her disbelieving eyes.
How could something so beautiful and practical rise out from within a bowl of wet clay?
She had marveled at her friend's skill and rejoiced when after the firing the bowl came forth in its glory.
There you are,
My child.
Take the bowl in both hands and go sit next to Grandma.
I don't want to,
She said.
I thought you said you were hungry.
I don't want to sit next to Grandma.
Oh,
Really?
Hmm.
Well,
You can sit where you want.
The child took the bowl in both hands and waited as Muggie placed the spoon in the parch.
And then she walked over and sat next to the smiling old lady.
Grandma had been watching intently all the while and gave the child a playful tickle under her chin as she came and sat next to her on the sleeping mat.
The old lady was frail and frame,
But her mind was usually sharp and alert.
There were times,
Though,
Muggie noticed,
When she drifted off into what seemed to be another world.
Her mother existed more and more in another space and time.
Sadly,
It made her think that the old lady's death was drawing closer by the day.
Perhaps the only thing that kept her going these days was the life of the young child in her care.
Muggie wished that her grandmother would live to see the child through the first naming ceremony in a few months' time.
She knew as a certainty that the old woman would not survive to see the seventh year of the child.
And that filled her heart with sadness.
What were we to do,
Though,
Thought Muggie?
Do we stop life because of the pain?
Do we cease to love because we know that we lose those whom we love?
She knew the answers already.
Be as you are.
See who you are.
Remain as the self.
This is the knowledge that all the enlightened spiritual teachers have shared.
You do not have to get into an altered state to experience it.
All you need to do is to become aware of the part of you that sees and knows.
When you touch that inner knower,
Even for a second,
You touch your essence.
Think of yourself as being composed of two different aspects.
A part that changes,
That grows old and ages,
And a part that does not.
The changing part,
The body,
Mind,
Personality part,
Looks very different now than when it was a twelve-year-old person.
The occupations and preoccupations have changed radically since then.
The way we think has changed radically since then.
Not only has this person played all different kinds of roles through the years,
The student,
The journalist,
The spiritual seeker,
The teacher,
And so on.
They've also taken on several dozen different inner roles.
So,
This changing part has various outer personalities,
And as many secret cells as well.
There are aspects of the personality that seem ancient and wise.
And yet,
There are parts that seem impulsive,
Undeveloped,
And foolish even.
They assume different attitudes as well.
There is a vast detachment,
Along with a large capacity for emotional turmoil.
There is frivolity and depth,
Compassion and selfishness.
There are,
In short,
Any number of inner characteristics inhabiting our consciousness.
Each with its own set of patterns and emotions,
And each with its own voice.
And yet,
Amid all of these different and often conflicting outer roles and inner characters,
One thing remains constant.
The awareness that holds them.
This is the part of the self that does not change.
Your awareness of your own existence is the same at this moment as it was when you were two years old.
Yet,
That awareness of being is utterly impersonal.
It has no agenda.
It doesn't favor one type of personality over another.
It looks through them all as if through different windows,
But it is never limited by them.
Sometimes we experience that awareness as a detached observer.
The witness of our thoughts and actions.
And sometimes we simply experience it as our felt sense of being.
We exist,
And we feel that we exist.
When you focus in and get to know that awareness,
It becomes the doorway to your deeper awareness or consciousness.
If you keep exploring awareness in meditation,
It emerges more and more distinctly.
Thoughts and other sensations gradually recede,
And you begin to experience the still yet fluid field of bare consciousness.
That is the underlying ground of you.
Eventually,
The awareness that was at first only perceptible in snatches,
Will reveal itself to be a huge expanse of being.
As Rumi said,
No words are necessary to see into reality.
Just be,
And it is.
Become aware of your body in this space and time,
In this here and now.
Notice how your body feels in your relaxed posture,
In your bed.
Become aware of the sensation of your body,
Of the air against your skin,
How the sheets or the clothes feel against your body.
Notice whether your body is warm or cool.
Now,
Feel the sensations in your inner body.
Perhaps you are aware of your stomach rumbling.
Perhaps you notice sensations of contraction or relaxation in your muscles.
Become aware of your breath.
The sensation of the breath entering the nostrils.
The slight coolness as it comes in.
The slight warmth as it goes out.
And become aware of what is going on in your mind.
Observe the thoughts and images that move across your inner screen.
Notice the deeper feelings,
The emotions,
And any mental static that arises.
You are not trying to change any of this.
Simply observe and hold it in your awareness.
Turn your attention to awareness itself.
Become aware of your own awareness.
The knowingness that lets you perceive all of this.
Become aware of the inner spaciousness that holds together all the sensations,
All feelings,
And all thoughts that make up your experience in this moment.
Focus your attention on your own awareness.
As if you were paying attention to attention itself.
Let yourself be that awareness.
It's time now for another bedtime story.
And this one,
Again,
Is rather special.
Because it talks about a special friend of mine who passed away some time ago now.
However,
The memory of his being is still with me.
As we find that any of these kinds of friendships are.
In me,
When I think about Paul,
There is a sense of loss,
Of course.
But I'm also so glad that I had the privilege of knowing him before he passed away.
So,
Think of this as a celebration of Paul and his life.
And if you are awake at this moment,
Maybe you can think of some special people in your life who have had a similar impact as Paul has had on mine.
So relax.
Again,
It doesn't matter if you drift away into deeper sleep.
You can always come back and listen to this another time.
The other day,
I was thinking of Paul.
It's been just over a year since he lost his battle with cancer.
It's one of life's difficult things to lose a good friend.
And frustrating to be miles away in a distant land when it all unravels.
Not that anyone could have done anything.
Cancer has a way of surreptitiously inserting itself into an unsuspecting life and then spring forth,
Catching everyone unaware.
It elbows its way into our lives and becomes part of the daily conversation,
Our routines,
Our thoughts.
It takes over the lives of those who have it and of those closest to them.
Not a jealous mistress,
But a tyrant that demands our strength.
Saps our energies and then spits us out without as much as a thank you.
I realize that all I have are snippets and images dimly remembered over a span of 30 years.
And that pasting them together can never really hope to constitute a complete person.
How I perceived Paul is different to how his family did,
Or how his partner and daughter do.
But this is the same for anyone.
We play different roles in our day-to-day lives and present a different image of ourselves in each.
It leaves me wondering if anyone really does have a complete picture of anyone.
Are we,
As individuals,
Aware of the variations that we project of ourselves?
Is the self an enduring concept?
Stretching back the memory to my university days,
Fires and neurons that contains Paul's files that are stored in the vaults of my brain,
Somewhere along the line,
I had picked up the notion that it would be a good thing to learn to play the classical guitar.
And that is what I did to the point of obsession.
As a musician,
It was a late start for me when I compared myself to the other music students who had been born with clarinets in their hands,
Or had been playing the piano from special womb-inserted devices and such.
I struggled to make sense of what I was doing,
And it was obvious.
Halfway through the Bachelor of Music I was doing,
I decided enough was enough and changed streams to English literature.
And that is where I found my home.
The classical guitar training and the rigor of playing up to six hours a day have had some benefits,
Even to this day.
And one of the greatest benefits has been the people I've met,
And the friends I've made along the way.
And Paul was one of them.
I remember very clearly the first time we met.
Steve,
A bass-playing friend of mine,
Whom I'm still in touch with,
Dragged me away from my never-ending solitary guitar practice to go to visit Paul,
Who at the time was studying biology at university.
In the foothills of Brooklyn in Wellington was wedged an interesting and half-finished home that Paul,
His brother Tim,
And his parents inhabited.
It was built around a courtyard and had the potential of being something bigger,
But I think the idea of finishing the project became less important as time went on.
On first appearances,
Paul looked exotic and reflected his Greek ancestry.
He was going through his winkle-picker phase,
And he sported a fine black velvet pair as if they were natural extensions of his feet.
Probably red or lime-green jeans to go with an odd shirt,
A mass of black hair,
Pointy unshaven chin,
Beaky nose upon which were perched hideous,
Thick,
Black-framed glasses through which beady and always interested eyes peered.
When I think of Paul,
Somehow there is also a link to an image of a black crow majestically strutting and cawing raucously through life.
Another memory of that first impression was the presence of cheese.
Paul liked cheese.
The bluer,
Runnier,
More protrascent,
Gag-inducing the better.
As I walked into his house,
I noticed a cheese board proudly displaying an assortment of various milk-derived products in different stages of decay.
I balked at the invitation to partake in the runny accoutrements on the board,
Saying that I didn't like my cheese as blue,
Runny,
Goat-derived,
Sheep-induced,
Or otherwise.
You don't like much,
Do you?
Paul uttered as a blunt,
Direct statement rather than a question,
Whilst helping himself to a slice of blue cheese.
His persistence in including examples of the above in our various interactions over the years has led me to develop an appreciation of the finer aspects of the protrascent,
Especially when accompanied by liberal sloshings of wine.
I note that the initial shock of the smell of ammonia is quickly softened by the rich,
Round taste of aged cream,
But the knowledge that that bacterium that is responsible for the smell of many blue cheeses,
As well as foot and other human odours,
Still lingers questionably in my mind,
No doubt to be dealt with further at a later stage.
All good for now,
Though.
I think the reason for that first introduction was that Paul wanted to learn to play classical guitar,
And even though I protested at being too busy to do so,
He insisted that he wouldn't take up that much time.
He was my first ever guitar student,
And through him I began the path that eventually led me to become a teacher further down the track,
As my aspirations of musical fame dwindled,
And the stark reality of competition from younger and more able musicians came to the forefront.
The weekly lessons were more or less protracted chat sessions helped along by the now ubiquitous wine and cheese.
As a student,
Paul went at a challenge with the initial charge of a sprinter,
Rather than the mindset of a long-distance specialist.
He learned some initial scales and fingerings,
Introductory studies in how to play a Carulli waltz,
And that was about as far as it went.
I did try to get him beyond those early bits and pieces.
However,
He seemed satisfied with the semi-mastery of Carulli,
Until in the end I had to ban him playing it because it was nerve-wracking to listen to,
Especially since they were learned mistakes that had become ingrained in the performance of it,
As sometimes happens.
He learned it well,
However,
And years later when we met up again in Sydney,
One of the first things he did was to play the Carulli waltz,
Mistakes and all.
Somewhere in our interactions,
I believe Paul made it his mission to promote a more open and wider mind in those he met through reading classic literature.
Both his parents are closely involved in education and are avid readers themselves,
With rooms and corridors lined with shells of books as evidence to support that claim.
At one time he placed a copy of Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky in front of me with the command to read it,
As if doing so would do me good.
The only thing I can say about that particular book was that it was a crime that it was ever published and a punishment to have to read it.
Life is a short and often tumultuous event in the bigger scheme of things,
And to have to endure the bleak perspectives of authors who insist on reminding us of our mortality and our shortcomings is not my idea of entertainment.
In that bag of authors I would also place Ibsen,
Chekhov,
Tolstoy,
Dickens,
Joyce,
And more recently,
McCourt.
I tend to lean more towards Beckett and the theatre of the absurd,
As in my mind life is but a series of bizarre and meaninglessness in endless repetition.
One thing about the above authors that I have to admit to being true,
Their works do make great draft-stoppers.
Once Paul had made the move from the pleasant bucolic greenery of New Zealand to the arid dust bowls of Australia,
Our friendship became a series of occasional meetings interspersed by long intervals in which other bits of life happened.
It is often said that friendship is timeless in the sense that people can meet after years apart and seem to be able to continue in conversation as if it were only recently interrupted.
So too in this case was Paul when we met up again as I was making the move to Tokyo and stopped over in Sydney to visit.
He was rather proud of his newfound home and boasted of the fact that Australia hosts the top ten most poisonous critters from spiders and scorpions to larger animals such as crocs and sharks that would bite you in half,
And stingers,
Or jellyfish,
That could sting you to paralysis and subsequent death in a matter of minutes.
All this as he was leading us on a trail in the Blue Mountains past those very same critters,
Beasts and stingers mentioned in the previous breath.
We stepped gingerly on.
As an individual who marched to the beat of a different drum,
Paul involved himself in a variety of projects simply for fun and interest and social engagement rather than any ulterior motive.
We had long and impassioned debates,
Fueled by wine and cheese of course,
About whether or not altruism could actually exist in this world driven by self-indulgence,
Greed and desire.
Being a subscriber of the latter variety,
I instigated a project that we later referred to as our We Project with the ultimate aim of retiring rich at an early age,
Buying a private island in the Bahamas and working on developing one of those even tans that only the independently wealthy have time to foster.
The idea was sound and involved developing an online reading site that would engage early learners and those new to English in progressively more challenging and interesting materials.
There would be guided listening,
Quizzes,
Puzzles,
Fiction and non-fiction of all sorts,
Along with incentives to do better.
A grand idea and one that is now a common concept on the web.
We made some inroads and developed one story to near completion,
But somehow we were both too distracted by life to actually make a concerted effort that would see the project come to fruition.
I do have a copy on DVD of our We Project with the voice of Paul uttering good at each correct quiz element.
It showcases our idea along with Paul's skills in IT which made the interactive elements work so seamlessly.
The notice of ill health was a bombshell.
Here was a man in his mid-forties,
Physically fit and active,
In the prime of his life,
Learning from his doctor after a normal annual check-up that he had leukemia.
The initial prognosis was positive and due to his level of fitness,
Doctors said there was a high percentage chance that he would be able to meet and beat the canker.
Through our Skype conversations,
I was only a distant part of the ordeal of the treatment that followed.
He maintained a positive yet matter-of-fact outlook and all was looking promising until he had a relapse,
After which the picture was grim indeed.
At this site,
When we spoke,
I tried as much as possible to keep things normal with banal conversation,
But in my heart I knew the seriousness of his condition.
I stared at the email message from Nina,
Paul's partner,
For what seemed like a long time.
She wanted me to call her.
She told me in her soft tones that Paul had passed away and was at rest.
Even though we knew the day would come,
I could not hold back the tears as the sadness at her loss enveloped our lives.
There is no comfort to those who are left behind after death.
Death is brutal in its force and rips to shreds our trust in life.
The wounds are raw and stay that way for an eternity.
We learn to cope because we have to.
However,
One way we can rob death of its power to remember those who have died is to give them space to live with us in our hearts.
I miss you,
Mate.
Live on.
Live on.
Are you ready for another wee story?
This one is about my first experiences with Vipassana in Tokyo.
As you may know,
The Goenkar Vipassana centers are an international organization with many Vipassana centers all around the world offering free 12-day retreats to anybody who has the time to come along and spend up to 10 hours a day meditating.
It's a rigorous introduction to meditation if that is what you're looking for.
But more importantly,
Once you've established a Vipassana practice or a meditation practice,
A retreat two or three times a year has the effect of deepening the experience and allowing our true natures to shine forth more.
Let's have a look at what this story reveals.
Joe didn't make it.
When I first saw the tall,
Pimple-faced teenager,
I thought that he looked out of place.
He had the long,
Blonde looks of a surfer,
And more likely an urban skateboarder.
And a distant,
Hungry look in his eyes had made you think he wanted to be somewhere else.
He was there as usual for breakfast and lunch on the fourth day into the course.
But when the rest of us were having a tea break at 3 p.
M.
,
I noticed that his bags had gone.
He seemed to have left in a hurry as his futon was left unfolded with the bed linen strewn in a mess on top in a seeming protest.
Retreats are not for everyone.
When I first arrived in Japan many years ago,
I had been expecting to find a plethora of Buddhist temples offering Zen meditation.
Having been introduced to the practice of meditation through martial arts,
I was looking forward to weekend retreats in mountains under the watchful eye of an experienced,
Enlightened roshi.
However,
I quickly discovered that most temples around Tokyo were graveyards or tourist attractions that acted as cash cows for generationally rich Japanese families.
I learned,
For example,
That the famous bronze statue of the Buddha in Kamakura is owned by a family,
And that they have their residence on the grounds,
But out of sight from tourists,
As is their fleet of luxury vehicles.
In Kyoto,
There are some temples that advertise classes to give tourists a taste of Zen.
It usually means a quick tour of the temple,
Sitting down for 20 minutes of guided meditation,
And then finishing up with a cup of bitter green tea.
I met a monk who said that Zen was one of Japan's best-known exports,
But that there wasn't much interest in Japan.
People in cities just did not seem to have the time to commit to regular practice.
He himself had traveled to the United States for his training,
And when he returned to Japan,
He had hoped to start regularly weekly Zen meetings.
But on the night I was there,
There were only the two of us.
More recently,
A weekly advertisement indicating Friday night Zazen kept catching my eye in a local Tokyo newspaper.
Finally,
After months of dithering,
I mustered enough energy after work to head out to Ueno on the Yamanote Line.
I found the temple in amongst office buildings about 10 minutes' walk from the station,
And when I walked up the stairs to the fourth floor,
I was surprised that the meditations were led and organized by a long-time Tokyo resident from the U.
S.
Again,
The spacious hall was filled by just the two of us.
So,
Too,
An annual weekend retreat in a temple in Shizuoka,
Held over the Golden Week,
Is organized and run by a British monk living in Tokyo.
When I attended,
I found the temple staff were Japanese,
And apparently ordained monks with the full robe outfits and shaven heads.
But they seemed more interested in listening to Enka,
Watching the horse races on the kitchen TV,
And drinking beer.
Very little,
If any,
Sitting in the dusty adjacent meditation hall.
To them,
We were probably just a bunch of Japophile foreigners intent on an authentic Japanese experience.
At one time,
We persuaded the head monk to chant a sutra for us and bang a gong,
But then that really did have the effect of making me feel like a stupid tourist.
I had given up the idea of finding a place to meditate in Japan,
When one day a Facebook friend of mine announced that she had just been on a 10-day Vipassana course in Chiba,
Which was only two hours from my home in Tokyo.
I looked online at the course webpage and was surprised when I saw that people were going to do 10 days of meditation,
Getting up at 4 o'clock in the morning and going through to 9 o'clock at night.
There were some breaks for lunch and rest,
But it still meant 10 hours of intensive meditation each day.
I was shocked and wondered if I had the mental strength needed,
But I decided to enroll in a course in the heat of summer and waited for the time to come.
I've never had much need to get out beyond the city fringes.
The large sprawl of Tokyo takes some time to get out of,
Whether that means going westward towards the mountains or eastwards towards the coast.
I did have an idea of the rice fields and forests that lay beyond the city due to our numerous trips out of Narita Airport.
But other parts of Chiba had remained a mystery until this time.
Once beyond the city of Chiba itself,
The land becomes an intense summer green that is not often associated with Japan.
Extensive stands of bamboo,
Manicured rice fields in which white herons stepped through on stilted legs,
Small towns and one-hut train stations.
Perhaps it was my imagination,
But the train itself seemed to slow down and take a more spaced-out and casual approach to the earlier frenetic clickety-clacking within the city.
Here there seemed an extra noise or two.
Clickety-clackety-click.
Clickety-clackety-click.
There was space to sit down on the seats.
There was time to look out of the windows.
The Vipassana Center in Chiba is out in the countryside,
Close to the town of Mobara.
Established in 2006,
The land on which the buildings sit used to be an old baseball diamond,
Complete with netting and run-down disused clubhouses.
The center members and volunteers renovated the buildings as much as possible,
Turned the largest building into a kitchen-dining-room facility and added temporary toilets and shower facilities.
When the first residential courses were held,
The participants slept in single-pup tents raised off the ground on wooden platforms.
All rather makeshift,
But it worked.
As word got out that there was an active Vipassana Center in Tokyo,
More people became interested and the courses became increasingly popular.
Eventually,
With volunteer help and donations,
A large meditation hall,
Two dormitories and bathroom facilities were added.
When I arrived toward early evening,
I surrendered my phone,
Tablet and any other distractions for safekeeping,
Sat through the orientation and enjoyed a wholesome vegetarian dinner with my fellows.
After this,
We were taken to the separate male-female dormitories and I was shown my space on the floor,
Given a futon,
Some sheets,
A pillow and made myself ready for the early start the next morning.
To an outsider,
Looking through the windows,
Meditation must seem like a very relaxed and peaceful thing to do.
The reality is that it is very hard work.
When sitting on a cushion with legs crossed and eyes closed,
The body is held very still and stopped from moving.
Over time,
The breath becomes slower,
But the mind and our thoughts are just the first things we have to fight with.
Usually,
In our lives,
We let our minds run free,
Jumping from one thought to the next and back again.
It really is like a wild animal that needs to be tamed.
In meditation,
The attention is focused simply on the breath going in and then the breath going out.
Every time a thought comes,
It is ignored and the mind is refocused on the spot between the nose and the upper lip and the attention returns to respiration.
It sounds easy,
Doesn't it?
But it isn't.
Most beginners find that the mind will focus for about two or three breaths before going off on some tangential daydream.
However,
Slowly and with practice,
The thoughts begin to slow down and the mental peace begins to appear.
There even seem to be moments when there is no thought at all,
Just a quiet awareness.
It is very much like throwing out all the junk and furniture from your room and just living simply on a tatami mat floor.
The mind gets cleared of all the clutter and learns to rest.
Getting up at 4 a.
M.
Wasn't really a problem.
In fact,
It was one of the best memories of the time I spent there.
The cool early morning air felt refreshing in contrast to the oppressive heat of the day and the full moon that hung on the morning horizon like a white pearl also provided natural light on the path to the meditation hall.
Once everyone was seated,
The hall filled with silence as minds turned to meditation.
The early morning bird song and the call of insects became louder as the sky lightened.
It was the best part of the day.
The physical side of sitting absolutely still during the four intensive hour-long sections of the day is an enormous challenge.
Again,
We are not used to sitting still for a long time and the body will tell you that it needs to move.
Your nose will begin to itch and you will want to scratch it.
You will hear a mosquito whine around your ears and you will want to slap at it.
You will feel that your shirt or pants are too tight and you will want to wriggle to make yourself more comfortable.
But,
No,
You cannot move.
Most of all,
You cannot uncross your legs during intensive practice and this becomes very painful.
Trying to sit with your legs crossed and back straight and seeing how long it takes before the pain starts is the challenge.
Usually about twenty minutes.
Imagine then what it feels like to sit for one hour and then to do that repeatedly every day for ten days,
Four times a day.
Sometimes the pain is so bad that you want to give up,
Stand up and go home,
Like Joe did.
It seems endless and it takes over the mind.
There is no escaping the pain and it becomes central and foremost to your existence until a point is reached where there is a simple surrender.
The body will not take any more pain and lets go.
In my case,
I felt as if I had been immersed in a cold waterfall and the pain was washed out of me in a tingling current of released tension and energy.
By day five of the course,
There is still some pain from time to time but you know that it's not an insurmountable problem.
At the end of the retreat,
There is a strong sense of accomplishment knowing that sitting motionless for an hour is possible.
Another interesting challenge during the ten days was the vow of noble silence.
Before starting the retreat,
A solemn promise is made not to talk or have any contact with any other person.
It meant that even though there were sixty people on the course it would feel like you were there by yourself and in your own world.
This is important because often people talk without thinking and just chat because they feel uncomfortable with silence.
Silence also helps the mind to become still and quiet.
Noble silence means that the whole day becomes a meditation even going to the bathroom and eating because you have to control the wish to speak.
In an emergency,
It is possible to speak with course leaders but mostly people spend the ten days in a quiet way.
No music,
No television,
No reading,
No writing,
No talking.
At the end of the ten day course when noble silence was lifted people had the chance to speak and relax.
It was a rather strange experience because we had been closely together for the duration of the course and yet this was the first opportunity we had to speak with one another.
I discovered that some people had come from as far north as Hokkaido and one or two from Shikoku.
There was even a young man from Bhutan and a couple of foreigners like myself who had made Japan home.
Mostly though the participants were young Japanese students or new graduates in their mid-twenties.
I was surprised at the total number of people on the course and once again thought back to what the young monk in Kyoto had told me a couple of years before.
He had said there wasn't much interest in the practice of meditation in Japan but maybe this course was a sign that there still is.
Since the first course I have attended a further four.
I am aware that there is a small core of volunteers who give their time in the upkeep of the center,
Prepare and cook the meals,
Act as administrators and maintain the buildings.
There is none of the pomp and ceremony found at working temples,
No monks in robes,
No fancy raked pebble gardens to contemplate,
Nor statues of the Buddha to bow down to.
The center provides many with their first intensive retreat experience and those who return for more.
Develop an inner peace that stays and is carried with them between times.
I have booked myself in again for this summer.
It is my wish that you have had a long,
Restful and restorative sleep through this experience.
Begin now to come fully back into this present moment.
Listening with all your heart to the mantra Loka Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu May all beings everywhere be happy and peaceful.
And so this day dawns.
May each of us carry into our daily activities the peace that we find at the core of our beings and share that in the world as it is so much needed.
Let us become less reactive,
Less judgmental,
Less stressed,
Less eager to enter into argument.
When we meet our brothers and sisters let us be aware that we do not know them fully.
We do not know the pressures and strains they are under.
What we may see as someone who is a functioning adult may be entirely different.
Someone who is struggling.
Someone who is emotionally unbalanced.
Someone who is suffering in grief or in pain.
We do not know.
So let us remember that as we go through our next day.
Being mindful.
Being compassionate.
And caring for others as we care of ourselves.
Many blessings to you.
Let us finish our practice this day with some metta bhavana.
So come up to a sitting position.
Being fully awake and present in this moment.
Put your hands together at your heart chakra.
Bring your mind fully here and now in this present moment.
May all beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering.
May all beings experience unconditional love.
May all beings be free from fear,
Anxiety,
Depression and the storms of mind.
May all beings enjoy robust good health.
May all beings live in peace and harmony.
May all beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering.
May all beings be happy.
Om.
