the flip of a coin.

"i worked my way up from nothing to a state of extreme poverty." groucho marx.

a coin fell out of my trousers as i stripped them off. i'd like to say it was during an exotic, erotic, exciting encounter, but unfortunately or fortunately, depending on your point of view, i was at the health club.

the coin rolled under a bench and initially i couldn't find the thing, ended up crouching down, searching underneath. meanwhile, an elderly gentleman asked what i'd lost and, similarly wearing only his knickers, immediately joined me under the bench. that was spectacularly unsettling to me: the two of us half under with our backsides up in the air. finally, i located the damn coin, snatched it, and immediately realized it was only a lousy quarter. that somehow made the whole sordid affair so much worse.

sitting on the bench to catch my breath, i decided that twenty-five cents was so not worth getting down on all fours with a mostly naked strangely friendly old guy. it really shoulda been at least a tooney. if the situation ever repeats itself, i decided there and then that i'd require confirmation of the coin's value before stooping to such a level.

what we should be willing to do for money has always been a conversation worth having. there were a few mornings, for example, as i drove through a blizzard, basically risking my life to get to my job, just to sell jewellery, when i asked myself: 'wtf?'. sure, it was a short conversation, but definitely worth having. i got a lot out of it.

"those are my principles and if you don't like it, well, i have others." groucho marx.

i'm here now. are you?

"if we hope to go anywhere, we must step from where we are standing. If we don't really know where we are standing, we may only go in circles.” jon kabut-zinn.

having invited folks from the ukraine and/or russia to let me know what their attraction to my blog is, the only comment i've received so far has been from a woman who lives on my street. and she's originally from this street. i doubt she's ever been to the ukraine or russia, and she just wanted to know what exactly i meant by writing that my world has become small.

well, i've been fortunate enough to have travelled extensively, stumbled through high mountain passes, been lost in exotic markets, given a few questionable speeches, written a couple of forgettable books. now, i'm fortunate enough to just be here, shovelling snow from my laneway, walking through wakefield village, chatting with friends, writing this blog. my world has definitely shrunk over the years and maybe that's just the way it should be as you grow older, or not.

the last time i had a physical, i discovered that even my carcass is shrinking. it was the first examination in several years and i was strangely excited. but, the nurse measured me and i was immediately shocked to hear that i had shrunk down to 5'9 3/4". i'd always been 5'10 1/4". i insisted she measure me again. unfortunately, the second time confirmed the first time and i wanted a third time only she weighed me instead. she pronounced me to be 180 pounds and again i was shocked. i'd always hovered around 165. so, sensing my dismay and not waiting for me to insist, nurse ratchet rolled her eyes, plunked me back on the scale and, sure enough: 180. i shook my head and muttered to myself: "great. i'm slowly turning into a short fat guy." shrinkage. in fact, if one certain rather strange and mysterious part of me gets any smaller i may have to buy a dress. i realize there are great sales happening at this time of year, but geez.

obviously, ones world becoming smaller does not preclude one from following world events, having opinions, feeling for the poor, downtrodden, sick, dispossessed and oppressed, of which there are too many. but, i do believe that the best way to bring peace to the world is to strive for peace in ones own life. after all, are there not a plethora of peaceless world movers and shakers out there (?) 

the trickshaw wallah.

one of the first places i wanted to visit in india was bodh gaya, the place where the buddha allegedly gained enlightenment while sitting under a bodhi tree.

i arrived in the night by train at the nearby much larger town of gaya and was immediately mobbed by a bunch of rickshaw wallah. i jumped onto one rickshaw and asked the driver to take me to the buddhist vihara. the guy peddled along steadily for what seemed like a heck of a long time, but i'd been told it was close to the train station. i tried to ask why it was taking so much time, mostly by barking at him uselessly in english with accompanying hand-gestures, and i became increasingly anxious after each time he'd smile back at me reassuringly. mercifully, he finally pulled up beside a building and motioned that we'd arrived. i paid what felt like a pile of rupees, but i was still almost completely unfamiliar with the currency at that point. anyway, i checked in, went to bed and slept the sleep of the dead.

in the morning, one of the red-and-orange-robed monks brought me a great cup of chai and a terrible plate of toast. once i readied myself for the world, i got up onto my hind legs, climbed down the concrete stairs, through the small terrazo lobby and out into the already oppressively hot sunlight. the state of bihar was in the grips of a prolonged and crippling heat wave. it took me a bit before my eyes adjusted to the light, and then the very first thing i saw, right across the circle, was the train station.

the realization that i'd been cheated catapulted me into a terribly unpleasant state of mind. it was not pretty. i recalled the british couple i met in delhi who were dissolution-ed with india because they'd been ripped-off, twice. i strode purposely over to the station, to where dozens of cycle rickshaw wallah stood patiently waiting for a train, any train. obviously, finding the very driver who'd cheated me, in amongst that crowd, would be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack, but i was sure gonna try. i began searching the eager faces of each one. and, as i did, i couldn't help noticing their worn-out rags, their emaciated bodies even while smiling, chattering, smoking their beedees and chewing paan. many were old, some coughing and wheezing. every one of them had that lean hungry look and i started calculating how much, in fact, i'd been cheated: approximately $2.50 cdn. i walked on, to a corner store.      

the proprietor produced a warm 'campa cola' from out of the refrigerator, opened it for me and i sat down on a nearby curb against a big tree. i sipped the warm cola as i scanned the busy morning market, everyone bustling, hustling, when a bird actually fell out of the tree and landed with a pathetic little thud beside me. 

one love, one heart.

i'm big in the ukraine. according to this blog site, more folks read my postings there than anywhere. why? even wtf? maybe one or more ukrainian can shed some light on this phenomenon. next in line, btw, comes russia. i haven't had a lot of contact with that part of the world. however, i've flown over, i believe some ancestors actually came from the ukraine and a russian lady on-line once seemed strangely eager to marry me.

this trend has been building over the past months and has created a situation in which i'm feeling warmer, fuzzier toward those places, those people all the time. i'm like a self-deluded rockstar, high on his own rockstar-ness, who wants to jump off the stage and crowd-surf. i feel like visiting. i wonder if i'd be greeted at the airport, given an award, handed the keys to the city. i actually don't like travelling anymore, but maybe the russian government could help me get elected to public office here.

canada, traditionally the country interested in what i have to say, is now firmly established in third position, closely followed by the united states, most of europe. on the other hand or foot, china, south america, africa, australia and new zealand are not the least interested in my slog and, curiosely, india is only vaguely interested.

perhaps what is even curious-er is that anyone at all is interested in anything i might write. because i really don't know much. i believe we've been sold a bill of goods, so to speak, by our elders. i believe that. i feel that. they told us what we must do to get into some sort of heaven, paradise, nirvana, freedom, salvation, and we bought it. they told us we're better than them, that our way is the right way and their way the wrong way. i don't know that we've been given a heck of a lot of wrong information, but i sure do feel it. maybe ukranian folk feel it too.

what i know is that spending a day like today shovelling, meditating, eating, writing, shovelling, playing scrabble, eating, shovelling, is really very nice. that's what i know. my world is small, white, pretty quiet. that's the way i like it. and yet it includes people from so far away, all faiths, colours, genders, sizes, shapes. love you guys.

'one love, one heart. lets get together and feel alright.' bob. 

my mom became my dad.

mom was a pretty scary lady. she could put the fear of god into an atheist. my dad, on the other hand, was a sweet guy who basically buried himself in his work, and who could blame him. be that as it may, they were together sixty-three years. i was gone for nearly thirty of those years and, upon my return in '98, i soon realized something kinda weird and kinda interesting. my old dad had become a little scary and mom had become a little sweet. i think you get my point.

my friend gord, (obviously not his real name), is an internationally respected economist who travels a lot. he almost always flies business class and recently discovered, upon his return, that he prefers sleeping in his lazy-boy recliner rather than the bed. also, he likes tiny bathrooms and tv dinners. i'm just kidding about the bathrooms and tv dinners, but you get my point.

when i first landed at the ashram in india, there was a rather short, painfully shy guy there who'd fall into a heap, a kind of unconscious state, whenever he'd approach the swami. i found that incredibly odd, confusing, fascinating. swami simply would quite gently but continuously punch him on the back as he spoke or joked, even while meditating. this went on for the whole time i was first there. by my third month, the boy would sit up after a while. eventually, i left the ashram and only returned six months later. by that time, i was amazed to see the state of that same guy. he had become stronger, more confident, could even speak in front of the group. now, all these years later, a teacher in his own right, that once painfully shy guy regularly speaks in front of hundreds, even thousands of people. i believe you get my point.

about a hundred and fifty years ago, i visited a friend outside of eugene, oregon. his family had several dogs and one cat. it was a huge property with no close neighbours, so the cat only had humans and dogs to identify with. he knew he wasn't a human and it was, therefore, understood and simply accepted that the cat considered himself to be a canine. he slept and ate with the pack. he liked to play fetch the stick. he even tried humping my leg at one point, which was wrong on so many levels. i was strictly celibate in those days after all. ok, i'm sure you get my point.

"you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with." author and inspirational speaker, jim rohn.

the gas station lady.

a tall, dark-haired, rather predatory-looking lady came out from a back room to take payment for the gas my old truck had ingested. "yes, my dear," she said as she assumed her position behind the counter. it was an unusually small station, in merrickville, and the lady kept on with the dear this and dear that while i reflected upon the friendliness of small towns. maybe people are friendlier in villages rather than cities, but that's not a generalization i'm entirely comfortable with. especially since i heard the lady tell her friend that she was looking forward to goin dear hunting next day. but, i keep thinking how nice it was to hear someone call me dear, and i thought maybe i should go back for a visit. she's taller than me, younger, and i realize i could end up mounted on her wall. but, hey, i'm pretty sure we could decide between us where would be the best place for me to be mounted. i'm just sayin...

the cadillac.

apparently, there was nothing grampa sam wanted more than a new cadillac. he wasn't interested in cruises or other exotic travel. he didn't crave a cottage or a bigger bungalow. he had always thought that, upon retirement, he would buy a caddy, with all the bells and whistles.

sam came from poland in 1904, grew up in toronto, worked as a tailor and opened up the first movie theatre in the city, 'the popular' on bloor street, below his tailor shop. it was essentially just a rented large unheated room where he and his partner placed several rows of chairs, tacked up a bedsheet and played short films of mary pickford or mack sennett. the cost was five cents, except for saturday matinees when it'd be five cents for two kids. eventually sam opened a proper movie house, called 'the doric,' also on bloor, at gladstone avenue. he raised his family, lived a decent life, had no complaints. a cadillac was a significant sign of success in his mind, something that would be an exclamation mark on his existence.

  
on the day grampa sam decided it was time to buy his new car, he got himself all suited and booted up, smiled down at me proudly before heading off to the dealership. a few hours later, he returned driving a small crappy little car, just like he'd always had, and i asked why. "well, my boy, i'll tell ya," he began as he sat down on the sofa. "i looked those big beautiful caddys over, shiny and with all their chrome and leather. i took one out for a spin and it was amazing. it drove like a dream. but eventually, while i sat in it back at the showroom, i realized something very important. i realized money's not for things. money's so i can tell the world to buzz off and let me live in peace."

i remember grampa sam as a kind old man who became almost entirely silent following the death of his wife. he lost his money trying to save her and came to live with us. he'd sit in the living room with his wife's photo on his lap and tears in his eyes. he gave me my first puppy and, sometime in the late 1950s, he went back to work, as a school crossing guard.

in the end, as he languished in a hospital room, i'd visit when i could. we'd usually walk slowly up and down the hallway. it was around easter time and there were little rabbit heads stencilled onto the windows of the hall doors. old grampa sam stopped in front of one of those windows staring at the little rabbit head for a long time. then he spoke for the first time in ages. turning to me, he sorta smiled and said: "i bet you didn't know we had a playboy club here."

"manifest plainness, embrace simplicity, reduce selfishness, have few desires. that is the secret to a good life." lao tzu.

I'm Not Actually A Teacher, You're Not Actually A Student.

I’m Not a Teacher, You’re Not a Student.
I'm Not a Student, You're Not a Teacher.

This article is written for those special people who have become interested in or perhaps even fascinated by the idea of meditation. If you’re searching for instructions into a Reiki Level 1 course, Tarot cards, healing with crystals or how to contact your dead grandmother, this will not work for you. As wonderful as all those things may be, this article is exclusively concerned with explaining the pure, ancient and highly respected science of meditation, how and why to include it in your life. There is really no certification at the end of studying and practicing. There is, however, tremendous relaxation, a profound sense of well-being and a greater understanding of something I call ‘self-knowledge.’

At the start of one of my sessions, a severe-looking lady asked what my qualifications were for teaching. A lesser man might've broken down, admitted to being a total fraud. What I said, what I always say, is that I have no certificate or accreditation from any institute. I invited her to feel free to read the back of one of my books to learn a bit of my personal history, specifically as it pertains to the study, experience and teaching of meditation. But most importantly, I added, one has to rely on one’s own intellect and power of discrimination in order to choose who is worth listening to on any subject, especially this one. Moreover, ultimately, one has to take what is useful from any teacher or technique that guarantees results. Even the historical Buddha allegedly said that any technique worth employing must help a person in his or her life, here and now, right away.

The main teacher of my life, my beloved and revered Swami Shyamji, once gave me a piece of advice that I continue to keep close to my heart. As I was leaving his Himalayan hermitage to join a six-month, silent Vipassana Buddhist meditation retreat in Maharashtra, India, I asked if he had any last minute words of advice. “Yes, I do,” he said smiling impishly. “My advice is: Don’t be a Buddhist. Be the Buddha.” And with those words ringing in my ears I slithered away. Along with countless other words from Swamiji over the years, I’ve never forgotten that advice. I’ve often repeated it to my so-called students and even expanded upon it. Don’t be a Buddhist. Be the Buddha. Don’t be a Christian. Be the Christ. Don’t be a Hindu. Be Krishna. Don’t be a Sikh. Be Guru Nanak. Don’t be a Jew. Be Moses. Don’t be a Muslim. Be Mohammad.

So, no matter who we choose to listen to, sit with or learn from, it’s up to each of us to dig our own freedom, to find our own way, to become the enlightened one with no certificate to show for our trouble. Just freedom. It is in the light of this realization that I humbly offer these suggestions. In reality, I am not a teacher and you are not a student. If what I write is true and if it strikes a responsive chord within you, then we are united in that understanding. We are united not as teacher and student, but as Truth itself.

Having said all that, I should add something about why it may be helpful to seek some form of guidance or a ‘teacher’ when beginning to examine the science of meditation. One needn’t stay for long. One needn’t cook or clean for him or her, do anything strange in bed or hand over one’s money. What one must do is take advantage of the experience of a fellow traveler who has gone before, who has been up the path and who just might know the tricky twists and turns to watch out for along the way. And there’s one more reason to sit with someone whose meditation practice has matured. The rare people who have dedicated themselves to the process over many years actually emanate a spiritual essence, a vibration that is transmitted to those around them. That may sound terribly mystical, but it’s a fact and a quality not to be underestimated.

On one visit from India many years ago, my dad asked why meditation seemed to have helped me so much, but not my sister, who had also been meditating for some years. She was a devotee of a highly respected teacher, master and guru from India, Swami Yogananda, who had been a pioneer in bringing the information about meditation to the western world. Unfortunately, really, he passed away long before my sister ever heard of him. I replied to my dad that I didn’t have a definitive answer to that question, assuming that he was even correct. But I offered a possible explanation. I said that if one wanted to learn to play the piano, it wouldn’t really be of any use to sit in front of a photo of one’s teacher placed on the music stand above the keys. Why would meditation be any different? Why, for that matter, would religion be any different? It’s interesting that all truly enlightened people have said that we are one life, one energy, one love, irrespective of caste, race, creed, color or any other apparent difference. Why does the essential and original message of the enlightened beings through the ages become so perverted as to cause wars? Don’t be a Buddhist. Be the Buddha.

There’s really nothing hard to understand about meditation. And yet, it’s widely misunderstood here in the western world, and even in its home country, India. From the Sanskrit word, dhyaan, meditation has become synonymous with all things flaky and maladjusted. It’s been blamed for wasted talents and even wasted lives. Nothing could be further from the truth. I will admit that I put the Saran Wrap in the refrigerator and the milk in the cupboard once in a while. But I, along with so many other people who have spent years meditating, have found something so fine, so beautiful and freeing that nothing can compare with it. Rather than blame the proud process of meditation for our foibles, we praise it as the cause of our deep sense of well-being.

My teacher, early on, once said, “Nathan, the same mind that has gotten you into trouble can get you out of it.” In those days I rather hoped drugs might be the answer. But he assured me that was wrong, that drugs would only ruin my nervous system. I still prefer a mild pain-killer for headaches. However, somehow I came to understand that meditation is a powerful tool. Once trained, I realized, the mind could be used against the enemies of true happiness, such as a myriad of physical ailments, mental complexes and even the innate fear of death. Apparently, the Buddha was known to say that desires are the root cause of all problems. My mother said that lack of money is the root cause of all problems. My friend Danny seemed to think that not having many relationships is the root cause of all problems. Since I tried my mom’s solution and Danny’s solution for a while, I decided to try the Buddha’s, even though I never actually met the fellow. I thought I saw him once at a party, but I couldn’t be sure. Be that as it may, I was pretty concerned about losing my desire for money and relationships if I began to meditate. My girlfriend at the time was even more concerned. Now I see that’s not how it works. You don’t have to give up anything. You only have to add one thing to your life: a few minutes of meditation daily. Then sit back and watch it enhance whatever else you’re into. Watch it help you let go of what you want or need to let go of. Watch it make you see the cup as half full. Watch it make you happy.

One of the most prevalent misconceptions about meditation is that you have to stop your thoughts, kill your mind. What one has to stop, cut or kill is only the concept. Leave your mind alone. To allow a wild horse to settle down, it probably isn’t a great idea to put it in a very small corral. It’s far more preferable to give the creature a large, wide-open field to roam around in. It'll settle down on its own. In the same way, it’s far better to let the thoughts come and go freely. Merely sitting or lying down for some time each day and applying the technique assures one of a positive result. Only your misconceptions concerning what you’re doing can get in the way. The very act of stopping for a while will have a positive influence on your day, your life. That’s because, actually, you do not meditate. You just need to get out of the way for meditation to happen naturally. I'll explain. It’s easy, yet very few people will do it.

Dhyaan actually means ‘attention’ or ‘contemplation.’ Whether a mantra (usually a Sanskrit phrase) or the breath becomes your chosen point of attention, the results of meditation, as I’ve said, are assured. Done with the right understanding, your mind will settle down, you will enjoy a heightened sense of well-being. Done with continuity, you will be well on your way to becoming a more contented person, walking happily through life while, of course, sometimes spoiling the milk by putting it in the cupboard.

There are three states of consciousness that everyone is very familiar with: the waking state, the dreaming state and the deep sleep state. From the moment of conception, the ancient sages have said, a person begins to forget that he or she has a fourth state, which is called Turiya in Sanskrit. This state permeates all the other states, just as water is the essence of the iceberg. So the very act of stopping all your activities and tuning in to the essence of your existence, which is what you’re effectively doing in meditation, will take care of a lot. And the benefits are many.

In eastern philosophies and scriptures, you’ll often read that whatever is transitory cannot be said to be real. You’ll read that whatever is eternal is real and true. So this body, mind, ego mechanism is in that case not real or even existing. The ancient sages said that there is, in fact, no death because there was no birth. The space from whence ‘we’ come from, to where ‘we’ go, is considered real. The technique becomes, in the light of the previous paragraph, like an anchor. Utilizing it helps bring one’s attention back to one’s own self, to the reality of the essential life animating your body and mind. The technique helps us stop. As well, the technique trains the mind to focus like a laser beam, which will have far-reaching effects on your day, your life and, ultimately, your true knowledge.

The Vedantic scriptures liken the mind to a monkey flitting from branch to branch, tree to tree. Our mind flits from object to object and from thought to thought. We become so extraverted over the course of the years, or even as each day progresses, that it behooves us to find a way to regroup, so to speak. So, when we’ve decided to let the thoughts come and go freely while we sit and watch, we merely add one new thought. The phrase, or mantra, becomes a very significant and enjoyable thought as time marches on. All true mantras mean virtually the same thing: ‘I am the pure life, the essential energy animating all the forms.’ There is a popular Buddhist mantra that goes ‘Om mani padme hum’: ‘Behold the jewel within the lotus flower.’ There is a popular Hindu mantr that goes ‘Amaram Hum Madhuram Hum’: ‘I am immortal, I am blissful and indivisible.’ All real mantras basically refer to the one life, the one light at the center of all beings, the energy that animates all the forms.

It is often noted that Sanskrit is used for mantras because the vibration of the phrases resonate within the human mind to open certain spiritual channels. For an in-depth dissertation on the vibrational qualities of Sanskrit, I recommend Chaytna’s book, ‘Let’s Learn Hindi,’ which can be found through her website; www.letslearnhindi.com. I’ve always used the Sanskrit word; ‘Shyam’, as my mantra. It’s the name of my teacher and of the power that sustains life. It really doesn’t matter what mantra you choose, although Sanskrit mantras are the most recommended. However, choosing a mantra and sticking to it is important. Meditation is a technique of being one-pointed, after all. Chogyam Trungpa once wrote that western people tend to try many different techniques, which is like a thirsty person digging many shallow wells but never hitting water. He wrote that we should dig one well deep enough to achieve the desired result.

Having chosen a mantra, or been given one by a spiritual guide, master or guru, you’re ready to begin. My teacher used to say that you should be able to meditate anywhere unless somebody is physically shaking you. I once climbed all the way down to the bottom of a dormant volcano in Hawaii, called Haliakalu, in a quest to find the perfect spot for meditation. A hut had been constructed there for trekkers or foolish folks looking for a perfect spot to meditate. I felt so sure I’d finally found my place. Unfortunately, since there were no panes of glass nor screens in the windows, a couple of flies flew fairly frequently in there making a racket like they were at the El Macombo on a Saturday night. I left in a huff the next morning.

Later, on my way to India for the first time, I was compelled to sleep on the rooftop of a hotel in Peshawar after a long and tiring day of travel. The noise level from the crowds up there and the hollering, smoke and smells from the streets below were off the charts. I was convinced meditation would be a wasted endeavor in such a place. But, I had little choice. It was my rule to sit every evening one hour. And after an hour, in spite of my misgivings, I felt rejuvenated, refreshed. As well, contrary to popular belief, it’s not necessary to sit ramrod straight with legs crossed. It’s not even necessary to sit at all. You can lie down, settle into a comfortable chair or sit on a cushion with legs out or crossed. Since meditation is first a process of relaxation, let the sense of ease be your guide. You should feel relaxed and comfortable.

It’s easy to find a spot where there is very little noise. It’s easy to find a spot where there are virtually no pungent odors, unless of course you don’t bathe. It’s easy to find a spot where you’re not touching anything other than the pillows. But how does one get away from one’s own mental projections? As I’ve said before, the first thing to not do is mind your own thoughts. Don’t mind your mind. Remember, the same mind that got us into trouble can get us out. The mind is a trickster, a monkey. It will first distract you from your mantra and then make you feel bad for being distracted. Allow your thoughts to come and go freely. Decide beforehand that you won’t feel bad about them. Because I promise that you will be distracted again and again. So each time you realize you’ve been thinking or listening to a noise or feeling pain, pleasure or a strong emotion of some sort, just go back to your mantra without any sense of self-recrimination. There’s no need to beat yourself up over this. You can even get right into thinking, about your day, your life. You can get into thinking about life itself, pure, free and forever. Just keep returning to your mantra, again and again.

It is important to understand that whatever one perceives and experiences in meditation, just as in ones day-to-day life, is transitory and changing. Whatever one thinks, hears, whatever pain, pleasure or strong emotion one experiences will have a beginning and an end. So, when you meditate it is useful to just watch it all. Don't try to get away from anything or hang onto anything. Just practice being the watcher of it all. The same uninvolved observer who was watching as a young boy or girl is the same one who is watching now. As your body has grown and as you’ve gained more and more skills, qualifications and life experiences, that watcher has never changed. That one has been watching all the changes and is watching still, unchanged, uninvolved. That uninvolved observer has always and will always be fine throughout the life and even after. Think about that.

In spite of what I wrote earlier, I am going to suggest two more techniques. Because I feel sure that the people reading this dissertation, like the people I keep meeting, and especially now with the right understanding, are brilliant enough to decide which is best suited to them and how to use the information offered here.

The first of these two techniques is called Anapana, with a soft ‘a.’ It is a technique of concentrating on the breath. Anapana is referred to as the maha mantra, the ultimate mantra. The reason is that it’s the least tangible, the subtlest point one can attend. There’s virtually no form to watch, no form to hold on to with your mind. However, the ancient sages have said that it’s a bridge between the part of us that’s transitory and the part that’s eternal, the source of our energy. I have often suggested it can also be combined with mantr.

The million-dollar question is this: Can you allow the inhalation and exhalation to happen on its own without asserting yourself? Can you stop doing anything and just observe your own breath? While sitting, slouching or lying down, or while waiting to be wheeled in for your gall-bladder operation, put your attention on the nose-nostrils-upper-lip area and watch the breath. Don’t follow your breath in or out. This is not a breathing exercise. Watch the inhalation, the exhalation and the spaces between. And, again, as often as your attention is deflected into your thoughts, the noises around you or the pain in your tummy, that many times you have to go back to your chosen point of attention. And don’t bother being bothered by being bothered by being distracted.

You may not think you’re having a very peaceful meditation. As I’ve already pointed out, you may think you’re wasting your time. Just keep in mind that rooftop in Peshawar and give peace a chance. There is no such thing as a bad meditation. You may doubt that you can do it. You may doubt that you should do it. I suggest that you be patient and give yourself time. In one of my recent sessions, a lady said that she really didn’t understand what she was doing while meditating. That was a valid point. It was a valid point because she was not doing anything. We’re not used to stopping. We’re not used to letting go. It’s much simpler to run around the block for a half hour than to stop all our activities for the same time period. It’s the most worthy and yet the most difficult of all activities. It's easy and hard. In fact, it’s too simple. And don’t get stuck on the technique. You can just watch the space, so to speak. You can decide. You are the teacher. You are the path.

Which brings me to my third suggestion, my last technique. This simple technique is close to my heart. In fact, it's close to everyones heart. Here's how this one goes:

Just think about a person you have loved with all your heart. Dwell upon that person, or even that pet, you have been most enamored of, most attached to, the being whose presence you have most treasured. Even if he, she or it is physically no longer in your life, even if the memory causes you pain, don't turn your thoughts away. The pain is because there was that much love, that much oneness and I assure you the pain and pleasure are not two different realities.

After a few moments, let go of that person or being and put your attention on the feelings, dwell on those feelings, follow those feelings to their source deep within you. Because those feelings existed long before the object of your love came in front of your eyes and other senses. Those feelings and that heart-space have always been there. Eventually, you can envision a pond that, when a pebble is tossed into it, causes ripples to spread out from the center. Let those waves, the vibrations, ripple throughout your body and flood your system with all that goodness. Envision that life-sustaining healing power spread throughout your body and even beyond. But, mostly, dwell on that place, space, center, the force, the source of your love.

One of the first things you’re likely to notice is that the quality of your thoughts will change. You probably won’t feel like hollering at your wife or husband so much anymore, tying a tin can to the tail of your neighbor’s cat, back-ending the guy who just cut you off. You may feel uncharacteristically charitable. When that happens, and it will, you may think something is wrong. Of course, if the new thought processes seem strangely soothing, continue. It won’t be long before you’ll get the feeling you’re looking for. When one is sitting, continuously placing ones attention on or identifying with the watcher, one is essentially developing equanimity. Each time one says ‘pain’ rather than ‘my pain,’ or ‘pleasure’ instead of ‘my pleasure,’ one is essentially stepping back from the ever-changing phenomenon just a tiny bit. In that way a person will observe again and again how all of ones sensory perceptions, whether pleasant or unpleasant, change. But a person will also observe again and again how the observer, the watcher, remains ever the same. In that way, one is travelling in the right direction and eventually, aside from any deeper effect, an ability to pause before reacting to whatever is going on around you is necessarily developed. And that ability to take a moment, even a split moment, to act creatively rather than react blindly, is incredibly valuable.

When a person throws an insult in your direction, for example, and you catch it as though it’s a bouquet of roses, the insult loses all its power. It would be tempting to underestimate the technique I’ve suggested. But before discarding the practice out of hand to return to your Scrabble game, you may find it interesting to dwell on the fact that there are thousands of people around the world who have dedicated their lives to doing nothing else. Of course, then you’ll have to figure out if they’re all misguided idiots or folks who have actually discovered a way to answer first-hand those insidious questions that linger in our minds from early childhood. While everyone is striving for name, fame and fabulous wealth during this lifetime, people tend to lose sight of one very important fact. In a hundred years or so, nobody you know now will be alive. And nobody who is alive will really care who you were.

There are certain things that don’t go well with meditation. Smoking cigarettes, smoking dope and drinking copious amounts of alcohol tend to be counterproductive. Heroin, crack and meth are not recommended. It’s a matter of going from the grosser to the subtler. And in that regard I would also take the chance to suggest eating less meat, especially red meat, and consuming more fruits and vegetables. People who are completely into eating animals on a regular basis might not appreciate my writing that. But, I think it’s really very important that I do. I only hope you don’t come after me with a meat cleaver muttering something about it being all fine if you use the right spices. In fact, as i've said, nobody need necessarily 'cut' out any pleasures whatsoever. Just add one more thing to your life. Meditation will help everyone.

And while I’m offending people’s sensibilities I may as well mention my belief in the importance of continence. I’m not referring to the obvious advantages of curing oneself of adult bed-wetting. After all, there are effective plastic sheets on the market these days, or so I’ve been told. Certainly, I’d have to be insane to suggest cutting down on sexual activity, it being the way we tend to judge how wonderful we are. So I won’t go there at all. This sensitive area of the ancient science of the sages is esoteric and I therefore will not explain it. It’s secret. My lips are sealed. I’m only lightly, gingerly alluding to the possibility of a certain conservation of energy. I will write all about it openly in my upcoming book, ‘Unprotected Sects.’

When I returned to Canada in 1998, I was quite amazed to find out how many people had attained miraculous powers rather, well, miraculously. It still seems to me that every second person has the ability to heal merely with a touch. Many don’t even need to touch you. They can do it over the phone or by skype. There are a plethora of channelers, people able to communicate with angels, crystal bowl healers, psychics, clairvoyants, palm readers, garden variety fortune tellers, intuitives, aura readers, tea leaf readers... It seems that in the new-age everybody’s sister, mother and brother are powerful healers and teachers. And that’s just great. I would only mention that one might be well advised to keep ones attention on the goal.

Many years ago Alan Abel, who was with the Globe and Mail in Toronto at the time, came to visit the Hermitage in Kullu, India, where I lived for twenty-five years. During his interview with My teachet, Alan asked if Swamiji had any extra-normal powers. “Yes, I do,” Swamiji said. “I have the power to love everyone unconditionally.” I’m quite convinced that greatest of all powers can be only attained by the direct experience of the oneness of all life, the one life permeating all the forms, pure, free and forever.

There’s nothing to compel one to meditate or even make enquiries about it. However, if you’ve gotten this far, if you are impelled, you may as well read the rest of what I want to say. When one looks up at the night sky and sees all those stars, one has to wonder where it ends. And, for that matter, one has to wonder where it all begins. Intelligent people through the ages have continuously wondered where they came from and where they end up after the body dissolves.

I haven’t an answer to those questions, not from firsthand experience or knowledge. But, I do know that asking oneself those questions is certainly the beginning of a great journey. And my direct personal experience has left me quite convinced that there is more to life than what meets the eye. There’s more to me than this body and mind. This is a fact that I know through personal, direct experience. It has also become extremely obvious to me that, in spite of the many differences, we all breathe the same air, that our hearts all pulsate with the same love of life, and that we all desire freedom.

Namaste.

monkey-style.

following close on the heels of my last posting: 'my prostrate issue,' i received some comments and enquiries from readers, mostly concerning my description of the monkeys. why? i felt discouraged. one person went so far as to ask if the photo of me that had been at the top of the page was one of them. unfortunate, really, even insensitive, especially considering how much energy i poured into trying to make such an important point. people expressed uncertainty about what that point was, exactly, but i can assure you it was important.

you must understand that monkeys are a force to be reckoned with over there. the toshiba retreat centre, for example, would regularly be taken over by monkeys whenever the place wasn't busy which, by the way, nobody bothered to tell me. as well, they do seem only concerned with feasting, fighting and fornicating. and they're clever. one of the pack or herd stole my favourite western shirt off the railing over which i had draped it, wouldn't return the thing until i paid a handsome ransom in the form of fruit. then, another stole a pair of my underwear. i told him to keep it, but he threw it back anyway.

what bothered me, and why i left the retreat early, was the overwhelming amount of sexual activity going on around me. it was terrible, disgusting. obviously, i have no intention of letting this blog become a forum for debating the place sex might hold within a yogic lifestyle. my whole focus in slogging this blogging is simply to help bring our collective consciousness to a high place, a pure and uplifting mind-set. suffice it to say, i did not feel i should be meditating on monkeys rutting all around me, in the court-yard, on the walls, on my porch, even in the bathroom. they had no shame, no sense of decorum.

the last straw for me was when i found two doing it doggy-style on my bed. MY BED! i mean, why couldn't they get their own room? the place was empty. they could've had the friggin honeymoon suite. when i walked in and saw those monkeys on my bed i was so shocked i froze. the sight of their furry bodies slapping together rhythmically, combined with the simultaneous realization that my mattress coils would never be the same, well, i knew i had to go. of course i waited for them to finish.

while packing, however, i found myself wondering why that specific position was even named doggy-style. it might just as easily have been called the monkey-style. because it's clearly their preferred style as well. why do dogs get to be immortalized in that fashion when most animals, and many humans, like it best that way? well, such were the quality of my thoughts as i threw the last of my things into the knapsack, a clear indication that my time there was done.

in the end, so to speak, i would prefer readers of my blog focus on the essential message, that we are all connected to one life, irregardless of race, creed, colour or even species. ones style is completely unimportant if you're doing it right. i mean, if you're living life right. as satya sai baba once noted: "the mind is like a mad mischievous monkey flitting from branch to branch. we need to meditate and gain some control over that monkey."

my prostration issue.

not long after arriving in india, in 1976, i decided to do a seven day retreat at the toshiba centre near mcleod ganj, above dharmsala. other than one aged monk, whose job it was to cook for me, i was totally alone. that was not the problem. the problem was that every time i opened my eyes i saw monkeys fornicating, everywhere, all over the damn place. everywhere i looked there were monkeys doing it. i'm no prude, but that was ridiculous. so i left after only a couple of days, moved down to the 'tibetan library of works and archives'.

while at the library, taking in a few lectures by the lamas was of course the thing to do. however, i refused to prostrate to them. that would be too much, i reasoned. so when the lama would enter the hall and everyone else stood and then proceeded to prostrate flat out a few times each, i would pointedly, proudly remain seated. as a vippassana bikku monk, shunning all rites and rituals, prostrating seemed tremendously inappropriate.

i attended a lecture each morning and nobody cared that i refused to prostrate. after a few days, however, i at least began saluting the lama with folded hands as if to say 'namaste.' still, there was no way i would actually prostrate. no way. but, after another couple of days i stood, saluted and remained standing until the others finished their prostrations. that felt ok. i could do that. but then, after about a week i decided there was no harm, and it'd be a more proper sign of respect, to do a weee small half-prostration. only, something happened during that weee half-prostration. some rigid part of me let go, released, and i found myself flat out on the ground doing a full formal free frontal prostration along with everyone else, then another and another. i began to laugh in the middle of the routine. the lama, watching me, began to laugh. some of the others began to laugh. it was wonderful. and as the days passed i realized that i looked forward to the prostrations more than the lectures.

by that time, while wandering around the village during those hot afternoons, watching the old tibetans reciting mantra while fingering their mala beads, i wondered. i wondered about their trek across the mountains to save themselves and their kids, their beliefs, their way of life, to be free, to worship the way they knew. and once in a while i'd spin the prayer wheels in the temple at the top of the street.

"i sometimes can't believe, after all, that we made it to canada. my kids are safe. my daughters can go to school here." syrian refugee.

dementia as a form of meditation.

or: meditation as a form of dementia.

over dinner one night at my ninety-four-year-old dad's favourite restaurant, he pretty much complained about every aspect of his situation. it was not unusual. and i suppose i didn't help much. "you know what your problem is?," i said. he looked at me over his glasses suspiciously. "your problem is you're not senile." "what the hell does that mean?," he barked. "well," i continued, "if you would just get a bit of dementia happening these things wouldn't bother you so much." i thought that was incredibly funny, but he just remarked absently: "oh you think you're so damn smart," as he turned his attention to what was left of his dinner.

there was, of course, a grain of truth to my bad joke. he was sharp as a whip, a highly intelligent, relatively good-natured man who had become crankier and crankier as he observed clearly his body and his quality of life deteriorating. my old mom, on the other hand, a lady who nobody could say was good-natured, had gone exactly the other way in her last few years and i reminded dad of that.

mom had been a force of nature, and not the classic benevolent nurturing mother-nature ideal. she was more like the wild outta control hurricane ripping through the trailer park type. one learned to cope. i gained an innate ability to remain vigilant, ready to grab the family mutt and run from the storm without much advance notice. from early on i learned how to instantly evacuate to a shelter, a place of safety within myself. i was, in effect, well suited to the art and science of meditation.

however, by the time i returned to canada, i was taken aback to find mom rather more subdued than i remembered. to say she had become sweet would be overstating the fact. but, she was certainly not so sour. i could actually reason with her, a bit, even joke with her upon occassion. she had the early stages of dementia by then, mostly confined to the apartment and my main job was to buy her cigarettes.

mom would call me in wakefield and, with a voice that could raise the dead, she'd say she was missing me. loosely translated, it meant she was running out of her beloved 'benson and hedges'. dad refused to buy them because, at mom's age of eighty-six and having smoked since she was around four, dad decided it was bad for her health. so i had to do it. i'd drive all the way just to purchase a few cartons for her. i believe a carton of the stuff cost around ninety bucks by then and mom would insist on paying me back each time by lovingly pressing a toony into my hand. i didn't mind. she was sincerely grateful.

there were times then when we would sit quietly together without really doing anything. it was just such a welcomed contrast to my childhood with her. mom would smoke. i'd try to breathe. dad would be in his room reading the paper. and one time she smiled over at me and said: "maybe meditation makes you the same as me."

three bags full.

periodically now, i fill up a bag or three and take it to st. vincent de paul. i don't get out much, but donating stuff makes me feel better about life. the last time was a couple of weeks back. then, hardly a few days later i happened to wander into st. vince's again, saw a hoodie i really liked, purchased the thing, threw it on as i left the store and felt even better about life. i was seriously feeling so much better about life until i realized that hoodie was one of the items i had just recently donated.

there are many ways to feel better about life: giving, receiving, friendship, thin-crust pizza, seniors discounts... by far the best way, of course, is love. everybody knows that. we're reminded on facebook often enough. one of my friends, whom i've never met, posted an inspirational quote recently: "love makes you feel that everything is right with the world. love means you are content within your own heart in the presence of the person you love and who fills your day and makes you stronger and wiser and gives you the confidence to go out into the world."

of course that was lovely, only why does it have to be in the presence of someone i love? like, if i'm not in the actual presence of an actual human i actually love i won't have the confidence to go out? i won't be strong or wise? my day won't be full? what's so inspiring about that? it kinda hit close to home, so to speak. i thought: why can't people stick to posting photos of their lunches? i'm a single thin-crusted older guy. it's always been rather challenging to keep someone around, let alone someone i love. somehow either they left or i left or both, although not together. so i tended to stay home, collect stuff, lots of stuff. the place got so cluttered my dog had to back out. and actually even he eventually stopped coming 'round. that's when i began donating to st. vincent and to paul.

the question begs asking, sitting in the lazy-boy today while wearing my reclaimed hoodie: what comes first, the chicken or scrambled eggs? i mean, do i need someone before love exists, or does love come first? can't i love my friends while not in their company, my long lost dog, my neighbours, my neighbours' dogs, life? can i not be content within my own heart in the presence of the cool autumn air, a bright moon, the fast-flowing river? and do i really need to feel better about life at all or is life alright just exactly as it is?

"if we are peaceful, if we are happy, we can smile. then everyone in our family, our friends, our entire society can benefit from our peacefulness." thich nath hanh.

the knower knows.

"there is a unity, a unified wholeness, that becomes apparent within the transcendent unified consciousness." maharishi mahesh yogi.

in those early heady days, when our minds were openned and made flexible by stuff we heard, read, ingested or thought, people from exotic far off lands brought new ideas to tantalize us. swami vivekananda, yogananda, shivananda talked about there being one essesntial life beyond all the apparent differences. they proclaimed us all to be waves upon one vast ocean without beginning or end. what's more, they insisted we could actually each experience, cognize, recognize that reality ourselves, directly, through an ancient practice called 'dhyaan,' meditation. and so it began.

the concept of looking within for direct knowledge of that oneness was what grabbed me. the possibility of first-hand understanding, spoken of by sages through time, took hold, threw me around the room, wrestled me down onto my cushion and wouldn't let me up. there was, of course, no guarantee that what they asserted was true. but if it was true, i reasoned, why not me (?) now, all these years later and after all that, i sit back and ask myself honestly: 'well, was it true?' and, with a happy heart full of deep gratitude to those sages and my teachers, i answer... : 'i have no friggin idea.'

there may have been a time when i believed meditation actually was going to open a world to me, like some sort of dream-scape, where all would be revealed, shown and known, where i would see the truth, the whole truth, the ultimate truth about life, death, creation, you, me, god. it never happened. but, wait. what did happen was so miraculous in itself that i look back on all those years like they hold within them my most treasured memories, as though i'm placing each blank photo carefully in an album to preserve for some day later on. 

much greater people than i have written and spoken of their so-called inner life. i have written and spoken enough myself, for what it's worth. what happened, happened to me. by its very nature, it is exclusive, or maybe not. suffice it to say, when one meditates with right understanding and dedication, there comes a time when a grace descends, a blessing ascends, filling one with something we call absolute bliss consciousness, guaranteed.

what i know now is that anybody who has meditated, with no definitive answers to the age-old questions, would nevertheless have a happy heart filled with a deep gratitude. moreover, i know that anybody whose meditation has matured would clearly view the duality in this world as a form of insanity. how any person or persons could ever purposely hurt another being is beyond my ability to understand. because, without a shred of evidence of that one life, it simply seems so incredibly obvious that we are, in fact, one life.

miracle on highway 94.

something very strange happened to me over forty-five years ago that i've never been able to completely understand. it was something that changed the course of my life in a remarkable and wondrous way.

i had already been reading copious amounts of books on world religions, spirituality and meditation. i had already been meditating all over the place: at my gabriola island home, on mexican beaches, in california parks, even inside a hawaiin dormant volcanoe. but, there came a time when i decided i needed or at least wanted guidance, the benefit of someone's experience. i was in mexico at the time, decided to hitch-hike to boulder, colorado, to see chogyam trungpa, but that didn't happen.

what did happen has stayed with me and has always sorta felt like a miracle. this is a longer story, but the short of it is i ended up in windsor, ontario, where i heard of an unusual vippassana meditation retreat happening all the way back in california, in hardly a few days time. it was to be in the sierra-nevada mountains, thirty-one days of silence, and only experienced vippassana meditators were welcome.

in those days the retreats put on by ruth dennison, one of the two north american designated teachers within the lineage of u ba kin, were very infrequent. really, it was all just beginning back then. but, after much pleading, the organizers agreed to let me join... if i arrived at their place in berkley within two days. that was virtually impossible and they knew it, especially considering i could only afford to hitch-hike, especially considering it had just taken me almost two weeks to get from san francisco to detroit.

i don't exactly know why i insisted on trying. my windsor friends tried to talk me out of it. they insisted the timing was all wrong, a complete impossibility. but i was standing on the side of highway 94 outside of detroit with my pack at my feet, arm outstretched and thumb up, later that afternoon. and that's when it happened. almost immediately, a huge sixteen-wheeler pulled over, a rough-looking older guy leaned out his half-opened door and hollered at me to 'come on, get in'.

that guy just drove, into the evening, hardly said much at all. he asked me where i was coming from, where i was headed. that's about it. picking up hikers was actually illegal. he coulda lost his job, his license, but that didn't seem to bother him one bit. not only did he pick up a bonafide, genuine, long-haired hippy freak, he arranged for others to do the same. before he turned south he got on his cb-radio and, in some strange secret code i assumed only the truckers understood, he found out who was coming along behind heading west. eventually, pulling in to a truck-stop, the fellow instructed me to hang around in the dark of the parking lot until i saw a truck with running shoes tied to the back door handles. then, while the driver was in having a coffee or whatever, i was to jump in the cab.

well, that's the way it was, all across the country. one time i had to look for a cowboy hat hanging from the back doors, a brassiere on the antenna, a toy rabbit, a teddy bear. all through the night and well into the next day those guys kept me moving west, until i stood in front of the retreat's organizers in berkley.

to say they were shocked to see me would not really do the moment justice. they were clearly bewildered, not overly pleased, but invited me in, handed me a cup of herb tea and i joined the group waiting to head out to the retreat centre. there were many people there. most everyone was meditating, quiet, i felt as though i'd landed in heaven and the rest, as they say, is history.

post-script: anyone who has read even a few of my postings on this blog knows that i take meditation very seriously. ok, well, at least i am quite careful to present the ancient practice in a seriously down-to-earth and non-flakey way. i freely admit it has not introduced me to a creator, a creative intelligence, a higher power. so this may be the flakiest, most new-agey statement you'll ever read here: the miracle on highway 94, more than almost any time in my life, and there have been others, really felt like the hand of god.

the harvest moon.

meditation has been the greatest gift i've received in this life, even better than the red bike my uncle norman gave me when i was ten. i wonder what happened to that old bike. i don't know. but meditation's the gift that has just kept on giving. i always say that and i mean it. i like saying that. but, really, what exactly has it given?

it hasn't given me an understanding of the universe. perhaps it never will. perhaps the questions merely get asked with ever more wonder and appreciation. looking at the full moon, a so-called harvest moon, i asked myself again: 'what is that? what exactly is that? what is all this? what am i?' and at the very same time i was thinking: 'holy crap it's beautiful. it's soooo friggin beautiful.'

the buddha was asked: "what have you gained from meditation?" and he answered: "nothing at all." it is highly doubtful he ever said that, but let's roll with it. the mis-quote goes on to say he's actually lost a few things, like hatred, desires, anxiety, fear of death.

i do seem less inclined toward hatred. don't get me wrong. i'm quite capable of getting totally pissed-off. but hating would really be going too far. desire? well, i would venture to say the ol' hankerings have become smaller, simpler, subtler. from that point, however, things begin to go a bit sideways. anxiety? unfortunately, i do feel quite a lot of that at times, specifically when seeing the doctor, dentist or pretty much any medical professional. hell, even unprofessional medical people freak the bezeesus outta me. so i guess maybe that means i haven't exactly lost the fear of death either (?)

all i know is that large harvest moon was hanging in the sky, impossible to ignore, begging the question: 'what the heck is that?' and i simultaneously thought to myself: 'holy crap, that's sooo friggin beautiful.'

True Generosity, by Suchita Shyam.

The More You Give the More You Have. (this is an excerpt from an article that can be seen in its entirety at www.meditativeawareness.com.

Many years ago a friend turned to me and said, “You have to know that the more you give, the more you have.” I found the statement both enigmatic and enticing.

Giving is associated with offering from one’s own resources to another. How could this be the source of having more? Generosity is a sense of abundance and the ability to share with others, and, as such, is a more expanded state of consciousness. But, it was only upon meeting someone I considered to be highly enlightened that I came to recognize the true glory of giving and generosity.

True generosity is an enlightened state of awareness where all are received and embraced as one’s very own Self. Such an enlightened being creates unity wherever he or she is. To experience the power of true generosity is profoundly moving and enriching.

Over the years, it has become clear to me that the cultivation of generosity expands one’s awareness. It harbours the ability to transform one’s consciousness into the magnanimity of being.  In fact, generosity is the wellspring of infinite gain.

the trouble i have - part two.

the trouble with writing a blog about meditation is that there's really not much to say. so, in attempting to write something of interest, to perhaps even entertain, one has a tendency to put ones proverbial foot in ones proverbial big mouth, which  brings me to the subject of my last posting.

i have received emails, some supportive, others rather ratty, all about my sexual orientation. so let me say this about that: firstly, any concern about my 'orientation' is kinda ludicrous. however, secondly, just because i quipped about going home with a guy after visiting a gay bath-house does not make me gay. actually going to a gay bath-house and subsequently actually going home with someone from there would suggest i might be gay. but, that was clearly not the case. the real question is: why do i care what anyone thinks about my sexual orientation(?)

be that as it may, many many years ago in a far-off land, i bought a dildo for one of the few girlfriends i've ever had in my life. yes. it was just a kind of a joke. i walked into the shop and was immediately amazed and frankly overwhelmed to see row upon row of dildoes of all different sorts arrayed in front of my wide eyes. so i asked the cute girl behind the counter to make a suggestion. she said, "well, you don't want to choose one that's bigger than 'yours' because you wouldn't want your girlfriend to get used to that." so i grabbed a humongous monster of a dildo and said, "then i guess this'll do." which, of course, sent her into peroxysms of laughter. so then i put that one back and took a tiny little thingy and said, "ok, ok, then this one." she laughed and laughed. it was so much fun, one of the best retail experiences of my adult life.

in the end, i purchased a modest but adequate-looking dildo that i found rather attractive. the sad thing is that my girlfriend actually did end up preferring the dildo to me, not because it was more substantial, not because i was so terrible in bed, not because i was too gay, but because at least the dildo didn't complain afterward about feeling drained or like an empty shell or a shadow of its former self.

the truth of the matter is, if you really must know, i absolutely do have gay-ness in me. i believe we all do. because the truth of the matter is, in my humble opinion, beyond male or female, gay or straight, black or white, this or that, love is love is love, life is life is life. the truth of the matter is i'm just happy i  can still sustain an erect back for a few minutes at a time.

the problem with writing a blog about meditation is that there's really not much to say. how does one articulate the beauty and benefits of taking time out to do absolutely nothing (?) suffice it to say that sometimes, after basketball, after everything, losing myself in the activity of ceasing all activity, in the all-consuming space of universal love, is so remarkably fulfilling, so completely satisfying that i could just stay like that forever. and eventually i suppose i will. think about it. no, really, think about it.

the trouble i have, part one.

the trouble with writing a blog about meditation is there's really not much to say. sit down, close your eyes, or not, and stop doing stuff. bingo. we're done. that's why i like to spice things up a bit by writing about prostates. now that's funny. at least i think it's funny. it's interesting. at least i think it is. my life has been like a seinfeld episode. it's not really about anything. i became a yogi, went to india, sat down for thirty-five years, got up, came back and now i have a prostate issue. that's about it. fortunately, i also have a basketball issue i can write about.

the problem with writing about basketball is that there's not much to say. i have experienced that time waits for no man. nor, i presume, does it wait for any woman. i know for sure that time waits for no man because i am a man and time has not waited for me. i suppose it might wait for some other man, but there have been many examples of it certainly not waiting for me, like in regard to basketball.

time has not waited for me and neither do the young studs i play with, so to speak. i try to keep up. and every so often there are flashes of previous brilliance. but, by and large i've become the guy who gets placed on the team with the best players in order to even things out. i have become that guy. then, once the game begins and the adrenaline starts a-flowing, i inevitably have to pee and then we're back to prostate issues again.

at one point the other day i attempted a turn-around-fade-away jump-shot. the shot fizzled so badly it didn't even make it half way to the rim. it looked so pathetic that somebody said i must've been fouled. everyone just assumed it, because nobody shoots that terribly unless the guy guarding hits your arm. the guy guarding me had actually hit my arm. well, he touched my arm as i shot only, really, it was just a brushing, a gentle feathering. if that was, say, a gay bath-house instead of a gym, we maybe woulda gone home together, and now we're back to prostate issues again. life is a circle, the circle of life.

the problem with writing a blog about meditation is that there's really not much to say. how does one articulate the beauty and benefits of taking time out to do absolutely nothing (?) suffice it to say that sometimes, after basketball, after everything, losing myself in the activity of ceasing all activity is so remarkably fulfilling, so completely satisfying that i could just stay like that forever, and eventually i suppose i will. think about it.

the sum total of what i know.

if looks could kill, i guess i'd be pretty much dead, thrashing around on the ground or at least dealing with a nasty illness. i am specifically, although not exclusively, referring to the results of a speech i recently gave at a local yoga centre pertaining to the self, the one all-permeating self which is pure, free and forever. except i said the self which is pure, free and allegedly forever. there were scowls, growls, and that's ok. 

those good folks had not come to hear me vacillate or say i actually don't know the truth of our existence. they came to be reassured, by someone considered a senior traveler upon this so-called spiritual path, that their faith in self, in our shared humanity, in enlightenment, nirvana, is all well-founded. but, what is that faith based on? is it based on experience or is it a blind faith? the whole premise of this practice we call dhyaan or meditation is that it be experiential, direct, not theoretical, not intellectual, not just a parroting of sages, saints or philosophers from days gone by. 

gurus, masters and spiritual guides are inherently a rather self-assured lot. they speak with tremendous certainty. i prefer to be real, and who does that? they talk as though they have all the answers and may god bless em, whatever the hell that means. but, that just aint me and therefore i'm effectively out of the club. 

i stumbled upon one facebook post recently by a great living master who wrote that the first stage of any seeker is to have a 'burning desire to know the truth of who you are, a burning desire to go all the way'. i know that. i've read it so many times. i've lived it. that's called 'mumukchetwa' in sanskrit. yet, here i sit in my lazy-boy, forty-five years later, without the faintest idea what it even means to go all the way. as well, i don't believe any of them, not yogananda, muktananda, vivekananda, shivananda or any ananda know the so-called true self that is pure, free and eternal. maybe they all do and only i don't. or maybe they do know, but where did that come from? who was that first mother and where did she come from?

there's no need for me to list my credentials or explain why i was asked to speak at that place, to those people, why my opinions count. ultimately my opinions don't count. we each need to consider these questions on our own: where do i come from? where do i go? who am i? what am i? what is the meaning of this life and, perhaps most importantly, how can i be happy? i don't need to convince anyone about the value of meditation. i'm not in business. i have no agenda. 

so here's the sum total of what i know: i know for certain that there's a sense of joy, peace and bliss within each of us that can be accessed no matter our circumstances. my direct experience has shown me that there is more going on here than what meets the eyes, that we are not as separate from one another as it seems.  i suspect that that state of deep meditation, like deep sleep, is like a drop of water merging with the whole ocean of life. i suspect that that state is a kind of a death, and it's not scary. it's beautiful, freeing. at the same time, i know for sure that i'm not ok with dying. i like it here. i want to live. i have netflix. 

here's another thing i've learned along the way: i know for sure that this life is a gift, a glorious fleeting gift, that we should embrace it, and each other.

if the shoe fits.

"life is a song, sing it. life is a game, play it. life is a challenge, meet it. life is a dream, realize it. life is a sacrifice, offer it. life is love, enjoy it." satya sai baba. 

the other day my friend leonard, (short for leonardo,) said i'm a 'serial returner.' i barked something unprintable at him, but immediately wanted to take it back. the argument began when i described how i tried to return a pair of basketball shoes to 'the foot locker' and they refused to accept them. the lady said the shoes looked as though i must've worn them outside, a lot, which was utter nonsense. 

ok, within a few moments of the interaction i totally remembered how i had indeed worn the shoes outside. i had put them on before leaving the 'rideau centre' and walked several blocks to my truck, just to see how they felt. obviously i continued wearing the shoes once i got to the gym, during a few half-court and a couple of full-court games. i wore them to a coffee shop after, then all the way home. 

for whatever reason, that had all slipped my mind. it could happen to anyone, but i did not own up to any of it. in fact i dug in, indignantly suggested the store must've sold me a pair of slightly used shoes. i insisted that i only wore them in my living room. to which the girl suggested i needed to clean my house, a comment i found spectacularly out-of-line and i demanded to talk to the manager. she said she was the manager. i said that was extremely bad news for me and, anyway, i soon simply slithered away.

walking around the mall for a while thinking the whole affair over i kinda wanted to go back and apologize to the lady. she had been so kind and patient, even gave me a nice bag to carry the shoes out of the store in. she didn't deserve all that. however, at the same time i also thought how virtually nobody alive today will be around in a hundred years. nobody's gonna remember. so i put my nice semi-new basketball shoes on, threw my old ones away and left the building. 

my logic may have been slightly skewered, as it so often is, although it is true. even sooner than a hundred years, nobody will remember the aging guy with hairy ears who tried to return used kobe bryant basketball shoes. nobody remembers my grandmother, jessie, not even me. there's a plaque in a park at lake wilcox, ontario, stating that the park is dedicated to her memory. yet nobody in that park ever actually remembers her. that's for sure. after i'm gone, nobody will remember my mom, and she's hard to forget.

ernie mahoney got a bench dedicated to him. i sit on it from time to time, but how many people remember ernie? there's a nice lady somewhere around who remembers, and me, but as time marches on fewer and fewer fine folks will remember that great guy. and what about jane, pierre, art, doug, maureen, mary. heck, nobody remembers albert einstein, napoleon bonaparte, lassie, christopher columbus, leonardo (leonard) devinci ... not really. so why worry about fame and fortune (?) why worry about past and future (?) why take ourselves so seriously (?) 

if the truth be told, which is so very often a bad idea, i had hoped new shoes would help me play bball a bit better but blasted-all they didn't. i still had legs without much bounce left in em. my hoofs were still sore afterward. nobody remembers how i used to leap like a bounding cheetah. but i have nice new shoes, and ernie, and pierre, for now. 

the secret.

RAJ GUHYA - Secret Knowledge, by Padma Shyam.

The knowledge that all is one source, one life, is a hidden secret, only because we normally don't look for it. Our external, obvious senses tell us the world is just all forms, forever changing in time. These may be beautiful, or may not be. Instead of simply following your obvious senses, stop and become aware of the perfect and pure existence that is  always present behind the obvious senses, behind the mind. Here you can find the secret knowledge, the one blissful source of being.

a time for everything.

sneezing can actually hurt your back. i once couldn't walk normally for days after a sneeze. i regressed to a previously more ape-like incarnation. cleaning ones ears can cause serious problems as well. i scratched an ear-drum once with a q-tip. i never did that again, i can tell you. when next i had a wax build-up i went to a professional who did such a good job i could hear everything clearly. i actually asked the lady to put some of it back in. even coughing can be tricky. i once had a bit of food-poisoning, nothing serious, but when i coughed, well, it wasn't pretty.

the buddha apparently viewed the human body as loathsome. i don't really see it that way, although there was that one time i had just met a lovely lady for lunch when i realized i'd forgotten to put my teeth in. krishna, we're told, insisted that we each have several bodies, a concept i find scary as i tend to feel a tad schizophrenic at the best of times. st. seraphim of sarov denied himself all physical comforts, even recliner chairs and such. i once met a guy who had kept both his arms up in the air for many years, an impressive feet to be sure. i wanted to shake his hand. my friend butch believes the body is simply for pleasure, lots and lots of pleasure. he changed his name because he didn't think moishe really fitted the image he wanted to project. 

now i'll tell you where i'm going with all this: i know these bodies are wonderful and terrible. i get both concepts of enjoying and transcending desire. i've been into a bit of self-mortification myself and enjoyed sensual pleasures as well. not at the very same time, of course, although those are not as mutually exclusive as one might think. i knew a lady who ran a very successful business with only some latex and a whip, but that's another story, sort of. i have in fact experienced both sense-deprivation and self-endulgence. what i mean is, at this point, i recommend moderation in all things, except love.

"acquire a peaceful spirit and around you thousands will be saved." st. seraphim.

what is freedome?

What is Freedome? Excerpted from an article by Padma Shyam at www.meditativeawareness.com.

First, sit quietly in meditation and simply watch for some time. Then, start to observe that your mind is forever changing, but you, the watcher of the mind, are forever unchanging. You are always simply present as the watcher of all these happenings. You observe that you are not any of these changes in your mind: you are always watching and knowing the changes. This unchanging watcher is yourself, and this you is never attached to or caught up in the ever-changing mind.

You might think that you are not meditating because you’re noticing so many thoughts. But the fact is that these thoughts and perceptions are going on all the time in your mind, all day long. In meditation, you simply take some time to pause, sit, close your eyes, and watch your mind’s activities. Your mind will continue as usual: thinking, perceiving, dreaming, and carrying on a running commentary! But during meditation, you are just watching all the activities, senses and thoughts.

By sitting regularly in meditation, day by day, you start to relax about all the activity in your mind, and not be concerned about it. You come to realize that your mind can be more active or less active, but it doesn’t disturb you. You continue to sit and watch throughout any thinking that goes on. You get the sense that the content of your mind might be happy or might be upset, but you are still just sitting in meditation, still, relaxed and watching anything that comes. Instead of expecting to change the contents of your mind, you come to see that you are already free from what your mind is thinking. You don’t need to worry about what your mind is doing, because you are just sitting and watching it all, like watching a show on television.

The way to cultivate and grow into freedom consciousness is, firstly, to become aware of what you’re paying attention to at any given moment. It’s been observed by people who meditate, that the mind is infinitely creative in putting its attention on a vast number of things and thoughts. There’s no end to the mind’s power to pay attention to every possible kind of form and event. The more you are aware of what your mind is paying attention to, the more you can become the master of your own mind, and not merely following the mind, being a slave to its constant fluctuations.

Padma Shyam: Founder of Padma Meditation & Yoga. Padma hosts the Canadian television series “Padma Yoga,” and in her workshops offers the Padma Meditation Teacher Training Program.    www.padmayoga.ca

it's a jungle out there.

“A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than all the metaphysics of books.” Walt Whitman.

driving from dharmsala and mcleod ganj back to my home was a five-hour jaunt across the middle ranges of the himalayan mountains. i had to wind my way east along a lonely stretch of road through the kangra valley to mandi and then north again by the pundoh pass in to the kullu valley, called the valley of the gods. i had a very small van and it was a dark night, well after midnight, when i turned a corner near palampur and caught sight of a leopard in the headlights.

by the time i stopped, the majestic creature had not moved an inch. really, we were face-to-face with only a windshield between us. large, long, muscular, with a tail almost as long again, we stared at each other. a moment later, it lept off to one side of the road, back to the other side, turned and bounded back again and off into the jungle. i continued to sit there for a while, appreciating what i'd just witnessed.

nearly thirty years on, i still remember that mystical night. i can still clearly see in my mind's eye the big white-ish cat with brown in the middle of the black spots, its steely gaze, its powerful jumps. i still feel blessed to have witnessed it. that was one of those visions i know will always stay with me, like the marauding elephants at the 1976 kumbh mela, like the mountain lion with her cubs outside the village of mahal, or  very much like the one i had just last night. i saw a racoon!

you have to understand that, since moving out of the village to right beside the gatineau park, i haven't seen so much as a gerbil. only dogs. this area's teeming with dogs. we've got beagles, border collies, scottish terriers, lots of mongrols, labs and huskies of course. what we don't have are deer, bear, even skunk or, until last night, racoons. for all that, you gotta cross the highway and trot off into the park, or go into the jungles of wakefield. just not here.

i awoke around 2:30 and shuffled in to the bathroom to do what aging guys all over the world have to do in the middle of the nights. as i sleepily leaned against the wall, i kept hearing a whimpering sound other than my own. i could tell the difference. so i looked out the window and, believe it or not, i really couldn't believe it. there was a racoon. then i saw another and another. there was a whole herd, or gaggle, or flock of 'em, big and small. i guess it was a family.

i followed them from window to window with a growing realization that that vision was as impressive to me last night as the leopard, elephants or those lions of so many years before. after all, isn't life life? why shouldn't i feel as fortunate to see racoons? why shouldn't we feel as fortunate to see each other, every time?

“Ten long trips around the sun since I last saw your lovely face, but only joy and thankfulness that on a tiny world in the vastness, for a couple of moments in the immensity of time, we were one.” Ann Druyan.