The silence has so much to teach. Posted by John on September 08, 1999 at 20:41:26:
The silence is where all true learning takes place.
My congratulations to all of you members of this class in the solemn
exercise in silence that we have just successfully completed together
here now. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your participation in
this. I hope it has meant something to you, Douglas, in the midst of
"life and death," to appreciate that you CAN have power in this world,
and thus that you can create a new life for your own Being—at least by
the implications that I take in coaching this class here.
One can have power in this life. And if one learns to use this power
judiciously, one can have power in the midst of harmony and
companionship without upsetting the "delicate balance" of love.
The sudden unexpected break gave me a wonderful opportunity to study
what began going on with my own self during that time. I understand the
principle that it is in silence that all true learning takes place. And
I knew this would be a propitious time for me. For this sudden silence
left me cut-off abruptly from all the thousands of words that I was just
about to say. And I got to see what happened in "my economy of being,"
around that powerful phenomenon, that "impact in my space." Could I
turn it off? Really? Was it possible?
It was Doug's wondering about whether it would be possible or not . . .
that connected with me the most closely of all. Being interested in
games (and theories of games) is one of the interesting tunes we've
heard about around here that comes from the essence of the Player.
There is a fundamental affinity with the existential reality of "game-
ness" about human life that is at play here. And, in some way, I felt
deeply connected with the challenge of such an "unheard of" game. My
essence related with Doug's essence in "the gameness of" this, is what
I'm trying to say. Could we do it? I wondered myself if we could do
it. Doug challenged us to see.
And immediately it started hitting me in a host of ways what a wonderful
idea that this was! What a Great Game! A game to visibly show one's
support to a fellow player that is down . . . by silence! But we all
have so much to say. And it all was going on and on and on. And
suddenly, someone's hurting over here. Can we care? Can we shut down
the school, shut down the government, shut down the world, and care?
Yes, I think we can. I think the homo sapiens gorilla is still capable
of this,and we have seen this manifested among us here. (I *still*
care, Douglas. How are you being now?)
I jumped to the task of participating with the fulfillment of your
worthy request with compassion and with glee. If this were to be my
part in the Arizona-Penn State football game (we lost by 40 points), I
wished for us to win it this time! Within an hour, I saw a way that we
could all bring it off together—the "game plan of the Coach," if you
will. It was just a *potential way to win*, but it was a way that would
work. And hence, "This bulletin board is closed, please . . ."
Now, a "way that would work" was not automatically going to be—in
ordinary human life—a way that was actually going to work out in our
lives, and that's because of the human egos and personalities that we
all have. As if by a zen Samurai master, each one of us had our
invidividual on-rushing agendas at that moment suddenly . . . cut off.
There was this true brilliance in Douglas' disarming request, and his
powerful need to know. For everything that each of us wanted so much to
say or find out more about was going on at that time full stream!
Could all of this, of *all of us*, be suddenly . . . quieted,
completely??? It was a worthy time to do it. I felt it in my heart.
It was the golden opportunity of a worthy challenge to all of us to see
if we could bring this off together, as a team. I felt it in my bones.
And it was do-able. That is the miracle of it. For every one of us in
this little band of awareness-pilgrims has had our own reactions to this
sudden stoppage of the flow. Each one of us has had our own individual
attitudes come popping up in us in relation to this. Each of us may
have had our own reasons why this experiment would not work. For in
this silence, this is where this "all shows up." We have enough "data"
in what we each, separately, have seen during this silence, to know much
more deeply about our own individual selves. And this we can find by
simply examining the data, objectively, "what came up for each one of
us," "what was the true nature of our own personal reactions to this
remarkable event?" Can you do this examination on your own?
There is an apocryphal story of Gurdjieff, out for a picnic one day in
the countryside outside Paris with a band of his students, and while
they were crossing a broad field on foot to get to a clump of shady
trees, Gurdjieff, in the midst of them, dropped his cane. When they all
gathered at the other side—and of course, one of them had brought along
his cane—Gurdjieff asked them all to tell aloud what they had each
observed. One of them thought he had been so sick and was ailing.
Another thought he was playing irrational games with them to punish
them. Another felt it was a "mystical message," etc., etc. As each one
spoke, and told what he or she had seen, thought, and done, the
different personality styles of each of them were shown up in high
relief. This was Gurdjieff's lesson for that day, the different
personality types and how they each see the same situation in different
ways.
There is just such an opportunity here now for those of us who are here
in this classroom to study this phenomenon. At least, there is an
opportunity for each of us to make an objective assessment of the
reactions that we each had to the sudden occurence of the break. How
did you react? What came up for you? (Whatever it was! Objectively!)
In these views of your self that have emerged in the space during this
silence, what clues can you find to your own personality types? It is
all probably there, in high relief, in the things you thought, and did.
Can you take a look and just see this?
Some of you may feel comfortable enough to share about what you find of
this in your own experience, here in Classroom Talk. Others of you may
not feel comfortable to do this—maybe later in the next semester.
Nevertheless, all of you may be comfortable enough at this time to do
this contemplation privately. "What did I do?" "What were my
reactions?" "What was I thinking about it?" "What emotions came up for
me?" How did my own ego and personality come up for me in this sudden,
unexpected situation?
Silence has so much to teach. See what you each can learn of it. Some
day we will probably all feel comfortable to share about these inward
observations. But, please realize, this type of learning is not
apparently for everyone! There are MANY other approaches, far more
indirect than this, that certain people will prefer to find their way
in. This approach is "radical" because it is so direct. And if you are
not comfortable with this type of work at this point (before we go on
into the "next semester") it could be an appropriate time for us to meet
in the Coach's Office, you and I, (by email, that is) so that I can make
the best suggestions that I can, from the bottom of my heart, and from
knowing you to the extent that I have so far, that might be helpful to
you in finding another path among "the many paths" that may be more
harmonious for you than this one is. (I could have some good ideas
about that for any one of you that are here now, in fact.)
Now . . . . . once I had posted "This bulletin board is closed," I felt
at peace with my being. I felt that I had given it my best shot,
whatever it was that was to happen, I'd done my best. But already by
the next morning, first day of the break, my ego and personality were
coming up in me around this. I started wondering "how strict" this
exercise, this solemn ritual was actually supposed to be. I started
doubting, and being troubled.
For I'd received a nice email from Pauline a few days before, whom I'd
checked with about possibly rubbing her the wrong way that time, and she
said that last email of mine had been "welcomed," after all. Yet I had
a strong urge to email back to her with a few more comments of my own.
Would that be "fair?" Or would that be a "violation of the proper
respect that was due to this class exercise in silence?" I decided it
wasn't appropriate, and vowed to wait until after the break, until now,
in fact. Hi, Pauline! Thanks. I feel relieved.
But . . . next I came-to again, and realized that there was one
conversation going on in our classroom at that time that was "rudely
interrupted" by this sudden imposition out of the blue of a total break.
That was where Musfaad had shared his dream, a beautiful portrait of
what life would be like for us here, if all of us could dwell in our
essences. And Suz had responded to that with some questions about the
dreams that she has. Here, suddenly, I had cut off Suz' response from
Musfaad, if there was going to be any. She had no say in the matter,
and her inquiry *was* rudely interrupted.
After contemplation, I decided to send her an email, in which I
apologized for interrupting Musfaad's response to her, if he would have
any, and invited her to remind him of her questions after the break.
So far, so good. The ritual was being preserved. "Pono," as the
Hawaiian kahunas used to say, "Righteous."
Then my mind started thinking, thinking, thinking. I began to imagine
that there might be all kinds of problems from what I had done, or that
some one of you might really need to get ahold of me and feel blocked
from doing that because of the "order" I had given to close the bulletin
board down. Of course, this is just pure ego and personality stuff—a
little Dictator (paranoid), a little Kind Helper (guilty). I even went
so far as to compose a little note (as Kind Helper) telling you all that
it was okay to use email with each other if you had things left unsaid
to one another that you needed to express.
But I woke up again, before posting this (still on "Day One" of the
break), and didn't do it! I didn't really wish to violate "the spirit"
of what was going on among us together, as I understood it, at least.
That note would seem a total cop-out. It *wasn't necessary*. From out
of the past, I could "hear" my old Coach Mits telling me from out of the
past, objectively, that I wasn't being strict enough, or disciplined
enough not to undermine my own work that I was doing. I decided that
each one of us, in our own ways, would have to find the means at our
disposal for dealing with the situation that lay at hand. The "healing"
email to Suz seemed appropriate. "Taking care of everybody" that way
would be over-doing it seriously. It would be "going too far," "playing
the 'Jewish mother.'" I'd be doing it because I felt guilty. (And
realizing that, I processed the "worrying stomach" sensations of that
guilt in my abdomen, with awareness instead. And I relaxed. And I
practiced "non-doing." I didn't post my unnecessary palliative. Whew!
Close call!)
Now, the next thing that happened—ah, this is so interesting— brought
score right up on my scoreboard. Musfaad *did post* an answer to Suz,
an answer with a shining Sun in it, at that. And at first, I took
umbrage. What's going on here? I wondered. I looked at the Bulletin
Board page, and the "This website is closed. . ." title was right up
there at the top, clear as could be, in black on desert tan. "Drat it!"
I thought, or words to that effect. {wide grin} I was uptight. Did I
suppose a Sufi was not alert enough to see that instruction up there?
No, I wouldn't suppose that. It was a willful act to go ahead and post
a reply to Suz that happened, I surmised. I *really* went to work on my
self at that point. Because I really do not wish to "make our honored
guest wrong."
It came to me that there is an old Sufi tradition in the making of those
famous Oriental rugs, which contain all the instructions of Sufi
mysticism woven in symbols right into the rug, that the ritual practice
of this was to leave one small place in every such rug with an obvious
imperfection. It was a gesture of modesty before the Absolute.
Perhaps, where this profound group ritual of ours seemed off to such an
astonishingly "perfect" start, Musfaad, like any good sailor on a
sailing vessel, simply had the presence of mind to notice, and attend to
this important detail. The ritual, itself, isn't supposed to be "too
good." It isn't supposed to pretend that it emulates the perfection of
Allah, but only remains a vehicle, a raft, for moving closer. Musfaad,
was only "bringing us down to earth," so to speak, without doing us any
harm by throwing in that little place where "the whole thing wasn't
perfectly silent for five whole days."
In addition, the over-all mood of the postings in class was being
perhaps more "darkly encumbered" than usual, more somber, perhaps, than
necessary. Maybe there was a little "imbalance" in it. And Musfaad's
bright and happy tale of interest in the subject of dreams was a bright
reminder in the here and now that there is also always this side of the
light of the Sun where people are delighted to contemplate the things of
life that make us curious . . . like a baby first discovering the world.
Surely that would be an appropriately healing contemplation, all the way
around, in this over-all human situation that we have seen together.
Musfaad's comment seemed to "balance things out" in this way, so to
speak.
And seeing these things, I shifted out of my ego and personality over
"Musfaad's blatant posting after the break," or "Musfaad's deliberate
flouting of the instructions." {grin} Do you see what I mean? From my
own side, I shifted out of potential personality war, back into the
harmony of collaborative companionship again. *It was within my own
power to do so.* For, it didn't really matter. I stopped having to
"make something out of it." At each new point along the way, peace is
where it's really at. Whatever it meant, I could be easy with it. That
was the important thing. This was a valuable lesson for me, as my ego
came to the fore.
At this point I was able to realize the obvious, that Musfaad had
apparently either intuited my own "subconscious need," if I can call it
that, to accomodate Suz, or else he had "simply felt the same way." It
was "the right thing." And so, he *went ahead and did it*, handled it
for me, expeditiously, took care of it for all of us, indeed . . . . .
cleared the air of this little bit of tension that was remaining hanging
around in our classroom space unattended to, right away, so that we
could all go on enjoying the free space of this experimental exercise to
the utmost during the rest of the days we had left to experience of
this silence.
After all, he did what I had wished, and would have wished for him to do
. . . . . and yet, we homo sapiens are so interesting! — I had score on
my scoreboard about it, anyway. My ego and personality was "rubbed the
wrong way." I was uptight. How about that? Isn't it fascinating? And
it took a little work on my self to know that, and let go. And then I
could "receive the blessing" that Musfaad's Sufi gesture not only
apparently preserved the appropriate imperfection of our humble
endeavors together, but at the same time, apparently enhanced the
perfection of the whole exercise for all of us, as well.
....................................................
Now, Doug, you and I both know that in all the approaches in
psychotherapy, whether "classical," or more "radical" like gestalt
therapy, when people speak in certain despairing ways about dying, all
approaches seem to agree on policy that it's a good thing to recommend
seeing a therapist. So I know I don't need to tell you that, and won't.
Decisions like that I leave up to all of you.
It doesn't matter that much if any one of us around here decides to see
a therapist, if it turns out to be a Buddhist therapist, or a Reichian
therapist, or a gestalt therapist, or Jungian, etc., etc. Because what
really counts in this is the living person that is sitting in that chair
across from you. I have known this experience a number of times in my
own life during the worst of my troubles over the long haul, that what
really counts is being able to tell the other person "the way it is,"
leaving nothing out, and *being heard*. Being heard without being
judged, being heard by someone who is methodically interested in healing
your suffering, and yet . . . more than that . . . hears you and is
right there in your space with you, actually caring.
This alone, without all the rest of the sophisticated applications of
therapy practices, is *the primary healing agent* in psychotherapy, as
far as I am concerned. Freud, specifically, agreed with this, too, was
the modern "discoverer" of this, in fact. This human body of ours likes
to get it all off our chest, tell the whole story of the way that it is
and be heard by a fellow living human. There is something *so natural*,
*so healing* in the doing of this. I am convinced the primal healing
nature of this type of "therapeutic" encounter is prepared for us by
somehow being coded in our genes. 'Nuff said.
This morning, I heard presidential candidate Bill Bradley formally
announce his candidacy from a podium in his small hometown. This is
interesting to me because I read in Chicago Bull's Coach Phil Jackson's
book that former NBA basketball star, former U.S. Senator Bradley was
one of Coach Jackson's early teachers of mindfulness. And I wondered
what a mindful presidential candidate would look and sound like. He
didn't let me down! I took only a few notes, but there were many things
he said that blew my mind.
"For me," he said, speaking of racial biases, "the only thing deserving
of hate is hate, itself." Yeah! That got cheers from his audience in
Crystal, Missouri. When he spoke of his younger days as a highschool
basketball player there, he said one of his skills was that "I knew
where I was on the court." That sounded to me like "I was present in my
space in the field (of the awareness game)," or, "I was alert, and
aware, and present."
He spoke of "an America of endless possibilities." Yes, we speak of
"unlimited possibilities," in Classroom Talk, as well, since Deirdre got
us talking along these lines in one of our earliest classes here. He
spoke of "...an America as decent as it is strong," where none of us is
left out. Yes, this kind of an ethical foundation, mere human decency,
is an important function of a life that is lived mindfully. Can this
sort of thing be taught openly by a candidate for high office? It can,
and it was this morning.
Bradley said. "There are two kinds of politicians, those that talk and
promise, and those who listen and can-do." Ha! we know about this here,
too, of course, and he sounds like enough of a Can-Do Man to me to
handle the job he is working to get.
"We have the power to begin the world over again," he said. He spoke of
preserving the differences between us while creating the unity of a
whole nation.
Yes, all of this seems familiar to me. I could have quoted dozens of
things he said. I wish him well. He is a mindful candidate. I saw him
address the concerns of each of the types we study here, specifically,
in the different remarks he made. By whatever system he's learned this
insightful view of humanity, he is effectively addressing us all. The
scope of his personal messages is remarkable. You'll see. He is going
to be broadly liked.
I find it encouraging for the next century that such a person could rise
to such an important candidacy at this time. This promises great hope
for the future of humankind. I don't know if Bradley has much of "a
chance to win," but I wouldn't "put it past him to do so." He has the
same kind of mindful warrior power to give it his best shot as we are
learning to have in our classroom here—the same kind of power that has
enabled our school to be a possibility, and the same kind of power with
which we all contributed to "turning it off" for five days just now, as
an act of conscious unity, a true realization of infinite possibilities.
This was a thing that we did not know would be possible, yet as we kept
coming back to see (the hit-counter reached an all-time record rate),
blinking our eyes again and again, this, by golly, *was a thing that we
could do*.
Well done, Class! Well done, indeed. My "Manny's Hay and Feed" cap is
off to All of you. I feel so proud of all of us. And thanks to you,
Doug, for creating this possibility. I'm very proud of you.
Coach
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Archived November 9, 1999