How to Train a Wild Elephant_ And Other Adventures in Mindfulness - Jan Chozen Bays [47]
When we sit in meditation, or enter contemplative prayer, we let go of the mind’s schemes for pursuing or avoiding. We acknowledge how much we have been ignoring during our busy day. We deliberately open our awareness as wide as possible, encompassing all that is, just as it is, the movement of our ribs as we breathe, the humming of the ventilation system, the scent of perfume left by someone who has left the room, and the picture that arises in the mind of the candy bar lying in our desk drawer. We notice it all, without any internal dialogue, without any criticism or judgment. We notice that when internal dialogue does begin, our field of sensory awareness instantly shuts down. Then we quiet the inner voices and open our awareness once again.
In Zen this is called “not knowing.” It is a special kind of ignorance, a very wise kind of ignorance. When we rest in not knowing, many possibilities open up. We may hear things we didn’t know were there—a cricket chirping or the start of a gentle rain. We might even hear a quiet inner voice telling us some important truths.
Final Words: For a pause that refreshes, at least once a day, stop trying to know and do. Open your awareness and simply sit in “not knowing.”
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The Wind
The Exercise: Become aware of the movement of air, both in obvious forms, such as wind, and in subtler forms, such as the breath.
REMINDING YOURSELF
Post the word “Wind” in helpful places at home and at work.
DISCOVERIES
Wind has many forms, from hard gales to soft breaths. If we bring this exercise to mind and open the senses several times a day for an entire week, we will begin to notice the more subtle ways air moves. People make wind. There is the movement of air in your breath, when you sniff, when you blow on a hot beverage, when you sigh. There is the touch of moving air on your body when you walk, even indoors. There is air moving in many appliances, such as clothes dryers, microwaves, and refrigerators.
One person noticed that his body perceives wind and creates goose bumps on his skin before his mind can register that a cool breeze is present. Our body is aware of our environment even when we aren’t, when we have gone unconscious or are asleep. It moves to protect us by raising up our hair follicles to create an insulating layer next to the skin, like a thin down jacket. Some old masters pointed to this as an example of our inherent Buddha nature, which cares for us continually.
As our senses become more refined, we discover that whenever we move, we create air movement. Speaking is air movement. Any sound is air movement. A sailor explained to us that the wind is continuously circling the entire earth. When he’s in his boat, he is acutely aware of the wind and the weather it will bring because not to be aware of this in the middle of the ocean could mean death. In gale winds his boat has to be kept directly facing the wind, or it can be overturned in a flash.
Learning to sail involves learning to “read” the wind by noticing small changes on the surface of the water or in the direction of a flag or telltale (a piece of cloth attached to the boat). If there are no flags or telltales visible, a sailor can determine the direction of the wind by observing shorebirds such as seagulls, who always stand facing directly into the wind so that their feathers won’t be ruffled. This mindfulness exercise invites us to develop this kind of sensitivity to the