* Perhaps if my faith in the so-called Direct Path were stronger, I could realize all my various neuroses, blocked meridians and pranic imbalances to be always and already spontaneously liberated. And actually, in moments (timeless moments of Presence) this does seem to be the case.
* And then there are the other moments (space and time once again having their way) in which I do seem to go through what makes a lot of sense to me to call periods of purification -- during which all manner of toxic and generally unpleasant "stuff" bubbles to the surface. I'm getting better at staying spacious and relaxed during these periods, simply allowing what is arising to arise, with a sense of compassion and humor; and even at times noticing a feeling of celebration, knowing that a new opening is knocking, a new deepening offering its key, a new clarity on the quickening horizon.
* Which is to say: I'm not really bothered by these periods. What I've also noticed, however, is that when I'm in the midst of one of these purification stages, I seem to inspire -- in folks who identify as healers, counselors and the like (many of whom are my friends) -- seemingly spontaneous diagnoses. It's as though I were wearing a t-shirt saying: "Please, diagnose me." So then I'm offered some explanation -- in terms of astrological alignment, Ayurvedic constitution or whatever -- for what they're perceiving in my structure, energy or behavior. Which I tend to experience as being much more annoying than the "condition" which their diagnosis purports to be describing, lol.
Part of me wants to say, "Hey, don't worry, it's temporary -- and not even close to being life-threatening." Though I also appreciate their concern, when genuine, and can understand the impulse to take refuge in the identity of "healer" with its accompanying diagnostic frameworks -- something I notice myself also doing, now and again.
* Yet my best guess is that what ushers in the deepest healing is the dissolution of the healer/client or diagnoser/diagnosed polarity -- the collapse of that illusion of separation -- something experienced quite poignantly and beautifully described here by Anita Moorjani, who several years back experienced a "miraculous" spontaneous healing from stage 4 lymphoma. Which brings it back around to those moments of timeless Presence which, when accessed, seem to collapse the "path" into a single pointless point, empty and the source of all possibility.
One of the sections of the interview with Ms. Moorjani that I found particularly interesting was her description of how, during her near-death experience, she became intimately aware of the thoughts and emotions of others -- as an aspect of identifying with the vibratory field or nonlocal "space" out of which all life-forms emerge. And this heightening of sensitivity to the "inner" states of others is an experience described also by long-time meditation practitioners. As our practice deepens, so, it would seem, does our capacity to experience "others" as "self," directly.
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* A couple weeks ago I was contacted via email by a man who was interested, potentially, in some qigong instruction. We had a phone conversation, during which I answered various questions that he had, about my style of practice and teaching. He decided to book a private lesson which, since the phone conversation seemed to have gone quite well, I assumed would also go smoothly.
But, once we started working together in person, immediately it felt like a struggle: none of the practices that I assumed would be helpful for him seemed to be working, or at least he wasn't happy with what he was experiencing. About halfway through the session I thought to myself, "this isn't going well at all" -- and noticed an impulse, at that point, to attempt to salvage the session by doing more.
* But before I actually revved up in that way, some kind of intuitive wisdom came through .... and instead I decided that perhaps what was needed was for me to do less, not more. So I suggested a very simple standing meditation -- explaining that this was a tool for allowing his qi to realign itself, in whatever way was needed. As he settled into the stance, I made some small adjustments to his physical alignment, gave some simple instructions about releasing and relaxing, at the level of body and mind, and then just allowed him to be within his own experience of it, for ten minutes or so.
During that time, I toggled back and forth between doing the same practice myself, and a couple of times making additional small adjustments to his posture, or saying some words to support him in keeping his gaze gently focused, and relaxed. But all in all, my "touch" had become extremely light.
When he came out of the standing meditation pose, I could immediately feel that a shift had happened -- and could see it in his eyes and the way that he held his body. And he reported feeling much better .... All in all, it was a great lesson for me, about how "less is sometimes more" -- less conceptual diagnosis and sophisticated technique, and more a simple alignment with the infinite intelligence of Source: the Direct Path.
* I recently learned that the Tibetan word for compassion -- nying-je (or: snying rje) -- is sometimes also translated into English as "energy" or "sensitivity" or "responsiveness." What is implied is a form of compassion that is a deeply-felt rather than simply conceptual one. It includes a direct "sensitivity" to the suffering of another, a spontaneous impulse to "respond," and the "energy" or power to actually do that.
Now this might be an indefensible etymological leap, but what came to mind also, in relation to nying-je's translation as "energy" was the Chinese/Taoist notion of qi -- life-force energy. As we develop a sensitivity to qi -- via qigong or martial arts training -- our capacity to perceive not only our own "energy" but also that of others increases. Another example of how, through grace or training, we're able to garner experiential evidence of our non-duality -- which is cool :)