Sunday, March 3rd, 2013. 12:42p.m.- 1:27 p.m.
Flagstaff Hill, Schenley Park… 30 degrees... Gray… Cold… Flurries…
Although the Calendar says March, I believe it is February 2nd,
Groundhog day. Everything up here on the hill resembles the last three weeks.
The weather has more or less stayed the same: drab, cold, cutting, windy, cloudy,
gray, somber, ashen, smoky Pittsburgh. I have come to accept this. I don’t
fight it anymore because it is as it is and so it shall be.
There is no one here once again, which is fine and good. I
have come hoping for solitude, for a time when the machine of thinking can rest
and enjoy its own living. I just want to stare into the clouds and look over
the dreaming fields of this worn mound. The sky has a thick impregnable form.
It sits atop and surrounds announcing its dominance. I try to peer into her
vastness, but her gray mystery won’t be penetrated today. My thoughts, dreams
and memories of today will be exhausted into the great sepulcher. Let her do
with it what she will.
I will not ask of nature anything more than what is offered.
Rather than wanting, I will practice the art of receiving.
My entire body
softens as I prepare myself for the ritual of opening. I must prepare for this
most natural of all natural states. The duality and separateness of the mind
and body from presence always has us catching up to it and naming it after it
has arrived. Oddly, I must acknowledge and embrace the duality and separateness
before I attempt to dissolve out of it. It seems that every experience is in
this sense new, and every moment of our lives we are in the midst of the new
and unknown. If I could stay open, I might receive nature’s codes and language
of experience without resisting it through naming it from memory; in doing so, the whole sense of
conflict between “I” and the present reality might vanish. Either that, or I
will be in a perpetual state of anxiety and fear since it is well known that
the “unknown” is the greatest cause and source of insecurity and dread. 
This real present in which we live is the constant unknown
that laughs at us in the midst of our coming into being. We haven’t ever really
learned how to live with it. I can feel real feelings trying to reconcile with
this programmed state of resistance to this unknown. I feel cautious, hesitant and
too often on the defensive, leading me to calamitous reactions in an attempt to
circumvent these uncomfortable sensations. If not thrusting myself unthinkingly
into the moment with complete disregard to avoid this insecurity, I am clinging
fearfully to the past and the known leaving me in a perpetual state of limbo,
in purgatory and stuck in stasis.
Staring out onto my “place” today has me experimenting with
the art of living with this difficulty. I sit on the cold wet grass. Dampness
infuses itself with corduroy, seeping through to my skin. A sharp, assertive
and acute impression, it doesn’t seem as if I was behind in that moment of feeling,
trying to catch up with it, by naming it. It was immediate, definitive, and indisputable;
it needed no words for confirmation. I am here to receive, so I sit. Rather
than contracting to the frigid saturation, I soften to gently give into this
opposing force; I absorb it.
Looking out into this natural world
reminds me of examples to follow. In January, I came after one of our snow
storms. The unyielding tree branches of the White Ash and Norway Maples were
holding up the accumulated snow. More storms and accumulation would crack their
stiff branches to the ground. The supple willow would survive infinite
accumulation as its springy bough would just bend under the snow’s weight, drop
the excess snow, and jump up again.
I remember being caught in the strong undertow of the
Pacific Ocean, it is fatal to resist. I almost found out the hard way. You must
swim with it and gently and gradually edge yourself to the side. When in a car
accident it is often the person who is asleep, or in some cases, drunk, who
comes away unscathed because their limbs were not stiff in anticipation waiting
to break upon contact. If the driver was able to relax like the person asleep
or like a cat falling from a great height, they would most likely come out
uninjured. Living in California exposed me to earthquakes. If a building doesn’t
have any “give” in its structure it will collapse.
I want my mind to have this same kind of “give” or
pliability so it can absorb shocks like water or a cushion. I want to give way to the “unknown” new
experiences in each moment, not runaway.
Like water being pushed away as the tide rises, if I push
against it, it won’t retreat like a scared child; it gives at the point where
you are pushing it and encloses itself around you. This is how I would like my
mind to function around each moment.
Explaining this is like trying to explain how the heart
beats, how we breathe, how a leaf grows and a tree ages: complicated and
unnecessary; In my case, maybe impossible. By sitting on the saturated grass,
absorbing its wetness, enveloping the cold and staring into this inchoate and
amorphous sky, I believe this “place” has pushed me into thinking in more
harmonious ways with nature. I am at the cusp of the experience with the
interconnectedness of all things: the natural order of cycling between both
living and non-living parts of the environment and biosphere.
Is it possible that the Shawanos or Shawanees tribes of the
Lenni Lenapes, buried beneath the grounds we walk on, had the kind of openness
of mind I am seeking? Their ecological balance sheet seems to suggest that they
had some sort of sensitivity to experience that we cannot access so naturally.
This solitary day was meant as a way to stop the machine of
thinking. Perhaps this was unsuccessful, but Flagstaff Hill, on this day, has
given me a thorough house cleaning of consciousness, removed some if it’s
clutter and brought me a little closer to the spark. The moment. There it goes... And so it is…
Marc, I really appreciate the vivid details you provide in this post. Not only the descriptions of place, but the images of different states of being. The images you provided, too, go along well with the need to be relaxed and absorb your surroundings. I can definitely feel your struggle as you write about it and am intrigued to try this art of receiving you are attempting here.
ReplyDeleteMarc, another interesting post that revolves around a meditation on spiritual ideals.
ReplyDeleteI thought the whole post stuck to its focus, and the writing did a great job of introducing the personal, introducing the abstract (openness), and using the personal to illustrate the concrete reality of your idea. This moment in your blog worked so well:
" I remember being caught in the strong undertow of the Pacific Ocean, it is fatal to resist. I almost found out the hard way. You must swim with it and gently and gradually edge yourself to the side. When in a car accident it is often the person who is asleep, or in some cases, drunk, who comes away unscathed because their limbs were not stiff in anticipation waiting to break upon contact. If the driver was able to relax like the person asleep or like a cat falling from a great height, they would most likely come out uninjured. Living in California exposed me to earthquakes. If a building doesn’t have any “give” in its structure it will collapse.
I want my mind to have this same kind of “give” or pliability so it can absorb shocks like water or a cushion."
Marc, I was about to quote the exact same part that Kevin quoted from your blog, above! The way you describe these different ways of "not resisting" (but instead flowing with all that is around us) is astounding and clear. Each example offers a different sensation and view of the phenomena of staying "open" to your surroundings, instead of fighting them. I was reminded while reading your blog of the ancients, of Buddhist monks, who advertise much the same lifestyle of acceptance and openness. I think you might like the writing of Pema Chodron in particular, if you have not already come across her work, and also the artwork of Alex Grey, which explores the physical and spiritual both.
ReplyDeleteThe artwork you chose to include also fits wonderfully with your musings!
oh my gosh, yes, if you havent heard of ALex Grey, i think he would be right up your alley, Marc. i love his work.
ReplyDeleteMarc,
ReplyDeleteWhat a gorgeously lyrics and meditative blog. I love all the images you mention, especially the "thick impregnable form of the sky". I feel that I can picture exactly what this looks like, and also what it feels like, (and not just because we're in the same city and blogging about the same park :] ). Your descriptions and thoughts that you focus on throughout the first half of the blog really takes your reader in to this 'ritual of opening' with you, and it is so beautiful. I could feel my body and mind immersing themselves in the act of what you were doing, and the result was such a feeling of stillness and calm by the end. Also, I love this idea of not wanting, but practicing the art of receiving. What a gorgeous and welcoming idea. It reminds me so much of the discussion of the native american's thoughts towards hunting as a gift from the animals. You've embodied the idea well here.
Can't wait to read more about Flagstaff through your eyes. Maybe I'll even run into you one day on the way to the pond! :]
Haley
I've not looked at your blog until this day! There is a great layout here. The pictures in the latest post are awesome. Down to business. I enjoy that you go back in time for us, relating to what it has looked like at Flagstaff these past couple of months. It seems you are covering all of your bases here. If no one has seen your earlier posts they'd understand what you are speaking of, what it is in relation to, and how the relationship has grown between you and your place. I respect how well-crafted it is. It also has a mix between high and low diction in an interesting way.
ReplyDeleteMaybe this is something you do often, but I like that you don't make concrete assumptions with the meaning of words, you put them in quotes and state what there purpose is to you and within the post. That is an approach I don't see often. I will take that with me, and maybe not steal it! Ha.
Haley has said exactly what I wanted to say, but far more eloquently:
ReplyDeleteYour descriptions and thoughts that you focus on throughout the first half of the blog really takes your reader in to this 'ritual of opening' with you, and it is so beautiful. I could feel my body and mind immersing themselves in the act of what you were doing, and the result was such a feeling of stillness and calm by the end. Also, I love this idea of not wanting, but practicing the art of receiving. What a gorgeous and welcoming idea.
There is always a sense in your entries that you are fully present and aware of your Self and your place each time you visit. Even when you are reflecting on the larger ideas, there is always the sense that you are doing so in harmony with your surroundings. That's a beautiful moment of connection and one we're privileged to share.