I was sitting on the front porch this morning drinking a cup of tea and wondering about traveling. I love to travel, love to see, and get lost in, unfamiliar places, love to experience cultures that are different from those here in the US, love to try foods i'm not familiar with, love trying to communicate with people who speak a language i don't speak. I love the uncertainty that comes with being out of your element. I love the ambiguity that is part and parcel of being the foreigner.
The easiest way to sum all that up is to say that i am fascinated with experiencing the unknown. I thrive on being in a position where i know very little about where i am and what is expected of me, and then trying to figure out how to get by in those conditions, how to survive, how to interact, and how to learn about where i am.
These thoughts then led me to wonder why, although i have traveled worldwide, and hope to continue those experiences, when i think about where i would really like to go next, i almost always find myself thinking about Nepal or Shikoku. It's been like this for decades.
That's bizarre. What is the attraction of these two locations? What is it about them that exerts an unseen, yet unrelenting pull on my heart? If someone were to ask me where, in all the world, i felt the most at home, the most comfortable, the most at peace, i could answer in the blink of an eye — Shikoku and Nepal.
So this morning i tried to connect those two threads: the unrelenting passion for, and pull of, the unknown, and an inherent sense of peace in Nepal and Shikoku. The connection seems, obviously, to be the spirituality of both places.
That lead to the next observation: I have been traveling since i was young, but didn't care about such things back then. So when did this spiritual pull start affecting my life. Which took me back to '73 or '74 when i first picked up the Tao Te Ching (i think that's what it was), which led to Daisetsu Teitaro Suzuki's introductions to Buddhism, which led to where i am today.
But why did that first book, well over 30 years ago, grab me by the throat and refuse to let go the very first time i read it? Why, as i was reading it, did my brain immediately say "Ah, you're home. Where have you been?"
And when i got to these memories, i remembered an email i sent to a friend several years ago explaining that i can pinpoint exactly when all of this started for me. In that email, i explained:
"...
"For a few short years back when i was in either late Junior High School or early High School, i started having these ... something ... not dreams and not wakeful events ... but 'experiences' while asleep. I would find myself in front of this vast, seemingly infinite maze of twisting and turning passages. Actually i couldn't see inside the passages, i could only see this massive structure that was obviously maze-like. And, i knew, KNEW, without a doubt that i was looking at my brain. Or, more accurately, A brain. Can't tell you how i knew that, but i was certain.
"I can still very vividly remember standing in front of this maze and knowing that if i went too far in i might never get back out, but also knowing that i had to go in. I can close my eyes right now and picture it and feel the trepidation. But, each time, in i did go. Inside, i would have this feeling of ... infinite consciousness? Infinity? I don't know how to describe it — there just aren't words that don't limit it. The attraction was overpowering and i always went in. Every time. I remember always being slightly nervous and yet anxious to get in. And, as i said, always a little worried that i might go too far and not get back out. Funny, but i have no idea how i got in. One moment i was outside looking in, and the next i was either inside, or, maybe more appropriate, we had merged. (Sounds goofy, i know. That's why
i never talk about it.)
"But, i always did get back out — obviously. :-) Don't know how i knew when to turn around or how i knew the way back out, but i always knew without having to consciously articulate it. Don't even know if 'turn around' is the correct way to look at it. I have no memories of actually following a path, or going anywhere. I was just 'in.' I still to this day, almost 35 years later, wonder about it. Those feelings of infinity (for lack of a better word) will just not go away. And i have always wondered what i did or saw on the inside. Those memories don't exist.
"In the end, they only lasted a few years and then went away. I can get part way there sometimes in meditation, but never, never, even 10% of the way. And even that is rare. Now that i'm older, i wish i could replicate the experiences. Now maybe you see my attraction to a monastery? ;-)
Oh well....... so much for memory lane."
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Sure enough, as bizarre as it sounds even to me, i can still, in 2009, visualize, even as i'm typing this (the memories are so strong), lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, and then seeing the wide opening to 'the maze,' and feel that sense of "Do i dare? Should i go in again?" And, still feel with every pore in my body the thrill i had when i said yes, knowing full well that if i screw up i'll never get back out. But, accepting that sometimes the rewards far outweigh the dangers, even if you can't see them as you take the first steps.
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