Spaces in Between
I have been there for about 17 minutes all told and I have spent countless hours, days,
weeks practicing getting there. My formal introductory journey began in the citadel-esque Dorje Dzong building in downtown Boulder CO, home to the Shambhala Center. Traditionally in
Tibetan Buddhism, dzongs are located in key spots where power and energy gather. Inside a
dzong, one experiences a sacred and uplifted environment that allows the mind to open and
relax. I believed this would be a great starting place for my travels.
We launched on a frosty Friday night with an introductory talk in a room with chairs in neat rows
and an eloquent speaker at the front of the room.
I was comfortable. Things seemed in order. What was being said made sense. So far so good.
However the tingle of anticipation lingered, not really clear on where I was headed, how to pack, and what direction to take to get there. With the words of Alan Watts as my guide "...the (present) moment is an elusive creature…. it cannot be measured, it so much shorter than a second that before we can begin to think of it as here and now it has already passed.” I boarded for the voyage.
The next day, the room felt otherworldly, the foreignness of my sojourn kicked in. Gone were the chairs, replaced by 20 inch blue canvas squares (zabuton) filled with cotton batting and topped with a sitting cushion (zafu). I came to think of the thin zabuton as my vessel, my own individual bobbing life raft floating upon the pale still hardwood floor. The room had a simplistic quiet beauty to the contrast of the daily life outside the second story window filled with sirens, the clunk clunk of the manhole cover when a vehicle crossed its path and the looming call of the Boulder Theatre marquee sitting just over my shoulder “wouldn’t you rather be here having some real fun this weekend?”
The peaceful interior of the room was fractured by the relentless rumble of my thinking. The
physical discomfort was formidable, spying on my own thoughts, excruciating. Random names of classmates I hadn’t thought of in years, quickly spinning to the entire Beatles anthology romping through my mind. My focus was determined, half closed gaze burning a hole in that wood floor and eventually the floor swallowing me and my gaze whole. Aching joints, itches unscratched, foot asleep, questioning when to swallow. A speed train of thoughts roared through my head, struggling to just watch from the platform, resisting becoming a commuter. The internal war of insanity we put ourselves through - constantly. Before I knew it I found myself as a full blown ticketed passenger habitually leaping aboard. Gleefully going along for a joyride. I’d find myself in one car of the train with thoughts that included how I should rearrange my closet, the shirts to one side in color formation with pants on the other side and do dresses really pair with the skirts? Queasily spinning, cycling, a seasick monkey brain, swinging from thought branch to thought branch in a never ending jungle.
Suddenly a break in the cycle, the tender tinkle of the bell shatters my nausea. Like an unforeseen inhaling gasp of clean fresh air. Alert, awakened, crashing through my internal racket. The giddy vibration announcing a break, or a sanguine “walking meditation” practice. During walking meditation is when I met Jade. Jade, the ancient large jade plant, our mute potted veteran observer. I looked forward to turning that corner on my circuit of the room just to walk by her. With each lap I would note her presence in the bright sunlit south facing window, stoic, solid, present. So obviously loved was she, she had a name card with instructions, informing us “good hearted souls” that she has a caretaker and to please not water her, thank you very much.
Late into the afternoon of the last day of the meditation weekend, still aboard my trusty zabuton, I caught sight of a shoreline, an ever so fleeting glimpse of the gap. Pause. Nothing. Quiet. The space at the top of the inhale and the pause at the bottom of the exhale, an endless field of
swaying grasses extending out into peaceful infinity. The slow stewing of practice had
softened my body and my mind. Like meat left in a crock pot for hours, the heat and pressure resulted in beautiful shredded bits left simmering in a savory sauce. My life raft had proven seaworthy and after days of drifting aimlessly in the ocean of my thoughts I found a place in between the thoughts. It lasted about 25 seconds.
This place is alien to me but does have long term residents. These “locals” exude humble confidence, and an inner knowing like a “you are here” map arrow. Their elevated posture. Their basic uplifted ness. Their crystal crisp eyes, eyes that are reflective of a newborn or an extreme athlete at the pinnacle of their performance. Appearing semi- aloof, detached from the distraction of the past and the worry of the future. Unflappable. Steady as she goes. Fully present.
I have found the voyage to these gaps challenging to say the least and I am beholden
for the subtle reminders sprinkled about, like the phrase “mind the gap” painted on every
platform of the London tube. I still spend much of my days playing thought loop tapes on
infinite, the obsessive need for all presence to be eliminated, then occasionally I remember the
breath, the constant companion of the inhale and exhale brings my attention back to this
moment. The ultimate definition of life, prana, chi, as it cycles through, infinite possibilities in the
space of nothingness, not fully free from thought but not letting thoughts run me either.
A feeling of suspension.
(2 seconds)
The place before sleep comes.
Centering myself in that silent space between the thoughts
(7 seconds)
Stably present.
Grounded
Standing in witness
(12 seconds)
Be alive
(13 seconds)
(14 seconds)
Be still
(15 seconds)
Not to worry
For I too am love
I am my own caretaker
Slowly adding up the glimpses
Step by step
Breath by breath
Second by second
Counting
Moment by
Moment.
(25 seconds)